Commodore Koenig gestured to himself. “Before we tell you who ‘US’ is, you need to know about the Black Hand. The Black Hand was formed at the end of the Galactic Civil War. The group had a different name at that time. They were created out of the best and most experienced and their mission was to root out the remnants of the scattered Confederated Republic of Systems militias. They were very good at their Jobs.” Commodore Koenig shifted in his seat. “Targets dried up and the Senate Qurom and House of Governors began to question the financial burden of maintaining a specialized military unit that no longer didn’t had a purpose. The war left the galactic government deeply in debt.”
“Just when it seemed the unit was to be disbanded there was an incident.” Leftenant Commander Griffor said.
“How convenient,” Jaisen quipped.
“What happened?” Riordan asked.
“A small squadron was on a routine combat patrol on the edge of the unaffiliated territories when one of their patrol crafts reported a contact. They went to investigate and were destroyed. Their frigate responded to the location and came under attack by a small craft of an unknown design. Sensors were all but useless. They knew where it was but that’s about all they could read.”
“Aliens?” Jaisen asked incredulously.
“No, you clod! There’s no such thing as aliens!” Leftenant Commander Griffor barked.
“While vastly more advanced, the technology did appear to be human-based. The frigate quickly found itself in trouble and called in the rest of the Squadron to assist. It was a hard fight and they lost two of their three frigates before they destroyed the aggressor. Debris was recovered and some partial human remains. You can imagine the response. The consensus was that an element of the CRS had developed cutting-edge technology. It was all the organization needed to ensure continued funding. They changed their name to the Black Hand.”
“A few years later they were spun off as a clandestine semi-autonomous agency. They analyzed and reverse engineered the technology from the captured debris. The result of which has infiltrated much of our lives. They own a majority of the larger tech companies in one form or another. They quickly became independent and entirely self-funded.” Commodore Koenig sat back in his chair. “The Black Hand never abandoned their original purpose. Reconciliation was only supposed to take a decade, but something always seemed to happen every so often that proved the Outer territories were still a threat. The existence of the Black Hand depends on a divided and fearful nation. As long as there is a threat, we need a strong military. A strong military has to be superior in strength and technology and that costs money. Money that goes right back to the Black Hand through dozens of companies owned whole or in part by the Black Hand.”
“Like a shadow government,” Jaisen injected.
“How far have they infiltrated?” Riordan asked taking the next logical step.
“It’s unclear. Black Hand operatives have been uncovered at every level. They own politicians, executives, and even military leaders. They’ve had nearly a century to establish their network and contacts.” Leftenant Commander Griffor replied.
“To answer your question about who ‘US’ is, we actively counter Black Hand efforts and operations that run counter to the Galactic Cluster's good morals and ethics. We are called The Interstellar Society of the White Star.”
“Named after the star in the Sancturus system that led the first colony ships across the Great Void to the Greater Galactic Cluster, right?” Riordan asked.
“Yes. We are a small cabal of military officers, political figures, and prominent citizens whose main goal is the reunification of the FRS with the Occupied Territories and equal rights for all citizens. Of course, this puts us at odds with the Black Hand at every turn.” Commodore Koenig said.
“Why are you telling us all this?” Jaisen asked with concern.
“You and Atticus deserve to know. You’ve been involved in this conflict for some time,” Commodore Koenig replied.
“How so?” Riordan asked.
“At least a dozen of your contracts have been at the request of White Star, through various proxies and third parties,” Leftenant Commander Griffor answered. “Several of which were direct action against Black Hand operatives or assets.”
“What? You’ve been using us in your proxy war?” Jaisen asked incredulously.
“Against peripheral targets, yes. We take any opportunity we can to strike at Black Hand assets in any way possible. Your contracts resulted in several minor operatives switching to our side providing vital intelligence,” Commodore Koenig said.
“We steal things, transport illegal cargo, and the occasional fugitive, for creds,” Riordan said.
“Exactly. It sends a powerful message. Instead of stealing you could have left behind a bomb or installed malicious code on their systems. The fact that you didn’t demonstrated our merciful nature as an organization,” Leftenant Commander Griffor responded.
“So …” Jaisen started.
“So, many of those amazing turns of luck that allowed you to escape, those guards that neglected to patrol their area, or those codes that were a little too easy to crack … all engineered by us to facilitate your success,” Leftenant Commander Griffor stated smugly. “You’re not as good as you think you are.”
We're pretty damn good,” Riordan retorted.
“Perhaps. Here comes the hook,” Commodore Koenig said.
“Alright, what is it?” Jaisen asked. The two smugglers share a look.
“We can’t support you, anymore. You’re a security risk. The White Star council has approved two resolutions concerning both of you. The first is that the next time you’re caught you’ll be prosecuted to the full extent of the law and stuffed in the deepest darkest cell we can find. Your father will retire from his military service, and White Star, and live out the rest of his life in obscurity. You will be caught, I promise,” Leftenant Commander Griffor said, smiling evilly. “Unless you accept our offer.”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“What’s the offer?” Riordan asked, his features stiffening with anger.
“That’s the second resolution. You’ve already completed part of it, eliminate Roger Syddel. The second part is that you officially join White Star as operatives.” Commodore Koenig offered.
“Whoa, please tell me this is some sort of a prank, Atticus. They can’t be serious,” Jaisen exclaimed.
“My dad never joked in his life, Jaisen,” Riordan replied.
“What about going legit? This is our chance! We can start a security company or haul cargo! No more running from FRS warships, or going to prison! No more killing!”
“We’re subs, Jaisen,” Riordan said, tapping the tattoo at his temple. “I tried the legit life for years. You know the best contracts go to Citizens. We’d be forced to work the Outer Territories and unaffiliated systems, scrounging for scraps.”
“It’s still a living, a legitimate one!” Jaisen protested.
“Until work dried up, or something expensive on the Swindler breaks. Then what?” Riordan countered.
“We’ll figure it out, we always have,” Jaisen pleaded.
“White Star doesn’t recognize that tattoo. We work from the inside to restore our Republic to the ideals upon which it was founded, that all citizens are equal before greed, and lust for power, took over. The Black Hand works to maintain the status quo. Why do you think the votes for reconciliation always fail? They get to people. They buy or blackmail them. If that doesn’t work they are eliminated through smear campaigns or outright murder disguised as unfortunate accidents or suicide. They are dependent upon the perception that the Occupied Territories still present a threat to the Republic.” Commodore Koenig said.
“So they keep us subjugated and use us as cheap labor. They use the constant threat of us rising to keep themselves in power,” Riordan stated.
“Do you hear yourselves? You sound like those weirdo fringe vloggers from the outer reaches of the unaffiliated systems! This is insanity! You’re all paranoid!”
“This is real,” Leftenant Commander Griffor responded.
“False flag attacks?” Riordan asked.
“At least a dozen in the last 70 years, all attributed to anti-FRS separatist groups, probably more,” Commodore Koenig replied. “Carried out by men like Roger Syddel and planned and financed by the Black Hand.”
“Allowing the government to enact more restrictions, down-vote reconciliation referendums, and demand higher monetary reparations.” Leftenant Commander Griffor said.
“Back to the subject at hand,” Commodore Koenig interrupted. “Atticus, this is your chance to be the man you always wanted to be. Moral and honorable; working towards something bigger than yourself to make the galaxy a better place.” Commodore Koenig said earnestly. “Join your old man in fighting the forces of evil and oppression?”
Leftenant Commander Griffor stifled a snort at the mention of honor, earning a hard look from father and son.
“How would it work?” Riordan asked. He could feel his excitement at the opportunity building.
“It would be subtle. You’d still work outside the law as a team, smuggling, and thieving. However, most of your commissions would be coming from us. You’d get rolled up enough to appear realistic, escaping or buying your way out. Often, the whole point would be to infiltrate and leave something behind. It will all depend on the Job.” Commodore Koenig said.
“Pay?”
“You’d make your income like you always do. We’ll always make sure you have enough to operate, but not enough to draw unwanted attention,” Commodore Koenig said.
“Details that can all be hashed out later. Right now, we need to know if you’re in or out.” Leftenant Commander Griffor interrupted.
Jaisen sat in his chair looking confused and a bit queasy. Riordan looked at his father.
“I’m in!” he said emphatically.
“You?” Leftenant Commander Griffor asked, turning his attention to Jaisen.
Jaisen started in alarm. “Me?” he stammered. “Uh…” he locked eyes with his friend, his partner in crime through dozens of jobs and misadventures. “Atticus … I can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t want this life anymore. I want stability and normalcy. This would be the opposite.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Leftenant Commander Griffor’s arm moved and the sound of tearing Velcro echoed in the silence. Leftenant Commander Griffor thumped the heavy slug thrower in his fist onto the tabletop. A bead of sweat trickled from Jaisen’s tattoo down the side of his face to his chin.
“Atticus?” he asked softly, staring at the slug thrower.
Riordan flashed his friend that old mischievous smile as he leaned across the table toward the officer. CLICK! Leftenant Commander Griffor’s head snapped toward the sound which came from under the table. His eyes tracked down Riordan’s right arm concealed beneath the table and his eyes widened.
“I don’t like it when assholes point guns at my friends,” he said evenly. “FRS officer, White Star, I don’t really give a frek. I’ll send you home to your mama in a box. Slide it over.”
Anger flashed across the officer’s face as Riordan smiled sweetly at him. Leftenant Commander Griffor looked to the Commodore, who nodded, and slid the slug thrower across the table to Riordan. Riordan sighed as he took the slug thrower in his left hand, his right emerging to drop an old fashion cigar lighter on the table. He removed the magazine and cleared the weapon. He tossed the magazine into a corner of the room and tucked the slug thrower into the back of his pants. “You need to control your dog, pops, or I’ll put him down.”
“Asshole,” Leftenant Commander Griffor growled.
“Bitch,” Riordan shot back. He stared at his friend. “How am I going to do this without you? We’re a team, man.”
“I don’t know, but that right there, that’s exactly why I’m refusing! We’re just tools to them! He was going to ice me right here at this table. Are these the kind of people you want to work for?”
Riordan laughed as he pulled the slug thrower from his waistband. “It was a joke, right,” Riordan said, holding out the empty slug thrower to the officer.
“Yeah,” Leftenant Commander Griffor began, “I was jo …” He was cut off by the slug thrower smashing through his teeth as Riordan pistol whipped him. Blood spurted as he toppled backward out of his seat.
“Atticus! Goddammit!” Commodore Koenig yelled, surging to his feet.
Riordan stood, kicking the chair out of his way and loomed over the injured officer. Leftenant Commander Griffor covered his shattered mouth with his hand, glaring at Riordan with eyes filled with hate and pain.
“I warned you about those teeth,” he said. “I’m keeping this,” he added, tucking the slug thrower into his waistband. He turned to his father.
“You have my answer, and you have his,” he said, indicating to Jaisen. “If we’re done here, we have a ship to pre-flight.”
A few short hours later the friends stood next to each other watching passenger shuttles carefully enter the cavernous hanger of the Lancaster. There were queues of excited personnel formed up on different color lines ready to debark to their new assignments. Pallets of sea bags and gray plasteel shipping containers were arranged parallel to the lines. It was controlled chaos. To Riordan, it looked as if most of the ancillary crew was being swapped out. Pretty smart after a covert op, he thought.
“There’s your ride, bud,” he said, pointing to the approaching shuttle. “I wish you’d let me drop you off somewhere.”
“It’s better this way. Your dad gave me a free ticket anywhere. A clean break, Atticus,” Jaisen said. He adjusted the carry-on slung over his shoulder. His other bags were already stowed on the pallet. The last few hours were spent collecting his personal effects and gear from his quarters on the Swindler.
“You’re going to do great, man. You’re going to be the go-to guy for personal and corporate security in no time,” Riordan said with false cheer.
“Thanks to you,” Jaisen said.
“Naw, all I did was keep Griff from putting a slug in your head,” Riordan replied.
“I’m referring to the credits you snuck into my bags. 150k? Skimmed from the ransom?”
“Your cut of what I owe you and not a credit more. I don’t run a charity, consider it four years of back-pay. Use it to start your business.”
The shuttle settled to a stop in a yellow square. The side door opened with hisses and groans. The attendant lowered the stairs and waved the line of passengers standing along the yellow line forward. Jaisen nervously fidgeted with the plastic yellow card in his hand. Riordan grabbed his friend in a gruff hug, releasing him almost immediately.
“Good journey, my friend.”
“Good journey to you as well,” Jaisen replied automatically. He shuffled forward in line as the passengers took their places in the shuttle. He found his assigned seat, buckled in, and looked out the window. There he stood, one hip cocked, arms crossed, holstered slug thrower low on his leg looking like some sort of scoundrel out of a holovid from a time long ago. The wash from the shuttle's engines as it lifted off artfully tousled his hair, perfecting the image.
The End
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