The briefing room hadn’t changed much in the six months Fairchild had been away. Same low lighting, same bare walls, same metal chairs seemingly designed for discomfort. The only nice thing about it was the table, a long slab of polished synthwood that looked like it had been plundered from some corporate boardroom. Come to think of it, maybe it had been. Fairchild took a seat near the middle and looked toward the glowing holoscreen at the end of the room. It was currently projecting an image of the Guild logo—an X made from a blade and a rifle.
Two figures stood on either side of the screen, their features half-hidden in the dimness of the room. One of them was Barnes. Fairchild would recognize his silhouette anywhere, not to mention the cloud of cigar smoke that surrounded him like a ghost. The other, Fairchild had never seen before. A woman, older but still powerfully built, with a short, severe haircut. Former Merc turned handler, Fairchild guessed.
“This is Lennox,” Barnes said, gesturing with his cigar. “Intel division. She’ll be the one overseeing this mission.” Fairchild nodded. Lennox didn’t respond. After an uncomfortably long silence, Barnes cleared his throat. “Alright,” he said, “why don’t we begin?”
Fairchild swept her eyes around the otherwise empty briefing room.
“Just me?” she asked. “Is this a solo mission?”
“No,” Barnes said. “You’ll be working with a team. The other members have already been briefed. I wanted to give you a chance to review the details on your own, so you can decide if you’re up for it.”
Weird. Fairchild had never been briefed individually for a team mission before.
“Who’s the client?” she asked.
“No client,” said Barnes. “The Guild is sponsoring this mission all on its own. It involves a very delicate insertion. I think you’ve got all the right attributes for the job.”
Barnes swept a thick finger across the holoscreen, and the Guild logo vanished. A different image replaced it. A picture of a man’s face—handsome, smooth, deeply tanned.
“This is Victor Slayn,” Barnes said. “Illegal arms dealer. Impossibly wealthy. He was responsible for arming and funding the Broken Chain on Thule.”
For a split second, Fairchild was back in the snow with pieces of her friends raining down all around her. The memory wrenched her guts, but she did her best to keep the emotion off her face.
“Doesn’t look like a revolutionary,” she said.
“He’s not,” said Barnes. “Slayn doesn’t give a skav’s ass about ideologies. He’s an opportunist. He goes where the money is.”
“I didn’t think the Chain was particularly well off.”
“They weren’t,” Barnes agreed. “But Slayn’s been known to work with lower-level clients when it serves his ends. Perhaps he was hoping to spark off a full-scale war so he could sell more of his wares. To be honest, we don’t really know what his motivationswere. But a forensic analysis of the geothermal site picked up RDX residue from the explosives. The chemical composition traces back to Slayn. He’s our man, no doubt about it.”
“Perfect,” Fairchild growled. “Let’s take him out.”
Barnes took a big drag on his cigar, and Fairchild could hear the tobac sizzling in the stillness of the room. The woman, Lennox, still hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Unfortunately,” said Barnes, “it’s not that simple. Slayn’s wealth and resources rival the Guild’s, and the compound where he spends most of his time is like a damned fortress. It would take a small army to overrun it. Lots of casualties, way too risky. Everyone’s got a weakness, though. Even Slayn…”
He swiped his cigar across the screen, and the image shifted again. Now it displayed an asteroid drifting through space. The thing looked like a mountain turned upside down, its flat upper surface covered with a glittering city enclosed within a transparent hemispherical dome.
“That,” Barnes said, “is Calyxia: a deep-space haven catering to the tastes of the rich and powerful, and I’m not just talking about caviar and champagne. The place is essentially a glorified sex resort. Bondage, sadomasochism, orgies, you name it. Slayn visits once every cycle—and his annual vacation is coming up.”
Fairchild could see where this was going.
“You want me to go there, seduce Slayn, then…” She drew a finger across her throat.
“More or less,” Barnes said, “but it’s still not that simple. Security at Calyxia is tighter than a mosquito’s asshole. You won’t be able to take any weapons with you. Nothing big,anyway. Slayn, on the other hand, has connections with the folks who run the place. They let him bring an entire security detail when he visits, and you can bet they’ll be armed to the teeth.”
“I don’t need weapons,” Fairchild said. “As long as I can get him alone.”
She was hungry for it. This was the bastard who had wiped out her team on Thule. Maybe he hadn’t done it personally, but he’d provided the explosives. The Broken Chain was all but wiped out at this point. Half of them had been blown to hell when the geothermal plant went up. The other half had already been chased down and eliminated by other Merc crews. Slayn was the last remaining person upon whom Fairchild could vent her rage, and she was willing to do anything to make that happen.
Anything at all.
“You’re Slayn’s type,” Barnes said. “Our sources tell us he prefers his women tall and strong. He likes dominating them. Guess it makes him feel powerful or something. ’Course, you won’t have to go through any ofthat. Once you’ve got him alone, it’ll be game over. The problem will be making that happen.”
He took a few thoughtful puffs on his cigar. The smoke drifted across the holoscreen in glowing, liquid patterns.
“Slayn’s cautious, even on vacation. He vets all of his sexual partners carefully. That’s why we can’t send you in alone. A single, attractive female at a sex resort would raise all kinds of red flags. Hence the team. We’ll be sending you in with three other Mercs. You’ll be posing as a polycule. Anopenpolycule.”
