Motivations

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.'

Lewis Carroll

To say that Magner Aleksander was a fat man would have been a gross understatement. He was corpulent in a way that a man can only be on a space station. The low gravity near the hub of the station acted to extend his life considerably, allowing his heart to pump blood through his vast bulk, and giving his muscles at least half a chance to move him.

This mountain of a man entered the boardroom sideways through the four foot door, panting heavily in the near normal gravity here at the rim of the station. He was sweating profusely, possibly from exertion, but probably from fear. The pained look on his face when he saw Mr. Jones in the room explained, in part, that his own plans had also gone awry.

Aleksander sat on a low table near the front of the room, with Boback taking a position at the head of the table. I had made room for Markham and Joy by moving Darwin and I to the foot of the table. Darwin, insulted by this unilateral change of venue, slunk off my lap and under the table. Markham and Joy now sat with a chair between them, facing Mr. Jones who still occupied her side of the table alone.

"I assure you," Aleksander panted, "it is all perfectly legitimate. The paperwork is in order."

"The 'paperwork' is mine," Mr. Jones objected. "I paid for it and registered it in full accordance with the Station's regulations. I want it returned immediately. You have no authority to hold me here."

She moved to rise, only to hear Darwin's growl rise up to her from under the table. She sat down slowly.

She looked at me coldly. "One day, I am going to do something about that cat." She turned back to Aleksander. "You have to let me out. If word gets out that you're a obstructing a perfectly legal Vendetta..."

She was correct of course. She had done nothing illegal. If she had, in fact, paid the huge registration fees, not once but four times, authorizing her to conduct a Vendetta, she would be released and given her weapon.

"Vendetta?" Joy interrupted, her thin frame dwarfed by the bulky chair. Neither she nor Markham had been informed as to the reason they were asked to enter the conference room. They were also surprised to see Mr. Jones, for she apparently had also hired them to find Leena.

Joy looked at Mr. Jones' hand then at me. A wicked smile crept across her face. "Have you finally pissed the wrong person off, Friedman? I knew someday that your smugness and that damned rat of yours would see you at the business end of a barrell." She turned back to Mr. Jones, "Best of luck, sister, and I mean it. Let me know if there is anything I can do to facilitate your hunt for this bastard." During all of this, Markham remained passively still, staring at Mr. Jones across the table.

"You may want to read this," Bobak interjected and tossed the Vendetta Permit across the table to Joy.

A Vendetta Permit is literally a licence to kill, although a limited one. They were expensive because they were based on a significant proportion of your annual income. They were difficult to procure as they required the approval and signature of the area's ranking authorities, and many people did not want their hands bloodied in someone else's battles.

Vendetta permits were also public record. They were not to be kept secret, especially from the intended victim. Most locations required written proof that the intended target had been notified of the Permit, allowing them the opportunity for self defence. Apparently Aleksander had skipped that part. I wondered why he would commit such an obvious break of protocol.

The Vendetta Permit was one of those strange inventions that was created to legitimize violence and ended up actually reducing it. It was conceived of in the aftermath of Great collapse, when regions were controlled by gangs of various stripes. These gangs had nothing against an individual killing someone, regardless of the reason, but if you wanted to kill someone in their territory, you had to ask the permission of the reigning king or queen pin. The Permit holder was allowed one shot at a time, aimed at the target, to prevent the legalized massacre of crowds of people to take out an individual. The Target, on the other hand, was permitted to defend him or herself against the Permit holder, by any means necessary, short of collateral damage. You can see why they weren't much in use.

Joy snatched the permit from the table and read it through. She had never had much control over her rage at the best of times, and what little of it there was melted away as she leapt from her chair across the table.

"I will kill you with my bare hands, you bitch!" she was screaming. Before she could leave her side of the table though, Markham had calmly reached out and placed a firm hand on Joy's shoulder, effectively, but gently, pinning her in place. The pain on Markham's face was obvious. Merely touching her former lover opened the vortex between them again. Tears sprang to her eyes. The effect on Joy was similar, as she looked at Markham, her lip quivering as she fought back her own tears. Then she roughly brushed away Markham's hand.

"Don't touch me," she said in an unemotional tone.

Bobak watched all of this with interest, then turned to Mr. Jones. "I don't get it. Why all four of us? Josh I get. You two apparently have history. But me? Them? Why hire us then try to kill us days later?"

"She has to," I said quietly, my eyes on Mr. Jones. "She has to tie up loose ends. She still doesn't want her bosses to know that she has lost their most precious resource. We all know that Leena is missing, and that she," I pointed to Mr. Jones, "is responsible."

"I know of no such thing," Aleksander protested weakly.

"You do now," Bobak added. "I am sure that Station Director Franklin wouldn't mind signing a Permit with your name on it for our ambitious assassin. You've been a thorn in the Director's side for years now. A change in the command structure here might be overdue."

Some large men wear their weight like armor and draw strength and confidence from their size. Their towering self assurance leads them to be generally good natured and generous. Others, like Aleksander, used their bulk as a shield, hiding behind their fat like a scared child behind a chair. These types were generally fearful and vicious.

"You - you can't speak that way to me, Bobak. I am your superior and you are insubordinate! I am glad I signed that Permit. I am getting weary of the way you order me about, the way you act like you own this station and demanding my presence here and there at all hours of the day and night. The way you stoop to their level. It instills laziness and your troops..., MY troops kowtow to your every whim. I hope she gets you, you upstart. Time to show some discipline to your slovenly troops."

It would seem that by hiring Bobak, Aleksander had inadvertently let in his own rival and his partnership with Mr. Jones was intended to remove the competition.

I could see the tendrils to Aleksander's choices reaching around him, fraying at the edges as they attempted to extend out to those around him.

Bobak, by contrast, was surrounded in solid flows of causes and effects, purposeful and well defined. His connection were strong, and one of them led directly to Chantier, who had until this moment been stoneface and silent. He took a step towards the corpulent captain, his hand reaching for his weapon and his eyes filled with rage. Aleksander flinched and tried to hide in the folds of his own neck.

Bobak held his hand up. "At ease soldier. We are good here." He nodded his head towards Aleksander. "This one's days are numbered, and neither you nor I need to do anything at all to see it happen."

Aleksander whimpered, weakly protesting that he was a victim in all of this. No one listened, secure in the knowledge that this opportunist would just as easily stab them as shake their hand.

Joy spoke up, eerily calm after her outburst. The Void was taking her again. Turning to Mr. Jones, she said, "There is one thing I don't understand. Why try to kill us all now? We haven't even found Leena yet. Killing us would not have helped you escape the notice of your superiors."

Mr. Jones returned to her cold sneer. "I don't need to answer your question. You can't touch me. I have my rights."

"So do we," Joy countered. "I would be well within my rights to kill you now, purely in self-defense. We all would, and since we outnumber you, it would be very simple. The fact that I have a weapon," and at this she drew a small gun she had concealed in her shirt, "and you do not, leads me to believe that the odds of success are in my favor."

Mr. Jones sat straighter in her chair. "You don't have the courage."

"Yes, she does." This was the first time Markam has spoken, her deep, rich voice a surprise to those who had not heard it before. She reached out and delicately plucked the gun from Joy's hand. "I just won't allow it... at this time."

Joy did not react as she was relieved of her weapon. Her eyes were still cold and unemotional, evaluating all facets of the current situation. Finally she said, "She has information that we lack," again in that flat monotone.

I scanned the room, opening myself up. Loose strings, I thought to myself. I could see the ropes and threads of cause and effect winding and weaving through the room. Around Mr. Jones I could see a dark cables, surround like gigantic arms pinning her to her destiny. Her connections to each of us, however, had been effectively severed. She no longer needed us.

"She has been located." I said quietly. Mr. Jones head snapped around. "Leena has been found. She no longer needs us."

"But why kill us?" Bobak asked. "Finder contracts stipulate the absolute secrecy of the job." He looked around the room. "I know for a fact that none of us have ever leaked privileged information. The competition would eliminate any Finder who broke that code."

And that was the key. I looked at Aleksander, then Bobak and my clarity locked in. "Leena has been Found," I repeated, "but not by her. She has been found by another, one who wishes to eliminate the competition and is therefore holding Leena as a hostage. The payment for her return is, in effect, our deaths. If our employer wants her prize, she is going to have to pay a little extra."

By this time Mr. Jones was grey. The fact that we now knew her motivation seemed to have somehow drained her of purpose.

I sat there, trying to decide whether I was done with this. I was tempted to just get up and walk out of the room. Mr. Jones was no longer my problem. Leena was no longer my problem. Bobak, Markham and Joy ceased to be my responsibility when we left the school. The threat of a Vendetta Permit still hovered over my head, but I wasn't worried about it. Mr. Jones had proven herself no great marksman. I could wash my hands of all of this and head back to the comfort of my office, Darwin at my side. It was damned tempting.

But I thought of the people who had already died in the pursuit of this goal, and the ones I had committed to, besides Mr. Jones, to find a resolution to this mess. Leena may have been found, but that didn't mean she was safe. More likely, she was in more danger now than she had ever been. On top of all of that, the simple fact was, I had nothing better to do.

I'll say it again, and probably not for the last time. I should have paid more attention to Darwin when he refused to let this woman in. I reached down and scratched Darwin's head by way of a belated apology, and to suck up a little intestinal fortitude for the path I was about to take.

I looked around the room. These were the people I would have to work with, against or around. This whole situation had gone from a complicated Find to a very dangerous Hunt. One that would like result in my death. But what the hell, you only live once, right?

"If I may speak for the group," I said, and waited for the responses around the room. This was me, the First Student, taking the lead again. I am sure it felt natural for all of them, but I was not really looking forward to stepping into the light again. Joy would not look at me, but nodded none-the-less. The rest met my eyes briefly and also nodded.

"Very well," I said, turning to Mr. Jones once again.. "If you destroy the Permit, we will all agree to release you from our self-defense clauses. We will not be hunting you in return, either singly or together."

I paused. My Hunt was not with here, I had much bigger fish to fry. Mr. Jones reluctantly collected the Permit from the table, then slowly and deliberately tore it into several pieces.

Her face clearly registered the bitterness of her defeat. I knew this woman well enough to know that she didn't need a Permit to get what she wanted, and by making her appear weak, I had created for myself a very angry, very personal enemy.

"Are you happy?" she hissed quietly.

"Hardly ever," Markham whispered to no one in particular. Joy's face, impassive until now, registered it's first glimmer of grief. Now that everyone was back and paying attention, it was time for me to start hunting my prey.

"It will do," I replied. "Now, why don't you tell us how Gregson has convinced you that he has Found Leena?"

Heads snapped up around the room.

"Of course!" Bobak said. All eyes turned to Mr. Jones.