Twistpoint (Kagent Series: #2)

By Mark Sarney

Two years after the Kagents defeated the Stabilizer Alliance, offworld societies and the Earth cities that trade with them are thriving. The Stabilizers are adrift as the militant and pacifist factions wrestle each other for control.

Nick Lincoln's Kagent models project that the Stabilizers have to choose between coexisting peacefully with offworld societies or destroying them. He embarks on a one-man quest to twist the Stabilizers into choosing peaceful coexistence, in part because he hopes it will help reunite him with his Stabilizer family.

But the militant Stabilizers' crafty leader, Craig Lassiter, is already pushing the Alliance's leaders towards sabotaging the offworld economies. All nonviolently, of course.

Nick must risk everything to stop Lassiter before it's too late. But all his projections of the future haven't prepared him for the betrayals and the heartbreak he will face along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Sarney
• Release date: Oct 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781941188026

Mark Sarney

Mark Sarney began writing as a geeky, contrarian kid in Rochester, NY. He created fantasy worlds while raking leaves, imagined that his elementary school was a Rebel base, and gave the pilots of his Lego spaceships their own backstories. He went on to wear a Chuck E. Cheese costume, become a Washington policy wonk, and practice the craft of arranging letters in an order that entertains others. He has been published at Daily Science Fiction.com. You can follow him at marksarney.com and on twitter.com/marksarney. Mark, his wife, and two children live in Columbia, MD.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

When Craig Lassiter knocked over Sudhur’s market stall, he wanted to apologize to his friend and constituent, but he had a Chinese bounty hunter chasing him. And it was highly unlikely he would ever need Sudhur’s vote again.

Craig dodged left through the crowded market, toward Muhammed’s kabob-and-flapjack stand. He grabbed a stainless steel spatula out of the old man’s hand as he ran by.

Muhammed smiled at Craig’s antics, confused. Mayor?

Craig swiveled around and swatted away two plum-sized drones diving for his neck. The drones were studded with cameras, syringes, and zappers. They retreated out of reach and fell behind as he accelerated.

With his head turned to watch the drones, he plowed right into little Jagdish and his friends. They toppled over like empty trash cans.

Craig spun on one foot, flailing for balance, muttering, Damn it, damn it, damn it. Sorry, kids.

As he spun, he saw the bounty hunter hustling through the crowd, his face shiny with sweat in the unforgiving midday sunshine. His pursuer was younger than Craig by three decades if he was a year. But the bounty hunter was dragging heavy body armor and a huge gun through the heat, while Craig only wore a thin shirt, shorts, and sandals.

The bounty hunter was blocked by the adults picking up Jagdish and friends, who were more indignant than injured. But as the only tall, pale, blond in town, Craig was easy to follow.

Friends, neighbors, and people who had voted for him watched in shock as the Mayor of Barabanki City ran pell-mell through the market, chased like a common thief by two drones and a one-man Chinese combat brigade.

Behind you! shouted Rajendra.

The drones approached from his left and right. He swatted at them again and they backed off. They could follow him around all day until he tired out. His lungs were burning, already.

He needed to get off the street, out of sight. He dodged around an old woman and knocked over a display of hats to block the path behind him.

Victor, stop! Fernando cried, grabbing the arm of the man he thought was Mayor Victor Champlain. This must be a mistake.

Craig shook him off and kept running. There was no mistake. Craig had lived here under the name ‘Victor Champlain’ for over a decade. But now the game was up.

The buzz of a drone grew louder, nearer. It could zap him unconscious, tranquilize him, or maybe kill him on the spot. Did the bounty hunter want him dead or alive? Craig assumed the worst.

He dropped to his butt and whipped the spatula over his head. It connected with a satisfying crunch and thud. The drone spun away into a bush.

The bounty hunter fired his personal cannon into the air.

Before the gunshot’s thunder stopped rolling, the crowd panicked, yelling, crying, shoving, pushing, and stepping on Craig.

He grabbed a hat that fell to the ground and bounced up to his feet. He covered his blond hair and followed the stampede down a side street, hoping to lose the drone in the crowd.

After running for a block, the crowd slowed and scattered. Other people came running out of shops and workplaces to see what had happened.

Craig reached the next corner and found himself at a residential cross street with a cafe on the corner. He stepped into the cafe, headed to the bathroom, and locked himself in.

He listened at the bathroom door, trying to get his heart rate and breathing under control. All he could hear was anxious commotion. Someone out there asked if it really was a gunshot and if anyone had called the police. After two minutes, he emerged and joined them in looking outside.

The police had just arrived in a three-man buggy. Craig didn’t want to talk to them. He exited the cafe through a side door and walked down a side street.

He had practiced his escape for years. He had kept a cheap apartment under another name in case this happened, but it was on the far side of the market. He had to detour around it, go through the florist, and down an alley to Conroy’s bistro.

But entering the florist would mean seeing Basu. Talking to her. They had done a stellar job avoiding each other since she ended their engagement.

He took a series of back alleys around the market to the street Basu’s florist shop was on. A drone appeared ahead, at least twenty feet up, its lights blinking against the clear blue sky, scanning multiple streets at the same time. Its camera spotted him and it dove towards him.

Out of nowhere, a red-and-yellow soccer ball broadsided the drone in mid-air, knocking it into a wall. It fell into a muddy puddle in the street where it bubbled once and died. A kid cheered his kicking prowess. Craig hurried to the florist shop, but it was too late. Just as he reached the door, the bounty hunter sprinted around the corner toward him.

Oh, shit. Craig banged open the door to the flower shop and ran in.

The fragrant humidity coated him. Basu had always smelled so wonderful. He was drawing the bounty hunter right to her, but Craig didn’t feel all that bad about it.

She was at the counter working on an arrangement and startled at the sight of him. For a brief moment, she looked happy to see him, like she always had. But when she saw his sweaty, panicked face her expression turned to concern. Victor, what’s wrong? she asked in that low, sultry voice he adored.

"Namaste, sweetheart," he replied with a crooked grin as he ran past. He ran into the back, brushing past her new husband, who was confused. As Craig left, he could hear the bounty hunter opening the shop’s front door.

He sprinted into the narrow alley behind the shop. He yanked open the back door to Conroy’s. Conroy was slicing vegetables, unperturbed to see him.

Craig locked the back door behind him and clapped Conroy on the back. It’s time for me to leave.

Conroy looked at Craig and his face fell. Ah, Vic. I’m so sorry.

Craig gripped the man’s arm and nodded before ducking through a side door into the hallway that led to his second-floor apartment. Conroy went outside to wheel his dumpster to block the alley that Craig had come down. They rehearsed the plan dozens of times in the past.

Craig dashed up the stairs, fumbled with the lock, and finally burst inside. Nothing was moving in the apartment except for dust motes drifting in the windows’ lazy sunbeams. He hadn’t lived here since Basu dumped him. He grabbed his old beige rucksack from under the sink and was out the door in under twenty seconds.

He climbed the stairs to the roof. The sun seemed brighter and hotter up here. A drone buzzed in the distance, a black baseball of doom, and swung around towards him.

He wiped his brow and ran through the garden. The sticky leaves of the plants slapped against his bare legs as he powered through them. When he reached the roof’s edge, he jumped.

He landed with a thud on the roof next door and fell into its thorny plants, getting scratched in a dozen places. Scrambling up, he sprinted across three more roofs in quick succession, the drone still in pursuit.

He saw the tiny blue Pradeshevy four-seater waiting by the curb. It was a distant descendant of a battery-operated cart, really. He slid down the fire escape to the street. Conroy must have alerted Svetanka; she waved wildly at him through the car window.

Craig ran for the passenger side and jumped in the narrow backseat without looking around. He was afraid of what he’d see coming after him.

Drive, drive, drive! he said, as he planted his face on the floorboard.

We are headed to the train, Svetanka said, activating the nav.

The windshield cracked and a round zinged into the backseat above Craig’s head. The sound of the gunshot followed. Svetanka shrieked and ducked.

The bounty hunter was ahead of them on the sidewalk, firing at the car. The car barreled into the right lane and turned right, away from the train station.

What the hell are you doing? Craig asked from the floor.

Misdirection.

Craig dared a peek out the back window and saw the bounty hunter heading down an alley, presumably to cut them off.

Are you hurt? Craig asked.

Svetanka shook her head. I’m fine. Are okay?

Craig’s middle-aged heart thumped away in his chest like a rabbit on a sugar high. So far.

Before they reached the next intersection, Svetanka took the car off auto and spun the steering wheel. The Pradeshevy did a tight 180. It was headed in the opposite direction before Craig’s stomach had finished whirling around.

Craig watched out the back window as the drone receded in the distance. They drove past Faizabad Road, against the afternoon traffic, and to the train station. Craig began to open the door, his bag in the other hand, but Svetanka swiveled around in the driver’s seat and grabbed his arm.

Basu is an idiot, she said and kissed him deeply on the mouth. This was my only chance, she added with a sheepish grin.

Craig returned the grin with interest. We’ll always have Barabanki. You were a hell of a friend, Svet.

He hurried through the station, boarded the train to Lucknow and booked a flight out of the same city. He watched the platform to see if the bounty hunter boarded at the last second. As the train left the station, he sent the city Victor’s resignation as Mayor. The train accelerated out of the station with no sign of the bounty hunter.

Craig admired Barabanki City, the verdant fields, and the mountains to the north as it all slid past. It was a hell of a life.

Craig wasn’t stupid, though. If there was one bounty hunter who had found him, there would be others. Lucknow was a big city with plenty of surveillance for bounty hunters to tap into. He needed more help to disappear again.

He made a call. It had to be early morning back home. It was answered on the third ring.

Daniel Sloan? It’s Craig Lassiter.

Craig Lassiter? I thought you were dead years ago.

Since Shanghai. I hid in India, made a life here. But a Chinese bounty hunter just found me. My old sins catching up with me. I need to get out of India, someplace safe. Can you help?

Daniel sounded oddly pleased to hear this. Are you interested in coming back?

The Stabilizer Alliance? Are you kidding me? I think the lifetime ban was for life, Daniel.

Well, times change. Have you followed the news, lately?

Craig grimaced. A little. Sounds like you all have done fine since I left. It still stung a little, after all these years, that the Stabilizers had found success after his colossal Shanghai fuckup. It was as if he was a bad luck charm they had to lose before they could win.

Not quite, Daniel said. We hit a rough patch. I’m retired, but they really could use your help. That is, if you’ve learned from your mistakes.

Craig watched the topsoil farms zip by. They were farms that took garbage and feces and turned it into a critical import for offworld settlements. One man’s shit may be turned into another’s valuable lifeline, but Craig doubted he could ever be other than shit to the Alliance. He was an embarrassment, a cocky sonuvabitch who’d stretched the notion of nonviolence to its breaking point: using radioactive contamination of downtown Shanghai to render it uninhabitable. In retrospect, he was glad the Chinese had discovered the plot before he could execute it.

He shook his head. I’m not that man, anymore. But I didn’t think you all would ever take me back. I was just hoping you could pay for a plane ticket to the ass end of nowhere until I figured out where to hide next.

Times change. I can probably get you a consulting contract with the Alliance, Daniel said. If you’re interested.

Craig had no idea what the hell anyone would want to pay him to consult on, but that was all happy talk and he didn’t take it seriously. He just needed Daniel to give him a ticket and a place to stay back home. Sure.

I’ll get you over here, his old friend promised.

Thanks. That’s...more than I expected, Craig said, relieved. He was headed home again, to the welcoming arms of the Stabilizer Alliance. What the fuck.

CHAPTER TWO

"T he Stabilizer Alliance could become immensely more dangerous than before," Nick Lincoln said to the camera. He stood in a teleconference cube, wearing a dark gray business suit.

He posted a line chart of Stabilizer Alliance activity levels during the last two years, since the crisis in Hamilton, Illinois. The line fell after their defeat in Hamilton, but had recovered to a stable level. A month ago, it had cratered to zero. The image appeared on the viewer of each leader of the Earth-spanning Burgess Consortium.

But, if I may, Nick, this is only based on observable activity, Minister Seraprondi said. Every time Nick met with the leaders of the Burgess Consortium, she spoke first. And it was always critical. Have you considered the possibility that they are conducting more subversive activities?

Terrorist activities. They are terrorists, stated General Burt Lasson, filling up his viewer’s field of view.

Technically, the Stabilizers engaged in non-violent terrorism. But rather than argue, Nick said, I know what you mean, General. But they are failing to terrorize anyone.

The General glared at him in disbelief.

Nick was used to the disbelief. It didn’t shake his calm. Unfortunately, this rented tele-presentation room he was broadcasting from had blazing-hot lighting. Sweat trickled down his back under the heavy business suit. His armpits were peeling apart when he moved his arms. When he got sweaty, his unruly, spiky black hair became drenched and matted, and he looked desperate.

Perhaps the Stabilizer Alliance isn’t a threat, any longer, Nathan Li said in his gentle, delicate voice. If they have become completely unsuccessful, perhaps they have given up trying to harm us.

Nick rolled his shoulders under his suit jacket and shook his head. Organizational behavior research says this activity fall-off happens when an organization stops to reevaluate its purpose, change its personnel, and alter its capabilities.

I created a threat index to measure how dangerous they are. He posted a graph of the threat index from 2307 forward in time. A blue line fell to zero on the threat axis by 2310. But a red line climbed sharply and reached 95% by 2312.

Notice that in the next few years, the threat could increase or disappear. Which path occurs depends in part on what your Consortium does. The Alliance is at an impressionable point and you have a rare opportunity to influence it. You could push them toward the mutually beneficial outcome.

We could? Chair Hans Bechok echoed, incredulous. How?

General Lasson and Minister Seraprondi also looked skeptical.

Nick folded his hands together. If you engage the Stabilizer Alliance as business partners, your residents get a slice of tranquility that the Alliance peddles and they benefit from your members’ prosperity. Without enduring a costly ideological war that the Consortium may lose.

General Lasson waved his hand. But we’re already winning. Why change now?

Because the Stabilizer Alliance is regrouping and will become more dangerous, Nick replied. Co-opting them is a cheaper, quicker path to victory. And the Consortium was founded to defend its member cities from the Alliance.

How would we co-opt them? Minister Seraprondi asked.

Nick posted a picture of a vacation resort. Remember, I grew up in a Stabilizer Community. I know firsthand that these Communities struggle with employing their residents because they shun economic opportunities that come with offworld influences. They are hurting economically. The typical Stabilizer Community needs a perpetual subsidy to survive.

The Consortium could partner with the Alliance to open Stabilizer resorts near your cities for your residents. This would hamstring their ability to finance terror activities, improve your citizens’ mental health, and the Stabilizers would become dependent on the resort revenue.

How do you know that? Caracas Deputy Mayor Mac Nuviola asked. Do you know the Alliance’s financial situation?

No. This is based on deduction, Nick said. The law of fundraising limits: An organization typically is raising all the money it can at the moment, unless grossly mismanaged.

How is this a win for our member cities? Minister Seraprondi asked.

In addition to no more campaigns to crash them, Nick replied, it could reduce your residents’ stress levels, which are the highest in the solar system. Despite their economic stresses, the Stabilizers are almost as mentally well-off as offworlders. He posted a chart comparing mental health outcomes. By turning the Stabilized lifestyle into a vacation experience, you would make it a place your residents like to visit, but not live in.

Taken from a different perspective, what you are talking about here is melding these two cultures together. Nathan Li said, interlacing his fingers. Using our members as the middle ground in which to tie together the offworld and Stabilizer lifestyles. While allowing each to flourish. Thus negating the Stabilizer need to be a threat.

Nick nodded. I’m cribbing from offworld stream philosophy, which is actually compatible with the Stabilizer philosophy, but is more productive than the Consortium. We can take the best of both cultures, defuse the conflict, and improve both.

Nathan Li nodded. He seemed in favor.

I don’t understand, said General Lasson, throwing his hands up. At the rate we are growing, their ability to threaten us will decline over time. While they navel-gaze, we can continue growing and strengthening our defenses. Have you factored that into these projections?

Nick nodded. Yes, but the Stabilizers know that they are losing if things continue. I think that’s why they are navel-gazing. If you do nothing, they will take the more radical, destructive path. But we don’t have long. Maybe six months at the outside.

Mac Nuviola leaned forward. Why six months?

I wonder the same thing, Seraprondi added.

Nick replied, It takes time to turn an organization in a different direction. Essentially, organizations have to progress through a grieving process. And if there are sweeping personnel changes, then it can take longer or shorter than a year for the organization to be functional again.

Are these projections backed up by the work of other Kagents? Minister Seraprondi asked. I would like to know what validation you have done.

Nick shook his head. I’d be happy to share that with you, but I’ll just say that these projections are the cumulative work of all the Kagents. We don’t have any models of the Stabilizers directly yet, though.

On each viewer, a different face scowled or frowned.

Deputy Mayor Nuviola scratched his forehead. I have to tell you, Nick, there is a risk you haven’t mentioned with your plan. What happens if our populations rub elbows with the Stabilizers and lose their work ethic?

Nick said, Your citizens are close to all-time highs for depression, stress, auto-immune diseases, and insomnia. Much higher than offworld societies. And yet, this chart I just put up shows that your productivity rates, innovation scores, living standards, and wealth are all below those offworld societies. What are you getting for all that anxiety?

You’re comparing small offworld societies to billions of people on Earth, including millions who can’t compete in the solar marketplace, Seraprondi replied.

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Nick subset the list of Consortium members to the ones with the highest productivity. Their mental illness indicators were above those of offworld societies, while their productivity and innovation scores were lower.

You can’t compete with offworld economies by becoming more stressed out, by working more. There is nothing superior about those offworlders; they just have better practices. And those practices could blunt the Stabilizers’ attraction.

There was silence. An interesting idea, Hans said in a guarded tone. He glanced at his colleagues’ viewers. Discussion?

General Lasson cupped his hands together. The Stabilizer Alliance is the enemy. Their threat is our reason for existence. Even making such an overture as this would be an admission of weakness.

I agree with Burl, Abby Burgess said. Let’s not forget that these people are terrorists and they are not above using violence at times.

Nick forced himself not to frown. Abby, Juan’s widow, was supposed to be one of his supporters.

Nathan Li stroked his bearded cheekbone with the back of his hand. A win-win proposition is preferable, obviously. Co-opting them with our money seems feasible to me. This strategy is ingenious, Nick.

Mac Nuviola nodded emphatically in agreement.

Thank God for Nathan Li, thought Nick.

But, Nathan continued, our cultures have deeply-embedded notions about work and leisure. I am skeptical that we could orchestrate that. Or that we should even try.

Deputy Mayor Nuviola said, We would need some confidence that the Stabilizers would be open to such an overture before we made it. We should send a low-level delegation to gauge their interest.

Manipulating their internal decision making is black ops territory, General Lasson shot back in a low rumble, which has its own risks. These are often hard to see until they cause a major problem.

Hans folded his hands. The Consortium is still gaining members. We are finding our footing, focusing on how to defend ourselves from the Stabilizers. What I’m hearing from the Board is that we aren’t ready to take the kinds of ambitious actions you propose, Nick. Your projections of the low-threat approach make more sense, based on what we’ve seen the last couple of years.

Nick nodded his head sadly. He had feared this. Show people a projection that confirmed their wishful thinking and it became impossible to talk them out of believing it. But he had to be honest, and show them the good and the bad. He tried to swallow his disappointment and not let it show.

Well, Hans said with a plastic smile, we must sign off and let Minister Seraprondi have a word with Nick. There were gracious smiles all around as the Board members thanked Nick and signed off.

Finally, it was just him and Minister Seraprondi. He gulped.

She smiled at him with brittle friendliness. I have given you a hard time on occasion, but your work has been so important to us. We need 10 of you, especially given how fast the Consortium is growing.

That’s wonderful, Nick thought. I’ll have to hire and train another Kagent. His cash flow problems could be well on their way to becoming history.

The Indian woman continued, We are forming our own group of about twenty analysts to collect and analyze our members’ data. It is everything you had been doing for Juan. We will have to stop using external resources to help us, such as you.

Was she smiling because she had just gutted him? Shivers ran from his toes to the back of his skull.

But Serapondi smiled. Oh, please understand: we want you to lead it.

Nick’s eyebrows went up. Hire me? Something struck him funny about that. They had just shot down his proposal, but they wanted him to join them?

His brain froze for a good second or two before the implications rushed in. He would have to abandon his investments in a Kagent net for Earth. He would have to dump his other clients.

Seraprondi gave him her biggest smile ever. Yes, we need you to spot security threats and conduct other data-driven intel activities. We want to monetize this aggregated data we are collecting. It would be a rich data source for marketing firms. While maintaining individuals’ privacy, of course.

Nick grimaced. The only way a Kagent can do that kind of work is to obtain a Warrant from a Kagent Privacy Council. I would have to quit being a Kagent. And drop all of my clients.

She didn’t bat an eye. I know, Nick. But your Kagent experience has prepared you for this position. You are ready for a bigger challenge.

He didn’t want to quit. After years of being a bounty hunter, forced to curb-stomp privacy on a regular basis, being a Kagent was a dream-come-true.

But the prospect of struggling by himself on the sidelines while the Burgess Consortium blundered into an unnecessary fight with the Stabilizer Alliance made him sick. Shouldn’t he sacrifice the Kagent dream to avoid the disaster he saw on the horizon? No, no, he would find another way. His instincts stood on their tiptoes and shouted at him. No. No. No.

I’m sorry, I can’t do it, he said.

For once, Minister Seraprondi didn’t know what to say.

CHAPTER THREE

Craig had visited Stabilizer Communities all over the world, but those of Northam and Europe had always struck him as the originals. For one, they were gated, contained places, with physical borders keeping the outside world away. For another, he