Starship's Mage 2 Hand of Mars by Glynn Stewart Page B

Operations Directorate, either. Searching for the Directorate in the government ‘net, however, returned nothing except a list of personnel.
    Any further files on missions or tasking was clearly not kept connected to the net. A list of personnel, however, combined with the passenger tracking system for air traffic and a paramilitary force’s general preference for locating its people, gave Damien a starting point.
    The Directorate’s personnel were scattered across the planet, usually in singletons. Running his track into the past he found clusters, times and places where anything from five to twenty SOD officers and personnel had met up for several days or weeks.
    Some of the dates and times looked familiar, and Damien pulled up one of his briefing files - and promptly swore.
    “Sir?” Mitchell asked, surprising by the sudden exclamation.
    “Vaughn is a murderous fucking son of a bitch,” the Envoy said bluntly, gesturing towards the screen. “We thought it looked like there were two terrorist groups - one precise urban guerilla movement, one wanton terrorist faction.”
    “It looks like we were right,” he continued grimly, “except that the wanton terrorists work for the Governor.”

    #

    The sight of the red and black uniforms of the Scorpions waiting when Damien exited the shuttle sent a shiver down his spine. The Special Operations Directorate was a unique group with its own crimes, but he had to wonder about any organization that contained something like the SOD.
    For that matter, he had his suspicions about just how Vaughn had kept the peace as he quietly choked every last penny out of his planet - and the Ardennes Special Security Service was high on his mental list of suspects.
    A squad of the Scorpions were providing security for the pad Nouveaux Normandy Air Control had directed them to, and a trio of officers were waiting at the edge of the pad.
    The pad was still too hot for them to step onto, but Damien wasn’t feeling overly patient. Despite Mitchell’s uncomfortable look at Damien heading out of the shuttle, the shield he was holding protected him completely.
    He’d also extended it around the two Marines Sergeant Mitchell had sent out immediately after him, though their exosuit battle armor meant it was likely redundant.
    The expression of the lead Scorpion officer as Damien walked calmly across the still steaming concrete surface, accompanied by the two-meter-plus hulks containing his bodyguard, was worth every erg of energy the shield took to maintain.
    “My Lord Envoy,” the large black man, apparently unused to being the one intimidated, greeted Damien with a slow salute. “I am Major Ken Leblanc, commanding officer of the Thirty-Seventh Special Security Battalion.”
    “A pleasure, Major, though I’ll admit the circumstances could be better,” Damien told him, returning the salute. The 37th, according to his research, was one of the two Security Battalions actually housed in Nouveaux Normandy.
    Damien kept walking, forcing the Scorpion officer to fall in at his side. The two junior officers were brushed aside by the bulk of the exosuited Marines, falling in at the end of the little procession.
    “How can the Ardennes Special Security Service help you, My Lord?” Leblanc finally asked.
    “Two of the men who were with Hand Stealey survived, correct?” Damien replied, stepping out into the streets of the city and glancing around. Nouveaux Normandy’s nicer areas rivaled even Mars for glitz and glass, but he could see the concrete blocks of the apartments built for the Work Placement Program even from here.
    “That’s right,” Leblanc confirmed. “Lieutenant Avison and his squad were from my battalion.”
    “I’ll need to speak to those men, immediately if possible.”
    “They’re in protective custody,” Leblanc said slowly. “I’ll need to get confirma…”
    “No, you won’t,” Damien told him flatly. “I will speak to them. Now.”
    “I…” Leblanc trailed off