Nick

A two-lane road, new and smooth, ran the final half-dozen or so miles to Palladium. About a mile from Highway 42 an escort waited - two late-model crew cab trucks painted flat gray. They looked like the type favored by rural law enforcement in the years before the war. Still had the lightbars. Nick slowed to let one of the trucks enter the highway ahead of him, knowing that the usual procedure was for the other to fall in behind him. In less than ten minutes he was approaching the main gate.

The gate was open and the escorts went through without stopping. A small group of men in khaki uniforms stood around the outside but only a handful were armed with rifles - the others had sidearms only. A few gave the convoy a casual glance while the others ignore them. This deep in security wasn't much of a concern and Palladium was a Class D installation. Whatever it was must not be that important.

The leader entered the parking lot of a large new-looking building and stopped. Two people were standing on the sidewalk. Nick took the space beside it and the other truck took another. He opened the door and got out. The drivers of the trucks remained in their vehicles.

That's Harry Holleman. Recognize him from the dossier. Who's the chick?

"Nick, good to see you at last," Harry said. "Heard a lot and was wondering when you'd get down this way."

"Nothing good I imagine," Nick replied.

"Not a bit," Harry replied with a grin. "Wouldn't have asked for you if it was."

"Going to introduce your associate?" Nick asked.

"Guess I should," Harry replied. "This here is Miranda McKnight, my executive assistant. Which is to say she runs the place. I just keep the money flowing and provide an excuse for keeping this place off-limits to about everyone."

"It's about invisible," Nick said. "To me it was just a name on a map until a week ago when Gideon called me in last week. I figured if he thought it was more important than what I was doing it might be interesting."

"He probably got a kick out of dragging you out of that little paradise," Harry said. "I imagine the girls can get along without you for a while. Besides Scott is there to keep'em happy."

"Why do I get the feeling you're enjoying it too?" Nick asked.

"Can't imagine. I asked for you specifically because I knew you wouldn't want to miss this."

"Apparently you know what I was doing at Tarlton," Nick said.

"Just that you were managing some Class V assets. Not much action likely coming with that."

"What are you managing here?"

"I'm guessing you know about the Vertex project," Harry said.

"I know something by that name exists. Rumor it has something to do with some special status prisoners. This is a prison?"

"Yep. Want to see some inmates?"

"Depends on whether they committed interesting crimes," Nick replied.

"You'd like these. Why don't we get inside - you could probably use a drink."

"Yeah, it must be close to noon."

It was nearly fifty yards to the entrance - neatly trimmed green lawn. The building was large for the type of installation - four floors and about two hundred feet long.

Somebody's got some pull.

Nick knew something about Harry but had never met him and there were a lot of need-to-know references in his dossier. Nick wasn't sure he wanted to need to know them given some stories he had heard.

He was surprised to find that the building had elevators - the place had been built in just over a year in the usual sheet metal over prefabricated trusses used for building factories and warehouses. But few of those were more than two stories high.

They took the elevator to the top floor and he followed Harry and Miranda to a suite at the end of the building. It was enormous, probably a thousand square feet and containing only a few desks and a large conference table.

Harry and Miranda took off the navy blue windbreakers they were wearing and hung them on a coat rack and Nick shrugged off his MA-1 and added it to the collection.

"No shortage of space around here," Nick commented. "Who does your grounds maintenance?"

"We get a good deal on that," Harry replied. "How about that drink?"

"Stop twisting my arm," Nick replied.

"This way," Miranda said.

Nick followed, a pleasant task. Miranda looked to be in her early thirties, very early. Nearly as tall as Nick's five-ten, slim but not skinny. Willowy, Nick called it. She was wearing snug-fitting olive cargo pants with Timberland boat shoes. He had a couple of pairs and considered them the best available - designer brands were for posers. A tan turtleneck was on top, around her waist a stout web belt with a pistol in a crossdraw holster. As she walked he thought there was a sign of a weapon above the left ankle, maybe a decent-sized knife.

Harry was wearing a vertical shoulder rig with a larger gun, one a little big for a crossdraw. Neither of them removed their weapon and neither did Nick. His rig was similar to Harry's - a Blackburn kobun occupying the right side above the double magazine carrier.

Harry looks like a 10mm man - wonder what Miranda carries.

Harry headed towards a bar in a corner of the room.

"You particular about your whiskey?" he asked. "We're a little short on a couple of brands."

Miranda nodded towards the bar and walked over, Nick following.

"Long as it isn't scotch," he said. "I can live with Canadian."

"I don't allow Canadian either," Harry replied. He held up a bottle of Wild Turkey.

"Glad to see you're not short on that," Nick said. "It'll do."

"My own stock," Harry said. "I was prepared for a longer war."

"Seems a few guys had that idea," Nick said. "I haven't run into anyone didn't lay some in."

"You can only figure on needing so much food and ammmo," Harry said. "After you're set you get stuff to sell. Liquor and tobacco were cheap compared to what they are now. Production was shut down or cut back quite a bit for a couple of years. And us buying it up beforehand didn't improve matters."

He poured a couple of glasses and handed one to Nick.

"Let's sit," Harry said and turned to the conference table as Miranda was pouring a glass of Henessey. She joined them, Harry sitting at one end and Miranda to his right. Nick took the seat on the left. There was a box of cigars on the table and Harry opened it and pushed it towards Nick. He took one and Harry selected another. As they lit up Miranda produced a cigarette case and extracted a long thin cigarette. Nick thought he detected a trace of cannabis.

He had dealt with more than a few people positions like her and Harry who used marijuana to put an edge on their senses at times but usually it was on operations. He knew the long term effects could be negative in people without a firm grip on themselves - he figured most people who had survived at this level had it.

"You say you have some interesting prisoners?" Nick asked.

"Some you might find moderately interesting," Harry replied. "I seem to remember you being interested in the psy-ops end of things."

"You got some of their operators?"

"We got some of the vermin," Harry replied. "A lot of it anyway. Like rats hanging onto pieces of debris after the ship sank, they were hanging onto their former masters. Some of the masters got away but their tools are here. Media people - TV and Internet personalities mostly."

"You talking about TV news people? News anchors and talking head bimbos?"

"The same."

"I'm guessing they don't have makeup and wardrobe service,' said Nick. "Or did they all get arrested too?"

"Maybe we should have," Harry replied. "Nah, we had arrest warrants issued by the grand juries in Amarillo. Just for the actual perpetrators. We got the media people here - the politicians are in a couple of other locations you don't need to know about. There's another group of miscellaneous - activists, fund-raisers, people like that - that have their own digs. They're all about the same - bare-bones but humane. Want to see some?"

Miranda had been toying with her commpad as they talked. She tapped a few more times and looked up.

"They're all ready," she announced, "except G section. Some kind of fracas at breakfast, it's locked down until they get it sorted out."

"Did I mention the inmates are all women?" Harry asked.

"Not surprising," Nick replied, "but no, you didn't. Most of the television personalities were women though."

"About twenty percent men," Miranda said. "They're over at Lakewood. You guys ready to go?"

"Lead on," Nick replied.

---

Nick guessed that the prison was not the sole or even primary purpose of Palladium. He had seen the barebones specs and it showed four square miles of mostly open fields and forests. With a secure perimeter a lot of stuff could be hidden there.

Sixteen miles of perimeter - Harry's using some serious manpower. Wonder what else is in here.

Harry drove the four-passenger golf cart and Miranda sat in the front passenger seat, describing the features they passed.

"The armory is in there," she said, pointing to a fenced enclosure with several large buildings. "Up ahead is the motor pool."

The motor pool was large - Nick guessed there were fifty to sixty vehicles. Almost all had the Timberwolf paint scheme but several of what looked like civilian vehicles were visible.

"Prison just ahead," Miranda announced.

Nick could see a double row of chain link fencing with razor wire on top. A handful of personnel standing around a guard shack moved away from the road as they arrived. Harry nodded to the guy at the shack window and the gate opened. As they passed through Nick could see that the fences were about twenty yards apart. There would probably be sensors and patrols to prevent escapes.

Even if all the inmates are women and probably damn few if any ever committed a physical act of violence. Just incited other people to do it.

There were four large buildings and one small one. The large ones looked to be about two hundred by fifty feet with two floors. There were no windows. The small building was the administration building and Harry opened the door and walked in, Miranda held the door open for Nick, giving him a wry smile.

Probably should have a talk with her without Harry around, assuming she wants to.

"Hi Harry, who's your guest?"

The speaker was a young woman, not as young as Miranda. Nick estimated mid to late thirties. Like all the personnel occupying the half-dozen desks she wore the olive uniform of the Southern Alliance militia with a major's insignia. The uniforms didn't have nametags.

"Major Sawyer," Harry said, "this here is Nicholas Sullivan. Officially he's a systems analyst working for Joint Command."

"Here to analyze what?" Major Sawyer asked.

"This is unofficial. I want to show him some of your inventory. Female type."

"Any particular ones?"

"A couple. I want him to go over the dossiers on all of them but I want him to have a look at a couple first. Mitchell and Anderson."

"They're both in Pod 8. But you know that - do you want to look at them in their cells?"

"Yep. Later I'll want them brought in for an interview."

"Got it. Hang on."

Major Sawyer tapped some keys on one of the keyboards. Nick saw a chat window appear on one of the screens but couldn't make out the text as she conversed with someone.

"Let's go," she said.

The improvised prison was like others Nick had seen - a double row of rooms separated by a corridor of six feet or so. It was a wood frame construction with particle board walls with a grid of quarter inch wire on the inside. If an inmate had something to cut with it would take so long to cut through the wire it would be almost like tunneling out with a spoon. And they were under 24-hour surveillance and where would they get a tool?

"Mitchell," Sawyer said, indicating a cell.

The prisoner was apparently asleep but sometimes they would feign sleep if they heard anyone approach. The cell looked about eight by ten and pretty comfortable. Very comfortable for a prison cell. Concrete floor with no rug but clean. Shower, sink and toilet in a corner, desk and chair. She was lying on one side, her back to the door.

Better than what our people got. Lot better than they deserve.

Nick put a finger to his lips and they waited silently. He knew who the woman lying on the bed was and wanted to observe her.

Allysin Mitchell. Age 36. Five six one twenty. Natural blonde. Pretty good looking. BA in political science. Houston U as if it matters. Anchor on KUV9, hosted a couple of talking head shows I forget... Insight Hour on PNN, something else. Scripted and play-acting 'debates'.

She was wearing the prison uniform - medium grey like hospital scrubs.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she rolled over and looked at them, seemingly drowsy.

Seen it before. They're actors after all.

"Got a visitor," Major Sawyer said. "Clean up and put on a fresh uniform. Be ready in half an hour."

Allysin Mitchell was an attractive woman, not half bad even without makeup. She wouldn't have had the jobs she had otherwise. There are a lot of smart college-educated women and almost all of those are pure mercenary. Appearance is important for television. A woman a little short on looks can be cleaned up if she has some other trait that makes her a better choice than a more attractive one but few have any redeeming characteristics beyond looks and decent speaking ability.

"This way," Sawyer said.

It was three cells away. Anderson was sitting at the desk, writing.

For her book probably. Once she gets out.

She looked over at them but did not get up.

"You have a visitor," Major Sawyer said. "Be ready in an hour."

"Here?" Anderson asked.

"No, visitor's center," Sawyer replied.

"Who is it?"

"You'll know in an hour."

Nick followed Major Sawyer and Harry back to the entrance.

"Those four rooms over there," Sawyer said, indicating a row of doors, "are the visitor rooms. I'll have Mitchell brought up first."

"Time for a smoke," Harry said. "Nice outside."

It was nice, calm for April. Harry proferred cigars in plain brown package. Nick took one. Major Sawyer accompanied them and lit a cigarette, long and somewhat off-white. The red band on the filter gave it away as a cannabis-infused stick that a some people used to put on an edge sometimes. Nick had tried it and found it didn't do enough to make it worth it.

"These are pretty good," Nick said. "Contraband?"

"Were," Harry replied. "Come up through Mexico during the war. Chew on'em all day and they don't come apart."

Like almost every regular cigar.

A young man in the usual uniform opened the sliding doors.

"She's ready."

Harry and Nick dropped their cigar butts on the gravel and ground them out. The gravel was damp but but one can't be too careful.

Allysin Mitchell was in a fresh uniform, hair damp but combed into the best semblance she of her former look she could manage.

If I didn't know who she was I'd be interested. Why women get away with it easier.

There was a Commpad with a ten-inch screen on the table. She looked at it and back at Nick and Harry. Nick tapped the control box and looked over at the screen which she had a clear view of.

"Know who that is?" Nick asked.

"No."

Nick tapped again.

"How about that one?"

"No."

"Do you remember a show a few years back, you were on PNN? Interviewing a ISS official?"

Nick watched her closely, no change in expression. Not even anything in the eyes.

"Maybe. I was there for two years. I interviewed a lot of people."

"The Phoenix Five?"

It was a while before she replied.

"I interviewed a lot of people," she said. "I remember the Phoenix Five. When the indictments came down. What of it?"

Defiant for someone in her position.

"That was two of them," Nick said. "The two that died in prison. Solitary confinement most of the time. No medical care. Your people wanted them to die. Keep a couple alive for a show trial maybe but they wanted them to disappear and die mostly. Know why?"

"My people? What does that mean?"

"You and the U.S. Attorney were yukking it up on your show. Remember? Asking her about her scarf? I can play the video to refresh your memory."

"So I interviewed the prosecutor. I was my job - I'm a journalist."

Harry chuckled. She looked at him, fear creeping into her eyes.

"What do you want from me? That was the government."

"Whether you realized it or are willing to admit it," Nick said, "you were part of the government. You took orders from them - your bosses did - and if they didn't want something said you didn't say it and if they wanted it said you said, knowing at least part of the time you were lying. Unless you're even stupider than I can imagine. And I can imagine quite a lot in people like you."

"I did my job. I can't research everything, having to report things on an hour's notice. We have research staff..."

"Then you admit you're a bimbo in fancy clothes and makeup reading whatever they put on the teleprompter?"

Allisyn Mitchell was silent.

Nick took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to her.

"Smoke?"

"I don't smoke. What are you going to do to me?"

Alex lit the stick and took a drag. He didn't often smoke the cannabis-infused cigarettes - or the regular kind - but used it for theatrical effect. Harry lit one of his own.

"What should we do to you?" Nick asked.

"For what? What did I do?"

"You really don't know? Whether you're playing dumb or actually that stupid - I can believe either."

"I was a news reporter."

"You went out and investigated stuff and reported it?"

"I did interviews... before I became an anchor."

"Before you were an anchor you went out and someone or other brought you someone to interview. You asked them a few questions. If the producers liked what you got they edited it and ran a ten to thirty second clip. If they didn't like it it disappeared. You were a tool then and once you had that anchor job you just got fixed up by the makeup crew and did your spiel. All there on the teleprompter. Make some jokes with the guests. Fifteen minutes twice a day. What were you getting, a million at least. Nobody was under a million anchoring a prime-time show.

"Actually," he went on, "I know what you were getting paid. Three mil a year wasn't much compared to what some of the big ones got and half went to taxes but you had a big house over in Briarwood by the country club. You didn't see it coming, did you? Remember your last show?"

"What do you want from me?"

"You may or may not have something I want. Nothing I need for sure - there are plenty of people in your position that can give me more. All you have going for you is that you're young and reasonably photogenic. Cleaned up you can be of some use."

"For what?"

"Why don't you think about it some," Nick replied. "Harry, do you have some better accommodations we can put her in?"

"I believe we can find something," Harry replied. "Major?"

"I can move her to G block."

"That'll be an improvement from her point of view. Go ahead and move her."

---

"What do you have in mind?" Harry asked.

They were back in Harry's office sipping whiskey and smoking cigars. Miranda was smoking a very small cigarillo and drinking Hennesey.

"I'm looking for some tools," Nick replied. "That is to say Gideon is looking for them. These media people, sold their souls and found out it was to the wrong buyer, they're still tools. It's their nature. He wants me to evaluate some for counter-prop."

"That's tricky."

"Yeah," said Nick. "But making it work is his problem. My job is to look at candidates. What he wants is to find some that will be convincing. Look, we may never get to the point of using them but you know what they say about overkill."

"Yeah," Harry said. "No such thing."

"Right. We seem to have a fair supply of material here.

"Hundred and twenty something. They're all high in the food chain - news anchors, talk show hosts, analysts."

"Pretty lucrative career for a lot of no-talent midwits," Nick said.

"It was," Harry replied. "For a while."

"Yeah. Must have been a shock. Thinking you had it knocked and one day there's a SWAT team dragging you off to lockup. I'd guess none of them thought it ever happen to them."

"They're shocked all right," said Harry. "I haven't found one with any more defiance than that one showed. They're terrified - some because they're been removed from the cocoon but a few because they know what happened to people they helped destroy. Not many of those though - most are just what you'd expect."

"You said you're looking for some to use in counter-prop," Nick said. "Pretty much all them will sell out to get out of here."

"Right. I'd like you to help select them. You've got some experience with turning enemy operators. These should be easier to convince but I'd like as many experienced eyes as possible on them. Can you