2357-02-28 16:30
R&R
I woke again in what I recognized as an MI recovery room. An orderly looked over as I started to stir and said, “Welcome to earth station Khrushchev, Head Accountant Duncan. People locally tend to call it the ESK, just because it is easier. I want to reassure you that you are fine; despite your injuries, you will recover completely in a few days. Your flight seems to have been far more eventful than most. You are currently in the medical facilities for Military Intelligence, but we will transfer you back to Law Enforcement as soon as they have space available.”
That saved me from asking a foolish question about how I got from a CI surgery to MI recovery. A quick check of my internal trackers showed that I had stayed in T&A for the expected two hours, then travelled through the hallways to the MI Refit and Recycling section. I had spent another couple of hours in MI R&R, where I was now in recovery. Improvising, I tried, “Goodness, what happened? I am supposed to be working with MI anyways, so perhaps you could arrange for me to meet my contact?” My head was clearing rapidly, a military grade reaction suitable for combat personnel, and I realized that MI had provided me with a few upgrades of their own.
The orderly smiled, “Yes sir, although I suspect business should wait a few days. Meanwhile, one of your companions on the flight is just next door. I believe her name is Chief Custodian Maryanne Kameha.”
That surely had to be Marya. I was still puzzled about why and how I had been smuggled through the station unconscious. I was doubly puzzled about why and how Marya had arrived with me. She should have walked over to Internal Services after T&A was done with her. The orderly continued, “She should be waking soon and may be distressed to find herself in an unfamiliar medical facility. Did you meet on the way up? It might be a relief to see a friendly face in recovery. You both got beaten about some in the accident, but should be active again in a couple of days.”
That made me pause before I answered. I realized that my arms, legs and face felt suspiciously pain free. Nor could I move them. I probably would not recognize my own face in a mirror anymore, and I would bet almost anything that my arms and legs had been either stretched or shrunk. There were probably other cosmetic changes too. I had a chilling realization that the real reason my CI investigative team was getting a new Senior Agent was that none of them would recognize me if I presented myself and recounted all the work we had done together. Someone had put a lot of work into this, which suggested they have had warning that the Fairy Dust was going to blow. Or at least that I was going to be part of a clandestine team.
It was odd that my mind seemed so clear while my body still seemed unresponsive. “Umm, yes, I believe we did meet. My head still seems a little woozy. I cannot put a face to that name, but I am sure we were introduced. I do not seem to be able to move much. Could you move me into her room when she awakes?”
“Certainly, sir. I will you call your contact now.”
He left, probably believing that whatever accident had happened to our shuttle, we had been sent to MI R&R specifically to meet our contacts, after which we would be dispatched to our proper medical facilities. I never really knew what they told the orderlies in these places where every agent was in disguise and living out a cover story. Orderlies on the stations were fully qualified doctors from the Earth, just learning the details of life in space. They were even more intelligent than most others who had earned a berth on the stations, and could put two and two together to calculate the area of a circle faster than almost anyone on the Earth below.
While I waited, I ran diagnostics on my internal systems. The location tracker had hardly changed, but seemed to have wider acceleration limits. The medical monitor was almost unrecognizable, and I quickly realized that most of it had been disabled for the surgery. What I could tell was that it seemed vastly more competent than before and was interacting with the facility monitors. Where it had previously just warned me when things were going wrong, there was a new interface that gave me a list of the meds it was feeding into my bloodstream, which included bone and muscle growth enhancers, anesthetics, and mood stabilizers. That was new, and I would have to ask about its operation and limitations.
Then I found a completely new interface that seemed to be for communications. I had never bothered to use the “communications” functions in my old comm unit, which had only a hardware-level interface. It was always easier to use a hand-held phone. This new interface seemed better designed. It had something called a contact list, but it only had two entries, one for “General Marcus Molongo”, the head of MI for the whole TDF, and a second entry for “Chief Custodian Maryanne Kameha”. I surely did not want to disturb the general, but if this worked like a phone, maybe I could call Marya/Maryanne when she woke up.
Too late! She called me. “Duncan? Are you the former Dan? Where the hell am I?” I tried to reply a couple of times and finally found the control to open my end of the connection. “Maryanne, I assume you are the former Marya? You are in MI Refit and Recycling, our version of T&A. This is a weird implant. Kind of like talking on a phone, but it feels more like playing the audio part of a VR game.”
There was a brief pause, and she replied, “Yeah, I think I may have played a game that used this interface a couple of years ago. MI, huh. Do you know who your contact is now? There is only one name other than yours in my contacts list, and it seems intimidating.”
The orderly came back in. “Chief Kameha seems to be stirring now, sir. Should I move you over?”
“Yes, I am curious to see if she is who I remember.”
Maryanne replied, “Who was that you were talking to? You left the link open, and that sentence did not fit into our conversation.”
Drat! She was right and I would have been chastised severely for such a breach of etiquette by anyone in my student gaming circles. Much worse, speaking without thinking on an open comm channel could expose an agent under cover to discovery and execution. Mentally, I slapped the channel closed and waited for the orderly to grip my surgical frame and tow me around to the next booth.
“Chief Kameha?”, I asked, as formally as I could manage. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look my way, then blinked a few times.
“Head Accountant Duncan? Where are we and what happened? You don't look well, and I fear I don't either. I almost did not recognize you.”
The orderly replied for me. “Your shuttle had a docking accident, sir, and the injured passengers have been placed in secure medical facilities scattered over the whole station. We are the best on the ESK, sir, and are pleased to be of service.”
Personally, I thought Maryanne looked pretty good for someone just out of surgery. Her face was now rounder than it had been and her skin darker. She would look great in bright colours and with a flower in her hair. From what I could tell under the restraining sheet, her bust line was bigger. That would throw off her martial art exercises, so she might not appreciate the change as much as I did. It was a pity that we would not be exercising in the same gym, nor socializing together very often.
The orderly continued, “I believe your contact has just arrived, so I will leave you with him. Should you need me for anything, just press the call button.”
The orderly left and three uniformed agents I did not recognize entered and began to sweep the room for bugs. Finally, one said, “No bugs or weapons found, sir. You are safe to enter.”
Weapons, I wondered? In MI R&R?
Then our contact entered the room. My arms and legs were still immobile, but I desperately wanted to stand at attention and salute. “General Molongo, sir. How good of you to come.”
“Relax agents”, he replied. “You have an odd security authorization, so I do not know what your real titles are now, nor quite where you fit in the hierarchy. I suppose when we are being formal I should call you Head Bruce and Chief Kameha, but you are still agents of the Terrestrial Intelligence services, as am I, so I hope you are not offended if I call you agents? I would be honoured if you wo
uld call me Agent Molongo when we are amongst our peers.
“I am your contact. I and my staff will handle your interactions with MI. You should take that as a warning. I am not sure how much Commerce was authorized to tell you, but your team is an almost autonomous branch of the Terrestrial Government now, formally reporting directly to the Terrestrial Council. You are authorized to use any terrestrial services, go almost anywhere, ask almost any question with whatever persuasive techniques are required, and to kill almost anyone who needs to die. Of course, if you get caught, the entire government will deny that you ever worked on their behalf. As usual.”
“I am sorry, Agent Kameha, but you have been seconded into MI without being asked. You still directly employed by CI, but will require resources they do not command, such as the implants you have just received. My staff will fill you in on the details over the next few days while you recover. As Chief Custodian, you also work for Internal Services. They will get their little hot mitts on you after we are done.”
“Agent Duncan, you are also still seconded to Commercial Intelligence, although formally you now work for Law Enforcement. In fact, if your new position was real, I believe you would be reporting directly to Very Senior Minister Ambartsumian of Law Enforcement. In any case, they have resources we do not command, especially in Commerce regarding shipping and manufacturing, and in Law Enforcement regarding corruption in the regional governments.”
“As you might guess, we and the officers at Extraterrestrial Affairs have been aware of disturbing developments on Mars for some time, and have been anticipating the need for such a team. We are terribly afraid that the Fairy Dust incident is far more significant than is obvious from the very minimal damage done. I have organized a report that includes most of the relevant details, which I would ask you to review while you are recovering.”
“A particularly worrying issue is that the shuttle accident the doctors are talking about is not just a cover story. The shuttle Laika was bringing most of the rest of your team and a delegation of Council Ministers who are concerned with Martian infiltration of the terrestrial economic and military services. The idea was a photo op to show we were doing something about the Fairy Dust, because the popular news feeds have been going nuts. It is a cover story, of course. We believed that this would be the most secure, inaccessible location available for the discussion.
“Instead, one of the emergency disconnects exploded on the tug pushing the shuttle into the dock. The shuttle slammed into the side of the dock and everyone on board was injured to a greater or lesser extent. Given the political sensitivities of that flight, the crew and passengers were all moved into secure medical facilities until we decide how to manage the event.”
He paused and put on a wry expression. “Accountant and custodian, hey? Why do they never make us princes and princesses instead? But in truth, you two are legally about as close to super heroes as this planet has ever seen.”
We both made pale smiles at the equally pale and ancient jokes. The comm interface in my head suddenly alerted me to a new collection of documents. Commerce always gave us our packages as real, physical packages, and in the olden days as a field agent on Mars I would receive my instructions verbally without incriminating documents. This was different, a lot like a VR game. It was distracting, but also inconspicuous. The biggest issue I could see was that every download, even of encrypted data, would leave a record of activity that could compromise our security.
My face started to hurt as I smiled, and I began to realize just how much it must have changed. It was going to hurt as the anesthetics wore off. My arms and legs must be even worse if the docs had blocked all control and sensation.
“Agent Molongo, I am aware that events are developing quickly. We have not had a chance yet to speak with the doctors. Do you know when we are expected to assume our new duties? Also, you say that an emergency disconnect on a docking clamp exploded? I have blown up enough things to know that those clamps have just enough explosive to crack the clamp itself. They are one of the most reliable components on the tug and could not have blown by themselves. Something else may be wrong.”
Molongo smiled again, and replied, “I believe you should be back in communication with your old teams tomorrow, verbally at least, which should be enough to start arranging the handover of duties to your successors. According to the schedule, you will start physiotherapy the next day. We will arrange a meeting with your other team members, and the full delegation after they recover. That was supposed to be in three days, but is likely to be a few days late. Some have never been in space and most are not familiar with the culture and habits of spacers, so there will be some conflicts to resolve. Your cover stories both include extensive early experience in the freight and mining sectors before your astropolitan skills became evident. You should review those documents over the next couple of days. And thank you for the heads-up about the clamps, I will see what else is known.”
He glanced up, looking distracted. Probably the comm unit. I would have to practice using the thing without looking distracted. Finally, he said, “The doctors seem to think you need to sleep. I will see you again tomorrow.”
2357-03-01 03:00
Recovery
We did sleep again, and woke up in a section of R&R where people of uncertain allegiance were nursed back to health, appropriate for my cover and mandatory for Maryanne. I toggled on the comm unit. “I think the comm unit is secure against everyone but MI, and just possibly the company that made it. What was the game that used this interface? It might be a fun way to practice without having to hide what we are doing.”
She replied, “I think it was Fleet Maneuvers, a team assault game against an escalating series of heavily defended asteroids. You had to capture the asteroid without destroying it. It was excessively realistic, almost tediously slow, and required lots of planning and logistics. If you just built a fleet of battleships and sent in a thousand marines, you got trashed every time. It was pulled from the market after a few months. I assumed it did not sell well enough, but if the interface is now being used by the intelligence community, perhaps the developer was drafted into the military supply chain. They might just have wanted to bury the public version of the interface.”
Watching her, I commented, “Hmm, try not to screw up your face when using the comm. Even looking blank is a giveaway. Besides, for the next few days, your face is going to hurt. Also, this is MI R&R so do not trust the orderlies or even the room monitors with CI secrets.
“That game sounds like the ones officers in the fleet use for training. We should get it and practice with everyone on the team who gets these implants. I wonder if there are versions for covert operations or undercover investigators?”
I wiggled to rub an itch on my back, then realized what I had just done. My arms and legs were still blocked, immobile and without sensation, but the rest of my torso seemed to be back in communications with my brain. I took a deep breath; yes, my lungs were back under control. As were my belly muscles. Something else was not, however. I checked the medical monitor and realized that the sexual stimulants were set to normal for a healthy, active male of my age; great except I had set them to heavy suppression for most of the previous five, almost ten, years. Between the pressures of work and my very fragile social environment, I had had no desire for anything more. The only people I was comfortable with were the agents I commanded and the supervisors I reported to. None were suitable sex partners in my line of work. I really, really missed the days when I had been a free and easy spacer working the freight lines. I had a flash of anger at the Martians and what they had stolen from my life, but the anger just focused my attention on my genitals. The normal level of stims were now triggering an outsized response, enough that the urinary catheter popped off.
Since I had gone quiet, Maryanne looked over, glanced down and murmured, “Damn, and I can't move enough to do anything about it. We have been suppressing too long. Now that it is legitimate, I am going to make a pass at
you again, so brace yourself. You have no excuses any more. I want to know whether the reputation you had as a spacer was justified.”
We had both been spacers, and both worked in intelligence. Only the deepest secrets could remain hidden for long. The reputation I had cultivated as a spacer had died on Mars, where my reputation made me to be a soulless assassin and mass murderer. Not much that was sexy and seductive there. I never, ever wanted to talk of that period again, but I am sure she thought she knew me well enough to trust the early reputation and disregard the horror stories that clung to me like the smell of rot. Then I thought about what she had just said and really looked at her. She was slightly flushed and was wiggling a bit herself. I got harder.
An orderly came in to check on us. “Everything alright?” she asked.
“Mostly”, I replied. “The sex stims seem to be set higher than has been normal for me.”
“Mmmm, yes, I see,” she said. “Would you like a hand job right now? I can have Doctor Marin lower the level when she comes around.”
“Him and me both,” Maryanne moaned, looking even more flushed.
The orderly looked over our charts. “No reason why not, so long as I do not bump your arms and legs”, she said, unclipping the bed sheets that covered us. There were restraints that gently held our shoulders, hands, hips and feet in place, but clothes were nuisance that spacers did not need in a medical facility, so were both naked inside the sheets. The orderly wafted over to a cabinet and brought out a condom for me, some lubricant, and a vibrator for Maryanne. Gotta love R&R; they have everything that a wounded agent might need during recovery! She set to work, careful not to move our senseless limbs.
I looked Maryanne up and down. They had indeed made some improvements. I was not sure why they thought a Head Custodian needed to look that good, but I was not complaining. Then we locked eyes and rode the sensations to their climax. When we were done, the orderly washed us off, buttoned up our sheets again and moved on to the next patient down the hall.
Lord Banshee- Fairy Dust Page 4
