Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  “Dunno, but it’s really pretty country here,” the driver said with a grin.

  Eric watched the jungle wondering what was looking back at him from under the trees. Something was. His sensors were active as always in combat mode, pretty much his default setting, and was picking up all kinds of unknowns.

  His data on Thurston was pretty good he would judge. Most new colonies in the border zone couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for the best studies, but Thurston had paid good money for what it did have. The surveys of its resources, and that included fauna and flora on top of the usual geological maps, were quite detailed he would judge. No doubt there were gaps, there always were, but the data was good and well presented. Eric remembered Desmatosuchos the super croc. Was ol’ Desmond under those trees watching dinner drive by? Some of the amber icons on his sensors could be dinosaurs of one kind or another.

  They were big enough anyway.

  “Any trouble with the wildlife?” Eric asked as he watched a herd of something on his sensors amble along parallel to the road hidden by the jungle. “Maybe you have safaris?”

  “We sure do!” the driver said enthusiastically. “Both I mean. Hunting is big here. Most of us do a little hunting when we get the time. Safaris, yeah we get them in the season. Brings in the tourists you know? Not around here though. The government pays for a cull every once in a while to keep the city safe, but some of the dumber dinos still come calling looking for a free lunch.”

  Eric smiled, imagining it. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Can be,” the driver agreed. “Mostly it’s a pain. Road closures and waiting for a crane to carry the carcass away. They weigh ten even twenty tons some of them. The can bust stuff up before you know it.”

  The contacts on his sensors must be deemed safe enough, Eric mused. Maybe they were vegetarian or something.

  They entered the city and ten minutes later found them stopping outside the St James Hotel. Eric used one of his wands to pay the driver. He chose the one he brought with him, not those Ken had left. He didn’t know the usernames and passwords set on them yet. That information would be on the comp, or should be.

  He authorised payment and slid his wand out of the receptacle before climbing out of the car to get his duffel. The driver popped the trunk for him without getting out. Eric grabbed his duffel and closed the trunk. The driver raised a hand out his window and drove away.

  Eric watched him go, studied his sensors for a brief moment watching for threats and movement patterns that might indicate he was of interest to someone, but found nothing to concern him. Good enough. He entered the hotel to get a room and some quiet time to study his brief in greater detail.

  The St James Hotel was a three-star establishment, it said so right on the door he used, but three star on whose scale? The award sticker and plaque didn’t say. Going by the decor and general feel of the lobby, Eric expected good food but nothing fancy, high prices but not extortionate, and generous sized rooms. Other facilities would probably come under the heading of extras. Eric had seen the best and worst that money could buy in his time; the St James Hotel would rate on his own scale as first class but not top class. There was a difference, mostly in how much useless and fancy pampering a guest wanted or was willing to put up with.

  Eric had learned to put up with quite a bit but he had never learned to like it. He was a soldier first and his tastes were a soldier’s tastes. Good food, comfortable bed, and within walking distance of some action at a price he could justify come debriefing was all he needed. Not that the General ever asked him how much a mission cost. He had underlings to handle budgets. He just wanted to know successful completion yes or no. If yes what were the results, was a follow-up mission advised? If no, what the fuck was he doing back then?

  Eric grinned. He never went home to report failure. Not after the first time or two just after the war. That was something they had all learned. The General expected results and within reason didn’t sweat how success was achieved. He was expected to get the job done with minimal collateral damage and loss to the Alliance. Note that didn’t mean loss to him, or Thurston, or even Thurston’s citizenry—Burgton could be ruthless when needed—it meant what it said; loss to the Alliance was to be minimised. Eric left those calculations to the General. He decided what an acceptable loss was in the greater scheme, and losing Thurston was not an option.

  Thurston would become part of the Alliance. Eric would remove anything or anyone standing in the way of that.

  “How may I help you?” The concierge asked and smiled a pleasant but false smile. His eyes flickered disdainfully at Eric’s well-used duffel and worn clothes. “I’m afraid our prices might be... ah, a little beyond your means.”

  “I doubt that,” Eric said feeling annoyance rise at this petty little man. “Here, take a look.”

  Eric inserted his credit wand into the desk and activated the balance display function. The concierge’s eyes widened at the figure it showed. It was stupid, but Eric felt vindicated when the man whitened as he realised he had insulted a very valuable customer.

  “My apologies, sir. Your clothes made me think... never mind. Would you prefer a suite, sir?”

  Eric nodded. “I’ll be staying a while; a month or so.”

  “Very good, sir,” the concierge said. He was back in his comfort zone and working his computer. “If you would fill in the register,” he continued and indicated a screen set in the desk.

  Eric picked up the light pen and quickly filled in the blanks with his false identity. “Send up a meal in an hour. Steak medium rare, eggs, potatoes, and a house salad. Is there a bar in the room?”

  “Of course! Fully stocked, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Eric took his wand, the room key, and headed for the elevators. He glanced at the key. Room 402, fourth floor. He called the elevator and was alone with his thoughts on the ride up.

  His first order of business upon entering the room was a sensor sweep. It was very unlikely he would find any surveillance devices, but he had been burned before in the most surprising ways. It cost him nothing to do a walk through while his sensors took the place apart.

  * * *

  >_ Sensors: No threats detected.

  * * *

  As it should be and as expected. He wanted a shower before the food arrived so attended to that next. After he was done and wearing a fresh uniform, he stowed his duffel in the closet but took a couple of spare magazines out and put them in his pockets.

  The comp and all his wands in hand, he relaxed in the sitting room and started work. Twenty minutes later and a lot wiser, he heard a knock on his door. He reached out to the hotel’s rudimentary security system, slipped in, and accessed the camera in the hall. As expected it was room service at his door. He pushed his computer under a pillow and went to open the door.

  “Your meal, sir,” the woman said with a warm smile. “I think you’ll enjoy it. We have a Human cook here. It’s not out of an autochef.”

  Eric stepped aside to allow her to push the trolley inside. “I’m sure it’s fine. In the sitting room, please.”

  The woman nodded and wheeled the trolley to where he indicated. She held out her scanner and Eric pressed his thumb to it authorising the cost, but he took a moment to key in a five percent tip. It would all be added to his bill.

  “Thank you, sir,” the woman said and sounded genuine. “You didn’t need to do that. Service is all included.”

  Eric knew that, but he also knew the people who provided the actual service saw none of it, and they were the ones who really needed it. He wasn’t being completely altruistic. He’d found simple kindness cost him nothing and sometimes benefited him in unusual ways; like the time a barman had covered his back when he got jumped one night. He hadn’t needed the assist, but the introduction of an old pulser rifle fired into the club’s ceiling at the right time had certainly ended the fight before body bags had been needed. Kept his cover intact. Well worth the tip.

  Eric shrugged. “I
can afford it.”

  She smiled at him brightly and left.

  Always a good idea to make friends rather than enemies, and besides, it wasn’t all about the job. Sometimes he just liked to make someone smile at him. It made him feel like a real person again.

  Eric ate his food and then called for the trolley to be removed. The same woman fetched it, and again he insisted upon tipping her. This time he had to talk her into presenting her scanner at all. It was charming, seeing her stammer and blush.

  “If there’s anything else, sir, ask for me by name. Moira.”

  “I will, Moira. Can you set my door to do not disturb on your way out?”

  She nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  Eric watched her leave on the security camera, and she did set the DND as asked. He went back to work.

  3 ~ Undercover

  St. James Hotel, Thurston, Border Zone

  * * *

  >_ 0559:59 close archive file #0000063577982-3996-SL

  >_ 0600:01 Deactivate maintenance mode... Done.

  Diagnostics: Unit fit for duty

  Activate combat mode... Done

  TRS... Done

  Sensors... Done

  Targeting... Done

  Communications... Done

  Infonet... Done

  TacNet... Done... Scanning... No units/stations found

  >_ 0600:05 Reactivation complete.

  Eric’s eyes snapped open. He was back in the hotel and instantly alert as always. He stared at the ceiling in silence feeling the ghosts of his past slipping away from him and back into his memory, fading, and the ache of their loss dulled from knife sharp agony to the normal ache he always felt.

  He swung his legs out of bed and headed for the shower. He had a great deal to get done and he wanted breakfast before he got down to it.

  He didn’t call room service but ate in the dining area. Bacon, eggs, toast, fried potatoes, lots of butter on his toast, and plenty of very strong black coffee. He gleefully ignored every warning his processor flagged up for his attention. Caffeine and saturated fats for god’s sake, what were the programmers thinking? It was bad enough he had to imbibe the crap the design team had stipulated to maintain his systems—nanotech could do amazing things, but repairs and maintenance needed raw materials. His bio-systems used food just as god and nature intended, but his cybernetic enhancements needed much more. Viper ration packs tasted disgusting not because all Alliance rations did, but because they were laced with metal salts and other things designed to be broken down and used by his bots. Foul didn’t begin to describe the crap he had to eat every few months or so. No one liked a viper smoothie that was for damn sure.

  When he finished eating, he left the hotel and walked the city streets, taking in the sights. Just another visitor, no particular place to be, looking around, blah, blah, blah. In reality he was watching his sensors intently, and building a three dimensional security map on top of the existing map he had downloaded from Infonet.

  Ken hadn’t bothered with the city, not because he didn’t have the time, but because he knew Eric’s mission was not in Ashfield. That was understandable. Ken had his area of expertise, and Eric had his. Eric didn’t care that the Freedom Movement was not based in the capital—Ken’s data seemed to indicate that fairly well—but he did care that every target they had hit to date was here. So, that was why he spent that entire day and the following days building up a solid security map of the city; well that, and the fact he would need something to prove his worth to a Freedom Movement recruiter.

  He spent the daylight hours of that week walking the streets, riding in taxis, hopping from one train to another crisscrossing the city and using his sensors to trawl for electronic emissions. His night time hours were spent infiltrating computer networks so that he had as full a picture as possible. His data would impress, he had no doubt. Any viper could take Thurston’s security apart, but he had no plan to do the terrorists any favours by just handing it over to them. He would much rather slaughter them all, but that really wasn’t his mission.

  The day came when he was ready to make contact with the Freedom Movement. He wiped everything on the computer Ken had left, and then physically broke it into pieces before throwing it away far from the hotel. Nothing it had once contained would be recoverable. He didn’t know how competent they were, but if anyone checked his room they would find nothing to suggest he was other than the merc he pretended to be.

  He left the hotel and took a taxi to a cafe he had found his first day. He liked it because it fronted onto the plaza outside the Parliament building and he could watch the bustle. He often did that when time permitted, people watching he called it. He always wondered who they were and what they thought of the world around them. It was hard to remember what it had been like, being like them.

  Being Human they would see people like themselves and buildings, sky and ground, vehicles going by. They would smell the scent of jungle vegetation on the breeze, and think nothing more about any of it. They would move through the world, oblivious. How wonderful it must be.

  He envied them.

  When he looked at the world he saw it through layers of data. He glanced outside the taxi at a pedestrian. He didn’t see people; he saw...

  * * *

  >_ White male, dark hair and eyes. 1.9m tall. 97kg. 33 years old approx. Unarmed. Threat potential negligible.

  >_ Searching... no matches found.

  >_ Search local databases [Y]es/[N]o?

  >_ N

  * * *

  When he looked at a building, he didn’t see architecture. He didn’t see artistry or admirable design concepts. He saw stress points and weaknesses. He saw schematics with data appended in colourful boxes and lines leading to points of access, or places where the right amount of explosive would bring the building down, or damage it to varying degrees depending upon the mission’s needs.

  When he closed his eyes, he didn’t see blackness. He saw sensor data scrolling by. If he shut that down, he couldn’t while in combat mode, but if he could, he would see internal system data. The sky? Not really. He would see weather forecasts, thermal and atmospheric data, analysis of local conditions such as contaminants in the air, both chemical and bacteriological. There was just no way to separate himself from the machine side of him.

  He was the machine.

  The taxi let him out at the cafe after he paid with his wand, and he sat down at an empty table outside. He didn’t wait for service preferring to use the table menu to order. He scrolled through the lists on the table top display and chose a pastry that looked good and a strong coffee he recognised from his hotel. A waiter quickly appeared with his order, its android features that of a young woman. A polite smile had been programmed into its features. The android set the food and drink before him and turned so Eric could pay. The receptacle for his wand was in its back centred between the shoulder blades.

  The waiter left and Eric enjoyed his pastry.

  Finished with the treat, he used his wand in communicator mode and called his contact man. Ken had found the little weasel and promised money for an introduction. A lot of money. That was the reason for the platinum he carried.

  “Hello?”

  Eric glanced around watching visually and with sensors. None were paying him any mind but he set up a short range scramble regardless.

  “The Cafe Reichard, Parliament Plaza. Thirty minutes,” Eric said.

  “Who is this?”

  “No names. A mutual friend left something for you with me. You know of what I speak?”

  The man swallowed audibly. “You have it?” He sounded scared but eager.

  “Thirty minutes,” Eric repeated and disconnected.

  Time fled. It wasn’t long before his tap into certain security cameras at junctions for traffic management, revealed a face he’d been watching for. The man wasn’t alone.

  Eric used the camera to zoom in and captured an image of both men. He quickly fed the data to his processor and ord
ered a search. The first hit came up quickly and as expected from his own data. It was definitely his contact. The search had found his bio in Ken’s download. The search continued and spread out into local networks after Eric gave it the go ahead.

  The second hit was the contact man again, and the data filled in some blanks but nothing interesting. His real name was Bryce Kanarion, not Syl Finnegan, the name Ken used for him. Eric had begun to wonder about that when more hits came up in quick succession. Eric grunted unsurprised by a short list of aliases, and now doubted Kanarion was the real name. It didn’t matter. What did, was that Kanarion was a small time crook with contacts above his pay grade by an order of magnitude.

  How did that happen?

  The first hit for the other man appeared and Eric turned his attention to his bio. He pursed his lips in thought as more data started coming in. Yi Zhang was no freedom fighter that was certain and it annoyed him. Zhang was just a little man, and Eric didn’t mean his physical stature. Chinese ancestry didn’t always mean a small build, but it did quite often and had done so in Zhang’s case.

  No, he was just a businessman, and not a rich one. He owned a small factory making machine tools. No doubt he sold most to the mines. How he connected with a terrorist group Eric couldn’t fathom. Every new bit of data that came up reinforced his nonviolent nature and that made Eric pause in his assessment.

  Everything pointed him in only one direction, but that wasn’t natural. No one was this one-dimensional. Everyone had something to hide even if it was only stealing office supplies. Not so with Zhang. If the data could be believed, he was a saint! That meant the data had been sanitised, but whoever had done the work hadn’t understood how to build a truly believable bio. This one screamed false. It said, look at me, I’m innocent, or nothing to find here go away now, or I love little animals and nonviolent is my middle name.