The Star-Keeper Imperative

by C N Samson

  Rheinborne bit the tip of his water bulb’s straw-stem, swallowed it, drank deeply. He didn’t want to talk about her anymore. Better to focus on the mission instead.

  “Who are these people?” he asked. “Why are they helping you?”

  Valicia explained that they were affiliated with the Ormond cartel, rivals of the Devornes. She had promised the former group a large quantity of hardcash in exchange for their assistance in getting her out of the city.

  “I assume you’ve informed Gwynne that we’re now together.”

  Valicia nodded. “He’ll pick us up as soon as we’re offworld.”

  “Gwynne said you have a...what did he call it?”

  “An XCM. It’s an experimental prototype, the only one in existence.”

  "Can we link up?" he asked.

  "Yes, but we'll have to do it when we're on the ship."

  The door slid open. Foscalini hurried inside. “All right, we have to move now,” he said. “You two, get your things and come with me. Where’s Denham?”

  The young techie reappeared. Foscalini told him to prepare his bot for “you-know-what.”

  While Valicia went into the bedroom, Rheinborne reclaimed his jacket. He repacked his messenger bag, slung it across his chest.

  Valicia returned, wearing a brown jacket and carrying a dark blue backpack. She and Rheinborne exited the room behind Foscalini.

  “Hey, good luck out there!” Denham called.

  THEY MOVED DOWN A DINGY hallway, lined with numbered doors. Rheinborne guessed that they were in a high-rise, low-rent apartment block, and not anywhere near a temple.

  The three of them paused at a door near the far end.

  “We’re here,” Foscalini said.

  A woman wearing a tattered, colorful robe admitted them into the apartment, crammed with mismatched furniture and boxes of miscellaneous items. A gaunt, pinch-faced man sat at the kitchen table, a number of unwrapped food cubes lined up in front of him. He was using a scalpel to slice each cube into smaller pieces.

  “Awright, Fossie!” the woman said. “This the man?"

  “Yeah. The others should be along in a bit,” Foscalini replied.

  The woman stuck her hand out at Rheinborne. “The name’s Olessa. Most pleased.” Her handshake was strong and solid. “Go and have a sit-down, if you would.”

  “What exactly is—” Rheinborne began, but his words were cut off as Olessa turned and shouted at the man in the kitchen.

  “Elbertus! Get something for our guests!”

  The man frowned, scalpel poised above a food cube. “I'm in the middle of a project, can you not see?”

  Olessa rolled her eyes. She leaned close to Rheinborne and said, “Apologies for my husband, he gets a little, eh, funny sometimes.”

  “Apologies accepted,” said Rheinborne, “but why are we here?”

  The woman laughed. “Can’t go out and about looking like yourselves, can you now?”

  She ushered Rheinborne and Valicia to a sagging sofa, swiped away a stack of electronic components to make room for them to sit. Foscalini remained standing.

  Olessa turned to Elbertus and yelled for him to bring out some drink bulbs. Before he could reply, the door chimed.

  Foscalini drew out a pistol and darted to the side of the door. Elbertus stood and positioned himself on the opposite side, his scalpel raised. Olessa gestured for Rheinborne and Valicia to keep silent and remain on the sofa.

  “Yes, just a minute!” Olessa called. The woman padded to the door. “Who’s it be out there?” she said into the intercom.

  “It’s the royal couple,” came a staticky voice from the speaker.

  Foscalini and Elbertus relaxed. Olessa palmed the door’s access plate. She stepped aside to admit two new people, a man and a woman, into the apartment. The woman had the same general build as Valicia, and the same color hair; the man was similar in age and height to Rheinborne, but with slightly lighter hair. Both of them wore dark-colored outfits; they identified themselves as Mister King and Miss Queen.

  “Wasn’t easy finding another double, this short notice,” said Miss Queen, glancing at her companion.

  Rheinborne had a glimmer of an idea about what was going to happen next, but didn’t want to say anything until he was certain.

  Foscalini tucked his pistol away, looked back and forth between King and Rheinborne. “Yeah, okay, he’ll do.”

  Olessa clapped her hands. “All right, Elbie, get to it!”

  “Don’t boss me, woman,” Elbertus said, holding up the scalpel.

  “I boss you to hurry up and get them processed!”

  The gaunt man grunted, tucked the scalpel into a sheath in his front pocket. “Couples, come with me,” he said.

  There was a half-width door in one wall of the apartment, partly hidden by clutter. Elbertus yanked this door open and sidled through. Lights automatically came on in the room beyond.

  Rheinborne went in next. When he beheld the operating chair with its array of articulated metal arms, his suspicions were confirmed.

  “You’re a skin rigger,” he said with distaste.

  “Cosmetic surgeon, if you will,” Elbertus huffed as Valicia and the “royal couple” entered the room.

  “Lost your license, I’m guessing,” Rheinborne countered. “How’d it happen?”

  “Blake, please,” Valicia said. “Let the man do his job.”

  “Yeah,” said Elbertus, “let me do it.” He pointed at Rheinborne. “You’re first.”

  “Thanks, no, I’ll let—”

  “Sit yourself down!” the surgeon commanded. “I’m a professional.”

  “First, you’ll have to tell me what you’re about to do.”

  Elbertus snorted, then explained—with exaggerated patience—that he had been paid to alter the facial features of the four of them.

  “Step one," he said, "I take a detailed holo-image of your face. Understand? Then, step two, I apply shift-skin onto your face. Still with me? Okay. Step three, the skin molds itself into a new pattern. Step four, I imprint an image onto the shift-skin. And then, that’s all.”

  The man’s needlessly condescending tone irritated Rheinborne. “You know, shift-skin only fools surveillance systems about seventy-nine percent of the time,” he said.

  “That gives you a twenty-one percent chance of getting caught, then, doesn't it?” Elbertus answered.

  RHEINBORNE STOOD IN the apartment’s tiny bathroom, examining his new face in the mirror. His features were a little chubbier, like he’d put on a few pounds. The eyes were rounder, the nose larger, the mouth smaller. He didn’t know whose facial texture had been imprinted on the mask of false flesh, but his new skin matched his original tone.

  “Hey, you all right in there?” Foscalini said through the door.

  “Yeah, fine,” Rheinborne replied. “Be out in a second.”

  The process had gone exactly as Elbertus had outlined. Still, the feeling of the cold artificial flesh oozing down his face had sickened him. When the procedure had finished, he had swapped outfits with Mr. King, but had needed a little time alone to regain his composure.

  He shut off the lights and exited the bathroom, wondering how Kaye had coped with seeing a different person in the mirror after her facial alteration.

  Valicia and Mr. King were out in the apartment, talking with Olessa. Foscalini was next to the door, on an ECM call. Rheinborne took in a sharp breath when he saw Mr. King’s face; it was a perfect duplicate of his own.

  “So, what do you think?” the other man said to Rheinborne. “Is it like looking in a mirror?” He laughed at his obvious joke.

  “Elbie’s quite outshone himself,” Olessa declared.

  Valicia’s new visage was...well, it was new, all right. Her cheeks were broader, her nose flatter, and her eyes had a distinct slant. Rheinborne wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that her face was further removed from the face he had once known.

  Miss Queen emerged from the operating room, escorted by E
lbertus. The woman looked just like Valicia did before the procedure, and Rheinborne had to remind himself of who was really who.

  “Enjoy your new selves,” Elbertus said. “But you’ll have about two, two and a half hours before it starts to degrade.” He went over to Rheinborne and Valicia, handed each of them a small plastic container. Rheinborne opened his, found a pair of clear contact lenses inside.

  “Special oculars with scan-beam scattering properties,” the surgeon explained. “Go on, put them straight onto your eyeballs. They’ll help fool the facial rec.”

  Rheinborne put them in and blinked hard, not liking the sensation of the lenses. Elbertus applied liquid drops to his eyes, which relieved the discomfort. He did the same for Valicia.

  “All right, listen up,” Foscalini said. “Got word from Unkerich that Norland and his team are nearby. Independents are swarming all over the place, too.”

  “What about Prester’s people?” Rheinborne asked.

  Foscalini shook his head. “The Devornes won’t enter the district, but they’ll be watching the tunnels leading out. Their proxies will also be in the Central Zone and at the spaceport. They’re also eyeballing your ship.”

  “Does that mean we’ll have to take another one?”

  “No, that’s not going to be a problem,” Foscalini said. “Reaching the spaceport without getting picked off, that’s my worry.”

  Rheinborne took a quick look at the city map on his ECM. “Why isn’t there a direct line from here to the spaceport?”

  “Economics,” Foscalini answered. “But listen. In just a bit, Prester’s going to have a crisis that’ll occupy his attention. He’ll pull most of his people away, but there’ll still be enough on skeleton watch to give us trouble.”

  “Mind if I ask as to what the overall plan happens to be?” Rheinborne said.

  “In point of fact, I do mind,” the other man replied. “Just do what we ask, and you’ll be offworld before you know it. Now let’s move out.”

  CHAPTER 12

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, in the northern part of the Alchromia District, Norland and Emlyn raced along the avenue and entered a shop called All Pawn Here. Agent Chevick, another member of his STAR team, met them inside.

  “They’re in the back. Iverson’s got them,” Chevick said.

  “Good work,” replied Norland. “Where’s the staff?”

  “Locked in the washroom.”

  “Keep them there until we’re done.” Norland told Emlyn to stand watch with Chevick, then proceeded alone to the back room.

  “Coming in,” he announced as he stepped through the doorway. He found Agent Iverson pointing his gun at a man and a woman, both of whom lay gagged and wristcuffed on the floor.

  Norland stared down at the couple. Hope swelled in his chest when he saw the woman; it was Valicia Parzo, no question. He took out his dataslate, brought up the info booth photo and the inter-pass image that Emlyn had sent him. The man on the floor matched both pictures: Blake Rheinborne.

  Earlier, Norland had received a call from Prester saying that the city’s surveillance system had gotten solid hits on Valicia and Rheinborne in north Alchromia. Chevick and Iverson were nearest to the area and had been the ones to apprehend them.

  “Well, doctor, imagine meeting you here,” Norland said with a leer, crouching beside Valicia. “You and I have much to discuss.” He couldn’t wait to get her alone in an interrogation room.

  Valicia turned her face away from him.

  “Let’s go have a proper chat, somewhere more comfortable.” Norland ordered Iverson to get the couple to their feet. He was about to order them taken outside when something struck him as odd. He moved closer to Valicia, frowned. Something about her felt off.

  She turned away, but he seized her chin and forced her to look at him. Her hair was in a different style, no surprise there. But hadn’t her eyes been a darker brown? If she was going to have biometric alterations done, why hadn’t she—

  Valicia grunted as she delivered a solid kick to Norland’s knee. He yelped in pain, hobbled back. Iverson struck her on the back of her head with the butt of his gun. Rheinborne cursed, but quieted when the agent pressed the muzzle of his weapon to the man’s temple.

  “Not nice,” Norland said. He darted forward and grabbed Valicia’s chin again, this time feeling a weird waxiness on his fingers. Oh, no, it couldn’t be!

  He dug his fingernails into her skin, leaving distinct furrows on her flesh. Norland did likewise to Rheinborne’s face, with the same results.

  “This cannot fercocking be,” he mumbled as he furiously tapped and swiped on his dataslate. He loaded the DSI’s own facial rec software, held the slate up to Valicia’s face until the device’s camera locked on and scanned her. He had the software compare it to Valicia’s known image, and—

  “Lord bloody damnation,” Norland whispered, letting the dataslate slip from his fingers.

  “Sir, what’s wrong?” Iverson asked.

  “It’s not her, that’s what’s wrong!” Norland answered. He tore at Valicia’s face, came away with a large patch of a fleshy material. “Shift-skin!” He flicked the patch to the floor. With a trembling hand, he drew his own handgun and placed the muzzle under the woman’s chin. He removed her gag and asked, “Where are they?”

  “Cock off,” the false Valicia said.

  Norland sucked in a deep breath. He backed away, lowered his gun. “Kill them,” he said tonelessly, turning to leave. “Keep the faces intact, though.”

  “But sir,” Iverson said, “shouldn’t we—”

  Norland wheeled around, fired two shots. The false Rheinborne and false Valicia crashed to the floor, bullet holes in their chests.

  Emyln and Chevick burst into the room, their weapons drawn.

  “Stand down,” Norland said. “It’s a dead end.”

  RHEINBORNE SAT IN SEMI-darkness. He, Valicia, Foscalini, and Unkerich rode in one of the compartments of an automated cargo transport, one of many that traveled along the median of Alchromia’s main avenue. The plastic containers all around them contained food cubes, destined for a distribution center beneath the Central Zone.

  “Hey Rambone,” said Unkerich.

  “You mean me?” Rheinborne asked.

  “Yeah. What is story, eh?”

  “What story?”

  “Story about preserve. What you never told anyone else.”

  “It’s private.”

  “Come on, tell.”

  Rheinborne exchanged a look with Valicia.

  “As he said, it’s private,” she told Unkerich.

  Guilt welled up within Rheinborne, as it did whenever he was reminded of the incident. He had been a child, seven years old, when he and his family had visited the Inland Preserve on Treilath. He had wandered into the forest, away from his family and out of local GSN range, when he startled a small furry animal out of the bushes. The creature had immediately fallen limp, and Rheinborne thought it had died.

  Not knowing what it was, and unable to look it up on the GalSigNet, he decided not to tell anyone, for fear that he would be blamed for killing it. So he buried the little animal where it lay.

  He headed back, and as soon as he was in GSN range he did a search. He discovered that the creature was called a kittreling, a mammal that feigned death to fool predators. He returned to the spot, horrified that he had buried the thing alive. But the hole was empty; the kittreling had clawed its way out and fled. Rheinborne had never spoken of it to anyone, until years later when he told the story to Kaye.

  On the other side of the compartment, Foscalini pounded the wall. “Lord damn it. They’re dead!”

  “Oh sad!” said Unkerich.

  “King and Queen?” Rheinborne asked. “What happened?”

  “Report just came in,” said Foscalini. “It was Norland. Shot them cold.”

  Rheinborne started to express his condolences, but Foscalini cut him short.

  “They were professionals. And they weren’t doing it just to get
you two off the planet. There’s more at stake here. More sacrifices to be made.”

  “Understood,” Rheinborne said. “But wait; my ship is registered to me, and my face has been logged as the pilot. If they think I’m dead—”

  “Don’t worry about that. You’ll be able to take off. Getting through the Zone and the two malls, that’s what you’ll have to worry about.”

  The transport vehicle slowed, felt like it was traveling down a slope. It leveled out, made a turn to the right, continued on.

  Foscalini told everyone to stand. “The transport’s underground now, about to go through a security scanner. We’ll have to get off before then.”

  Unkerich slid open the compartment door. Lights on the tunnel walls flashed by.

  “It’s not a lot of room, is it?” Rheinborne said, noting how narrow the gap was between the transport and the walls.

  “It widens out a bit just ahead,” Foscalini replied. “And we’ll slow down. Jump when I signal.”

  Rheinborne put his arm around Valicia’s shoulders. “I’ll bet you do this kind of thing all the time,” he said with a grin.

  “Just once,” she said, adjusting her backpack. Rheinborne expected her to laugh, but no; she was serious.

  “All right,” said Foscalini. “Almost there.”

  They all lined up at the door. Unkerich slung his rifle over his shoulder. Rheinborne leaned out a little way and observed that the upcoming section of tunnel did indeed get wider, but not by much.

  “We go one by one,” Foscalini instructed. “Last one from the front goes first.”

  Last one first? thought Rheinborne. That meant the order was Valicia, himself, Unkerich, and then Foscalini. The transport gradually lost speed, but was still going faster than—

  “Now!” Foscalini barked.

  Valicia leaped out. Rheinborne felt a hand shove hard on his back. He flailed through empty space, collided with the tunnel wall. He slid down, dazed.

  “Blake, are you all right?” Valicia asked as she helped him to his feet.