Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  She nodded and stood. “I appreciate your perspective. However, I do not agree with your assessment.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for listening anyway.”

  “Lie back down, Mr. Keesay.” She pursed her lips before continuing. “Med Tech Marshner’s interrogation is still in progress.” She glanced over her shoulder at a wall-mounted screen. “Are you ready?”

  “I know the routine.” I signaled for her to wait and pulled my pistol from its holster. Actually it was Deputy Director Karlton Simms’ antique pistol. I was just keeping track of it for him until we crossed paths again. If he was still alive. A real long shot.

  Dr. Goldsen handed me a metal tray on which to place the firearm before covering me with a white sheet. She set the tray next to me.

  “Hopefully,” I said, still unsure of my future, “if this goes well, I’ll get to say good bye to this place.”

  Dr. Goldsen tapped at the examination table’s console. “Seeking better accommodations, Mr. Keesay?”

  “Not exactly. If Intel does recruit me, Agent Vingee indicated I might be assigned to her team.”

  Dr. Goldsen walked toward the door. “Bed, follow.” The examination table trailed Dr. Goldsen down the hall, and into the scanning room. “Bed, position patient for cranial scan.” Dr. Goldsen took the pan, set it on a stool and stood by the wall of computers. “Do you like Agent Vingee?”

  “Vingee? She’s demonstrated competence and loyalty. What more could someone ask?”

  She gave me a quizzical look. “Whichever career path you choose, Mr. Keesay, I am confident you will meet with unmitigated success.” She tapped at a screen. “The door is locked. I appreciate your willingness to temporarily part with your weapon.”

  “Not a problem,” I said and winked before closing my eyes.

  During the scan, my mind shifted to dealing out payback to Capital Galactic and their pack of traitors. The Crax and their allies warring against the Umbelgarri-Human-Chicher Alliance was one thing. Humans turning on their own kind? That was another.

  The scan was over before I knew it. Dr. Goldsen began removing the neural transmitting disks. “You should refrain from clenching your teeth, Mr. Keesay.” She then gingerly retrieved the pan holding my firearm.

  I checked and reholstered the weapon. I didn’t figure Dr. Goldsen was a pacifist, but through the Cranaltar’s first-person presentation, she’d witnessed me injure, maim, and kill dozens of humans, and even more aliens. More than I cared to think about, or pray for. I forced a smile. “Thank you for your patience with me and my…paranoia, Doctor.”

  “It’s perfectly understandable, Mr. Keesay. I have seen several Marines with that look when they are disarmed.” She stepped closer and patted my hand. As if reading my mind, she said, “You did, and will continue to do what needs to be done. What many are unable to do. And you survived my experimental project.”

  “The Cranaltar IV? I’m glad you modified it. Made it compatible for humans.”

  “We all do our part for humanity, Mr. Keesay.”

  After returning to the examination room I dressed, sat on the stool, and watched Dr. Goldsen at work with the diagnostic computers. She did well treating me as a person and not as a specimen. After voicing and tapping in several commands, she asked, “Any opinions on the war?”

  “Your information is better than mine, Doctor. I’m limited to holo-newscasts, and discussions with your staff.”

  She, I, and everyone else were keenly aware of the situation. We were losing.

  Chapter 2

  Special Agent Vingee stared across the table at me with her pale green eyes. We were in a lounge down the hall from the medical wing. A tan-paneled room, in addition to the table and four metal chairs, held a cushioned couch and chair, and a counter containing a dispensary for flavored drinks and packaged energy bars. Vingee had fixed her brown hair into one long braid, hanging down instead of twirled up into its usual bun. “Okay, Keesay, how’d you know the injection was toxic?”

  I smiled in return. “You must’ve seen the security recording. I’d been around Med Tech Marshner before. He was nervous for no apparent reason.” I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table. “Almost like he wanted to get caught.”

  “Would you care to see the interrogation file?”

  I leaned back from the table. “No, thank you. Give me the essentials and we’ll go from there.” I bet that surprised her.

  She crossed her arms and stretched her legs. “Awfully trusting. Not your style, Keesay.”

  “You may have witnessed the Documentary, but that doesn’t mean you know me.” I shrugged. “Passed my scan. All’s clear for Intel to recruit me. I’ve heard we might be partners if that happens.”

  “You’re taking this rather well considering someone just attempted to kill you.”

  I feigned disinterest. “Nothing new for me. I heard a while back that the Capital Galactic Investment Group placed a bounty on my head. I’d better get used to it.” Trying not to lean forward, I asked, “So, how much did it take to tempt Tech Marshner?”

  “It’s obvious Tech Marshner’s not a professional bounty hunter,” she said. “Let alone an assassin. I don’t think he has the channels or even knows how to collect.” Vingee sat up straight. “It appears that Capital Galactic operatives put pressure on him. Threatened to take action against his family.” She shook her head and frowned. “They’ll do whatever it takes to get back at you for revealing their treachery.”

  Treachery. I was sure in some twisted way the true believers, traitors that they were, believed their actions were ensuring the survival of the human race. The Felgans were overrun, the Umbelgarri on the brink. Humanity next. “I thought this place is supposed to be secure,” I said, knowing that, with the chaos of the war, resources of every kind were stretched thin. “Capital Galactic’s assets are frozen. All of its board members, executives, major investors, and upper management are under primary investigation. If they’re not locked up, they’re supposed to be under constant monitoring.”

  “Keesay, you know as well as I do that hundreds of major players at Capital Galactic are unaccounted for.” The Intel agent let out a long breath. “It’ll take time for other corporations to find and organize the pieces of the fallen corporate empire.”

  “Correct,” I said. “And innocent or not, many Capital Galactic personnel, at all levels, are less than cooperative.” I shook my head. “They must be thinking that if we lose the war, their resistance will count for something.”

  “Only some of them. People are frightened.” Her statement was matter-of-fact rather than sympathetic. “Back to Marshner. Capital Galactic operatives threatened his family, unless he took action against you. Information from Earth indicates his family is missing, recently. My guess is Capital Galactic operatives decided to take control of them as incentive. Sooner or later the operatives will learn of his failure. They might not…dispose of them. Not if they believe it’ll encourage Marshner to remain uncooperative.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “Any corporation willing to support the Crax invasion wouldn’t think twice about breaking an agreement with a Class 2 Med Tech. Maybe his family went into hiding.” I slowly shook my head, not really believing the statement. “What’ll happen to Marshner?”

  “He’ll be further interrogated, then put on trial. He’s been classified as cooperative.”

  “Just another reason,” I said, trying not to clench my teeth. “They picked the wrong man. Marshner has a conscience.” I patted the small .22 caliber pistol holstered on my equipment belt, a blued steel with rosewood grips antique. “And that was the last time I’ll heed Dr. Goldsen’s or anyone’s wishes to refrain from carrying protection.” I placed my hands on the table, reaffirming to myself that I’d never move about unarmed.

  “Still carrying Deputy Director Simms’ archaic firearm?” A hint of sadness lingered in Vingee’s question, one to which she knew the answer.

  “The only one I have, until I obtain an o
fficial sponsor or I can access my new, secure account. Besides, small arms shipments to Io aren’t a priority.”

  “Are you so sure?” She dragged the last two words out in a playful lilt.

  I stared at Vingee, trying to assess her. “Don’t be coy, Agent.”

  She stood. “Two items of good news, Specialist Keesay. Some of your equipment has arrived from Tallavaster. I don’t know how much. And second, Field Director Lidov is here to sign you on with the Agency.” She winked. “If you’re interested.”

  Looking up reminded me how tall Agent Vingee was, even for an I-Tech. I stood and pushed in my chair before answering. “No other offers appear to be on the horizon. At least not appealing ones.”

  For me, signing on as a special agent for the Governmental Intelligence Agency was straight-forward. The Cranaltar’s download and presentation provided more reliable data than any battery of psychological tests and background checks ever could. Maybe Representative Vorishnov pulled some strings. Saving him from assassination had to count for something. Maybe the Umbelgarri did. Or maybe Intel wanted me because the Umbelgarri had enabled me to comprehend their language while restoring my cognitive functions.

  I considered all this before confirming my acceptance as an Intel agent with a screen signature, followed by an old-fashioned R-Tech thumbprint and blood DNA scan. I missed Negral Corp. My previous employer had been one of the few that still included real paper as part of their paperwork.

  Field Director Lidov stood and shook my hand. “Welcome aboard, Special Agent Keesay.” He was dark skinned with remnants of kinky, gray hair scattered across his balding scalp. He blinked and nodded. “Your new account is in order. Funds equivalent to your original balance, plus Negral’s back-pay, have been deposited.” He started to turn, but stopped. “Well, almost. There’s a small bonus.”

  “What for, Director?”

  “Let’s just say that establishing a new account with the exact amount due could provide a clue for any individual tracking your whereabouts.”

  He’d almost exited the conference room before turning again. “Special Agent Vingee will have account access information.”

  “Understood, Director.”

  “Oh, and should you ever attempt accessing one of your old accounts, a yellow flag will show on the DNA scan. You can thank the deceased Chicher diplomat for that.” He uttered the last phrase as the door slid shut.

  The mention of the Chicher diplomat caught me off guard. The rat-like alien had taken an acid round while helping me escape a quarantined planet. Seconds before dying, he chattered something and bit me just below my V-ID.

  I stood to follow Director Lidov, but didn’t. It’d be improper to chase down an Intel director with questions. Besides, his departure demonstrated his unwillingness to explain.

  Having been an R-Tech Security Specialist, I was used to being out of the information loop. I waited thirty seconds before seeking Agent Vingee and the whereabouts of my equipment.

  “Your cart and its contents were lost or destroyed,” Agent Vingee said, after leading me into another of Io’s meeting rooms. Like most rooms and halls, the walls were a mottled gray stone, carved out by Umbelgarri technology. “Probably when New Birmingham fell.”

  I examined what was on the narrow table before taking and strapping on my equipment belt. An emailed file contained an inventory of what had been recovered. “Or when Tallavaster was retaken,” I said while inspecting and then loading jacketed hollow point rounds into my .357 magnum single-action revolver. I felt better armed with a more powerful sidearm. While holstering it, I considered upgrading to a double-action revolver. The same caliber and variety of rounds, just faster to reload.

  Agent Vingee said, “This portion of your equipment was recovered from the Pars Griffin.” She stepped back and leaned against a wall, absentmindedly rubbing her chin. “I suspect Capital Galactic intended to use it as supporting evidence against you.”

  I held up my former duty coveralls. They’d been top-of the-line body armor capable of resisting both projectiles and lasers. But front line combat and an encounter with Crax acid had left them severely damaged. “Below the waist should be salvageable,” I said. “Maybe the back, and parts of the sleeves.”

  Agent Vingee smiled. “You can requisition equivalent quality without having to salvage scraps.” She started to say something else, then frowned. After a few breaths, she shrugged. “As to your boots? Leather ones are rare. Some Capital Galactic operative must have helped himself to them.”

  I shrugged in return. The black ones I wore, made of synthesized leather, were comfortable enough. “Maybe they’re gathering dust in a possession locker while their new owner rots in prison.” I pulled my shotgun’s long bayonet and tested the blade on a frayed sleeve of my damaged uniform. “This cuts it,” I said. “It’ll be too hard to stitch and look proper. Maybe I’ll find an adhesive and patch underneath my new duty coveralls in strategic locations.” I examined the blade and read the etched the phrase, recalling Odthe, the exploration pilot who’d made the bayonet from an Umbelgarri alloy. “Nemo me impune lacessit.” My voice trailed off, remembering how Pilot Odthe had died. A Crax attack craft, supported by Capital Galactic treachery. So many had died because of that duo.

  Agent Vingee brought my mind back to the present, saying, “In ancient Latin: no one injures me with impunity.”

  “You do have a good memory,” I said.

  “How could I forget your motto? How often have you lived up to it?”

  “More times than I care to count.” I slid the bayonet into its scabbard hanging on my belt and picked up my 12-gauge pump-action shotgun. It, like my revolver, had been well-maintained. I ran my fingers over the perforated jacket that protected the barrel. It also contained a strengthening Umbelgarri alloy. I loaded my shotgun, alternating slug rounds with 00 buckshot, adjusted the sling, and slid it into place on my shoulder.

  Vingee walked over to the table, picked up my watch and handed it to me. “Old-style face with spinning hands and Roman numerals. The attached sound dampener’s been calibrated.” She then handed me a com-set. “I took the liberty of obtaining a new ocular. Everything’s been set. Channels, encryption, voice authorization. We can adjust the ocular later.”

  I clipped the com-set on my belt and adjusted the headset and microphone-ocular combo. Being an R-Tech, I used older style equipment. Most I-Techs, like Agent Vingee, had chip implants in their ears to receive, and micro-mics, usually in their collars, to send communications. They had eye lenses to pick up visual data. I spoke into my headset’s mic, saying, “Agent Vingee, testing.”

  She automatically moved her right hand to her ear when her implanted chip received—a polite non-verbal cue. Then she spoke into her collar. “Agent Keesay, clear.” She went back to leaning against the wall. “You could requisition modern duty equipment.”

  Suited up and armed, I asked Vingee, “When can I get an upgraded, official Intel uniform?”

  “I’m serious, Keesay. An MP pistol. Get a laser carbine to replace the shotgun if you feel the need for firepower. You’re trained and competent in their use.”

  “Agent Vingee, these are what I’m comfortable with.” I decided not to mention my notion of a new revolver. “They’re effective and I’m more than competent with them. In signing me, Intel knew well what it was getting.”

  She let out a long breath. “There are times you’ll need to blend.”

  “When the time comes, I’ll blend. In some situations, I wager, better than you.”

  “You’ve already refused to change your name.”

  “Look, I am who I am. Capital Galactic has it out for me, sure. But I’m not going to skulk around the rest of my life. I’ve already endured an isolation assignment on Pluto after the Colonization Riots.” A cutting motion with my hand emphasized my next statement. “Not going to happen again.”

  Agent Vingee shook her head. “Exactly how Agent Guymin said you’d respond.” She checked the chronometer above
the door. “He should contact us soon, to brief us on our assignment.”

  “You think they’ll issue me popcorn nukes if I ask?”

  “You can ask Agent Guymin how the upper echelon’ll respond to that request.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that neither you nor Agent Guymin has much pull.”

  Chapter 3

  An hour later Agent Vingee led me down one of the series of long, gray stone corridors that interconnected sections of Io’s research colony. We passed a few orange-clad engineers and one engineering tech wearing the standard red coveralls. Agent Vingee ignored them as we passed, but I nodded to each. Only the engineering tech acknowledged me with a return nod.

  It was difficult to keep up with Vingee’s long strides, but I didn’t say anything as she seemed anxious. Finally, I asked, “Nervous about our assignment?”

  She slowed her pace. “What makes you so confident that we’ll be assigned together?”

  “It was hinted at,” I said. “Plus, I think they’d have assigned you elsewhere by now. Caylar, too.”

  “A logical assumption. And, you might consider referring to Caylar as Special Agent Guymin. He is superior to you within the agency.”

  “Understood.” I’d known Special Agent Guymin only by his first name when he acted as my stand-in nurse aboard the Pars Griffin. That seemed decades ago. For some reason his first name felt like it’d been imprinted on my brain. Standard protocol called for an individual to be addressed by their classification and surname, unless directed to do otherwise. I’d take care to avoid the casual impulse and follow protocol instead.

  After a gap in our conversation, I said, “Since the agency assigns rank based upon seniority—for those at the same classification, guess I’ll be low man on the totem pole once again.”

  Agent Vingee gave me a confused glance. “Unlike within the corporate structure, your R-Tech status won’t impede rising in seniority.”