“So we may come across some hunted persons, like Falshire Hawks?” I asked Agent Guymin. “Or that interrogating lawyer, Heartwell?”
“Possible, but unlikely.”
Vingee asked, “What if we run across them, and they ID Keesay?”
“There’ll be bounty hunters there,” Guymin said. “Those on the run’ll be keeping out of sight, I’d imagine.”
“Bounty hunters,” pondered Agent Vingee, adding a sideways glance my direction.
“I get your point, Agent Vingee.”
“There may be other agency operatives there on the trail of any number of folks,” Agent Guymin said. “Including the ever popular Falshire Hawks. Others gathering information on abducted persons, like our Director Simms. If we’re able to nab Hawks or Heartwell, or any other big names, we’ll do that. But our primary purpose is to get and follow leads on captives.”
“Understood,” I said. “I’d like nothing better than to secure Director Simms’ release.”
“Agent Keesay,” said Agent Guymin, “you may get a bonus. It’s possible that individuals taken by Capital Galactic on Tallavaster may be housed with or near Director Simms.”
“Janice Tahgs?” I asked, recalling my last vision of her, a bruised and broken captive. “Do you have information on her?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I saw from the Documentary that you two became close. The Agency believes that Capital Galactic is holding captives in large groups in as many as three locations.” He took a breath and continued. “In the end, some like Simms they may use to negotiate with, if they get trapped and desperate. Administrative Specialist Tahgs, they may believe she has knowledge as to the whereabouts of the wife and son of Dr. Maximar Drizdon. But otherwise, for bargaining purposes, she has negligible value.”
“Thanks for the grim analysis,” I said. “I could’ve figured that one out.”
“Keesay.” He paused. “Since we’ll be working together, I’ll call you that, and you can call me Guymin, okay?” He grinned mischievously, which seemed out of character, at least for this meeting. “Until we begin using our established covers.”
“The same here,” Agent Vingee said to me.
I nodded as Guymin continued, saying, “In any case, Keesay, I relayed the possibility of Tahgs to illustrate the urgency of the situation for many involved.” He gave me a half smile. “From what I’ve seen, it’s better to be straight-forward with you.”
“Understood,” I said, and sighed. “I won’t write Janice Tahgs off, but any information she might’ve had is long past use.”
Vingee placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at her and said, “Reality enjoys rearing one of its ugly heads.”
“There’s always hope,” she said. “You’re one of the luckiest people I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll pick up an MP pistol and laser carbine,” I said, knowing ammunition for my equipment was unlikely to be found on Io. “But don’t expect me to carry them unless the situation clearly dictates the necessity.” I caught Guymin’s smile. “Or I’m given a team leader’s directive.”
“Actually,” Guymin said, “among a few agents, brass knuckles are making a resurgence. Who knows, shotguns with bayonets may be next?”
That statement didn’t have the intended effect. “Just how many people have seen the Documentary?” I growled.
“Not many,” Guymin assured me. “But you know how fads are. Nobody ever knows the source. Plus, stories spread. The Kalavar’s survivors. With some you made a lasting impression.”
“Relics in space aren’t common,” Vingee added.
“Back to the assignment,” Guymin said, resting his hands on the table. “We’ll have plenty of time for idle banter.” He checked the chronometer above the door. “The Evanescent Thunder is scheduled to arrive here later today or early tomorrow. She’s assigned to trail us and render whatever assistance a patrol gunboat can.”
“The Evanescent Thunder transported me here, to Io,” I said. “Will she be able to range and follow an upgraded—converted exploration shuttle?”
“My understanding is that she’s completing a short patrol to work out any technical issues from her most recent upgrade. New cascading atomic engine, so she’ll condense space roughly thirty percent less effectively than a military escort, such as a destroyer. Still, with her more powerful thrust engines, she’ll be nearly as fast as us. Plus, she’s added more fuel stores, and improved life support and reclamation systems for longer patrols.”
“What don’t you know?” I asked.
“The name of our support engineer. Agent Vingee, would you look into that, and when the Nuclear Pitchfork VII is scheduled to arrive?”
“I will,” Vingee said, while getting to her feet. “Is that really the name of our shuttle?”
Guymin shrugged. “Don’t look at me. It was assigned to us.”
“Who did you annoy recently?” I asked.
“Remember, we’re working for the hydroponics division. Their motto is: Combining advanced science and modern agricultural technology for a profitable combination.”
“Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue,” I said.
“Don’t complain,” he replied with a smile. “I requisitioned your duty coveralls. Equal to the ones damaged on Tallavaster.” He paused. “Gray-green of security, with a Mayfair logo and ID.”
Thinking of our shuttle’s name, and of the name patch that would be affixed above my coverall’s left pocket, I asked, “Who picked my cover name?”
Guymin leaned back in his chair. “I did.”
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. “Care to elaborate?”
Still standing, Vingee cut in, saying, “Keesay, I’d be happy to requisition your MP pistol and laser carbine.”
“If you like,” I said, gazing up at her. “Also, a stun baton. Be sure it’s medium duty and retractable.” When she nodded, I added, “And armor piercing and standard jacketed .357 rounds, and .22 caliber for the backup on my ankle. Fragmentation and stun grenades, too.”
She shook her head. “Forget it,” she snapped. “You can requisition your own equipment.”
I shrugged as she strode out. “Kind of moody,” I said with a look of confusion after the door closed. “I thought we were having a light moment.” Maybe because I mentioned the old-style .22 caliber pistol, an antique that Deputy Director Simms had lent to me before being taken captive.
“This is her second field mission,” Guymin explained. “Her specialty is records and information. Her first field mission was safeguarding you.” He began tapping at the computer screen. “I’d say your earlier assessment was almost right. She’s nervous.”
“And I’m not?”
“You’ve been under fire.” He lifted the bowl from the table and offered me a fruit strip. “So have I.”
The strips were strawberry. “So has she,” I said. “Remember, Vingee knocked me down before that lawyer could nail me with acid rounds?”
“I’m glad you have faith in her, Kra. I do, too.” He deactivated the table’s computer. “Vingee suspects she was assigned because no other field agents are available. And she’s right.”
“She’ll measure up, Caylar.”
“Let’s just hope we all do.” He stood. “Go look into your V-ID and equipment requisition.” He tapped the metal box next to the table with his boot. “After examining what’s in here.”
Chapter 4
I sat in front of a computer preparing to review the mission file. I’d finished an electronic message thanking Special Agent Guymin for his foresight—what the metal case he’d brought to our meeting contained. Weeks ago he’d requisitioned a variety of shotgun shells and ammunition for my duty revolver, an MP pistol, stun baton, a case containing six flash-stun and three fragmentation grenades, and a set of brass knuckles made of hardened stainless steel. After all, he’d seen the Documentary and knew my preferences. I could’ve dictated my entry, but voice recognition protocol is a hassle, especially since I only had
a guest user account on the system. Typing was more efficient.
I rubbed the updated V-ID’s tattoo-like geometric pattern beneath my left ear. It reflected my series of inoculations that now permitted travel even to the most remote outer colony. Also, according to the Intelligence medical technician, she’d altered my V-ID such that it couldn’t be used to trace me. I didn’t think alterations could be done. I guess it couldn’t be done officially, but I worked for Intelligence. The contract I signed wasn’t as good as I had with Negral Corp. Better pay, but more restriction clauses and incarceration penalties. Nothing I ever intended to do, and better on average than what a 4th Class Security Specialist could expect. In any case, I’d be safe from V-ID tracking, unless CGIG or their bounty hunters obtained a record of my updated V-ID pattern.
The computer screen went yellow and flashed an emergency warning. A corresponding claxon sounded in my room, emphasizing it wasn’t a drill. The yellow flashing continued across the top of my computer screen even though the claxon ceased after twenty seconds.
I slid on my com-set before grabbing and checking my shotgun. The yellow warning indicated a regional danger, one not directed at the Io research colony. I expected information over my com-set, explaining the warning.
Without an assigned duty station or frequency I switched my com-set to Marine Frequency priority, and Io Colony General Information as secondary and decided to head toward the colony’s primary landing bay to see what was going on. Two steps from the door, I received a call from Agent Guymin. “Agent Keesay, report to the medical research lab. Consider the current yellow warning status to be orange. Await further directives.”
The link terminated after I said, “Understood.” What did Guymin know that he wasn’t sharing? More likely, he didn’t have the full picture yet.
I took a moment to change into my new coveralls. Even though they bore the Mayfair Mining and Industrials Logo, and my cover name, Bleys, they offered superior protection. My gut told me it was going to be a rough day, so I threw a bandoleer of shotgun shells across my shoulder and pocketed a box of .357 magnum rounds. I looked around and decided to slip the MP pistol into my belt, recalling the times I’d lacked adequate firepower. Simms’s .22 holstered at my ankle was something but wouldn’t count for much.
Firepower for what? Nothing new flashed across my computer screen. Of course, I only had a guest account.
Yellow, I thought. Yellow within the colony would’ve meant some sort of engineering or environmental emergency, but under control. An orange threat? Orange indicated an outside threat, such as an incoming meteor shower. Except in time of war. Guymin said to consider it Orange. That indicated an enemy ship, or ships, detected and approaching. Red meant attack imminent. I slipped a fragmentation grenade into each of my thigh pockets, thinking it’d be better to have them rather than wish I had.
The yellow emergency claxon sounded again and echoed down the hall. I fidgeted with my com-set, toggling between the Io colony’s information system, Security, and the previous frequency settings.
Instead of a modern subterranean settlement, the Io Colony’s corridors reminded me of ancient caves and catacombs, their gray walls showing signs of tunnel-cutting tools. Many of the shaft-like corridors must’ve begun life as lava tubes. Stepping out of the anti-grav driven transport shuttle after it stopped at a major junction, the intense fluorescent lights reminded me how artificial the colony’s environment was. Installed gravity plates supplemented the moon’s weak gravitational pull. I suspected the plates cancelled out Jupiter’s fluctuating gravitational influence. Physics wasn’t my strong suit back in school, so I wasn’t sure.
I fell into line with eight white lab-coated scientists and three technicians. “Any idea what’s going on?” I asked.
“Unexpected gravitational disturbance in the solar system,” answered a tech between breaths. “Not near Jupiter,” she said with unconcern and shrugged. “Someone said it could be a Crax raid exiting condensed space.”
The rest of the march continued in silence, at least for me. The techs were monitoring their computer clips or communicating via their links. I stood aside, allowing them to pass, and took up post outside the double doors. “Special Agent Guymin,” I called into my com-set. “Posted outside the Level Two Conference Entrance to the main medical research area.”
Fifteen seconds later Guymin responded. “Proceed to the Cranaltar Research Lab. Secure the area. Coordinate with Dr. Goldsen. It’s been confirmed, one or more Crax combat vessels have tripped the warning beacons, believed to be vectoring toward Pluto. They’ve not yet exited condensed space.” He paused and I noted my com-set switching to secure random encoding-decoding. A preprogrammed precaution initiated by Agent Guymin. “Keesay, Intelligence expects something similar to occur around Jupiter. Plan for the worst, expect the worst.”
Caylar Guymin never struck me as a pessimistic person. “Understood. Out,” I replied.
Within two minutes I descended the two levels, using the shortest route. A Colonial Marine stood outside the entrance to the Cranaltar research area. He held his laser carbine in challenge.
I stopped and said, “I’ve been directed to coordinate with Dr. Goldsen in securing the area.”
Private Velasquez and I knew each other, mainly from working out in the training area. He eyed my gray-green security coveralls, looking at the name patch that read Bleys.
“Ignore the patch,” I said. “This set of coveralls was just shipped to me. Computer messed up the labeling. You know how they treat R-Techs.” I shrugged. “My other set is in the middle of a cleaning cycle.”
Velasquez gave me a sideways glance then smiled before speaking into his collar. “Captain, I’ve a Security Specialist Keesay here.” He held his hand to his ear before stepping aside.
“Thank you, Private,” I said as he turned to leave.
“Dr. Goldsen,” I said into my com-set, staring up at a security camera recessed into the stone wall beside the door. “This is Security Specialist Keesay.” I didn’t know if she knew I’d been recruited by Intelligence. Besides, I was armed and my coveralls were the color of a security specialist. “I’ve been assigned to your facility during the alert.”
The double-doors slid open. After marching through, entering the well-lit lab, they closed with a pair of security doors dropping afterward, sealing the front entrance. That seemed odd for an official yellow alert. Someone in the lab expected the worst, just like Guymin.
Dr. Goldsen was in her electronic equipment-filled lab, speaking to one of her assistants. After approaching I waited for the research director’s attention. She dismissed the assistant and took my arm. “Specialist Keesay, come with me.”
I politely disengaged my arm from her grip. “I’ve been directed to report to you and assist in securing the area. What’s the situation?”
She led me toward her office, past a row of carts filled with what looked like the guts of various sensors and computer systems. They must’ve been in the middle of some sort of maintenance or upgrading project. Once in her office, Dr. Goldsen moved to her desk but remained standing. She pushed aside a computer clip and a neat stack of file folders before initiating a security sequence through her desk screen. I moved a larger file stack to a nearby shelf. More paper than might be expected in a modern research lab.
She frowned and finished tapping in the security sequence.
“May I?” she asked, and detached my com-set. She plugged it into a port on the side of her desk, I guessed to synchronize my communication gear with her station. Maybe enabling me access to…the Umbelgarri network? Would Guymin—Intel approve?
Her console enacted a security verification facial and retinal scan, and followed up with a scan of her index finger as she pressed it onto a red square along the bottom right corner of the screen.
Dr. Goldsen pursed her lips, and looked around to see if anyone was listening. I stepped away to close the office’s metal-framed glass door, but she signaled me back toward her. Sati
sfied that everyone was too busy to pay attention, she whispered, “A Crax fleet may be on approach. That is all I know.”
Fleet? That meant a lot of ships. Agent Guymin might’ve relayed a bit more concern if that was true. I reminded myself that Dr. Goldsen wasn’t fluent in military jargon and didn’t question her statement about the Crax. Instead I asked, “Can you lower the intensity of the emergency alert?”
She tapped a screen, dimming flashing the yellow lights. “Astute suggestion,” she said. “I am enabling your access to the command frequency. Security is your expertise. Any recommendations you may have are more than welcome.”
“I’ll assist any way I can. Have your people secured this area for possible enemy bombardment?”
“My colleagues and staff are doing that as we speak,” Dr. Goldsen said. “We are securing and isolating in safe mode all files and equipment.”
“Until the situation is clarified, I have no other suggestions.” My mind raced, trying to isolate reason—or reasons—the Crax would mount a raid on Io, or one of Jupiter’s other moon-based colonies.
She returned my com-set. “Routed through the Experimental Research Network, you have temporary access to the Io Colony Command Frequency.”
“Understood,” I said.
Dr. Goldsen was uncommon in her varied level of technology usage. She preferred old-style glasses and used an informal bedside manner, even if sometimes a bit cold and distant. Probably due to her focus as a research scientist.
“Doctor, can you call up a diagram of the Cranaltar Research Area?”
She spoke to the computer. “Provide layout to Cranaltar Research Area. One to one-hundred scale. Minimal technical details.”
Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2) Page 4
