by K. C. Sivils
With no traffic on the hoverway that early in the morning Markeson sped home at over 200 kph. He parked his craft in its assigned space in the parking garage and walked quickly to his apartment. Markeson pressed his palm against the pad over the locked keypad. The device took his biometric readings while scanning his palm print. Leaning closer to the door frame and looking down, giving the appearance to the casual observer he was straining to look at the lock’s keypad, another device scanned both of his eyes, checking the scan of his retinas against the scan on file.
A tiny green diode in the keypad flashed once, indicating he could now enter the code into the lock's keypad. It buzzed once, clicked, and the door opened a centimeter. Markeson stepped inside and leaned against the door, causing it to shut behind him.
“Lights on,” he commanded. The entire apartment lit up, allowing him to scan the open space without moving.
“Signs of biological life,” he asked the computer.
“You are the only current biological life form inside the residence, Captain,” the computer monotoned.
“Have I had any visitors while I was gone?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
"Your maid Margareta came and cleaned as per her usual schedule. There was also an unidentified male who entered your residence at 1611 hours. The individual moved through your home quickly and departed in less than six minutes."
“Did the individual plant any devices of any kind?”
“Unable to state with certainty.”
“Did the individual remove anything?”
Unable to state with certainty.”
Markeson opened his jacket and eased his phase pistol out of its holster. "What good is having a military grade security system if it can't tell you what you need to know," he mumbled under his breath.
"It is not any shortcomings with my programming or logic,” the computer replied, sounding almost irritated. “The fault lies with the lack of the necessary number of sensors strategically installed throughout the residence for me to be able to gather sufficient data to make an accurate assessment of the situation. We have been through this before Captain.”
Taking a step forward into the living area, Markeson ignored his computer. He’d deal with the petulant AI later. If necessary, he’d threaten to wipe its memory, the threat of which generally got his computer’s attention for a few months.
Markeson moved slowly and with stealth, clearing each room one at a time. With only his bathroom remaining, Markeson eased into the space.
Holstering his phase pistol, he spoke firmly, “Shower, hot water on.”
He stood and watched as steam filled the space, fogging up the mirror. Clear as Beta Prime’s atmo on a sunny day was the message written by the male intruder.
“Be careful who you trust.”
---
I just stared at Kilgore, speechless.
“I have connections still Sullivan. I’ve followed your career since you left the Corps.”
I couldn’t help myself.
“Feel guilty?”
Kilgore didn’t flinch.
“You won’t believe me, but yes.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
Kilgore looked away, his jaws working again.
“Now is not the time, Inspector.”
"Sure it is," I growled. I felt an almost overpowering need to hurt this man like he had hurt me. Hurt those dead SPs his incompetence, his stubbornness, had killed.
“Sarah was part of a somewhat successful experiment. Not by the military but by a private contractor.”
“Somewhat successful? Sarah’s odd, but you might be too if you were in her shoes,” I told him. I needed to defend her. I also needed to find out what the Major knew and how he’d learned it. “Just what’s wrong with her?”
“Not Sarah. She’s the one everyone wants.”
Kilgore sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“You couldn’t have known Inspector, but you shouldn’t have brought her here.”
“Then why didn’t you say something when you first saw her? There was time for me to get her out of here.”
“No there wasn’t, nothing moves in Brownstown unless it’s scheduled to move. Besides, I wasn’t sure until she showed you her umbilical mark.”
Paranoia began kicking in. I ramped up the works in my right eye and scanned the area, doing a full sweep, recording as I slowly turned. I took my time and then watched the replay, letting Kilgore wait.
Something seemed out of place near an outbuilding with snow drifted against the northwest corner. I couldn't place what was setting my nerves on edge. I replayed the scan of the building, sweeping through all the spectrums of light my eye could see. I checked the heat scans, everything. I finally brightened the view, creating more contrast.
Then I saw it, the faintest movement of a mere shadow crossing from the building to the snowdrift.
I pulled my revolver from its holster and moved slowly; setting each step down gently and slowly letting my mass sink my foot down into the snow. As luck would have it, the wind had decided to stop blowing, allowing the sound of snow crunching beneath a footstep carry.
Taking aim, I eased the hammer back till it locked, ready to fire. I took my time using my right eye to aim, utilizing my new upgrades from my last hospital stay to calculate angle, wind drift and drop due to the effect of gravity on the round as it traveled. I slowed my breathing, gradually increasing the pressure on the trigger right to the point of pulling it. Taking a final breath, I squeezed the last bit, firing my .50 caliber round into the snow drift.
Momentarily deafened by the explosion of sound from my gun, I couldn’t hear anything. Snow began to twirl in little whirlwinds as the wind again whipped up; as if it was pleased I had done something so violent.
Moving with caution and my firearm at the ready, I approached the snow drift carefully, Kilgore next to me, his own sidearm drawn and at the ready. We separated and approached the snow drift in a pincer like movement. I approached from the north and Kilgore from the south.
I finally cleared the sightline of the drift. There was nobody there. Kilgore lowered his firearm and approached the drift slowly. I covered him as he carefully scanned the area. He motioned to me. I approached with caution certain somebody was observing us.
“You grazed somebody,” he whispered, pointing at a drop of blood quickly freezing in the snow.
---
Josephson’s breathing was slow and rhythmic as he slept. Otherwise, Sarah would have kept him awake so she could listen. Sitting with her back against the wall in the corner of the room, Sarah hid behind the second double bed. Slumped over she could just see the entrance to their hotel room while not being readily visible herself.
Hidden from view, Sarah fingered the knife she had lifted from Sullivan’s boot without him noticing. She listened to every sound, the wind, a couple arguing in a room several doors down, and the sound of powdered snow drifting, sorting the sounds out, listening for someone approaching.
An irrational sense of unease had filled Sarah when Sullivan departed to meet with the Marine Officer, leaving her alone with Josephson. The sleeping detective caused Sarah no fear. He was not capable of harming her.
Things she couldn't control caused Sarah's anxiety, things like Sullivan's dislike for the officer. Seeing the dead clone had almost sent her into a panic driven flight. Angry with herself for relaxing her guard in Sullivan's presence, Sarah fought back the fear and anxiety telling her to run.
Somewhere in Brownstown was a hunter, a shadowy figure determined to take her back. Sarah knew she could evade the hunter and make her way back to Capital City. The cold would make things hard, but the wind and snow would help too. Providing her with a natural cover to fade into and not be seen.
Keeping Sarah in place was the knowledge her sister Ellie was still somewhere on Beta Prime, possibly in Brownstown. With a hunter close, Sarah would need Sullivan to find Ellie, keep her
sister safe. Long enough for Sarah to figure out what to do.
Sullivan frightened Sarah. He was a towering individual, two meters tall and thickly muscled. His facial scar and often blunt manner intimidated people who did not know him. Then there was the Inspector’s propensity for violence. She had seen it personally. Seen him beat a monster to death with his steel hand and the remains of a mutilated but human hand.
Sullivan also made Sarah feel safe. Cared for in a way she had never experienced. Before he had convinced her to work for him, Sullivan had let her stay in his apartment when she wanted relief from the cold or was hungry enough to take advantage of his offer to eat the food in his apartment.
She didn't know which Sullivan scared her the most, the tough, brutal cop or the man who wanted her to be safe and well cared for. It was all so confusing. Sarah knew men desired her. Monsters in her past had made that lesson painfully clear. Sullivan had never once tried to touch Sarah that way. If anything, it seemed to her the big man did everything possible to avoid touching her at all.
Sarah was certain of one thing, Sullivan wanted something from her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kilgore sat down a cup of hot chocolate before taking a seat on the other side of the interrogation table. I took a sip and let the sweet, hot liquid run down my throat, warming my insides just a touch.
“What do you want to know,” Kilgore asked evenly. “I can only tell you so much, but I’ll tell you what I can.”
"Sarah said she was made for a particular client who was dying. The template, as she called this person, passed away before Sarah was born."
“True. I can tell you that much, but I believe Sarah is slightly misinformed.”
“How so?”
“The template funded the process of cloning the three girls. After that, she was no longer needed.”
“I see.” These were ruthless people. I would have to be a little more patient with Sarah and her fits of paranoia. People, even crooks, usually don’t kill their source of income. Not unless they see the potential for a better deal somewhere else.
“Who is after Sarah?”
I watched my former commanding officer think, filtering through what he could tell me and what he couldn’t.
"Several different groups I guess is the best way to describe the situation. Our military but not for the reasons you might think."
“What reasons do I think?” I wanted to know as much as possible.
“To keep others from getting the technology Sarah represents. The Alliance agrees with the ban on human cloning. It’s a can of worms the military would like to see kept shut.”
“Okay. I might buy that. I might not. Who else wants Sarah?”
“The Confederation and probably the Caliphate would be my guess as to who the military groups are.”
I thought for a moment. It made sense. The Confederation, the rebel group of planets who’d started the civil war within the Interplanetary Alliance, had taken horrific losses in the war historians now called the Intergalactic Wars.
The Caliphate, planets settled by Islamic groups from the Old Earth had been showing a desire to expand. History told stories of suicide attacks hundreds of years ago by the factions that had later formed the group of settlers that became the group of colonies known as the Caliphate.
“Makes sense. Quick way to raise an army if you’re the Confederation and a source of suicide squads, if the stories from history are true, for the Caliphate.”
“They don’t scare me as much as the other groups Inspector,” Kilgore said grimly.
I took note of his expression, and it chilled me, making my legs feel weak like I'd just finished a long run on an empty stomach.
“How so?”
“For profit breeding. Assassins for a single, one off job, organ harvesting, illegal human research and even raising expendable mercenary armies for corporations. The possibilities for abuse of the process are limited only by the greed and evil of the individual.”
The urge to get Sarah, and Josephson for that matter, out of Brownstown began to feel like a compulsion. Like the kind I used to have when I was hitting the bottle. The urge to take another drink.
“This is more than just a murder of one of your SPs.”
“Sullivan, it is indeed that. I’m going to level with you. I’m not just in the Space Marines.”
Kilgore let his words hang in the air like pieces to a puzzle. He wanted me to fit them together.
“I see,” I told him. It was clear now, or at least I thought it was.
“How long have you been the Marine commander at this outpost?”
“Five months.”
“What goes on here?”
“Normal military stuff. Mainly, we patrol the wastelands around here. Keep an eye out for bandits and act as a ready defense force if Capital City comes under attack."
“Yeah,” the cynical part of me replied, knowing full well Kilgore was telling me the truth. The part of the truth the Alliance military didn't care if anyone knew. "What actually goes on here?"
“Sullivan, I wish I could tell you.”
I hated all this back and forth. I like simple, direct communication.
"Stop it with all this top secret stuff. Either tell me or don't. I want to get the body and the evidence back to Capital City and file my report. The odds are your shooter was whoever it was I winged, and he or she is long gone."
“Sullivan, I’m not playing games. I don’t know. I was sent here to find out. This much I can tell you. The base, like most on planets similar to Beta Prime, is also a research facility. What’s more, the security to enter that part of the base is the best I have ever seen. I don’t have clearance to get in.”
I had to decide if I was being played. Kilgore owed me. He knew I hated him for what he'd done to those other SPs and me. He also had a job to do now. Military Intelligence in the Alliance military drew from all of the branches. They were a secretive bunch on a good day.
Kilgore was taking a calculated risk bringing me in, a risk that made sense. He didn't know whom he could trust. A civilian cop he knew, possibly trusted, might be worth the risk. Catching the killer might shake something loose. I thought in silence for a while. Partly to try to make sense of the jumble of facts and partly to see if I could get Kilgore to fill the silence by talking, giving away something.
He didn’t say a word after some time passed. He just smiled at me. I shrugged. He had been an SP once and as such, familiar with interrogation tactics.
“You think the base might be the source of the clones?”
Kilgore didn’t speak. His eyes did though.
“You think the SP was cloned here.”
More silence.
“Rogue unit?” I mouthed, suddenly paranoid about recording devices.
“Inspector, I’ve kept you far too long. You have got to be exhausted. After you’ve returned to Capital City and gotten some rest, please send me a copy of your preliminary report. I’ve made travel arrangements for you and your assistant to fly back with the body and evidence. The young detective will be traveling back on what the railroad refers to as a mixed train. Part freight and part passenger. He’ll be awhile.”
I smiled. Kilgore had picked up on my irritation with Josephson. The long, boring trip might teach him a lesson. If it didn't, the military's way of trying to get your attention by causing harmless pain wouldn't hurt the young pup.
---
Brownstown didn't look as small from the air as Markeson thought it would. The airfield was relatively large, but the presence of the military base had a lot to do with that. Mining activity had led to the development of the large rail complex for loading ore, and containers of equipment from off planet transferred to freight hauling hover vehicles.
Circling the growing town, Markeson had seen the tourist development. Several medium sized hills had been developed for an old fashioned ski resort. He'd laughed at that idea. It would take a lot of marketing to get him to learn to slide down a hill in
the freezing cold with a pair of sticks on his feet. But, there were plenty of stupid, gullible people out there willing to part with their credits.
Lining up for the approach to land, the hover craft passed over the working class part of town. Converted space freight containers, used by the mining companies to bring the first loads of equipment to the site, made up the bulk of the housing. Like most mining towns, there was the main street, dotted with shops and offices of the few professionals who'd hung out their shingles.
He could see why Sullivan had been requested. The cops in Brownstown handled drunks from the mines on payday and vandalism by the high school kids on weekends. There wouldn’t be a decent investigative detective on the force.
Not that he cared.
Chief O'Brian was responsible for the police force on Beta Prime, a big job, but primarily concentrated in Capital City. As far as Markeson was concerned, assigning a detective to Brownstown would be a form of cruel and unusual punishment.
As the hovercraft finished banking and began its final descent, shedding speed and altitude, Markeson tried to concentrate on his meeting. He hated surprises and liked not being in control even less. Still, for two thousand credits, he could listen. Information was critical in his many enterprises, and he'd learn what he could and if possible, give little to nothing away in return for the credits, first-class ticket, and lunch.
A gentle bump followed by the shifting of the craft as it settled on its landing gear signaled the end of the flight. Markeson stood up, smiled at the attractive flight attendant and made his way to the exit of the craft, not waiting for the obligatory and infuriating message to remain seated until the pilot gave the all clear.
Flashing his badge at the crewman, Markeson waited in silence for the hatch to open. Icy cold air seeped in as the seal was broken, reminding him of how much he'd grown to hate the climate on Beta Prime. Walking through the causeway connecting the hovercraft to the terminal reminded him just how backplanet everything was on Beta Prime. Modern terminals on upscale worlds in the Interplanetary Alliance allowed hovercraft to dock directly with the terminal. No causeway was required.
