Voidstalker

by John Graham

  In any case, the prisoner was of no further use.

  “Now that you have no further use for me,” the prisoner said, pre-empting Gabriel’s thoughts, “you probably plan to kill me.”

  “Do you fear death?” Gabriel asked with an undertone of menace.

  “No,” the prisoner answered confidently, “at worst, I will be brought back with steel to replace the flesh you cut away, and at best, I will leave this material world completely.”

  Gabriel drew his gun.

  “No need for that.” the prisoner said.

  Suddenly, his head snapped back violently and the cybernetic light in his eyes faded to black as he passed away. The prisoner lay limp and lifeless in his restraints, like a partially amputated crash dummy.

  Gabriel didn’t trust this enemy to stay dead; he set his weapon to a low-powered single shot and fired, aiming between the chin and the Adam’s apple. The bullet travelled through the roof of the mouth and into the deceased target’s brain, spattering the back wall with blood, brain matter, and bits of neurocircuitry.

  Gabriel returned to the squad.

  “We have good news and strange news,” Bale told Gabriel as he approached.

  “Same here,” Gabriel replied, “you first.”

  “The good news is that there’s a way to get Doran out of here without backtracking all the way back to the loading bay.” Cato said, tapping a few keys on an interface panel.

  An entire section of the wall opened up, revealing an entry point into an automated cargo conveyor system, complete with empty storage boxes for transporting medical samples and equipment. There was even an unused casket for transporting corpses.

  “This entire facility is serviced by an automated logistical transport system,” Cato explained, “supplies are brought in, and packages are sent out. That automated freight hauler we encountered earlier is part of the same system.”

  “So if we put Doran in one of these caskets, we can send him to safety?” Gabriel asked.

  “Exactly,” Cato answered, “I can adjust the life support systems in his suit for the trip. His transponder should also make sure the DNI picks him up.”

  “Good, get ready to move him.” Gabriel ordered.

  Cato nodded and started preparing Doran for medical transport.

  “What about the strange news?” Gabriel asked.

  “I searched through the computers and…” Bale ventured to explain, “…found spyware; sophisticated spyware, too, embedded in a hidden boot file called ‘Dani’.”

  “I guess Doran was right.” Gabriel replied, “Still, it’s not that surprising; corporate espionage in the tech sector is common enough.”

  “That’s not all,” Bale continued, “the timestamps date back nearly five years.”

  “A mole in deep cover for five years?” Gabriel said, “Now that is impressive.”

  “I thought we’d just ruled out the presence of a mole?” Viker asked.

  “The research labs run on an airtight computer system,” Bale explained, “Like I said earlier, someone with access to the labs had to have personally installed the spyware.”

  “That doesn’t mean there was an agent here for five whole years,” Viker responded sceptically, “Someone could have planted the spyware and left it to transmit on its own.”

  “An airtight computer network, by definition, is totally disconnected from any other network,” Gabriel pointed out, “it couldn’t have transmitted anything.”

  “In which case,” Bale continued, “the mole would have had to periodically download the spyware’s latest observations, then smuggle the data out somehow.”

  “The automated logistics system can take cargo to and from the landing pad without anyone having to physically inspect it.” Cato suggested, still preparing Doran for transport.

  “Which means that the mole must have known how to use the logistics network.” Gabriel concluded, “Any clues on who the mole was?”

  “The spyware would never reveal the identity of the person who planted it,” Bale replied.

  “Anybody on the staff roster who looks suspicious?” Gabriel suggested, “Someone with a name that includes ‘Dani’ in it, maybe?”

  “There’s three Daniels, one Danielle, and a Dr Penelope Daniels.” Bale answered as he searched through the records, “Other than that, nobody.”

  “What about ‘Lawrence Kane’?” Viker asked.

  The squad turned around to see Viker examining a set of hatches on the wall. They were mortuary alcoves for storing corpses; only one of them had a name.

  “‘Dr Lawrence Kane’.” Bale read from the staff roster, “‘Project Liaison Officer from Jupiter Engineering Co.’s headquarters in Asgard City’. Every time he visited this facility, he made at least one trip to the medical bay for some kind of blood disorder. The records say he had to send regular blood samples back to some lab on Asgard.”

  “And probably slipped a data chip full of stolen research into the blood samples.” Cato speculated, “Then used the facility’s own system to smuggle the samples out.”

  “Do we know what happened to Dr Kane?” Gabriel asked.

  “It just says ‘status: deceased’.” Bale answered inconclusively, “No information on how or when. Is he even in there?”

  Viker pulled open the mortuary hatch and the tray extended automatically, releasing a cloud of refrigerated vapour into the air.

  Sure enough, there was a body inside. It was a man’s corpse, with skin that was a pale shade of blue. He was still wearing clothing, and he had a holographic ID tag still attached to his chest. Viker tapped the ID tag and it lit up with a name: ‘Dr Lawrence Kane’.

  “Mystery solved.” Said Viker, pushing the tray back in and shutting the hatch, “Partly.”

  “So, what did you get out of the prisoner?” Bale asked, changing the subject.

  “The elevator down to the ‘temple’ is at the other end of the facility, and the access code is 52133.” Gabriel replied, “no biometric lock, apparently.”

  “He gave it up just like that?” Viker asked incredulously.

  “I sliced his hand clean off and he practically orgasmed as a result.” Gabriel answered, “He wanted us to go down there.”

  “Doran’s ready,” Cato announced, “and his suit has a week’s worth of oxygen.”

  The empty casket was brought out by the conveyor system and elevated to the right position, and Doran – his suit now reassembled – was carefully placed inside. Once the casket was sealed, internal padding filled with special memory gel expanded to fill the leftover space to minimise shocks to the valuable cargo.

  Cato then used the system to file an off-world transport request for the package. Once approved by the system, the sealed casket was plucked from its stand by a set of robotic arms and taken inside where it disappeared into the guts of the logistics network.

  “Which would look worse on our reports,” Cato wondered as the wall panel resealed itself, “putting Doran in a coffin to save his life, or losing him in the mail?”

  Bale and Viker chuckled, and even Gabriel couldn’t help but crack a smile, until he remembered to deauthorise Doran’s ID from the squad’s comm. system.

  “We still have a mission to complete,” Gabriel reminded the squad, “let’s move out!”

  “The ‘Dani’ spyware copied and stored virtually every single file on the system,” said Bale, “including a map of this ‘temple’. So we won’t get lost in the lion’s den.”

  “Do we even know what this ‘temple’ is?” Cato asked.

  “We’ll find out once we get there.” Gabriel replied.

  “You might want to take that thing’s sword, just in case.” Viker recommended, “Masterminds know what other fricking monsters they have waiting for us.”

  Gabriel nodded, and walked back over to the semi-Human corpse he had been interrogating. He took the magnetic plate that stored the jumper’s sword and slung it over his own shoulder, the strap tightening of its own accord. Then he retri
eved the jumper’s sword, checked that the cutting field was switched off, and returned it to the magnetic sheath.

  Perhaps Viker’s earlier outburst was right, and Red-eye really had assigned him a squad of operators for cannon fodder. With no backup and no way of contacting the DNI for support, their odds of survival weren’t exceptional.

  And Viker’s use of the phrase ‘suicide mission’ was more accurate than he knew.

  THE TEMPLE

  Kingpins of industry and finance like Jezebel Thorn dominated much of the interstellar economy; and Aster, like everyone else she had known growing up, regarded them and the other fleeksters with a mixture of envy and contempt. Being roped into one of their schemes was galling.

  The children entertained themselves and each other in the back of the sky-taxi, oblivious to the turmoil that occupied their mother’s thoughts all the way back to the apartment. Madam Jezebel would never harm her own grandchildren, but taking them from the medical centre was clearly intended as a message to Aster personally.

  Above all, Aster regretted her impulsive decision to go snooping around Lawrence’s office after explicitly telling Felix not to. And now, thanks to that incriminating video, she had no choice but to go along with Jezebel’s blackmail, or risk being framed as the mole.

  Given what Jezebel Thorn had insinuated, her mole had to have been Lawrence himself. Who else would have thought to plant a camera outside his office? Why else had he hidden an industrial-grade data chip in his office in a place where most people wouldn’t think to look? And how else would Madam Jezebel have gotten her hands on the video?

  Still, the makings of a counter-plan were starting to form in Aster’s mind. She had blurted out how the data chip she had taken was blue in colour, and Jezebel seemed to accept that as fact. If she gave Jezebel a blue data chip and convinced her that it was genuine, then handed over the red data chip – the real one – to the DNI, she could get official protection by the time Jezebel discovered she had been duped.

  The sky-taxi alighted on the nearest public landing pad, and the Thorn family walked the short distance back to the apartment. Aster ushered the children through the front door and locked the door behind her, heaving a sigh of relief once she had done so. The children were glad to be home, too, and raced to the living room. After piling onto the couch, they began fighting over the wireless data-glove that controlled the holo-TV.

  “Holo-TV, on.” Aster enunciated as she walked into the room.

  Responding to her voice command, the holoscreen activated, covering the opposite wall with the projection. The channel happened to be the news.

  “…stock price collapsed by an eye-watering 27% after unconfirmed reports that its labs were raided by the DNI. Chairman Darius Avaritio hasn’t been seen in public for…”

  Aster plucked the data-glove out of Orion’s hands and slipped it over her own hand, dismissing the news report with a swipe of her fingers and flicking rapidly through the hundreds of channels in search of something other than the evening news.

  She found a decent family movie to watch and snapped her fingers with the data-glove to select it. The children moved over to give their mother some room on the couch and she sat down with them, removing the data-glove and tossing it onto the coffee table.

  As the movie began to play, Aster was too distracted to pay attention. It was nice to be home, but the first night without him was always hardest, even without the day’s events weighing on her thoughts. She was also bothered by how her mother-in-law had so easily picked up her children from the medical centre. Just how many connections did she have? The paranoia was starting to get to her.

  Aster stood up abruptly.

  “What’s wrong, mommy?” Rose asked.

  “Nothing, sweetheart,” Aster replied with a reassuring smile, “just keep watching the movie. Mommy has some work to do.”

  Leaving the children in the living room, Aster went to the master bedroom and shut the door behind her. She approached what looked like an armoured closet on Gabriel’s side of the room and slid her thumb across the sensor panel. The light on the biometric sensor panel went from red to green and the twin doors slid open.

  Inside was a humanoid figure with a matte black finish standing still as a statue, its faceless and featureless head drooped in programmed slumber. On its right breast in white letters was emblazoned the model name ‘Maganiel’.

  Aster reached up and wrapped her knuckles against the android’s forehead. The android’s eyes lit up electric blue as it activated. It inclined its head towards Aster, looking her straight in the eyes before flash-scanning them.

  “Good evening, Aster Thorn,” the android greeted her in a digitised voice without any Human inflections, “Maganiel Mark V online. How may I be of service?”

  “Personal protection for the family.” Aster enunciated.

  “Understood. The DNA signatures of: Aster Thorn…Orion Thorn…Rose Thorn…Violet Thorn…Leonidas Thorn…Gabriel Thorn…are already stored in my database. Please confirm that these are the individuals who require personal protection.”

  “Confirm.” Aster instructed the android.

  “Understood.” The maganiel acknowledged, “Please be aware that the use of lethal force is strictly regulated, and in most cases is prohibited, by Asgard Municipal Codes. Do you wish to authorise lethal force?”

  “Yes.”

  “Understood.” The maganiel replied, “Please be aware that the use of lethal weaponry, including firearms, is strictly regulated, and in most cases is prohibited, by Asgard Municipal Codes. Do you wish to authorise the use of firearms?”

  “Yes.”

  “Understood.” The maganiel replied, “Mission directive and parameters: confirmed.”

  The maganiel reached back into the closet and pulled out a military-issue sidearm, checking the settings before stowing the weapon on a magnetic plate attached to its thigh. Aster stepped aside as the armed android exited the closet and waited quietly in the corner. Mentally exhausted, Aster flopped down on Gabriel’s side of the bed.

  After staring at the ceiling for a while, her gaze drifted sideways until she was looking at Gabriel’s bedside table. There in pride of place was a framed holo-photo from their wedding day. It was one of the few times Aster had seen him smile, and it stood in remarkable contrast to the stern expression he usually wore around the house.

  Madam Jezebel had attended the ceremony, and paid for the venue. She had even put on an award-winning performance pretending to be thrilled that her son was marrying a colonial girl – even one with multiple engineering degrees. Most of the other guests had been former classmates of hers at engineering school as well as some sinister-looking DNI types that Gabriel presumably knew from work.

  At least, they had looked sinister to Aster. She couldn’t help but wonder if the DNI did something to its operatives to make them that way. Was Gabriel always so dour, or had he been put through the same personality-dulling process?

  Even so, it was a nice photo, and Aster smiled back.

  * * *

  Latched onto the underside of a nearby mag-rail track was a small pod, its presence concealed by a variety of cloaking systems. Inside the cramped surveillance pod, two men watched on a holographic screen as the Thorn family stepped out of the sky-taxi and headed inside, following them through the camera network all the way to their front door.

  One of the men touched the holographic screen with his finger and thumb and zoomed in on Aster Thorn as she walked away from the camera.

  “Damn, that is one fine piece of ass.” He said with grin.

  “We’re on assignment, Blake.” The other man reminded him.

  “Hey, I’m just saying,” Blake replied unapologetically, “good on the lucky guy who gets to bang that every night. Don’t you think?”

  “She’s not really my type.” The other man casually slid his hand across Blake’s thigh.

  “Ugh! What the fleek are you doing, Gibson?” Blake wriggled away in alarm.


  “Serves you right for perving out on the mark.” Gibson replied with a satisfied smile.

  “What do you mean ‘the mark’?” Blake said, confused, as he settled back into his seat, “we’re on a surveillance op., not a hit.”

  “Of course, it’s not a hit, moron,” Gibson replied, “you surveil a mark for intelligence, and you mark a target for death. Who let you out of the academy early?”

  “Ok, whatever.” Blake said dismissively.

  “So, are you gonna call it in, or would you rather ogle the mark some more?”

  “Fine, fine.” Blake said as he activated a secure link, “Big-brother, big-brother, this is watchdog-two-zero, Agents Blake and Gibson checking in.”

  “Roger, watchdog-two-zero, big-brother reads you,” a gruff voice replied.

  “Big-brother, the…mark arrived by sky-taxi just now with her four kids,” Blake reported, “but she took a detour on her back way from work.”

  “Affirmative, watchdog-two-zero,” their handler replied, “The kids were scheduled for a series of medical tests today.”

  “Understood, big-brother, but the mark never went to the medical centre,” Agent Blake explained, “she went to a residential address on the 201st floor of the Elysium Tower, stayed there for a few minutes, then picked up the kids from there.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

  “Big-brother, come in?”

  “Watchdog-two-zero, that address is registered to a certain Jezebel Thorn,” the handler explained, “she is also an active surveillance mark. Please immediately forward all signals intelligence collected from the exchange.”

  “Uh, that’s a negative, big-brother,” Agent Blake answered, “the entire 201st floor was equipped with garblers; no usable SIGINT data could be gathered.”

  “Understood, watchdog-two-zero,” the handler replied.

  “Big-brother, Jezebel Thorn is the kids’ grandmother, confirm?” Agent Blake asked.