by Steve Rzasa
“I remember.”
Aldo rolled his eyes. “This would be a lot easier if you were scared instead of unflappable.”
Rome shrugged. He was nervous. No denying it. But he doubted Jocelyn would kill them. She’d never resorted to violence in her crimes. Not even the threat of it.
Of course, that was three years ago. If she were sufficiently scared…
The Halcyon topped a steep hill. Ahead of them, the road opened onto a clearing. Dilapidated houses spotted the area, huddled around a creek. None of them appeared occupied—most had broken windows, a few had roofs that were caved in. No lights. No signals. No signs of habitation.
Rome stopped. He got out and inspected the ground.
Aldo sniffed the air. “Smoke. That what you’re looking for?”
Rome picked at the grass. “Tire indentations.”
“Ah.”
“Any drone footage for us to rope in?”
“Nope. I checked. FTZ doesn’t have any records of any flybys in recent months. I only just lightly perused—didn’t want to dig any further and get ourselves tagged.”
“Good idea.” Rome squinted. The afternoon sun was bright, even through the haze. “Well, if she’s here, she’ll come out and say hello.”
An engine rumbled. Then a second. Two trucks burst into view—one from behind a sagging barn and the second from around the porch of a two-story home. Both were Ford Bison—older models painted over with a rough mix of brown and greens, interspersed with gray pixelated patterns. Each had two people inside.
Each had a Driver.
“That’s, okay… that’s bad.” Aldo reached into the car.
“No! No guns.”
“What?”
Rome smiled, but he faced the oncoming vehicles, not Aldo. “Put your hands out, anywhere they can see them. No guns.”
“Okay.” Aldo put his hands on the door. “If I die, you get to clean out my tool stash.”
“Shut up.” Rome kept smiling and waved.
The trucks stopped, one on either side of the Halcyon. Three men got out, two of them as big as bears and with expressions just as friendly. They were black men with curly hair and identical beards—in fact, Rome realized everything about them was identical. The third man was shorter, slimmer, and clean-shaven.
The fourth occupant—the driver of the first truck—was a woman as tall as Rome and lithe as a mountain lion. She strode up and stared him up and down with icy blue eyes. Her skin was mahogany and her hair as short as the men’s. She wore a camouflaged tan jacket, plaid button-down shirt, and dark blue jeans. Rome was more interested in the ornate gun belt that drooped across her hip. A Hunsaker .50 caliber Goldbreaker gleamed among the leather.
“I’ll be.” Jocelyn Moses’s voice had a husky drawl. “Roman Jasko.”
“In the flesh.”
“Comm boys told me the signal was from you. You brought Aldo into this mess?”
Aldo grinned. “Hey, Jocelyn. How’ve you been?”
“Eking an illegal living modifying cars, when I’m not making snoopy visitors disappear.”
Aldo’s grin disappeared.
“Look, Jocelyn, we’re not here on any official business.”
“So I hear. You’re a fugitive.” Jocelyn smiled, all teeth. She still reminded Rome of a mountain lion. “That’s a mighty big bounty you’ve got.”
“What I’ve got is money, and someone I need to catch. I need your help to do it.”
“That makes you desperate.”
“I am that. How much?
“Boys, go see what our old pal keeps in his ride.”
The men pushed past Aldo and rummaged through the back seat of the Halcyon. They came up with Rome’s stash of coins, the extra guns, even their food.
Jocelyn nodded. Rome didn’t think she could look any happier unless he’d given her the car, too. “Load it all up.”
“Wait a sec,” Aldo said. “We need that stuff! You take all our food and money, how’re we supposed to eat?”
“Use your implant.” Jocelyn made a show of snapping her fingers. “Oh, right. You probably can’t pay for anything because your accounts are frozen and FTZ’s tracking your every digital financial transaction. Wow, that must just be a terrible hardship for you.”
“Enough crap, Jocelyn.” Rome yanked one of the bags away from Jocelyn’s men. When he lunged for it, Rome planted a shoe on his chest. The man wound up slick with mud.
“Don’t piss them off, Jasko. They don’t take well to people who cross me.”
Jocelyn’s hand dipped to the holster at her hip, but Rome was already at the Halcyon’s open door. Aldo tossed him one of the J20s. Rome aimed it at Jocelyn’s gut. Her men drew their weapons, but Jocelyn froze with her hand wrapped around her pistol’s grip.
“Here’s the deal,” Rome said. “Leave me a packet of the gold and one of silver. We keep the food and the guns, too. Everything else, you can have it. But we need you to do this for us. I have to find the guy who’s put the mark on us.”
Jocelyn chewed her lip. She withdrew her hand. A curt wave brought her men’s weapons down. “Sounds reasonable. Might have been I was too hasty. Let me see what you’ve got.”
Aldo helped Rome remove the money from the bag that he figured they needed. He grabbed the food satchel from Jocelyn’s men, glaring as if the guy had stepped on his pet dog—or stomped on Marcy. Rome gave everything else to Jocelyn.
She inspected the coin packets. “That’s a heap of change, Jasko. All yours?”
“Every dollar.”
“Bounties from a long career.”
Jocelyn sneered. “Mine’s in here, no doubt.”
“You’re welcome to look. Meanwhile, you’re wasting my time. I have money, you have talent.”
She chuckled. “Oh, man, I forgot what a stiff one you were. Maybe that’s why I got caught so many times by you and your pale co-pilot, Jasko—you take everything so seriously. You know what though? I like that. I respect that. We can deal. Mount your ride and follow us in. First—you’re not being tracked, are you?”
Rome scowled.
“You’re right, my bad, that was an insult right there.” Jocelyn slapped his shoulder. “Couldn’t resist.”
~
“You really gave her all our money?”
Rome scowled, eyes on the dirt track in front of the Halcyon.
“Okay, dumb question,” Aldo said. “How much is stashed back on the Condor?”
“Thirty thousand. I gave Jocelyn forty.”
Aldo winced. “Sorry. If I had anything not frozen up in my accounts—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m doing what has to be done.” Had to keep telling himself, too.
They drove around the back of the houses where Jocelyn’s crew hid. A small, lopsided shed with wooden shingles leaned up against the house as if for comfort. Peeling white paint littered the ground. Rome was pretty sure goat dung covered the rest, compliments of the horned critters that roamed the area.
“Getting a power surge,” Aldo muttered. “No way those houses are pulling that kind of current. Or even have wires.” He shut up when a section of land around the shed lifted up and revealed a paved ramp down into the earth.
Rome drove the steep descent and cringed when the Halcyon’s fenders scraped the asphalt. The ramp leveled out into the mouth of a cavern—a great, yawning opening rimmed with white lights.
Jocelyn’s shop was in a cave.
Rome stepped out of the car. The musty odor hit him full force and he immediately felt damp all over. He took in the full view of the limestone cavern that stretched a couple hundred feet ahead and out to the sides that same width. The ceiling dripped with stalactites overhead. Rusty supports braced against lumpy walls of chalky, white and gray stone, their orange forms jutting out like discolored bones.
“No wonder we never found all her mod gear.” Aldo whistled. The sound echoed forever.
“Setup ain’t pretty, but it does its job.” Jocelyn whacked her glov
es against a pair of bulky, round power cores as big as the Halcyon. They rumbled like the heaviest traffic on the Ninety. “Geothermal fed. Beats payin’ for power.”
Her boys wheeled the Halcyon into one of several grottos that bulked into the limestone walls on either side of the main cavern. Those appeared to have been carved—laser cut, with smooth edges that gleamed under bright white lights strung at even intervals every four feet.
The driver backed the car in with a half-foot to spare at the rear fender. Not bad, Rome had to admit.
“Look at this stuff.” Aldo peered into a rack divided into a dozen shelves. They slumped under the weight of more parts and comp components than Rome had ever seen in one place, even including the repair domes back at FTZ West headquarters. “Tags, holo projectors, code scramblers, comp cloners—wait a second. I want one of those cloners. How’d you get one?”
Jocelyn just grinned.
“C’mon, I promise—zipped lips. You know how much firewall I’d have to punch through if I even wanted to see one that the R&D boys at FTZ have been messing with? You can’t possibly have bought one.” Aldo raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You stole it.”
“No, I made one.” Jocelyn pointed beyond the shelves. A fabricator was tucked into one grotto. The machinery was a more streamlined, compact version of the equipment Rome saw at the business center Sara’s group used as a temporary base. It was far too high end to just happen to fall into a cave like this. “Where do you think I get all the money for this stuff? Healthy, wealthy sponsor, boys. There’s people out there who don’t mind ponying up the money for activities such as mine if it means getting humans and not comps behind the driver’s wheel.”
“I’d lecture you on breaking the law, Jocelyn, but…” Rome shrugged. He waved his hand to indicate their surroundings. “Aldo, put your tongue back in your mouth. We’re not shopping.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Okay, fellas, keep your hands in your pockets. Get over to Denny. He’ll take care of your tags.”
Denny was the slim one of the trio who’d met them above ground.
Quiet and focused, he motioned Rome and Aldo to sit in a pair of reclined chairs. Each had peeling chrome and vinyl upholstery, a garish orange covering that appeared to have been gnawed on. It reminded Rome of the dentist’s chair, only without the sensors dangling from the ceiling and the hygienist bot’s articulated limbs reaching around.
Whatever Denny did to his implant took an hour. The steady ache in Rome’s wrist intensified to shooting pains. Aldo, in the next chair, grit his teeth. Sweat dripped down his face.
Denny rolled a chair back and forth between them, wheels clattering on the stone. He didn’t speak. If it wasn’t for his periodic grunts and the rapid flicking of his fingers on a holo display that beamed from his own wrist, Rome would have guessed him catatonic.
Every so often, Rome got a glimpse of Jocelyn, who wielded a different tool each time. She hurried to the Halcyon’s bay or left it with such frequency, Rome wondered if she was the equipment gopher. Only once did he see the work in progress—panels all around the car were tossed aside, leaning against the grotto walls while wires spilled out from exposed spaces. Modules of varying shapes and sizes sat on the floor or on the hood, blinking a rainbow of colors.
“Rome? What’re they doing to her?” Aldo’s voice was thick with strain.
“Working.” Or cannibalizing. If Jocelyn chose to betray them, there’d be nothing he could do to prevent her from stripping the Halcyon for parts and turning them lose in the Appalachian wilds.
“She look okay?”
Jocelyn shook her head. She snatched a part from inside one of the Halcyon’s open compartments on the rear flank, thrust it at a woman in gray coveralls, and lit into the gathered workers with orders that hit them harsher than a J20 burst. Her exact words were lost in the clamor of the shop.
“Yep. Fine,” Rome said.
“Okay. Yeowch!” Aldo glared at Denny. “Easy! You prod any implant that bad, you could lock out all the primary functions and break the ID pattern.”
Denny stared at him, then flicked a long string of data on his displays.
Aldo yelped.
Ten minutes later, they were done. The pain faded as soon as Denny shut down his displays. “Good to go.” Those—the only words out of his mouth—rang clear as a proximity chime.
Rome activated his implant. His face appeared, the scruff of beard and a bald head replaced the years-old image that used to live on his ID. This new visage topped part of a very crisp, clean formal shirt and tie. “Donovan Hastent, Department of Defense inspector.”
“Don? Nice. I got Malcolm Stewart.” Aldo frowned at the brown-haired and beardless tiny representation of himself. “You think I look like a Malcolm?”
“Better get used to it, Inspector Stewart.”
“Hey, if we’re the same rank, let me be the boss on this one.”
Rome rolled his eyes.
The Halcyon was near complete. Jocelyn’s people had extruded a brand new windshield. Only a pair of front panels remained on the floor. Its silver sheen was gone, replaced a flat gray of the base model color.
“You’re going onto a military base.” Jocelyn shook her head. “Always knew you were bonkers, Jasko. Lucky for you, these ugly Halcyons are the number one fleet model used by the United States Armed Forces, in a variety of equally ugly colors.”
“Hey! She isn’t ugly,” Aldo griped.
“Whatever.” Jocelyn turned back to her crew. “Marie? Go dirt tan. Code six-five-oh-six-nine.”
“Got it.” The woman tapped in commands on a bulky comp panel. A long, flat strip of yellow wiring connected it to the Halcyon’s dash.
Within seconds, the car’s blank gray disappeared, replaced by a flat, monochrome khaki.
“Registration number’s gonna take another half hour or so,” Jocelyn mused.
“Got to admit, your people are fast. Explains how you got away with so much,” Rome said.
“I wouldn’t call three arrests getting away, Jasko.”
Rome nodded, thinking of the FTZ warrant, of Gabriela’s Condor waiting several miles away in a clearing, with Sara safely stowed aboard. “Nobody does forever.”
~
They flew north, the setting sun turning the western sky golden outside the cockpit windows. Aldo caught a quick nap, feet tucked under the console, head lolling on his shoulder as he slept in his chair. Gabriela watched the air traffic for the region closely, even with the Condor flying itself. She programmed course corrections around busy areas or known drone flight paths.
Rome found Sara sitting on the hood of the Halcyon. Scratch that—the military colored and coded version of the Halcyon. He slid up next to her. “You wanted to see me?”
She stared at the bulkhead. “What’s going to happen to me?”
Rome frowned. He knew this question would come up, but he didn’t have clear answers. “Trial. Jail. Your people are tied to a bunch of thefts and assaults, Sara. We can put in a good word for you, since you helped us with the identity of your leader.”
“Only if you clear your names.”
“One mile at a time.”
“I meant what I said.” She rubbed at the scar of her implant. “About Reno threatening you. He knew I cared too much. If anything happened to you I’d… it would be the worst thing I could imagine, Rome.”
He rested a hand on her leg. “I hadn’t thought much about us. Not since you left for the Republic border. Lot of time went by, without a word from you.”
“I didn’t know what I wanted. As soon as Reno made those threats, I figured it out.” Sara smiled at him, but there was something behind the expression—fear, or hesitation, or another unidentifiable emotion. All Rome knew is it wasn’t good.
Fair enough. He was fond of Sara—more than that, he couldn’t say. Rome didn’t break their gaze. “Listen. This is what I know. The only way you have a half chance of avoiding serious criminal penalties is to help us stop
Reno and Cuellar. You say you’ve got feelings for me? Prove it. Work against them, and help me prove my innocence.”
Sara’s smile stiffened, and collapsed into a thin line. “That’s a tight place to put me in, Rome.”
“No worse than the one I’m in. Remember whose family has to see my face all over the Net, supposedly aiding killers break free.” Rome stood. “We’ll be at the base in an hour. Decide by then.”
She pursed her lips in apparent thought as he walked back up to the cockpit.
Rome freed the crucifix from under his shirt. What had Andrew said? The truth. The right. They pursued him. He couldn’t shake either. Part of him would be perfectly happy to disappear into one of the off-grid sections of America. He’d even consider applying for a visa to the Republic of Texas. Still, he couldn’t shake the nag.
He had a job to do.
He had to stop whomever was using Sara and the others to profit.
Nothing would turn him away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BACEVICH ARSENAL HAD A SIMPLE layout: perimeter fence, sentry towers, sensor pickets, and tracked robots on constant patrol. Red lights festooned every location, blinking in time around the entire grounds.
The Halcyon parked before the security booth at the base, engine idling. Sentry bots trundled nearby, ensuring any intruders were within range of their firepower. A lone soldier in fatigues, cap, and boots approached.
Rome smiled for the benefit of the guard and for whoever manned the sensors strung from the post. “Afternoon, Corporal. Donovan Hastent, DOD. My associate, Malcolm Stewart. We’re here to conduct a surprise efficiency and regulatory inspection.”
“Need your implant, sir.” The corporal couldn’t be older than 19. There wasn’t a single whisker on his face, nor any hair—save for bushy black eyebrows. A finger rested above the trigger on his Omni Combat Weapon—a sleek black rifle in bullpup configuration with a large banana curved magazine at the rear.
“Understood.” Rome leaned his wrist through the open window.
The kid extended his own wrist, which bore a band covered in gray and white panels—probably linked to his implant, hidden underneath. Lights flashed as the uplink interrogated Rome’s, then Aldo’s implants.
