by Mark Wandrey
* * * * *
Chapter Twelve
“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Rick asked his travelling companion.
“About what?” Sato asked.
“All of it.”
“Yes,” Sato said. Rick watched as he got up and walked to the nearest stack of crates. He opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it. Sato seemed to be on a mission. The older scientist produced a little pocketknife and broke the seal on a crate he could reach through the netting. Without taking the crate out, he worked it open enough to reach inside and extract a vial, then reclosed the crate.
He turned and held it up for Rick to see. The clear glass vial was sealed with a plastic strip. On the strip was a stylized flashing star design. Inside the vial itself was a granulated material that looked like salt. Sato held it up to the nearest light, and the particles threw a rainbow of colors. “Sparkle,” he said.
Sato sat back down and quickly buckled in. The Phoenix turned tightly, and the engine noise grew to a scream. A second later it rolled forward and quickly became airborne.
Rick looked at the vial. He knew what Sparkle was. Everyone on Earth knew what it was. The government had spent billions a year on interdiction, education, and imprisonment of those involved in the trade. Sparkle had first appeared on Earth sometime after the Alpha Contracts. Rumor had it the drug was discovered on some alien world, a harmless spice to the planet’s natives. Others suggested aliens had created it to send to Earth just to fuck with Humans.
Whatever the source or the reason, it was insidious. Sparkle worked directly on pleasure receptors in the brain, creating a condition of euphoria. Depending on the purity, this condition could create deeply immersive ‘pleasure dreams,’ which eventually interfered with the user’s everyday life, becoming more desirable than real life. The name came from both the signature rainbow effect when held up to light, and a visual distortion to the user’s perceptions as it took effect. It was also highly addictive and worked on most races in the galaxy.
“That shit is bad news,” he said, nodding at the vial.
“I know,” Sato agreed.
Rick could only describe his expression as haunted. The older man opened his mouth, shook his head slightly, and closed his mouth.
“What?” Rick asked.
“Another time,” he said, his eyes losing focus.
He’s zoning out again, Rick thought.
The Phoenix leveled off after only climbing for a minute, and thrust increased. A moment later the superstructure shuddered as they passed through Mach. “Pretty low altitude,” Sato remarked.
Rick nodded gravely. Really low altitude, considering how mountainous the region was. Shortly after takeoff, their access to the global Aethernet returned, so the jamming was localized around Don Gutierrez’s hangar. Rick guessed it could have even been some device carried by the Colombian smugglers. Whatever the source, now that it was gone, he could see their location and direction of travel. North-by-northwest.
“Better tighten your straps,” Rick warned Sato. “It’s probably going to get bumpy.”
Sato didn’t question; he just did as Rick suggested. A minute later, the Phoenix nosed over and added more power. “What are they doing?” Sato asked.
“Probably going NOE—nap of the Earth—through the mountains to evade border radar.”
“Smuggler stuff,” Sato said.
Rick nodded. “We had some lessons on smuggler interdiction while I was with Mickey Finn. A lot of aliens hire mercs to stop smuggling into their systems or stolen goods out of them.”
The dropship’s maneuvering became more extreme, some of the turns pushing the Gs to four, and once to six. Of course, Rick scarcely noticed; the Æsir armor wouldn’t be strained until the G forces pushed 10. Sato was another matter, groaning every time it got above three. That was how it went for two and a half hours. By halfway through, Sato looked green. A few minutes later, he was grabbing the barf bag.
Suddenly the craft dropped, followed by a high-G pullout, and they entered level flight. The speakers in the passenger/cargo area crackled, and a voice said, “Welcome to the United States.”
“Thank God,” Sato groaned.
“I didn’t think you had religion,” Rick said.
“I might now.”
Rick knew they were passing over the endless scrub of south Texas, the land rolling by at supersonic speed. San Antonio, he remembered going there for…sports? Yes, a track meet as a freshman. There was also a debating society competition at the same time. Only he’d never been on the debate team.
Again he cursed as his brain, or the copy of his brain, struggled to make connections once damaged by a laser beam. Or the echo of an injury, which was how he thought of it. He was a copy, a clone was the closest way he could think of himself, of Rick Culper. And still, there was the question of his soul. Had Nemo brought him back from the dead, recalling his soul from heaven or hell? It wasn’t something he wanted to think about right then and there.
It wasn’t too long until the pilot came on again. “We’re landing,” he said.
“Kinda fast, aren’t we?” Sato asked.
Rick felt forward thrust cut and heard the four engine pods whine. Oh, this is going to be bad. The pilot, either a genius or a raving lunatic, let the dropship plummet for several seconds before firing the engines with a deafening roar and the worst jolt yet. Almost exactly as the engines screamed to peak power, there was an almost imperceptible bump as the gear touched down, and the engines were cut.
“Please remain seated while we taxi,” the pilot cautioned. “Sometimes we have to leave again in a hurry.”
“I bet,” Rick said aloud over Sato retching into his barf bag a final time.
“I didn’t think anything was left in my stomach,” he said, wiping his face on his sleeve.
“You get used to it,” Rick said, unbuckling and moving toward Dakkar’s module. He interfaced his pinplants with the device. “You okay in there?”
“Yes, I slept through most of the trip. The rocking was most soothing.”
“Your species should be pilots.”
“Boring profession. However, I am a qualified starship pilot from several buds ago.”
The dropship turned hard. Rick easily held his position next to the tank as it taxied some more. The tarmac was rough and uneven, making Rick wonder where exactly they were. He checked his pinplants and blinked in amazement. It appeared to be an empty field south of San Antonio. The dropship came to a stop.
“Welcome,” the pilot said, appearing at the door. He was followed by the loadmaster, who must have also been the copilot.
“I thought we were going to an airport,” Rick said.
“This is…sort of,” the loadmaster said, then he looked at the pilot and laughed.
Rick considered his options. He could easily take them both out. He couldn’t fly the dropship, didn’t know how much fuel was left, and couldn’t count on Dakkar’s assertion of its flying abilities. He could force the pilot to fly them somewhere else, but he’d have to trust them not to double cross him. Or he could do nothing and see what happened. He decided to wait and see.
The loadmaster went to the rear cargo ramp and activated it. With the whine of hydraulic motors, the ramp lowered and let in the Texas afternoon sun. Flight time from takeoff to landing had been two hours, nineteen minutes. As the ramp touched the ground, Rick could see it was grass. They’d indeed landed in a field, though he could see it stretched for at least a kilometer and looked regular.
“An abandoned airfield?” Sato guessed.
“Yes,” the pilot confirmed. “It’s called Cannon Field. Back in the early 21st, before the aliens showed up, it was used by an old vintage plane group who flew World War II prop jobs. Real old school, eh?”
“Yeah,” Sato agreed, glancing at Rick, who shrugged.
“Anyway,” the pilot continued, “those guys are long gone, but the runway is still here. We have someone mow it before we co
me in. Nobody out here to see us come in. Even if they do, there’s a little sub-orbital rocketport only a few kilometers north. No one is ever the wiser.”
Outside, a short convoy of trucks was rolling to a stop. The pilot and loadmaster had a manual pallet jack and were maneuvering a skid of Sparkle toward the ramp. A lot of junkies are going to be thrilled, Rick thought.
The trucks stopped just to the rear of the dropship, and men piled out. They all looked like itinerant laborers or day workers, except for four dudes with laser rifles. The workers went for the pallet of drugs, while the gangsters met the pilot.
Rick had seen plenty of movies like this. They always had tough characters facing off, testing who was the most macho, and often it ended in deadly gun battles. Instead, one of the gangsters handed the pilot a duffel bag, and they shook hands warmly.
“Is this the extra cargo?” the gangster with the bag asked, gesturing at Rick and Sato.
“Yes,” the pilot said. “Don Gutierrez would be most grateful if you would see them on their way.”
“Certainly,” the gangster said and walked over to Rick. “My, but you’re a strange one. What’s under that armor?”
“You don’t want to know,” Rick said without emotion.
“And you?” he asked Sato.
“Just a tourist,” Sato replied.
The man threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I don’t know if you’re spies, on the run, or just nuts. But I like you.” He held out a pair of keys and gestured to the newest of the four vehicles. It was a hybrid hydrogen fuel cell powered SUV, not unlike the ones the Colombians drove, except this one was dark blue. “It has a full tank, and it’s current on routine maintenance. With our compliments.”
Rick took the keys and nodded. The gangster turned toward the pilot. “Please let Don Gutierrez know Tatiana Enkh sends her regards, and the colonel will expect some favor in kind at some future time.”
The pilot nodded his understanding. Meanwhile the men had loaded the pallet of drugs and were now carrying Dakkar’s support tank to the SUV. It fit neatly in the back, and the loadmaster handed Rick their duffel bags.
“Thus we part,” the pilot said and held out a hand. “Best of luck.”
Rick shook the hand and glanced at the many more pallets of Sparkle. “I’d wish you the same, but it goes against my better judgement.”
“Boy Scout, eh?” The pilot laughed. “Sure, I get it. Never got your armored hands dirty?”
“You really don’t want to know that, either.”
The pilot grunted and offered his hand to Sato. “I’d shake the octopus’ hand, but I don’t know if I believe the stories I’ve heard. If the Don is happy, I’m good with this.”
“Thanks for an interesting ride,” Sato said and gave the pilot’s hand a quick shake. “Hope we never meet again.”
The pilot winked and headed up the ramp. In the meantime, the gangsters had piled into the three other vehicles and peeled out, leaving long tears in the freshly mowed sod. Rick and Sato walked quickly to their new vehicle; the dropship was already spinning up its engines. Moments later, the screaming drives lifted it straight up a hundred meters, the housing tilted, rotating the Phoenix in place, then it angled backwards, and the power gained in intensity. With startling speed, the old dropship shot away and was out of sight in less than a minute.
“Do we report the smuggling operation?” Sato asked.
“Not for another million credits,” Rick said. “Didn’t you catch the name the gangster dropped?”
“Enkh?” Sato said. Rick nodded. “Wait…Enkh?”
“Yeah,” Rick said. “You don’t grab a viper by the tail if you don’t want the fangs in your hand. We move on and forget the whole fuckin’ thing.” He walked to the driver’s door of the SUV. “Come on,” he said. Sato shook his head and looked at him. “We don’t know if some observant air traffic guy spotted any of this. We aren’t exactly here legally, either.”
Sato nodded and got in. The SUV started with a hum, and Rick drove away from the old airport, leaving the grass to once again grow over the wheel ruts and blast marks. Only insect sounds were left in their absence.
* * * * *
Part II
When the Spirit of Truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth, for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.
Chapter One
Sato was impressed with the vehicle, and what it said about the respect Don Gutierrez garnered from his ‘business partners.’ They could have rolled through any old used car lot and grabbed whatever came to hand. The car they’d been given was brand new, with some glue still on one of the windows.
“Nice car,” Rick said as he drove them off the field and onto a little two-lane affair called Applewhite Road. Only a few hundred feet later, they came to an interchange for a larger highway that went east/west.
Sato opened the glove compartment and found a note. “Enjoy the car. When you’re done with it, park it, lock the door, and dial 666 on the enclosed satphone. Regards, SE.”
He found the phone and opened it. It seemed to act like it was unprogrammed, but he was sure it would work. SE—Sansar Enkh. Don Gutierrez did indeed have powerful friends.
“Where to?”
“Houston,” Sato said without hesitation.
“You sure? From what I read on the Aethernet, all hell broke loose there.”
“Exactly. It’s not as bad as Sao Paulo was, though. Hopefully just enough carnage to let us slip into the startown and update our Yacks.”
Rick nodded and navigated them eastward. Sato figured the underground in Houston would be just as developed as the one on Karma, only with more Humans. They didn’t need new Yacks, someone just needed to hack into the planetary database and show the pair had arrived on Earth legally. Being smuggled in on a ship to Brazil wouldn’t help; the first time he slid his card into a reader, it would immediately flag them as illegally on-planet.
He’d known it would be a problem, but he’d determined it was easier to get forged documents on Karma. They were available on Earth, but at a much lower quality, and less likely to pass Union scrutiny. He didn’t know how he knew this as a fact. It was profoundly frustrating.
The drive to Houston was just under three hours. Sato noted Rick kept their speed to within five miles-per-hour of the limit, even though he never once used the cruise control. Sato spent most of the trip focused inward, examining his memories and motivations. He wasn’t conscious of the moment he slipped into the trance.
The trick was to feel overly anxious, trapped, liked he’d been when Rick had locked him into the isolation room on Karma Station. There was something about a closed space and anxiety…he fell into the trance in seconds.
It wasn’t as chaotic this time. Images slid in and out of focus, almost like a kaleidoscope. The image of a dying woman, him writhing in unspeakable agony, standing on the ramp of a starship as a multitude screamed and waved, reporters at the forefront. A middle-aged woman in a lab coat in the middle of a large Tri-V display showing a myriad of the galaxy’s races with all manner of lines connecting them, the look on her face one of profound concern. Lastly, a mailbox.
Sato sighed and opened his eyes, noting they were on old Interstate 610, Houston. Rick glanced at him.
“You okay?”
“Sure, fine. Why?”
“You were zoned out like you were asleep, but your eyes were open, rolled back in your head. Kinda weird.”
“Meditating,” Sato explained.
Rick grunted and nodded his head. “I knew someone in the Winged Hussars who did that. A lieutenant on another ship. Lot of guys made fun of him, but he was real cool. Always had his shit squared away. Probably would have made captain, too.”
“He didn’t?”
“No, he bought it when a random laser cut through his ship. Only one killed in the incident. Battle is fucked up like that.” He rubbed his head. “I
should know.”
“You remember any of the stuff you lost yet?” Sato asked.
“I’ve had a few weird moments. Maybe a glimmer of something? I don’t know.”
“We’re in the same boat, you realize?” Rick looked at him. “I’m missing big chunks of me. I never knew it until Nemo gave me new pinplants.” He tapped the pinlink behind one ear. “Ever since then, I’ve been on a rollercoaster.”
“I thought it might be something like that,” Rick said. “Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?”
“You’d just been resurrected as a demigod,” Sato said, then chuckled. “I was a little concerned you wouldn’t follow the lead of a slightly unhinged Japanese scientist.”
The laugh had a metallic tinge to it. “We welcome our future mechanical overlords.”
“Very funny,” Sato said, but he didn’t laugh.
“So, you know why we’re here?”
“You mean on Earth, or in Houston?”
“Yes to both.”
“Answers,” Sato said. “Maybe for both of us.”
“There’s nothing here for me.”
“You know that’s not entirely true. Maybe no answers for you, but some endings.”
“Reading my mind now?”
“No, maybe just thinking about your interrupted life. I checked your file before we left. From Carmel, Indiana, right? Widowed mother?”
“Dad died when I was little. Don’t remember him at all. I don’t think she would want to see me like this.”
“Like what, alive?” Rick didn’t respond, but drove onward. “Well, I think it’s worth a trip.”
“Whatever,” Rick said. “What’s our first stop in Houston?”
“River Oaks, an old neighborhood on the southwest side of downtown.”
“Most of downtown is a warzone now,” Rick said. “At least it was a couple years ago, the last time I was here. I doubt it’s gotten any better. A bunch of areas were so fucked up, the city sold them to mercs to use as combat proving grounds.”
