The first Martian city had been called Eridu, so named after the first recorded Sumerian city on Earth, and had been built underground by the first generation of Martian colonists. As the terraforming projects were able to successfully liquefy the massive ice glaciers at the center of Hellas Basin and filter out the toxic perchlorates, the old city limits were soon underwater, and new buildings had sprung up along the crater rim. In time, the entire area became a massive freshwater sea, with ever-expanding habitats built along its circumference.
By the present age, Eridu City boasted a population of over twenty million, with the rich having built their homes along the rim, while the less fortunate tended to settle in parts of the old city, the underground network of modules originally constructed beneath the newly renamed Hellas Sea. In these old airtight warrens, less scrupulous people began to drain parts of the ocean to sell the water to the needier areas of the planet. An underground economy was born.
Wollongong District was just below the upper rim of the basin, and it was one of the busier commercial centers of the city, teeming with civilians from all walks of life, going to and from their varied destinations. The rich tended to favor the more exclusive monorail loop around the crater rim, while the ones without much means had to use the old subway system from the undersea areas, and it was this particular district that led to both.
Jing Navarro had just come out of the subway station and looked up in disgust towards the luxury villas along the rim. It was high noon, and the amplified rays of sunlight cascaded on down like solid beams of gold, glittering on the vast surface of the indoor sea. Looking up, he saw a well-to-do couple using their jet packs to fly up, close to the edge of the transparent canopy, before making their way back down and landing gracefully on the landing platform overlooking their sea view mansion.
It should be me up there, he thought. All the things he had done over the years were supposed to set him up in luxury for the rest of his life; instead he had to live anonymously under an assumed identity. How in the hell did it go wrong?
He walked towards an automated food kiosk and used cash for a bowl of steaming hot ramen. The robotic server at the counter instantly served up the dish and put it in front of him. After placing the bowl on a plastic tray, he walked over to an unused table at the food court, sat down on a stool, and began eating.
Navarro had lots of stock stashed away, but he could only convert a little at a time into untraceable cash. He mostly stayed in the underground districts, moving from one seedy hotel to another with his fake identity, never staying in one place more than a week at a time. Throughout most of the day, he would approach one of the many credit sharks to get some of his funds transferred into cash cards, but he had to make sure to convert just a bit at a time, lest their own suspicions get aroused as to how much wealth he truly possessed. He knew he couldn’t trust anyone now, not after what had happened.
He had been living the high life until a year ago, possessing a sprawling luxury townhouse in the Valles Marineris Region in the northwest of Mars. Navarro also owned a comfortable little bungalow in the jungle colony of Faraway, plus enough in financial investments to ensure that he would never need to work for a living ever again. All of it came crashing down when he got an anonymous message by e-courier, telling him his identity had been found out. He had been on the run ever since.
Navarro was using his third fake name by now. He had wanted to get out of Mars in order to gain some distance from his old life, but the two-bit hacker who had got him this latest identity suite had cautioned him not to use the name on any commercial liner, for it might not withstand a thorough security check. He needed to find another forger who could provide a more robust identity, and in order for him to do that he needed a better contact in the underworld.
Placing the chopsticks on top of the empty bowl, Navarro wiped his mouth with a napkin and set off, walking back down towards the subway terminal. He had been asking around for months, but very few offered him any real help. Attempting to gift large wads of cash didn’t turn out so good in the beginning; Navarro had been robbed a few times, and even scammed by a few of the sewer kids he tried to befriend. Not long afterwards, he decided to buy a compact gauss pistol for protection, even though he had no idea how to use it.
After buying a ticket at the automated machine, he hopped on a subway train, heading towards the Baganuur District, the unofficial hive of the black market. Despite constant police sweeps, the residents of that area continued to live life their way, and contraband of all sorts could be found in one of the many hidden markets there—for the right price.
Navarro sat near the center of the train compartment, suspiciously eyeing three youths who were horsing around near the closed doors. The hidden pistol gave him a bit of confidence, and his right hand slid underneath his jacket when one of the youths glanced in his direction. He hoped he didn’t have to use it, for he had never shot at anyone before, and was instantly relieved when the three young men got off at the next stop.
An old woman sat across from him. Her faded clothes and cheap mass-produced bag marked her as a typical victim of the local market crash that had happened a decade ago and wiped out many retiree accounts. Their eyes met, and the lady gave him a crinkled smile. Her tall, spindly body meant she was a native born, and would find it very hard to live on a world with a higher gravity than Mars.
Navarro looked away, unable to feel pity for her. He didn’t want to end up like that. All he needed was a proper identity so he could finally leave. The planet’s low gravity wasn’t doing his muscles any favors either; he was sure he had gotten weaker due to a lack of intensive exercise.
The prerecorded voice echoed along the compartment. “Now approaching Baganuur Central Station.”
Navarro stood up and walked over to the doors. The moment the train stopped he stepped out into a large twilit tunnel. A security bot standing on a nearby platform twisted its metal head in his direction, giving him the creeps, before turning its attention over to the others disembarking from the maglev train.
He walked towards one of the exit corridors, making sure his stride matched what was listed in his assumed biometric file. Navarro had had a number of facial reconstructive surgeries to alter his face and fingerprints, but he could not change his DNA genetic signature, and he still needed to be careful.
The old colony comprised a series of lighted tunnels. Dust had accumulated along the walls and flooring of the abandoned areas, and even the cops had designated no-go zones in which they would not patrol. A few security bots would walk the toughest beats, but they were mostly for show, and the local denizens knew their patterns and the ways to avoid them.
Placing the audio pad in his right ear, Navarro activated a fist-sized device underneath his jacket. Keying in the throat microphone, he spoke to make sure it worked. “Jeeves, can you hear me?”
The flat, robotic voice answered instantly. “Yes, sir. I am here. How can I help?”
Navarro nodded. Jeeves Version-68 was one of the more popular commercial AI assistants anyone could buy. Despite being designated as a simple AI, Jeeves had enough optional subroutines to mimic the capabilities of a true AI sentient, if one had enough money to buy them all. There were times when he would converse with Jeeves for hours, just to stave off the loneliness of his existence.
“Can you guide me towards my appointed destination?” Navarro asked.
“Certainly, sir,” Jeeves said. “After passing through the second junction, make a turn to the right and enter the Old Marketplace. Once you’re there, look for the Wrexie Diner. Your contact should be inside.”
“Thanks, Jeeves.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
A disheveled man with a gray goatee lurking near the side of one tunnel called out to him, but Navarro ignored the derelict and kept on moving. He had gotten into a few fights during his initial forays down in the old city, and his upbringing in a heavier gravity world gave him some advantages, but his muscles had steadily at
rophied since then, leveling the field when it came to confronting the locals.
Making his way past the intersection, Navarro turned right and walked down the ramp. The Old Marketplace was a high-ceilinged cavern made of solidified regolith, reinforced by nanocarbon walls to keep the swirling sea above from coming down on them. The narrow streets teemed with shops and haggling locals. An occasional nytini tourist and their robotic bodyguards would venture by, attracted to the seedy locale.
After walking past the main thoroughfare, Navarro spotted the rotating neon-lit sign of the Wrexie Diner in a nearby alleyway. He was heading towards the glass door when he spotted the CLOSED sign by the window.
Just as he was about to turn around and walk away, the door opened up, and a dusty humanoid robot wearing an old waitress’s costume beckoned him to come inside. Her sultry voice mimicked an ancient Hollywood starlet’s. “Please, come in.”
Navarro eyed the outdated machine’s sparkling eyes and unkempt curly wig. “I thought it said ‘closed.’”
“That’s just for the riffraff, but I can tell you’ll be a good customer,” the robot said. She had a female voice modulator, but the old unit carried a bit of an echo. “Please enter.”
“If this is some sort of trick …”
The artificial waitress adjusted her skirt. The once silvery metallic skin had patches of rust. “No tricks, just good food and a fine place to meet the one you’re looking for.”
Despite his reluctance, Navarro stepped inside. The decor was from Earth’s distant past. Metal tables, synthetic red leather padding, streamlined architecture. A long counter with stools dominated the establishment, while private booths lined the walls. The interior had a dimmed gold luminescence.
Jeeves whispered in his ear. “A perfect pastiche of art deco.”
The waitress bot pointed a metal finger at one of the booths near the back. “He’s waiting for you there.”
Navarro sighed while keeping his hand on the pistol. He walked over to the booth and spotted a lanky human male sitting inside, smoking a vaporizer. The blond-haired man looked up at him with steely blue eyes and gestured at the opposite seat.
With the smell of classic tobacco filling his nostrils, Navarro sat down, his hand continuing to hold the weapon underneath his jacket.
“Menu’s on the table,” the robotic waitress said before turning around and proceeding towards the main counter. “Just ring me when you’re ready to order.”
A short, tense silence hung over the two men. Not wanting to waste any more time, Navarro decided to start the conversation. “I was told to meet someone by the name of Dressel in this place.”
The other man gave him a buck-toothed grin; his imitation leather jacket had patches sewn in various parts. His voice was gritty, like worn sandpaper. “That’s me. Trevor Dressel, at your service. What’s yours?”
“Everett Charles Marm,” Navarro said. “I was told by Leticia that you’re the one to talk to about getting some IDs.”
Dressel continued to puff on his vaporizer. “I do all kinds of IDs. From mining consortium passes to top-down, fully reworked identities that’ll remake you into another person entirely. Which kind do you want?”
“The full suite. How do I know you’re any good?”
“I’m the best there is on this planet,” Dressel said. “Why else would Leticia bring me up?”
“To be honest, I don’t really know Leticia either. So how can I know what you’re selling me is the real deal?”
Dressel gave a low chuckle. “If it doesn’t work, you get a refund. Minus expenses, of course.”
Navarro narrowed his eyes. “You think that’s funny? If someone gets caught because of substandard work from you, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Dressel leaned forward and stared at him. “No one gets caught because of what I do. If that happened, you think I’d still be around? I provide all sorts of documents, including those for hardcore mercenaries and even pirates.”
Navarro pulled out a plastic card with his left hand and placed it on the tabletop. “Okay. A good forger ought to be able to tell what’s real and what isn’t. Analyze this ID card for me.”
Dressel took the card and held it up while activating the smartcom on his wrist, using the holographic interface projection to analyze its intricacies. “The carbon technique used to make the card is substandard, that’s a dead giveaway right there. Also the name of Marm isn’t cross-referenced on the main galactic database, and the embedded memory thread is completely different. This thing wouldn’t stand up to a routine check at one of the higher-end nightclubs by the rim, much less at the spaceport departures counter.”
“He seems to know what he’s talking about,” Jeeves said over Navarro’s earpiece.
Navarro bit his lip. Perhaps he had finally found the right contact who could get him off planet, but he still wasn’t so sure. “You got any other proof that you’re any good?”
Dressel placed the card down on the counter as he pushed his forearm closer to Navarro’s face, scanning the other man with his wrist device. “Let’s see … face alteration surgery done by Dr. John Namor from Gale Crater City. He did a good job with your nose, but biometrics is telling me you’re somebody else, Mr. Marm.”
“Oh, who am I?”
Dressel shrugged. “How should I know? The point is, the info on your ID card doesn’t match with your facial biometrics.”
Navarro continued to kick the tires. “Is that all?”
“There’s also a subdermal nanocode on your right cheek which is visible to ultraviolet microscans,” Dressel said. “Dr. Namor’s signature, no doubt.”
“Anything else?”
Dressel placed both palms up. “That’s it. I can do the job, but the price will be high.”
“I figured as much,” Navarro said. “I can pay.”
“Good, because it’s going to cost you,” Dressel said. “Now, who’s after you?”
Navarro’s face reddened. “That’s none of your business.”
“If you want me to set you up with a new, foolproof identity, you can bet your behind it’s my business,” Dressel said. “I need to know just how tough the opposition is gonna be. Because if it goes down, I don’t want them coming after me too.”
Navarro looked away. His voice softened to a near whisper. “The Institute.”
Dressel made a low whistle. “The Science Institute? Holy moly. What do they want you for?”
“Better to tell him everything, sir,” Jeeves said in Navarro’s ear. “He can craft something specifically to help you.”
“Okay,” Navarro said. “Look, I was one of their top researchers. I never did anything bad. All I did was pass along some of the research we did to someone else.”
“It must be some pretty important research you did for them to go after you this way,” Dressel said. “They gave you plenty of cash?”
“They did,” Navarro said. “Enough to live the high life.”
“You don’t seem to be living the high life right now.”
Navarro sighed. “I had to walk away from my properties. Most of my fund reserves are stashed away, and I can only cash out a bit at a time or it’ll get flagged in the network. Even my husband left me. I wanted to adopt some kids with him, and now I’ve got nothing.”
Dressel placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I may be able to help. My fund transfer network is foolproof, and I can take plenty of capital and convert it into untraceable cash accounts.”
Navarro rolled his eyes. “You know how many scammers told me that? I’ve lost count already.”
Dressel activated the holographic display on his smartcom once more. “Let me prove it to you. Link up my network with yours, and see just how much I can convert.”
Navarro held up his smartcom and tapped the options menu. “I’m putting in a confirmation failsafe; it will only transfer the bonds over to you if the cash is in virtual escrow and the exchange is untraceable.”
“It’s a deal,�
� Dressel said confidently. “Ready when you are.”
Navarro inputted the code and waited. After a few seconds his anonymous cash card account had gone up over a hundred times after a small commission was taken out of the total. He couldn’t help but be impressed. “Wow. Looks like you are as good as your word.”
Dressel beamed. “I told you. I’m the best there is on this planet.”
Navarro felt he had finally found the right contact. “Okay, I can transfer a whole lot of capital over to you for conversion to cash. How much can you handle?”
“As much as you can give me.”
Navarro’s excitement got the better of him. He decided to transfer over the one sizable bond package that he had been reluctant to give out to the other money sharks, for it contained his real name and details. “And here’s the big one. This is enough for me to live a nice life somewhere in the independent worlds. You got it?”
Dressel scanned the embedded details of the financial instrument. “I sure have. Stand by.”
Navarro felt a sharp, burning pain in his thigh. The former Institute researcher yelped while getting up and reaching into his waistline. His fingers grabbed the burning server unit from his belt and he threw it across the floor. The Jeeves AI unit had shorted out. He sucked on his tender fingers. “Goddamn antecessors! What in the hell happened?”
The robotic waitress quickly made her way over to him and held his burned hand by the wrist. “Oh you poor thing, let me help.”
Dressel stood beside the booth, facing him. “I’d like to thank you for the info you gave me, Dr. Navarro. It’s just what I needed.”
Navarro’s eyebrows shot up. “What? How did you know my real name?”
Dressel smiled. “Care to make a guess?”
For a brief second Navarro realized what had just happened. “Y-you’re with the Institute!”
“Sort of,” Dressel said. “It’s normally hard for my kind to lie, but you see, it can all be changed. Everything depends on the hard coding.”
Nepenthe Rising Page 18
