I spent a long time staring out the kitchen window at the glass and steel spire shimmering in the distance. It reached up toward the Lunar ceiling where it disappeared. Green and blue lights danced across its polished surface, illuminating it from below.
The Arcturon. The pride of the Galactic Security Force.
Almost impenetrable, the main entrance enjoyed twenty-four hour video surveillance. Visitors required a special pass just to get them in the door. It first allowed you as far as the lobby, where an MP scanned and verified it. You then had to pass through a Medi-scanner and metal detector embedded in the main gate. All bags were checked by hand, then X-rayed. Anything deemed unusual or questionable was placed in a blast proof box and it, along with its owner, would be detained under guard.
Sometimes for years.
The first thirty floors housed the GSF Academy. Everything from barracks, classrooms, armories, and weapons lockers, to firing ranges and flight simulators. The twenty floors above that housed GSF administration, including the office of the Director of Military Security and Intelligence: Andrew Lansing’s personal domain. The final five stories made up the main hangar.
Oh yeah, and let’s not forget the military prison that descended one hundred stories into the lunar surface. The Blackgate was a five star resort compared to that.
He was up there. Lansing. Giving orders. Moving troops around like a chess master. Playing with the lives of men and women he never saw and didn’t care about. What kind of deal had he made with the Androsians that night back in the jungle?
Would he give me the answers I wanted?
I wandered back to the living room. Crystal figurines sat on a small wooden table in front of two photographs in silver frames. I picked up the first photograph: Trooper Daniel John Travis, in his dress grays, the flag of the Galactic Federation in the background.
His GSF graduation photo.
I closed my eyes as the image of Danny’s torn and bloody body flashed through my mind and an uncomfortable twinge of guilt raced through me as I thought about what I was doing here. Playing on his sister’s fears, exploiting her position and pain so she’d help me. If Danny could see me now he might not approve of my methods, but I hoped he’d understand my motives.
I returned the frame to its place and picked up the second photo. A family portrait: Joanna, Danny, and their parents. All smiles for the camera. I heard later that Danny and his dad had died within a year of each other.
I sat on the couch, staring at the table and its silver frames.
I thought about Joanna, barricaded behind her bedroom door.
Sometimes I could be such a shit.
◆◆◆
The next morning Joanna left for work and I went back to the motel to grab my bag and check out. I didn’t feel comfortable sitting around her empty house all day. I still wasn’t totally convinced she didn’t have plans to rat me out as soon as the opportunity presented itself—it would be better if I occupied myself elsewhere. I spent the day driving around in an effort to kill time until she got off work. By midafternoon I’d seen pretty much all of Lunar City I cared to see. I returned to Joanna’s about an hour before she got off, circling the block three or four times as I checked and double-checked the house before going inside. I spent the last fifteen minutes with one eye on the clock and the other on the driveway as I waited for her car to pull into the garage. When it did I found myself scanning the darkness behind the driver’s seat, looking for unwelcome shadows. Waiting for the GSF black ops guys to slither out and surround the house.
Why, no. I’m not paranoid at all, why do you ask?
“So,” I asked as she came in. “Can you get me into the building?”
“Am I allowed to take my coat off first?” she snapped.
I swallowed my impatience as she shrugged out of her jacket, and set her purse on the table before making a pot of coffee.
“It might be possible,” she continued reluctantly. “I ran your name through my data console, just out of curiosity. I wanted to see if I could get into your file without any alarms going off.”
“And?”
“And the system didn’t lock me out, which is good. And I didn’t get hauled into my supervisor’s office for attempting to access restricted files, which is even better. Your original designation was Missing and Presumed Dead, but it’s been amended to read Deserted Under Fire.” She shot me a withering look. “You didn’t tell me you deserted.”
“Because I didn’t. What else?”
“There’s an outstanding warrant for your arrest on the Desertion charge.”
“I know. And?”
“Your military records have been sealed, but not removed. Which is a little odd.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they’re something like seven or eight years old. Usually after five years all inactive files are purged from the main database and transferred to the archives. Yours should have been moved ages ago, but they weren’t.”
“Which means?”
“Which means that all of your personal data is still on file. Retinal scans, finger prints, DNA signature. Even exam results and performance evaluations.”
“So, I’m still in the main database?”
“Yes, though not actively. Your information can’t be viewed by anyone with less than an Alpha Blue security clearance, but the data and medi-scanners in the lobby can still access it.”
“You viewed it.” I smiled faintly. “Don’t tell me you’re Alpha Blue.”
“No, I’m not. And no, I didn’t. I managed to pull up a profile summary, not the actual file.”
“So how do I get into the building?”
“Someone will have to overwrite your personal information. Recreate you as someone else.”
“Someone being you?”
“That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” I ignored the sarcasm in her voice and she sighed. “There are only a handful of people with the authorization to access sealed files, but Records Department personnel are sometimes granted special clearance so we can perform routine maintenance to the database. I’ll have to request a temporary access code.”
“How long will that take?”
“I have no idea. A week or two maybe, assuming they give it to me at all.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“I don’t have a whole lot of choice, do I?” She shot me an exasperated look. “I’m not totally sure I believe your story, but...I have to know. One way or the other. And I’d really like you the hell out of my house.”
She fell silent as she went about setting the table for dinner.
Oh yeah. Definitely a little tense in here.
“I guess, if you’re going to stay, you might as well make yourself at home. The spare room is down the hall, first door on the left.”
Not the most gracious invitation I’d ever received, but whatever. I grabbed my bag from the living room where I’d left it, and escaped to the spare room.
A blue and green quilt covered the double bed, and a mirrored wardrobe stood in the corner. A glass and brass lamp sat on the bedside table and hunter green, vertical blinds covered the small window, an antique dresser beneath it. I didn’t unpack anything, just grabbed some clean clothes and stuffed my bag in the wardrobe.
The bathroom was across the hall. Decorated in shades of yellow and gold, it smelled faintly of lavender. Vials of perfume sat on a glass shelf beneath the mirror, and an arrangement of silk flowers decorated the counter, along with a wicker basket filled with makeup, hair clips, barrettes, and ribbons. I felt a little awkward undressing in that room, like I was a trespasser in some sacred female sanctum.
After the shower I went back to the spare room and lay on the bed as I waited for Joanna to make dinner. I thought about going back out to the kitchen. Maybe asking if I could help with anything or attempt to make conversation.
Right. Maybe I’ll just consider myself lucky if she doesn’t season my soup with cyanide.
She had the vid-lin
k on in the other room. I heard the voice, but not the words. I closed my eyes, thinking I’d rest for just a few minutes....
◆◆◆
The five kilometers back through the bush might as well be a thousand. We’re outnumbered and outgunned, already tired, and low on ammunition. The game of hide and seek doesn’t last nearly long enough and I watch what’s left of my unit cut down around me.
I feel every death like a kick in the gut. A rising torrent of guilt I’m forced to wade through, up to my neck.
They’d trusted me to get them out alive and I’d gotten them killed instead.
I can’t help thinking about how I’ve failed them and I struggle to keep that guilty, black flood from submerging my soul and washing me away. Now is not the time, I’ll have to save that pain for another day.
In the end, it comes down to Kenny and me.
We stumble back into the clearing, hiding in the trees and brush just beyond the camp’s charred outer wall. The jungle is tangled and overgrown and the still smoldering remains will fuck up their thermal sensors.
At least that’s my theory.
All we can do is sit tight and wait for them to give up the search. And hope they don’t decide to cluster bomb the camp on their way out.
The enemy transport approaches from out of the rising sun. It hovers for a long moment, above the remains of the camp, and we make ourselves as invisible as possible until it lumbers off towards the south.
We lay still for another hour just to be safe, then when we’re sure the fuckers aren’t coming back, we leave our hiding place and scavenge what we can in the way of supplies. There’s not much that isn’t charred, slashed, or otherwise shot up, but we fill our packs with whatever undamaged and unspoiled food we can find. The three extra water bottles will come in handy too. We fill them from the well in the center of the compound—apparently the rebels, or whoever, were too busy slaughtering everyone to bother compromising the camp’s water supply.
We decide to leave our body armor behind. GSF troops aren’t very popular on Andros Prime despite what the joint Androsian/GSF propaganda machine says. There’s no point in advertising our affiliation. I see the flag, laying in the mud by the front gate. I pick it up and fold it carefully, wrapping my unit’s ID tags in the torn and bloody fabric before stuffing it into my shirt.
The journey back to Lachra is long and hard. Kenny doesn’t say much, but he’s pale and drawn and his wounded shoulder oozes blood. I do my best to keep it clean and bound, but I’m no corpsman. What he really needs is a physician, but we’re not likely to run into one out here.
It takes almost three exhausting weeks, on foot, to reach the mountain village of Rishkan, and we’re forced to go out of our way half a dozen times to avoid rebel patrols. We trade our solar blankets and three small ‘kicker’ mines for warmer clothes and a night spent in a leaky shed. I manage to convince the village healer to look at Kenny’s shoulder. She stitches it up, gives him a shot of some backwoods voodoo antibiotic, and sends him on his way. If he’s still alive in the morning we’ll know it worked.
A few days later Kenny scores a small flyer. I don’t know how, I don’t ask. He seems to know how to get his hands on just about anything. It’s a gift. His shoulder is still pretty much out of commission, so there’s no one to fly the thing but me and I have zero flight experience. We can’t walk back to Lachra, this is our only option. I figure what the hell? How hard can it be?
It takes three days, but I do manage to get us back there in one piece. Kenny sells the flyer and finds us a cheap room in the east quarter. We spend the rest of that day and all of the next sleeping.
What I really want is to go back to the base. To strike the fear of the Lord into Colonel Morrison and shake him until his head rattles. Find out how much he knows about the rebel rat hiding in my unit and threaten the officious bastard until he tells me what the hell is going on.
When I let Kenny in on my plan, he laughs. He tells me that trying to explain how we survived, while the rest of Delta Six died, is a story even he has trouble believing. He tells me to forget about the base and Morrison; they’d only feed us bullshit anyway. We’ll find our own answers.
Meanwhile, he’s making plans to get us off the planet.
He takes us to a bar in the Devil’s Run—a labyrinth of streets and alleys that even the Androsian civilian security patrols avoid. The place is dark and smells like the inside of a rotten barrel of Riscean Tal Brandy. An undercurrent of menace hangs in the air along with the abrasive smell of Soldian tobacco. I feel the eyes on us as we make our way through the maze of tables toward the bar.
Slow and easy, I tell myself. No threatening moves.
I take special care not to make direct eye contact with anyone—I’ve had more than my share of excitement the past few weeks.
We find a seat at the bar and Kenny orders us a drink—Androsian Har’Garok, powerful enough to corrode titanium. He speaks to the Arconian bartender in his own language then looks back to me.
“The man we want isn’t here yet, but he’s expected in a few days. Jarmach says we can sleep in the cellar. A hundred credits a night. Each.”
I nearly choke on my drink. A hundred credits? Each? “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“’Fraid not.”
“And you’re just gonna pull that out of your ass?”
“Relax, I’ve got it covered.”
I hope so. I sneak a look at Jarmach, the bartender. Even by Arconian standards he’s no beauty. At twice our height and three times our weight, he can squish us like bugs.
I look back at Kenny. He’s using the mirror behind the bar to survey the room.
“So,” I ask, “who’s this guy we’re waiting for?”
“Smuggler.” He takes a swallow of his drink and grimaces slightly.
“Friend of yours?”
Kenny smiles. “You could say that. He’s my father.”
Chapter 8
It was a very tense week as I waited to find out if Joanna would get her requested clearance to access the Arcturon’s database. She took a few digital photos of me with my new look to add to the file if and when the time came, and I continued to dose myself with the enhancers; they only worked as long as I kept taking them. Every day. Like vitamins. Between the anxiety of waiting to find out if she’d be able to recreate me and the chemical fallout from the drugs, it felt like I had a killer case of the flu. I didn’t eat much. Considering the precarious balance my stomach found itself in, it was probably just as well.
I hated that I had no real control over her or what she did when she was out of my sight. She didn’t like me much, and she absolutely didn’t trust me. She was afraid of me, though, and I was pretty sure that fear was the only thing that kept her from running screaming to the local security patrol. Despite my love and loyalty to Danny, I really would have to kill her then.
It’s not like I could keep her chained to the furnace either. While she worked, shopped, lived her life, every nerve in my body jangled. One false step and it would all be over for both of us. A part of me hated using her this way, hated having to exploit my friendship with Danny and her pain over his death, but I didn’t have another option. She was it. My only chance.
We didn’t speak much. As far as she was concerned I was the enemy, but I caught her watching me when she didn’t think I was looking. I think she might have wanted to talk a few times, but I wasn’t very receptive. I had other Joanna issues besides the guilt to deal with. A physical attraction to her as surprising as it was unwelcome.
I noticed everything about her. The way she looked. The way she spoke—when she spoke, which wasn’t often. Even the perfume she wore, or the way she wore her hair. It was a complication I didn’t need and it bugged the shit out of me.
I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand—to think of her as the means to an end. That little cautionary voice in the back of my head told me to watch my step. Keep my distance. Gina cast a very long shadow and I still h
ad Healey’s bruises to remind me of how much trusting someone else had cost me.
Trust could get me killed.
That was one mistake I’d never make again.
◆◆◆
Antonio Briani arrives at the bar a couple of days later. He’s an older version of his son, his hair mostly gray where Kenny’s is blond. We’re in great shape by this time. We’re exhausted. Filthy. We haven’t bathed in days. If first impressions count towards getting me off this rock, then I’m fucked.
“So,” says the elder Briani, “you need me to save your ass again? I’m not a fucking taxi service. I got better things to do than ferry you and your fugitive friends out of this system.”
Kenny lowers his eyes. “Are you gonna help us or not? Because if you’re not, tell me now and I’ll find somebody else.”
Antonio sits back with a small smile. He’s got us by the balls and he knows it. “There is nobody else.” He looks at me. “Kenny’s family, you’re not. Why the hell should I help you?”
“Don’t play this game, dad,” warns Kenny. “You’ll take us both or you’ll leave us both.”
Antonio laughs. “Tough talk from someone who can’t be relied on to do much but screw up.”
Kenny gets to his feet. “Fuck this, and fuck you too. Come on, Gage. We’ll find another way.”
Antonio rolls his eyes and reaches for his drink. “Sit down.”
“Why? So you can crow about how you’re doing us this huge favor? I’ve been through way too much shit lately to take more of it from you.”
“Do you want off this planet or not?”
“Not if it means listening to you shoot your mouth off about shit you know nothing about.”
So. This is going well.
Antonio waves Kenny back to his seat. “Getting you and your buddy here off world isn’t as easy as you seem to think. The GSF have sealed the ports. They’re searching every ship leaving the planet, looking for some escaped rebel leader.”
Hunter Page 10
