"Like you care."
"I asked, didn't I? You know we're trying to help you here, you could maybe ease up on the threats!"
"We'll see."
The kid opened his mouth again but Diomedes's phone cut him off. Diomedes answered it without a word.
"They're genuine. Contact me again when you've broken the news to them, and we'll proceed."
"Right."
"I remind you that we're walking a very thin line here. Make this work."
Diomedes hung up.
There. Michael is trustworthy.
This proves nothing.
Diomedes holstered the gun. "Alright. So you're legit." He glanced at their beers, still untouched.
"So what now? How's this going to work, exactly?"
"We leave tomorrow. Forged access that'll get us onto a RavenTech shuttle that we take from Sunrise Station to the Moon." He fixed Michael with a stern look. "Before you get any ideas, you don't get the access cards until we're on Sunrise. And you get them from me."
Michael met his gaze a moment, then simply shrugged. "Sounds fair." The kid's hand fell to rest on his glass.
"It's non-negotiable."
"I said it sounded fair."
Diomedes gave him a grunt. "When we get to the Moon, we get a rover to the site. Also RavenTech."
Marc spoke next. "And that's— I mean, well are we landing at ESA's Alpha Station, then?" He was stuttering. Definitely he'd be easily intimidated.
But he wasn't drinking. Neither were drinking!
"No," he answered. "WSC base."
"Western Space Consortium?" Marc asked. Was that relief in his voice?
"So?"
Marc only shrugged.
"Now listen," Diomedes said. "I'm not an idiot. You're using me for something. Well I'm using you, too. You want to fuck ESA, fine. We do that. But you try to pull something else, try to do anything that screws with what I'm doing, and you're done. Understand?" He stared at Marc. The small man swallowed.
"How do we get back?" Michael asked. He lifted his glass to swirl the beer around inside it.
Drink!
"Same way."
"And then what?"
"And then nothing. We're finished. That's the deal, take it or leave it."
Michael looked at the other and then lifted his glass to his lips. For a moment that Diomedes didn't quite understand, he nearly stopped him. But the impulse passed, and Michael took a drink of his beer.
Finally!
"Can we have a moment to think about this?"
It was just a single swallow, but it was enough. Satisfied, Diomedes stepped back to give them space. Now the other just had to drink.
The two scooted their chairs back and began to talk in whispers. Diomedes could always just dump the beer down the other one's throat. There'd be a struggle, but once he did it, it would be too late.
Yet that would also mean they would know he'd done something. They might betray him for it before Marc could get his name cleared. No, he needed to be more subtle. He needed to wait. Hell.
They were still whispering. Michael already drank, his fate was sealed. It should have been satisfying. It was always satisfying when he'd beaten an enemy. But the other still had to drink, didn't he? Diomedes grunted to himself. That must be what bothered him. When the other drank, then he would feel better.
You can still fix things. You can deactivate it.
But you won't. If you do, they can turn on you—try to get a cut of what you set up with Fagles. You can't let them do that to you!
He needed the insurance the nanopoison gave him: tiny microscopic robots floating around in their blood, timed and waiting for the moment when they'd stop the drinker's heart. It would activate soon after they were scheduled to get back from the Moon. The op would be complete, and Marc would have no reason not to clear his name. He would do that. But they'd be fools not to demand a cut of what he and Fagles would get from what they found. No matter what they claimed, either they'd demand it in exchange for silence or they'd steal it themselves. The poison would ensure they'd be dead before they could try it.
Yes, he could deactivate it, but why would he? The option only made it easier to give it to them. A way out if he made a mistake. He hated that it was a comfort to him. It wasn't a mistake! He shouldn't need reassurance.
Don't you have any balls?
"Alright," the kid said. The two turned back around. "I guess it sounds good, then. Where do we meet to leave?"
"Not so damn fast." Now came the part they wouldn't like. "One more condition."
If a dog gave him the look the kid did then, Diomedes would have kicked it. "Well maybe you should have mentioned that earlier?"
"You don't like it you can get the hell out. You came to me."
"Look, I just meant— Never mind. What is it?"
Diomedes pointed at Marc. "Only he goes to the Moon. You don't go past Sunrise. You wait there until we get back." It was what Fagles had suggested. Separate them, make Marc feel vulnerable. All the easier to keep him in line. And accidents did happen, if they needed to.
The kid shook his head. "No. No way. I go with him the whole way. I'm his protection."
"You don't like it, there's no deal. I'll be his protection."
"Only after you protect yourself, you mean."
Ingrate.
"Protected you well enough. 'Till you left." Diomedes glanced at Marc. He was keeping silent, hand nowhere near his glass.
"You remember the fire?" Michael shot. "You nearly knocked me into it to save your stuff."
He could be right.
"Whatever. There's only room for two. You won't fit."
The kid crossed his arms, sat back. "You could have told us this before."
"Quit whining."
"You know," Marc began, "if I don't come back, the deal's off."
Diomedes sneered. "You think I'm going to kill you up there?" Maybe he'd already guessed. Maybe he knew what was in the drink? Diomedes smacked the thought back down. No way he could know.
"No one thinks that," Michael tried. Liar. "But this way you'll have more incentive to keep him safe."
"Whatever. Deal or not?"
The two conferred again privately.
There, Michael still trusts you. All isn't lost!
Well then he's a fool, isn't he? But he doesn't trust you. He wanted to protect Marc. How much can he trust you if he wants to do that?
There'll be other things to protect him from than just you. And isn't Michael right? When's the last time you worried about anyone but yourself?
Michael. He'd protected him.
Maybe you should be doing that again.
Maybe. But he still had to insure their cooperation.
"Deal, but I'm still going to Sunrise," Michael said. "Unless there's anything else you need to mention?"
"Don't be a dick." Diomedes moved to a small refrigerator against the wall, opened it, and pulled out a beer of his own. "That's everything. Like I said, day after tomorrow." He paused, trying to think of what to say. It'd been so long since he tried to propose a toast. He lifted the can. "First, we drink. To our agreement." It sounded dumb coming out of his mouth.
The kid must've thought so, too. His face screwed up with some stupid perplexed look before he glanced at the other. Marc was reaching for his glass. Diomedes took a drink to push him further and forced himself not to watch too closely.
Gunfire exploded in the street outside. A bullet ripped through the room's tiny window and punched into the ceiling. The three men dove for the floor as glass crashed to the floor.
"Shit! Shit!"
"Shut up!" Diomedes hissed at Marc as he scrambled to a spot beneath the window.
Someone found you! Michael gave you up!
While he's still in the room?
Another few shots burst out below. Diomedes peeked over the edge of the window and saw the scene on the street.
"What is it?" Michael whispered. "What's out there?"
Diomede
s waved a hand to shut him up, watching the end to the confrontation below. There was another shot, and it was over. "Some guy got mugged. Fought back. Dropped a couple gangers."
See? You're not betrayed.
"It's over." Diomedes stood beside the window and turned to face them. "Fuck!"
Marc jumped at the shout.
"What?" Michael asked.
Diomedes looked at the shards of the glass surrounded by a pool of damn expensive beer on the floor. He burned a stare into Marc. "You dropped your drink, jackass."
CHAPTER 33
A day later, Marc took a step forward beside Michael as the security checkpoint line crept along. Travelers bustled around them in other lines, and the place was busy with idle conversations, noisy ad boards, and the ring of cell phones.
Back into space. A little over a week ago, Marc would have looked forward to another zero-g flight. Now the prospect of euphoric weightlessness only provided him with a silver lining. He knew he had to do it, yet he couldn't help thinking that things were always so much simpler when what he had to do only involved a computer interface.
At least Diomedes wouldn't join them until they got to Sunrise Station. Maybe he wouldn't even meet them there until just before they left the place. He made another of many glances about the concourse. Was the freelancer somewhere in a line of his own? He turned to Michael and kept his voice low. "How do you think Diomedes is getting up there?"
Michael gave the place a quick glance of his own. "Maybe we shouldn't call him that while we're out here," he whispered. "Just to be safe. Call him Malcolm."
"Right, sorry. Malcolm?"
"His real name." He held up a hand. "But don't call him that to his face."
"Why not?"
The line slid forward another inch.
"He doesn't like it."
"That much I deduced on my own. Why doesn't he like it?"
"You know I'm not really sure? Harder to trace him if no one knows his real name, I guess."
"That flags true, I suppose."
"And maybe Fagles has some way to get him up there privately. That way he can bring weapons while we're stuck going this way around. He'll do whatever he can to hold an advantage. I wouldn't be surprised if you get to that shuttle and it seats more than two."
"Glad we'll have more than he thinks," Marc said with a glance at the carry-on bag Michael was hefting. He knew for a fact Michael hid at least three guns inside, one of which was AoA-sent and designed for zero-g. A handgun was hidden in the bottom of Marc's own bag as well. He gave another look forward at the checkpoint machines that could sense them all in an instant. "You ever done this before?"
Michael's response came with a weak smile. "Once, in training."
"Once more than me."
"What about the last time you went up?"
"Nope. I mean, I went through the checkpoint, but. . ." He left the sentence unfinished, sure Michael could guess at his implication that he wasn't carrying anything illegal then. "You go in first, I'll watch you."
Marc rubbed distractedly at his palm, glad at least that he wouldn't have to take his visor off. He almost always felt nervous and disconnected without it, though he rarely admitted it to anyone. The world was just a little more under control with the infoblips and status displays fed from the hip rig in his peripheral vision. Most people just wouldn't understand.
"I wouldn't worry. The timing's pretty simple."
"Who's worried?" This is brilliant. ESA's out to kill me and I'm trying to smuggle weapons into orbit. Bravo, Marc. At least they were bound for the WSC base and would bypass Alpha Station completely. The Space Agency only had a partial presence at Sunrise, and was uninvolved with the WSC entirely.
Besides, even if he were caught going through the checkpoint, the fake ID the AoA provided would at least mean they'd catch Marc Sebring, not Marc Triton. He'd be arrested, but at least he'd be alive.
Not that he'd do Marette any good then, to say nothing of the Exodus Project. He frowned in renewed determination. He wouldn't screw this part up. Michael was right, it'd be pretty simple.
He envied Michael his practice.
The time on his visor read seven oh-three p.m. Three wireless networks in the area. Room temperature was sixty-eight point five degrees.
The rest of their journey up the line passed in silence, and before Marc knew it Michael was about to be scanned. Michael set the bag with the hidden weapons on the scan table, stepped onto the body scanner, and leaned his hand against the platform's single wall that stood beside it, on which the sensor arm was mounted.
The bag scan cover came down like a lid on a fancy dinner platter. Marc knew it was much stronger than it looked, despite being filled with sensors. Bombs had exploded in such things and only cracked them. At the same time, the U-shaped sensor slid down around Michael's body along the wall he leaned against, scanning him from head to toe and back again for any weapons or illegal cyberware.
When the light on both scanners flashed green, the guard waved him out of the machine, handed him his bag, and waited for Marc to take his turn.
Marc took a breath and moved forward. He set his own bag squarely on the scanner before stepping across to the body sensor. As Michael had done, he waited until the bag scan cover started its descent and then leaned his hand against the body scanner wall.
Though doing his best to appear relaxed, he felt he was failing that much miserably. On the plus side, the AoA chip in his hand didn't care how he looked. He felt the slight vibration that assured him that its override on the machine was successful and started to breathe easier. The body scanner made its run over him and flashed green at the end of the cycle. The security guard waved him out, but his bag was still being scanned. Marc froze where he was, keeping his hand pressed to the wall.
The guard, a tall man who looked as humorless as a traffic cop, motioned him away from the scanner. "Sir, you can step out of there now. Please."
Marc shot a glance at Michael. "But my bag's not finished," he said. Was there a problem? What happened to the override if he took his hand away before the scan was done? Or was it not working at all? Shit.
"Some bags take longer," the guard explained. He moved just a little closer and added more firmly, "Step away from the scanner."
Marc tried to think of an excuse to stay put. His mind was blanking. If the scanner had found something, he was already screwed. If not, then if he kept resisting, they might detain him anyway. "My bag. . ." he tried, feigning confusion and stalling for as much time as he could squeeze out. He didn't dare move his hand, no matter how stupid he looked.
Go green, damn it!
"Is something wrong, sir?" The suspicion in the guard's tone was clear.
The light was still dark. Marc held his breath, lifted his hand away, and stepped off the body scanner. "Sorry," he tried. "Space travel makes me a little nervous." He edged toward Michael and waited for them to find the gun with absolutely no clue what to do if they did.
And then the light flashed green and the scan cover lifted. Another guard handed his bag back to him. "Space terminal's that way. Keep the line moving."
Hiding his relief, Marc took the bag and fell in step beside Michael as they continued on to their flight. He tossed Michael an annoyed look—more for the scanner than anything—and grumbled, "Well that was fun."
Michael just chuckled.
That the AoA was able to work a chip-triggered override into the design of most security scanners was an impressive feat, he supposed. That it go completely smoothly might be asking too much.
Then again, if the rest of their venture went as smoothly, Marc would consider himself lucky. He still had to get the data leech from Diomedes at some point so he could make the adjustments that the AoA's plan required. He wasn't expecting that to be too difficult; he'd need to alter the leech anyway for it to bypass the Omicron security the way Diomedes wanted. Provided the man didn't get too paranoid, it wouldn't be a problem. What worried him more was what they might fin
d at Omicron.
He wondered for the hundredth time how Marette was doing. Would they find anyone alive there? Would Omicron even be there anymore? Those were extreme possibilities, but ones that both he and the rest of the AoA acknowledged. Yet they had to find out what was happening there now.
The unknown got him thinking yet again about Michael's comment back at his apartment. Would he have gone for the car, abandoning Michael to save himself, if he'd thought it possible?
Probably. Because he'd been afraid. Geez. He had never thought of himself as a coward, but then when had he been in this kind of danger before? He could tackle a multi-tiered auto-cycling counter-intrusion grid without blinking, but bullets were quite out of his experience.
There were more challenges looming on the horizon than he cared for: What would he be walking into at Omicron? What would Diomedes do to him if he sensed any deception? And if Marette was still there—and he refused to think otherwise—the odds were that there'd be more chances for his courage to be tested. Like it or not, he'd find out the truth of what he would do then.
Seven fourteen p.m. Three wireless networks. Sixty-eight point five degrees.
At long last, they reached the terminal. Marc swiped his fake ID through the reader and was rewarded with a friendly female voice. "Marc Sebring. Open-ended round trip orbital flight to Sunrise International Space Station. Please proceed through the gate to the boarding area, and have a pleasant flight." Marc paused as Michael swiped his own ID, and the two continued through the gate.
Whatever else had happened, he hoped Marette was alright.
Stars dotted the blackness outside Sunrise Station. Diomedes stared out the exterior window he faced. That window and a bulkhead wall that sectioned off the larger observation area formed the corner of the wide room in which he sat. Keeping a low profile, he scanned the reflections of those who passed behind him. Others sat scattered about the observation area. Some watched screens, some talked, some watched the stars—or pretended to. He watched them all for anything suspicious and kept an eye out for the kid and Marc.
Things had gone well so far. On the whole. For the most part. He'd made it onto Sunrise Station with no trouble. A RavenTech-chartered cargo flight got him there; he'd played escort to the shipment to disguise his true purpose. Once the shipment was unloaded, it was as easy as Fagles had claimed to bypass the security checks required for access to the rest of the station. He envied the loopholes that corporations could always find. Laws were only for those who couldn't find ways around them. No one had scanned him for weapons. They didn't even search his bag or ask for ID. His was forged anyway. It would've passed a check—or so Fagles claimed—and the fake beard and wig he wore would keep him from being recognized by anyone who'd be trouble. For the moment, all he needed to do was be patient. Be watchful. Yes, things were going well.
A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle) Page 24
