Messenger

by James Walker

  “We'll have to use our fake identities to enter a dive shop,” Pierson replied. He swept the shopping bags off the floor and tossed them to each of the others in turn. “That's where these come in.”

  Vic looked through the bag. It contained a fresh change of clothes, soap, bottled water, and various other hygienic products. He looked up at Pierson and cocked an eyebrow.

  “I used my own fake identity to do some shopping while the rest of you got some rest,” Pierson said. “We want to be inconspicuous. I'm sure you've noticed, but most of us are getting pretty rank. Fake identities or no, we'll draw unwanted attention if we waltz around town looking and smelling like—well, like a bunch of fugitives who've had no time to wash up.”

  “Well, I for one appreciate the chance to freshen up.” Esther shot a glare in Eliot's direction.

  “What's that look for?” Eliot protested.

  “I was just thinking, you actually don't look all that different from how you normally do,” Esther replied.

  “Whoa, ice burn,” Eliot exclaimed. “That was totally uncalled for.”

  “Just go freshen up,” Pierson said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice. “Then meet back here in the foyer and we'll commence the operation.”

  *

  Vic returned to his room and did his best to restore himself to a state of basic cleanliness. There was no running water, but at least the drain in the shower stall worked, and Pierson had bought enough water to get the job done. With two battles worth of sweat, blood, and grime washed off and a fresh change of clothes, Vic felt almost human again.

  He returned to the foyer and found Pierson and Eliot waiting for him. Esther was right; Eliot still had the same scruffy appearance even after his makeshift bath and a change of clothes. About ten minutes later, Esther joined them, looking much refreshed and more casual in a set of fashionable street clothes.

  “Hey there, Doctor,” Eliot said in a faux seductive voice. “Looking pretty foxy for an old lady.”

  Esther tried to kick him in the shins, but he danced out of the way, laughing.

  Pierson interrupted them. “Here are the holographic disguises.” He extracted several electronic devices from his pockets and handed them out. “The two of you should know how these work already,” he said to Esther and Eliot, “but Shown, I imagine you'll need an explanation.”

  Vic nodded.

  Pierson demonstrated how to wear the disguise as he explained. “You wear the battery under your shirt, like so, and the projector goes here, inside your collar. Then you just flick it on, and...”

  With a flick of his finger, Pierson's Western aristocratic features vanished in a flash of light, replaced by the face of a younger man with a street punk's expression and hairstyle.

  “Nothing to it,” Pierson said, his voice distorted to match his new appearance. “But be gentle with that equipment. It's very delicate, and extremely expensive.”

  One by one, the others activated their disguises. Esther and Eliot no longer stood beside Vic, but a younger, dark-haired girl; and a bald man with a flabby neck and jowls in place of Eliot's athletic countenance.

  “Here's you.” Pierson held his pocket computer up in front of Vic. It projected an image of a haughty, gaunt-faced man with pale hair.

  “These are the four identities that we have thoroughly fabricated, right down to fake records in the Union's databases,” Pierson said. “I've already reprogrammed our I.D. transmitters to reflect our assumed identities. I'm Kid Raim, unemployed musician. Dr. Klein is Allie Chambers, student. Sergeant Harper is Grover Sandusk, chemical engi­neer. Corporal Shown is Lance Grant, an investor who struck it rich dabbling in stocks.”

  Vic, knowing nothing about stocks, almost snorted at the absurdity of his fake identity.

  Pierson continued, “I checked the city database, and the closest dive shop is Illusion Castle, located in the Mirion district. It's quite a ways from here. Harper, Shown, and I will enter the cybersphere and try to make contact with the Greenwings while Dr. Klein sneaks around back, where the shop hooks up to the grid, and hacks the data feed. She'll cover for the rest of us and filter out any incriminating activities so that the authorities don't catch wind of our actions.”

  Vic looked at Esther in surprise. “You can do that?”

  Esther shrugged. “I got a few advanced degrees before I joined the rebellion.”

  “Any questions?” Pierson asked. “No? Good. Let's move out. Our comrades are depending on us.”

  22

  Through the dropship's external video feed, Ryu Koga watched the sun, dimmer here than on Thera, peering over the distant mountains. The sunrise spilled crimson light and long shadows across the urban landscape, as well as the verdant forests and pastures that surrounded the Golden Ward on its northern and eastern sides. The Golden Ward itself slowly slid onto the frame, visible as a cluster of towering skyscrapers contained by an enormous, partially dismantled dome.

  The dropship maneuvered through a gap in the dome and decelerated as it approached the helipad on top of the governor's palatial complex. The central structure of the villa was one of the tallest sky­scrapers in the city, affording a commanding view of the surroundings. Once over the helipad, the dropship set down gently with a metallic clunk.

  The ramp hissed open, and Koga walked briskly out of the dropship, followed by a platoon of marines and a handful of captured drug smugglers in restraints. As Koga stepped out of the dropship, a cold wind swept over him. He raised his arm to shield his face from the frigid blast.

  While Koga braced himself against the wind, a second dropship touched down next to the first and disgorged its passengers. Omicron's damaged Ghost and Lambda's Arrow-3 landed to either side of the dropships, knelt into repose position, and opened their canopies. The pilots emerged from their exosuits, both clad in the blue-and-white berets and capes of their dress uniforms. Koga had insisted on that. Some amount of ceremony would be appropriate when calling on the colonial governor.

  Omicron and Lambda joined Koga, and together the three of them stood at the head of the marines. A small group of security personnel came forward to meet them, led by a crisp, light-haired young man bearing the emblem of an Executive Director of the Peace and Security Agency. Koga raised an eyebrow at the director's age—he seemed too young for the rank he held—but said nothing.

  Both groups traded salutes, then the director shook Koga's hand and said, “Welcome to the Qilin Villa, Commander Koga. I'm Director Ridley Nimh. I'm in charge of security for the entire Hongpan region.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Director,” Koga said curtly.

  “We were informed that you're bringing prisoners,” Ridley said, eyeing the captive drug smugglers. “If you'd like, my subordinates can show your men their accommodations and take custody of the prisoners while I escort you to your audience with Governor Song.”

  “That would be fine.” Koga nodded to Omicron and Lambda, then turned back to Ridley. “Lead the way.”

  Ridley's subordinates led Koga's troops and the prisoners to a large lift while Ridley took Koga to a small glass elevator. He punched in floor 112, and the elevator began its descent. Koga's gaze drifted around the elevator, from the view of the city through the transparent wall, to the enormous containment dome overhead and the lightening sky beyond, and finally to the elevator's other occupant. He caught Ridley glaring at him suspiciously, but the younger man turned away as soon as their eyes met.

  Neither man made any attempt at conversation. It was obvious to Koga that his presence at the villa was not welcome. Relations between the P.S.A. and the military were often strained, but he wondered if there was more to it than that. Either way, his objective was to se­cure the cooperation of the governor. The animosity of an underqualified lackey was of little consequence as long as his boss was on their side.

  The elevator stopped at a terrace, and the two men stepped out onto a hanging garden that stretched around the circumference of the skyscraper. Ridley led the way a
long a cobbled path that wound its way through trees, bushes, and past a pond full of colorful fish and lily pads. They arrived at a gate in the side of the building fashioned in the style of traditional Eastern castles.

  Ridley authenticated at a biometric scanner next to the gate, and the great doors swung open in response. Koga followed Ridley into an ornate entrance hall flanked by guards in ceremonial uniforms. They went deeper into the palatial structure and finally emerged in a conference room that, like everything else on this floor, had been liberally embellished with the trappings of traditional Eastern style and archi­tecture.

  Seated at the far end of the conference room's table was Liumei Song, governor of Chalice, sipping a cup of green tea. She looked much as she did in her television appearances: long black hair held up by golden hairpieces, refined facial features, colorful robes with elaborate floral patterns made of thin fabric draped over a slender yet bountiful figure—all the best features of a modern celebrity and an ancient empress brought together into one person.

  Koga was not impressed. He very much doubted such physical perfection was natural. His gaze drifted from Liumei to her opulent surroundings, barely able to contain his disgust at such vanity and ostentatiousness.

  “Lady Song,” Ridley announced, “I have brought Commander Koga.”

  Liumei rose from her seat and walked gracefully to Koga. “Welcome to Hongpan, Commander,” she said in her lightly accented but otherwise perfect Forth, and extended one hand.

  Koga realized her hand was not held in the gesture for a handshake. He took hold of it lightly and knelt—the sign of a subject's submission before his lord.

  “Please rise,” Liumei said. “Have a seat, Commander. And feel free to ask for anything you wish. While you are a guest in my home, I promise you every comfort short of Heaven's splendors.”

  Koga accepted the invitation to seat himself, pursing his lips in disapproval at the reference, even metaphorical, to ancient superstitions which were forbidden by Theran law. Liumei seated herself opposite Koga and a comely young servant girl came forward to pour him tea. Ridley took position by the door and stood at attention. watching Koga out of the corner of his eye.

  “I am glad for your visit, Commander,” Liumei said. “There are matters I wish to discuss with you.”

  Koga took a sip from his tea. It was excellent, of course, without the slightest hint of artificiality in its subtle flavors. He looked up at Liumei and inquired, “What would those be, Governor?”

  Liumei did not meet Koga's gaze, but stared absently at the table. “Foremost on my mind is the matter of your forces wreaking havoc on Port Osgow,” she said mildly. “I was under the impression that Spacy's mission was to crush rebels, not my loyal subjects. My center for media control has had to expend considerable efforts to contain public outcry. Of course, the cost to repair the station will be astronomical.”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet Koga's own, and though her tone remained mild, a smoldering anger burned deep within her gaze. “Naturally, I have already dispatched a full report to the viceroy and the Sen­ate, but I would dearly love to hear an explanation from one of the per­petrators' own lips, thinking that perhaps I misunderstood the meaning behind your actions.”

  Koga rapidly revised his opinion of the governor. This was no mere vessel of empty-headed vanity. “You have my profoundest apologies, Governor Song,” he said. “We, too, regret the incident at Port Osgow. Our intelligence suggested a much weaker rebel presence than they in fact possessed. The force we initially dispatched to subdue them proved insufficient, and we were obliged to send reinforcements. Soon the entire station was engulfed in battle.”

  “So you claim that the cause of your rampage was not malice,” Liumei said, “but incompetence?”

  Koga winced internally, but continued without missing a beat. “I assure you, had we not been on a mission of utmost importance, we would have withdrawn our forces as soon as the battle grew out of control. However, we were operating under strict orders from High Com­mand to retrieve an object in the rebels' possession at absolutely any cost. Due to the importance of our mission, I'm sure Spacy will reim­burse you for the full cost of all collateral damage.”

  Liumei's stare grew calculating. “This object must be valuable indeed, if your orders include license to cause unlimited damage to the colonial infrastructure in the process of retrieving it.”

  “There is nothing I can add to that,” Koga replied. “The very nature of our orders speaks to the importance of our mission.”

  “Then...” Liumei raised one arm, the long sleeve falling back to expose slender hand and wrist, and stroked the side of her face. “What is this object that Spacy is so desperate to retrieve that they would coun­tenance laying waste to the crown jewel of the colonies to recover it? As governor, I believe I have a right to know.”

  “Perhaps you do,” Koga agreed, “but I'm not at liberty to say. It's classified.” He did not mention that not even he knew what it was. Only Commodore Falsrain possessed that information—or claimed to.

  “Is that so?” Liumei let her hand drop to her lap and took another sip of tea. “If I am not to know the object of your pursuit, I would at least like some assurance of its value so I know my subjects were not killed for a trifle. If you could forward a copy of your orders to my information bureau for authentication? I am sure it would be an easy matter to redact it to conceal any classified information.”

  This conversation was not going at all as Koga had envisioned. He hated the sensation that he was walking on needles. He took a long draught of tea to hide his discomfiture, then answered, “I believe that can be arranged.”

  “Excellent.” With a rustle of fabric, Liumei arranged herself into a more comfortable sitting posture. “Well? I know your superiors did not send you here just to be sacrificed on the altar of my displeasure. What demands would you make of my office?”

  Koga took advantage of the chance to seize control of the conversation. “I didn't come to make demands. I've come to request your coop­eration in apprehending those same rebels who caused the incident on Port Osgow.”

  “Oh?” Liumei raised an eyebrow. “You mean after all that destruction, your mission is still incomplete?”

  “We've dealt heavy damage to their forces, but their core unit managed to escape,” Koga said. “Our manpower is limited, so we'll need the P.S.A.'s assistance to apprehend them. These are extremely dan­gerous terrorists. It would be in your best interest to help us capture them.”

  Liumei traced the lip of her teacup with one finger. “Go on.”

  “After the battle on Port Osgow, the rebels' remnants escaped to Chalice via a spaceship they'd hidden in the port,” Koga explained. “We pursued them to the surface and inflicted further damage, but they managed to retreat to the old transcontinental tunnels, and we lost their trail. Based on their last known location, they might emerge here in Hongpan, or in Artair, Cablan, or Haiching.”

  “Certainly, I can contact those cities and have the local P.S.A. departments search for the rebels and set up roadblocks,” Liumei said.

  “That would be appreciated,” Koga said. “We believe the rebels' most likely destination to be here in Hongpan, so we would like to concentrate our search here.”

  “I have entrusted Executive Director Nimh to handle all security decisions in Hongpan.” Liumei looked to Ridley, who had not moved from his position by the door. “The two of you can coordinate your efforts to apprehend the rebels.”

  Ridley inclined his head. “As you wish, Lady Song.” He turned to Koga. “What can I help you with, Commander?”

  “Information, first of all,” Koga replied. “Perhaps you could give me an overview of the city's security measures.”

  “Very well.”

  Ridley came forward and pressed some buttons on the control panel set in the conference table, conjuring a three-dimensional map of the city. He indicated the part of the city that lay within the containment dome. “Ground access to the
Golden Ward is only possible via heavily guarded checkpoints. All air traffic in and around the city is closely regulated and monitored. All of the airlocks connecting to the Undercity have been collapsed, preventing subterranean access. The streets are regularly patrolled by both human squads and surveillance drones. There is always a mixed company of infantry, attack drones, and exosuits on standby, with a full battalion in reserve in case of armed insurrection or invasion.”

  Koga stroked his chin. “So the rebels probably couldn't enter this district without your knowing it.”

  “I wouldn't think so.” Ridley indicated the districts adjoining the Golden Ward to the south and west. “This area we call the inner ring. All traffic is scanned by regularly-placed sensors, but there are no fixed checkpoints. Patrols make regular rounds through these districts, but they're not as dense as they are here in the Golden Ward. We believe there are still open access points to the Undercity, which is used as a hideout by vagrants and criminals.”

  “You 'believe'?” Koga looked at Ridley with disapproval. “This is your own city, and you aren't sure?”

  “Hongpan has existed since the first colonists came to Chalice,” Ridley replied evenly. “First as an underground settlement, then as a domed city. Then, once the atmosphere was breathable, part of the dome was taken down and the city continued expanding haphazardly, without the benefit of central planning. Most of the lawful citizens abandoned the Undercity in droves, to be replaced by criminals and illegal settlers. Many records from the pre-atmospheric processing days have been lost. The process has been ongoing for more than a century, leading to a labyrinthine metropolis standing over an uncharted subter­ranean maze. So no, Commander, we aren't sure.”

  Koga grunted. “And the rest?”

  Ridley indicated the remaining districts. “We call this the outer ring. This is where security is weakest. Fixed scanners are spread out thinner, and we don't have the resources or manpower to maintain regular patrols across the entire area. There's significant gang activity, and we've long known that a SLIC cell known as the Greenwings operates out of this sector. Every now and then, we conduct sweeps of the area, breaking up gangs and crime rings. We've also had a few skirmishes with the Greenwings and thwarted several of the their operations. We haven't yet managed to flush out their main force, though.”