I was getting stiff. Stun batons were bad, but better than a complete boot bruising. I got up, and in three hops, reached the stool. Sitting, I took a new line of thought. Why was Vorishnov here? Was he working with Negral Corp? My sponsor was more inclined to favor his policies. A successful political hit was rare away from Earth, unless there was an itinerary leak. Tough questions. Somebody knew, of course, but not anyone who’d confide in me.
Without a ship chronometer in the room and unable to see my watch, I guessed two hours had passed. I wasn’t closer to any answers. I began to wonder if the Kalavar would arrive on time, and if this mess would be sorted out before its scheduled departure. If not, I could be in a bit of trouble.
Startled, I looked toward the open door. A plain-faced man dressed in casual business attire walked in. No tie to identify standing. Definitely intelligence.
“Good afternoon, Specialist Keesay,” he began. “I am Field Director Karlton Simms.” He pulled a small cylindrical object from a jacket pocket. “Would you like those removed?”
“Actually, yes. That would be nice.” I turned on the stool.
Director Simms removed my manacles and placed them in their case before tossing it on the bed. His face remained emotionless even while he spoke. “Quite a morning.” He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a small remote control device. He pointed it at the light and tapped an icon, dimming it.
Not exactly how I expected an interrogation to start. “Yes. Quite a morning.”
Director Simms put the remote away and pulled out a small clamshell computer clip. “Want to tell me about it?” he asked, leaning a hip against the table.
“Not really. What’s the clip for? Aren’t you recording this anyway?”
“Specialist, I’m busy and you have a transport to catch.” After tapping a few keys he pulled some small metallic disks from his jacket’s inner pocket.
I knew what they were so I unbuttoned my collar. “Has it arrived?”
“It’s not due yet and I expect it to be delayed,” said Simms as he approached. He placed one of the disks over my left carotid artery, one on my right temple, another at the base of my skull, two across my forehead and last on my right palm.
“How would you know that?”
“Common occurrence.” He tapped away at the clip. “Now, Specialist, this isn’t the first time you’ve been debriefed by our agency, so let’s get to it.”
He knew about my involvement in Earth’s Colonization Riots, probably from records on his clip. I didn’t think a Field Director would have such access. So much for promises. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you know who you were sitting next to on the shuttle?”
“I do, now.”
He stared at me a moment. “This is going to take a long time unless you’re a little more forthcoming, Specialist.”
“Let it. I see no reason to confide in you.”
“Why would that be? I’m only asking simple questions. I’ve already interviewed other witnesses.” He moved a step closer.
“I’ve been debriefed only one other time in my life. You shouldn’t know that unless you’re other than who you claim to be, Field Director.” I decided to stand before continuing. “And if you do, and you are who you say, then someone further up has been dishonest, giving me even less reason to comply with your request.”
He was several inches taller than me and stood his ground. “This is the way it is, Specialist. I’ve got a very important job. Occasionally my superiors do send subordinates to do work in the field. And they don’t generally send us out ill informed. You have security training. Think about it. Think about who’s involved and what you’ve seen.” His stare intensified before refocusing his gaze on his computer. “This incident is peripheral compared to the big game.”
I sat back down and thought about the S2 on the shuttle ride up, with a box and heavily armed. A controversial representative in disguise in an out-of-the-way place, and an assassination attempt. Was Director Simms telling the truth? My guts said, ‘Trust him.’ My training said, ‘Make him work for it.’
I decided to play it by ear and see what happened. “Well, you’re here right on schedule so intel must’ve been doing more than trailing a cold scent.”
After thirty seconds of silence I continued. “He was Vorishnov. I didn’t know it—until after someone tried to kill him.”
“Thank you.” He returned to the table. “Now why did you sit next to him on the way up?”
“He approached me. He seemed annoying but otherwise...I was glad I did.” The director split his attention between the readouts and me. Verifying truthful statements is usually a two-person job, unless the operator is exceptionally good. “At the time.”
Director Simms concentrated on his readings. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, “after a while I figured something wasn’t right.” I knew it wasn’t possible, but I could almost feel the receptor-transmitters monitoring my brain activity, my vital signs, my reactions. “I thought he was a corporate spy and I told him I was going to report him to my superiors.”
“What made you suspect?”
“He knew an awful lot. About Negral’s activities. Asking questions about security. Certainly more than a bureaucrat the level of his cover would.” I thought a second or two. “He seemed more accustomed to luxury. You might tell him that.”
Simms smiled. “He was complimentary toward you. Why did Special Agent Brown think you might have been part of the attempt on Representative Vorishnov’s life?”
“What do you mean?”
“She turned her firearm on you?”
“Correct. During the trip, she seemed suspicious. I thought she was a bounty hunter. Then I pegged her as a bodyguard.” I figured Simms already had this information from the representative. “My actions in determining this might have alarmed her. She wasn’t very covert.”
“No,” agreed Simms. “Her specialty is combat tactics and weaponry. You’re lucky she was unsure about you.” He pointed between my eyes. “Top five in the agency.”
I didn’t bother to point out Simms’s lack of past tense. He tapped at the small screen. Did he detect me holding back a foremost thought. Was he that good?
“Why did you intervene on Representative Vorishnov’s behalf?” he asked patiently. “You didn’t know who he was at the time. Why defend a corporate spy working against your sponsor?”
“Good questions,” I said, stalling. “He was still on the ramp of the shuttle, Negral Corp’s property. I work for Negral Corp as security.” It wasn’t exactly the whole truth, but I hoped he’d buy it. “He was under our protection.”
The field director simply raised an eyebrow. He knew what he was about.
“...And I felt responsible. His bodyguard took a hit for him. If she hadn’t been distracted, maybe she would’ve gotten the baggage handler.”
He nodded absently.
“Mind if I ask a question?”
“Will you trust my answer?” he asked, again leaning against the table.
“That depends. Was the dolly-bot carrying anything valuable? Or is that S2 part of your operation?”
He thought for a few seconds before answering, “Well, the cargo is valuable, and it is part of the Kalavar’s scheduled cargo. Security Supervisor Gaverall is an expert marksman as well. He took out four to your one.”
“Marksmanship isn’t everything,” I said. “Proper training. Brown was a poor choice. And an S2 in charge of local security that has five plants on his team?”
“Six,” Simms corrected. “Specialist Dribbs winged one. And the Representative insisted upon Agent Brown.”
He was using names around me. He either planned on letting me go, figuring I would look into it anyhow. Or he was up to something else?
“Speaking of poor choice,” said Simms, “why would you arm yourself with a single-action revolver?”
“I didn’t exactly expect to be in a crossfire.” Talking irritated my split lip, but
I ignored it. “Normally, I’d have my shotgun when on duty or in a high-risk area. But carrying without cause tends to upset civilian travelers. You know, shotguns are mainly used in penal colonies. I’m new to Negral. Didn’t want to make an unfavorable impression.”
He nodded. “That didn’t exactly answer my question. With available equipment, why even carry a thumb-buster?”
He used the old-time reference for my revolver. He had some knowledge of archaic firearms. A little confused, I continued, “A few reasons.” This didn’t seem like a logical line of interrogation, but I went on anyway. “First, if my sidearm were taken, how many I-Techs would know to cock the hammer? While they’re fiddling with the trigger or even looking for a safety, I might have a chance to go for my backup, hit him, run, whatever. Second, a .357 has some knockdown without being too cumbersome. A variety of rounds are available. Plus, it’s an antique, handed down by my great grandfather.”
Simms reached to the small of his back and pulled a small sidearm. “It’s a late 20th century .22 semi-auto. My father was a collector so I know something about antique firearms.”
“Have you had work done to yours? Mine’s no longer all original parts.”
He handed the pistol to me. “Unfortunately, yes. After a century, wouldn’t be safe to fire otherwise.”
“You sure are the trusting type.” I looked it over. “Nice condition. I prefer revolvers.” I handed it back. “You’ve seen my backup, a double-action revolver. With a semi-auto, if you’re down to one arm, like I almost was, can’t reload and fire.”
“That’s one way to look at it. A standard MP pistol would solve that dilemma. Your shotgun has a mounting for a bayonet?” he asked with a puzzled or amused look.
“More intimidating,” I assured him. “Even makes an A-Tech wonder.”
“How many aliens have you employed this ‘fixed bayonet theory’ on?”
“None.” I smiled. “But seems logical. And why not?”
Simms reholstered his pistol. “Maybe, but don’t try it on a Coregar Crax. They prefer blade combat.”
“Their size and training?” I shook my head and laughed. “Compared to me...but if one’s that close no sense trying to outrun it. Pretty slim odds running into an elite Coregar warrior.”
“You didn’t expect to get shot this morning either.” He closed his clip and began removing the metallic receptor-transmitters. He’d gotten me so off guard I’d forgotten he was monitoring me. “Speaking of your arm,” he said, gesturing. “I was informed you received only minor second degree burns. You’re lucky your opposition was trigger-happy. One full blast would’ve seared right through your vest.”
I shrugged. The medication in the salve was working.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t have a lot of time. You were cleared for duty on the Kalavar a long time ago.”
“What do you mean? It’s only a civil transport less than two years out of mothballs.”
“Your involvement in the Colonization Riots got you more than just an out-of-the-way posting on Pluto. I was just reconfirming the decision.”
“What’s on board the Kalavar?” I asked, scratching my head. “Rare elements?”
“Some, but that’s not it. Security Chief Corbin will inform you if he deems it appropriate. Don’t bother to ask.”
“But why me, a Class 4 Relic Tech?”
“Do you think a Relic isn’t up to the task?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Just do as you’re ordered,” he said. “Here, this ought to add to the mystery.” He pulled out a small syringe and bottle.
“What’s that, truth serum? Test’s over, isn’t it?”
“Actually, quite the opposite.” He couldn’t have been more serious as he drew a small amount of the clear liquid. “You are not to divulge to anyone the events that occurred. If asked, it was an organized attempted theft. Bureaucrat Linnuhey was simply caught in the crossfire, and you were doing your job as security in foiling the attempt. You know of nothing exceptional on board the Kalavar.”
“That won’t be a stretch.”
“This is serious.” He reached for a vein in my forearm. “What I am giving you will foil attempts to use drugs in obtaining answers which you’re unwilling to divulge.”
I was trying to decide if I really trusted him to put the needle into me. In the end I didn’t really have a choice. “Do you have a countermeasure drug?”
“That, like this, is classified.”
“Okay, you do. I won’t tell anybody.”
He finally smiled. “We have arranged for a new uniform and some replacement body armor.” He handed me two magnetic keys and the case. “If you return the manacles, you can have the deposit. It’s been cleared. Just mention my name, Corporate Investigator Simms.” He thought a moment. “The armory here is well stocked and you may be out a while. Chances of coming across R-Tech ammunition are pretty slim.”
“Thank you,” I said, recalling this had been an important military base during the war. Knowing travel schedules often suffered delays, I asked, “When might the Kalavar arrive?”
He offered me his hand. “I would expect it to arrive tomorrow at the latest.” We shook hands. “And keep those popcorn nukes of yours out of sight.”
I grimaced. He was sharp. “They’re not illegal. They’re of pre-ban civilian manufacture.”
“Stick with that line, Specialist Keesay, and they’re sure to be confiscated.” His face went blank before he exited. “O’Vorley,” he called, “Specialist Keesay needs to clean up and requires a meal. We owe him that much.”
“Yes, sir, Investigator,” O’Vorley replied in his youthful voice.
Chapter 10
News. Reliable, accurate, timely, and unbiased information is difficult to come by. Most sources are corporate with releases issued to suit their specific needs. The same is true of information from military and government sources. Intelligence, generally considered an independent arm of the government, is the best informed, yet the least likely to distribute.
Actual eyewitnesses in positions to distribute uncensored, or unvetted, information are rare. The best an interested individual can do is to gather information from multiple sources and, through careful evaluation, hope to find a sliver of truth.
I stretched my joints as the anxious guard, O’Vorley, peered in. I tucked the case under my arm and headed out. “Which way?” Technically he was my superior, being a C3. But he worked for a different company and I wasn’t on duty.
I met O’Vorley’s blank stared. Young with short, light brown hair. He was trying to grow a mustache. “Clean up?” I asked. “Meal?” I looked both ways down the dimly lit corridor. Access grates ran down the center of the floor. Conduits covered much of the ceiling and the tops of the walls, so I wasn’t in a fancy civilian section. No sign of Simms.
It took O’Vorley a second to snap out of it. “Sure, this way.” He wanted to say something as we walked but didn’t know where to begin.
If he wanted to ask something he’d have to muster the courage. I licked my swollen lip and wondered how messed up I looked. “Before we go, where’s my cart and equipment?” I pointed. “Possibly that way?”
He looked surprised. “Ah, no, they were...the corporate investigator moved them.”
We just stood there. “Well, who knows? The investigator is gone.”
“Did he say it was to be released to you?” asked O’Vorley. “I wasn’t informed.”
“He said as much, but didn’t he give me a signed permission slip.”
“Signed?”
“Coded authorization, then.”
“Then I cannot allow you access to your equipment,” he replied without confidence.
I was growing impatient. “Then let’s go see someone who will.” I didn’t have much by some standards, but I didn’t want any of it to disappear. “How about Supervisor Gaverall? Where’s he?”
I stepped aside as a tan uniformed maintenance woman and her utility work-bot passed d
own the hall. She glanced over her shoulder but said nothing.
Finally, O’Vorley spoke into his collar. “Supervisor Gaverall, sir, Specialist Keesay would like access to his equipment.” He nodded. “Where is it, sir? Okay, sir, Investigator Simms instructed me to allow Specialist Keesay to clean up and to provide him with a meal.”
My young escort was getting an earful through his imbedded chip. When O’Vorley was refocused on me I asked, “How long have you been onboard?”
“Twenty-eight hours,” he offered.
I struggled not to roll my eyes. “First posting?”
He nodded. “I’m still getting to know my way around.”
“You don’t know where my equipment is?”
His gaze fell to the floor. “I was told the location.”
“Follow me,” I said, leading him in our original direction, toward a major intersection. After about twenty strides I was loosening up. “Any voice terminals in this area I could access?” We slowed. “You know, one for civilians?”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because, if you tell me the location, I can relay it to the terminal and it can tell us how to get to my equipment.” We stopped. “Get rid of the middle man. Your boss.”
He looked confused but hopeful. “This way,” I said, “you won’t have to bother anyone and your voice imprint won’t be logged requesting the information. That’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m on my probationary period,” he agreed. “It might look bad.”
“I doubt it, but this’ll be just one less worry. Which way?”
He indicated the same direction and we were off.
“They been giving you a rough time?” I asked.
He rubbed his hands together. “Sort of. I really don’t know too much.”
I realized it wouldn’t do any good to tell him to make their lives just as difficult. I would, but O’Vorley just didn’t have it in him. We approached a cross section. “Where to?”
Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) Page 10
