by Tripp Ellis
“Are you guys just looking for a way to justify your paycheck? How about you look into Jake Mitchell's murder? Happened right here on Cygnus 7 earlier today."
“That's a CPD issue," the DFS agent muttered.
“Right." Max glared at the two idiots. “Like I said. Either arrest me, or fuck off.”
The agents exchanged a bewildered look. They didn't know what the hell to do with Max.
She stormed out of the compartment, brushing past the stunned agents. She burst into the corridor, scanning the other interrogation compartments. “Winston? Winston?”
Max finally found the robot in a compartment at the end of the hall. She mashed a button on the bulkhead, and the hatch slid open. “Come on. We're out of here.”
He followed her into the passageway.
Max strolled out of the containment area, and the agents just watched her go. She just hoped the authorities on Cygnus 7 weren’t as corrupt as the ones on Orion Station.
She stepped back out into the terminal amid the bustle of travelers. Cygnus 7 wasn't quite as large as Orion Station, but it was still a mega-metropolis. A sea of people, and aliens, flowed in and out on a daily basis.
An old woman hobbled up to Max. She had to be almost 200 years old. Even with rejuvenation treatments, her skin hung from her bones, wrinkled like old leather. Age spots dotted her thin skin. An Exo-Walker™ supported her legs and helped her move freely. "You're that nice woman who saved us on the flight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good job.” She leaned in and whispered, "Although I think you should have kicked him a few more times when he was down.”
“I agree.”
Max watched the old woman hobble away. The thought of becoming feeble and decrepit made her cringe. The thought of ever needing an Exo-Walker to get around was just depressing. But that was something she was never going to have to worry about. She was never going to age. She was never going to get old. She was just going to stop functioning one day. Doctor Tor had engineered termination dates into all the other SW Ultra members. It was a failsafe measure in case things went wrong with the program. Max had no reason to think she was any different than the rest of them. She had no idea how long she would live.
Max pulled out her mobile and dialed Riley. But there was no answer. Max never worried about anything. She was always calm, cool, and collected. But this made her stomach roil with acid. She made a silent plea to the universe—please let Riley be okay.
7
Riley flung her arms around Max as she stepped into the suite. The little girl clung onto Max for dear life. It seemed like she was never going to let go. Max was all she had left in the galaxy. "I'm so sorry this happened. You're safe now. I'm going to find out who did this to your father, and I'm going to make them pay."
Riley sobbed on Max's shoulder for a few moments. Then she dried her eyes and pulled herself together.
"This is Winston. He's a friend." Max didn't use the term lightly. She trusted Winston with her life. He had saved her before.
Riley shook the robot’s hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Riley," Winston said in a formal tone.
"It's nice to meet you too, Winston." She said softly. Her voice lacked any emotion or enthusiasm. Her eyes were hollow, and sadness pulled on her heart like an anchor.
"I know this is difficult, but I need you to tell me everything you remember about the incident." Riley nodded. They stepped into the living room and took a seat on the sofa.
Riley told Max everything she remembered. She described both of the goons in detail—where they were, what they were doing, and the conversation she was having with her father when this whole nightmare began.
"What was your father working on?" Max asked.
"He wasn't working on anything. He's been retired for at least a year now."
"Was he picking up any work on the side?
"I don't think so. I think he’d get calls for jobs every now and then. One-off type missions. He turned them all down. He said he wanted to spend more time with me."
"I know he did. You were his whole world."
Riley's eyes brimmed again. Her face was red and puffy from crying nonstop. Just when she thought the tears had run dry, more would come. They had to stop eventually. But it wasn't going to be anytime soon.
Max figured she'd give Riley a respite from the questions. Riley looked like she could use a break.
Max took a moment to call Dylan. But another agent answered his phone. He had dark hair, brown eyes, and sharp features.
Max’s face twisted up, perplexed. “I was trying to get in touch with Agent Carter…”
“He’s on a special assignment right now. I’m covering for him.”
“What assignment?”
“I'm sorry, but that's classified, ma'am. Agent Carter’s gone dark.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “When will he be back?”
“That’s difficult to say. You must be Max?”
Max gave a hesitant nod.
"Agent Carter mentioned that you would be in touch. He’s filled me in on the details of your situation, and instructed me to be of assistance. I'm Special Agent Neil Grant."
Max tried to size him up. It seemed a little strange, but it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Dylan to go silent when on a special operation. “He mentioned he had a contact in the station PD on Cygnus 7.”
"I take it you are there now?
Max nodded.
“How was the trip?"
“Uneventful."
"Really? I heard there was a hijacker aboard the transport,” Grant said with a knowing grin.
“Word travels fast, doesn’t it?”
“This is the FCIS. We know everything.”
“I thought that was the UIA’s motto?” Max said, testing his sense of humor. There had been a long-standing interagency rivalry between the United Intelligence Agency and the FCIS.
Grant didn’t seem amused. "Go see Kirk Winter. He’s expecting you. He'll catch you up to speed with everything the station PD knows so far. I told him you’re a close associate of Agent Carter’s.”
“Can he be trusted?“
“I don't think Carter would have recommended him if he thought otherwise. The two are old Navy buddies.”
Max was unsure. There were too many variables in this equation. She wasn't even sure she could trust Agent Grant, much less one of his recommendations, even if it was supposedly coming from Dylan.
Grant could see her hesitancy. “Look, I'm here to help. Agent Carter specifically said that I am under orders to provide you with as much assistance as I legally can. I know you don't know me from Adam, and he said you might be a little… difficult, at times.”
Max arched an eyebrow at him.
“But, you’re going to have to trust me. Keep me posted after you talk to Winter.”
Max sighed Will do. And, thanks for your help.”
“Anytime.”
Max ended the transmission. Grant’s face vanished from her display screen.
Before she could slip her mobile into her pocket, an explosion knocked the hatch off its hinges. It clattered against the entrance foyer. Smoke filled the compartment. A team of thugs spilled into the smoky haze, weapons in the firing position.
Max's ears rang from the deafening blast. The overpressure knocked her to the deck.
Riley screeched in terror.
Max sprang to her feet and drew her pistol. But before she could get a shot off, one of the invaders blasted her with an STN-60.
The neural disruptor stunned her momentarily. It would have put the average person on the deck, but Max was no average person. It was like the slate had been wiped clean. It took her a moment to regain her wits about her—to remember where she was and what she was doing.
The STN-60 would render most people unconscious for an hour or two. The weapon was widely used by law enforcement. It was an ideal way to subdue uncooperative suspects. While billed as non-lethal, neural disruptors
weren’t without potential side effects. It was rare, but permanent brain damage and other cognitive disorders could occur. And no one was really sure what the long-term effects would be. It was going to take a while for the data to come in. But in 30 or 40 years, there might be increased cases of dementia among former detainees. At the least, you'd wake up with a helluva headache after having been hit with a stun beam.
Max was hit several more times. Multiple invaders blasted her with STN-60s until she dropped to the deck. Her hand went slack, dropping the .45 pistol aside. She could see the blurry shapes of the goons spill to the room and grab Riley. Max was helpless to do anything about it. The full effects of the STN-60 took effect. Her vision faded to black.
8
“Did you have a nice nap?" The goon with the flattop haircut said as he hovered over Max.
She recognized him from Riley's description, and the unmistakable scar on his cheek. Max's vision was still blurred, and her temples throbbed. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious.
She was in a small, dimly lit compartment. She figured she was still probably on Cygnus 7, but she could have been halfway across the galaxy as well. Several other goons huddled around her.
“Where's Riley?” Max growled. Her eyes were like a ferocious beast, ready to devour its prey. She was seething with anger.
"She's safe. For now,” Flattop said.
“If anything happens to her—“
“Please, you are in no position to talk tough.”
“Where’s Winston?”
“Who?”
“The robot,” Max said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, yes. Soon, he'll have his memory wiped and be sold for parts.”
“You realize I'm going to kill you.” It was a matter of fact statement. Inevitable in Max's mind.
Flattop chuckled. "Good luck with that,” he snarked. “I know all about you SW Ultra rejects. And quite frankly, I'm not impressed.”
“Who are you? What do you want?"
“You can call me Zane. And it’s not what I want. It's what my boss wants.”
“Who’s your boss?”
Flattop smiled. "That's none of your concern." He gestured to a man in the corner of the room. “See, my comrade here fucked up…”
The man stepped out of the shadows. His arm was in a sling, nursing a shoulder wound. He looked at Zane with nervous eyes.
“Jake wasn't supposed to die,” Zane said. “I wouldn't go so far as to call it an accident, but my friend wasn't supposed to shoot him. Not yet anyway. He had a job to do for us.”
“I doubt Jake would ever work for the likes of you."
"Not by choice, anyway. But he didn’t have a choice. Just like you don’t have a choice."
Max clenched her jaw.
Zane smiled and patted his companion on the back. “Yep, Mick here really screwed things up.” Without flinching, Zane blasted his companion in the chest with a plasma pistol.
The glowing bolt tore into his thoracic cavity. Crimson blood and goo splattered the bulkhead behind Mick. He stumbled back, clutching the gaping hole in his chest. Mick’s devastated eyes glanced at Zane in disbelief, then he crumpled to the deck. The last gasp of breath rattled from his lungs.
“My employer doesn't tolerate mistakes,” Zane said. “And neither do I. Mick’s little mishap put a serious wrench in our plan. But it's fortunate that young Riley called you for help.”
Max tried to put the pieces together. She had an idea of where this was going.
“As I'm sure you know, Jake worked for the Secret Service before he retired. Part of a security detail for the president. That experience provided him with a wealth of knowledge regarding protocol and procedure. Who better to assassinate the president than a former Secret Service agent?"
Max's eyes narrowed at him.
“With your military background, and extensive training, you’ll be an adequate replacement."
“You’ve lost your mind.”
"The status of my sanity is not really an issue here.” Zane grinned. “Now, I'm sure I don't need to spell it out for you, but just so we’re on the same page… You're going to do exactly as I say, or the kid dies."
"You want me to kill the president of the Federation?"
“President Stafford is going to be at the X50 Summit in less than 48 hours. My employer wishes Stafford’s demise to come during his address to the Council.”
Max stared at him, incredulous. "That's impossible. You realize how tight security is going to be at that event? The idea is idiotic.”
“My employer wants to make a statement.”
“Your employer wants to destroy the Federation and start another war,” she said, dryly.
Zane shrugged. "He has his motives."
“Getting anywhere close to the president with a weapon is going to be next to impossible. It's a suicide mission.”
“Which is exactly why I'm not going to be the one to do it." Zane flashed his smug grin again. “And I have to admit, you have certain abilities which make you an ideal candidate for this type of work. You can morph your hair and eye color. You can mimic fingerprints, alter your retinal pattern, along with a host of other nifty attributes. Comes in handy when attempting to infiltrate security systems."
Max was designed to be a government assassin, not assassinate members of the government.
“My men are going to escort you to the Summit. If you fulfill your obligations, I'll release Riley. If you manage to survive, you can go about your life as though nothing happened. Although, you'll probably be hunted by every Federation agency in existence."
“Where's Riley?"
“She’s safe.”
“I want to see her. Now!”
“Not possible. She is far, far away from here.”
“Get her on the phone now, or there's no deal.”
Zane huffed and rolled his eyes. He pulled out his mobile device and made the call. It was a thin piece of smart glass. A few moments later, Riley's terrified face appeared on the display. Zane held the screen in front of Max.
“Are you okay?"
Riley nodded as tears streamed down her dirty cheeks.
“I'm going to rescue you,” Max promised. “And I'm going to kill the people who did this.”
Zane ended the transmission. He slipped the mobile device back into his pocket. “I have to say, I admire your optimism.”
Max scowled at him.
“I want you to meet Skinner,” Zane said.
The ominous man stepped forward out of the shadows. Skinner had cold eyes and sharp features. He had a perfectly manicured goatee, and the sides of his head were shaved.
“He's going to see that you get onto the transport to the Summit,” Zane continued. "He's a Cobra Company elite warrior. More than enough to handle the likes of you."
Max scoffed. "Keep dreaming."
9
Skinner escorted Max to Bay 63. Her hands were cuffed behind her back.
Cobra Company supplied mercenaries for hire. They were all highly trained, and most were former special warfare operators. There were rumors that the company had been working on their own genetically enhanced super-soldiers. Max thought it was a lot of hype. She had bumped into a few of them before and wasn’t impressed.
Rav, and his crew, stood in front of his ZR-75 Spacehawk on the flight deck. It was a sleek, mid-sized transport that could accommodate up to eight passengers, and had 10,000 cubic feet of cargo space.
Skinner made the hand off. “This is Max Mars. She’s all yours, boys.”
Rav and his crew ogled Max’s perfect form. They were speechless for a moment.
“Are you going to un-cuff me?” Max asked. “I mean, do I threaten you that much?”
“What's the matter, Skinner? She too much for you to handle?” Zero chuckled. He was a short little troll of a man that was maybe 5’ tall when he wasn't slouching.
“Fuck you, Zero,” Skinner muttered.
Rav eyed Max with a healthy dose of caution
. He was a barrel chested guy with a thick curly beard, and was sleeved in tattoos. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Max replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
Rav nodded to Skinner to take the cuffs off.
“I'm going to recommend against this," Skinner said.
“Puh-lease,” Zero said in a sarcastic tone.
Skinner shrugged. “If you say so.” He unlocked the cuffs and removed them.
She stretched her arms and rubbed her wrists. The cuffs had been quite uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that she hated being restrained.
“Skinner, you still owe me 100 credits,” Zero shouted.
“I got your credits right here,” he said, grabbing his crotch.
“Hey, hey, show some respect,” Zero said. “It's not like you're talking to your mother.”
Skinner's face tensed. He didn’t like anyone joking about his mother. “After I get back from Beta Arcturus 9, I'm going to kick your ass."
“I'm shaking," Zero said.
“Keep talking little man."
“If you want to get spanked again, I'm willing to go double or nothing on the Rigel Ravens. I'll even give you a 10 point spread.”
“Deal. The Crushers are going to wipe the field with them."
“Let's get moving,” Rav commanded.
Skinner watched as Rav marched Max up the ramp of the Spacehawk. He pressed a button on the bulkhead, and the ramp whirred shut, clamoring behind them.
“That's Ganz, Crash, and the mouthy one is Zero,” Rav said, pointing the men out.
Ganz and Crash were ferocious men, packed with lean muscle, sporting tattoos and scars—6’5” and 260 lbs. each. Clearly some type of former military. They looked Max up and down, partly intrigued, partly skeptical, and partly smitten. She was a sight to behold.
“Look, I don't know what your drama is, and I don't care,” Rav said. “My job is to get you to the Summit, and make sure you do what you're supposed to. Outside of that, I've got no beef with you. So this is going to go a lot smoother for everyone if you just play along."
