by Lee Bond
Quickly.
It wasn’t until the bone tore through skin that Marko realized his right hand had been broken at the wrist. Dazed from the sudden shock, Marko tried to back away.
Garth anticipated the move and slid a leg in, immobilizing his opponent against the wall. Another impossibly fast hammer-strike forced a another gasp out of Marko as his left wrist shattered; the force of this second attack was so great that the IndoRussian’s hand was driven into the drywall up to the elbow.
Letting Marko go, Garth moved back a few paces so he could snap-kick the man in the midsection. Marko let out a bark of confusion-addled pain as all the air in his lungs disappeared. Driven to his knees by the shocking attack, Marko could do nothing but whimper in pain as his arm was pulled out of its socket with an audible pop. To make matters worse, the thick drywall cut nastily into the flesh.
Marko looked up, desperate to beg for his life, but when he saw the blazing fury in Garth’s ice-blue eyes, he saw the truth; he’d be lucky to die quickly. Ignoring the pain in his left arm, Marko struggled to his feet and did his best to keep his assailant at arm’s reach.
Garth slapped the broken hand negligently out of his way. Grabbing hold of Marko’s sweat-soaked hair, he forced the semi-conscious ass to focus.
“Listen to me, you moron.” Garth slapped Marko around until the IndoRussian focused blurrily on his voice. A thick trail of drool oozed from a slack jaw. “Every time one of you fuckers fights outside the Game, you make a mistake by letting other people see your style. You might be king shit in your little corner of the world, and if you live beyond today, you might actually make some money. But if you come near me again, I swear to Christ I’ll break more than just your wrists and a few ribs. Understand?”
Scarcely coherent, it was all Marko could do to nod before passing out.
“Good.” Garth pulled Marko out of the wall, wincing as the hard drywall peeled a thick chunk of skin from the now unconscious man’s left hand. Hoping the hotel staff wouldn’t be overly upset at the blood, Garth dragged Marko down the hallway until he found the laundry chute he’d spotted the day before. He grinned. Ever since seeing the chute, he’d been eager to stuff someone inside, and Marko was lucky that he was as broad as he was; rather than plummet the fifteen floors to the basement, the silly bastard’d get stuck as it narrowed. When he came to, his shouts would bring help. And being rescued out of a chute would sure as shit be all kinds of humbling and whatnot for a mighty Iron Skull.
Stuffing Marko away for the night, Garth grimaced at the damaged, blood-splattered wall and the dent in the elevator door. When Mijomi figured out who to blame for the destruction, there’d be a no-holds-barred anti-Offworld caterwaul shriek powerful enough to lay waste to entire cities.
More or less satisfied with the way things had gone, Garth wiped his hands on his pants and then went into his room.
The first thing he wanted to do was check on the Stretch and the credit chips, so he naturally avoided even looking at the chair. If the unnamed agent really did think he was stupid enough to imagine that the new prote wasn’t just bombed but bugged as well, then the OverSecretary needed to hire a new staff as soon as possible. Already healthily paranoid about the level of surveillance possible with the Latelian’s phenomenal grasp of wireless technology and the omnipresent proteus, it was simply not smart to think otherwise. So rather than pick up the cushion on the big seat, Garth washed his hands and face free of blood and plaster before placing a second call to Sa Herrig.
The large Sheet in the living picked up the protean signal as it passed through the room’s hidden WI-FI connections, activating itself when the Bank’s main system accepted the request. Fascinated, Garth plopped down on a chair and waited for Sa Herrig’s pudgy face to appear.
Herrig visibly relaxed, his abnormally pale face regaining some color as soon as he saw it was Garth. Over the last hour, he’d tried to get in touch with his client no less than fifty times. What could an Offworlder with no friends get up to on Hospitalis? He wiped his sweaty brow with a bright red handkerchief. “Where have you been?”
“Around and about.” Garth said mildly. No good could come of involving Herrig in the bizarre counter-politics of the Latelian government. The guy was already nearly unconscious from stress. “What’s up?”
“Your case is what’s up!” Herrig practically shouted, indignant. “Summarily canceled without even a day’s worth of procedure! I spent the entire night programming my legal avatars with ironclad proof you own that Box, and it gets shut down! I assure you, Sa Garth, I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this. Everyone’s claim, no matter how ludicrous it may seem, is entitled to due process. It’s the whole reason the Latelians use these legal protean avatars. It separates the wheat from the chaff! And your claim, which I admit I thought was fraudulent, is not chaff! This response, with an official seal, proves it.” Herrig waved the legal document, actual paper with fancy writing, at him.
Garth motioned for Herrig to calm down. The pudgy banker, used to nothing more exciting than filling out a form or two a day, was getting dangerously red in the face all over again. “Calm down, Sa Herrig. Relax. I know all about it.”
“You … you do?” Herrig’s eyes widened. “Someone … someone … talked to you about it?” That was almost as unheard of as a human entity involving themselves in the preliminary stages of legal procedures.
“Sorta.” Thinking quickly, Garth said, “The riot during the weigh-in apparently got a lot of people upset, so some guys showed up today to ask me questions. At first, I thought they were blaming me for starting the fucking thing, but partway through the conversation, I realized they were talking about my claim. They told me that even though I was likely to go from avatar to human representation very quickly, it wouldn’t go any further than that. I don’t know what the hell’s going on around here, sa, but I get the feeling a lot of people are seriously unhappy. Unhappy enough that if some Offworld goon from Trinity –the least favorite sort of person to Latelians- gets a stab at The Box without winning the Game, some kind of war could break out.”
Herrig saw wisdom in Garth’s opinion. As admitted, his very own initial feelings about Garth’s absurd claims had changed drastically, but if the horrific scene at the weigh-in were indicative of the dark mood running through the public, any further outbreaks of violence would only be worse. He nodded glumly. “It’s the right thing to do, Sa Garth, even if it is a violation of your rights.”
“I’ll get my chance anyway, when I win the Offworld Game.” Garth said, emanating supreme confidence. A few of the serious competitors could offer some interesting challenges, but if his morphological adaptions continued to progress, by the time the final rounds came up, he’d be faster than lightning and able to bench press entire buildings. He suppressed a shudder. God soldiers. Jesus.
“I’ll be sure to place a small wager on you myself.” Herrig said, immensely relaxed now. “Oh, by the way, congratulations on your immigration. I presume it’s a bribe so you’ll be quiet concerning your claims, but it is legal. You’ve got a few months’ probation to work through, to prove you’re here for the right reasons. When I moved here at the bank’s behest, I was questioned every week or so about my daily routine, why I went here, why I did this, that sort of thing. It’s incredibly invasive, but from what I gather, someone in office is deeply concerned about our sovereign status. The moment I passed, though, I was left to my own devices. Have been ever since.”
“Thanks, Sa Herrig. Oh, I was wondering something…”
“Yes?”
“With this crapload of money I’ve got, I’ve been thinking about what you said. About Conglomerating and all that? If you could look into what it takes to set that up, I’d be very grateful. I’ve got a lot on my plate with The Game and all the things we’re supposed to do …”
“I … ah … well, it’s not really my forte, Sa Garth. I’m only a practicing lawyer because it’s what I did before I switched to banking … I suppose I
could look into the particulars and get back to you …”
“If you’re worried about money, Herrig, feel free to draw on my funds.” Garth was so wealthy now that he was mentally incapable of registering the concept of money. If Herrig went completely batshit and started siphoning out millions of credits an hour it would still take so long to empty the account that the banker would get bored before getting more than a few billion dollars and go home. Besides that, Garth was packing a chip worth ninety million Trinity dollars, so unless he decided to buy a fleet of space-worthy ships, there were no worries. The rest of the money was just … money. “This isn’t something that needs to happen overnight, sa. Take your time. After all, I’m a citizen now.”
“Oh, ah. Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to gather some information for you.” Herrig positively beamed.
“If this gets off the ground, Sa Herrig, I want you to know I will seriously consider employing you as my Chief Financial Officer.” Garth said his goodbyes and finished up the call, letting Herrig get back to the incredibly mundane chore of Latelian economics.
Garth checked the time, and decided to place another call, this time to the World of Protean Might. He’d promised to get back to Sa Turuin before end of the day about a new delivery address for his main. Sa Turuin looked slightly out of sorts as he answered.
“Yes, Sa Garth?”
Garth was confused at the change in Turuin’s attitude from before, but said nothing. “Uh, I’m calling with the new address for delivery of the netLINK.”
Turuin gave something off-screen his full attention for more than twenty seconds before answering. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to take the data over the netLINK. There seems to be something wrong with the store relays, sa. If you could come in?”
“But I could just … Sure, yeah. I’ll be down in, what, ten, fifteen minutes?”
Sa Turuin smiled. “That will be fine. See you then.”
Garth ended the communication, a frown creasing his face. He had the funny feeling that the Latelians’ number two, unofficial, sport was espionage; in a system where everything and everyone was connected, a subculture dedicated to figuring out how to beat that system had to rise up. It wasn’t possible to point to anything definitive in Turuin’s actions just now, yet Garth was a man who followed his hunches. For whatever reason, Turuin needed to see him in person, and quickly. When everyone did everything over a NetLINK, personal interaction was held to a minimum.
His gut said it had something to do with his new, illegal, bomb-laden, spyware-packing proteus.
xxx
Before entering the shop, Garth spent another ten reconnoitering the area by walking swiftly around the block in three different directions. The agent’s warning still rang loud and clear in his mind; any watchdogs set to follow him around might take a sudden visit to a proteus shop after receiving an explosive prote suspiciously. A single sniper round to the back of the head would put him out of business no matter how badass he was. Eventually satisfied there were no tails –at least human ones-, Garth entered with no small amount of trepidation.
Sa Turuin perked his head up the moment the door chimed. When he saw Garth, he gestured to the other two salesmen. Ham-Za and Marin nodded politely to Garth as they left, locking the door behind them. The strangely cryptic salesman gestured for Garth to follow him into the back room.
Garth followed Turuin through a haphazard array of proteii, the machines that made them, half-completed orders and work tables filled with equipment in various stages of repair. He started to talk, but the look on Turuin’s face was enough to convince him to keep his yap shut. Then Turuin did something interesting: he tapped Garth’s proteus and then pointed to one of his eyes.
“I really am sorry to have to bring you down here, Sa Garth.” Turuin chattered as he led Garth down a flight of stairs. “The netLINK has been acting up for hours now and a lot of customer information is ruined.”
“Hey,” Garth replied casually, wondering where the hell he was going and what the hell was going on, “not a problem. I don’t have anything else going on until later today anyway.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Turuin took a left when they reached the bottom of the stairwell and pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “Have you had any problems with your proteus? Any questions or anything? As an Offworlder exposed to new technologies, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Not … really.” Garth answered slowly. He was ready to snap the man’s neck like a dry twig at any sign of danger.
The impeccably dressed protean salesman opened a door and ushered Garth in. As they both passed through the threshold, the small hairs on the back of the ex-SpecSer’s neck stood up. A very subtle, high-pitched whine was threading through the air, right on the periphery of his advanced senses.
“A safe room, here? Will wonders never cease.”
Turuin raised an eyebrow, impressed. He could hear it, of course, and possibly one or two other people on the entire planet but an Offworlder? Amazing. “Yes, as a matter of fact. This room is netLINK-dead. The main system for the building is currently running an audio program that has the both of us discussing a number of pointless things.” He pointed peremptorily at Garth’s wrist. “Where did you get that?”
“Someone gave it to me.” Garth prevaricated. It was apparent Turuin was more than a salesman. Espionage was indeed everyone’s secret pastime Hospitalis. This wasn’t a shocking discovery and served to reinforce precautionary measures he should’ve been taking from planetfall. Garth crossed his arms and settled in for the long haul. Turuin wasn’t anyone he was afraid of and if he was operating from the basement of a goddamn prote shop, he wasn’t anyone who could call in the big guns. He was getting exactly bupkis without an even trade.
Turuin nodded briskly at Garth’s evasion. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I know it’s not the one I made you. Do you know that?”
“I do.”
“That proteus,” Turuin moved closer so he could get a better look, “is military hardware, Sa Garth. There are astonishingly few ways to come across one, even if you are Latelian. Which begs the question: how did you come by yours? Since there are no bulletins for your arrest, I assume you didn’t steal it … these things are as closely monitored as the Chairwoman’s heartbeat. Therefore, as irresponsible as it seems, the only conceivable explanation is that you are on someone’s payroll. Are you?”
Garth decided to gamble again. Sooner or later his luck would run out but until then, he had little choice. “They think I am.”
“And why,” Turuin said, moving to a control panel, “would they think that?” He popped it open, read the display and turned to confront Garth.
”They think I’m a spy for Trinity because of my service record.” When Turuin didn’t ask why someone well connected would think something so utterly ridiculous, Garth knew he was dealing with someone extraordinarily well informed. It didn’t matter who Turuin worked for or what his agenda was because Garth’s gut told him their sub rosa meeting wasn’t about anything more than his new proteus. For the time being, he could trust the Latelian.
“Are you?” Turuin demanded, moving to another control panel, repeating his actions from a few moments ago.
“No.”
“Why would they give you a military proteus?” Turuin nodded to himself, satisfied that the subterfuge was working. “One that is, if you don’t mind me pointing out, carrying enough explosive to turn you into a memory at the slightest provocation.”
“Yeah, I know. They gave it to me because they think I’m a spy for Trinity. They think I’m here to destabilize your society so Trinity can roll on in and take the place over, through force of military might or through cultural subversion. Now, it’s unfortunate for me because I am precisely the sort of cat capable of doing that kind of thing, and the dude who hooked me up thinks he can force me to do something I don’t want to out of self-preservation. Hell,” Garth added, “he prolly thinks once I do whatever-it-is, he can use that as lev
erage against Trinity.”
“And will you?” Turuin stepped forward suddenly. “Will you, even if you’re asked to kill the Chairwoman?”
Turuin was Secret Service or part of some other uber-loyalist faction. Had to be. Which meant the man wasn’t about to learn that if the Chairwoman needed to die for the mission to be completed, Doans would be found missing her head by breakfast.
“I told the guy what he wanted to hear, sa. He’s convinced I’m a spy. I sorta used to be one so it wasn’t a stretch. He made some not-so-subtle hints about what he wants me to do and some even heavier-handed threats against my life. I’m a foreigner in a very hostile system, Turuin, and I would’ve taken him out for dinner and dancing and a quick reach-around in the coat closet to get him to shut the fuck up and let me loose.”
Turuin wasn’t picking up what was being put down, forcing Garth to change directions. He resumed, speaking easily and calmly.
“Yes, I could’ve busted loose, easily. But again, I’m hard to miss. Cutting my way out would’ve meant a mile-wide body count and a power vacuum at very near the top of the food chain. I don’t have many friends here and even if I managed to get off-planet, there’s a little matter of the God Army hanging out comparing war wounds. That’s assuming I am the best pilot in the entire Universe and I managed to avoid every single shot fired from your ground-based artillery. I wouldn’t get very far. So I dealt. He who runs away lives to fight another day and all that jazz.”
“Either you are the most accomplished liar in the cosmos or you’re telling the absolute truth.” Turuin raised his own proteus. “I’m running the most sophisticated voice stress analysis programs Latelyspace or Trinity interrogators have ever seen, sa, and you passed with flying colors. So the OverSecretary gave you that prote and wants you to do something awful.”
“Never said it was him.”
Turuin laughed. “You didn’t have to. Many people, most of whom initially put him in his office, share OverSecretary Terrance’s interests but only he is capable of moving directly against the Chairwoman. Granted, this latest ploy is completely off the mark in terms of legality, but he’s desperate; it might not seem like it, but the Chairwoman’s decision to introduce our society into mainstream Trinity is gaining a strong headwind. Projections indicate a majority shift in the next few years. Terrance wants to be the man controlling the new deals. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how profitable it can be in dealing with Trinity on a more open basis.”
