by Steve Perry
Which was why Wink was out there. He was the medic, he should stay with the Bax, make sure he stayed under, monitor him and all, but it was paint-by-numbers medicine, and anybody with CFI’s basic training could do it, no problem. Jo was the ex–psyops officer; she was a better interrogator than Wink or Gunny. Anybody could circle back and see if they had been followed.
Gunny would have rather gone outside, but when they flashed fingers to see, she called “Even,” and the count came up three.
“Ah dunno how you do it, but Ah’m sure you are cheatin’ somehow.”
“You fems constantly wound me,” he said. “It’s just pure luck you always pick the wrong number of fingers.”
“How many fingers am Ah holdin’ up now?”
“Nobody likes a sore loser, Gunny.”
“And nobody likes an obnoxious winner, either.”
He smiled.
They carried the still-out-cold Napló into the rented cube, making it look as if he was at least partially upright on his own. Inside, Wink moved quickly through the unit, which was bare of furniture, save for a single couch. He moved to the rear entrance. He stopped there and changed clothes. He pulled a skinmask from his pocket and smoothed it onto his face, covering it, as well as his ears. Wasn’t perfect, but it would make it hard to identify him if somebody did a check of the cameras in local buildings. Somebody would see him if they did, but they probably wouldn’t be able to ID him—he wore a cheap coverall and slippers, nothing to stand out. Just another no-collar worker.
He walked through the yard, nothing more than a dry patch of dirt with a few scraggly bushes in it, to the high plastic-link-fence-enclosed back of the unit. He opened the gate with the code-of-the-day, which came with the rental, and locked it behind him.
The fence was three meters tall and topped with burr-coil. Anybody who wanted to get past it would need the gate code, since climbing through burr-coil was a bad experience even in armor, and the plastic fence links completed a circuit that would raise an alarm if cut.
Not that either would stop serious intent, but the fence would let those inside know about it.
He circled around the block and back to the street where he could see their rented cart.
Gramps had been careful when he’d chosen the area. It was in a district that bridged residential and light industrial, had virtually no foot traffic, and offered lots of nooks and crannies in which somebody could remain largely unnoticed. Plus, in this part of the world, people didn’t seem to do a lot of walking. No pedestrians out in the darkness.
He found a doorway he’d scouted earlier, an empty miniwarehouse a couple of hundred meters north of their unit. He moved into the hard shade.
“I’m in place,” he said.
“Copy that,” Jo said. “He’s waking up.”
“Hit him with the orange anytime.”
– – – – – –
“Who the bassza are you? What do you want?!”
Gunny tapped the orange popper against Napló’s neck.
“Bassze meg te seggfej! Te Kurvas!”
“Ah really don’t speak their language, but didn’t he just offer some kind of sexual congress at the same time he insulted our reproductive organs?”
Many soldiers might not be able to order dinner or ask where the fresher was in a foreign language, but a lot of them could call you nasty names in your own tongue. If it pissed somebody off, that could be turned to your advantage. Pissed-off opponents made mistakes.
“Well, I wouldn’t like us either, in his place,” Jo said.
The stream of what was certainly Baxian curses ran on for another few seconds, then just petered out. Napló’s eyes widened, his pupils dilated.
“I feel . . . ill . . .”
“Hang in there, you’ll be fine,” Jo said. “So, you are a spy, right?”
He stared at her. “Spy. Yes.”
Gunny shook her head. “Well, that was too easy.”
Napló retched, heaved, and puked in Gunny’s direction, spewing vomitus in a surprisingly long spray.
Gunny scrambled backward and avoided most, but not all, of it—
“Fuck!”
She swiped at her shirt.
“I feel better now,” Napló said. “Who are you?”
“We’re friends,” Jo said. “Might want to see if you can find a wet wipe,” she said to Gunny.
“Ah’m gonna kick Wink’s ass for this.”
“Why? He warned us.”
“He cheated so he could go outside, Ah know he did, just not how.”
“So, M. Napló, could you help me out here?”
“You are my friend?”
“Yes.”
“Of course I will help you. That is what friends do, is it not?”
– – – – – –
Wink saw the cart round the corner and move slowly past the rented cube. There were two people inside, and it wasn’t until they pulled to the curb past Wink that he got a good look at them.
One human, one Bax.
The cart stopped.
“We have company,” he subvocalized. “One smooth, one hairy. Still in their vehicle. Odd coincidence, or our friend is sending out a pulse. How’s it coming in there?”
“M. Napló is singing arias like an opera star.”
“Anything useful?”
“This and that.”
“He ask you to get naked yet?”
“Fuck you,” Jo said.
Wink chuckled. On Ananda, that guy they hit with happy juice had been really into the idea of Jo’s taking off her clothes, and Wink had fanned that desire a little. She didn’t think it was nearly as funny as he had. Of course, that guy had been human, and who knew what Bax found sexy?
“They’ve parked, and they are watching the building.”
“Ah’ll go cover the door. And you owe me a new shirt, Wink.”
“Me? Why?”
“Our friend here puked on me.”
“How is that my fault? I told you he might!”
“You shoulda been in here getting alien vomit all over you.”
“Fem up, Gunny. If I had a demi noodle for every patient that has puked on me, I could buy you a dozen new shirts.”
“Just the one will be enough.”
He grinned. Never a dull moment.
The Bax alighted first. He was lighter in color, taller than Napló, and more muscular.
The human was right behind him. He looked like a mixed martial artist who’d overstayed his time in the ring a few bouts too many. The surgery to correct his cauliflower ears didn’t seem quite right, and his nose looked to have been broken enough times so it likely made that surgeon’s job equally challenging.
Couple of thugs, obviously tracking Napló, and here to . . . rescue him?
Both of them carried good-sized handguns in badly concealed holsters. The Bax had in hand a dark blue package the size of a rounded brick, and when he got to the door, he squatted and began to fiddle with the thing. The doorway lighting was dim, and at first, Wink thought it might be the tracking device, but as he watched, he had a different realization.
“Gunny, I think they are setting up a bomb on the stoop. It looks big enough to do more than open the door. Maybe they aren’t here for a rescue but a deletion.”
“Stet.”
“Give me eight seconds,” Wink said. He was already moving, and drawing his knife. He had a gun, but no point in making noise. “The Bax is squatting by the door, the human behind him. I got the human.”
“Copy. In eight . . . seven . . . six . . .”
Wink ran.
The Bax continued to do something to the package, and the human, who should have been looking around to see if anybody was observing them, didn’t. He watched his partner.
Made Wink do a quick scan as
he ran, just in case they had backup.
Nobody else around—
“. . . two . . . and the door is opening now—!”
Which the door did, and fast.
Gunny stood here, pistol in hand. “Freeze!” she said.
The Bax dropped the package and clawed for his sidearm. The human reached for his weapon.
Morons! You can’t beat a drawn gun! And sure as hell not Gunny’s—!
Wink arrived as Gunny stitched the Bax with three quick shots in the chest, so fast—pap-pap-pap!—they sounded almost like one shot. She didn’t even swing her pistol over to cover the human since she knew Wink was there—
Wink thrust his knife—
Base of the skull, slid in and out like a needle through a wet sponge—
The human went boneless and collapsed.
Wink looked at the downed pair, then frowned. How many times had he taken out somebody doing this very technique? Knife to the high spine?
Three times. On Ananda, then on Vast, and now, here.
It was a fine technique, but not such a good thing that he had used it again. Unthinking, autocontrol, step-and-stick, and while you wanted your body to be able to move without the slowness of conscious thought once you got rolling, you didn’t want to get into a pattern that let the reptile run things. Reptiles liked to stay with whatever worked before. They didn’t parse the situation in fine detail; it was a broad stroke kind of process. Did it last time, it will do now . . .
Hey, no sweat, we are platinum here!
That it had gone three for three was all well and good, but habits got people killed, and while he didn’t mind dancing with Death, he didn’t want to step stupid and let Her get him too easily . . .
“A problem?”
He looked at Gunny. “Not yet. But it could be if I let it.”
She shrugged. “Then don’t let it.”
She leaned over and put a round into the head of the paralyzed thug.
Enemies who would have blown them all up? The response needed to balance the attack. Fuck with the best, die like the rest . . .
He smiled. Ever pragmatic, Gunny.
He wiped the blood from his knife on the dead man’s sleeve, resheathed it. No point in looking too far down the road that he might have taken . . .
“Well. Let’s get these bodies inside,” she said. “Don’t want the neighbors or the trash-pickup din getting excited.”
TWENTY-THREE
Cutter leaned back in his chair. “And . . . ?”
Jo, Gunny, and Wink also sat at the conference table; Gramps stood by the door, leaning against the wall.
Jo said, “Good news, bad news. So our boy Napló is indeed a spy, in the employ of some jawbreaking Baxian sub-rosa agency called the, um . . .” She blinked, apparently accessing her memory: “Külföldi Ugynökség.”
“I can give you something for that sore throat,” Wink said.
She ignored him. “There are two other operatives working for them in this area though he is the most senior and in charge of the team.”
“Isn’t that nice?” Rags said.
“We thought so, but if he knows more than they do, it isn’t much. Napló was most forthcoming in his responses, but there are big gaps in his knowledge. He pretty much doesn’t know why the two factions of Bax have squared up over this though he did offer a few choice words on the opposition, who, he said, have sexual congress with their grandmothers and who thrive on a diet of reptile feces.”
Cutter shook his head. Something was going on here, something they needed to know.
“We learned that he has a contact working for our opposition’s army, but all of their communication has been by coded message, and he doesn’t know who the contact is. We do have the information on how to make that link. Maybe Gramps can fake being our guy and hook us up.”
“Not a lot of information,” Cutter allowed.
“At least a lead we didn’t have.”
“What about the dead muscle?”
“We left them in the cube with Napló. Once he comes around, let him worry about it. I expect he won’t want the local authorities involved, so he’ll get rid of the bodies and keep his mouth shut. The bomb the muscle had would have taken half the building down. Saying anything about what happened would only make him look untrustworthy to his people, who apparently would have killed him without a second thought, so he wouldn’t want to seem a liability. I don’t see that he blabs.
“In less than three days, we’ll be done, and he doesn’t even know who we are or represent anyhow. It’s a big planet. He isn’t going to run into us in the next sixty-some hours unless he steps into a restricted war zone.”
Cutter nodded. “Okay.” To Gramps, he said, “See what you can find out. The clock is still running. There’s something here, I can feel it.”
“Got it. I’ll go play with Jo’s data, see what I can do.”
Gunny said, “How’s the war going otherwise. We miss anything?”
“Nope. Vim has the wellheads, we are in position to hold off the worst the enemy can throw at us. We’re still up more than a few pieces. Ours to lose.”
“Well, that’s good,” Wink said.
– – – – – –
Gramps ran the protocols on the information the captured spy had provided. It was fairly straightforward, codes and rerouting and no names. Once he had the feel for how Napló wrote, he composed a message:
I have new and critical intel and need to offer it directly—it is too dangerous to risk transmission.
It wasn’t two minutes later that the coded reply came back:
I can’t meet you now, circumstances don’t allow leaving the WZ. Send it, we will accept the risk.
Gramps had the best military-grade cracker and snoops dancing all around the exchange, but they weren’t giving him anything. Well, there was something to be said for doing it the old-fashioned way.
My superiors forbid it. This wins the war, imperative you have details.
There was a longer pause.
I can’t meet you. I will send a courier. Provide a location and time.
Gramps grinned. Gotcha, asshole!
“Rags? You there?”
“I am.”
“Our spy’s contact wants to send a courier to collect the information that will win the war for them.”
“By all means, let’s pass that along.”
– – – – – –
The designated meeting was to be at a commercial vehicle-recharging station on the southwestern outskirts of San Antonio. It was on a stretch of road with little else around. Scrub growth, vacant lots, a cafe half a klick away. Had a baked-earth smell. Not much civilization, it could have been on a sparsely settled semitropical planet anywhere, broiling in the hot sun.
Jo, Gunny, and Wink were there three hours before the appointed time.
The station had been leased by Wood’s quartermaster for the duration, and those people who normally worked it had been sent home.
Gunny became the charge attendant who made sure the inducers were set and locked; Jo ran the payment kiosk; Wink rubbed lube into his hands and wore a stained coverall in the guise of a mechanic working the repair bay.
An hour before the courier was to show up, a cart with somebody trying to look as if they weren’t paying attention arrived. The driver alighted and asked that his vehicle be charged.
Gunny obliged.
The driver stretched, walked to the fresher, came back, and paid his tab. He drove off.
Gunny said, “His batteries were almost topped off when he got here, he coulda run another five hundred klicks, easy.”
On the opchan, Jo replied, “Scout, checking us out. They are watching, Rags.”
“Copy. We’re sending in the dummy, forty minutes.”
– – – – �
� –
Right on schedule, a cart arrived and pulled up next to the station and parked.
Visible in the cart was what appeared to be a Bax in the driver’s seat.
At least anybody watching would think so since the dummy was made of medical-grade silicone with fake hair that should fool anybody peeping through a distant scope. They weren’t going to get that good a look at it: A few seconds after it arrived, the cart’s windows opaqued. The motor continued to run, and the cart’s air coolers kicked up to high.
The cart was being remotely piloted by somebody back at the base; easy enough to do.
“Bait’s in place,” Jo said.
A few carts and trucks came and went. Gunny worked the electrics, Jo took their money. Nobody remarked on the personnel changes if they noticed.
Thirty minutes later, the cart they’d seen scouting arrived and parked next to the one holding their fake Bax. The driver, same one as before, alighted and tapped on the window. He couldn’t see inside.
Gunny walked over. “You looking for the furry? He’s in the station.”
The man looked at her.
“He said somebody was coming and Ah should send you in when you got here.”
Gunny turned and walked away, as if she could care a rat’s ass what the guy did.
He hesitated a moment. Jo could almost hear his thoughts: Did the Bax get out, and we missed it? Crap . . .
He headed for the door.
The shades on the building’s windows had been angled to reflect most of the hot afternoon sun away, and you couldn’t see much past them from the outside.
Jo came out of the fresher as the courier entered. She looked at him. “You the man meeting the Bax? He’s in the office. Down that hall.”
The courier nodded. He moved through the hall and stepped into the office.
Wink, behind the door, hit him with the soporific popper, covered his mouth with one hand, and before the guy could do much, Jo was there to help hold him down. She peeled off the com stuck behind his left ear and pinched it hard enough to crush it.
It was overkill—they had a WF jammer going the second the guy stepped into the building. It didn’t matter that theirs wouldn’t work; they didn’t need them now.
