by Elle E. Ire
The security chief turns the comm back toward her, fiddles with a few controls, and holds it out to me again, this time with the image of the killer’s face frozen on the screen.
Yep, it’s me. Except it’s not.
My heart sinks and my chest tightens. I’m going to have a very hard time proving that. Still perched backward on the couch where she can also see the screen, Kelly swallows hard.
“We found the victim’s body two days ago,” Sanderson says. “You know her, though I wasn’t going to tell you, and with all the disfigurement, I guess you didn’t recognize her from the crime photo. She’s the server from the Alpha Dog Pub you saved last year when the Sunfires decided to shoot the place up.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “Oh… fuck. Abby’s mom?” Abby is seven. Well, probably eight by now. I saved her life, too, and got stuck in an airlock with her for a while. She kept a cool head, seemed like a good kid.
And she called me “Victory.”
I wonder what she’ll call me if this gets out.
Her mom bears a passing resemblance to Kelly in that they’re both about the same height, female, and blond, but that’s it. I’m thinking my evil twin chose this victim more for personal reasons. It’s a solid tactical move, playing on your enemy’s emotions, and I’m convinced VC2, for want of another name (I am not calling her Vick) is my enemy.
“How did you get this recording?” Kelly asks. I’m glad she did. I’m having a hard time finding my voice right now, and everything is a little blurry. If I thought I could lower my hands without getting shot, I’d wipe my eyes. Humiliating tears roll down my cheeks. I’m able to contort my arms over my face just enough to not alarm my captors and dry the wetness on my sleeves.
This sucks. Everything about this sucks.
“Tourist,” Daniels explains. The youngest officer sidles closer to Kelly, resting a hand close to hers on the back of the couch.
Seriously? He’s about to drag me through hell and he’s flirting with my fiancée?
Kelly rolls her eyes, flips her hand to show off her engagement ring, and nods at me.
“No accounting for taste,” one of the other officers mutters. Kelly doesn’t hear it, but my enhanced hearing does, and I shoot him a glare. He backs up a step.
Daniels clears his throat and gets his head on straight. “Right. Anyway, a group of Martian colony tourists came through earlier that night. They posed for some vidshots on that bench in the foreground of the playback. Then they got distracted by some musicians working the dome and forgot it sitting there. The owner remembered in the morning, was thrilled to find it still on the armrest of the opposite bench, and they left on the next day’s transport. When he scrolled through his vids at home, he saw what he’d caught and sent us a digital copy.”
“Daniels runs the ‘Tips Hotline,’” Sanderson explains. She gives him a meaningful glance. “He’s not usually armed and leading a patrol.”
Okay, that explains a lot of things.
“I—I just thought, since I got the call and put it together—”
She shushes him, returning her attention to me. “Until we get this cleared up, I’m holding you. Let’s go.”
They maneuver so that I can get around them and lead the way out of the curtained alcove. Before we step through, Sanderson gently pulls my arms down and binds them behind my back. A shiver passes through me when the cold metal clamps connect, holding my wrists together. I don’t like binders. They remind me too much of being strapped in Medical’s diagnostic chair.
“Try to calm down,” she whispers for my ears alone. “You’re pale, sweating, shaking, and I’m worried you’re gonna pass out—all tells of guilt. I don’t believe you did this, but I have to investigate.”
“They’re also tells of ‘I’ve been framed and I’m freaking out,’ but I understand,” I manage through gritted teeth. To VC1, I think, We can get out of these binders, right?
With very little difficulty, she assures me.
My pulse slows a little.
“Okay, back to Security Central.” Sanderson gives me a little nudge. One of the officers pulls the curtain aside for me.
This is a setup. The camera with footage of my double killing someone I know just happens to be the one that isn’t discovered and wiped or looped? I’m not buying it. I’m betting if the tourists hadn’t left it there, it would have been one of the dome’s cameras that got conveniently “missed.” If VC2 is half as talented as you, there’s just no way this is accidental, I think at my AI partner. But why now? She’s had six opportunities to set me up. I get that Abby’s mom is especially damning, but something in the timing is off. We move through the archway of the alcove into the main area. Everyone is staring at us, staff and customers alike. A pair of Sunfires at the bar snickers as we pass. A few Storm soldiers are present as well, and their hands drop to weapons that aren’t there—confiscated by the main entrance bouncer. Fists clench. Knuckles crack. It’s nice to know they’re all ready to jump to my defense, a far cry from how they treated me a couple of years ago, but I shake my head. Even with our exceptional training, fists against pistols is bad odds.
We’re halfway to the front access into the promenade when it hits me. I snap my fingers behind my back, then shrug and offer a sheepish smile at the startled security team. “Sorry. Fingers are falling asleep. These binders are tight.” To VC1 I say, I’ve got it. The timing. The message containing the incriminating vid just happens to turn up while I’m meeting with Sanderson in a confined space? That’s too much. What I don’t understand, though, is how did VC2 know about the meeting? I didn’t tell anyone except Sanderson and eventually Kelly. Were our communications intercepted?
No, VC1 replies. Then, Not… exactly.
What does that mean?
I informed you about some anomalies with my memory. It is… possible… that my counterpart is tapping into my processes somehow.
I worried about that when she first said she was having issues, but now I’m terrified. Can she control me? The way you can if I’m in bad shape?
I do not believe so. Now that I am aware of the situation, I am putting precautions in place to avoid such an occurrence. However, you should know that the footage from the security on the corridor outside your quarters has been erased, and not by me.
Meaning there is no evidence other than Kelly’s word that I was in my room every night these murders have occurred. Worse, as far as most folks know VC1 and I are the only ones capable of erasing that footage, which is even more incriminating. And Kelly has every reason to lie for me.
They can bring in another empath who would be able to testify to the truth of Kelly’s statements, but that will take time, during which I’ll be incarcerated, relatively helpless, and a sitting duck if VC2 decides to make a go at taking me out of the equation. And if she uses the opportunity to go after Kelly…. That, I cannot allow to happen. I will not.
What is her endgame? Does she want to humiliate me? Kill Kelly? Kelly spoke of frustration and need. Is VC2 trying to fill the gap that Kelly fills in my life? Getting me out of the way would make that a lot easier.
Our procession steps through the entrance into the promenade dome. Sanderson turns us toward the security section, when two heavily armed figures step out of an access corridor.
“Sorry. You’re not taking Vick anywhere. She’s coming with us,” Alex says. He and Lyle each hold two pistols, and all of them are aimed at the security detail and Sanderson herself.
Chapter 34: Kelly—Tug of War
Vick is torn.
I KNOW Vick didn’t commit these murders. Vick knows. And I’m betting Lyle and Alex know too. Or they could lack confirmation and just be demonstrating team loyalty. I love them either way, and from the warm feelings emanating from Vick, I know she loves them too. It wasn’t that long ago that both of Alpha Team’s guys despised having to work with what they considered a “walking computer.” Now she’s a very human part of the team. I could hug both of them for it.
If they weren’t otherwise occupied.
For a long, silent moment, it’s a standoff. Our guys are outnumbered four to two with me and Vick caught in the middle. However, the Security folks are outgunned four to three, since our guys hold two pistols each.
No one wants a gunfight in the promenade dome, even if it is with the Safety Net weapons. Eyes dart back and forth, everyone wondering who will make the first move. Ironically, it isn’t someone holding a gun.
There’s a soft click, then a clatter as Vick’s binders drop to the floor. All of us stare at her while she casually rubs her right wrist with her left hand, then switches and massages the other one. When she does look up, she shrugs. “What? Did you think VC1 couldn’t override a simple electronic lock?” She offers Sanderson an apologetic smile as she pulls a pistol of her own from beneath her jacket, hidden in her tech-scrambler back holster. She doesn’t aim it directly at the security chief, but her intent is clear. “Sorry, but you aren’t holding me. I can’t protect myself or catch the killer if I’m in custody, and I’ve been informed that any evidence exonerating me has conveniently been erased.” She takes me by the arm and guides me behind Alex and Lyle.
My eyes go wide. “No camera footage?” I whisper.
“None,” she mutters under her breath.
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah, and you’re hanging around me too much.”
I cover my mouth with one hand, then catch that she’s joking with me, even under the tense circumstances.
“Let’s go,” she orders, giving me a nudge down the access corridor that leads away from Security Central and the dome. I glance over my shoulder to see Lyle and Alex backing along the hallway behind us, never taking their weapons off the officers.
“This is putting a real strain on our friendship, Corren!” Sanderson yells after us. There’s genuine anger in her tone. I can’t really blame her.
The grays of guilt and sadness roll off Vick like storm clouds blowing in from the ocean. “Yeah, I know,” she whispers in a response her friend will never hear. “And I’m sorry.”
Once we’re well out of sight of the security team, Alex takes point, and Lyle sticks to the rear, keeping me and Vick between them. I don’t know where we’re headed, but we’re at a jogging pace. No one’s set off any alarms yet. So, either Sanderson doesn’t want to panic the civilians, she believes Vick is innocent and is giving her a chance to get away, or she thinks chasing Alpha Team is a lost cause. Probably a combination of all three.
“How’d you know what was going down?” Vick asks over my panting. I’m not in as good shape as she and the others are. The Storm doesn’t make me train the way they do—something I will work on if we get out of this.
Alex glances back over his shoulder, his face reddening. “I, um, listen to Security chatter,” he admits. “Among other things. Undercover Ops likes it when I advise them of any civilian-side situations involving our personnel before they get out of hand. Disturbance with Storm soldiers at the Alpha Dog Pub? We’re on it. Tensions mounting at the sports bar? Some of our sober people get there first and make sure it’s all under control. Keeps us out of trouble and makes us look like saints compared to the other merc outfits.”
Like the Sunfires, who have a horrible reputation for drunken and disorderly conduct.
Alex is a younger, less experienced version of his tech genius brother who also works for the Storm, but he’s still very good at what he does.
“I caught that they were gonna arrest you for the recent murders,” he continues, directing his comments over his other shoulder at Vick. “We know you were in your quarters. I ran a scan and saw the footage was wiped, smelled a setup. Figured we’d get you out of there.”
“Appreciated.” Vick jogs along behind him, no sign of fatigue or breathlessness.
Sometimes I resent her perfect physique.
“Setup wasn’t Sanderson,” she adds, her tone allowing for no argument.
Alex stops in front of a side hatch labeled “Maintenance Only. No Entry.” I’m not sure where we are, let alone where that leads, but I hear the rumbles of ships’ engines on the other side, so loud they come through the steel. Hangar bay, maybe?
“We know that too. I saw the vid capture they got of the killer. There’s another clone.”
Vick nods.
“With her own implants?” Alex asks.
“That’s our guess,” Vick says, resigned.
“Fuck all of us,” Lyle mutters from behind.
Vick grins. “You’ve all been hanging around me too long. So,” she says, gesturing at the hatch, “what’s the plan?”
Alex holsters his weapon. He pops an access panel to the side of the sealed entryway, then steps back, leaving the space open, presumably for Vick. “You get us through this door. We hotwire a fast ship and get the hell away from here, wait for things to cool down, give Security and the rest of the Storm a chance to deal with all this shit. It’s gonna take an army to take down another you. Not something the four of us should try to handle, and definitely not in my paygrade even now that we’re in Undercover Ops. You can’t be involved. Not on this one. Too much potential for a mix-up and death by friendly fire.”
“Or sacrifice as a scapegoat to preserve the Storm’s reputation and hide what you really are,” Lyle puts in, reminding everyone he’s not just brawn.
Vick’s eyebrows go up, as do mine. Neither of us considered that possibility. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but her lips set in a hard line and her eyes unfocus in that way that indicates she’s conferring with VC1.
“And then what?” I ask, drawing attention away from her and giving her a chance to process all this.
The Storm, the organization she’s pledged her loyalty to, might use her as a sacrificial pawn. God. And why not? When they have more they can awaken when this mess is cleaned up? A little plastic surgery and a memory wipe and she would be good to go. Only it wouldn’t be Vick.
No. We’re all paranoid. To do that, they’d have to get rid of me, too, somehow. And they wouldn’t go that far.
Would they?
Vick turns toward me, the anguish on her face telling me she and VC1 have reached the same horrible conclusion.
If it meant the reputation, hell, the entire existence of the Fighting Storm was at stake, then yes, they very possibly would.
“Then,” Alex goes on, “we see where we are. If we’re clear and our side figures a way to get Vick off the hook without revealing her secrets, then we come on back. If not… well, U Ops has taught us a number of ways to fake our own deaths.”
Vick’s eyes go glossy, filling with tears. One minute I’m reminded they are manufactured and reflective of her communications with her AI. The next, they are all too human.
“You guys would give up your entire careers… for me?” she asks, incredulous.
Lyle moves to stand beside Alex, holstering his own weapon and slipping an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “We’ve been talking,” he says, “and watching. You hate how Undercover Ops works. You never wanted to be part of it, did you?”
Vick opens her mouth, closes it, then fixes her gaze on the metal wall behind him. Alex gives me a confused look, but I know what’s wrong.
“She can’t say. Literally. But I’ll tell you. She hates it, every second of it.”
“Damn, have they got her that deeply prog—erm, brainwashed?” Lyle asks, using my preferred terminology for the Storm’s tampering.
I nod.
Alex and Lyle exchange a glance. “We should have done this sooner,” Lyle says.
“Yeah, we should have.”
“Done what?” Vick asks, shifting her weight. A flare of discomfort hovers around her. There’s more going on in her head than her inability to speak against the Storm, but I don’t know what it is yet.
“Left,” they say together.
“We’ve seen how the Storm treats you. We don’t like it, but as long as you kept sticking around, we figured you were bidi
ng time, you know? Waiting for the courts to figure everything out and you could call the shots for yourself or even take over, since the whole outfit should legally be yours.” Lyle shakes his head.
He’s right. If not for the questions of Vick’s humanity and the fact that she’s alive when she should be dead, Vick would be the sole owner of the Storm, inheriting it from her now deceased father rather than the board taking over.
“We knew there were things you couldn’t say, classified things, but you can’t even complain? Can’t choose your assignments? That’s not okay, not by us,” Lyle continues while Alex nods. “And now all this shit. It’s time to get the hell outta here. We all have fake bank accounts, treasure troves squirreled away. We can get new identities, maybe start up a private security company somewhere dirtside. The four of us, we’d be great!”
The four of us. The absolute wanting need on Vick’s face is painful to look at. She takes an unsteady step.
Backward.
My heart sinks for her. I know what’s coming before she opens her mouth. Through meticulously constructed conversations told in riddles, euphemisms, and the carefully orchestrated placement of emphasis, I’ve pieced together exactly what Vick can and cannot say.
Or do.
We’ve kept it all between ourselves, not wanting to draw any more attention to Vick’s mechanical limitations. The guys don’t know the true extent of her enslavement. They believe, if she wants to, she can run.
“There’s one fatal flaw in your plan,” she says, voice breaking. She takes another step back.
“What’s that?” Alex asks.
Vick heaves a shuddering breath. “Me.”
Chapter 35: Vick—Restrictions
I am programmed.
A TREMOR works its way from my legs up my spine. I hold myself in place through sheer force of will. I’m balanced on the balls of my feet, ready to run… or fight. God, I don’t want to fight them. These are my teammates. My friends. And I have so very few people in my life I can trust. I just lost Sanderson to this nightmare, held her at near-gunpoint and put her in a terrible position. I can’t lose them too.
