by M. D. Cooper
LOCATION: Andersonian Governmental Sector
REGION: Luna, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
Rondo dropped to the floor of the utility corridor and turned his focus to the building schematic floating in his Link. He was thirty levels below the surface of Luna, in the structure the Andersonians called their governmental spire, a “tower” that extended one hundred levels downward. He had stopped trying to make sense of the description and chalked it up to the magical thinking he usually attributed to any member of the Collective.
He found his location in the schematic, tracked the nearby power conduits and security sensors, and then got on his hands and knees to crawl to the control node. Adama complained as his jacket swung back and forth.
“Don’t worry,” Rondo murmured to the cat. “Be done soon. Take out the lift control and lock all the cars at the bottom of their tracks. Then cut the interior surveillance on the administrative floors. Easy as…”
He trailed off, debating the relative ease of his list of tasks.
“Easy as disassembling an exterior comms array,” he said. “Easy as hijacking an encrypted ship’s control signal and inserting false data. Easy as asking Sylvia Chance out for a drink.”
Adama growled.
“You’re right,” Rondo said. “I’m an idiot. Why did I say I could help? What do I have to do with any of this? Nothing, I’d say. Unless I was going to engage in magical thinking and posit that Fugia Wong set me up. That’s what she does. She puts me in these situations and lets me run with my stupid.”
Run With My Stupid would be the name of his ship, if Rondo ever had the good fortune to find himself in the captain’s chair. He didn’t necessarily want to be a captain, but he did like the idea of freedom, of having a place to call home that wasn’t technically tied down to anything.
Like everything in life, the number of steps necessary between where he was now and owning a ship seemed infinite and constantly increasing.
Rondo almost told Sylvia how sexy it was when she talked hacker, but he restrained himself. They were both professionals on this job, and he wasn’t going to insert emotion into a tactical situation.
As he reached the panel marking the control node and rose to his knees to inspect it, he imagined a scene in the near future where he and Sylvia might be back at the bar in her district, laughing over what a great job they had all done during this dubious job for the TSF. She would push her hair back behind an ear and lead toward him, her augmented eyes flashing with interest.
Rondo overrode the panel’s local security key and popped it open. A stack of control systems appeared inside the wall, and he sorted through the boards, looking for the section controlling the sensor network.
Once he isolated the sensors, Rondo connected to the individual board through a jumper and quickly explored its firmware. He grinned to himself as it became obvious the system was out of date. He searched among his standard attack tools and then ran a macro that hit the board with successive cracking tools.
Rondo blew past the opportunity to brag and moved to the next task.
He fought with the lift software for a few seconds, then found a path through its maintenance protocol to send the overriding parking command.
Rondo felt his face grow hot. He stuck a hand in Adama’s pocket to scratch his ears. The cat purred as he nuzzled Rondo’s fingers.
A bit of background sound crossed the agent’s Link; he sounded like he was already in one of the shafts. The sound of cables shooting through the air sang around him.
Rondo’s portion of the plan involved the lifts and the sensor nodes, while Sylvia was focused on the level where the TSF team would be exiting the lift shafts. When Jentry had explained the job, he had been purposefully obtuse about how the pieces fit together. He kept falling back on phrases like, ‘TSF mission integrity’, and ‘for the good of SolGov’.
They were obviously performing some kind of infiltration on the Anderson Collective. Rondo was ambivalent about the Collective’s government; he cared about their people, but viewed them as separate entities. In the sweep of history, the Collective Council was no different than any authoritarian government. They simply had the current advantage of an overarching victim status that concealed their abuse of their people.
The command meant they had left the lift shafts and were free of the security systems. Or they had reached a point in their operation where they didn’t care about surveillance.
Rondo reset the security systems, then reconnected on the maintenance interface, feeding the sensor data across his Link to give him views of whatever Jentry and his team were up to.
Visual sensors reconstructed a vast room that appeared to fill the whole level. The chamber was crowded with people, and the three armored TSF agents had fanned out from the lift entrance, murdering indiscriminately.
Rondo’s eyes went wide. He watched for another second and then cut the connection. He closed the panel and reset the security token.
He sat for several breaths, considering what he had seen. He combed his beard with his fingers, then realized he wasn’t petting Adama, and held the cat against his body instead.
Rondo sent location coordinates for an access corridor on the second level from the surface.
‘But then I wouldn’t get to see you again’ is what he wanted to say. Instead he replied,
Sylvia ended the Link connection, and Rondo was alone in the corridor. He waited to see if she would reconnect.
When she didn’t, he rose on stiff legs.
“All right, Adama,” he said. �
�Let’s get out of here. I’d like a real meal. Do you remember the last time we ate?”
Thirty minutes later, Rondo was in a maglev car leaving the Andersonian center. His was the last car out before they locked down the building.
GENERAL COLLECTION MODE
STELLAR DATE: 3.21.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Tranquility City
REGION: Luna, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
The bar was on the far side of New Austin from the Andersonian governmental compound, and Joshua Stanson looked distinctly uncomfortable to be there. Cara left him on a stool at the bar with his rifle between his knees, and a full plate of pasta in front of him, then wandered out into the crowd.
The place was divided between the bar and a small dance club. Music spilled out of the dance area, and people all around her leaned close to each other to be heard over the throbbing notes. Meeting someone in a place this loud always progressed from verbal to Link communication. She had already turned down several requests to share security tokens.
The ride across the city in a small transport vehicle had revealed streets teeming with activity. People, drones, and vehicles mixed throughout the corridors between the light-covered towers. New Austin seemed to be trying to make up for the grey lunar surface with color, light and activity. The Earth hung blue and mottled white in the dark sky overhead, with High Terra flashing every so often in between.
Cara had chosen this bar in particular for the number of people in worker’s coveralls she’d seen milling around outside. She could have consulted a map to see how close they were to shipyards, but she didn’t need to. Everyone she had seen so far fit the profile of a technician, cargo handler, or pilot.
Once they were inside, her assumption was verified. The place was rowdy, the drinks were cheap, and they served big meals at all hours.
It was also the kind of place where anyone from the Anderson Collective would stand out like a giant pink rabbit, as her soldier did at the bar. While Cara supposed they were exercising any number of electronic surveillance methods, they hadn’t sent anyone after her. They either didn’t care if she came back, or figured a date with their chancellor was a sufficient hook to keep her in the area.
With a double whiskey in hand, Cara navigated to a table on the edge of a larger group of laughing people, and sent a connection request.
The secure connection was accepted almost immediately, and Lyssa said,
Cara’s couldn’t read Lyssa’s mood across the Link.
Cara snorted.
Cara drank half her whiskey, enjoying the burn.
Music swelled through the Link connection, louder than any recording.
Cara let the comment go. There was too much time and distance between them to let the past continue to hurt. She had let Lyssa go; she couldn’t help it if the SAI hadn’t done the same.
Why did Lyssa want to be close to her? The family was gone. There was no getting it back.
Cara finished her whiskey, punctuating her statement.
The music swelled behind her, filling the connection with low tones and a treble note that hopped drunkenly along its melody. The cheery music made it difficult for Cara to dwell on Lyssa’s vulnerability.
Cara looked around the bar. The soldier had finished his food and stole a glance at her before staring at his empty plate again.
She’d had her whiskey. It was time to get back to the apartment and sleep in a bed finally.
And the person who always chose the right thing is dead, she added silently.
That was a low cut. Lyssa must have known that Cara had only heard from Brit sporadically after she went back into the TSF. That was when Cara was sixteen and Tim thirteen, and they’d gone to live with their aunt on High Terra, the woman who didn’t want them.
Lyssa said.
&nbs
p; A man in a crisp blue shipsuit stumbled up to Cara’s table and bumped it, sending her glass sliding. He blinked, turning so she could see the major’s rank on his lapels.
“Watch it,” Cara said.
He squinted, staring at the tumbler in her hand before lifting his gaze to her face. His mouth pulled into a confident smirk.
“Well, hello,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Busy,” Cara said. “Keep walking.”
That only seemed to hook him harder. He set his beer mug on the table, facing her. “You’re bossy. I like that.”
“So you’re submissive?” Cara asked.
“I’m a squadron commander.”
“You’re military. That means you’re the worst kind of submissive.”
Cara glanced at the Andersonian soldier. Activity at the bar seemed to have doubled abruptly. He was gathering his rifle as people pushed in around him to get the bartender. He met her gaze and began fighting his way through the crowd.
The major followed Cara’s sightline. When he saw the Andersonian private, his smirk turned into a sneer.
Cara couldn’t help but chuckle.
The soldier reached her table in time for the major to face him, jabbing two fingers in his chest.
“Who invited you over here, invader?” the major said, slurring his words.
He grabbed his beer and finished it with a sloppy drink. Then he turned the mug in his hand, cupping its body with his fingers through the handle, and Cara foresaw his plan from a hundred meters away.
The major brought his arm up and back, ready to bring the mug down on Private Stanson’s temple, but Cara caught his wrist and bent him backward over the table. She reached around the front of his coverall to grab his balls in her free hand. The major gasped, then started to give her a throaty laugh. Cara squeezed, grinding his testicles against each other.
