Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  * * *

  Computer: compare current image with known Earth dinosaurs. Query: what is closest match?

  >_ Working

  >_ Desmatosuchus: Dinosaur, living on Earth through the Triassic period. Approximately 245million years B.C. Carnivorous lizard analogue. Ref; link crocodile. Ref; Texas. Ref; Mass extinction.

  * * *

  Eric had no idea what Texas had to do with it, but he had to agree it did look like a crocodile; a super-sized croc that spent its time eating dinosaurs under the jungle canopy, and not soaking itself in a swamp. Or maybe it did, and just came out for a snack. A hundred-ton snack.

  Eric snorted at the whimsical turn his thoughts had taken. The point was, old Desmond the super croc was only one danger among thousands hidden all over the planet. The jungles were dangerous places, which meant most of the population went everywhere armed. That was common in the Border Zone where protection was a personal responsibility. Often border worlds had little or no police force, and when they did their jurisdiction rarely reached beyond the city limits.

  Thurston did have police and emergency services in the cities, but had no way to extend that protection to its people if they left civilisation and entered the wilds. The wilds could be described as everywhere not under plascrete... everywhere outside the cities or mining compounds in other words.

  Ashfield, Thurston’s capital and centre of government, was as modern as any city to be found in the core worlds. It was just smaller, maybe a tenth the size of an average city. Despite that, the port had been built full scale and would rival the best facilities to be had in the core. Impressive foresight on somebody’s part as it must have cost an immense amount.

  Eric couldn’t have made that decision he realised. He just didn’t have the vision, but someone did. Someone had faith in Thurston’s future enough to force the issue. The founders must have bled credits for decades after colonisation. Even now, the port was only using about five percent of its capacity, but if President Thurston could make his reforms stick, if he could defeat his political opponents, if he could rid himself of the Freedom Movement, and if he could persuade and cajole enough members of the Alliance council to ratify Thurston’s application to join the Alliance, then that huge investment would suddenly be realised. The spaceport and the station in orbit above it would become the most important assets the planet owned eclipsed only by the resources waiting to be mined below the planet’s surface and within the asteroids.

  If.

  A lot of ifs had to be turned into certainties, and that was the real goal. Like dominoes falling, Eric’s snoop and scoot mission should lead to Stein’s Marines taking out the Freedom Movement, which should clear the way for Thurston to drag his planet closer to full Alliance membership, and decades down the line Burgton’s plan for Thurston would be realised.

  Eric snorted. And maybe he was just over thinking it.

  Maybe the General just wanted another scumbag terrorist outfit like the Freedom Movement knocked on its arse. Eric could relate. He had spent too many years of his existence doing just that. Grandiose plan or simple plan, he was here and would see to it that the Freedom Movement didn’t prosper. He really didn’t like people who set bombs and killed innocents.

  Eric finished reading through Ken’s data and waited for landing. He had a place to start looking for a contact man and enough background information to be confident of his ability to get inside the Movement. Where that would lead him he didn’t know. Wherever he ended up, he would succeed. He always did and always would until one day he didn’t.

  Eric’s lips quirked. A little uncertainty was good for him. No way to think of random chance as just programming.

  The shuttle came in hot but the landing was smooth and Eric silently congratulated the pilot. He briefly wondered if the guy had been navy. The steward came around a few moments after the shuttle finished taxiing off the runway and opened the hatch. Eric was quick to take advantage of his seat position and was the first to leave.

  The port was a modern one. He didn’t have to use a ladder to leave. There was a proper debarkation tube leading to a lounge. It was empty. He glanced around the lounge, his sensors trawling for threat and anything of interest. He didn’t expect any dangers, but caution was ingrained after all these years and his programming backing it up was immutable.

  Data flickered over his vision, some coloured to attract his attention. When it did, the data blinked on and off briefly and parked itself onto a growing list. His attention danced all over his display, pausing briefly as this datum or that caught his notice, though there was nothing for anyone else to see. If they were close enough, they might see his eyes moving a little as he changed focus, but he doubted it. He knew what to look for, and even he rarely noticed another viper doing it.

  He focused upon the list and with a coded thought selected the Infonet node in the lounge.

  >_ Infonet: Logon Eric Martell account number #08965bHu532AsW... Done.

  A new window popped up on his display and Eric ran a quick search as he followed the signs in the lounge toward the exit. He wasn’t surprised to find a lack of security. All of that was up at the station for outsystem arrivals and departures. Any departures from the planet though, even shuttle departures bound for the station from the other side of the port, would be another matter. Security and customs would be on that side and they never slept.

  Most spacecraft were unable to land and would use the station to unload and load cargo, but most wasn’t all, and out here in the Border Zone raiders were a concern. Pirates took ships, but raiders were another breed. They not only jacked ships, they jacked stations and even colonies if they could get away with it. Their ships had landing capability, and Fleet was stretched thin out here.

  Raiders weren’t the only concern for colonies like Thurston. Smugglers could quickly undermine fragile economies, but Thurston had another worry right now. Gun runners. The Marines really wouldn’t appreciate a ship full of weapons making landfall, especially when the only customer was a terrorist group like the Freedom Movement. Security would be tight right now with a continual over watch by navy hotshot pilots patrolling in low orbit.

  Eric found what he was looking for and dismissed the Infonet window.

  * * *

  >_ Infonet: Logoff [Y]es/[N]o?

  >_ Y

  * * *

  Eric left the lounge but instead of heading outside for a taxi, he turned right. His search on Infonet had been for the bank that matched the key card Ken had slipped him. Banks at spaceports and on stations were common. They catered to spacers who needed quick access to funds or a secure place to leave their gear. Crew on freighters with a regular run found it easier and cheaper to stash their stuff in a deposit box rather than continue paying for an empty housing unit. Eric knew he wouldn’t look out of place, even in his less than pristine faked up merc uniform.

  He walked into the bank and got in line. There were a few early risers making transactions before catching a shuttle up to the station. The android bank tellers didn’t care of course. When it was his turn, he slid the key card into a slot in the counter top and chose option three.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the android said. “A Human member of staff will be with you shortly. Please take a seat.”

  “I’m not a ma’am. I’m a sir,” Eric said because he was bored and twitting the droid appealed to him. “Male you know?”

  “Thank you for the correction. Correction logged. Please take a seat ma’am. A Human member of staff will be with you shortly.”

  Eric sighed, already losing interest in the game. “All is programming... you poor bastard.” He wasn’t sure who to feel sorrier for; an android following its programming and completely unaware of it, or himself who followed his while denying it.

  “Next please,” the android said.

  Eric moved away and took a seat.

  Five minutes later he was escorted down to the vaults beneath the building. It was a typical example of its kind and Eric c
onsidered it no better than medium security. Plenty good enough for its purpose of storing its customer’s gear, but not something governments or military would use. Security systems were in place—Eric’s sensors had picked up their emissions—and the facility itself was fine—fire and bomb proof—but without simcode recognition the entire system relied upon keycards and passwords. Still, he wasn’t here to critique the security arrangements, though he had done that before. He had done pretty much everything before... many times. He was here to collect whatever Ken had stashed for him.

  The armed guard stopped at the last door after passing a dozen similar doors and tugged his uniform tunic straight. He inserted his card, rapidly entered a code while shielding the keypad with his body, and then stepped back as the door slid aside.

  “After you, sir.”

  Eric walked inside and waited for the guard to lock him in. The sound of the lock engaging was quiet but Eric’s enhanced hearing picked up the sound easily. He didn’t want to be disturbed. The guard would wait outside the door for hours if need be. They were paid for more than weapon’s proficiency after all. They were hired for their discretion and lack of curiosity too. He had pretended to be one once, he remembered. Long ago. It had been a cover for an assassination op. Not his favourite type of gig, but the guy had really pissed Burgton off by proposing to demobilise the regiment a few decades after hostilities with the Merkiaari ended. The guy’s suicide had been big news back then.

  Eric turned toward the opposite end of the barren room and located the interface. It was a small pedestal about waist height with a simple keyboard and card reader. He inserted his card and typed the password Ken had given him in his download.

  Velox et mortifer.

  It was the regiment’s motto in Latin. Swift and Deadly. Vipers were definitely that among other things, but at their most basic, swift and deadly described them well.

  The password was accepted and the sounds of machinery starting came to him from beyond the far wall. The wall was grey and featureless except for a panel painted with black and yellow caution stripes about a metre square. A minute went by. The brightly painted section of wall slid out into the room attached to a steel bench or table with a metal box sitting on it.

  Eric opened it and surveyed the contents.

  There was duffel similar to his and containing many of the same things. He pulled everything out and quickly inventoried what he had. Uniforms, toiletries, minicomputer, three wands topped up with funds each drawing on different banks, a Raytheon .50 semi auto pistol, and a pile of loaded magazines. There was a small stash of hard currency in the form of platinum wafers too—platinum was still universally accepted even if frowned upon by governments—and a shoulder rig for the pistol.

  He eyed the weapon unhappily, not having time to strip it now, but he did a quick visual on it. It was battered and old seeming, but that would be camouflage. He worked the action listening to its smooth sounding mechanics, and nodded when he pulled the trigger. Eric knew Ken wouldn’t have supplied an inferior weapon, and Raytheon made good ones, but a slug thrower no matter how good wasn’t his preference. They had limited ammo capacity compared with pulsers, very limited when they were large calibre like this one, and had a low cyclic rate. Vipers could pull a trigger repeatedly on the order of 0.18 to 0.25 seconds apart and do it all day if necessary. If he tried that, the Raytheon would jam. The regiment’s custom made weaponry was designed to stand up to such punishment; this thing would fire one round and break.

  Pulsers were more forgiving. They were generally fully automatic and a single trigger press could fire a three-round burst or empty hundred-round magazines in seconds depending upon settings. His new toy’s extended capacity magazines only held ten rounds. The standard for this weapon was six rounds he seemed to recall. He was pleased to have any weapon since he came here unarmed, but had to wonder at Ken’s choice. Maybe there was a reason for it, but give him a good pulser any day.

  Eric quickly unsealed his uniform, letting it hang from his hips, and put on the shoulder rig. It wasn’t a convenient way to wear it, but he wouldn’t go around blatantly displaying the rig either. He loaded the pistol and chambered a round, before holstering it and pulling his clothes back into order.

  He stuffed the clothing and toiletries back into the box along with the unwanted duffel, and swept everything else into his own already bulging duffel—he didn’t want to carry two—he needed his right hand free. He slammed the lid closed and went to retrieve his card from the consol. The moment he did, the vault’s hidden machinery activated and the box slid into the wall to be whisked away to storage.

  Eric summoned the guard with a quick press of the call button next to the door, and moments later he was led out of the vaults and back to the bank proper.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” the guard asked when they reached the main floor of the bank.

  The guard’s hand didn’t stray toward the weapon on his hip even once on the trip back, though he was well aware Eric had armed himself. Eric appreciated professionalism like that. Alert but sensible was good for a position like a bank guard. No doubt he had warned his chain of command somehow, because although Eric hadn’t picked up anything on sensors on the way back, there were more security personnel suddenly in evidence just loitering.

  “I have everything, thanks,” Eric said with a small smile at the wary look he imagined he saw deep within the man’s eyes.

  The guard smiled professionally. “A good day to you then, sir.”

  “And to you,” Eric said and headed toward the doors.

  Eric orientated himself just outside the bank using his internal 3d map of the port and headed toward an exit and hopefully transportation to a hotel. He found a taxi outside easily; he was pounced upon by a driver before he could even raise a hand. Not many customers this time of day maybe, but Eric wasn’t in the habit of taking chances.

  * * *

  Computer: initiate full spectrum security scan. Range out to 500 meters.

  >_ Sensors: full spectrum sweep in progress.

  * * *

  Eric let the driver take his duffel and lead him to his taxi. He stowed the duffel in the trunk and even opened the rear door for him. Eric hesitated for just a second but shrugged internally and climbed in. He could rip the door off if the driver tried to lock him in.

  * * *

  >_ Sensors: no threats detected.

  * * *

  A bit late now he was in the car, but good news all the same. He didn’t need to attract attention before he was even settled in.

  The driver got in behind the controls and turned to lean over his seat. “Where to, my man? If you want me to take you to the mines, I can do that. Have to go airborne though. Will cost extra.”

  “No mining for me. Now if they were fighting a takeover and needed some extra muscle?” Eric said easing into his role as an out of work merc. Corporations of all kinds had their own armies to protect their investments, or they hired merc companies to ease the way in negotiations with rivals.

  The driver’s eyes narrowed. “Our companies are honourable, they don’t use mercenaries,” he said with distaste for Eric thick in his voice. “I guess you could try out for a security guard or something.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  Eric didn’t laugh, but the driver’s instant dislike of him made that hard. It was cheering that decent people like him still existed; people who believed in a world where mercs weren’t needed. He was wrong of course, but that didn’t make the guy’s sentiments less warming.

  Maybe Thurston could stay clean of the corruption that led to underground wars between mega corps—wars between hired armies fighting and dying not for a cause but for pay. Maybe it could keep the shadowy world of organised crime that infested the underbelly of the core worlds at bay, stopped at Thurston’s interface with the rest of the Human sector of the galaxy—the station. Eric doubted it. The Alliance grew, Human’s colonised new worlds in ever greater numbers, and things changed, but H
uman nature? That never would. Until it did, there would always be a need for people like him. People willing to fight violence with violence.

  “We’ll see,” Eric said. “Take me to a hotel; somewhere not too pricey but close to the action.”

  The driver nodded and turned back to his driving, and Eric entertained himself by watching the world go by.

  The road out of the port arrowed straight for Ashfield, the land between still untouched and pristine, meaning jungle covered it. Having such a large section of real estate left virgin was a conscious decision Eric suspected. The original settlers had planned things very well in other areas, why not this? It was a good idea regardless of reasons, but was probably done for safety. Shuttles were quite safe, but accidents still happened. Besides, Ashfield wouldn’t stay small forever.

  “Where did the name come from?” Eric said. “Ashfield.”

  The driver grunted and gestured out the window toward the direction they were travelling. “The mountain, it’s an extinct volcano. The survey people named it Mount Ebra after one of their guys broke a leg up there or something. The geologists say this whole place, the city, the port, the land all around here is the ash field left over after Ebra blew its top. So when they decided to build here, the name was sort of natural, you know?”

  Eric nodded. “I like it.”

  The driver grunted.

  “You sure Ebra isn’t just dormant?”

  The driver shrugged. “The geologists say extinct, and they should know. Be a bit of a bastard if they were wrong though, eh?”

  Eric laughed. “Yeah. Ever heard of Pompeii?” He craned his neck to see the huge cone-shaped mountain. It loomed hugely over the city even at this distance. “Why do we Humans keep daring things like volcanoes to kill us by building in their back yards?”