The Star-Keeper Imperative

by C N Samson

  Maybe it was paranoia, but Rheinborne didn’t think that the youth was just a fashion poser. He turned around and headed back the way he had come, intending to duck into the nearest shop and wait for a bit. He had only gone a few paces when he glimpsed the pleasure bot slinking toward him. Did it want to make a lust connection? Doubtful. He looked behind him, saw Trench Coat approaching.

  Okay, now what?

  Rheinborne considered fleeing to the other side of the avenue. He had already noted that cargo vehicles passed by on the median rails every twenty to thirty seconds, plenty of time to make it across. But before he could decide whether or not to run, a hand clamped onto his shoulder. He whirled, ready to fight, but found himself face-to-face with a tall, platinum-haired woman dressed in casual evening wear.

  “Babe, there you are!” she cried, smiling happily. “Did you forget where we were supposed to meet?” She pulled him close and whispered, “Play along if you don’t want to get caught.”

  The trench coat guy and the pleasure bot were closing in on him. Rheinborne made a snap decision to go along with this strange woman.

  The two of them were standing outside a software media store. The woman guided Rheinborne into the store, where a middle-aged man sat behind the glass counter, hunched over a dataslate that was displaying a pleasure-vid. He straightened up and folded the slate as they entered.

  “Help you folks find something?” the man asked.

  “We’re just browsing, thanks,” the woman replied. She led Rheinborne further into the store, past racks that held plastic-sealed flashcards, pre-loaded with pirated content.

  “My name is Andrea,” the woman said in a low voice. “I’m a friend of your friend.”

  Rheinborne picked up a flashcard from the nearest rack, made a show of examining it. “What friend?”

  “The archaeologist. She sent me to make sure you aren’t intercepted.”

  Rheinborne replaced the flashcard, turned to face the front of the store. He saw the trench coat guy walk past, without a single glance inside. The pleasure bot sauntered by, looked through the store window, moved on.

  Andrea drew him behind a rack. “Do you want someone to see you?”

  “All right,” Rheinborne said, disengaging himself from her grasp. “What’s going on?”

  “You know who Simeon Prester is, don’t you?” Andrea asked. “He’s been looking for your friend. Now he’s offering a reward to the independents if they flag any roughmen who might be coming in to pop her out.”

  “I’m just a courier, not one of these...roughmen.”

  “Come on, you look the type.” She pressed herself against Rheinborne. “Prester’s grunts are closing in. We don’t have much time, so we need to get to her first, right now.”

  Rheinborne stepped back a pace, swept his gaze over Andrea. Under all her makeup, perfume, and expensive clothing, there was something else; something hard and professional.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any friends here. I’m just a courier.”

  “I understand. You don’t want to break your cover. Just go on ahead, I’ll shadow you.”

  Rheinborne pursed his lips. Could she be telling the truth? Was she one of the people helping Valicia? There was an easy way to determine that, of course.

  “I have to get going now,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” He strode away.

  Just before Rheinborne reached the door, the store owner called out, “Didn’t find what you were after?”

  “She’s still looking,” Rheinborne replied.

  Once outside, he turned north and walked briskly. He made contact with the Adventurer and requested that Gwynne ask Valicia if she was acquainted with this Andrea person. While waiting for a response, he feigned interest in the shops that he passed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Andrea leave the software store. She ran a hand through her hair as she began strolling down the avenue after Rheinborne.

  He kept walking. Several seconds later, a reply came back from the Adventurer. Valicia had no idea who Andrea was.

  It was just as he suspected. Rheinborne cast a sidelong look to his right, gauging the density of the pedestrian crowd and timing the movements of the cargo vehicles in the median. Could he make it across fast enough to ditch the suspicious woman?

  Just ahead, Rheinborne saw a set of metal stairs leading up to a uncaged pedestrian bridge that stretched over the avenue. That would be the easier way to cross, but shouldn’t he try to lose her in the crowd? As a cargo vehicle glided past, another possibility occurred to him.

  When he reached the stairs, he suddenly turned and vaulted up them, taking two steps at a time. Once on the bridge, he heard a faint shout. It was Andrea, now running and shoving people out of her way.

  “Wait!” she yelled.

  Rheinborne scanned the avenue below. He stood over the left-hand maglev rail, where the northbound vehicles traveled. Another one was due quite soon.

  Andrea was nearly to the bridge. She would catch up to him in seconds.

  Rheinborne tensed, facing to the south. Come on, come on!

  “What are you doing?” Andrea shouted, mounting the stairs.

  The next cargo vehicle appeared on the northbound rail.

  Andrea clattered onto the bridge, pulled out a pistol from her purse. “Don’t you dare move!” she ordered.

  Time to act. Rheinborne leaped over the railing. Andrea screamed.

  CHAPTER 11

  RHEINBORNE LANDED ON his feet, on the flat roof of the transport vehicle. It had arrived just in time.

  A bullet spanged into the metal, clipping the heel of his boot. He wobbled, lost his balance and fell over the side.

  His right hand shot out, grabbed the raised edge of the roof. He slammed into the side of the transport, his fall arrested. With a groan, he clamped his other hand on the roof and tried to haul himself up. His feet scrambled for purchase, found nothing on the vehicle’s side.

  Pain shot through his right arm, the strength in that hand ebbing. Rheinborne looked down, saw a podcycle traveling alongside the cargo transport. The driver and passenger gazed up in amazement through the transparent canopy.

  Rheinborne released his grip, at the same time thrust himself outward. He fell again, crashed onto the nosecone of the podcycle. He twisted around, seized the cycle’s frame to keep from falling. The driver and his passenger screamed, terrified expressions on their faces.

  The podcycle screeched to a jarring stop. Rheinborne slid off the nosecone, found himself thrown hard onto the ground. He attempted to stand, but one of his legs didn’t seem to be working. The podcycle’s horn blared. He blinked, sucked in a breath, tried again.

  A pair of powerful arms encircled him from behind. He struggled as he was lifted and carried off.

  Rheinborne tried to see who had him, but then they were across the rails and over to the other side of the avenue. As his rescuer released him, Rheinborne slumped to the pavement and looked up.

  It was the pleasure bot.

  The mechanoid reached out a slender arm. Rheinborne shrank back. Was this thing working with Andrea, or had it been sent by Prester? He attempted to crawl away, but pain lanced through his right arm and right leg. The bot took a few steps, sank to its knees and straddled Rheinborne. It pinned his arms down, lowered its face to his. Oh, Great Lord, was it going to—

  The bot’s mouth opened, and a white vapor jetted forth. Rheinborne shut his eyes and held his breath, but he had already taken in a lungful of something cold and sour-smelling. He felt his eyes roll back in his head, and then nothing more.

  NORLAND’S MOOD WAS much improved. He had just talked to Agent Emlyn Ranzka—alias Andrea—on his ECM, and now he placed a vidcall on the computer terminal in front of him.

  Prester’s face appeared on the screen. “What is it?” the older man barked.

  “I have a promising lead,” Norland said. “One of my team flagged a man in Alchromia that could be the person that Dr. Parzo is ex
pecting.” He related what Emlyn had told him about her encounter.

  Prester scoffed. “This man jumps into traffic and gets saved by a pleasure bot. Did I hear that right?”

  “There were witnesses, yes. They say that the bot took off with him, into some unmonitored area.”

  “What if he really was just a courier?”

  “Agent Ranzka lifted his inter-pass. Sending a scan now.” Norland touched an icon at the side of the screen.

  Prester looked off to the side, nodded. “All right, let me run it.” The call terminated.

  Norland checked in with Emlyn on his ECM. She reported that she was still trying to locate the pleasure bot and the alleged courier—identified on the inter-pass as “Fitz Broffner”—and that she could use some help.

  The terminal flashed. There was an incoming call from Prester. Norland ended his conversation with Emlyn and accepted the vidcall.

  “It’s bogus,” Prester said. “The man’s real name is Blake Rheinborne. He’s ex-PSR.”

  “I think he’s the one that Dr. Parzo’s waiting for.”

  Prester stroked his chin. “Have the rest of your team search Alchromia. I’ll have him added to the security lookout list, and if he appears in any of the public zones, my people will take him.”

  “You should also find out what ship he came in on,” Norland said, “and have it watched, if it’s still here.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.” Prester ended the call.

  Norland logged out of the terminal, stood and stretched. He’d go out and lead the search for this Blake Rheinborne himself. And with luck, he’d have the archaeologist and the Chythex tech before the next sunrise.

  RHEINBORNE AWOKE IN a dimly-lit room. His first thought was that he was back in the interrogation chamber of the Adventurer. His second thought was that he now hated robots.

  He was lying on a bed, minus his jacket. When he tried to sit up, he found that his legs, arms, and chest were restrained by thick straps. Ah, Great Lord, who was keeping him prisoner this time?

  A figure came out of the gloom, its features indistinct. Then the room lights snapped to full brightness, momentarily blinding him. When he could see again, he stared at the figure for several long moments. It was a woman: dark-haired, brown-eyed, wearing a shapeless blue-green sweater and black pants. She leaned over him.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  Rheinborne had seen her image, back on the ship. “You’re doctor...Valicia Parzo, I assume?”

  “Do you know who I really am?”

  Rheinborne sighed. “You’re Kaye...my Kaye. At least, that’s who you’re supposed to be.”

  “Ask me something.”

  “Something?” Rheinborne could barely think. Then it came to him. “Why did you have Gwynne ask about the Preserve?”

  “It seemed appropriate.”

  “I never told anyone else.”

  “Neither did I.” Valicia gave a half-smile. “It’s good to see you again, Blake.”

  “Kaye—”

  “It’s Valicia. Please refer to me by that name from now on.” She moved out of his line of sight.

  “Wait!” Rheinborne called, surging against his restraints.

  He heard a door scrape open, then two people came and unstrapped him from the bed. One was a man, mid-forties, with a scowling face and a hard-eyed gaze. The other was a younger man with grease marks on his cheeks.

  As soon as he was free, Rheinborne sat up. In a corner of the dingy room stood a third man, a mercenary-looking type, with a rifle trained on him.

  “It’s okay. He’s the one,” Valicia said to the others. The man with the rifle relaxed.

  “Are you all Friends of Greal?” Rheinborne asked.

  The men chortled.

  “They’re friends,” Valicia said, “but not of the Great Lord.”

  She made the introductions. The scowling man was named Foscalini, the grease-faced young man was Denham, and the merc was Unkerich. He noted that the man’s rifle was a Brashmond-Shears M-3, better known as the “Bot Slayer.”

  “That’s all you need to know,” said Foscalini, an implied threat obvious behind his words. “But we got the cash stick you brought, so you’re now a friend of ours.” He flashed a sardonic smile.

  “This doesn’t look like a temple,” Rheinborne remarked.

  “It’s not. Change of plan, as you can see.” Foscalini gestured for Unkerich and Denham to follow him out of the room.

  When they had gone, Valicia reached out to Rheinborne. He thought she was going for a hug, but it turned out she was only helping him to stand.

  “Hold on. Where’s my jacket?” Rheinborne asked, suddenly concerned.

  Valicia dug into her pants pocket, came up with the marriage token. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  “Right, yes," Rheinborne said, relieved. "It was supposed to be a surprise, you know? I'd put in for an expedited approval just before my first deployment. It came through while you were in...I was planning to give it to you...when...” He drew in a long breath, unable to continue.

  She closed her fist over the token. “I’ll keep it if you want me to.”

  “Sure, right, you hang onto it.” He gave a forced chuckle. “I never got to propose. What would you have said?”

  “At the time, I would have said yes.”

  “And now?” Rheinborne held up a hand, waved sharply. “Forget it, don't answer that. It’s expired, anyway.” He chuckled again to hide the sense of loss he just felt.

  Valicia held his gaze for a long moment, then led him out into a larger room. Paint was peeling off the concrete walls, and the lighting strips on the ceiling were covered with a dusty film. Used furniture was scattered around, and in one corner stood a computer deck and a telerobotics rig. Rheinborne tensed at the sight of a robot’s metal endoskeleton seated on a sofa.

  “Does that belong to you folks?” Rheinborne asked, indicating the bot. His jacket was draped around the thing’s shoulders.

  “Yeah,” Denham said proudly. “It’s an Ephemeris Eight, multi-purpose and tele-ready. You saw it as a pleasure model.”

  “Were you driving it?”

  “Yeah. I really had to push it, though. I’m kinda still getting used to the rig.”

  “Well, thanks for saving me and all, but I didn’t appreciate being gassed.”

  Denham made an apologetic face. “Sorry, yeah, but we have to keep this place secret.”

  “So how’d you even know I was out there?”

  Valicia explained that when Gwynne informed her that Rheinborne was in the area, Denham activated his bot network. The pleasure model was the one that happened to spot him first.

  Foscalini said, “We got an ID on that woman you were with. Emlyn Ranzka, former operations officer in the Ground Force, now part of Norland’s STAR team. What’d you tell her?”

  “Nothing,” Rheinborne said. “She tried to trick me, but I was wise to her.”

  “We checked your stuff.” Foscalini pointed to a nearby table, upon which was lay the contents of Rheinborne’s bag and jacket. “One thing’s missing. Your inter-pass.”

  “My what?” Rheinborne patted himself down. “Ah, she must have taken it. I left it in my outside pocket.”

  Unkerich grunted. “Everyone be on lookout for you now. How in fercock you supposed to get around?” He hocked a wad of phlegm and spat.

  “Hey, you’re cleaning that up!” said Denham, grimacing.

  “All right, just calm down,” Foscalini said. “Everything is still a go. We’ll just have to make a few changes.” He strode to the door. “No one does a damn thing until I get back. Unkerich, stand guard.” He slammed his hand on the access plate, slipped out the instant the door opened. The mercenary followed, shouldering his rifle.

  When the two men had gone, Rheinborne turned to Valicia and studied her face, hoping to see even a little trace of Kaye. He was about to speak when Denham tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Sorry, but could we talk
for two seconds?” he asked.

  “Go ahead,” Valicia said to Rheinborne. “I’ll get us some bulbs.”

  Denham directed Rheinborne to the sofa, where they sat beside the dormant pleasure bot.

  “How are you feeling?” the young man asked.

  “Feeling?” Rheinborne took stock of himself. He no longer felt any pain in his arm or leg. “Quite well, actually.”

  “That’s good. I scanned you while you were out, saw you had med-nano.”

  “You didn’t mess with it, did you?”

  Denham rubbed the back of his neck. “You had a couple of fractures that wouldn’t have healed for a few hours, so I sped up the nano's operational cycles.”

  “So you did mess around with them.”

  “It's perfectly safe, you’ll heal faster now. But, you’ll have to consume more of your nano food, at least a cube and a half each interval. When did you last eat?”

  Rheinborne shrugged.

  Valicia came over to the sofa, bearing three water bulbs. She handed one each to Denham and Rheinborne.

  “Thanks,” Denham said. He was about to bite off the tip of his bulb’s straw-stem when Rheinborne coughed significantly.

  “Oh, do you two want to be alone?” Denham asked. “Um, I’ll just go, ah, somewhere else.” He slinked off the sofa and vanished into the bedroom.

  Valicia sat next to Rheinborne. “I know this must be a shock,” she said, “but—”

  “Why did you do this?” Rheinborne blurted out. “All this time, I’d accepted that you were dead.”

  “Blake,” said Valicia. “I’m so sorry. I understand that you have many questions, but I can’t answer them here. It’ll have to wait until we’re safe.”

  “Gwynne told me that you’d seem like a different person. I think he might be right.”

  Valicia put a hand on his arm. “I’ve had to change my habits, my outward personality, anything that might give me away. But I’ve never forgotten about you.”