Angeleyes - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  We’d gotten off a volley back, and probably hit one of theirs, but we didn’t know if we’d hurt them yet.

  Once in free flight, we were much harder to track, but not impossible. The energy needed to move ships around is “lots.” I wish I could be more specific, but it’s like entire city-levels of power production, and continental levels for star drive. That’s why transport costs so much. Even with fusion or A-matter power generation, you need a lot. That much energy is easy to find, relatively.

  Once in free flight, we dialed the engines back until they just powered the life support and onboard operations. That’s as much power as a small village. Most of it was contained inside the hull. Some was used for particle shielding, but even that was contained within its own radius. Finding something that small at a distance is doable, if you know where to look, and if you have enough time. It doesn’t take much maneuvering thrust to throw you off the original trajectory. They have to search an expanding cone.

  But we were still at risk and massively outnumbered.

  Believe it or not, quite a few guys didn’t want sex the first couple of days. They wanted cuddled. I had one guy come in, just barely beyond Recruit Training, who started blubbering and threw his arms around me. I turned him so I was against his back, wrapped around him and held him for twenty segs. He gripped my arms and rocked slightly. He’d shiver occasionally and sigh. I gather he’d have taken me to his bunk to snuggle if he could.

  I had no idea where we were going, until they announced to prepare for docking. Given the time, it could be our moon Gealach, or somewhere in planetary orbit, but I didn’t know.

  The chief of the ship came on intercom.

  “Soldiers and Spacers, attention please. We have docked at a clandestine location in the outer Halo. We will be refueling, rearming, and receiving orders and intel, before resuming flight. There will be limited passes, but will include recreation and shopping, although only military necessities are available and not many of those. Communications are strictly controlled. There is no way to send signals groundside or out-system.”

  “Additionally, we expect to reassign personnel as needed, to any vessel we encounter. This may include anything from gunboats or other J Frame craft, all the way up to a Fleet Carrier. This especially applies to those we’ve picked up en route from other ships.”

  “On behalf of myself and the captain, you are all to be commended for your courage, determination, and tireless efforts. Thank you all. Chief out.”

  That all made sense. I was shipboard somewhere for the duration. However, he’d said something that made me want to change that. I was limited in what I could do here. There were better ways I could serve.

  I assumed I was a medic first, cook second, since I’m rated Medical. I went to Doctor Udal and said, “Sir, I request permission to take care of professional business aboard the station, with a military office.”

  “Something you can’t do aboard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “May I ask?”

  “I’d rather not say, sir. It’s relevant to our operation.”

  “I’ll have to ask Command, but I’ll put it on the discussion.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Captain said no.

  I’d been afraid of that. Now she needed bodies. There are no non-necessary slots aboard ship; you only take what you need. I was filling one slot and half of two others, and we expected more casualties. I doubt she’d transfer me off, given the choice, unless it was to a small in-system craft who needed all three slots filled.

  What I did next was a disciplinary violation, but I needed to. And what could they do to punish me? Put me on a warship in combat, outnumbered and overtasked?

  I would have to leave everything here and replace it later, or recover it, circumstances permitting.

  Of course, I didn’t even know where I was, precisely, other than inside the Grainne system.

  I made several passes of the docking umbilicus, and determined the schedule. I’d have about three segs after my first shift to get on it. I’d be reportably late by the time it arrived at the station. I’d be AWOL as soon as they figured it out. Since I’d asked about leaving, that wouldn’t take long. Once again, I should have kept my mouth shut.

  But I did it. I pulled sutures from the same engine tech I’d put them into, checked a couple of others, scanned in my notes, and excused myself. I hurried through passages, and found a small box of something on the way. It was a crate, it had labels, it would give me cover.

  With it in hand, I jogged for the lift. Just around the radius from it, I left the box inside a lock, then sprinted.

  “Hold, please,” I called, as they were about to button up.

  I was already late for my shift, and hadn’t been in the twelve days I’d been aboard.

  No one in the tube said anything to me. There were ten of us, three carrying boxes, two with terminals I recognized as Logistics scanners. The rest hung onto stanchions and waited quietly.

  Someone said, “I wish I knew where this was. But as long as they have uniforms, I can at least get some of my section taken care of.”

  “Good luck. Though I’d deal with civvies if we could get another ship for joint ops.”

  A Drive officer said, “Or a phase drive unit.”

  “Yeah, good luck. I’m sure Brandt’s offices are locked up tight.”

  One of them glanced my way, and I recognized him. He recognized me.

  “Hey, RecSpec,” he said. That was rude. RecSpecs aren’t mentioned in public except by rank or except as part of Emotional Health.

  I nodded marginally and hoped he’d stop talking. The warrant leader next to me gave him that “are you that stupid?” look. He seemed to take the hint.

  Through the tiny port, I saw the station approach. It was a black something against the background of stars. It was some kind of planetoid, not inflated, and about as invisible as it could get.

  We disappeared into the receiving lock, thumped into place, and the plenum connected.

  The lock opened and I tried not to cut past the others.

  I was third out, and since I wasn’t carrying anything, the Mobile Assault troop on security duty just waved me past. He did make a point of checking all incoming containers with a scanner and by eye. I signed the station log roster and it spat a badge at me. I’d been afraid it would ask for clearance back from Mad Jack, but it seemed happy just to log me. Likely because we still didn’t have everyone accounted for.

  I got down the passage fast without looking as if I was fleeing. Behind me, someone shouted, “Hey, Kaneshiro!”

  Then I ran. Or rather, bounded and skidded at.12G. I realized they were rotating the rock to even get that much G.

  I got around a corner, around another, and slowed.

  I found a sergeant, and asked quickly.

  “Hey, Sergeant, I may be lost halfway around the station. Where’s Intel?”

  “Nah, you’re not far off. Two down, one left, three forward.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  I was near a ramp, and took it down, then headed across to get the left out of the way. Down again, and forward wasn’t hard. Nor were there that many people. I used hands on railings and stanchions and barely touched the stone deck. The railings were just bolted to regolith.

  I got to the intel office and buzzed for entrance.

  “Identity, please.”

  “I have movement intel on UN craft I need to give you,” I said. It wasn’t entirely false. “I need to be discreet.”

  I was buzzed in.

  There was an orderly at a window that was obviously well-shielded, as well as being thick ballistic polymer.

  “ID, please.”

  I slid over my passports, both Grainne and Caledonia.

  “Kaneshiro. You were just reported AWOL from the Jack Churchill.”

  “I felt it was important enough to get here to tell you. I didn’t want to tell them.”

  “You didn’t want to tell your commander a
bout ship movements?”

  “I would like to speak to an agent or investigator. I’ve got more than that.”

  “Stand by.”

  He turned and talked into a hush veil, for about three segs. I stood and waited. I was used to waiting. It’s part of spacing.

  Eventually he turned around.

  “Door on your left.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was almost a lock, since it had a gasket seal. I waved it open and went in. The space inside was cut from the rock and had sealant over what were probably fissures. The desk was a slab of extruded poly with four tubular legs, and the chairs were fabbed folding slat backs.

  I assumed the woman at the desk was the investigator. She displayed ID that glowed with airmark.

  “I am Special Agent Jeanette Garweil, Freehold Military Intelligence.”

  I examined her ID briefly. I had no reason not to believe it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Ms. Kaneshiro. Angloyce?” she guessed, reading from her tablet as he offered a hand.

  “Angelica,” I corrected, and shook hers with a bow.

  “That’s an interesting spelling.”

  “My parents were alt-agers. That’s not important right now.”

  “Agreed,” she said, with a return bow that was mostly nod. I got it. She was busy.

  “You need intelligence,” I said.

  “Lots of it. I gather you have some.”

  “Yes. I saw a lot of UN uniforms in jump point stations recently.”

  “That’s not news. Unless you know the units?”

  “Some. I managed a few images, too. I also danced with a few in clubs in NovRos and Caledonia.”

  “That’s more interesting. What did you find out?”

  “Some contact addys and names. I didn’t know what to ask. But I can ask if you tell me what you need.”

  “Ah. I see. We do have intelligence specialists for that. You’re a medic, yes?”

  I wanted her to figure it out, not to blurt out a story that would sound boastful.

  “Sure. Do your intelligence specialists have friends and lodging pre-staged in NovRos, Caledonia, Earth, Govannon and Alsace? I have accounts, lockers, regular bunkies and clubs, contacts, and I know all the main passages and a lot of the clandestine and service passages.”

  “You mean to tell me you’re familiar with every jump point station in the galaxy?” she asked incredulously.

  “Well, not all,” I said. “Only about fifteen.”

  “You have lodging and possessions, established presence, and know the club staff?”

  “That’s what I said,” I replied. “Also make-out cubbies, rental racks, access passages and cargo bays.”

  She almost quivered. She was obviously thrilled.

  “Yes, then thank you for not mentioning it aboard ship. Things like this are much better kept close.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Are you offering this information? Maps, charts, whatever you have?”

  “It’s all in my head,” I said. “If you have charts, I can give you what I know, and you’re welcome to use my accounts and any gear. I can give intro letters to my friends. I figure there’s people you need to extract and information you want to find.”

  She said, “We do have all their schematics and maps. They’re complete.”

  I said, “No, they’re not, especially on older stations. Stuff gets rebuilt, shifted, covered over. Volume gets adapted for use. If people are lazy or crooked, the updates don’t get logged. Each mapping is only complete within itself, and often doesn’t show bends or shifts as long as the terminal ends are correctly placed. That’s assuming your copies are up to date, and no one notices you trying to hack in fur updates.”

  “That’s valid,” she agreed.

  She sat and thought.

  “Specialist, that’s a very generous offer, but it won’t really help.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry, then. Can I request you excuse me back to Churchill?” I felt embarrassed. I was all ready to be a useful asset, a low-level hero, and it was all pointless.

  She replied, “I can, but I need to elaborate. There’s no way to relay that intel quickly, or answer questions on location. You’d know what you were looking at, any assets wouldn’t really. If you were already trained as an intel operator, it might be workable, but even if we ask the right questions, you don’t know how to phrase the answers. “

  Damn. “That makes sense. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It might still be useful. Could you redeploy to those locations and provide real time intel to any assets we had on station?”

  “Yes,” I said. “The problem is I don’t have any way to justify that kind of money for jumping around, and getting work passage takes time. I’d have to have weeks to get into position.”

  “I can arrange to get you into position. There are two problems. The first is that you’re neither trained for intel, nor properly vetted for clandestine warfare. I can’t read you into the things you’d need, and if anything happens, it could be a huge war crimes issue if you don’t. The second is that it’s incredibly dangerous.”

  I said, “In the last month, I’ve avoided being tagged by the UN, hopped systems twice, made it out of the blowout, saved a little girl and was on Mad Jack when she got hit. Before that I spent seven years floating around tramp freighters and station docks. I know what all this means.”

  “Then I will transfer you to our branch. I will call your ship,” she said.

  “Thank you.” That was good at least.

  “We have our own lodging in this space. You will be locked in. We all are. You can leave with notice, but we don’t want a mole doing what you just did to your ship,” she said, with an almost-smile.

  “I understand,” I said.

  A div later all my personal gear was delivered to their outer door. A note attached indicated I was transferred from FMS Jack Churchill to Station [Redacted]. I still don’t know the name or location of the rock they used. I never actually got to say goodbye to anyone.

  I felt like crap about that.

  CHAPTER 13

  The lodging was more than adequate. Much better than a bunkie or a ship rack. I had a king bed I could sprawl in, vidcom, fridge and stove, a separate desk, and a bathroom with a shower big enough to play in, with multiple jets. It was even better than Lee’s. At .12G I slept and showered great. It was still only about three meters square, but I could stand and walk.

  I spent two days summarizing the stations I knew, club names, everything I knew about staff and the dates I knew it, cubbies, ships I’d crewed on, even shop names. They didn’t ask for details, but listed my contacts as “professional,” “personal” or “intimate.”

  Garweil had the report up on her desk when I saw her next. While she read, I looked at the stone behind her. It had interesting bubble texture, unchanged by gravity. I’d never been on an unblown rock.

  “That’s a lot of personal and intimate contacts,” she commented. She didn’t sound like she was insulting me. She sounded impressed. I don’t know if being impressed was strictly professional, or also personal.

  “Yeah, I know a lot of people.” I was young and uncommitted. When I wasn’t spacing, I was having fun. I had lots of space to play in.

  She said, “That can be helpful, but also a hindrance if they recognize you.”

  I said, “They’re almost all people who’d keep their mouth shut. It’s a transient thing. Also, I’m pretty good at not being IDed, when in civvies.”

  “I see,” she said. “Well, I’d like to introduce you to an element you’ll be working with. I’m convinced it’s worth the risk. Do you understand the risks?”

  “I think so,” I said. “We might be killed in battle. We might die in space. We might get hurt doing something we shouldn’t be doing but will anyway. We might get captured. We might even intercept a load from our own people if they don’t know we’re there.”

  “That�
��s succinct,” she said. “So why are you willing to do it?”

  “Because I like my freedom and won’t have any if they tag us all. I don’t like the delays in getting through their system. I’d rather just travel when I need to. Their way is about like living in a prison anyway. They’re also willing to hurt people to accomplish it. So I’m willing to hurt them to avoid it.”

  We’d talked about this before, but I knew she wanted to be convinced that I was serious, and that I wasn’t a mole.

  “I expect to kill a lot of people,” I told her. “Or help others do so.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “You will be an attached contract asset, not military. That way we can deny you if there are certain repercussions.”

  “What happens then?” I asked.

  She said, “Exactly that. We don’t know you, and you’ll be on your own. The element you’re attached to are military, but they’ve been covered multiple ways to avoid IDing them. Even if we took you at rank, you’d still not really be on file anywhere except here.”

  “That’s the part that has me worried,” I said. I really was. I was nobody, and they could flush me.

  “I understand,” she said. “If it’s too much, we can revert you to medic and find you a billet. But if you can do it, we really could use your help. It just has to be unofficial.”

  “Do I get paid at all? Or is this strictly volunteer?”

  “Contractors get paid,” she said. “I had in mind equivalent to a major, with bonuses.”

  “I don’t think that’s enough to be completely deniable. On the other hand, I want to make sure you don’t have reason to lose me, so I expect a penalty clause that pays my family or an estate if I don’t make it.”

  “That’s fair,” she said. “Of course, you’re trusting us to keep it filed.”

  I said, “I trust you or I wouldn’t be here, ma’am. I don’t know who else to trust.”

  “You also don’t know who’ll win,” she pointed out.

  “That gives me incentive, then, doesn’t it? I do expect to be well paid,” I insisted.