Angeleyes - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  They were still wearing hats and scarves.

  As we rounded a corner, Roger, next to me, peeled his jacket, wadded it and stuffed it into a trash can. I was only wearing a shipsuit, no jacket.

  Then Teresa pulled my scarf off and handed me a poncho. I shimmied into it. It was a brown that went well enough with the coverall, and made it less obvious it was a coverall.

  There was a maintenance room here, or should be. I didn’t have a code for it, but I figured Jack did.

  There was. I turned to it and barely pointed. Jack came up and went to it, and had it open in moments. It wasn’t majorly locked.

  I went in first and almost ran into a pair of maintenance guys. I stopped and stared, they stopped and were about to say something, when Roger and Glenn came past me and put them on the ground, unconscious but probably still alive. Probably.

  Shannon asked, “Does this go anywhere?”

  “Into maintenance space.”

  “Not ideal, but lead us out to main passages.”

  Everyone was changing. Mira yanked off my poncho and handed me a stylish turban. She then started spraying a dye that turned my coverall a dull purple. That was one of the service colors.

  I turned, she finished spraying. Teresa slapped patches on the two unconscious workers to keep them out. The guys were mostly changed into casual business wear. I hadn’t seen a bag.

  I led the way, they all had viewplates out. I made up some dialog as I went.

  “The conduits are one of the items on your list. I’d like your opinion on them, so please note them for followup. The locks and latches are functional, but an upgrade wouldn’t be a bad idea . . .”

  I took a cross passage, then turned north along the axis and found a door to main passage.

  Shannon had a sterile phone out—either we had a crate of them, or acquired lots as we went—and said, “There’s a Shelton sotel not far from here.” He increased his pace and pulled ahead.

  By the time the rest of us reached it, he’d logged into a room. He left some kind of sign and Roger took me to the room. The others arrived a few minutes apart.

  It was a king suite with a second parlor, big enough to hide us for a bit.

  Food arrived by delivery. There was stir fry, sausages, burgers and crab cakes. I started munching because I suddenly realized I was hungry. The guys and Mira were voracious. Those insane sprints had taken a lot of energy, I figured.

  The news mentioned us, but the images they had were terrible quality, and didn’t really show us. They had some older pictures of us, but a bit of hair and makeup work would fix that. They admitted to having no clear DNA signatures. Their descriptions came down to us looking like average people. They called us, “Notorious terrorists with professional training from the Grainne rebel paramilitary.”

  They claimed twelve of us.

  Juan clicked on a noise generator/damper field of some kind and started briefing us.

  “This is as far as we go with ships. They’ve cracked down to where we can’t effectively do anything. From here on, we will travel independently as crew and passengers. We have less than a month to reach several locations. Angie, I’m including you in this because you’ll be acting as courier. Also, as commander, I want to officially thank you for your support and assistance. I would estimate you personally made us at least fifty percent more effective, and we learned a lot from you in the process. You were absolutely critical to the missions.”

  “Thank you . . . sir.”

  “So,” he said, “we have orders for a pending major offensive. We’ve got a short time to reach three of Earth’s jump stations if we can, and we’re going to dispatch personnel to each.”

  “Alright. And no ship?”

  “No, it’s no longer safe. We’ll either fly contract or pay funds out of pocket using emergency IDs.”

  “So what are we inserting for?”

  “You’re not. We are. You will courier information home. Our orders are to disable the stations to hinder logistical lines.”

  I chuckled. “I can’t wait to hear how two or three of you are going to disable a station.”

  No one laughed back. Juan just stared at me, while the others looked around at each other.

  I realized I’d make a really bad joke at a bad time. How were two or three people going to disable a station? They were going to render it uninhabitable . . . while aboard.

  “Goddess, you’re not serious.”

  “You’ve seen images from back home,” he said. “You know some of what ships we’ve lost. There isn’t much left. Either we stop their infrastructure now, or we go under.”

  “So you’re going to . . .”

  “Render their infrastructure unable to transfer materiel, or to process jumps.”

  I didn’t know how they’d do that, but I knew what the result would be.

  “Gods dammit, you’re all going to die!” I shouted at him.

  “We know,” he said. “I am so sorry we find ourselves here.”

  “I’m coming along,” I said. I was terrified of dying, but more afraid of leaving them. They were my people, the only people I’d had in a decade.

  He said, “Your offer is appreciated, but I need you elsewhere. You will help maintain crew manifest and manual operations. You will deliver our post action reviews.”

  I was relieved he said that, but wanted to argue, but didn’t really, and felt sick and cowardly for being relieved, and angry that I wasn’t included, and angry with myself for being all whiny when they were the ones on a suicide mission.

  Teresa handed me a flask. It had some strong liquor in it, and I took a gulp and choked.

  Juan said, “I think our odds are good for the mission, and for the war concluding. We actually have acceptable odds of surviving. We’re not just blowing the stations up.”

  He was trying to reassure me. To take down command and control with all its redundancy, emergency power and O2, and hinder the docks, meant bombs and structural damage with air leaks. If they actually took a station down . . . I’d seen what happened when a habitat tried to evacuate. If the Jump Point was down they were going to swim around, because not all those ships are in-system capable. Even if they were, those are long trips. That’s assuming they were able to undock, or had enough time to board evacuees. They probably had to just slam locks and blow out before they got caught in the failure.

  There are no small disasters in space.

  Then, every UN troop and monitor would be looking for them, hard. I figured they’d snag anyone the slightest bit questionable. Even if they didn’t space them all immediately.

  I nodded, though, lying that I believed his lie, so he could lie to himself that he’d reassured me.

  His plan called for two each of the main six to deploy to each station. Mo and Jack would set up on the NovRos side of that point. Teresa was going to Caledonia, and would go somewhere then. At that point, I was released from obligation and could report back if we won or go obscure with a sanitized ID if we didn’t.

  He was completely calm. They were going to blow up chunks of three stations, damage two others, kill hundreds of enemy personnel, a lot of them noncombatants, and probably collateral some civilians. Even if they didn’t die, if they got caught, they weren’t going to get a trial. They’d be “lost during the attacks they caused” or something.

  But he sounded like he was discussing dinner plans.

  The evening was spent drinking strong liquor. No one got drunk, but they did drink enough to act as a tranq. There was Sparkle in use, too. I took a dusting, because I knew more would be bad.

  Honestly, I was surprised we’d lived as long as we had. We . . . they, had really torn up some infrastructure for the size of the group, and for very little money, since we’d done it around shipping contracts that offset some of the cost and neutralized all the transport expenses.

  I went into the back parlor to collect my thoughts. I’m not religious, but I needed to center, ground and meditate.

  I was
on the couch. A bit later, Mira came in, quietly, gave me a questioning look, nodded and folded out the bed. She took one side and lay down.

  I heard her sobbing. I wasn’t going to say anything, if she didn’t ask. She didn’t.

  I lay back on the couch and dropped a Nitey Nite. I wasn’t going to sleep without one.

  “Lights ten,” I said.

  I slept badly. They weren’t nightmares, but they were weird, ugly, shapeless dreams, and I couldn’t wake up.

  When I finally did jolt awake, I looked around in 10% light and Mira was already gone. Teresa was in the bed, sleeping and twitching and muttering. Poor woman.

  There was a note on my pillow, hand written on a piece of food box.

  Thanks, Angie. You were professional and courageous beyond your calling, and a fine shipmate and friend. Make sure you destroy this. Mira.

  We’d never interacted much off duty. I really wanted to keep the note as a souvenir, but it would be a bad idea. She was right.

  I tore it into tiny shreds and pocketed them in three napkins to drop into trash later. Then I thought about it and chewed and swallowed them in a handful of water.

  Teresa woke up with a stiffening twitch.

  “Morning,” I said, to reassure her where she was.

  “Hi,” she replied, and rolled out. She went into the bathroom. I needed to go but I could wait a bit, and we’d always been good about not hogging time.

  I opened the door to the main parlor to check on the guys, and saw they were pretty much ready. I realized that everything had been left on the previous ship. The only gear we had was those things we’d picked up or acquired on this leg. Packing was depressingly easy.

  They looked up, I nodded and closed the door to leave them to it.

  “I’m out next,” Teresa said.

  “Good luck. Really, really good luck.”

  “Thank you,” she said very seriously. “I want to ask something before I leave.”

  “Go ahead.”

  She blushed and shifted.

  “It’s not appropriate. Never mind.”

  “How long have we been around, Teresa? I’ve done your makeup and dress. You patched me up after I was beaten and naked. Hell, I’ve kissed you.”

  “Yeah. That was good, actually. I . . . one for the road?” She blushed even more.

  Oh.

  I asked, “What, kiss? Or bed wrestle?”

  Her eyes flared and she heaved her chest. She really was interested in me. I was flattered, and if she wanted to, sure, I would enjoy it well enough and she deserved it.

  “I better stop with the kiss,” she said. Then she stood there, hesitating.

  I pulled her shoulder, and she clung to me while locking mouths. She really did want more. But we didn’t have time and she had her reasons.

  I think it was the closest embrace I’ve ever had. I could feel her pressed against me from knees to head. She felt tiny like this. And warm. Her hands gripped my shoulders, then ran down my back and over my ass. She settled them on my hips.

  The kiss was warm, wet and very deep. Though I would have enjoyed finding out what else she could do with that tongue. It moved like an electric eel on stim.

  We broke for breath, she pulled back, looked at me, looked away, and said, “Thank you.”

  “Good luck and safe flight,” I said. “You should look me up afterward.”

  “I’ll try,” she said. “But that’s a long way off.”

  She grabbed her bag, clutched my arm and said, “Thanks for everything, Angie. It was good to have you as a friend.”

  I saw her out into the main room, and I was sure I was blushing, too. No one said anything. She shook hands and hugged shoulders as she passed through. No one said anything. Then she was out the door, carrying a backpack and a rolly.

  Mo was also gone. There was fewer of them all the time.

  I hoped nothing happened before we all split. Jack was the only one left to handle all the improv.

  Two hours later, Roger, Bast and Jack were also disappeared. I hadn’t seen them go.

  Then Glenn left.

  Juan handed me a small insert for my luggage.

  “Cash, a credit line, two IDs if you need them. They’re real, our people maintain them. If you want to get cleaned up, I have all our files for you to courier for us. They’ll be sub-Q implanted.”

  Yeah, I needed a shower. I was drenched with sweat, most of it mine.

  When I came out, Shannon was gone.

  Juan said, “The shielded shirt is your size. Teresa recommended under your right breast for the chip. It should be hard to find there, and out of your way.”

  “Okay.” I peeled my shirt up, feeling a bit shy, which was ridiculous. He’d seen me every way possible already. I think it was the fact this was intel.

  He placed a small tube half under my nipple and clicked it.

  “Ow!”

  Damn, that hurt. But I could tell it was well under and not likely to be found unless someone was getting very friendly, and even then, lots of women have medical implants.

  I pulled the shirt down and finished dressing.

  The rest were gone; it was him and me.

  “Wait at least ten minutes before you leave,” he said. “The suite is paid out through tomorrow. We’ve coded for privacy.”

  “Got it.”

  “You have enough cash for a month’s lodging, food and local travel. You have credit for two jumps. I figure you should do fine getting where you’re going.”

  The ID had overlapping quals with my real ones.

  “I can make it work.”

  He was so calm, but I was sure he wasn’t tranked. He was just that focused.

  He said, “Don’t go back insystem until the war ends.”

  “When is that going to be? A year?”

  He twisted his mouth. “You’ll know when you see it. It shouldn’t be long.”

  “It’s not looking good back home.”

  “It’s not. Do you trust me?”

  Of course I did.

  “Without reservation,” I said.

  “Head that way in a week. Hang out in Caledonia until it’s done.”

  “I understand.”

  “I have to go. Good luck, and thanks. It was a privilege to have you with the team.”

  He shook my hands and bumped shoulders.

  He turned and walked out.

  There was nothing for me to do but putter around and then follow after fifteen minutes.

  I was still worried about DNA or face recognition, but those scarves and hats had worked amazingly well, and whatever they’d done with the pheromones was secure. No one questioned me. I walked through passages, free of any kind of interference, not carrying obvious contraband, and with no ill intent. My war was over.

  A war isn’t over when it’s over.

  CHAPTER 37

  I made a recon survey of the dock before I went back. First I identified as many conduits and accesses as I could. Then I found three that might be passable with a lock pin and a butter knife. Then I walked past entry control several times, making sure they could see more of my face each time. No alarms. That took an entire day cycle.

  I walked through the crew lounge and nodded to a couple of people at random. That afternoon I went back and had a soda and a sandwich.

  The next morning I showed up and looked for transit across-system. I was way behind enemy territory, and I expected something to explode in vapor before this was all over. I’d been given a mission, and it meant getting out of here.

  No one was hiring across system. That required special clearance, and they weren’t allowing transients, only existing in-system craft. They all had local crews.

  I shopped around until I found a good rate for passenger space.

  Then I had a travel interview.

  “Marie Shinabe,” the interviewer said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “From New Skye.”

  “Well, I live in New Skye, officially.”

>   “Yes, I notice you have family in Meiji and in New Liverpool.”

  “I got sick of space and wanted land, but then I keep getting called away.”

  “This says you’re a chef.”

  “Not officially. But I have a fan following. For some reason, rich people like having a private cook.”

  “Do you have a channel or load?” he asked.

  “‘Private,’” I said. “Word of mouth.”

  “For . . . cooking.”

  “I really do cook,” I said. “Presentation matters, but I do an amazing crab bisque with a toast point island and roe clumps.”

  This ID allegedly had a background that said that.

  “What about your veal carbonara?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you it’s amazing, but I don’t eat it myself. Religious reasons.”

  He nodded. He suspected I was half escort, half cook, and he wasn’t terribly far off. He just thought I was in a much higher echelon.

  “Good luck getting home,” he said, as he cleared me onscreen.

  “Thank you,” I said, gratefully. I pointed at the fridge behind his desk. “By the way, if that tomato cheddar soup is for lunch, add a sprinkle each of smoke, pepper, cayenne and cream. You’ll like it.”

  “I’ll give that a try. Thanks.”

  He seemed to believe me, and glad of the food hint.

  Cleared for boarding, I fumbled through the gate like I hadn’t done it a thousand times, then walked slowly to my ship, reading berth numbers as I went. I made a point to take my time. If they caught me now, there was nothing I could do, and I’d be in their system for another three weeks in flight, so there was no reason to rush.

  I’d gotten pretty good at reading threats and slinging bull to cover my ass.

  Araminta was a middling old carrier. She was blocky and functional. I found my way to the hatch and buzzed for the purser.

  “Ms. Shinabe?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Welcome aboard. Your berth is on the far side of the center passage, third back.”

  “Thanks very much.” They had four cabins free. I had no idea who was in the others, if anyone.

  I had only one bag, almost no possessions. Most of what I had here, Teresa had bought for me to make me look like I was a traveler, not the refugee spy I really was. I stowed the bag, plugged my phone in so they could see I was aboard and ready. It was amusing having instructions on how to dock my phone to their net. I’d done that almost as many ways as I’ve had sex. When I got aboard a ship, I docked my phone. I never thought about how.