by Jaxon Reed
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Dirk set about quickly reestablishing himself in the criminal underworld.
His building and everything in it was seized by the police and AOJ agents. That meant the loss of equipment, weapons, and hundreds of thousands in credit tokens stored in various safes. He was also out half a dozen men.
But other than that, physically at least he remained in good shape.
Dirk was not part of the Burgomeisters, nor was he a member of the Order of Aristarchus, another big criminal gang in Octavia. But he was a notorious black market arms merchant. And as such, he had developed a number of contacts in both the large groups comprising Octavia’s underworld.
It was now time, Dirk thought, to cash in on some favors certain people owed him.
He walked for blocks and blocks, unwilling to take any public transportation. Dressed in his traditional bathrobe with pajama bottoms and slippers, he would stick out on a bus anyway. Here on the streets with the other bums, no one paid him any mind.
Fortunately, he thought, scanners and cameras were few and far between in the Projects. He had little worries about being tracked or monitored by law enforcement.
At last he found the building he wanted, a nondescript structure on the edge of the impoverished neighborhood’s borders.
He walked up to the door and waited outside, not bothering to knock or look for an access pad. The security for this location would notice him soon enough, he thought.
After a moment the door swished open and a guard bot looked at him. A pre-war model, it featured a spherical head and round red eyes with a slit for a mouth. Supposedly they were easier to disable than the newer ones. But, Dirk thought, they more than a match for someone like him with no weapons handy at the moment.
He said, “I’m here to see Spargle.”
From inside, a voice called out, “Let him in, let him in.”
The bot obediently moved out of the way, leaving the door open, and Dirk walked inside. The door swished shut behind him.
A man looking to be in his mid-70s greeted him, sticking his hand out to shake Dirk’s. His hair was thin and starting to gray. He wore slacks and a casual shirt. In fact, everything appeared casual about him. Though his clothes were out of fashion, they were designer labels and looked quite expensive.
He wore stylish eyeglasses tinted light blue. They looked old style, based on Victorian examples if Dirk’s guess was correct. The only modern thing about them was the futuristic tint instead of a more vintage brown. It offered a modern-anachronistic look, like those flying cars modeled after 20th century Detroit automobiles some people enjoyed.
“Dirk! How’s my favorite merchant? Word on the street is your compound got attacked. You’re alright, obviously. I saw fire trucks flying by earlier and I wondered.”
“I made it, Carl. I was hoping to borrow a secure terminal so I could reallocate some resources.”
“Certainly, certainly old friend. You know, without you and your weapons, I would never have been able to complete some of my most lucrative contracts back in the day.”
“I know. It’s one of the reasons I came here first. That, and it’s easy walking distance.”
“Who did this terrible thing to you, Dirk? Who did this?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” Dirk lied. “But once I regain my resources, I’ll have a much better idea.”
He was not ready to confide in anyone just yet, much less a former customer. Carl Spargle was one of his earliest and most reliable clients, although he had not purchased anything in years. Dirk figured he had retired.
“Well, when you are ready, Dirk, when you are ready, you can count on the Order. We will be happy to fulfill any contract you wish to place.”
For the right amount of money, Dirk thought. The Order of Aristarchus was well known for being willing to kill anyone, if the price was right. Lower sums might bring out one or two desperate for cash or trying to prove their chops, but it took higher bounties for more experienced killers to bother taking a contract.
Out loud he said, “Thank you. For now, accessing my accounts will be adequate.”
“Certainly, certainly. Come, use my terminal.”
As they walked deeper inside, Dirk cast a glance over his shoulder at the old guard bot.
“You really should upgrade your home defenses, Carl. That model is practically ancient. Newer ones are much more difficult to take down.”
“Oh, haha! Look at you, trying to make a sale even now. No, my metal friend there is of very high quality, I assure you. I like older things. They’re more reliable. And he has always performed to my satisfaction, he has. These old bots respond quickly.”
Dirk shrugged skeptically and followed Spargle.
“Do you need somewhere to stay, Dirk? To stay?”
“Maybe. At least for a day or two.”
He looked around at the dated furniture and wondered just how long it had been since his old friend accepted a contract. Everything looked old and unused.
That evening, a drone made a delivery to the building. The guard bot stood by as the door swished open, and Dirk collected a package containing several weapons and a change of clothes.
14
“How long, uh . . . how long is he going to stay there like that?” Jamieson said, pointing at Boggs.
The agent sat completely still under the dome covering his head, his vital signs appearing in a holo above the chair just like Bainer’s one seat over.
Bainer likewise sat stock still.
Hsu said, “Well, obviously, he went back to earlier this morning. And, it’s the afternoon right now. His clone just disapparated. So . . . six hours or so?”
“Wow. And . . . where did his clone go? Did he teleport out of here or something?”
Hsu rubbed his nose.
He said, “So, bear in mind this is the first time I’ve seen the machine fully operational. Before the war picked up in earnest is the last time we had the opportunity to tweak things on this project. And at that time, Mr. Bainer here was in charge of figuring out what to do with the used clone blanks once a person completes their sojourn in the past.”
Jamieson frowned and said, “I see.”
He glanced at Collier to find out what she thought, but her brows were furrowed too.
He said, “No, I guess I don’t really see. What happens to the used clones?”
Collier said, “Yes. What did Mr. Bainer come up with?”
Hsu said, “From what I understand, he managed to get a duplicate hominid exception built into a subroutine for PLAIR. What that means is, once the quantum connection is broken between a person’s consciousness and their clone in the past, PLAIR simply ports it back to our clone bank. There, its molecules are broken down for reprocessing.
“It’s supposed to be very neat and efficient. A person withdraws their consciousness from the past, and the clone simply ports away to be reused, along with its accouterments.”
Collier gave Jamie an expression indicating amusement and disgust at the same time.
Jamieson shrugged and said, “So, I guess we’ve got a while. Want to grab some coffee while we wait for Mortie to finish rooting around in the past?”
“Sure. Maybe you can tell me some war stories about my partner.”
“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of embarrassing stories I can share with you about Boggs. Sarge, too. Well, most of the ones about Sarge involve us getting embarrassed, one way or the other.”
The PI and the agent wandered off to find a coffee shop on the extensive Republican Shipworks grounds while Hsu went back to work in his office.
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Several hours later the elevator dinged open. Jamieson and Collier walked out. The last few employees present in the large room traded places with them in the pod, heading for home.
Dr. Hsu waved from across the room and they joined him by the door to the time travel chamber.
“By my calculations, it is almost time for Mr. Boggs to bring his conscious self back to the present.”
&n
bsp; The door swished open and he let them walk in first.
Inside, the two men remained sitting in their respective seats, their vital signs displayed above.
Jamieson said, “So, what do we do? Just wait for him to snap out of it?”
“That is correct,” Hsu said. “We think that persons using the interface must bring themselves back, otherwise he or she runs the risk of experiencing neural damage.”
“Okay.”
The three of them stood watching Boggs, but nothing happened. The vital signs continued displaying above his head.
“So, any minute now, right?” Collier said.
Hsu touched his implant, bringing up his internal clock.
He said, “Yes. In fact, we know for certain he should be coming out of it . . . this very minute.”
They all looked at Boggs.
Nothing happened.
“That does it,” Jamieson said. “I’m waking him up.”
He took a step toward Boggs and the chair.
Hsu said, “No! Mr. Jamieson, we don’t know—”
“Wake up! Snap out of it, buddy!”
Jamieson shook his friend’s shoulder.
“Huh? Wha?”
Boggs lifted the dome covering his head and looked around, confused and bleary eyed for a moment.
He said, “Aw, man! What a ride! When word of this contraption gets out, Doc, you’re going to make a fortune. Or someone will. Maybe Mr. Kraft. But it is one phenomenal experience.”
He turned to Jamieson and said, “I went back in the past, man! I shot you this morning.”
Jamieson blinked and said, “That was you?”
“Yeah. What a wimp. You hit the deck like an army of LEAF soldiers had appeared. You shoulda seen the look on your face!”
Jamieson scowled at him.
He said, “You just better be glad I had on a blaster-proof jacket. Or at least, blaster resistant. I’m not sure how good that Kelvingarb stuff really is.”
“Relax. I already knew you didn’t get hurt. Besides, these AOJ guns are pitiful. Sarge already got us outfitted with new ones that pack more of a punch.”
Hsu stared at Boggs while he talked with lines of concern in his face.
“You are . . . alright, Agent Boggs? You are certain?”
Boggs glanced up at the holo showing his vital signs, including brainwaves.
He said, “Never better, Doc.”
“Hm. We have not ‘awakened’ Mr. Bainer out of fear that doing so would cause extensive neural damage. However, you have suffered none. Most curious.”
Collier said, “What made you think neural damage would occur, Dr. Hsu?”
“Not a ‘what,’ Agent Collier. A ‘who.’ Mr. Bainer himself assured me that irreparable brain damage would likely occur if a subject were suddenly brought back to present consciousness. However . . . we’ve just seen that is not true.”
He walked back to the control panel and began pulling up old data on the holo.
“Hm. Yes, I see here the simulation results. They do not, in fact, indicate neural damage is a significant risk. I should have checked the data myself. It’s just, with the war starting there were so many other things going on . . .”
Everyone looked at Bainer in the chair and the holo displaying his vital signs.
Collier said, “Could he by lying about other things as well?”
No one answered. They all stared at the man.
Boggs said, “Well . . . it didn’t hurt me.”
Before anyone could stop him he walked up to Bainer and shook his shoulder.
“Hey, Mr. Bainer! Wake up!”
Bainer jerked, his vitals on the holo jumping as conscious thought returned to the present.
He threw up the hood and looked around the room, his head jerking to the left and the right.
“Calm down, okay?” Boggs said. “You’re back. You’re back in the present. Take a deep breath.”
Bainer stared at Boggs and he locked eyes with him for a moment.
He slugged Boggs in the chin, knocking him backward.
Bainer raced for the door and ran out into the larger room.
15
The next morning Jock McDaniel went to work, and Stormy sat down for a light breakfast of eggs and toast with orange juice.
She had the place to herself. It was fully stocked with groceries, the kind she liked. A drone delivered them earlier. She did not really care what Jock ate. If she bought food, it would be the kind she liked.
Truth to tell, McDaniel did not care either so long as Stormy stayed in his life. He was hooked, completely head over heels in love with her. If she asked, he would quit work and stay at home with her all day.
But she insisted he leave. She told him she liked men who were gainfully employed and hinted that for a long-term relationship to work he would be expected to provide for her by maintaining his full time job.
He liked that idea, professing to be a traditionalist. He kissed her long and hard before leaving.
Fortunately, she thought, Jock worked too far away to come home for lunch very often. It was all she could do to get him out of the flat that morning so she could have some privacy.
After breakfast she changed her face and walked out of the flat, avoiding public transit. She made her way to the bus station and the lockers she had rented.
She opened one and retrieved her backpack. Then she rented another and placed a large amount of tokens inside, sealing it shut with a simple combination.
Then she left, taking her backpack, and went looking for a gaming center.
She found one a few blocks away and asked the teenager manning the desk for a private booth.
Here, she opened her backpack again and took out one of the blank implants she had retrieved, ironically, from Dirk’s place.
With a compact mirror and a razor blade, she made a quick incision under her ear and slid the implant in. Then she covered it with a bandage and swallowed a low grade nanobots pill.
The pills were slower than injections, but for minor cuts like this, they would do.
Activating the implant, she made some adjustments and jumped onto the neural net, using the game center’s node to access the vast array of online worlds available to anyone willing to pay for the privilege of exploring them.
She headed to Honor Guard, one of the most popular games at the moment.
Contrary to conventional wisdom, criminal elements did not often dwell in lightly traveled portions of the net.
Well, perhaps some do, Stormy thought. But she certainly did not
No, she dwelled in popular online hangouts, betting that monitoring them was made much more difficult by their heavy use.
She assumed her online persona in Honor Guard, a younger and far more buxom version of herself, with blond hair reaching down to her ankles.
She glanced in a mirror inside the game’s starting point.
If one could look like anything in a game, everyone chose to look fabulous she thought with a smile.
Her avatar wore shiny red-streaked ebony armor with an image of a black widow on the front. Strapped to either side, she carried Werlton Whizbang Weapons.
These extra long high-powered pistols stretched into holsters reaching down her thigh-high boots almost to her knees. They were purely fictitious, without a real world counterpart, but considered quite deadly in the game.
Satisfied all was in place, she walked through the door and stepped out of the porting center into a large open area crowded with other players entering the game.
She headed under a large holo sign that read “Arrivals,” and followed the crowd out into the main town square.
Here, a large cylindrical message board towered over the crowd with another sign above it reading “Quests.” Many of the newcomers walked over to check the board, looking for tasks to increase their experience or income in the game.
Stormy ignored the quest board, heading instead for the many bars and brothels lining the public square.
&nbs
p; She walked into one of the smaller establishments, passing through swinging saloon doors and into dimmer light. The bar was angled, one side running straight from the door and the other parallel to the street with windows opening to the sidewalk.
A few card games were in progress near the windows while a handful of men sat on stools at the bar.
She eyed one old man in particular, seated as far from the door as possible.
Stormy walked over and sat next to him without preamble.
“Hey baby, can I buy you a drink?”
She looked up at a stout man with upper arms the size of a tree trunk. He had a wicked looking laser gun strapped to his back crossed with an antique AK-47, a popular weapon in the game.
A big beefy face with sagging jowls leered at her as he examined her avatar’s chest closely.
“No thank you.”
“I don’t think you understand, baby. I’m going to buy you a drink and— Urk!”
She drew one of her long pistols and stuck it in his nose, the barrel poking into a nostril.
The gun made a Weeeeeee sound as it charged up, with her finger lightly touching the trigger.
“I said, ‘No thank you.’”
The old man at the bar chuckled.
He said, “Be careful, boy. That’s a 3W she’s got there. It’ll blow your head clean off.”
“Okay, okay!”
The giant man took a step back, his hands raised to his sides in a calming gesture.
“I just wanted to buy you a drink, that’s all. Sheesh!”
He slinked back to the card games, casting a baleful glance over his shoulder.
Stormy holstered the gun and signaled the bartender, who came over with his eyebrows raised.
“Whiskey.”
He nodded and set out a shot glass. He came back a moment later and filled it.
The old man smiled at her. She wondered again, as she had in the past, if he was a real person or just an NPC the Order of Aristarchus had hacked. Every time she came here to discuss things with them, he was here.
She said, “Hello, Tarleton.”
“Stormy.”
If Tarleton was real, she decided, whoever was on the other end spent an awful lot of time in the game. Perhaps they took shifts. The avatar would appear the same regardless who controlled him in real life.