Jayne was going through the motions. While she was taking off her sandals, her belt and opening her backpack she was very far away. She was a white ball of light moving from one end of a void to another. Voids are infinite. They have no ends. That’s what makes them voids, O had told her class.
And that is how meditation works.
Once her belongings were moving through the matter scanner, Jayne got in line for the cardiometer.
Cardiometers were a new security measure, and Jayne and her crew almost forgot about developing a plan for bypassing them. X-ray scanners and metal detectors had become less and less reliant. The cardiometer detects your heart rate, blood pressure, and activity in your sweat glands. The cardiometer’s alarm went off if a traveler has two of the three functioning above normal levels.
You can’t learn calmness. You can’t learn away nervousness. You can only learn control, O told her class.
Another FBM Officer waved Jayne forward to the cardiometer. “Step forward, ma’am!”
Jayne stepped forward and, as instructed, held her hands out to her sides. Jayne went through the motions, but she was a ball of light looking for the end of the void.
Focus… Focus… Focus…
Each pulse of movement the ball of light that was her consciousness made synced up with her heart rate. Her blood pressure remained low. Her body temperature remained a healthy 97.3 and she did not sweat.
“Is that an ankle brace under your sock?”
The ball of light disintegrated, and Jayne’s peaceful concentration shattered like a two-way mirror. The reality before her once again became very real.
Jayne palmed her forehead in mock embarrassment. “Yeah! It sure is. That’s what I get for having one too many vodka tonics at the roller rink.”
The FMB Officer nodded and turned to his compatriot. Every woman between the age of 20 and 30 with an athletic build and an injured left foot became an immediate suspect. The second Officer listened to the hushed sharing of a concern and nodded. “Could you step through the cardiometer, ma’am?”
Jayne tried her best. She sought an entrance to the void of unconsciousness, she begged for the ball of light, but she wanted it too hard. Her heart rate increased. She could feel the perspiration in her armpits as she raised her arms.
Well, Jayne thought, I’ve broken out of prisons before.
“Miss, is this your bag?”
Jayne jolted, doing nothing to help her conspicuousness, at the FMB agent behind the matter scanner. He held up Jayne’s touristy, bright blue backpack.
The FMB officers positioned at the cardiometer turned their heads, distracted by the question. Jayne took her chance and stepped through the cardiometer.
The panel by the indicator flashed red, bold letters declared “Abnormal Vitals.” But no one was looking at the screen, and no one looked back until it flashed away, ready for the next traveler to step through.
Jayne breathed a huge sigh of relief. She felt her heartrate go down. “Yes sir. Is there a problem?”
The agent gave Jayne a grave nod and pulled out a massive bottle of sunscreen. “I’m afraid you can’t bring this on the shuttle. No liquid containers over four ounces.”
Jayne slumped her shoulders. “Oh, no! Really? If you can’t tell, I don’t tan. I burn.”
“You can buy some at your destination. I’ll have to throw this away.”
Jayne pouted at the two officers who moments before were prepared to hassle her. “Sorry, ma’am. Rules are rules.”
Jayne nodded. “I know, you’re right. Well, guess there’s nothing I can do.” The agent tossed the comically large bottle of sun screen into an incinerator and handed the backpack to Jayne.
Jayne slung the pack over her shoulder. “Thanks for all you do! You guys have a tough job, and I appreciate you.”
The officers waved as Jayne walked away. “Thank you! Have a good trip.”
Jayne stifled a joyous cackle as she headed through the shuttle port food court toward her terminal. Jayne gave herself a mental pat on the back for her sunscreen contingency.
She could use a tan, anyway.
CHAPTER TEN
Whip End River, 60 Miles Outside of Headless Hope, Amaros
Jayne looked out the shuttle window on the glass town of Whip End River below. Whip End’s population of nearly 200,000, and its convenient location between three major Amarosian cities, qualified it for an international shuttle port.
The shuttle port, which occupied nearly a full square mile, accounted for nearly half of Whip End’s economy. The other half lay in sand harvesting for manufacturing glass.
Jayne had never seen it before. “So that’s the Glass Empire,” referring to the city’s nickname. Except she couldn’t see anything. Constant sand harvesting kept Whip End hidden amidst a constant cloud of dust. At best, she could see a few corroded oxygen towers rising above the swirling grey cloud. Whip End’s skyline, when you could see it, was a grid system of oxygen towers pumping clean air from above the clouds down into homes, businesses, and buildings for the citizens. No citizen of Whip End went outside without a filter mask and goggles. The smog of Theron Techcropolis was nothing compared to the harsh dust that swarmed Whip End, which literally cut away at your throat and lungs.
The namesake river had run dry centuries ago, drained for the valuable sediment at the bottom. Antique windows and figurines made from the river basin’s sand now fetched thousands of credits at auctions.
The shuttle circled Whip End for twenty minutes. A cam-feed of the smiling captain appeared on the screens mounted into the back of headrests. “Good afternoon, folks. This is your captain. We’re currently awaiting entry to arrive at Whip End International Shuttle Port. If you could go ahead and shut down any hologram devices and turn off your built-in seat massagers, we’ll be landing shortly. Thank you for flying Moribus Shuttles!”
“Tell me, do you like the taste of shit? No, I’m serious. Answer my question: do you like the taste of shit? Because I am so fucking pissed off at you right now that I want to kick my boot up your ass so far I push all the shit into your stupid, big mouth.”
Oh no, Jayne thought as she looked over at the fat, bald bastard in the 7,000 credit suit who had spent the majority of the flight yelling into his comm. If Jayne didn’t have to stay undercover she would have thrown him off the plane. Hell, maybe she should do it anyway.
The bald bastard held the comm in front of him, spewing his spit as he yelled at the top of his lungs. “I have to turn my comm device off, so I suggest you FIX THIS DEAL before I LAND IN THIS FUCKING ARMPIT OF A TOWN. When I turn my comm back on, this shit better be fixed!” He mashed his finger on the comm until it finally powered down. He glanced at the nun who’d been unfortunate enough to be seated next to him. He grimaced at her. “What the fuck are you looking at?”
Jayne decided throwing Baldy McJerkface off the shuttle would be too good for him. Better to create some long-term embarrassment and frustration. She preemptively crossed off the next item on her to-do list.
Once the shuttle lowered itself onto the aerial dock outside their terminal, the travelers stood up and began the eager push toward the shuttle’s exit.
Jayne grabbed her backpack, making sure to lose balance, trip over the armrest and into the aisle. She landed against the horrible businessman. “Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
He pushed her back with his elbow. “Do you know how much this suit costs, you idiot?”
Jayne shook her head, overdoing it on the apology. “I am so sorry! It’s such a nice suit, I hope I didn’t ruin it.”
The business man just shoved Jayne aside and huffed and puffed his way off the shuttle.
+++
Jayne took the businessman’s comm device out of her pocket. She was happy she got to work in a little pickpocketing on this mission. She would hate for her skills to get rusty. She placed it by the panel of an information kiosk.
There were numerous kiosks stationed all throughout Whip End International Sh
uttle Port, but there were ten times as many travelers. All kinds of people and alien races hustled across the terminal, weaving through each other. Some of the shorter alien species, such as the two-foot tall Quillians, rented stilts for five credits just so they wouldn’t get kicked around by the crowd.
Jayne would need at least five minutes to successfully hack into a kiosk, no doubt while a line built up waiting for her to finish.
She reached down into her tube sock and pulled out a “core-chip”. She plugged it into the stolen comm’s auxiliary port and waited for the two devices to sync.
A Quillian on stilts stood behind her.
Jayne smiled at the small, blue Koala-like creature. “Hey, I’ll just be a minute. There was a mix-up with my tickets.”
The Quillian aggressively hissed at her, his planet’s way of saying, “No worries, take your time.”
Jayne turned back to the kiosk’s panel screen while the core-chip continued doing its job.
Jayne tapped the side of the kiosk. “Come on, come on…” Finally, “Syncing Complete” flashed on the comm device. She now had total access to the directory of every traveler to have passed through WEISP in the last five years. So much for Dean Geiger’s initiatives of hyper-security.
She ran a quick search for Yorgos Costas in the directory. Jayne suspected that the entity who hired her under the name of a dead Academy student must have used the name for travel as well.
And wherever they travelled, Jayne would follow.
Jayne felt another presence join her in line. It was big, bald business bastard. Ah, shit. Any minute now he would reach into his pocket and realize his comm was gone.
The kiosk brought up the most recent itinerary for Yorgos Costas. For a dead man, Yorgos got around. Most recently, Yorgos took a sand-track to Headless Hope. Jayne was relieved Merry was right about that. She wasn’t sure what she would do if ‘Yorgos’ had ventured to another town, city, or planet entirely.
Yorgos took the sand-track to Headless Hope and hopped off at a station called Uma Point.
The business man reached into his pocket. “What the fuck?” He checked his other pockets. He dropped his bag and began to frantically search for his comm.
Jayne had one more detail. She pulled up the biometrics for Yorgos Costas, or, rather, whoever was pretending to be Yorgos Costas. It was yet another information security initiative on behalf of Dean Geiger’s rising influence.
Funny, Jayne thought, that the biggest pain in my ass is also proving to be rather helpful.
Sure enough, Yorgos Costas had been marked with a tattoo on the wrist based on the body scan of their first voyage into Theron Techcropolis, which was several months prior.
Lightning bolt tattoo. Got it. Jayne checked it off in her mind. Now time to get on the next sand-track to Uma Point. Got it. Now, Jayne had to return the comm to this asshole, but not without leaving him a little present first. She couldn’t help herself. With the core-chip still plugged in, she was able to pop into all his accounts. She deleted everything. Every contact, every event in his calendar, every pre-programmed destination. She turned his comm into a blank slate. It may as well have been brand-new. For good measure, she drained the battery, too. That way he wouldn’t discover her dirty trick until she was far away.
He deserved worse but this was the best she could do at such short notice. She reset the information kiosk. Then, she unplugged the core-chip and tossed it into an incinerating receptacle.
Jayne turned to the stilted Quillian behind her. “Thank you for being so patient!” The Quillian screamed at her at roaring, unbearable decibel levels. Jayne smiled. “Oh, thank you! I just decided to shave it all off, try for a new look. And it’s so convenient. Anyway, have a nice day!”
The Quillian stepped up to the kiosk. The businessman had worked himself into a red-faced rage. A vein big enough to pump sewage popped up in his forehead.
Jayne smiled. “Hey! I am so glad I ran into you!”
She held out the comm, which he snapped out of her hand. “Why do you have this?!”
Jayne placed a hand over her heart. “I just picked it up, you must have dropped it in your hurry to get off the shuttle, which I don’t blame you for. I was on my way to take it to lost and found. I am so glad I just ran into you.”
He fiddled with the screen, but it wouldn’t turn on. “How’d the fucking battery die?”
Jayne shrugged. “You know how they make those comms. Always getting us to go buy another one. Anyway… happy travels!”
Jayne disappeared as fast as possible. When that businessman discovered what she did to his phone, she didn’t want to be within the blast radius.
With the soothing mantra of “Uma Point Station” rolling on loop in her mind so she wouldn’t forget, she marched herself to the WEISP’s internal transit system. From there she’d board a sand-track and take the three-hour drive to her final destination: Headless Hope.
+++
Mercury Mk-II sand-track, en route to Headless Hope, Amaros
The windows on the sand-track were useless. If the dust floating around wasn’t enough, the treads propelling the vehicle across the dunes were kicking up enough dirt on their own to block the view.
Jayne tried, but she couldn’t make herself comfortable on the bench-row seats designed for economy and economy only.
At this point, the tourist shtick wasn’t doing Jayne any favors. She was surrounded by laborers being sent out for contract sand-mining work and manifestations of middle-aged sadness venturing into Headless Hope for the gambling.
Jayne felt more than a little out of place. Fortunately, no one was interested in talking to her. Even if anyone wanted to, it would have been impossible to hold a conversation over the rumble of the sand-track’s grinding treads and groaning motor.
Yet, its lulling movement rocked Jayne to sleep. As the interior of the sand-track faded away, Jayne realized she was walking through a sewer. At least it looked and felt like a sewer, and she understood it to be a sewer, but beautiful men and women in evening wear, crisp tuxedos and elegant evening gowns, strolled through the sewer eating hamburgers and drinking milkshakes.
Jayne heard music. The tune was distant, but she could detect the rhythmic crooning of a tortured soul laying bare his deepest fears and desires for an audience.
Jayne sloshed through the sewer. The murky water rose higher and higher as she ventured deeper and deeper into the subterranean labyrinth. The crowd of rich and beautiful hamburger eaters thinned out. Jayne persisted. The music grew louder as the tunnel plunged into darkness.
The sewage was up to Jayne’s neck now. She treaded the foul water, determined to discover who was responsible for this music, the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
She took a deep breath as she sank deeper into the muck. Only her eyes remained above the sewage. She swam around a corner in the tunnel, and the beautiful lights of show business shone down on Jayne.
The floor of the sewer ramped upward and leveled out at the magnificent entrance of a theater. The marquee announced in flashing lights: THE KING.
Jayne climbed out of the sludge. She was filthy, she stunk. She sloshed with each step. A figure emerged from the shadows, for the theater’s glow was the only light in this sewer. It was a little girl. She handed a beautiful, baby blue dress to Jayne before descending into the sewage herself.
Jayne didn’t question the little girl. She innately understood her. Jayne put on the beautiful gown. She was suddenly clean and fresh, the stench of waste washed free.
A white-gloved doorman in a red uniform opened the theater doors for Jayne. “You’re just in time for the final act, Jayne! Hurry!” He smiled and bowed as Jayne walked past him.
Jayne felt an urgency once she stood in the theater’s magnificent and ornate lobby. She ran across the mirror-clean marble floors. She nearly lost her balance in her high-heels. When did she put on high heels?
She opened the door into the theater. It was empty. The man on stage performe
d to no one. His voice filled the massive room with warmth.
The music worked its spell on Jayne. She floated down the aisle toward the front row. The King sang. He looked down, his quivering pompadour blocking the view of his face. The stage lights shimmered off the details on his white jumpsuit.
He sang into a microphone, yet Jayne realized she could not understand the lyrics. There was a conflict between understanding that he sang words, real words, and yet none of them made sense.
The song reached a crescendo. The King belted the final refrain, ending the song on a note of embittered resignation.
He looked up from his microphone. Burrett. He smiled at Jayne. “Hello, Jayne.”
The theater erupted into flames, and Jayne woke up on the sand-track, now only an hour away from Headless Hope.
Jayne had suffered through several exhausting months of nightmares haunted by Burrett following his cryogenic imprisonment. It had been a long time since he last tormented her dreams. Now was a hell of a time for her subconscious to revive that little preoccupation.
Jayne wiped crust from her eyes. She stretched as best she could on the cramped bench seat. She managed to crack her back. It felt good.
She looked out the small window by her seat. The dust was gone now, and she could see rolling grassy hills.
The view was crushingly dull and boring, except for a pack of six magne-cycles zooming over the hills toward the sand-track.
Jayne pulled down on her lower eyelids, trying to wake up. “That’s weird.”
The magne-cycle gang moved at break-neck speed directly for the sand-track. The two riders at the front loosened grappling-hooks affixed to chains from winches on the front of their bikes. They were all wearing masks.
Jayne nodded. “And that’s bad.”
The sand-track’s driver shifted gears and floored it. He grabbed his intercom and shouted over the engine’s deafening roar. “Bandits to our north. Lock down and hold steady.” He hung up the speaker on his dashboard, reached between the front seats and pulled out a pulse-gun.
Exposed (Interplanetary Spy for Hire Book 2) Page 11