by Mark Wandrey
Luckily, the hold had been pressurized. Using tiny taps at several locations, the module could replenish air, and even water. There had to be some of either for it to work, though. Worse, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to get into the module if they tried. It was designed to look like a standard Transpac, and thus was made from common materials. Even the basic model was designed to be moved through starports and space stations without drawing attention to itself.
“If they don’t drop us off, they can just as easily cut in and see what’s inside,” Sato explained, then shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it if they do, but I doubt they will.”
“Why’s that, sir?”
“Because I forged the orders from Colonel Alexis Cromwell herself.” Sato heard talking and held up a hand. The audio feed was picked up from more tiny sensors on the outside of the container and fed into the control system, then to his pinplants via a hard wire. It was too risky to use a wireless transmitter. After all, Virginia Hall was an intelligence cutter, and her master would be extra observant.
The container thumped several times as magnetic grapnels were attached, then the occupants felt their temporary home moving slowly in one direction, then in another.
“In a moment, we’ll know,” Sato said.
His view from the miniature cameras was basic at best, a very narrow bandwidth of data through almost microscopic electrical lines he’d embedded in the container walls. You’d have to be looking specifically to spot them. He hoped so, anyway. If they caught him, it probably wouldn’t end well. He consoled himself that this was the last time he would be forced to betray former allies.
Sato watched on his pinplants as their module was maneuvered to the side of Virginia Hall’s tiny hold, then to the door, which was standing open. In moments they were moved outside, then other grapnels took the module and moved it onto a stack of others, where it was magnetically locked into place.
“Success,” he told Rick. The suit nodded in understanding.
“Now what?”
“We wait for Virginia Hall to undock.”
Now that they were inside a large cargo dock, Sato had a much better view of their surroundings. There were cameras on all six sides of the module, and only three were blocked. Virginia Hall was at one of a dozen cargo docks where cargo could be loaded and offloaded. He could see there were various sizes, from the small one his module had been moved through, up to those big enough for the entire intelligence cutter to maneuver through. He began to believe he knew where they were.
In less than an hour, the lock to Virginia Hall closed, and the status lights ringing it flashed green several times, then went out, signifying the other side was exposed to vacuum. Their ride had left. “Okay,” he said. “We just need to be sure nobody is watching.”
As they’d waited, he’d packed a pair of duffel bags with everything he wanted to take along. The orders he’d forged had instructed the captain to pay to store the container for a year at their destination. Of course Sato didn’t know what the destination was, though Alexis Cromwell would certainly have known. For his purposes, it didn’t really matter. The storage fee wouldn’t be too much, and stacked against his other crimes in fleeing the Hussars, he doubted a couple hundred credits would make it any worse.
Sato made sure both their bags were ready, then checked the cameras again. A pair of bots checking on a power connection to a module 50 meters away were the only things that would have a view. Standard surveillance didn’t concern him. Computers weren’t smart enough to ask questions, and nobody would check the recordings unless someone came looking for him, or perhaps when the storage fee ran out. He’d be long gone by then.
“Ready,” Sato said.
“Right,” Rick replied and took both bags. The cargo bay was in zero G, but the bags were still nearly 100 kilograms each. The mass would be difficult for Sato to maneuver but would provide no challenge for Rick. He looked around a final time. There were several cases of gear still in the container, stuff he would be unlikely to need. He’d come back for them later.
Time to go.
Sato keyed in the release sequence with his pinplants, then disconnected the hard link. The module went into standby, the lights went out, and they were plunged into total darkness. An instant later, a pop sound indicated the doors were unlocked, and a hiss spoke of equalizing pressure. He drifted over to them, grabbed a handhold to the side of the doors, and pushed them slowly open. The cargo bay wasn’t well insulated, and the cold flooded into the module. He only felt it on his face, as he was wearing a Hussars-issue ship duty uniform, which was both insulated and airtight. He’d even fixed the LSU, or life support unit, to the belt and had the helmet under his arm.
No one seeing the two float out of the cargo module would give them a second glance. Sato had changed the color of his suit from the Hussars’ black and gold to a pale green, which would blend right in. The other figure looked like he was wearing a poorly fitted spacesuit, helmet in place. Any observers would note both were very much at home in zero gravity as they expertly pushed off to land by one of the cargo bay exits.
A pair of elSha were manning the doors. One was reading something on his slate, and the other was staring blankly, a sure sign he was using his pinplants. Neither so much as looked up. They were making sure nobody entered the bay without authorization. Anyone leaving was obviously already authorized to be in there. Sato floated past them and into the bustling corridor beyond.
As luck would have it, a Human was talking to a badger-like Cochkala. Rick got the Human’s attention. “Can you tell me what station this is?”
“You don’t know where you are?” the Cochkala asked. Amusement carried through the translator program in Sato’s pinplants.
“Been a long trip,” Sato said.
“Karma Station,” said the Human, an almost skeletally thin woman, likely a lifelong spacer. Without intermittent nanite treatments, her bones would have been as brittle as a 100-year-old’s. She barely took any notice of Sato’s features, but she gave Rick’s spacesuit a long look. “What’s that guy’s problem?”
“He got burned really badly a few years ago. Plasma discharge in engineering. Over 90% of his body.”
“Nanites didn’t help?”
“They can’t regrow charred skin. The grafts saved him, but…” Sato shrugged. He grinned wryly. “Wanna see?”
“Fuck, no,” the woman said and made a rude gesture. “Take off, I’m trying to make a deal.”
Rick and Sato pushed away from the pair. The Cochkala said he would like to see the burns, but they were already moving away quickly.
“The cover story seems sufficient,” Rick said through the spacesuit speaker.
“No reason it wouldn’t,” Sato said. “However, I’m going to shelve that take a look bit. We can’t have someone call us on that one.” Rick gave a noncommittal grunt as they moved along. Sato considered as they moved. Maybe he could do something about that…
He’d half suspected it was Karma Station by the size of the cargo bay. True, it could equally have been Piquaw or even Sulaadar, though the latter was less likely as it was a long jump from New Warsaw. Karma was a good bet, and the most common staging area for non-warships coming from and going to New Warsaw. Warships were ordered to take multiple routes, thus reducing the chance of someone trying to set an ambush or tracking them home.
“We staying here for a while?” Rick asked.
“Just until I find us transport,” Sato explained.
“You mind if I look around, sir?”
Sato glanced at him for a moment, staring at the spacesuit’s reflective dome bubble. He had no idea what Rick’s mental state really was. However, he also didn’t control his travel companion. He could find him if he needed to, and vice versa. “Sure, let’s just get a room while I make arrangements, then you can go do whatever you want.” Rick’s suit nodded, and they headed for the nearest glideway up to the gravity decks.
* * * * *
Chapter Two
>
Rick walked along the third ring main promenade of Karma Station, remembering memories he knew weren’t really his. To him, he’d last been here only a little over a year ago, shortly after leaving Earth aboard Coronado. His first mercenary company, Mickey Finn, had been forced to let him go from their cadre company when work had dried up. Broke and with nowhere to go, he’d signed aboard the free trader Coronado in exchange for passage to Karma.
Everything had gone fine for the first part of the trip. He’d earned his keep by helping aboard ship in any way possible, including learning to move cargo. They’d visited Mars and the Jovian system of planets before eventually taking the stargate out-system. They visited the 82 Eridani system and traded with New Mecca, then on to Karma. It was upon arriving in Karma that his life went sideways.
Coronado had been ambushed by pirates. Pushtal—huge felinoids resembling Bengal tigers that were once a merc race like Humans—now mainly made their living doing whatever shit jobs they could find or just stealing stuff. They’d ambushed Coronado just after she’d appeared in Karma’s emergence point as she was coasting toward the station.
The assault came via stealth. Carefully docking with the nearly unarmed merchant ship, the felines had intended to take the ship by surprise and have their way with the occupants and cargo. Rick had realized what was happening and mounted a one-man defense. He’d defeated the boarding party, only to suffer a horrendous head wound from a laser weapon.
Captain Holland, Coronado’s master, had Rick treated with medical nanites. They saved his life, but couldn’t fix all the damage. Rick had been left with partial amnesia from the trauma, as well as having lost the ability to feel most emotions. He landed on Karma Station alive, yet missing a big part of who he was.
From there, he’d signed on with the Winged Hussars as a private in their shipboard marine force. He’d felt a glimmer of happiness through the fog of the injury. Then he’d met Nemo, the Hussars’ Wrogul surgeon, who handled all their pinplant work…and the next thing he remembered was waking up staring at Sato.
I was dead, he thought as he walked the familiar promenade. He’d spent two weeks on the station. He and Sato had rented a room in the same hotel, as a matter of fact. It catered to Humans and other races with similar biological requirements, which apparently totaled 113 other races. I was killed in a boarding action. Sato had recordings from the other boarding members, relayed back from the CASPers to Pegasus. They’d gone to recover possible intel, but it had been a trap, costing his entire squad their lives. Including my girlfriend.
The last part was a bigger surprise than finding out he was…what? Not a clone, certainly, not if he understood the process. But he wasn’t the original. “There’s no biological difference between you and the original,” Sato had explained. “No scientific method known could tell the difference.” Rick had been regrown, cell by cell, complements of a semi-sentient plant species known as Bregalad.
“Nemo has several he uses as sort of assistants in his lab work,” Sato said. “They can manipulate biological matter like a child does building blocks. No, I don’t know how or why, but Nemo used them to make a copy of you.”
It was Rick’s brain injury, apparently. Sometime later, after Rick had been with the Hussars for a time, he’d gone to Nemo for therapy. The Wrogul could perform what Humans might call psychic surgery. Two of their tentacles could, in essence, reach through flesh and bone to manipulate a body’s internal organs. It was this talent that made the Wrogul the galaxy’s preeminent pinplant doctors. Only Rick had died before Nemo could finish fixing the damage, and Nemo didn’t like leaving things undone. Thus, he’d made a new Rick, a copy taken from a sample extracted during Rick’s pinplant procedure.
“The Wrogul are exotics,” Sato said. “Exotic species in the galaxy are a minority making up only about 1% of all races. Most are exotics because they have biochemical processes that are completely incompatible with Humans. The Izlians are one. They live at temps around 50 Kelvin, and at a pressure that would kill Humans, not to mention their atmosphere could dissolve our bones. Others are like the Jeha, insect species whose psychologies are so inHuman we can barely work together. Wrogul are both.
“They might look like cute octopi, but their biochemistry is quite astounding, and they’re completely amoral. Any morality they have, they learned from others. All the Wrogul we know of came from the planet Azure, where a little colony lives side by side with a Human colony. Nemo left a long time ago and apparently didn’t absorb as much humanity as his siblings.”
Rick didn’t know whether he was grateful to Nemo for resurrecting him, or not. It was good to be alive, there was no doubt; however, his present situation was far from ideal. His brain wasn’t damaged, as it had been at the moment of his ‘sampling,’ but the impression Nemo had taken of Rick’s brain at the time was missing his more recent memories. Rick could feel emotions, but he still had the memory loss.
“Nemo said it might fall into place; he wouldn’t know without more experimentation. I didn’t think that was a good idea.” Rick had to agree.
So he wasn’t quite himself as he walked along the promenade, pretending to be interested in the shops. He didn’t have a Yack, so none of the advertisements could key in on him based on past purchases. Instead, he was assailed with random Tri-V projected enticements. A simple scanner could tell there was a Human under the spacesuit, so he was offered everything from cocaine grown on a Human colony, to sexual favors from a robot that was “guaranteed to provide favorable sexual organ stimulation or your credits back!”
Rick wasn’t interested in having his sexual organ stimulated by a robot, even if it was guaranteed to be favorable. He reached a glideway and took it up to the next higher level, where gravity was a third lighter. The ring was full of commercial offices and light industrial concerns. He rode a conventional elevator up one building and walked to an office entrance. As he approached, it flashed, “Available For Rent! Contact C1199-Karma Beta 2 For Details.”
“Huh,” he said and stared at the display. Behind the glowing Tri-V he could see where a name had been painted, then removed. “Winged Hussars—Personnel.” Rick ran his hands across the chipped paint. The name had been removed months ago, or longer. He’d been here only weeks previously; he’d sat in a waiting room full of prospective hires, including a pair of overly loud Oogar, and…
He cocked his head and squinted. Another alien had been there. The memory was like looking through fog. It made his tongue itch. He shook his head and turned away. There was nothing for him here. Rick headed back down to the ring where his hotel was. As he rode the glideway, he berated himself.
What did you think you would find? Even if the Hussars’ office was still there, you couldn’t just walk in. You’re here for Sato. Despite some of the things his benefactor had said, Rick couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d somehow been rescued from Nemo. He looked down at the spacesuit over his hands, turning them over, then making a fist. With a sigh, he got off the glideway back on the promenade where he’d started—where it had all seemingly started. His journey wasn’t over. Not yet, anyway.
* * *
Working out his next step proved more complicated than Sato had expected. He’d harvested nine one-million-credit chits from the lockbox off Citation, a lot more than he’d been expecting. He’d been trying to estimate how much his salary with the Hussars had been, largely without success. He knew it was less than 100,000 a year, and he’d been with the Hussars for 19 years before he’d left. He also knew all the money he’d earned had been deposited on his Yack, which was back in New Warsaw.
He’d never even considered taking the identity/account card with him. The Winged Hussars’ intelligence network, coupled with the Golden Horde’s information gathering service, was second to none. Sure, they’d completely missed the coming war against the Mercenary Guild, but so had everyone else. He knew they wouldn’t miss him spending credits from that card. So, on his own at Karma Station, with no ID and no elect
ronic assets, his first step was obvious.
They’d been on the station for four days when Sato decided he couldn’t put it off any longer. Once he’d woken up, had a shower, and had gotten some breakfast from the room’s autochef, he found Rick in his own room of the suite. As usual, Rick was sitting in the only Human-formed chair in the room, apparently asleep or deep in thought.
“Rick?”
“Yes, sir?” Rick answered immediately.
“You don’t have to call me sir. Sato is fine.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sato sighed. “I have to go out and…do a few things. Will you be okay?”
“I’m going with you, sir.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Yes, sir, it is.” Rick stood and went to the room’s sole storage closet. From inside, he took what Sato could only describe as a classic black monk’s robe. He flipped it over his metallic shoulders, settled it into place with a silver clasp around the neck, then put the hood up. When he was done, all that could be seen of him were his armored feet and hands. The face was hidden as well, though a subdued blue glow emanated even in the dim interior hotel lights.
“Where did you get that?” Sato wondered. He hadn’t given Rick any money yet. In fact, he still only had the nine million-credit chits, which you couldn’t exactly pop into a vending machine.
“Found it lying around,” Rick said, and one of the blue glowing eyes blinked on and off.
Sato opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. “Why are you insisting on going along?”
“Because you’re about to do something illegal.”
Sato blanched. “What makes you think I’m doing something illegal?”