by Thomas Webb
Shane had read the file they’d compiled on her. Educated on Velus, she’d immigrated here to Luna and worked her way up through the ranks of ULS. Ten years in, she’d been promoted to the respectable position of lead accounting officer. Then suddenly, two years ago, she’d been made head of Interplanetary Accounting, complete with a new title, more access, and, according to her banking records, more credits than even her lofty position warranted.
Too much money, too fast. To Shane it had been a red flag. One soon confirmed by Silvio and the intelligence analysts on loan from the UNIA.
Talia V’Trasta was a perfect candidate to turn. She possessed a rare combination of access to ULS, and a weakness they could exploit via whatever secret she was hiding. They just had to find out what it was.
They’d begun by watching her from afar, clocking her movements. Then, two days ago, they’d commenced surveillance operations outside the Luna corporate headquarters of ULS itself.
The building and the offices were locked up tight, with more security than most Forward Operating bases Shane had been on. The team experienced firsthand how tight the United Les Space corporate security was. They and their UNIA resources had tried—and failed—to hack into the company’s data net.
“I have her,” Kris‘nac whispered. “She is headed away from the ULS building. She is not returning to her office.”
Shane perked up at that. Ever since they’d been here on Earth’s moon, the Velusian woman’s schedule had been set in stone. Home, office, coffee at midmorning, then back to her office. If that had changed, it meant something was up.
“Stay Sharp,” Lima said. “She has changed her pattern. We need to see where she goes.”
“I’m Oscar Mike,” Gina said. “Headed down to pick up the revolving tail now. Over.”
“Understood Razor Two,” Lima relied. The old man was quarterbacking the operation from a remote office several blocks away. “Valkyrie-we need you to back Razor Four. Razor Two is heading toward your position. QRF—you will hold position until further notice. But be prepared to move.”
Kris’nac’s callsign was Razor Four. As second in command of Hale’s ground team, Gina was Razor Two. And the QRF, or Quick Reaction Force, consisted of Hale and Lash.
“Roger that.” Hale’s gruff voice sounded in her ear.
Shane stood and stowed her data pad with as much casual indifference as she could muster. She scanned a few credits from a fake account for her latte, then stepped away from the small café. She caught sight of Gina exit the apartment building across the street, then blend in with the influx of human, alien, and AI beings that filled the domed moon city.
Their target ambulated half a block ahead of them. Shane lost her in the crowd, but caught sight of Kris’ grey cloak fluttering in her wake. If the revolving tail worked as they’d planned then Shane, Kris, and Gina would each rotate at regular intervals. One of them would remain with the target at all times while the other two dropped back. If all went well the target would never spot the tail, and neither the target or anyone else on the street would be the wiser.
That was if all went according to plan. Assuming past experience was any indication of future performance, it was a very big ‘if.’
Gina and Kris were elite soldiers, and Shane was one of the best pilots ever to strap into a cockpit, but what none of them were was a trained intelligence operative. In that aspect they were talented amateurs at best, albeit talented amateurs under the tutelage of Silvio Lima, a master of intergalactic tradecraft.
Shane followed at a safe distance before increasing her pace. She passed a group of noisy Salusian tourists, their pink skin shining beneath the light of Luna’s false sky. Kris fell back as Shane approached closer, moving fluidly among the crowd so that Shane could keep the target in sight. The Tauranian gave a subtle nod in the target’s direction. Shane followed where Kris indicated, spotting the middle-aged Velusian woman several meters ahead. The target’s tentacles moved over the duracrete sidewalk at a brisk clip. Shane noticed her looking over her shoulder, glancing in each direction. Her breathing gills fluctuated rapidly.
“Something’s off with her body language,” Shane remarked. “She seems nervous.”
“Is the target on to us?” Lima asked.
“I don’t think so,” Shane said. She was glad for the extra precaution of the three-way revolving tail. “But she seems skittish. Something’s got her spooked.“
“Copy Valkyrie,” Lima said. “Can we get a bio read on her?”
“Negative,” Shane replied, giving a slight shake of her head. “I’m too far away.”
“Understood,” Lima said. “See if you can get close enough for biometrics to confirm.”
Shane flitted through the crowd, moving as close to the target as she dared.
“Maintain your spacing,” Lima commanded. He had a view of the action through Shane’s optics. “We only need three meters distance. That is close enough.”
Shane pulled something from her pocket. She gripped the small handheld device and activated it. She waited a beat while the scanner did its magic. When she felt the device vibrate, she touched the side of her sunglasses, bringing up the holographic HUD.
“Sending results to you now, TOC.”
“Received Valkyrie,” Lima said. “Biometrics confirm. Her heart rate shows a marked increase. And her internal temperature has spiked. Something is wrong. All elements-maintain current spacing and distance and stay on the target. Keep her close.”
Double clicks all around acknowledged Lima’s order. Shane followed the woman at a distance, never losing sight of her. V’Trasta still seemed oblivious to their presence, but looked to be growing more agitated.
“Razor Two to Valkyrie,” Gina said. “Ready for the switch. Over.”
“Valkyrie to Razor Two. We’re a go.”
Shane slowed her pace before discreetly dropping back. Shane watched Gina pass, taking a second to admire her ass in the jeans and synthetic leather motorcycle jacket she wore. She watched as Gina followed the target for about a block, before she and Kris repeated the same conversation and revolved out again. Wherever Talia V’Trasta was headed, it definitely wasn’t back to her sixtieth-floor corner office.
After a few more blocks the cityscape began to change. The sleek office buildings, restaurants, and stores became less bright. The crowded sidewalks, filled with beings from every allied planet, began to thin, eventually giving way to near-deserted streets.
“TOC to all elements,” Lima said. “Keep eyes on, but fall back. There are less people in this area of the city. Watch your cover.”
“Copy,” Shane whispered. She’d taken the lead tail, but had been forced to slow.
The streets here weren’t as clean. Downtown, glittering plexglass and durasteel had reigned. The buildings in this part of the city were constructed of inexpensive brown composite. This far from Luna’s center there were even homeless. Humans, Andarians, and Salusians wandered the empty lots, or camped out in the dark, narrow alleyways.
She watched V’Trasta slow as she approached a shop of some kind. The woman looked around nervously before ducking inside. Shane continued walking past the entrance—a picture of a vase hung on the door, Velusian writing painted in bright letters beneath it. Shane kept her eyes focused straight ahead, as if she were headed somewhere else.
“She’s gone inside a pottery shop about ten meters behind my current position,” Shane said. “QRF—any way you guys can shift closer?”
“Affirmative,” Hale said. “We’re on the move.”
“Valkyrie,” Lima directed. “Circle back to the shop entrance and hold position. But be careful. We do not want to spook her.”
“Understood,” Shane replied, turning back the way she’d come. She approached the entrance to the pottery shop and paused inside the stoop of an abandoned storefront next door. Shane stood just inside the awning, moving her hand toward the small of her back. She grasped the pulse pistol with a firm grip. She wanted to be able
to pull fast if she needed to.
“Holding,” Shane reported.
She watched as the small aero van with Hale and Lash inside floated to a stop on the other side of the street. A lone piece of trash blew along the sidewalk, the air circulation system inside the domed city shifting it along as if it were being blown by natural wind. She saw Gina close in, taking up a position behind a vehicle near the aero van. She knew Kris had to be somewhere close behind.
Shane reached into her pocket and pulled the biometric sensor, now keyed to the target’s unique biological coding. Her brow furrowed in confusion.
That can’t be right.
“Valkyrie to TOC—sensor says the target’s vitals are dropping?”
A scream sounded from inside.
“Move on the shop!” Lima ordered. “All elements—get in there!”
Shane pulled her pistol, moving to a two-handed grip and clutching the weapon tight to her chest. She moved toward the door. Footsteps, light as a gentle breeze, sounded behind her—Kris’nac.
“I have you covered Shane,” the Tauranian warrior whispered.
Shane went in low, the barrel of her pistol pushed out in front of her. She saw V’Trasta down. Another Velusian woman kneeled over her, screaming.
Shane heard the blaring of an angry driver’s horn as Gina, Hale and Lash dashed across the street.
“Help her!” the second woman screamed. “Please help my egg-sister!”
Shane blocked the screaming out. She had to make sure the place was secure before anything else. Even before rendering aid to the woman on the floor. The cramped shop was covered in dust. Tall vases stood at intervals along the walls. Plates and bowls of every description, most glazed in vibrant hues of blue, green, and brown lined shelves constructed of weathered wood. The place smelled of some Venusian herb, the scent spicy and acrid in Shane’s nose. She and Kris swept the entirety of the small, dark shop—the counter, behind the shelves, and the small storage area in the back.
“Clear,” Kris said.
“Clear,” Shane repeated. She raced to the woman’s’ side. “I’ll need you to move,” she told the target’s egg-sister.
Kris‘nac put her pistol away and helped the woman to her tentacles. Shane got down beside the target just as Gina, Hale, and Lash came bursting in, pistols drawn. Shane checked the woman’s gills. They weren’t moving.
“TOC this is Valkyrie,” Shane said. “Are you reading any vitals on the target?”
“Negative Valkyrie.”
That was what Shane was afraid of. “Starting resuscitation attempt now. Gina,” Shane said without taking her eyes from the graying Venusian. “Give me a hand.”
Gina stowed her pistol. “What do you need?”
“Start compressions here,” Shane said. She took Gina’s hand and placed it on the woman’s abdomen, where the heart was located. Before three days ago, Shane had no idea how Velusian anatomy worked. After a brief crash course, she hoped she’d learned enough.
Gina pressed on the woman’s heart. Shane leaned down, breathing into the gill openings.
“What happened here?” she heard Kris ask the second woman. The target’s sister, and presumable owner of the shop.
“My-my sister came by. She seemed worried. Then she just . . . she collapsed!” The woman shook, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Can you save her?” she pleaded.
Shane breathed into the Velusian’s gills. She waited a beat, then repeated the action. Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. The woman’s skin held a faint salty taste, like the ocean. “Any change in vitals?” she asked Lima, too low for the woman’s sister to hear.
“None,” Silvio said. She could hear the disappointment in his voice, even over the wave. “I’m afraid she’s gone.”
Shit. Apparently Silvio wasn’t the only one to determine that V’Trasta had been Unites Les Space’s weak link.
“Understood,” Shane said.
“We will get the techs there as soon as we can,” Lima said. The man was all business. Did it bother him at all that a woman had just died? “It may be messy with the sister, but—“
The wail of sirens broke into Silvio’s communications.
“We got company inbound,” Hale said, glancing outside. He and Lash had taken up positions by the door. Judging from the sound of the sirens, the Luna emergency services were only seconds away.
“Did you call the authorities?” Kris asked the sister.
“N-no,” the woman stammered. “Not the cops. I called the emergency response service.”
The team exchanged glances.
“Get out now,” Lima said on the team channel. “We cannot be discovered there.”
“What about the target?” Gina asked. “We still need the techs to pull whatever they can from her residual brain activity.”
“Negative,” Lima said, his voice clipped. “Leave immediately. We are already wiping every holo imager that might have picked you up. We will figure the rest out later.”
“You heard the man,” Hale said. “Let’s move.”
Hale and Lash passed behind Shane. Gina moved close on their six, headed toward the shop’s back exit. Shane and Kris shared a look. Kris stood. Shane remained kneeling next to the dead woman.
“My sister!” the Velusian shop owner—V’Trasta’s sister—wailed.
Shane stood, looking from the dead woman to her sister. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. She meant it. Shane took one last look at the front door, then she and Kris headed toward the exit.
“What-what happened? What do I tell the authorities?” the woman asked.
Shane stopped and turned to face the distraught woman. “You tell them exactly what happened,” she said. “Your sister came to see you on her lunch hour. Soon after she arrived, she collapsed.”
“And what will I tell them about you?”
“You won’t tell them anything about us. We were never here.”
“Who are you people?!” the woman cried.
“Nobody,” Shane said. She headed for the exit, not wanting to meet the woman’s eyes. “We’re nobody.”
-3-
The smell of Andarian incense wafted through the entryway, tickling his nose. Glistening white marble, imported from the quarries of Korvath and polished to a mirror-gloss, comprised the foyer floor of the Infinity’s Embrace & Final Rest Funeral Parlor. Shining brass handles adorned every door. A Salusian prayer silk hung from the wall facing the entrance, its cloth draped over a vase filled with lilies as white and pure as new-driven snow.
A shiver ran down Hale’s back. “Funeral homes give me the creeps.” He crinkled his nose. The sickly-sweet smell of flora originating from several different planets did little to hide the acrid sting of disinfectant.
Shane laughed, looking the big recon Marine up and down. “All the shit you’ve faced in your lifetime, and its funeral homes that get you?” Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. “Really Hale?”
“I’ll have to ask that you please watch your language,” the stooped elderly woman scolded. She was maybe one step away from being a cadaver herself. “We respect the dead here,” she said. Her tone left little room for argument.
According to the quick brief they’d received from Lima, the woman’s name was Maria-Magdalene Picante. Maria had the distinction of being the oldest living member of the Picante family. The same Picante family whose funeral home empire spanned every major UN planet, thus making the woman before them the matriarch of a vast dynasty. A dynasty built upon the business of interstellar death.
“My apologies ma’am,” Shane mumbled. She looked up at Hale and smirked as they resumed their walk.
“I’ll have you know,” Hale began, leaning down to whisper into Shane’s ear, “that funeral homes do not ‘creep me out,’ as you so eloquently put it. It’s just that I’d rather. . .maybe be somewhere else.”
“Right,” Shane said, nodding her head. “Got it.”
The frail-looking woman moved at a quick pace. S
he sped through the spotless halls of the funeral home, surprisingly spry for a woman of one-hundred nineteen years. Soon the marble floors gave way to rough carpeting. The beautifully adorned walls transformed into lifeless beige plaster. Still they penetrated deeper into the bowels of the building, one of Luna’s oldest and most prestigious funeral parlors.
For most beings in the known universe, the same general laws of biology applied. They were born, they lived, and they died. When they did eventually pass on to another plane of existence, arrangements had to be made. The Picante Family had been making those arrangements, both on Luna and multiple other worlds, for generations.
A few well-placed bribes to the moon city’s morgue had allowed ASI to secure possession of Talia V’Trasta’s body. Lima had then called in a favor from Maria-Magdalene, throwing in a generous donation to the Picante family trust fund as part of the bargain. The Velusian woman’s body was immediately transferred, via air hearse, to the Infinity’s Embrace Funeral Home.
For a second Hale wondered what magnitude of favor Lima had done to be owed by one of the oldest funeral empires in existence. That was even with the trust fund donation. His mind began to wander. Had they provided him a place to torture some suspect? Helped him dispose of a corpse? Something else?
Nah, he thought, quickly dismissing all the notions. On second thought? Maybe I don’t want to know.
They followed the old woman down a series of carpeted corridors, until at last they arrived at a set of duracrete stairs. The temperature dropped several degrees as they descended each step. The walls transformed again, this time from beige plaster to the slate-gray rock of Earth’s moon’s sub-surface. Hale looked left to right and shivered.
“Need a blankie?” Shane teased.
Hale sighed. “Never gonna let it go, are you?”
Shane grinned. “Not a chance in hell,” she uttered under her breath.