Provider Prime: Alien Legacy

by John Vassar

  Mitchell’s mind raced. Devlin was right - Harry’s death was gnawing at his insides, he just hadn’t realised how much until now. He also knew that Devlin was backing him into a corner. How far was he prepared to go?

  ‘Do I have a choice? Would you let me walk out of here after this conversation?’

  ‘Yes, you have a choice. If you decline, we erase your memory of the last thirty-six hours. You will never have met Harry at Yorktown and you won’t know of his death until his ex-wife contacts you with the news. I can authorise that without raising any suspicion and at zero risk to myself. Did you expect me to say we would kill you?

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘That’s not the way I work, Mitchell. What I’ve done in the last few hours has been forced on me by circumstance. I believe in FedStat and despite having to keep certain information from them, I believe in the SenANNs. I’m not prepared to let everything we’ve achieved crumble to dust while I do nothing to prevent it.’

  ‘Let’s say I accept. How do you expect me to elude the entire Latere network, not to mention Delere Secos?’

  ‘You will have limited assistance from me – and I do mean limited. For the most part, you will operate alone.’

  ‘And how do you know you can trust me?’

  ‘I don’t need to. I have the means to terminate your activities at any time. Besides, you have never served under my personal command, so my opinion would be irrelevant. But Doyle rated you as one of his best, and I trust his judgement. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’

  Mitchell stared back into the steely, blue-grey eyes of Nathaniel Devlin. ‘What’s the contingency if I’m discovered?’

  ‘None. I cannot reveal your status to the High Council until the case is closed – and successful. If you’re discovered before then, you’ll be arrested and processed with due justice. If that happens I’ll do my best to intervene, but there are no guarantees.’

  ‘That’s it? Processed with due justice?’

  ‘No guarantees,’ said Devlin.

  ‘But you’re still going through with this?’

  ‘Let me tell you why, Mitchell. Delere Secos has kept this world free of organised crime almost from the moment of its creation, twenty-five years before you were even born. Our agents are the elite, you know that, you were one of them. If the High Council decide that DS has been compromised beyond redemption, doubtless we could maintain order of a sort with FedStat staffers and the Latere Volgis, but I believe that Delere Secos is the linchpin. The SenANNs knew this from the beginning or they would not have suggested its formation. The world cannot afford to lose DS. To find the security breach, I’ll do whatever it takes.’

  ‘Nice lecture,’ said Mitchell, standing up. Instead of turning towards the portal, he found himself extending his hand. ‘I’ll be doing it for Harry.’

  4

  ‘Charlis, escort Mr Mitchell back to his domice, we have no reason to detain him further. Use an unmarked shuttle and the domice airlock facility. And make sure the official apology is drafted. See to that personally, will you?’

  Mitchell detected a trace of mischief in Devlin’s last instruction. Issuing an arrest retraction in his own name would stick in Charlis’s craw for weeks. He watched Agent Charlis as they made their way to the hangar deck reserved for Populus Transit. The DS man set him on edge and he couldn’t figure out why. So much for his elevated empathic responses…

  The return journey to Orbtown 36 was undertaken in complete silence. Devlin’s rhetoric echoed around Mitchell’s thoughts, but the DS Director was right on one score. The creation of FedStat and its covert sub-organisations was indeed down to the SenANNs. They had reasoned that the Great Famine was a congruence of preventable events, each one a direct result of humankind’s greed and criminality. Overpopulation, resource hoarding, diversion of funds from renewable resources into secret military projects, all down to endemic, criminal greed, in most cases at state level. To counter this, The SenANNs proposed a global approach to crime, at least part of which should be hidden from the Populus. FedStat and Delere Secos emerged as almost conventional in comparison to the Latere Volgis. Approximately one in twenty-two of the Populus were recruited by FedStat as Latere, active from their late teens until de-commissioned or retired. They operated undercover even from their own families. Mitchell had used them himself many times in active service and knew their worth - which depended on the Populus having no idea that they even existed.

  Mitchell watched Sat-1 recede into the distance through the transport’s rear-view airscreen and grimaced slightly. There were gaping holes, too, in his own awareness. As a FedStat cadet, he should have had access to the best education available on the planet, but some areas of Earth’s history remained taboo. There had been only brief references to the global arms race immediately prior to the Great Famine. The old States of China, India and South America vying for global economic supremacy. North America, sidelined as a superpower but still well armed and allied to the wealthy Gulf States in a desperate attempt to remain globally influential. Europe standing isolated and bankrupt. But no actual figures. The only statistic Mitchell had ever gleaned from a neuro-visual lecture at the academy was that over seven billion souls had perished in the Great Famine itself. Nothing on the post-World Alliance riots over the formation of FedStat and the implications of the global census and subsequent genome tagging. Nothing on the effects of the enforced mass sterilisation programme on population levels and genetic integrity. As a cadet, Mitchell had once made the mistake of demanding answers to these questions from a then-youthful Harry Doyle. The look he had received was still etched into his memory, and the disciplinary procedure that followed was still etched into his service record.

  Mitchell felt the shuttle’s umbilical mate with the evac hatch of his domice. The passenger harness released and he made his way forward, still wearing the FedStat overalls that would have instantly singled him out as post-arrest on the walkways of his home orbtown. Charlis looked him up and down. ‘If I had my way, you’d be walking from the Central Terminus.’

  ‘That’s why Devlin has a nice, big office and you don’t,’ said Mitchell, stepping into the airlock. He didn’t bother to wave goodbye. The hatch sealed and the shuttle disconnected, pitching away in an almost reckless manoeuvre. Mitchell smiled for the first time in a day. The pressure balance showed green and he stepped into the preproom, the standard evac point for all recently-built domices. He felt ravenous, but knew he was out of fresh provisions without looking. He poked around in the cabs and found a synth-burger that had remained untouched for a year, with good reason. The self-heating pack still worked and trying not to burn his tongue distracted him from the taste. Gagging on the last of it, he pulled off the overalls and bundled them ready for the disintegrator.

  A noise from outside the preproom stopped him dead. He put the overalls down and listened intently. It was not his imagination. Not again…

  Mitchell edged towards the portal, his bare feet sticking to the mirror-finished floor. He peered into the lounge. A light from the study was throwing long shadows. Moving shadows. Whoever was in there must have heard him banging around. Why hadn’t they made a move? He took a silent chest-full of air and flung himself into the room. At full pace he dived over the couch and landed flat just short of his favourite multichair. The pinlight of his sport pistol glowed under the seat squab. He grabbed it and disengaged the safety. Rolling onto his back, he aimed between his knees at the study entrance and flicked on the targeting beam.

  The girl in the red glow looked petrified.

  Mitchell stared in disbelief. It was Talia Ash, back from the dead.

  ‘You’ve got some nerve,’ he grunted. ‘Lights, one hundred.’

  The girl’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. As the lounge lit up, Mitchell got to his feet, then stopped in his tracks.

  This was not her. A good approximation, but not Talia Ash.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘I – I’m
Rayna. Talia’s sister.’ The girl’s eyes darted around. ‘I’m sorry. I heard you come back and I panicked. I thought I could sneak out before you found me.’ Her voice was almost identical to Talia’s.

  Mitchell lowered the gun and flicked the safety back on. ‘You’d better sit down before the shock gets to you and– ’ Her legs gave way and he was just quick enough to stop her falling. He picked her up bodily and put her on the couch. Muttering something about decency, he went to the sleepbay for his shower robe - the flimsy blue shorts FedStat had given him were leaving little to the imagination. Despite almost killing his uninvited guest, he felt strangely invigorated. Maybe he did miss the action.

  His robe, of course, was still at Sat-1. He rummaged around and found a clean singlet and some almost-clean denims. His Pen was still where he’d left it and he took the opportunity to check for micros. The light was green but something smelled of Agent Charlis, and it wasn’t just the remnants of his cologne.

  Back in the lounge, he dialled a couple of Nectins and thrust one of the tumblers at Rayna Ash. ‘Drink this.’ He sat on a low table opposite her. ‘Now I want answers. What are you doing creeping around in the dark in a strange man’s domice? How did you get in, anyway?’

  ‘A man from FedStat let me in. He said it would be alright because they had collected all the evidence they needed. He told me your name and said you’d been arrested.’

  ‘That was nice of him. Now tell me why the hell you wanted to come here at all.’

  ‘I wanted to see where Talia had... I mean, it didn’t make sense to me, the overdose thing.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t to me, either.’ Along with allowing the relative of a drug-related death victim to wander around the crime scene. ‘This man from FedStat. What did he look like?’

  ‘He was wearing a creepy sun visor,’ she sniffed, wiping her face. ‘And he scared me a little. He let me in and told me it would be okay to stay as long as I set the autolock when I left.’

  Mitchell’s irrational distrust of Charlis now had some basis in fact. She must have been here for hours. Her eyes were red not from the shock of having a gun pointed at her, but from crying.

  ‘Did he tell you why I’d been arrested?’

  ‘He said it was standard procedure. You were the last person to see Talia alive.’ She looked up at him. ‘But I know it wasn’t you.’

  ‘You seem very sure. But since I’m here and not stuck in a cell at FedStat, you must be right.’

  ‘No, Talia told me... On her comlink, I mean, from in there.’ She gestured towards the sleepbay. ‘She said not to worry, that she was staying at a friend’s place for the night. She was funny like that. She’d never tell me when she’d met a man, but I always knew. Ever since we were kids, I’ve known exactly...’

  ‘I’m sorry for Talia,’ said Mitchell, the lie coming more easily than he expected.

  Rayna shook her head. ‘She never took drugs. Never. And she wouldn’t have come home with you unless she felt safe. Not like her stupid little slut friend. Then this happens. To Talia. It just isn’t right...’ Rich, auburn hair fell down over her face and tears flooded through her fingers. Mitchell fought the urge to offer a comforting shoulder, and a bigger one to tell her the truth.

  ‘When you’ve finished your drink I’ll take you home,’ he said.

  Rayna Ash suddenly looked up with the same, entrancing gaze he had seen in her sister the night before and said, ‘I want you to come to the Showing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want to watch it by myself. Mom hates the whole idea and there is no-one else. Suki can come to the service, but I won’t have her at the Showing. Will you come with me?’

  Mitchell sat down next to her. ‘Look, there are a few things you have to understand. Last night was the first time I met your sister. We only knew each other for a couple of hours, we met on the shuttle and she–’ He decided against describing the pick-up routine. ‘We felt something for each other. Physically, I mean.’

  ‘That was just Talia’s way,’ Rayna said. She sat up, brushing the hair from her face. ‘If she came back here, it was because she really liked you. She hadn’t been with anyone for a year before last night.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It’s true. I know she liked to dress up when she was out, but that doesn’t mean she was easy. She told me she really liked you. And she knew you liked her, too.’

  Mitchell looked at her. He had never considered that the Latere system could be flawed. But the cracks were showing and he didn’t like the feelings of deceit that were being stirred up in his gut. ‘Where’s your domice?’

  ‘I’m on 36 too. Talia and I lived together.’

  ‘Let’s get you home, then.’ He helped her to her feet. She was still unsteady and he couldn’t help but put his arm around her.

  ‘You will come with me, won’t you?’ she asked again.

  ‘I’ll think it over.’

  He helped her outside and they walked back to her domice. It was down on level one but just a sector away and not worth taking the Transit. Besides, he told her, the walk would clear her head and steady her legs.

  Rayna Ash hesitated before they began the six-level descent. ‘Who did you think I was? When you first saw me, I mean. You thought you knew me.’

  ‘You look a bit like an old girlfriend,’ Mitchell lied again.

  ‘Oh...’

  ‘It was dark. I made a mistake.’

  As they stepped on to the travelator it occurred to Mitchell that he needed to stop making mistakes as of now.

  5

  Roderick Deucalion Thorne had demanded public anonymity from the very beginning of his tenure at Autogen. The search for fame or recognition, however it was labelled, was a pointless, human weakness. The Autogen board failed to comprehend his reasoning, but agreed to his terms, at least once his effect on profitability had become apparent. It was an arrangement that worked with efficiency in the years following. Single-handedly, Thorne’s genius grew Autogen to become the most powerful commercial enterprise in history. The Board were therefore in no position to refuse his later demands for an unquestioned policy of non-interference – along with limitless funding of whatever research projects he chose to undertake. No-one questioned how these resources were being used. No-one dared risk the consequences of asking. Every one of Autogen’s board was now a multi-billionaire as a direct result of Roderick Deucalion Thorne.

  Just as Thorne had planned.

  With his terms agreed, Thorne had sectioned off a substantial area within Cytec’s Euro-2 facility for his own personal use. Operated and maintained entirely by automs, over the past ten years of his life Thorne had become a virtual recluse within its walls.

  At the same hour as Lee Mitchell was released from FedStat headquarters, Roderick Thorne was analysing the latest data from the single most powerful artificial intelligence in existence outside FedStat’s control. Designed and engineered by Thorne himself, Cortex was the equal of its estranged SenANN cousins in terms of processing power.

  The data that Cortex had presented was satisfactory. The Mobile Destruct Unit had once again performed within design parameters and lunar-side mass production could commence as soon as the raw materials had been delivered. Thorne let out a shaky breath and glanced over his right shoulder. As always, the massive sentinel-class autom stood to attention at his side, a single, red pinlight the only visible indication of its active status. Thorne kept the machine close to him at all times. He had once been a strong young man, but years of physical inactivity had taken their toll. He stood one-point-eight metres tall but weighed less than sixty kilos. He was fifty-four years old according to Populus records, but his gaunt features and white hair gave the impression he was much older. His physical appearance, though, was low on the list of his life priorities.

  Thorne picked up a vile of yellowish liquid and turned it around slowly in bony fingers. The materialistic Dr Reber had been dealt with but had left a trail of incompetence behind him tha
t had required swift action. It had been an inspired decision to use the prototype MDU to eliminate the Delere Secos agents, both actions doubling as operational tests. FedStat would now be engaged in a hunt for an unknown weapon that would lead eventually to Cytec, but at a pace that Thorne himself would determine. By the time the truth was discovered, it would be too late.

  ‘Attend.’ The command croaked from vocal chords that had not spoken to a living soul in three days and the effort started a coughing fit. The Sentinel obeyed, then stood motionless as Thorne clung to it, spattering phlegm onto its dull, black torso. Gulping for air, he pressed the serum cartridge into a slot in the autom’s right arm.

  ‘Initiate instruction file… Lamont-7.’

  The Sentinel turned and headed towards the single portal that led to the main building. Thorne slumped back into the multichair. The spasms subsided gradually and he adjusted the airscreen to monitor workstation GR376. Emile Lamont’s corporate dedication was quite predictable, keeping him at his desk long past assigned schedules. At this hour, there would be no-one else in the Genetic Research section.

  GR376 was a ten-minute walk for a fit man from Thorne’s workstation, but the Sentinel appeared on his airscreen in less than two. During the acceptance trials at Autogen’s proving grounds, FedStat officials had commented on the incredible agility displayed by the Tranche One Sentinels. After Thorne’s modifications, his salvaged prototype unit was far superior in this and many other respects. Engrossed in his work, Emile Lamont was unaware of the dark shape moving into position behind him. The Sentinel’s left arm flashed out and the three-pincered hand clamped around the scientist’s skull. Killing was not part of Thorne’s programming and the grip strength was no more than required to hold the head steady. The autom’s right arm arched over Lamont’s neck, a hypo tip emerging on its wrist. The serum was injected and the struggling stopped. The hypo withdrew and the pincers snapped open, allowing a probe to extend and connect with the workstation airscreen controls. The image danced with light as the Sentinel held Lamont’s unblinking eyes at a steady distance. Two minutes later, the screen went blank and Lamont’s head was lowered to rest on the desk in front of him.