by John Vassar
Not without a neural link.
After a few minutes, his breathing steadied. On an instinct, he reached up to his left temple and pressed hard against his skull. There was a small bump, three millimetres or so across, under his fingertip. He knew exactly what that was.
Devlin had done the unthinkable and re-equipped him with a neural implant.
And with it, a whole new set of potential problems.
A standard implant links to DS Operations Control, allowing them to track an agent’s every move – just what Devlin didn’t want to happen. The unit in Mitchell’s head must be a purpose-built item, perhaps fashioned by Devlin himself. Was that what Mitchell had just experienced? A botched implant?
No. He knew it wasn’t Devlin’s handiwork. He had never felt such fear.
Something had just violated his very existence.
Mitchell sat back and closed his eyes, forcing himself to take the positives. A neural link would give him direct control over the Skimmer and all the standard equipment it carried, including cam-suits and their associated weaponry. He took a deep breath and opened his mind to the Skimmer. The tingle returned and he was in. Tentatively, he dug into the craft’s inventory. The weapons display showed nothing more than standard model L-cannons. Disappointing, but as a civilian pilot he was lucky to have that. Satisfied he could find his way around again, Mitchell prepared for the acid test – whether he could think his way into Operations Control at DS. If he connected, he might as well fly himself to the nearest penal colony. If he didn’t, he might live long enough to deliver his fist into Devlin’s face for his ‘need to know’ policy.
For a full ten minutes, Mitchell tried every trick he knew to access Ops, with no success. It appeared that Devlin, if he had modified the implant himself, had done so with some skill. Now confident with the ship’s systems, Mitchell requested re-verification of his fitness to fly, which was confirmed. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking again. He hoped Devlin’s modifications hadn’t extended to falsifying his implant bio-data. Given what had just happened to him, trying to fly a FedStat pursuit skimmer after four years away from DS was not the sensible option.
No choice.
He clenched his fists hard, straightened his fingers out again and gripped the control yolk. He linked with Orbtown 36’s Flight Control centre, which accepted his civilian exit request without query. As expected, it identified his craft as a Populus-legal Axor 700.
Seconds later he was free from the hangar confines and eased the Skimmer into a gentle turn away from the night-side of Earth.
Back at the controls of a Mark V, Lee Mitchell was in heaven. He felt invigorated, energised to the core. He had reigned in his flying style until the sanctuary of Sector 27, but now he was free to explore the Skimmer’s full performance envelope. He threw the agile craft into a series of gut-wrenching turns. He had missed this. Missed the exhilaration of piloting a perfectly-engineered piece of hardware. He remembered the mock dogfights he and Harry used to indulge in. Much of the surplus material and redundant machinery from the Orbtown construction programme was cordoned off in Sector 27 and the junk floating around always made things interesting. Besides, active DS agents had to log a minimum number of cockpit hours every month and they both hated breaking important rules like that…
Mitchell deliberately mistimed a turn, forcing him to clear away an ancient hazard beacon in his flight path. The cannons responded and tempted him into more target practice. He rationed himself to two more hits, still under maximum yield suppression. There was no sense in not using suppressed fire just to see the sparks fly. He was well away from the space lanes and the presence of any kind of craft would take some explaining if a FedStat patrol chanced by.
He looked around at the cockpit and drank in the banks of controls and displays, all telling him that the Skimmer was ready and willing to do whatever he asked of it. He shifted the vector data from his neural link to his favoured position in his eye line, bottom left and just on the limit of his peripheral vision.
It felt good to be home...
With the Skimmer docked and clamped, Mitchell powered down. He logged next day’s flight plan to Yorktown, signed off from Flight Control and strode back to the elevator. Outside the Hangar Complex, he noticed the air in Orbtown 36 was off. Synthetic fresheners were competing with a horde of other man-made aromas and the result was far from natural. He couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it before.
He stopped and closed his eyes.
Something felt different.
He was over a kilometre from 36’s one piece of parkland, but he could smell grass and flowers through the ozone and plastic. He thought of Rayna. He resumed his walk to the Transit and decided to call and invite her to dinner. Which wasn’t logical, practical or wise, but he felt so alive right now, it didn’t matter.
9
The evening did not go as Mitchell had planned. Rayna didn’t answer his call and he was forced to leave a message. Dinner looked like it was off. His mood was tarnished, but something else was about to blacken it completely.
Mitchell entered his domice to find that his self-upgraded security system had been overridden yet again. A glance at the Pen showed no sign of any surveillance, micro-drone or otherwise, but that was as much as it could tell him. His own sense of smell gave more of a clue – the faintest hint of a cologne that wasn’t his. Mitchell walked into the lounge. The silhouette against the vista panel was unmistakeable.
‘Agent Charlis. I see you’ve made yourself at home…’
Charlis had chosen the multichair under which the target pistol was concealed, not that Mitchell intended to start any gunplay. His impeccable black suit looked even more expensive than the grey one. Charlis removed his visor and swivelled round slowly. ‘Returning to Mulligan’s will be a complete waste of time. Maybe you should revise your old cadet notes. You’re in danger of running out of ideas on day one.’
Mitchell said nothing. He knew Charlis would be watching him, but had not expected a face-to-face confrontation so soon. Keeping his back turned, he went to the dispenser and fixed a Nectin at his own speed. ‘What do want, Charlis?’
‘With your E-Quotient, I thought you’d have been able to tell me.’
‘Funny. What’s the deal?’
‘I was off duty so thought I’d visit an old DS colleague.’
‘Try again. You’re fishing for something.’
Charlis stood and looked out of the vista panel. He had set it to transparent and the Moon was casting a pale glow into the lounge. ‘I don’t need intel on you, Mitchell. After your intimacy with the SenANNs I can access things you forgot years ago.’
‘Feel free. I’m not spotless, but I’m clean enough.’
‘Talking of memory loss, it’s a shame you forgot how to fuck a pretty girl before Talia Ash had to leave for her own funeral. Not sure I could have held back.’
Mitchell said, ‘It’s been a lot of fun, Charlis, but you’ve run out of interesting conversation. Maybe you should leave.’
The DS agent turned and gave Mitchell a look that would have stopped a rabid dog. ‘Maybe you should keep your mouth shut and listen. My initial role in this case was to set up the Ash girl’s apparent death to pull you in for The Link. Now I have a new assignment. Working with the High Council to expose and eliminate the security breach at Delere Secos.’
‘Why are you wasting your time here then?’
‘How I perform my investigation is not your concern - but this is. Devlin gave you this pointless vendetta as a smoke screen while the real investigation is being carried out. An investigation carried out by professional agents, not some freak the Service threw into the trash years ago. If you stumble across something relevant, he’ll use it. If not, you’re expendable.’
Mitchell’s reply was deadpan. ‘Of course I am. I’m just a decoy. Something to keep the opposition busy for a while until they get fed up and kill me.’
‘More or less.’
‘Nice try.
But Devlin’s back is against the wall. Harry knew that and so do you.’
‘What Doyle thought is irrelevant. He was taken off the case.’
Mitchell smiled. ‘Right. And you can’t handle the fact that Devlin didn’t pass it straight over to you.’
‘This is not just an internal DS investigation. It’s a matter for the Senate.’
‘My mistake. They must have needed a messenger boy.’ Mitchell wondered at what point Charlis’s sense of humour would fail and if it did, how expensive it was going to be to refurbish his domice.
Charlis said, ‘Since you mention it, I do take orders from the High Council.’
‘That’s good of you. I’ve heard they’re fond of their pizzas.’
One more and it’s lights out…
‘Keep that sense of humour, Mitchell, you’re going to need it. Just understand that Devlin is not the only one moving the pieces around.’
Mitchell shrugged. ‘None of this is important. You can hack away at my defences all day, but my deal with Devlin stays confidential.’
‘I expected nothing less.’
‘Then what do you expect? Why are you here at all?’
Charlis inched closer. ‘Get one thing straight. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to put a laser bolt through your skull. I’m here because you need to understand why it’s not in my best interests to do that – at least not yet. Your deal with Devlin is the least of your worries.’ The DS man smiled and added, ‘Arrested and processed with due justice…?’
Mitchell was silent.
Satisfied with the reaction, Charlis turned away. ‘At present, only myself and Commander Devlin know that a certain Lee Mitchell is working undercover from Delere Secos. The High Council do not. But they are alive to the possibility that someone is...’
‘Really. Why would they think that?’
‘They asked the SenANNs.’
‘They’d have to ask the right question first. Did you give them any help?’
Charlis looked back. ‘The Senators are not stupid, Mitchell. Devlin is an integral part of DS and not beyond suspicion. The SenANNs predicted that if Devlin was loyal he would step outside FedStat’s resources in an attempt to expose the security breach. The most likely scenario was that he would enlist a ghost agent.’
‘And what did the SenANNs predict if Devlin himself is the leak?’
‘Their answer was interesting, but classified.’
Mitchell gave a wry smile. ‘All you’re telling me is that I may have less time than I thought before I’m arrested by my own side.’
‘Not that simple. Their next question was this: If this rogue agent does exist, how would that fact bear on the High Council’s own chances of eliminating the DS security breach? The SenANNs predicted it would reduce the probability of success by less than six percent.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘The High Council were not so blasé. This was still too large a risk, given what was at stake. They asked the SenANNs to recommend an agent to establish if this ghost exists and if so, to eliminate him. They chose me.’
‘Eliminate? How open is that to personal interpretation?’
‘The High Council made no restrictions. I have several options.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Mitchell looked past the face of his would-be assassin to the Moon. Full and unusually bright, he could make out much more detail than usual. Craters and mountains that had had once been a blur were now crystal clear.
Charlis continued as if he were conducting a mission briefing. ‘A straightforward kill would have its advantages, but that may not be my best option. Commander Devlin enlisted you without the High Council’s knowledge – potentially a treasonable offence. I, on the other hand, was fully aware of his actions. As a consequence I could be implicated and charged, having failed to reveal it to them.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
Charlis hesitated, then said, ‘The SenANNs did not predict that Devlin would confide in me. Which makes them fallible.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘It means that that your so-called mission may still be of use. Devlin considers you expendable and to the High Council you’re just a negative statistic that may or may not exist. When Devlin outlined his plan to use you, I was sceptical and said as much. But I can now see the value in having a random element in the equation.’
Mitchell smiled. ‘I’ve been called worse.’
‘I’m sure. But here’s the interesting part. Devlin on one side and the High Council on the other are both confiding in me – but neither of them know that. The only person that does know… is you.’
‘That is interesting,’ said Mitchell. ‘So by listening to all this, I’ve just signed my own extermination papers…’
‘Nothing has changed. I already have a licence to kill you. And the luxury of choosing when.’
Mitchell finished the Nectin and put down his glass. Why was Charlis was revealing all this? Time for a change of tack...
‘You’re a liar, Charlis. I think you want me on the front line doing all the dirty work until you think it’s safe to step in and take the credit.’
Charlis gave a dangerous look. ‘This is the truth of it, Mitchell. Your strategy and execution during your mission will be unpredictable for one reason. You’re not competent to be operational. Without a neural link, you don’t have the back-up of DS Operations and you will, ultimately, fail. But all this will take time - and act as a foil for my own investigation.’
‘Right. I’ll try not to disappoint.’
‘I’m unlikely to be disappointed, whatever the outcome.’ Charlis glanced at his comlink. ‘You should understand the ground rules. If you get in my way, I will kill you. If your mission compromises any part of the High Council’s investigation, or if they discover your identity, I will kill you. If you compromise Devlin’s own investigation or attempt to reveal my position to him or the High Council - I will kill you. I don’t need the SenANNs to tell me it’s unlikely the opposition will get to you first.’
Mitchell watched Agent Charlis walk out, then flipped open a concealed panel under his study desk. He reset the domice security system for the second time in as many days, then returned to the lounge. Their conversation was cause for optimism in one area at least.
Charlis had no knowledge of his neural implant.
Mitchell stared again at the Moon. He could see the surface more clearly and the stars, too, were crisper than he remembered. Perhaps the vista panels in his sector had been upgraded. He fixed another Nectin, this time a little weaker. The last one had ripped the buds from his tongue and tasted like plastic. He dialled a little more fresh orange juice and reclaimed his multichair, the seat of which was still unpleasantly warm. He reached underneath and checked on the pistol. The weaponry in the Skimmer made it redundant, but his father had given him the old gun as a boy. Charlis was the last person he wanted in possession of it.
He considered Agent Charlis again. He was clever, calculating and efficient, but circumstance had forced him into a massive risk. Playing the High Council and Devlin off against each other was dangerous in the extreme. Maybe this explained the old-school DS tactics – the barrage of personal insults was straight out of the training manual and not very imaginative. But the DS agent was not the only one guilty of a lapse in concentration. Mitchell had stupidly filed his flight plan to Yorktown tomorrow and Charlis was aware of it. From now on, every trip would be covert.
Mitchell sprang up. He could hear Harry bellowing less thinking and more action. Before tomorrow’s flight he had to check the Skimmer for any tracking devices which his black-suited friend may have installed before delivery - which meant upgrading the very basic detector fitted to the Pen. He had no choice but to make the mods himself and his limited expertise meant he had to begin right now. He set up his n-prog equipment in the study and set to work on the Pen’s microcircuits, estimating it would take three hours or so to complete. He found programming nanites tires
ome and had employed a consultant to do the bulk of the work on his prototype, but he was a capable enough technician. His FedStat cadetship offered an optional nanotech module and he’d taken the opportunity to learn - enough to hack out a living as a sec systems consultant after his expulsion from Delere Secos. What was considered kindergarten level in FedStat passed as expertise in the simplified world of Populus security.
After some inspired instruction from himself and with an hour to spare, the nanites’ work was complete. The Pen’s detection circuits were now five times more sensitive at distances up to three metres. If Charlis had planted any kind of concealed tracer in the Mark V, this should reveal it. He left the basic mid-distance detection circuits in place. Micro-drones had limited scanning capabilities but it was still useful to know if any were hovering around.
He checked his comlink one last time and dimmed the vista panel. Still no word from Rayna. He yawned and just managed to stop himself attacking the sore skin around the neural link yet again. Devlin’s handiwork was taking a long time to mend.
By the time he had made his way into the sleeproom, he was dead on his feet. He had been jolted back to his senses by Charlis’s visit and the euphoria of the Skimmer flight had worn off. He wondered just what the hell had happened to him during that first neural link connection. His head was throbbing again but he couldn’t be bothered to search for more meds.
As he sank into his sleeper, he thought again of Rayna Ash.
He wondered just how ‘different’ she and her sister were...
Someone was calling him.
He was standing in pitch blackness, on solid ground that he could feel under his bare feet, but not see. The voice was strange, otherworldly, within him and surrounding him at the same time. He felt afraid and curious. He had to respond, but the darkness was total. He pushed a thought out into the void. ‘I can’t see you...’