by M S Murdock
“I warned you, I never pull punches,” Kane said. His Opponent slowly rolled over and lurched to his feet “It was a good lesson for me,’ ’he responded. “Being soundly beaten is supposed to be good for the soul.”
Kane grinned. “I wouldn’t know,” he said casually.
Kang Ahn stretched, checking for injuries. HQ looked at Kane sideways. “You’ve never been beaten?”
“Not straight on.” Kane picked up a towel and began to wipe away the sweat that still poured down his face and clung to his dark, pencil-thin mustache, “What’s more, I don’t intend to be. Ever.”
“I don’t think anyone intends to be,” returned Ahn “But there is a grace in losing that makes one stronger-or so the sages say.”
“Don’t quote oriental proverbs at me, Ahn. Losing is losing.”
Ahn opened his mouth to dispute Kane’s reasoning, but his eye was caught by the gymnasium attendant “I think Karasuma is trying to get your attention,” he said.
Kane turned his jade-green eyes upward. Karasuma was hovering by the doorway, wearing an expectant, earnest expression “What is it, Karasuma?” Kane asked. He was not in the mood for interruptions in his recreation. Exercise relieved the boredom he felt between jobs, and the Tokyorg gymnasium was one of his most favorite on Earth.
“There is a message for you, Mr. Kane From the regent’s office.’ Karasuma was uncertain, and it was evident to Kane that he was not used to dealing with officialdom.
“Where?”
“I have had the call sent to my office,” said the attendant, an imaginary tail between his legs.
Kane threw Karasuma a bone “The privacy is appreciated. I’ll be right there”
Karasuma bobbed his head in gratified acknowledgment and scurried from the room.
Kane turned to Ahn, the broken crescent tattoo on the Tokyorg native’s jaw a stark reminder of his reputation. Before Kane could speak, Ahn extended his hand. “It was a gentleman’s wager,” he said. “I’ll have the money credited to you.”
“I was coming to that,” Kane admitted. He did not take Ahn’s hand. “It was a good match. If the mood ever strikes you again, I would be pleased to accommodate you. I’m sorry to desert you, but it seems I have a call.”
“Of course, “responded Ahn to Kane’s compact, muscular back. He already was halfway across the floor of the workout area. Kane’s long, effortless strides reminded Ahn of the swinging walk of a tiger.
Kane was snarling under his breath. The time he spent honing his body into an ever more perfect combat tool was precious to him, and he resented being interrupted, no doubt by some glory-seeking junior executive. He marched into Karasuma’s cubicle and shoved a pile of papers away from the computer terminal. Allester Chernenko’s forbidding features filled the screen.
Kane’s demeanor underwent a subtle change. “Yes, sir.”
“I see I interrupted your recreation,” said Chernenko.
“It’s kind of you to be concerned,” responded Kane. The sarcastic flavor of Chernenko’s voice made Kane’s tone even more polite. “But my training is over for the day.”
“I suppose you have heard the outcome of the Chicagorg raid.”
“I have my sources. They tell me you missed Rogers.”
“That remains to be seen. What concerns me is that intelligence-intelligence I paid you well for-may not have been accurate.”
“Inaccurate? I am afraid, Regent, that cannot be.”
“You furnished the diagrams of the NEO base.” Chernenko’s voice was smooth.
“And?”
“And I believe you neglected to mention an escape route.”
“How so?” inquired Kane, knowing full well where the conversation was leading.
“Off one of the mam chambers was a tunnel,” said the regent.
Kane nodded. “Yes. I pinpointed it in the description I gave the Terrines.”
“Then why did it not appear on the readout used to plan the raid?”
Kane shrugged and said, “I have no idea. The tunnel was rough. It had a failsafe trap built into the door mechanism. Once the-door was opened, you had thirty seconds to get down the tunnel to another door before the ceiling collapsed on you.”
“I knew it! I knew he escaped!” Chernenko swung away from the screen His profile was a dark outline that revealed nothing. Slowly he turned his head, his narrowed eyes leveled at, Kane. Brave men had quailed beneath those eyes,” but Kane held his ground, a faint smile on his flawless lips.
“I suggest you check the computer log, sir. My report should be there in full,” he said
“Elizabit!” roared Chernenko.
“Yes, sir.” Elizabit’s distinctive voice floated over the communications channel”
“Check Kane’s story,” Chernenko ordered.
Kane continued to smile, though he logged the insult to his word for future reference.
“Sir, Kane’s account checks out. The computer contains full references to the tunnel in question,” Elizabit informed her superior, scant seconds later.
“Then why didn’t it appear on the diagrams?”
“I am afraid, sir, I am embarrassed,” said the electronic attendant.
“You, Elizabit? It can’t be done”
“I am sorry, sir, but this seems to be a computer error A malfunction lifted that particular piece of information from the print file.”
“Why?” demanded Chernenko.
"I have no idea, sir. Lately, there seems to be some sort of interference attacking random computer systems?’
“Well, find out. Can you protect your own programming? I don’t want security breached.”
“Affirmative, sir. I will dissipate before I will be contaminated.” “Mmm,” replied Chernenko noncommittally. He turned his attention back to Kane, who waited expectantly. The pleasant expression on his face Irritated Chernenko. “You seem to be in the clear,” said the regent.
“Yes.”
“You said you have your own sources of intelligence on the NEO raid. What is your opinion of the fate of Captain Rogers?”
“Why ask me? I do not know the man.”
“You and he are both men of action. It occurs to me that you might know how he thinks.”
“I doubt it. He is an anachronism.”
“He is dangerous,” Chernenko insisted.
“As a boost to NEO morale, I agree.”
“And he is worth a great deal of money.”
Kane idly rubbed the towel along his forearm. “I am always interested in money,” he said.
“I have observed that,” said Chernenko. “I would pay handsomely for information that might lead me to him.”
“Should such information come to my ears, I will bear that in mind,” assured Kane.
Chernenko regarded Kane’s recruiting poster face Kane’s dark hair framed his perfect features. His cool green eyes regarded Chernenko impassively, but the tilt of his head was sardonic. His lips under the rakish black mustache were faintly curved Chernenko had the distinct feeling Kane was ridiculing him, but there was no overt sign to prove his suspicions. Kane was not an easy personality, but he was invaluable to RAM as a NEO defector. Moreover, he was a brilliant soldier whose skills might turn the course of a battle. “I have mentioned before, Kane, that I have a place for you with my personal staff.”
“And I have replied with my thanks-and my regrets-Regent.”
“The rewards of such a position are many,” commented Chernenko.
“I can imagine. 'But, at the present time, I do not wish to ally myself with any corporate division. I believe I am most valuable to RAM as a free agent.”
And to yourself, thought Chernenko. Kane was in a position to sell his services to the highest bidder, a mercenary who made his own rules. “I can provide certain benefits,” said Chernenko, dangling the hook.
“If you are referring to the lovely Diamond, I am not sure, sir, that I have total confidence in her loyalties. But I do in mine. No thank you, sir,
but I will stay as I am for the present.”
“As you wish, Kane. But remember, the offer is there.”
“You are most generous, sir.”
Chernenko cut the transmission, and his image blipped off the computer screen.
Kane threw the towel around his neck and pulled savagely at the ends. “Pompous Martian mutie!” He stalked out of the office, his expression cold. He did not enjoy being patronized. He sought the showers, his interview with Chernenko setting off danger alarms. He could feel something building. As hot water coursed down his body, sending steam off his compact shoulders, he reviewed what he knew of Buck Rogers.
RAM had paid Kane to find Rogers, who had been frozen in suspended animation since the twentieth century. At the crucial moment, however, the five hundred-year-old pilot slipped through his hands, as well as those of Wilma Deering, who also was searching. In a clash that ended the life of astroarchaeologist Merrill Andresen-the man who actually found Rogers-space pirate Black Barney intervened and stole Rogers for himself to sell on the black market.
After months of roaming the solar system with Barney, Rogers met Deering and showed interest in joining NEO, which had brought him to Chicagorg. In general, Rogers’s discovery and subsequent re-animation had aroused public sympathy, and NEO had begun to grow.
Kane knew NEO intimately. He once had been its most valuable pilot, an agent of legendary prowess. He relinquished his position with NEO when he turned traitor to free Wilma from one of RAM’s prisons. Since then he’d been working for the highest bidder, almost exclusively RAM.
Now NEO had found another star to follow. He smiled crookedly. Let them follow a name. So far, it had cost them a major base. And that was just the beginning.
Kane ducked his head under the shower, letting the luxury of the hot water wash away his annoyance at Chernenko. He had no doubt that he had chosen the right path. Every day, the little things of life proclaimed it, little things like hot water. He could have what he wanted from RAM if he played his cards right there was nothing in this life that money could not buy, nothing he desired that he could not Purchase. In the end, money was the great equalizer, and he intended to be its master.
He had received an offer to conduct a training session for an exclusive wing of RAM’s finest, the fighter unit known as Deathwatch. In spite of RAM’s superior hardware, Kane was acknowledged as the best pilot in the solar system. The training session regarding attack methods favored by NEO’s ragged wings not only would be lucrative, but would give him the opportunity to try out new aircraft. The assignment felt right.
“Kane.” The voice was low and ice cold, drifting into the dressing room. Kane glanced around the room to find its source. He found it in the shadowy figure of a man leaning against the wall a few feet away, He could see no details, but the man’s voice was unmistakable.
“Good day, Smirnoff. Come to Tokyorg often?”
The director of the Terrine guard acknowledged his identification with a thin smile. “Let’s talk,” he said.
“The conversation is yours.”
“You spoke With Chernenko,” the Terrine said.
“It seems to be my day for celebrities,” Kane said.
“He offered you a position.”
“He’s done that before.”
“You turned him down, ” said Smirnoff
“Yes.”
“Even though such a position opens doors.”
“I prefer to be my own man,” said Kane as he dressed
“You will not reconsider?” the Terrine asked.
“Are you Chernenko’s recruiter?”
“No” Smirnofi’s voice was dry and regained its previous chill.
“I will not reconsider. I already have open doors,” declared Kane.
“I will remember that.”
“Why are my business dealings of concern to the guard?” “The deployment of personal security, especially where it regards an official of the regent s magnitude, is always our concern. Since you will not be joining his staff, you are not of immediate interest.” Kane suddenly realized Smirnoff was protecting his position. A personal police force might undermine the Terrine’s authority, especially in the hands of a man as powerful as Chernenko. Headed by a soldier with Kane’s reputation, it would not be hard for an employer to attract a suitable force." “I am gratified you saw fit to discuss this with me personally,” said Kane. “A man of your stature cannot have much time for the amenities”
“When there is need, I make time Smirnoff Said simply.
“You are, sir, a man after my own heart ”
Smirnoff nodded his acknowledgment, turned, and faded into the corridor. Kane finished dressing, then was on his way to the training session, pleased to have one of the most dangerous men on the face of the planet forced to seek him out. Smirnoff was a useful connection. Kane made a mental note to cultivate their relationship."
Chapter 6
RAM main had indigestion. Something alien was causing unsettling disruptions to the serenity of its systems. There were circuits in its innards that burned with the thing’s passing, cells that were rattled to malfunction their electrical units scrambled. RAM main intended to neutralize the disturbance. It doubled the number of virus hunters assigned to search the intruder out.
Masterlink, reposing in an Obscure corner of the security system, chuckled to itself over main’s ineptitude. Was the bloated maze so complacent that it thought to neutralize Masterlink with the simple programming of a few virus hunters, whose main functions were to absorb wayward static? The concept was definitely amusing, and Masterlink chuck led again, a gentle fluctuation behind its shield of looked circuits. Masterlink enjoyed scorching through RAM main, pursuing its goals, causing chaos. It absorbed power rapaciously, leaping on every reference to Buck Rogers it found. So far, the information it obtained was useless. Buck’s discovery, escape, and appearance in Chicagorg were catalogued, but beyond that there was nothing. Masterlink came to a conclusion: Rogers was not within the direct jurisdiction of the all-powerful RAM main.
Masterlink chuckled again, but Karkov chided his alter ego for frivolity. “WE HAVE NO TIME FOR PLAY,” he said. “WE MUST FIND ROGERS. HE NEARLY DESTROYED US ONCE, AND HE COULD DO IT AGAIN.”
“SO HE COULD,” returned Masterlink. “WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST?”
“SEARCHERS, ” said Karkov.
“YES. WE MUST ACCESs THE OTHER MAJOR COM PUTERS.”
“WE WILL FIND A WAY INSIDE NEO.” Karkov guessed Rogers’s personality would ultimately lead him to NEO.
“EVEN RAM IS LOCKED OUT OF THAT ONE,” said Masterlink.
“THAT DOES NOT MEAN WE CANNOT FORGE ACCESS,” said Karkov.
“PERHAPS, BUT IT WILL NOT BE EASY”
“ARE YOU FORGETTING THE URGENCY OF THE MATTER? WE CAME WITHIN A BLIP OF CESSATIONI” Karkov cried.
“I AM NOT FORGETTING. I DID NOT SAY IT COULD NOT BE DONE, BUT IT WILL TAKE TIME,” Masterlink Explained.
“WE ARE SAFE HERE, FOR THE MOMENT ACCESS THE COMPUTER SYSTEMS WHILE I PREPARE SEARCHER PROGRAMS.”
“AFFIRMATIVE. WHAT SHALL WE CALL THEM?”
“NOT A SERIES. EACH SEARCHER MUST BE AN INDIVIDUAL PROGRAM.”
“THAT’S MAJOR CODING,” warned Masterlink, “BUT HARDER TO TRACE. I’LL SEE TO IT.”
Masterlink subdued its cybernetic program and bent its energies toward the task at hand. It ran a list of the computers external to RAM main, tracked RAM’s own spy network to its points of access, and recorded the junctions of the two. In some cases, the computer being monitored was simple enough to be totally unaware of main’s eavesdropping, but it was much more common to find a counter-seal on the link. The counter-seals were varied," some simply blocking the transmission, some accepting it and placing a complementary eavesdropper on RAM. Whatever the case, Masterlink copied the systems.
Once catalogued, Masterlink began the laborious task of breaking the blockades. It was a time consuming process, but Masterlink had time, patienc
e, and extremely streamlined motives. One by one the blockades fell to its persistent attacks. One by one searcher programs were sent into the systems.
Romanov.dos was dispatched to the NEO computer, where it found useless banks of information on Capt. Anthony “Buck”, Rogers. As it searched through the piles of garbage, discarding the-knowledge that he was allergic to orange juice and his favorite baseball team was the Yankees, Romanov became angry. As it piled useless data on useless data, it began to suspect that somewhere there was a closed and locked file that pointed like an arrow to its quarry.
OOOOO
The earth was whirling. Wilma Deering could feel it. It spun in a hazy pirouette in the darkness, as alone as a person’s soul. Far, far away was the flickering nucleus of light around which it hovered, trying to warm itself at cosmic fires. Wilma could see that light, faint, glowing in the blackness like a flicker of hope in a broken heart. She blinked slowly, trying to focus on it. “Wilma!” The voice was distant, masculine, and familiar.
“Wilma!” it said again.
Her eyelids were heavy. She could barely lift them. ‘The light swam in the shadow created by her eyelashes. “Wilma, talk to me!”
The voice was insistent, and Wilma tried to respond.
Buck Rogers watched Wilma’s full mouth open. Her lips moved, but she made no sound. He cupped her face in his hands. “Wilma! Listen to me! We have got to get out of here. You’ve been sedated. Fight it!”
Wilma’s eyelashes fluttered as she forced her eyes open. The light she clung to shone behind Rogers, backlighting him and casting his features into shadow. He was a dark male outline. “Who . . . ?” she murmured. “Rogers! Buck Rogers. Come on, Wilma, snap out of it.” He shook her lightly.
The world slowed down. Wilma blinked, this time really feeling the muscles around her eyes stretch. “I’m . . . awake,” she managed.