“You really want it?” the dealer asked him. “I can give it to you, but I don’t want your money.”
The addict regarded the box with undisguised lust and Maya wanted to vomit. Glass addicts became like animals once they were good and hooked. Shyla had been that way, she recalled darkly, before the drug had killed her.
“You want it?” the dealer repeated. “For free?”
The addict nodded, vigorously.
“Then you need to talk to these women next to us,” the dealer told him.
At that, Saantoz rose, and Maya almost didn’t follow her. She didn’t want to be involved. But Saantoz gave her a look that told her that she didn’t have the choice, and despite herself, she went with her.
As they joined the dealer, Saantoz signaled to her, and she reluctantly slid the little piece of plastipaper over to the addict. She was also careful to withdraw her hand before his fingers could make any accidental contact. Just being across from him was revolting.
“Read it,” Saantoz instructed. “That’s our price—and your first installment.”
Hands shaking, the addict opened the note. Then his eyes went wide as the words slowly made sense. “I-I can’t do this—“he spluttered.
“Then we don’t do business,” the dealer announced crisply. “No one does business with you, anywhere. You go dry, güeyo.”
With that, the dealer started to rise, and the addict grasped at his coat. “Wait! I’ll do it! Just promise me that it won’t hurt my country!”
“No promises, Ranji,” Saantoz replied coldly. “Just the glass. Do we have a deal?” The dealer took this as his cue and put the box back on the table, but he kept ahold of it.
The addict spent a few seconds licking his lips, looking down at the box and considering what they were asking of him. Finally, his shoulders slumped and Maya knew that they had him. “I’ll do it,” he said quietly.
At a nod from Saantoz, the dealer let go of the parcel, and immediately, the addict seized it and tore off the lid. Inside, were several translucent shards, gleaming in the dim light.
Ignoring his audience, he took one of the pieces out, and slashed his arm with it. Blood welled up out of the cut, but a look of creamy satisfaction came over his features. Sighing deeply, he slumped back in his chair, totally lost in his bliss, and oblivious to the gore that was comingling with the old beer and grease on the table.
“We’ll be in touch,” Saantoz promised him. She tugged at Maya’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Maya waited until they were outside and headed back to the car before she finally let go. “Saantoz—I like you, I like your crew. But don’t ever—ever—get me into something like that again! Zat klaar?!”
Saantoz stopped midstride. “It’s just business, sister. Like I said, if you want to be an agent, you gotta wrap your head around it.”
“Fek business,” Maya snapped. “Wrap your head around that.”
Saantoz didn’t respond to this. Not in words at least; her eyes just narrowed unhappily.
Maya wasn’t intimidated though, and she didn’t break her gaze. She was too angry for that, and her symbiote gaurenteed her the victory if the gangster/agent wanted to make something more of it.
But the Dann woman didn’t. Instead, she took her out of the Dho Haak without saying another word, and dropped her off in the downtown area.
Once there, Maya was left on her own. She took a public bus to a stop five blocks from the Embassy, and then walked the rest of the way, entering the building through a side gate. This wasn’t the most covert way to return, but she was so angry by the time she arrived, that she simply didn’t care.
Sarah was still in her upstairs office, and Maya came straight in.
“Well?” Sarah asked. “How was your first day as a field agent?”
“Glass,” Maya replied, storming up to her desk. “Fekking goddess- damned glass! That’s how my ‘day’ was!”
“Yes,” Sarah returned. “I had the feeling that Agent Saantoz was going to make contact with that asset today. It’s good that you got the opportunity to watch her—“
“You knew how I felt about that!” Maya spat, pointing her finger in the woman’s face. “You knew, and you still sent me there!”
Sarah sat back, her expression a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Do I detect the birth of some kind of ethics? Is that what this is all about? I told you that we can’t--”
“--can’t choose what we do? Is that it, Sarah?” Maya retorted. “Is that what you were going to say? I’ve been training and training and fekking training—for what?! So I can help you peddle that shess for some goddess-damned objective the Agency has for goddess knows-the-fek-what?’
“Well, guess what, Sarah. Fek you! Fek the Agency! I will choose what I do! If glass is what this is going to be about, then I’m out! I’m fekking out!” She was leaning over the desk now, and pounding it with her fist, but she didn’t care. She was sick and tired of being pushed around by everyone. Especially Sarah.
Before the other woman could respond, she spun on her heels and stomped out of the room.
Sarah watched her go, and shook her head sadly.
Several minutes later, and after allowing Maya a reasonable period of time to cool off, she went looking for her. She found her sulking in a corner of the underground parking area.
The girl’s head whipped around as she approached, and Sarah stopped where she was when she saw the look in her eyes.
“Maya,” she said as gently as she could. “I have made a terrible mistake. I admit that. I should have taken your feelings about glass into account, but I did not. Instead I was stupid, and I was selfish, and I apologize for my carelessness. It will never happen again. Please, find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Maya’s eyes opened wide in genuine astonishment. In all their time together, Sarah had never apologized for anything. Ever.
“Let’s talk—when you’re ready” Sarah added. “I’ll make the time. You just tell me when. Please.”
At a total loss for words, Maya only glared at her. There was suspicion and hurt in her gaze, but Sarah also saw agreement. Wary agreement to be sure, but it was much better than the alternative.
CHAPTER 4
State Highway 101, Centraal District, Nuvo Bolivar, Magdala Provensa, Esteral Terrana Rapabla, 1048.08|02|05:84:65
Although they had many skills in common with the Specia Team, Kaly’s group still had to play ‘catch-up’ in certain vital areas. Coming from a society where most transportation flew, they had been required to reclaim the lost art of surveillance and pursuit tactics using ground-based vehicles.
To accomplish this, the RSE had created special PTS training feeds for them, drawing material from such venerable sources as the near-mythical City of Los Angeles, and the equally fabled settlements of ancient Anaheim and Long Beach. These had been followed with behind-the-wheel practice at the Nuvo Bolivar Police Driving Course, and they had received instruction from both the police trainers and the Specia soldiers themselves.
Now, this new knowledge was being put into practice. Sitting in the passenger seat of their sport utility ‘lectri, Kaly had to gently refuse the false memories that were trying to assert themselves. They insisted that she had once ridden in a similar vehicle, patrolling the smog-choked freeways of Southern California as a member of the Highway Patrol.
But thanks to the Hriss, that place, and Old Gaia itself, were nothing more than dust and bits of rock, and had been for over a millennia. False-memories like these were a common side effect of the feeds however, and being a veteran, Kaly had learned the trick of defeating them. She simply focused her attention on the present and continued to remind herself of who she really was.
Up on the windshield a map showed the freeway—the real freeway, and not a ghost from some vanished age—and it displayed their position and also the location of their target. Above this, was the live feed comng from the USSNS Josephine Baker, showing the plain silver sedan and its occupants, along with
smaller images that had been culled from their army service records. The passenger, who was the entire reason for this mission, had been positively identified as Capitán Jesu Munnaz.
While not high in the Loyalista command structure, Munnaz still oversaw the operations of a dozen rebel cells located in and around the capitol. Like his superiors, he kept on the move, constantly changing locations every day. Thanks to leads that had been developed after their first ‘snatch and grab operation, a Loyalista close to Munnaz had turned coat and given them a solid lead. They knew exactly where Munnaz was going.
Team 201’s objective was to capture the officer en-route without the Loyalistas ever becoming the wiser. If it came off as planned, the RSE had every reason to believe that it would lead them to even bigger game, and possibly even bag some of the top rebel leadership.
So far, things seemed to be looking good. The target vehicle was ten cars ahead, and it showed no signs that it had detected them. The driver was keeping precisely to the speed limit, signaling all of his turns and generally doing everything that he could to blend in with the late afternoon commuter traffic.
Team 201, 440 and the Specia Team were keeping the same low profile. Except for the heavily tinted windows, their three ‘chase’ vehicles looked like all the other Sport Utility ‘lectris around them, and this particular feature was not so strange that it really stood out. Nor did the police lights that were hidden under their grills and behind the sun visors.
The presence of a pair of Sisterhood assault shuttles loitering off in the distance also wasn’t anything noteworthy. Since the Sisterhood had occupied the ETR, aerial patrols like this occurred every day and the people of Nuvo Bolivar had gotten used to seeing them—even if an ever-increasing number of them had come to dislike what they represented. The driver of the silver sedan appeared to be no exception; he kept his pace steady and unhurried as he changed lanes to take an off-ramp.
“They’re leaving the highway,” Kaly observed. Sitting behind the wheel, their driver, Sarjenta Xayvar Pera grunted in acknowledgement and glanced at the data on the windshield. Ben Di, sitting in the back seat, looked up at the same display and considered it.
Being the seniormost member of their combined force, it would be up to her to decide how and when they would capture Munnaz. Except for the target, the long, sloping ramp appeared to be clear of traffic all the way to the bottom, and the cross street that it met with was also deserted. Kaly knew exactly what Ben Di was thinking; this would be their best chance to apprehend the target without putting any innocent lives at risk.
Major ebed Karri, who was watching everything from the Embassy’s COMINT center saw the same thing. “Team, you’re clear to grab him here.”
That was enough to satisfy Ben Di. “Let’s take him now,” she ordered.
Right away, the shuttles altered their course and flew towards the off-ramp. The sedan was well down the grade by this point, and either the driver didn’t notice the approaching machines, or he was keeping his cool. Whatever the truth, he maintained his leisurely pace and began to signal the turn he intended to take at the bottom of the ramp.
Then, with a sudden burst of speed, the lead shuttle accelerated, lost altitude and came around into a hover just a meter off the pavement. Seeing the huge machine blocking them, the startled driver reacted by hitting his brakes and shifting into reverse. The sedan’s tires squealed and smoked from the violence of the maneuver.
It was too late to escape however. Sarjenta Pera had flipped on the police lights, and used the shoulder to bypass the traffic, reaching the ramp an instant later. The other two chase cars were right behind them and Ben Di signaled to the driver of the nearest ‘lectri as Pera moved over to let them come alongside.
Both vehicles stopped on the ramp with a precision that would have made a primeval Watch Commander proud; slightly staggered, and facing their target with a clear field of fire.
The third SUV performed just as flawlessly. The trooper sent her vehicle into a hard right-hand slide that brought it into position to straddle the road behind them. The off-ramp was now blocked, and their rear was protected from attack. Simultaneously, the shuttle ascended, rising just high enough to offer them a clear background if a firefight broke out—but still low enough to intimidate the sedan with all its weaponry. They had Munnaz pinned in.
Pera and Kaly were the first ones out, weapons up and at the ready, and Ben Di and Vasquaaz were right behind them.
Ben Di barked an order to the sedan. “Driver! With your left hand, reach over and turn off the ignition. Then put your hands out the window and drop the keys! Passenger, put your hands out the window! Do it NOW!”
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Sighting in on the back of the driver’s head from the cover of their SUV, Kaly wondered if they were going to have to shoot it out after all, or if the ‘lectri would try to drive under the shuttle and attempt an escape. According to the PTS Feeds, and their Specia teachers, neither tactic had ever succeeded, either in the ancient world, or the modern one. But these were Loyalistas, and as her training had stressed, desperate people could and would do anything in such a situation. Even stupid things.
This time though, the driver made the wise choice. His hands came out and the keys clattered onto the road. His passenger followed suit.
With Team 440 covering them, Kaly, Ben Di, Pera, and two additional Specia soldiers moved up on the vehicle, ordering the occupants out and onto the pavement at gunpoint. When both men were lying face down, their wrists were immediately secured with restraints and the ubiquitous black bags were pulled over their heads. Then they were hauled to their feet and walked over to where the shuttle was coming in for a landing.
The instant that the prisoners were aboard, the machine took off, with its partner following protectively behind it. This was the signal for the teams to finish up and get ready to leave.
Margasdaater and several of the other troopers got right to work. They pushed the ‘lectri off to the shoulder and then conducted a quick, but thorough search of its interior, taking everything out of it that had any potential intelligence value. They were just finishing stuffing their booty into plastic bags when Ben Di received an update from the Baker.
“We’re about to have company,” she announced. “Da Chikkas.” This was the slang word that the teams used for the local police forces. Its roots went back to the ancient French language. There was even a Gallic joke that had followed it up through the centuries. It went; ‘what do you get when you burn down a police station? Answer; cooked chicken.’
But none of the Specia took offense at this moniker. Since they had started working closely with the Sisterhood forces, they had adopted the term themselves. As far as they were concerned, Ben Di wasn’t out of line at all. Just like the regular army, the Chikkas had earned their sobriquet. They tended to run around like frightened chickens whenever the Loyalistas attacked them, and couldn’t be trusted to keep quiet about anything. This, and the fact that many of them were Loyalistas themselves, was precisely why the Op had been kept a secret.
Everyone turned towards the highway. How these particular Chikka’s might respond was an unknown. One thing was a certainty though; the officers would not be overjoyed to see twelve heavily armed people who had just made off with two of their countrymen, and closed a public road in the process. That kind of activity tended to annoy law enforcement.
When the first police cruiser appeared at the top of the ramp, it slowed, and then halted at a respectful distance.
Ben Di and Sarjenta Pera smiled at the policemen and walked up to greet them. They did not however, sling their weapons. Nor did anyone else. Nothing was pointed at the officers, but the fact that they were still at hand—and could be brought to bear at a moment’s notice--wasn’t lost on the Chikkas either. The lead officer returned their friendly expression, but he and his partner were careful to keep their hands well away from their side arms. They were out-gunned and they knew it.
“Hello,” Ben Di
said. “Sorry for closing the ramp, officer. We’re just about done here.”
“What is this?” the policeman demanded. “What’s going on here?”
Sarjenta Pera answered him with a perfectly straight face. “They were littering. We’re taking them back for questioning.”
It was all that Kaly could do to suppress her laughter, and T’Jinna, being mute, didn’t even bother. Neither did Cabo Vasquaaz. The Sireeni shook with undisguised mirth and the Specia soldier let out a hearty guffaw. Even the policeman had to struggle to maintain his stern expression.
“That’s—um--very good citizenship,” he replied, sketching a salute with his finger. “We all have to do our part to keep Nuvo Bolivar clean, don’t we? Well, you folks have a nice day.”
“You too, officer.”
The two groups parted company, and also kept a keen eye on their opposite numbers as they did so. They were after all, fighting on the same side, or at least had to seem like they were.
USSNS Pallas Athena, Battle Group Golden, Topaz Fleet, On Patrol Near Calatrava, Nevanas System, Reganna Provensa, Esteral Terrana Rapabla, 1048.08|03|04:58:33
In addition to Bel Hanna’s brain canister, the Athena’s computer core boasted five bio-electronic backup drives, each with 100 saurobytes of storage capacity, as well as three conventional AI intelligences. Under normal circumstances, these AI’s functioned as Bel Hanna’s direct subordinates, in much the same way that flesh and blood techs would have worked under an Untranslated officer. They not only handled the lesser computing tasks for her, but if she became incapacitated, they could work together to run the entire ship.
While the core itself was heavily armored, the Navy appreciated the possibility of it incurring damage, and special procedures had been devised to cope with such a catastrophic event. Just like the other members of the Athena’s crew, Bel Hanna and her AI’s were expected to practice their emergency drills on a regular basis.
The last official session had been less than a month earlier, so it came as something of a surprise to the ComTech on duty when Bel Hanna contacted her and made a request to run through them again. Mariner Shirly n’Teena was one of her favorite techs, and Bel Hanna genuinely regretted what she was about to put the poor woman through, but her sense of duty superseded their personal friendship.
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