by C. G. Mosley
“So stop talking to me,” the man with the boots demanded.
“Interview?” the stranger asked.
The man with the boots gawped. He blinked those bright red eyes over and over then shook his head.
“You’re mental, you know that?” the man with the boots said. “Mental enough that I am calling security.”
He waved his hand across his wrist, banishing the holo, and brought up a glaring red display interface. The holo interface flashed twice then went green.
“There. Security is called,” the man with the boots said.
“Good. That means we have three minutes to talk before they arrive,” the stranger said and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The stranger was dressed in casual attire—sturdy pants, a basic long-sleeved shirt, nice, comfortable shoes. He plucked at a bit of fuzz on his pants then focused his entire being onto the man with the boots. “Listen carefully.”
“What? What are you on about?” the man with the boots exclaimed. “You had best get up and get—”
“Shut up and listen, Mr. Gor’bun,” the stranger said.
“How do you know—?”
“Roshall Gor’bun,” the stranger said with a sigh. “Recently laid off by Tremmle Corp due to some irregularities in your filing of shift records. Why was that, Mr. Gor’bun?”
“Why was what?” Mr. Gor’bun asked. “How do you know that?”
“Hows are pointless topics,” the stranger said. “The topic at hand is whether you want to stay alive or not. When security gets here, you will tell them that I was behaving strangely—”
“You have been!”
“—and you will leave with one of them while the other questions me. Go willingly with the security officer, answer questions truthfully then wait with the person until the transport stops. Once we reach the station, wait until I exit this car then you exit. If I look directly at you, get back on the car. If I don’t look directly at you then wait for the transport to leave and walk over to me. I’ll get you away from the station and to safety.”
“You’re mad,” Mr. Gor’bun said. “I’m not doing any of that.”
“Less than a minute,” the stranger said. “I was told to say that Herra Mor’ta says hello, if you don’t want to listen to what I have to say.”
Mr. Gor’bun’s teal skin managed to almost turn white at the mention of the name Herra Mor’ta.
“That’s a name you know,” the stranger said. “A name you shouldn’t know unless you were doing much more than misfiling shift records. You accessed data in the Tremmle Corp mainframe that you were not supposed to access. We know all about that. What we don’t know is whether that little breach was an accident or deliberate.”
Mr. Gor’bun began to open his mouth, but shut it with a snap when the stranger pointed a finger at him.
“Not my place to ask or to hear,” the stranger said. “My place is to get you away from the station safely and into the hands of those that will make sure your knowledge doesn’t get you killed.”
Mr. Gor’bun was silent for a couple seconds then said, “Killed…?”
The stranger didn’t have time to answer as two security officers burst through the connecting airlock of the transport car. They glanced at Mr. Gor’bun, but dismissed him right away before stomping down the aisle towards the stranger.
One of the security officers was a short, squat fellow with sheer white bristles sticking out of every millimeter of skin not covered by his uniform; a conglomeration of many different, and somehow compatible, galactic races. The stranger furrowed his brow as the officer locked onto him and approached, hand on a small pistol still holstered to his hip.
The stranger barely gave the oncoming officer a glance. The second security officer was the one to pay attention to. A full-blooded Gwreq—stone-skinned, four-armed, humanoid, and over seven feet tall—the officer stopped in front of Mr. Gor’bun, blocking the stranger’s view of the teal-skinned man. If the Gwreq officer was bought then all it would take was one hard, quick backhand and Mr. Gor’bun’s neck would be turned to jelly.
“You,” the bristle-haired officer said as he stopped just out of the stranger’s reach. “Up. Let’s go. No more bugging hard-working passengers.”
“Does something about me say I’m not hard-working too?” the stranger asked. He looked around the officer at Mr. Gor’bun, but the man was completely blocked by the Gwreq standing guard.
“Eyes on me, slagger,” the bristle-haired officer ordered. “That gentleman is not your concern. How about you get up now and come with me before I have to get drastic?”
“Wouldn’t want you to get drastic,” the stranger said and slowly stood up. “Where are we going?”
“Gonna take you up front so I can do a full scan,” the bristle-haired officer replied. “Match you against the database.”
The stranger nodded. “Good idea. You’ll see I’m clean.”
“That so? We’ll see,” the bristle-haired officer replied. “Get walking, slagger. And eyes forward. No need to try to intimidate the gentleman as you go by.”
The stranger did as he was told, barely able to squeeze past the bulk of the Gwreq officer as he walked down the aisle towards the airlock. The Gwreq reached out and grabbed his arm, stared him down, then sneered and let go, turning back to address Mr. Gor’bun. The stranger was pleased to hear a normal, boring round of stock questions come from the Gwreq’s mouth as he and the bristle-haired officer reached the airlock.
2.
“That’s odd…” the bristle-haired officer said as he stared at the holo display and the data readout that scrolled by, fading out as it reached the surface of the small desk in the transport’s security kiosk. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Sno. Denman Sno,” the stranger replied. “You have it right there. Next to my picture and my stats.”
“Yes, well…” The bristle-haired guard stopped the data scroll and grabbed at the pic that was displayed prominently in the file. He stared at the pic then stared at the stranger then back at the pic. He humphed and continued the scroll before he became frustrated and banished the holo altogether. “Not even a smudge on your record.”
“I play by the rules and keep my nose clean,” Sno said.
“A little too clean,” the bristle-haired officer said. “Maybe get out more. Find a mate, go to a club, stop harassing transport passengers.”
“Like I said, I was only having a chat with the man. Don’t know why he took offense,” Sno said.
“My colleague will find out,” the bristle-haired officer said dismissively. “But other than being annoying, you’ve done nothing that I can hold you for.”
“Good thing,” Sno said. “We’ve reached the station and I have a cab waiting.”
“A what?” the bristle-haired officer asked.
“Taxi,” Sno said, but the officer’s puzzled features didn’t change. “A roller for hire?”
“Kip driver. Got it,” the bristle-haired officer said and nodded with understanding. “Taxi? That one of those city-planet names?”
“I guess so,” Sno said. “Am I free to go, officer?”
“Yeah. Go. Get along with you.” The bristle-haired officer opened the kiosk and pointed. “Out of my sight. And stop being weird!”
Sno smiled, nodded, left.
“Only plan on seeing the beaches,” Sno said as he hurried off towards the closest exit.
“Not gonna see much in this storm!” the bristle-haired officer called after Sno.
Sno gave an over-the-shoulder wave and stepped off the transport car and onto the station platform. The air was thick and warm and charged with electricity. Sno felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he moved quickly to one of many columns staggered along the platform that held up the long, wide roof.
It was at that moment that Sno wished he’d come armed. But no way to sneak a pistol worth a damn onto a public transport. Scanners would have found the weapon instantly even with the s
hielding tech that all his pistols contained. Egthak had a very strict no-weapons policy and had developed tech to back-up that policy. It should have made the planet safer, but as the hairs on the back of Sno’s neck continued to stand up, he knew the safety was an illusion.
Weapons were plentiful if one knew where to look or who to comm.
Sno studied the platform. Not a single person around. That should have been a good thing, but it wasn’t. There was no reason for the platform to be deserted. Not at that time of day and that time of week. There should have been at least a dozen other passengers milling about, either headed towards or coming from the expanse of beaches that were only a short roller ride away.
The oncoming storm could have been a reason for the lack of others, but Sno knew better. He fixed his eyes onto Mr. Gor’bun as the man finally exited the transport. Mr. Gor’bun completely ignored Sno and walked briskly towards the station’s small building. Sno cursed under his breath, glanced around, still saw no one then moved to follow.
Sno made it a meter before Mr. Gor’bun reached the station building’s doors. The doors slid open with an automatic hiss and Mr. Gor’bun was inside. Then the world turned bright white and Sno was lifted off his feet and sent flying against the side of the transport that had just started moving again.
Pain radiated out from Sno’s back as his shirt, then his skin, was nearly scraped free of his body by the moving transport. Twisting hard and fast as the vehicle’s momentum sent him spinning and ricocheting back at the station platform, Sno managed to tuck a shoulder and roll a few meters, to avoid getting his skull bashed in by the platform’s brutally hard surface.
What he didn’t avoid was the burning debris that represented the remains of the station building. Piles of scorched refuse sat there and Sno found himself smack in the middle of a circle of flames and thick, acrid smoke. His shirt in tatters, he ripped it off his body and tore a long strip to wrap around his nose and mouth as the smoke assaulted his lungs.
Sno squinted through the pungent clouds and tried to find some semblance of life, but all he saw were the battered and burnt bodies of the few travelers, or workers, that had been waiting inside the station. Mr. Gor’bun’s corpse was nowhere to be seen. Sno was not surprised. There were more than a couple of piles of burning matter that could or could not have been living beings before the explosion.
Tapping at his wrist, Sno activated his comm and waited for the chime in his ear to tell him the connection was active and secure.
“Agent Prime requesting extraction,” he stated when the chime finally came.
There had been a significant delay. Sno wondered if the incoming storm was messing with the connection. It shouldn’t, considering his comm was next-gen quantum tech, but then every planet was different and had its issues.
“Repeat, Agent Prime requesting extraction,” Sno stated once more. The sound of emergency alert sirens grew in the distance and Sno swore. “Shit. Hey! Anyone on the damn comm?”
Still no response.
The wind had picked up considerably, chilling the sweat on his torso, giving him a shiver despite the heat radiating off the wreckage that surrounded him. Sno studied the piles, found a route out, and made his move, leaping across two smoldering piles of debris before getting clear of most of the mess.
The emergency alert sirens grew louder.
Without a thought, Sno stripped a corpse of its jacket and shirt, put them both on, and limp-sprinted to the end of the station platform, heading for a copse of scraggly trees that stood swaying in the wind. Other than a pile of boulders a few meters away, the trees were about all the cover there was for as far as Sno could see. It struck him that the station was a strange place for Mr. Gor’bun to disembark, but the desolation of the area did provide excellent range of views for whoever was coming for Mr. Gor’bun. Visibility was completely unobstructed in all directions other than the copse of trees.
Sno wondered if the station’s destruction was meant for him as much as for Mr. Gor’bun. A solid pair of binocs would pick Sno out easily. His face wasn’t exactly supposed to be known wide, but Sno had made plenty of enemies across the galaxy over the years as an agent for the Fleet Intelligence Service’s Special Service Division or FIS-SSD.
“Where is my damn backup?” he muttered as he made his way to the trees and found some cover from both the increasing winds of the storm and any possible eyes tracking him. They’d know where he was, but he wouldn’t be an easy target any longer. The smoke back on the platform had probably been all that stood between him and a plasma blast between the eyes if someone had obtained a rifle and was gunning for him.
Sno swiped across his wrist and brought up a holo of his comm system. Aural implant was in the green. Transmitter and receiver in the green with all planet-wide spectrums fully open. Main channels and sub-channels were accessible. No trace of jamming. The comm itself wasn’t the issue.
The far-off sirens went silent. Sno frowned as he looked towards the destruction. No vehicles. No rollers or hover cars; no emergency swift ships. No sign of emergency personnel anywhere. The vehicles never made it to the explosion site.
That got Sno moving. Either the emergency vehicles had been called back, which meant someone in power on Egthak had made a request. Or the vehicles had been stopped and possibly destroyed just like the station. Sno hadn’t heard any explosions, but a molecular disruptor would do the trick with barely a sound. Emergency vehicles weren’t shielded against violent tech like that.
Sno stood at the edge of the trees for a moment then sprinted as fast as he could to the stand of boulders a few meters off. He’d made it halfway before the trees behind him were engulfed in flames. No sound of a weapon discharge or incoming projectile. They simply caught fire, sending flames arching far, far into the sky.
Sno dove for the boulders. He rolled and came up with his back against the stone. His ears were on overdrive, listening for the approach of enemies. Nothing. No crunch of wheels or hum of a grav engine. No footfalls of boots running his way. Nothing except the crack and pop of the trees burning.
There were times in Sno’s career where he sometimes, and only sometimes, wished the SSD didn’t have a ‘no AI agents in the field’ policy. He had old friends that swore by their AI counterparts. Whether simply assistants or ship pilots, everyone said having one made all the difference. But the SSD couldn’t take the risk of an AI going rogue. Didn’t matter if the AI was mainframe-based or a physical android, the SSD didn’t trust them and refused to allow agents to use them in the field.
Sno knew of a couple exceptions, but those were extreme cases where the director in charge had put in a special request. That knowledge didn’t help him much at that moment. What would have helped was an AI to call who could bring his ship to his current location and get him all the Hells out of the situation he found himself in.
Which was what?
A destroyed transport station, a dead asset, and a copse of trees spontaneously combusting? What kind of situation was that?
Waiting, listening, calculating, Sno stayed put, his back firmly against the boulders. Without new intel, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Thirty minutes. An hour. Two hours. Sno waited. There was a protocol in place. No contact after four hours and the local FIS liaison would be forced to take action. Unfortunately for Sno, that meant another few hours of bureaucratic back and forth before a decision was made to send out local friendlies to find him.
Unlike the SSD, the FIS never deviated from protocol. That made Sno’s job extremely difficult at times, and damn near impossible at others, but in the end, asses were covered and the Fleet Intelligence Service could survive another round of Galactic Fleet Council reviews which meant the SSD survived another round of reviews. To Sno’s superiors, surviving those reviews was more important than Sno’s actual survival out in the field. Or that was how it felt most times.
So, Sno waited. It was all he could do.
3.
The swift ship was a two
-seater. It came in low and fast, a blip on the horizon then a blob then a fully formed vehicle shooting straight at where Sno still sat, back secure against a couple tons of stone. Shaped like a large needle with four stubby wings spaced evenly around the aft end, the swift ship lived up to its name in all ways.
Sno watched the ship come in fast then do two low, quick circles of the area before landing a quarter click from the boulders. Sno didn’t move. The swift ship had no markings, nothing to indicate it was from any specific agency. It could have been his rescue or it could have been part of the same entity that had blown up the station and killed Mr. Gor’bun.
So, Sno waited. Some more.
The cockpit of the ship opened up top and two lines of liquid metal alloy deployed from just under the seal, quickly forming into a multi-runged ladder for the pilot to climb down. Sno did not recognize the pilot, but that didn’t mean anything. The Egthak liaison never gave Sno a list of trusted local contacts and Sno never asked for one. Safer that way.
“Hail there, friend!” the pilot shouted as she stepped onto the ground and swiveled her head in Sno’s direction.
No binocs, so she must have had ocular implants in place or there would have been no way she could have seen Sno up against those boulders.
Sno did not respond. He waited quietly and watched as the woman approached his position.
Humanoid and bipedal, the woman could have been human, but it was hard for Sno to tell. She was dressed in a pilot’s uniform complete with headgear that obstructed any decent study of her specific anatomy and race. He could see that her skin was a bright orange, but that meant nothing. Most humans had bright-colored skin, along with a dozen other bipedal races.
And those were the races Sno knew of; the galaxy was a vast place and new civilizations were discovered yearly, added to the list of Galactic Fleet allies, or Skrang Alliance allies, or coalition of independent planets that swore allegiance to neither the GF nor the Skrang, blaming both for the War that nearly destroyed half the galaxy so many years earlier.