by Jason Mather
“No thanks.”
Elena brought in their food; coffee and toast for Hans and some pastry that Hans couldn’t identify for Onyx. She resumed her seat next to Onyx and gave Hans a smile. Hans didn’t return it.
“So, who is this guy we are going to see?”
Onyx was tearing pieces of the pastry in tiny bits, one at a time, working her way toward the fruit in the middle. She stopped to chew and wipe frosting from her fingers.
“Have you ever been to Salt Lake?”
“Never been one for religion. That sounds like all they got goin’ on over there.”
“Partially true, though what they really have ‘going on’ is human exploitation at the highest level.”
“Slavery?”
“They wouldn’t call it that.”
“The masters never do.”
“People are what they have. It’s their strength. That and a level of religious fervor in the populace that keeps them sedate.”
“The opiate of the masses, huh?”
“You’ve read Marx?”
“Groucho.”
“Also, good.”
Onyx took another moment, another bite, then continued. “The man we are going to see is a virtuoso of human exploitation. Prostitution and slavery are merely the edges of his operation.”
“What else is there?”
“Organ trafficking, body trafficking, some even think he’s been processing some of what his calls his ‘stock’ into food.”
“So, what, we got a Soylent Green situation?”
“It’s just a rumor, but I wouldn’t put anything past this man. What’s more, though his activities are not supported officially by the church and government, which is the same thing in Salt Lake, they seem to have chosen to look the other way due to the amount of capital he provides them.”
“Not to mention a solution to their overcrowding problem.”
“There is that.”
“So, he’s a criminal like yourself? You two should get along famously.”
“No, Mr. Ricker. Not like myself. I do not exploit human beings like cattle.”
“Then how do you exploit them, Ms. Li? Seems to me the only way to make the amount of money you have is to exploit them in one way or another.”
“There is exploiting people, and then there is merely selling them the vices they would otherwise obtain elsewhere.”
“You’ll pardon me if I don’t see much difference. You tread a fine line.”
“Not as thin as the one you tread by continuing to goad me. Are you always so impertinent?”
“Most of the time I’m not as polite.”
— «» —
The quickest way to Salt Lake was on one of the underground tramlines. Getting to the depot involved a short hop in Onyx’s private jumpcraft. It was much more comfortable than the military vehicles Hans had been in recently, and the unseen pilot took greater care in keeping his passengers comfortable. He was much relieved that Elena had not accompanied them. Neither had Beefy. Onyx had decided Hans was no threat to her. From what he’d seen of her abilities he didn’t disagree.
They headed toward the city center, cruising along a virtual boulevard for jumpcraft invisible to anyone but the pilot. The buildings grew tall around them, though the sensation was more that the jumpcraft was shrinking. The city below was a mass of white personal transport pods, whizzing quickly through intersections with no lights or signs, always missing one another even as they headed in cross directions. Hans could never ride in one of those things without imagining what would happen if the central network controlling them suddenly went down. Mass collisions at every intersection in the city. Another sign of humanity’s over-reliance on computers.
The buildings opened out slightly into a ground-level park bordered by some of the few old buildings left in Denver. The capital building, a library, an art museum, all maintained fastidiously, no longer functional, just a memorial of times past.
The tram station was located at the north end of the park, unassuming in its above ground structure, though its bowels represented the ongoing work of humanity’s greatest engineering project, to connect every major city in the world through ultra high-speed train lines, running in near vacuum in sealed tunnels at speeds that could top five thousand miles an hour. Currently it was possible, if prohibitively expensive, to live in a city like Denver and commute to New York. Eventually it wouldn’t take much longer to go all the way to London or Paris for what almost amounted to a day trip. It was one of the few technological advances that Hans truly appreciated. He’d never actually been on one, and he was looking forward to the trip, even under these circumstances.
The jumpcraft landed close to the entrance, door opening once it was settled.
Onyx leaned forward and offered him a small black box.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Looks like an ID spoofer.”
“So, you’ve had one before, then.”
“It’s the only way to get access to most of the city services if you’ve removed your tag. That one already set up for me?”
“With a few modifications. Your presence on the network will be deleted immediately after access.”
“I thought that was impossible.”
“You thought wrong.”
Deleting tracking records from the city’s encrypted networks in real time required a truly frightening amount of processing power. Hans didn’t know why he should be surprised.
Onyx led him off the jumpcraft, moving quickly across the lot and into the depot. It was still early and there were not too many people moving around them, though a line had already formed in front of the depot. Onyx bypassed the line, bypassed the ticket office, and led them into a small side door that opened directly into an elevator shaft. Hans hated elevators. In his excitement, he hadn’t really considered that the trams were nearly two miles below the surface. He stood with his back to the wall of the elevator as it accelerated downward, concentrating on breathing and trying not to think about the tons of rock above his head.
The trip down took nearly five minutes by his estimation, long enough that the weight settling back on him as the car came to a stop was disconcerting for a moment. The doors opened and a voice told them to follow the red path to their entrance. Scrolling arrows on the floor led down a wide, sparse corridor and bent around a far corner. They followed the path around a handful of corners, through identical corridors, finally emerging into the station proper.
Hans’ breath caught slightly. There was no evidence of claustrophobia here, not in a room as massive as this. From ceiling to floor the room was probably a couple hundred of feet, stretching off out of sight in either direction. The room was filled with a maze of walkways, elevators, and gantries, all seemingly suspended by nothing. At the far end in front of him stood a bank of stacked horizontal tubes, each covered in sturdy-looking doors that repeated every twenty feet or so.
He’d slowed slightly in his observance, though Onyx had not. She looked over her shoulder at him. Angry with himself for appearing like some kind of country bumpkin, he put his head down and caught up.
“First time?”
“Not everyone can afford this type of thing.”
“It is rather amazing. So much time and sweat to create just this one room, and there are thousands of depots like this, not to mention the hundreds of thousands of miles of pipelines connecting them. It’s enough to awe anyone the first time, or even the hundredth.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t know if she was trying to put him at ease or poke fun at him.
They crossed the depot, still following a stream of red arrows, which dead-ended at another elevator, this one made entirely of glass. Stepping in automatically closed the doors; the elevator rose a few dozen feet and opened onto a small, covered platform next to one of the tubes. Onyx moved near the door in the side as it slid open to reveal a functional yet plush train car with a small number of seats, entertainment viewscreens mounted on the walls, and even
a small bar within reach of the seats.
“How much does one of these cars cost?” Hans asked.
“Twenty thousand.”
“Jesus. For that price, I hope this isn’t all there is.”
“Privacy and security are the ultimate luxuries.”
Even though there were probably thousands of people milling around in the depot outside, they had not come into contact with any of them. He moved into the cabin, taking a seat in one of the large chairs, flinching as he felt the material adjust itself to his form.
Onyx was smirking at him.
“What?”
“You don’t like our modern furnishings, do you?”
“I like my chair to be a chair, not some damn amoeba.”
“In this case it’s more than mere comfort. The chair is there to help you absorb the higher G’s as the train accelerates and decelerates.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure there’s no way to do that without having the damn thing fondle me. This chair come with a hand-job feature as well?”
“I think that option is self-serve only, though women may have better luck, even if accidentally.”
“Didn’t need to know that. They wash these things between use?”
“Relax, Hans, I’m just kidding.”
“Not really sure I want you to be kidding.”
“Afraid we might actually get along?”
“I don’t really think that it’s such a safe thing to be your friend.”
“I can assure you that it’s much safer than not being my friend.”
— «» —
Her internal comm woke her, its familiar subsonic vibration bringing her up from dreamless sleep. She glanced across at the clock, sat up, rubbed her eyes.
“Grit here.”
“It’s your mother.”
“It’s two am, Mom.”
“I know. I just spoke to Hans.”
Her interest was piqued.
“Is he with you?” her mother continued.
“No, Mom. He ran off.”
“He ran off from the hospital?”
“No, from… look, it’s complicated. I’ve been trying to find him, but he’s blocking his ID tag somehow.”
“He’s not blocking it. He had it removed.”
“What? Who does he know that could do something like that?”
“I don’t know, Greta, he told me after the fact.”
“Where did he call you from?”
“How would I know that?”
“He could have told you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Typical.”
“Is he in trouble, Greta?”
Grit considered lying, decided against it. “Yeah, heaps of it.”
“And what are you doing about it?”
“Trying to find him, I told you that.”
“Not very successfully.”
“He’s a grown man without an ID tag to track. It makes things very difficult.”
“I thought you were supposed to have the best technology.”
“None of which I can use because Hans is not considered an official threat. I have some men willing to help look for him on their days off, and access to the city’s basic network and tracking. Any more than that and I need an official mandate. I’m doing all I can.”
“Please find him, Greta. He sounds like he’s in a lot of trouble.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, but he told me he loved me before hanging up.”
“Shit.”
Grit wasn’t going to get back to sleep after a conversation like that. She flipped the switch next to her bed and got up from the bunk. The room was sparse; a few bunks, an equal number of chairs, a small table, all in military green. Just enough to eat and sleep, maybe play a card game or two. She pulled on her pants and shirt and headed out into the hall in search of coffee.
Even without an ID tag Hans’ face should have shown up somewhere on the city’s CCTV system. She’d pulled in a favor, was running heavy facial recognition software. Nothing so far. Either he’d left altogether or someone, maybe the person with the technology to crack the encryption on her comm, was protecting him. A scary unknown, one of a few hundred.
Only a couple of soldiers were in the mess hall. Duty never sleeps. They did not rise or salute when she came padding in bare-footed. It was considered appropriate, but Greta discouraged it. She filled a paper cup with bitter, overcooked coffee and retreated to an empty corner. Her comm blipped again, Gino this time.
“Hey, Grit, you awake?”
“Yeah, down in the mess.”
Gino came in a few minutes later, hurried over to her table. He set down a portable in front of her.
“What’s this?”
“Finally cracked the encryption on our assassin’s file.”
“He got a name?”
“Not really important right now. Origin is.”
Grit studied the screen. “Salt Lake?”
“Just like you figured.”
“So, Brigham sent him.”
“Very likely.”
“What about the bodies from yesterday?”
“No IDs yet, but it’s the same encryption as the assassin.”
“What was the total?”
“A hundred and twelve bodies around the trucks, plus two snipers holed up a few miles away. All dead, stab wounds to the head and chest.”
“You think Brigham sent them too?”
“Yep.”
“So do I.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“First get me another cup of coffee.”
Gino took her empty cup and made his way over to the coffee machine, returning with more of the black goo. She sipped, made a face, sipped again.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why’s the coffee so bad? I think they filter it through yesterday’s laundry.”
A small smile from Grit. Gino continued.
“If there’s one thing Brigham’s got its men, and he couldn’t care less about ‘em. He wouldn’t hesitate to waste a hundred men to get to you.”
“I agree, but how does he know where I’m going to be?”
“You weren’t there either time.”
“But I should have been. I can’t keep relying on chance. Somehow, he’s finding out where I’m supposed to be and beating me there. And both times he spoofed a signal that we thought completely unique.”
Grit leaned back and grimaced through another sip of coffee, scrolling through the report summary. Something else caught her eye.
“What’s this about an anatomical anomaly?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“Right here, it says two of the recovered bodies exhibited anatomical anomalies.” Grit tapped the phrase to request more information. Nothing more. She needed to see it for herself. “Where are the bodies being stored?”
“Dunno.”
“Who the hell makes a statement like anatomical anomalies and then doesn’t elaborate?” Grit made a few inquiries; the bodies had been temporarily placed in the storage room downstairs. She rose and left the mess. Gino followed.
“Storage room” was probably a bit of a stretch for what amounted to an empty basement beneath the building they were in. The upper floors had been renovated for military use, but the lower was almost unnecessary, and was slowly filling up with whatever anyone didn’t know what to do with. Plenty of broken electronics, vehicle tires, and even malfunctioning weapons were simply strewn across a concrete floor almost black with age. A large, sunken door allowed the mechanics to bring some of the smaller vehicles in for maintenance, the door probably being the reason that they’d decided to store the bodies down here.
An impressive pile of body bags lay stacked against the far wall from where the elevator opened. Grit checked a couple of numbers on the portable.
“We need numbers thirty-two and fifty-seven,” she told Gino.
Grit walked to the side of the pile opposite and impulsively unzipped the first bag
in front of her. The man inside had been stabbed through both of his eyes, same as the assassin in the hospital. This despite wearing a helmet able to stop most ammunition rounds. There were clean holes in the visor, exactly matching the holes in his face. Very little blood.
“You gonna help?” Gino asked from the other side. Grit zipped the bag up, began searching for her numbers.
They spent about ten minutes going over the ordered pile of bags a number of times. There were no bags with either a thirty-two or fifty-seven on them. Grit was about to start again when Gino took her arm.
“They’re not here, Grit.”
“Then where did they go?”
“I don’t know, but it’s unlikely to be a coincidence.”
Grit brought up the portable again, thinking maybe she’d gotten the numbers wrong. Never hurt to double check. She scrolled through the summary to the bottom, then back to the top, her face becoming more frustrated.
“What the f…?”
“What is it?”
“The report’s gone.”
“The whole thing?”
“No, just the part about the anatomical anomalies.”
“Who filed the report?”
“Doesn’t say. Do you know how to bring up the log record on these things?”
“Here,” he took it from her and brought up the log, “there’s no one listed here.”
“Is that possible?”
“Shouldn’t be, wait a second.” Gino was about to try something else when the screen abruptly blacked out. “Shit.”
“What now?”
“This thing is broken,” he banged on the screen a couple of times. The portable flashed on again, briefly running through its system check. Gino tried to navigate back to the file summary he’d brought for Grit. “It’s not here anymore.”
“What’s not here?”
“The file. It’s gone.”
“Deleted?”
“Yes.”
Confused silence passed between them. Something had deleted the file right under their nose, and removed two bodies.
“Gino, who was on body detail?”
“Hang on a second,” Gino accessed the portable again, “Janson, Grant, Fortune, and Gregg.”
“Are they still on site?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go wake them up.”
— «» —
Grit did not relish waking up her soldiers after they’d only had a couple hours of sleep. They went in order of location. Both Gregg and Janson appeared at their doors, half-heartedly saluting when they recognized the commander. Grit questioned them as quickly and subtly as she could. Neither had any recollection of any abnormality when they had scanned the bodies before loading. Grit believed them, or at least believed they were sincere.