Jack settled back into his task of covering Katja’s movements. It took a large part of his concentration to mask discreetly the quantum-flux sensors, and now he kept his eyeline a bit higher and watched the woman and her friends. They didn’t seem to be paying him any attention. The heat of the café was suddenly stifling, though, but he didn’t dare remove his coat.
As soon as Katja exited the HVAC system, he collected his cold coffee and untouched news reader. It was easy enough to fool the parking lot cameras as she made her way back to the car, and Jack turned more of his attention to his own surroundings.
There was Cloud activity all around him, chirps and hearts and cat videos galore. It was all perfectly normal. The tables around him were full of merrymakers, and the market stalls were overflowing with local goods. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart.
He eased his way between the seated patrons, keeping one hand close to the pistol in his coat. No one reacted other than to give him more room, but he had the inescapable sense that he was being watched.
He transmitted his own sight into the Cloud, scanning slowly left to right as he made his way out to the market.
He turned, standing still and making the motions of stuffing his news reader into his coat’s inside pocket. His eyes drifted over the tables again, lingering on the empty chair he’d just vacated and again on the group of women who had taken his spare. One of the women—indeed, the one who’d asked for the chair—peered at him with large, dark eyes. She was probably forty, he guessed, with an angular face and a lean figure.
He did as commanded, pushing into the crowd and retreating.
He kept his eyes up enough to avoid collisions, but his main focus was reaching backward, scanning for any sign of pursuit. Amid the maelstrom of signals, he noticed one device suddenly begin to move out of the café in his direction. He recognized it as a typical civilian device, but behind its signal he detected something else. Something very subtle.
Something searching. For him.
He pulled back, withdrawing all his links from the Cloud, and fought the urge to break into a run. Slipping past casual shoppers, he muttered apologies and quickened his pace. Then he scanned ahead for an escape path. There was nothing but the vast market sprawled out in front of him. The stands and tents were laid out in a rudimentary grid pattern on the flat, grassy field, so any of the side alleys would at least get him out of sight.
He darted to the left, stealing a glance over his shoulder as he did. The woman was two stalls back, eyes fixed on him. He started running, ignoring the cries of protest from people who began jumping out of his way.
Jack bolted to the right, hoping a vague zig-zag path would obscure him from view.
He spun around, gaping in shock at the huge, bounding strides she took. She was practically leaping over the shoppers who scrambled out of her way. Three more strides and she’d be on him.
Grabbing his pistol he drew it out. He fired at the center of mass, then twice more in quick succession. Moretti staggered as she hit the ground, leaping sideways for cover behind a stall. Jack fired again, the crack of the bullets punctuating the screams all around him.
Jack turned and ran, spotting a familiar beige car hiss up to the edge of the field. The driver’s door opened and Katja emerged, pulling a long, dark object after her. She raised it to her eyeline—it was her fucking assault rifle—and Jack felt a rush of heat sizzle through the air as an explosion rocked the market behind him. She stepped clear of the door and motioned him in.
He leaped into the seat, ears ringing as he heard at least three more rounds launch down her railgun barrel, and new explosions in the market beyond. Movement on his left grabbed his attention. It was Katja climbing into the passenger seat.
“Go, go, go!” she bellowed.
Jack stomped the throttle to the floor and peeled out onto the road. He cut across the lanes of traffic and diagonally through the first intersection. The dashboard flashed in protest at his unsafe speed, but Katja had disabled the safeties and he kept control. Dodging left and right past the slower cars, he sensed Katja reaching out into the Cloud.
Up ahead, the traffic signals had just switched to red, but then they flicked back to green to give him right of way. Under her electronic influence, they put a dozen blocks behind them in just over a minute.
“Pull over,” she ordered. “We have to lose this car.”
He veered onto a side street and found a service alley behind a line of stores. The loading bays were quiet for the weekend and he swung the car to a hard stop, then was out and running for cover even as Katja grabbed her gear. Seconds later she joined him next to the cover of a large recycling bin, rifle in her arms as she scanned the nearby buildings.
“Tell the car to drive itself,” she said. “All the way to Firsthome.”
Jack locked onto the car’s navigation computer and gave it a destination more than seven thousand kilometers away. Reactivating the safeties, he told it to drive the route at best, safe speed. It pulled out of the alley and signaled its way back onto the main road.
Katja hid her rifle in its case, but her hand disappeared through an opening. She stayed perfectly still, eyes scanning their surroundings and mind focused on the Cloud. He was breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through him like it would after an atmo drop or a stealth attack.
Following her lead, he reached out tentatively. There was nothing unusual in the immediate vicinity, but an overarching emergency call blanketed the city. Fire crews and ambulances were rushing to the scene of the combat, and a cacophony of distant voices cried out in shock and panic.
“Here,” she said, thrusting a small make-up capsule at him, “get this on your skin.” He popped the lid and rubbed the brown paste onto his hands and forearms, then onto his face, ears, and neck. Katja did the same, eyes darting in all directions. Within moments she’d transformed into an olive-skinned shadow of herself, just like on their first mission as operatives, but her blonde hair glowed in contrast. Reaching into her bag she wrapped a blue hijab over her head, hiding her hair under its long, silk train.
Then she examined him closely as he finished applying the make-up, strong fingers pressing against his neck and ears as she completed his work.
“You look different enough,” he said, nodding at the close-framing scarf which now masked her head and softened her features, “but facial recognition might still nab me.”
“That’s why I have this,” she said, hefting a hair-lengthener in her fist. “Hold still.” Jack struggled to keep from wincing as the device hummed to life. Katja pressed it down, not on his hair, as he’d expected, but his chin. He grunted in pain as the follicles of his beard burst to life. Searing heat seemed to fry his skin as Katja carefully moved the tool along his cheeks. His eyes watered from the pain, but he forced himself to remain still. Fin
ally she leaned back, scanning the alley again before quickly assessing her work.
He brushed his fingers against the new beard that covered his face, wincing as his lightest touch sent shivers of pain through his tortured skin. He sat back, slick with sweat. Trying to distract himself from the pain, he reached out into the Cloud again.
The Centauri government was asserting control, issuing a statement that there had been violence in a public market, and that police were already investigating.
“To the government of Centauria,” Katja said suddenly, in a perfect local accent, “the attack today on the Starfall city market is our message to you. Your reckless pursuit of war against Terra is killing innocent civilians in all the systems—except yours. That will now change. You will no longer be protected behind your war machines, and your worlds will no longer be safe. We, the… Alliance of Hope, have demonstrated to you the horror you are causing in other systems. End this war, and we will end our attacks. Continue this war, and more innocent Centauris will die to match their brothers and sisters in other systems.”
She pursed her lips, then uploaded her message to one of the main social media sites.
“That ought to fuck ‘em up for a while,” she said, pulling him to his feet.
Her line of thinking clicked in his mind. If the authorities started looking for home-grown terrorists, they wouldn’t be looking for Terran operatives. And public outrage was a powerful, mindless force, difficult to distract with facts once opinions had been formed.
“How did you think of that so quickly?”
She pulled him along with her into a brisk walk.
“It’s my job.” She led him by the arm back to the side street. Her grip was like iron and her smooth hip brushed against his as they walked.
“Act natural,” she said as they emerged onto the main road. “We’re walking back to our apartment. Keep your weapon hidden, but handy.”
She closed up her case and slung it over her shoulder. Then she reached into her coat, no doubt to check on her own pistol.
“We’re just a local couple,” she said, “out for a walk.”
Jack took another deep breath, then gave her an obedient nod. It was a long walk back to their place.
* * *
Katja set a relaxed pace, so it took more than an hour, and Jack often felt himself getting ahead of her as his body screamed at him to take action. Eventually she took his hand in hers and held it tight, and they strolled with the appearance of just another young couple out in the street. His beard and her hijab were probably enough to fool any visual scans, but facial recognition programs still might see through them.
The sheer number of images that the Centauris would have to search was their best line of defense. Katja’s arsenal of weapons was their last.
Slowly, slowly, he began to relax, and as she loosened her grip he almost enjoyed the walk. Neither of them looked happy, but then, with news of the terror attack spreading, nor did anyone else on the streets. Jack probed into the city security systems and noted that all exits from Starfall had been placed on lockdown—but their car was already dozens of kilometers to the south and speeding happily along a lonely right of way carved through the forests.
They both scanned the area around their building from as far out as they could manage, and the only Cloud activity they discerned was the chatter of the residents as they learned of the terrorist “bombing.” No police cars loitered nearby. No individuals seemed out of place. Moving with swift but casual-looking purpose, they entered the building and climbed the stairs.
Their apartment was the same as always, and Jack retreated to his room as soon as they confirmed that their residence was clear. He threw his sweat-soaked clothes into the laundry and climbed into a hot shower to scrub himself down, washing away the stress and fear he always felt after combat. It was never a pretty thing, but he recognized sadly how used to it he’d become.
Just wash it away with soap and water, he sighed to himself. The make-up took some effort to remove, and his skin was too sensitive to even try shaving the beard. Rubbing his sore muscles he admitted to himself that, during his time as an operative, he had bulked out nicely. Months aboard ship, with three squares and no shortage of desserts, had made him bulk out in a less attractive way, but those days were gone.
Throwing on some clean, comfortable clothes good for lounging, he re-emerged into the living room and sat down next to Katja, who was slouched on the couch. Her blonde hair was loose and stark against her still-darkened face. Tiny, bare feet rested on the table, her boots and socks lying on the floor beneath her legs.
She turned to look at him, dark eyes lambent as they reflected the deep orange glow of sunset through the broad window.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, just shaking it off.”
He could never tell if she was baiting him, or asking a sincere question. She was so closed, and her exterior was so hard, but he knew what was within, deep down, and he wished that the old Katja would return.
“They’ll figure out that the explosions were caused by Terran bullets,” she said, “but hopefully by then we’ll be long gone.”
“If we’re long gone,” he said, “then this mission will be over, and there’ll be nobody here to figure anything out.”
“True.” She nodded. “Then we’re good.”
Her words were casual—so much so they filled Jack with horror. He’d tried to shove it aside for days, but all of a sudden it overwhelmed him. He turned on the couch to face her.
“Are you for real?”
She turned slightly toward him. Her features barely shifted, but a swirl of different emotions welled up from the depths of her eyes. She didn’t reply, and he could see her defenses locking down, but he wasn’t going to be intimidated this time.
“Doesn’t it bother you? The fact that we’re planning to destroy an entire world—the one we’re sitting on right now?”
“Oh, Jack,” she shook her head. “Not this again.”
“Yeah, this again. I understand we have our orders, so you don’t have to worry about having to kill me. I’m not arguing that. What I guess I want to know is this—who are you, really, Katja?”
She sighed angrily, looking away.
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“How can it not bother you that we’re going to kill seven hundred million people?”
“We’re not the ones doing it.”
“We might as well be,” he snapped, brushing aside her attempted deflection. “We’re making it possible for the Astral Force to do it.”
She stared at him, silent in her defiance.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” he repeated. He stared at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. She held his gaze, but with less power than before.
“It doesn’t matter if it bothers me,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
“Of course it matters,” he said. “As officers we’re obliged to think about the morality of our orders. It’s our duty to do so.”
“I’m not an officer anymore, Jack. I’m an operative.” She stabbed a finger into his chest. “And so are you.” She rose abruptly to her feet, turning away from him and walking toward her bedroom. He rose to follow, pausing at the open doorway.
“And what does that mean, Katja? Nobody told me that being an operative meant abandoning my conscience.”
She pulled off her sweater and tossed it on her bed. The motion bared her flat stomach before her T-shirt slipped back down into place. She unbuttoned her jeans and moved to slide them over her hips, then paused and stared at him.
“Do you mind? I’d like to take a shower.”
He turned away, leaning his back against her doorframe and looking out across the living room to the darkening street beyond the window.
“I’ll look away,” he said firmly, “but we’re still talking.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No, Katja, it can’t. I’m not going to be brushe
d aside.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“Well, we’re having it!”
There was a long pause. He kept his eyes pointed toward the living room during the silence. Then he heard the clink of her jeans dropping to the floor.
“Fine,” she said, voice calm again. She padded into the bathroom.
“Why did you use your assault rifle to cover me?” he asked suddenly. “Your pistol would have worked just as well.”
“The rifle is better at long range,” she called back, “and I knew you were up against Valeria Moretti.”
“But why did you fire into the crowd?”
“I didn’t. I was shooting at Moretti and she was behind one of the stalls. The civilians got in the way.” The sound of water running from the shower masked her last words somewhat. Jack wasn’t sure if he heard regret or not.
“So they’re just collateral damage?”
“What?” she called. “Come to the edge of the bathroom so I can hear you.”
Jack stepped across her discarded clothes and glanced into the bathroom. The shower doors were closed and obscured with water droplets, but her sleek figure was vaguely visible as she put her face under the stream and soaked her hair. When she stepped free again, he raised his voice to be heard.
“So the civilians who died today, as you fired at Moretti. They’re just collateral damage.”
“Yes.” She paused, scrubbing her face with ferocity. “Unfortunate, but worth it to Terra if I was able to kill the most dangerous Centauri agent in this war.”
Jack’s impulse was to argue the point, but he knew he couldn’t. He had enough blood on his own hands, and whether they were military or civilian, it didn’t matter.
She was washing herself down with soap, the shower doors blurring her form just enough to suggest the erotic, and Jack had to force his eyes to turn away. It was hard to remember where he was even going with the conversation.
“I guess,” he finally said, “that I’m feeling betrayed by this mission.”
“Why? Because things went to shit today, and I busted you out? It happens.”
“No, not today—thank you for that—I’m talking about the whole mission.”
March of War Page 29