Humble Beginnings

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Humble Beginnings Page 20

by Greg Alldredge


  “Like a ghost in the machine.”

  “Shit.”

  “It gets worse, all evidence points to you shooting up that VR suite. When the labs come back, I’m fairly certain you will be arrested.”

  “I don’t remember…”

  “Tell me what you do remember.”

  “I was being chased by a room full of Hisada.”

  “Great… space zombies.”

  He shook his head, more in disbelief of his memories. “Not really… more to do with nanotech… They really aren’t dead. I don’t think they were real… only in my mind.”

  “Great, you can tell them that before they perform your lobotomy.”

  Rollin fought back a weak chuckle. “I always said I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy…”

  “This is no time for jokes.”

  “Strange, my world is going to shit. I think it is the perfect time.” Rollin laid his head down on the table. At that moment, his cushy life as a cop seemed over. He was about to become a wanted murderer. Best to rest his hand on the table, less chance of it falling off there.

  “Do you want my help?”

  “Why? Why should you risk your future helping a washed-out brain-dead cop? Better to save yourself and run away from me, screaming for help. Just throw me in a lockup, so I can’t cause more harm.”

  “This is a mystery I’m hoping to solve. A puzzle I need to unravel, for myself now as much as for you. It seems our paths have intertwined. Sometimes understanding is all we have left.” In a strange attempt at contact, she patted the back of his head. “We just need more input.” The woman cleared her throat and continued, “The system relies on complete identity. The integrity of the system is in jeopardy.”

  “That’s not a very good reason to throw your life away helping me.” Rollin raised his head and looked over the strange human female.

  Mal shrugged. “I got nothing better to do.”

  “What is it with humans and lost causes?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s kind of… a hobby for some… some humans consider it a life calling.” She paused and took another drink, motioning to him with the glass. “Like the Patapay and implants. There’s even a saint…”

  “Fair enough… but don’t go religious on me… I ain’t got the nerve for it.” Rollin took another drink.

  “Do you have any idea who might be tampering with the files? With your brain?”

  “The ghost?”

  Mal looked to the ceiling as if tempting fate. “What if we ignore the supernatural?”

  “Possibly the Rankin? They are the system administrators.”

  Rollin shook his head. “To what end?”

  “How should I know their reasoning? How can a person comprehend another race’s motives? They are, by definition, alien.”

  “You’ve no leads. You’re just stabbing in the dark…”

  “What about your former partner?” Mal swished her glass.

  “Kano was a nut job… He held all sorts of wild conspiracy theories.”

  “Any that make sense?”

  Rollin slowly shook his head, reluctant to admit he stopped listening to his former partner after the incident with T’all. His ideas became too wild. “None that I can remember.”

  “Then let’s check his files.” Mal closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. Eyes twitched behind closed eyelids while she searched the system. “Houston, we have a problem,” she said without opening her eyes.

  “What?”

  “The files are locked.”

  Rollin tried to access the files himself and came up empty. “Why lock down the files of a madman?” He opened his eyes.

  She stared back at him now. “Perhaps he wasn’t so mad.”

  “Maybe the ghosts did it.”

  “Options?” Mal’s eyes never left Rollin; her gaze bore into his soul.

  “Only a few: we ask for permission, find a better hacker than us, or we try the central core.”

  “None seem particularly appealing or have much chance of success.”

  Rollin motioned to the exit. “They all sound better than what I experienced in that VR suite.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  Rollin chuckled once again; it was probably too much drink. Never one for the melodramatic, he lets his words come out one at a time. “However bad you think it might have been, it was much… much… worse.”

  “Then I suggest we let someone else take the risk and hack the system.”

  The male cop nodded; he was not above paying someone to take a little heat off himself. Anything to save his few remaining brain cells. Besides, Rollin was no hacker. He very much doubted the squishy human had the skills required either. If they tried to run the system, they might both end up brain-dead.

  Mal whispered, “Petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid”

  “What?” Rollin asked.

  “Sorry, it is a French proverb, an old Earth language. It means… little by little, the bird makes its nest.”

  Rollin shook his head. “Must humans be so damn strange?”

  Chapter III:

  Far Reach Station was built in layers and rings. The farther from the central core a person traveled, the heavier the gravity became. Most residents wanted to live life a little lighter than normal. In many minds, the higher the gravity, the lower the class of citizens.

  At the core of the station, sitting in microgravity, was an iron-rich asteroid. The inhabitants continued to mine for raw materials. The Builders started this construction project over a millennium ago and disappeared before the completion. Leaving the other races like the Rankin to piece together the finished product.

  Astro-anthropologists, experts in such nonsense, estimated the Builders left the known universe at roughly the same time, in a literal blink of an eye. One of the ‘verse’s remaining great mysteries. For some reason, several millennia ago, the Builders stopped building and started to retreat from known space.

  The unfinished structures and technology the elder race left behind helped to spawn the galactic empires of the Rankin and other powerful races, built on the bones of the dead Builder race. They left so little information on themselves that those left behind didn’t even know their true name or language. Somewhere out in the dark lay a treasure trove of Builder information. The civilization that found it first would reap the benefits of superior technology over the other races.

  With their departure, the Builders left behind some godlike structures, the wormhole rings for interstellar travel the most impressive achievement. All evidence pointed to the fact the Builder race was near to the other races in physical makeup, only older in the universe. While their technology was more advanced, it was not so far ahead of the Rankin and others that it could not be reverse-engineered. With no bodies left to examine and prove facts, all manner of theories from the logical to the hysterical continued to be put forward. Most far outside the realms of science, stretching into the mystical, religious, or science fiction.

  To Rollin, the subject was all bullshit. He never cared what happened to the Builders. They probably got tired of the ‘verse and left for greener pastures. Rollin certainly wanted to escape the daily grind his life turned into. If he had a way to escape other than the bottle, he might just take it. The path he was on seemed to dead-end not too far in the future.

  All the races were so similar in too many ways to be a coincidence. The fact most known species thrived around the same gravity and atmosphere type made it easy for the congregation of sentient beings. That was fortunate for the cop and his human sidekick. They both came from what many would consider heavy worlds. At least heavier than anything out in the dark traveling amongst the stars. The gravity of the station, even at its heaviest, suited the pair just fine.

  As far as Rollin knew, no race had developed true antigravity plates for starships. The best any race could muster was the centrifugal force like Far Reach Station used or a constant acceleration to give the feeling of gravity.
Despite centuries in space, the known species still needed some form of gravity to survive. None had evolved that much.

  The trip down to the lower levels made Rollin feel at home. A sense of nostalgia swept over him. He missed the heavy safe feeling of the outer ring. The added weight helped with the lightheadedness he had felt in the VR suite.

  Down here, the poor scraped out a living. Most of the sensors keeping track of the population had been disabled, the parts scavenged for scrap. People in the outer ring would sell anything or anyone they thought they could get away with. Might made right on the lower levels. The augmentations of a Patapay allowed Rollin to fit right in.

  The door to the lift opened. Rollin wasn’t surprised when Mal stayed close to his left side. Still reeling from the experience in the VR suite, the cop left his heads-up display turned off. He didn’t need to know every person he passed. He knew from experience most would come back with some sort of criminal record.

  The manner in which station laws were written played against the poor and uneducated. Breathing too quickly might be considered unlawful. Anything to keep the status quo.

  Rollin knew only those out of favor with the powers that be would be charged with a crime. Citizens with the influence to hire high-priced legal advice could make the system work for them rather than against them.

  The best way to control an undesirable population was to use the law as a deterrent. Make life miserable enough, and those unwashed masses who could would find a way to move on. Those who couldn’t move on were kept in a state of weakness, too desperate to act.

  Rollin hated to be an instrument of oppression, but better the windshield than the bug. Damn it, the implant is putting thoughts in my head again.

  Rollin knew a hacker down here. He knew several people with questionable occupations in the lower levels. There were times he thought he knew more people working outside the confines of the legal system than he knew in the rarefied air of the upper levels. In his own little way, he considered himself a rebel, raging against the machine. It was only a delusion.

  Who am I kidding? Rollin might be a child of the lower levels, like it or not. These were his people. No matter how hard he worked for the Force, he knew where his place would always be. He would never be good enough in the eyes of those he kept in power. Never brave enough to take a stand against the oppression. That was probably the reason he drank too much. Anything to numb his thoughts and his personal inadequacies.

  The lower levels remained cold and dark. Both took energy the station would never spend on the poor. They kept both at levels that supported life but would never be considered comfortable. A few of the handier residents ran manually powered generators for power. They would sell off any extra they created. Most electronics ran off these manually charged batteries. It wasn’t a joke to claim most of the station ran on the muscle of the poor.

  This area of the station was overrun with little shops that sprang up in the corridors. Lit by a single bulb, the space between was cast in constant deep shadows. Allowing people the privacy to do what they must to survive. The species intermixed, brought together in shared poverty and want. With no hope to better their position.

  “Down here.” Rollin pulled Mal’s arm down one of the cross halls toward the centerline.

  “You sure about this?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Rollin stopped and tapped on a door.

  It opened without question. Good, Seesikniss was still here. The small-boned alien with the oversized head had the hardest names to pronounce, way too many S sounds for Rollin’s mouth. Seesikniss was the man’s name. Coming from Rollin, the name came out more like seasickness. Thank the gods of the ether the hacker went by the easy to pronounce letter C. “C… I got a job for you.”

  The alien came from behind a curtain, its tiny eyes were hidden under the protruding forehead. Bones of his arms showed from under the gray flesh. The guy needed to eat a few meals to be considered thin. “You owe me for the last one.”

  “Yeah… about that, my comm is for shit right now, and I need a hacker.”

  “Man… you is such a square… Hacker is so… old school. Now we call ourselves mushers.” He held out his right hand, rubbing his six short fingers together. “No pay, no play.”

  Rollin wasn’t in the mood; he’d experienced several very bad cycles, and at the moment, he was ready to throw the little man out the nearest airlock. “Listen, you little shit—”

  Mal cut him off with a hand on his forearm. “How much he owe you?”

  Greed flashed in the creature’s eyes. “A hundred, but because he threatened me… make it two.”

  Rollin steamed. “How about I break your legs but leave it so you can still do the work?”

  Mal tugged on his arm. “How about I pay the hundred he owes you and give you a hundred after you find the files we need.”

  “Depends on what you need…”

  Mal rattled off, “Anything you can find in central files concerning officer ID A675EO9, Kano Xander’s last caseload and his disappearance.”

  The musher bobbed his head. “Sure… you two sit here. I go lookin’ for you. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” The alien slipped past the curtain. Behind it, Rollin spotted a VR couch. From the looks of it, the place served as the man’s workspace, bed, kitchen, and living room.

  There was a dark body-oil outline of C’s body staining the pleather fabric. Like most hackers, he probably spent days or even weeks plugged into the net. His body looking more and more lifeless as the time slipped away.

  Mal plopped down on the waiting room couch. Rollin might have joined her, but by the look of it, more than a few suspicions stains, possibly even genetic samples, were left behind from past sexual encounters. Rollin didn’t want to sanitize his body after sitting.

  The scotch was wearing off, his headache returned. He let his body lean against the door, leg joints locked him in place. He closed his eyes and focused on the bright lights behind his eyelids.

  Mal’s voice cut through the suffering. “Have you ever heard, ‘true evil is beautiful’?”

  The question caught him by surprise. “What?” he asked with his eyes closed.

  “I once read somewhere… I can’t remember where now — that true evil is beautiful. What do you think?”

  “I think you know the last three females I shacked up with.” Rollin tried a weak chuckle, but it caused the lights behind his closed eyelids to flash brighter.

  “With everything we’ve seen… I’m not so sure. Evil is evil, no matter the looks.”

  “Let me think about it, I’ll get back to you.” This time he only managed a weak smile.

  He did try to think about the question, anything to take his mind off the pain. The problem was other subjects fought for his limited attention.

  “Why did you abandon Kano?” The words caught him by surprise. Not only the abrupt question but how she might know about the two men’s relationship. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this conversation.

  He let the words hiss from between his teeth. “It’s complicated…” He hoped that would answer the question for the moment.

  “Most interpersonal relationships are… It just seems odd a man like you would desert a partner like that.”

  “You got it all wrong. Kano deserted me when he went and chased after sobriety. We had nothing left in common after that.” The words spilled from his mouth, with a bite to them Rollin never expected. That was an open wound he’d decided not to properly heal. Better to let the pain scab over and bury it deep inside. Held down with gallons of drink and stronger meds when needed.

  “Sorry… I didn’t mean to pry…”

  “Of course you did,” Rollin quipped. He kept his eyes closed, praying for the end of the questions.

  Out of necessity, he’d left most of the brain implants turned off. If he became a wanted criminal, Rollin knew the Force could track him easy enough. There was little point in hiding. His only chance was to have some alternate explanation when they
came to haul him away. Some other sucker to take the fall.

  Ravaging memories pulled him back to his last encounter with Kano. His former partner caught him at a horrible time. Rollin was more than half drunk at the moment.

  “You need to stop drinking…” Kano cornered him in a dive they used to frequent together.

  Rollin knocked back the drink in hand with a single gulp. “And you need to stop breathing.” He stood ready to escape the human. With a wave of his arm, he moved to sweep Kano from his path.

  “Listen… there is something out there. Something bad.” Kano tried to follow Rollin out of the joint. “Something evil… It lurks in the shadows, waiting—”

  In the blink of an eye, Rollin turned on his friend. He wasn’t sure why, probably some combination of the drink and temper. Before he knew what he did, Rollin had grabbed Kano by the neck and lifted him to his tiptoes. It would have been so easy for Rollin to finish his ex-partner. Snap his neck or crush his windpipe… Right there. In front of the whole station. Instead, he growled, “Just leave me be,” before dropping his former friend to the deck. Kano never spoke to him again.

  Rollin would never forget that last exchange. It was burned into his memory. His real memory not the file backup. Kano disappeared shortly after that. Probably thrown out an airlock or run through the recycle vat. Plenty of ways to hide a body on Far Reach. It only took creativity and a little knowledge to do the deed.

  After the whole encounter with T’all, Rollin never went to visit Kano while he was in the hospital. Some questioned if maybe Kano hadn’t murdered the tech, T’all. There was no way Rollin could be tainted by that problem. He’d created enough heartache without Kano’s help.

  Without looking at the evidence, Rollin knew Kano never murdered the female. He should have defended the human. His former partner didn’t have it in him to just off someone, especially by choking the life out of her. More than once, Rollin had to take the kill shot when Kano wouldn’t. The human relied too much on trying to talk to perps. Trying anything to deescalate a situation. The alternative solution was too dangerous to even think about. If someone turned a beauty of a sex toy into a killing machine… That would never end well for the sentient races.

 

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