Counterweight

by A. G. Claymore

  The cab eased up to the debarkation zone – twenty levels above where they’d started, and engaged the docking plates. The magnetic plates on the small vehicle were so old; they probably wouldn’t stand up to more than a few kilos of force.

  He paid the cabbie and stepped out onto the pedway. The main casino – The Oceanic – was directly across from the cab zone. It took heavy bribes and a hells of a lot of pull to get a prime spot like that.

  Callum wove his way through the pedestrian flow and started up the winding path to the front entrance. A carefully tended cross-section of Republic trees and shrubs helped to isolate the front doors from the outside world.

  He noticed one of his people standing out front, puffing on a ceramic pipe of nicotine-laced seaweed. He was a low-level operator, someone who had no idea who C’Al was. He was simply there to pick up the subject if he happened to leave by the casino’s only door.

  Callum walked through the doors, immediately immersed in the flood of sounds. The constant warbling of happy chimes and bells gave the impression that somebody was winning money.

  He strolled along the winding aisles, looking around as if trying to decide which table to choose, slowly working his way toward one of the Empire tables.

  Players sat around a holo projection of the early Empire, buying forces with their credit chips. Each player got ten seconds to deploy their forces in a race to bring the most planets under their control. The worlds had their own native defense forces and there was always the possibility that you weren’t the only one seeking to capture any given planet.

  After the set-up, the computer would calculate the winners. If you won, you got a revenue credit from that world as your payout, while the house pocketed the value of the lost forces.

  Most players would let the animation play out, cheering on their units and drinking the free intoxicants. The young man in the EVA suit sitting in the middle, however, preferred to get the instant result tally. As Callum watched, seven worlds changed to green, matching the control interface at his seat. Almost half of the 3rd-Dynasty worlds were under his control.

  The guy was sitting on a lot of money – not bad for someone who’d walked off the elevator as a pauper.

  Callum was just fishing in his pocket for a credit chip when the player pulled his own chip from the panel. The croupier gave him a deep nod for what must have been a sizeable tip.

  The young man stood up and turned to face Callum. “Let’s talk outside,” he suggested in a calm tone before setting off for the doors.

  Callum stood there for a few seconds, fingers still holding the chip half-way out of his pocket. He looked up at the green worlds, now fading back to grey, as his mind replayed the encounter.

  He looked behind himself – nobody else there. The subject was talking to him, alright. He followed him along the winding aisles and out the front door.

  “It’s okay.” The subject waved at Callum’s guy by the door. “You can go now.”

  The watcher showed only the briefest moment of alarm at being spotted so easily. He simply frowned at the young man and turned away to continue poisoning his lungs.

  With a shrug, the subject led Callum off the path and into a small grove of trees.

  “Do you know me?” Callum asked, still off balance at how quickly his target had taken away the initiative.

  “No but you were about to talk to me, weren’t you?” the young man replied. “And they were starting to give me dirty looks in there anyway.” A chuckle. “Seemed like a good time to cash out.”

  Something nagged at the back of Callum’s mind. Though it was said in Dheema, ‘cash out’ wasn’t a term used in the Republic. Electronic currency had been in use here for centuries – you didn’t ‘cash out’ from a casino; you ‘pulled your winnings’.

  “Where are you from?” Callum tilted his head slightly. “You have a funny accent…”

  “My family are Tauhentan.”

  “So are mine,” Callum replied, faking the mild excitement of an ex-patriate finding one of his own in a distant land.

  The subject’s lower eyelids came up slightly as he gazed back at Callum. Then they slid back down as his eyes grew wide. “No,” he whispered in surprise. “No.” He reached out and grasped Callum’s shoulders, staring at him. “You’re not Tauhentan…” His mouth hung open until he needed it to speak again.

  “You’re a Human!”

  Adrenaline surged through Callum’s veins and his skin began to tingle. Somehow, the subject had taken away the initiative and now he’d taken away Callum’s cover identity as well. One word in the wrong ear and he’d be a dead man, after they’d wrung him dry in interrogation.

  He tried to think of the best way to kill this man and leave quietly. Finding where the wood was coming from was important to the Alliance but he wasn’t sure it outweighed his own value as an operative. He could sort out the math later, assuming he survived the next ten seconds.

  Just before he could step in and deliver the initial strike to his target’s throat, he was pre-empted again.

  “No need to kill me,” the subject said, surprise in his tone. “I wouldn’t rat you out.”

  That nagging feeling again. Was he…

  “Yes,” the young man nodded. “I’m a Human.”

  His intensity was still cause for concern. Callum believed him but why was he here and why was he so amped up about finding Cal? If Flemming had sent him here to make contact in person, then he certainly went to extraordinary lengths to make him look like a raider victim.

  Was the Alliance in trouble?

  “Who sent you?” Callum demanded.

  “Sent me?”

  “Who sent you?” Callum insisted. “Authenticate.”

  A short pause. “Look, nobody sent me, OK? I had to make a run for it and the smugglers were my only option.”

  Callum was about to ask for more detail but it wasn’t necessary.

  “There was this girl,” the man offered lamely. “Things went sour, there was some stabbing…” He shrugged. “A guy like me can’t expect a fair hearing, so I snuck aboard a shuttle and here I am.”

  “A guy like you?”

  “My ancestors didn’t go along with the mutiny and folks are still holding that against us.”

  Callum stared at him for a second. “What mutiny are we talking about here?”

  “The Guadalcanal.”

  “Never heard of it.” That had been fifteen decades ago, when Callum was still spending his nights in the lock-up on Petite Tortue Island. The folks he’d met at fleet command certainly weren’t inclined to discuss a mutiny either.

  “How many of us are left?” The young man closed in again, lowering his voice.

  “What?”

  “How many Humans are there? On Earth and here in the Republic?” The subject must have noticed the confused look on Callum’s face and he offered an explanation. “My people have been out of touch for a while.”

  “Well…” Callum sighed. “You’ll have to wait for an answer, until we can figure out just who you are.”

  “The Guadalcanal,” the young man reiterated. “They mutinied during the plague vaccinations.”

  “And you were opposed to that?”

  A confused frown. “That was a century and a half ago. Long before I was born. Those people are long dead.”

  “Good God!” Callum felt a shiver run down his spine. “You’re the old species?”

  The young man’s confused frown intensified but then he seemed to shake it off. He looked back at Callum silently for a few seconds, his jaw occasionally moving slightly, and then a look of amazement spread across his features.

  “The vaccinations worked? How many turned?”

  “Yeah, it worked,” Callum muttered, not quite sure he was having this conversation. He’d assumed that any isolated pockets of the old race had died out long ago and he had never expected any to exist off the Earth. “Around two percent turned.” He leaned forward slightly. “So, how old are you?”

>   “Twenty-two,” the young man answered. “You?”

  “One hundred eighty-seven.” Callum watched the subject’s eyes widen.

  “Are you contagious?”

  “No. A few days of quarantine and you’re ready to go.”

  “How long are you… expected to…”

  “Thirty-six hundred years.”

  A long pause, followed by a quiet voice. “Wow… My name would be long forgotten by then, back home.”

  It was a pretty good opening. Callum had come to this casino to find out where home was for this man. He decided on the direct approach but…

  “Yes,” the young man assured him. “The wood grows on my home world.” He tilted his head to the right. “That’s the reason we’re having this talk, right?”

  Callum nodded. Was his home world…?

  “Planet 3428. That’s what the old Imperial database called it. I suppose it’s really 3479, though, as near as I can figure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, our people didn’t find it on purpose,” the young man explained. “They were just stopping to take on water and it was the closest match in the database. I think something must have happened to the real 3428 – a big asteroid or maybe it went rogue. Anyway, we figured a clerk at the Imperial database must have been bribed by the monks to doctor the records.

  “They would have realized the value of the trees that grew there and they protected their wealth by hiding the truth – they were on the wrong world.”

  “So, your world is the original source of spicewood?” A nod. “And anyone who went looking for it would have been searching the coordinates for 3428?” Callum laughed. “Not bad, for a bunch of monastics.”

  “Not clever enough to stay alive.” The subject grinned. “There’s some pretty horrific wildlife on that world and they didn’t even put up a palisade. They constructed a beautiful monastic enclave and dedicated themselves to the contemplation of nature.”

  “And?” Callum raised an eyebrow.

  “And – Nature contemplated them. Nature decided they were delicious.”

  “Your people decided to live there anyway?”

  A shrug. “It’s not without its charm and, besides, we’re military, not monks. We paid a little more attention to the dangers than they did.”

  This was the best possible news. Callum had hoped to find the source of the wood but finding out it was already inhabited by Humans was an incredible stroke of luck. Any force sent to bring the planet into the Alliance fold could be portrayed as protection for a lost enclave. It added a veneer of legitimacy that should help to muddle any Republic reaction.

  “I need to get you off this planet and safely into Alliance hands,” he told the young man. “You represent an incredibly valuable resource and I don’t want anything happening to you on this fringe ball of water.” He paused. “How would your people react to the arrival of an Alliance garrison?”

  “You want me to go back there?” the subject asked, scratching at the back of his head “It was bad enough being a pariah, but to add ‘collaborator’ to the mix... And there’s still the matter of several people wanting me dead…”

  “Pariah?” Cal frowned at him. “You’re back with the Alliance now; we don’t consider folks who tried to keep faith with us to be pariahs.” He stepped in a little closer, lowering his voice. “Your ancestors tried to stay with the fleet?”

  A nod.

  “Then you’re one of us,” Cal insisted. “And as soon as you take our people there, the folks who used to lord it over you will be the pariahs.” He started to turn away but suddenly stopped and turned back at a sudden thought.

  “Any Midgaard on 3428?”

  “Eight of them,” the young man answered gravely. “And they’re the only reason I’m even sane. They remember everything that happened during the mutiny and they show folks like me some common decency.”

  Cal grinned. “That’s good to hear. I think I know just the folks to help us sort this out.” He nodded toward the pedway. “Let’s take a walk. I need to speak with my handler but we need to find the right spot first. Once I break contact, we’ll need to get moving quickly. The enemy can locate the origin of any link that breaches the surface shielding.”

  “Sounds risky.”

  Callum grinned as they headed for the pedway. “Believe me, my young friend, this is worth the risk but, first, we need to find you some clothes.”

  “OK. By the way, my name is…”

  “No names,” Cal insisted.

  Takedown

  Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic

  Graadt jumped from his vehicle onto the roof of a medium-sized passenger carrier and slid off onto the debarkation platform. Kaans landed beside him.

  “It’s a big area to search,” Kaans grumbled. “Especially for just the two of us.” Nid had to stay with the vehicle, since this platform was far too congested for them to dock.

  Graadt pointed straight ahead. “You take this side and I’ll go over to the other side of the tracks.”

  He made good progress through the crowds. Most people knew enough to stay out of a Stoner’s way. As he walked, he tried to understand his target’s motivations. Why pick this location to risk establishing a micro-wormhole link? There were numerous exits, both lateral and vertical, but what had led the Human to choose this particular site?

  He shoved a tall Krorian out of the way in his hurry to cross the tracks and he grinned at the angry outburst aimed at his back. He stopped and turned, relishing the dawning of fear on the Krorian’s face just before the train blurred by between them.

  There was a good chance he’d melt into the crowd while obscured by the train, not that Graadt cared.

  Then he finally realized what he was missing about this site. The train! He cursed – fluently and shockingly.

  He activated his comms. “Kaans, get back to the carrier. Follow that gods-cursed train.”

  Of course this was the reason for sending a signal from this plaza. The train gave the Human a rapid exit from the site but, once that was understood, it was merely a moving trap. Graadt didn’t want Nid to wait for him. By the time the train passed and he made his way back to the carrier, the train could have gone anywhere and they still had no idea what module the target was in.

  The modules each had their own motive power and they routinely shifted between dozens of trains in their wanderings. Kaans and Nid had to get close to that train and figure out which one held a target they had yet to set eyes on. It was a nearly impossible task and they had come here with little hope anyway.

  Still, it was galling to be outmaneuvered.

  Graadt couldn’t jump aboard the train because it was moving too fast but he stepped into the gap as the last car rolled past. The receding vehicle left a scar in the pedestrian flow that quickly began to heal itself and Graadt ran along its length, shoving the passengers as the gap transformed back into regular flow.

  It was easy enough to move through the crowd at a walking pace but there wasn’t time for pedestrians to notice and evade the big Stoner when he was running at full tilt. He finally ground to a halt near a stairway leading to the next level. Not far away, the last of the train cars was at the edge of the atrium, transitioning from horizontal to vertical travel with enough violent inertia to kill its passengers if the gravity compensators were to fail.

  It was up to Kaans and Nid now.

  He realized he wasn’t the only one paying attention to the train. Half-way up the stairs was a young man in an orange jacket, possibly Tauhentan or Oaxian, who was staring at the disappearing train. As Graadt watched, another man put a hand on the first’s shoulder, chivvying him along.

  Nobody down here paid attention to the trains. Nobody but the new arrivals, and the target had been posting operators at the tether station. It was a long shot but instinct told him he was right. He activated his comms unit. “Nid, get back here. I have the target.”

  The plaza had been chosen because of the train but not f
or egress. It was intended as a distraction. Not for the first time, he had to admit to a certain admiration for his Human target. He’d made Graadt look a fool on 8792, leading to his exile from Oudtstone. He wanted to hate the Human for that, for keeping him from seeing his son, but it wasn’t in him to hate someone for competence.

  That didn’t mean he’d let the Human go, however. He represented redemption for Graadt and his three friends.

  “I need to recover Kaans first,” Nid advised.

  “What the devil is he doing?”

  “He jumped onto the train,” Nid replied calmly. “He’s checking through the windows and we have to wait till they come out of the conduit trace.” The trace was a framework of carbon girders that supported a vast array of water, data and power conduits, along with several lines of track. Jumping from it at high speed was a guaranteed death sentence.

  Graadt would have to do this alone. He pushed his way onto the stairs and began to weave his way through the crowd, quietly closing the distance. He slid a hand into his pocket and brought out a stun ball.

  The Stoners had cut open a scatter-canister so each could have a pocket full of the efficient little shockers. His index finger slid over the round surface of the thumb-sized device, finding the small button that activated a single shock probe.

  The two-headed prong snapped out just as a gap opened between him and the Human. He only had to touch the prong to the target and he’d have his prey. He knew the other would run but he didn’t care. The Human agent was the prize. His ticket home.

  He frowned as a strong hand clamped around his right wrist. Before he could react, the secondary target, still holding his wrist, rotated to put his right foot behind Graadt’s right foot and hooked his right arm under Graadt’s right armpit and flexed, pinching the Stoner’s arm.

  His opponent had amazingly strong muscles, even from a Stoner’s perspective. Graadt’s wrist was pulled down and outward as he rotated over his opponent’s leg and went down.