by T. R. Harris
The Zanzibar taxied down the runway under direction of colored signal lights. It was rainy and windy outside, and the ugly starship was sent to the back of the auxiliary parking pad Zac had noticed as they came in. It wasn’t really a pad per se, but more a muddy field surrounded by a high security fence and only a few lampposts. Most of the military ships were placed on the tarmac field, with better drainage and lighting. But not the Zanzibar.
Zac looked at his watch, which had adjusted automatically to local time.
“Do we have to wait here for the customs inspector?” he asked Amber. “That could take all day.”
“No. You will be carrying only briefcases which will be inspected in the terminal. I will allow the ship inspectors in when the time comes.”
A hidden door snapped open in the lounge area, revealing two leather briefcases inside, with two paper packets sitting on top. Zac took them out, handing the packet that read Kevin Vincent to Angus and kept the other for himself. He opened it and found a legitimate-looking Series-Three galactic passport inside, with a picture of his stern-looking face on the second page. He leafed through the document and found entry and exit stamps from half a dozen worlds along with the corresponding dates. There was also a credit card, with his holographic image embossed on the surface.
“You will also find two small bead-like items within your envelopes. These are communication devices to be placed in your ear. I will be in constant contact with you and you with me.”
Zac shook his head. “Listening devices like these are shielded on most military facilities. They won’t work.”
“Trust me, these will. They are of a unique design and very expensive.”
Unfortunately, trust was the issue he was having with the AI.
He looked at Angus. “Cross said he couldn’t provide much help once we got off the planet. This seems like quite a bit.”
“It is not Dr. Cross providing these items,” Amber said. “They are from my owner. Now you must hurry. There are only a few shuttle carts running to this part of the parking pad. You must not be late for your appointment with Admiral Adame.”
Fortunately for the REVs, when one can travel to any star system within a certain range, one tends to only go to worlds most like home. That was the case with Crious. The only thing the REVs had to concern themselves with was the weather.
23
The rain and wind outside would help hide their true identities. Although they had some excellently-forged passports, their faces were still being broadcast on nearly every newscast and comm station in the Grid. Even the recent incident with Sergeant Fowler at Cheyenne Mountain was in the news loops. It was also being reported that Zac and Angus had been there, which resurrected stories of the Temple of Light debacle. The fervor only intensified once it became official that the New Congress had authorized the surrender of the REVs to the Antaere. There was a Grid-wide man-hunt underway, and no amount of fancy documentation could keep their faces from being recognized.
The weather would help, at least to a degree. The men dressed in heavy coats with fur collars and hoods and then waited in the cockpit until a lonely wheeled shuttle worked its way down the path between starships, picking up new arrivals. Zac and Angus ducked outside, bending their heads against the cold and wind, using their new briefcases as umbrellas. They scampered into the automated shuttle and were whisked away.
All newcomers were deposited at the same location: the main terminal building at the Arrivals gate. The REVs scanned their passports and were given color-coded instructions on which line to enter for pre-screening. There were other lines, mostly for military personnel, who were quickly passed through. Natives with domestic priority passes were in much shorter and faster moving lines. Zac checked his watch again. It would be a miracle if they made it to the Admiral’s office on time.
Surprisingly, their line moved steadily, and soon the men were before a customs official, scanning their documents and asking to inspect the briefcases. He didn’t worry too much about the native Zinniean recognizing them. He had a photo and a face to compare, and that was enough. But Zac did panic when he was asked to open the briefcase. He hadn’t looked to see if anything was inside. It felt full, but he had no basis of reference. It would look suspicious if they were carrying empty briefcases, obviously being used more as props than serving any real purpose. And why would they be doing that? Zac cascaded slightly as the latches were triggered and the lids raised.
To his relief, the cases held bundles of papers, computer disks and various catalogs detailing the many lines of weapons built and sold by Regulus. The customs official checked their employment docs and then grunted at the contents of the cases. He stamped their passports and waved them through.
Angus leaned in. “They’ve thought of everything.”
“Yeah. They’re a lot better at undercover work than we are.”
“You got that right, mate. We just like to kill people and break things.”
The pair hurried to a transport outside the terminal and slipped in the back. They gave instructions to be driven to Command Base Bravo, building C-Five. The vehicle was driverless, so it would be allowed through the gate once cleared by security. The ride was only five minutes from the terminal, but they were already ten minutes past the appointment time with the admiral. Zac imagined most clandestine operatives—whether main stream or ancillary—would be the nervous type, the kind who wouldn’t wait around for missed appointments.
At the gate to the base, each REV placed his ID in slots in the cab while lasers scanned the interior. The entry light turned green and the transport proceeded inside. There was no actual gate to be lifted or swung aside. If the entry had been unauthorized, another set of lasers would have cut the vehicle into scrap metal, along with the passengers.
The cab stopped in front of a three-story building made of synthetic wallboard and metal framing. It was a temporary structure built to house some of the overflow personnel flooding onto the base. An admiral worked here, so it must be important. Zac and Angus sprinted from the cab to the door under a drenching rainfall.
Inside they encountered another security check point.
They told the attendants—a pair of E-5 military police—that they were from Regulus and had an appointment with Admiral Adame. Everyone knew they meant the arms company and not the star. Although the double binary-star system known collectively as Regulus was within the Grid, it didn’t harbor any Earth- or Antaere-like worlds so it wasn’t often referred to.
Yet Regulus—the arms dealer—was. The company was a major player in the field, a conglomeration of four previously well-known and ancient weapons makers who merged when Earth was first introduced to the galaxy—or vice versa. Although major conflicts between Humans had essentially disappeared by the time the aliens arrived on Earth, the galactic conflagration between the Antaere and the Humans was a boon for the arms dealers. They not only supplied weapons to the Human forces, but also several of the alien races designated allies of Earth, although that label shifted from time to time. The aliens didn’t participate in a lot of the battles—Human command liked doing things their own way—but the natives did like to buy weapons. It made them feel more secure just knowing they had a small arsenal of their own. The Human gunmakers encouraged such practice and reaped the rewards. Regulus was no exception.
And as with most government contractors, the relationship they had with the military arms and equipment buyers was often one of mutual benefit and reward. The practice was frowned upon—in fact it was illegal—but that didn’t stop it from happening. As a result, when the two tall, handsome representatives from the company arrived at the building, others took notice. Two lieutenant-colonels and a Navy commander approached them at the counter and handed them business cards. Apparently, the building housed a number of the procurement departments for the fleet, and the buyers smelled fresh meat in the pair of newbie representatives. They were asked how long they’d be on Crious, and whether they could be treated to dinner
out on the town. It was normally the salesperson making the offer to wine and dine the buyers. But Regulus had the money, and the officers wanted some of it.
The security guards checked the databases.
“Yes, I see you had an appointment, but that was forty-five minutes ago. I’m afraid Admiral Adame has left for the day.”
“We got tied up at the spaceport; you know what a mess it is over there,” Zac explained. The sergeant nodded. “Can you contact him and tell him we’re here now? It’s very important. I’m sure he’ll regret having missed us.”
The young Army enlisted man picked up a communicator. “I will try. He left about ten minutes ago, so he may still be on the post.”
Contact was made with the admiral, and after listening for a moment, the guard cut the link.
“He’s on his way back. He asked if you would wait in one of the conference rooms.” The man stood. “Please follow me.”
Zac and Angus were led to a door, which the sergeant opened before stepping aside. The REVs entered.
“Please make yourselves comfortable. The admiral should be here in about five minutes.” The guard shut the door.
Zac immediately sensed something wasn’t right. He could recall that the door to the conference room was made of metal four inches thick. And when it closed, there was a secondary whining of securing bolts screwing into the door from the frame. There were also no exterior windows in the room—odd for a conference room—just a wide glass panel along the far interior wall that looked more like an observation window rather than a means of taking in the wondrous sights of the planet Crious.
A single metal table dominated the room, with a set of four chairs, two on each side. The table was bolted to the floor, while the chairs were freestanding. The round black dot of a security camera was placed at a far corner of the ceiling, covering the room.
“How do you spell trap?” Angus asked.
“The usual way: We’re screwed.”
“Cross didn’t do this…do you think?”
Zac shook his head. “He has no reason to. He’s had plenty of opportunity to lock us down if he wanted.”
“Then the money-man?”
Zac snorted. “If that’s the case, he’s wasted a lot of money getting to this point. He could have ordered Amber to lock us in our cabins long before this. No…this is something else.”
24
Someone entered the room on the other side of the observation window and flicked on the light. The window was normal in this configuration, not to say it couldn’t change polarity and become a one-way mirror if need be. But for now, it was just a window.
A rear admiral, in dressed blues, approached the glass. He looked too young to be an admiral, even a junior rank, his slender build and smooth, tanned face giving him a deceptive look. However, deep creases on his forehead and lines around the eyes helped reveal his true age.
“So…Zac Murphy and Angus Price,” said Admiral Andrus Adame. “Sorry I left, but I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“That’s okay, sir,” Zac said. He waved his hand around the room. “Is this really necessary? I thought you’re here to help?”
“I was, but you can tell Hank that I got a better offer.”
Hank? The benefactor?
Zac pursed his lips. “So, what happens now?”
The admiral gave the REVs a nervous smile. “Now we’re going to see if giving you to the Qwin will dial back the war some.” Adame studied the two REVs closely, his eyes narrowing. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re a couple of REVs, so breaking out of the interrogation room shouldn’t be a problem. Well, as I see it, without your crazy juice you’re no better than me. So just relax, gentlemen. Regrettably, I sent the security team home when you didn’t show up on time. They’re on the way back, so it shouldn’t be too long of a wait.”
“And then what?”
“We package you up and get you off the planet. The Antaere want you alive, so we’ll do our best to accommodate. If that means a couple hundred thousand volts to subdue your asses, then so be it. But I think a pair of titanium shackles should do the trick, at least in your present condition. Just don’t put up too much of a fuss or we’ll have to get rough.”
Zac stared into the dark, brown eyes of the admiral trying to look as nervous and unsure as possible. Both REVs were cascading, and it wouldn’t do to tip their hand too early.
“Are you going to fly us off the planet right away?” Zac asked. “You know the spaceport is pretty jammed up.”
“Don’t worry about that, Gunnery Sergeant Murphy. I have priority clearance, especially with the cargo I’ll be transporting.”
“It’s Lieutenant Murphy, sir.”
“I’m sure the Qwin don’t give a damn, and neither do I.”
“I guess Hank didn’t pay you enough,” Zac said, probing for more information.
“I’m content with the down payment I got. But it’s the fact that the fate of the Grid rests with you that really changed my mind. Oh, and the extra bonus I’ll get from the Antaere won’t hurt, either. Those yellow-skinned bastards sure do have a hard-on for the two of you.”
“I suppose General Smith is going to share in some of the bonus?”
“I know what you’re doing, lieutenant. If you want to know something, just come out and ask.”
“All right,” said Zac. “Is Smith part of your cabal?”
“No, he’s not. He’s been cooped up in a carrier for the past couple of months, fighting to keep his star over the damn Temple of Light incident. He just got here a few hours ago. And yes, I was supposed to take you to him, even had an appointment I had to cancel.” The senior officer frowned and cocked his head. “Why is it so important you see him? As far as I can tell, he’s in the same boat as you. You’re about to be turned over to the Qwin, but Gen. Smith will be lucky if he doesn’t face a court martial.”
“Just looking for some answers,” Zac said with visible disappointment. He sat in one of the chairs. Angus watched him, and then awkwardly followed suit.
“Good,” said Admiral Adame. “Just relax and accept your fate. Who knows, the Antaere may choose not to kill you, but use you for propaganda purposes instead.”
“They’re doing that already.”
Adame shrugged. “Yeah, but this way the natives will have someone to focus their anger on, other than the all of humanity. Mr. Murphy, you and Gunnery Sergeant Price have cost untold Human lives and set us back years in this war. That’s something I just can’t countenance.”
“Does that mean tolerate, sir?” Zac asked.
Adame grunted. “That’s right, you guys aren’t very smart, are you? Just a bunch of drugged-out killers in my opinion. Yes, that’s exactly what it means…tolerate. And with that, I’m going to wait somewhere else until the security team arrives. Talking with the two of you is bringing down my I.Q.”
Zac whispered something the Admiral couldn’t make out. He scowled at the two REVs through the window and then left the observation room, turning out the light as he left. At least he believed in conserving energy, even on the planet Crious.
25
The REVs shared a common thought. They could cascade on demand; David Cross had taught them how to do that while at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Between the two of them, they figured they could make short work of either the door or the observation window. But then what? They were on a secure military base on an alien world where chaos reigned. Their ship was stuck in the nether reaches of an overcrowded spaceport and their only so-called ally on the planet was a bitchy AI with an inferiority complex. And even if they knew where General Smith was on the base, a security alert would go out the moment they escaped.
“Amber, can you hear me?” Zac whispered, suspecting the room was bugged.
“I have heard everything. I have relayed a transcript of your conversation with Admiral Adame to my owner. He has yet to get back to me.”
“Do you think he can help?”
“He has so far.”
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“Yeah, some help,” Angus complained.
“He is doing all he can. It is the disloyalty of Humans that is the problem.”
“Do you have any updates on where General Smith might be?” Zac asked, ignoring Amber’s insult.
“Conflicting reports. There are indications he has passed through three separate security checkpoints. Following the progression is confusing, since the locations are spread apart and the time frame tight. I cannot say where he is with any certainty.”
Zac knew what had to happen. Whether Amber could help was the question.
“Can you get the Zanzibar out of the spaceport?”
“And back into orbit? Yes, with an amended flight plan and departure authorization. I will have to wait in cue. But I cannot leave without you.”
“I’m not talking about orbit,” Zac corrected. “I’m talking about leaving the spaceport and coming to our rescue.”
Zac didn’t know if Amber’s behavioral programming included the hesitation-feature she displayed with regularity. Whether it did or not, she had the very Human-like trait down pat. After what was an appropriate computer gasp, she spoke.
“Most things are possible. Whether they are practical or not is another question. Yes, I can activate the chemical engines and lift off the surface. And yes, I can fly over the fence and into the atmosphere. Yet such action will set off alarms across the spaceport and surrounding community. Even if I was able to bring you aboard, we would have no clearance to leave the planet. There are protocols in place to protect against such an event occurring. Also, unauthorized spacecraft operating within the atmosphere of a planet are commonly suspected of carrying a variety of deadly cargos and are considered terrorist threats. No amount of explanation will prevent the Zanzibar from being shot down if we do not immediately obey instructions. I should also inform you that before any such action is taken, I would need permission from my owner. It could result in the destruction of the ship and the loss of a very expensive and rare artificial intelligence entity.”