One Jump Ahead-ARC

by Mark L. Van Name

  Vaccaro waited until we were all in chairs before she began. "Mr. Moore," she said, "Colonel Earl has given me a very brief update, but he's left the particulars to you. I'm listening." The voice that came out of the speakers warred with the image. Her tone was harsh, and her voice sounded far older than her face looked.

  "We have an opportunity to tilt the balance of power in this region toward the Frontier Coalition," I said, "and in the process to make some money and even do some good. Kelco's been illegally buying arms from Osterlad, and it's also used kidnapping to stop Xychek from getting any new-aperture or commercial rights on Macken. With a little help from you and a bit more from the Saw, we can expose Kelco, return the kidnap victim, and open the rights to the new aperture."

  "So far you've painted a picture I'd love if I worked for Xychek, but I don't. I work for the Frontier Coalition."

  "Jose Chung has agreed to back a proposal for a peacekeeping force on Macken and for Coalition forces to monitor and tax the shared gate access for a period of time you two will need to iron out. When we prove what Slake and Kelco have done, they'll have no choice but to back this offer and pay their part of the bill or risk losing all rights on Macken. Any other choice would put them in direct conflict with both you and Xychek, and that would ultimately be both very expensive and destructive for everyone."

  "What do you need from me to make this happen?" she said.

  "Almost nothing. In a few days, Kelco is due to seal the deal for the gate rights on Macken. I assume the Coalition will have someone present to witness the signing."

  "Of course. We'll do more than witness it, however. We'll verify that both corporations have agreed to the arrangement, approve the language and limits of the agreement, and so on."

  I reminded myself never to use a term like "witness" with a government official. Bureaucrats, even the highest-ranking ones, always need to inflate their roles in any activity. "Attend the meeting personally," I said, then added "please" as her eyes narrowed slightly. "Please also demand that Slake and Chung appear there, so you three can discuss, oh, I don't know, important issues concerning future uses of the new aperture, their firms' recent complaints to the Saw—any agenda worthy of a long in-person meeting involving the three of you. I just need you to get everyone together and keep them there for a day and a night."

  "Easy enough," she said. "What else?"

  "If this works, the Saw either gets the contract for the force on Macken or has the first right to subcontract it."

  "Colonel Earl already explained that part," she said. "As our existing partner in this region, the Saw would be our natural first choice in any case."

  "That's it," I said.

  "What do you want from the Saw?" she asked.

  "I lack the level of expertise that you and the colonel possess when it comes to your agreements with the corporations in this region," I said, trying to use the type of indirect bureaucratic discourse I normally find distasteful, "but I believe this is a discussion you might do best to allow to occur without you."

  She laughed. "Of course. I can't see a reason in the world I'd want to join former comrades-in-arms talking shop." She turned slightly to look at Earl. "I'm sure the colonel and I will be speaking again soon."

  "As often as necessary, of course," he said.

  She nodded, and the wall blanked.

  "What's next?" Earl said.

  "Lim has to run a lead team on the ground in Macken," I said. I looked at her. "I owe her, and more importantly she'll have more freedom for some types of action than your troops can officially possess."

  He thought for a moment. "Under my command," he said.

  "No," Lim said. "I don't work for you."

  "I'm certainly not putting my troops under your command," he said.

  "We all agree to a plan in advance," I said, "and each of us runs our parts of it independently." I turned to Lim. "If the wings come off, all of us, and I do include myself, defer to Earl, because the Saw's the official power here." I turned back to Earl. "But only if the wings come off. If the plan stays within specs, we operate as equals." I pushed back slightly from the table so I could easily watch them both. "Deal?"

  Neither spoke. Neither looked at the other. Gustafson studied some dust on his trousers.

  "Yes," Earl said, finally breaking the silence, "that's reasonable."

  "Deal," Lim said.

  "So what do you really want from the Saw?" Earl said.

  "I assume your troops here have trained for work in all elements, including the ocean," I said.

  "Of course," Earl said, sounding a little put out, "or haven't you noticed the amount of water on this planet?"

  "Does the Saw still provide vacation transport for troops on R&R?"

  He nodded. "Though only on existing shuttle routes, as always."

  "To Macken?"

  "When the Coalition needs us to run FC staff or supplies there, we provide protective transport."

  "It's a shame about your transport repair team," I said.

  "They're the best in the business," Earl said, "as you should know. Those soldiers are—"

  I held up my hand to cut him off. "It's a shame," I said, "that they've been so busy that none of the smaller shuttles are operational right now, and that you're having to fly big ships on even the small routes for the next few days. I expect some of your pilots will be complaining publicly about having to take big tugs on every single run, even the hops to little planets like Macken."

  Earl smiled. "I expect they will," he said. "Tell me more."

  Chapter 26

  Gustafson's conservative civilian dress—working pants and standard business shirt, both in muted browns and perfectly laundered, his gig line ramrod straight—screamed undercover trouble to the crowd at Strange Kitty. A third of the customers lost interest in shopping and fled out the front door as we walked slowly to the back of the store. By the time we reached the warehouse entrance, it was locked and blocked, four security guards backing the same small, nervous salesman I'd met before.

  "May I help you?" he said. I had to give him credit: He acted as if we'd never met, his eyes showing no obvious signs of recognition. I hadn't gone into the details of my recon of Chung's estate in my briefing of Earl and Gustafson, so I had no reason to reveal my past Strange Kitty business now.

  "I believe so," I said. "We're interested in assisted ocean sports, specifically in the racing rays I saw in the rather large tanks just before the aviary. My understanding is that ray racing is an increasingly popular sport."

  "It is indeed," he said. "We've augmented the rays for both surface and underwater races, though most of our clients prefer the underwater variety."

  "As do I. I'm looking for one creature with enough power to easily handle a rider weight of as much as a hundred and fifty kilos, and I also want top-notch speed and control."

  I caught his odd look at me.

  "Several of us will be sharing the ray," I said, "and some of my friends are very large." Gustafson coughed as he fought to suppress a chuckle. I reminded myself, as I'd already done many times since he and I had met outside Strange Kitty, never to try to pass him as a civilian again. "We plan to race strictly underwater. Surface breathing ability isn't at all important to us, nor is price." I paused a moment to make the point, then realized with a guy this adept I was wasting time; he'd caught the hint the moment I made it. "Speed augmentations, on the other hand, interest us greatly. We're not planning to participate in any sanctioned races, so I don't care whether we stay within stock specs."

  "We're certainly capable of meeting the highest hobbyist demands," he said, "but you must understand that there are fines for using out-of-spec creatures in official competitions."

  "I do, but as I said before, we have absolutely no intention of entering any such races."

  He bowed slightly. "Very good. I'm sure we can help you. Other than racing augmentations, is there anything else you'd like?"

  "Yes," I said. "Two things. First, we're plan
ning some travel, so any modifications you could make to help the ray thrive in other oceans would be most useful."

  "Easy enough," he said. "We've yet to encounter an ocean our gill adaptations can't handle. Of course, you'd be responsible for dealing with the local animal import authorities on each planet and for complying with all local regulations. We don't ship off-planet."

  "We'd take full responsibility, of course, for all the relevant licenses," I said.

  "And the second thing?"

  "A tank, one suitable for long-distance and off-planet transport."

  "As you'd expect," he said, "we have such tanks, but with the size of the rays—their wingspans run to two meters, so each needs a tank at least three meters wide—and their desire to move almost constantly, any such tank would be extremely expensive."

  "As I said, price doesn't matter."

  He smiled. "When would you like the ray and the tank?"

  "I need you to deliver both in the morning. I'll also want you to conduct a brief training session with me at the drop-off."

  For the first time, my salesman showed alarm. "With so little time, we could get you only the best of our in-stock rays," he said.

  "Fine."

  "We could not, however, build you a tank."

  "Aren't any of your in-store tanks suitable for my purposes?"

  "Of course," he said, "several are, but they're in use, and freeing them would be difficult, time-consuming, and—"

  "Expensive," I finished for him. "We're happy to pay for your inconvenience. Our timetable, however, is not flexible."

  The salesman smiled again, no longer alarmed. "Let me work up something for you." He headed into the back, two security men parting just long enough to let him through the door.

  While we waited, I showed Gustafson some of the racing rays. Magnificent creatures, the largest were wider than I was tall, their sleek bodies a dark purple color that would vanish in the depths of Lankin's oceans. Light-blue fluorescent lines along their backs gave the impression of small fish moving through the water, a tactic that helped them lure prey. At their turns at the ends of the tanks I occasionally caught glimpses of tow cord jacks and metal receptor webs woven among the skin cells around their heads. I also spotted a pair of additional ports of some type I didn't recognize. Given how good my experience with the birds had been and the number of mods I could spot on these rays, I was confident that the best of Strange Kitty's stock would be more than adequate for my purposes.

  "I've always preferred working with machines," Gustafson whispered. "Even the worst of the AIs is less likely to flake on you than an organic."

  "We've been through this," I said.

  "It's your ass," he said.

  "Yes," I said, "it is."

  We studied the rays some more. Gustafson walked alongside one that was moving languidly down the tank, its body undulating slowly and gracefully. Their faces were at once fierce and impenetrable, clearly not human and yet teasingly familiar, as if with the tiniest bit more understanding we could fathom the minds behind them.

  "I have to admit it," Gustafson said. "They are beautiful, in the way that any well-designed machine is beautiful. They give the impression of caged energy begging for release. Quite hypnotic."

  Our salesman found us and handed me a display with a detailed quote glowing beneath a Strange Kitty logo. "This should cover everything," he said, "including tax, delivery, on-site training tomorrow morning, and loading into the cargo carrier of your choice."

  Without even checking the total I handed the quote to Gustafson. "Sold," I said. "My friend will take care of this." I admired the rays a bit more, their undulating motion both lovely and menacing. A useless question sprang to mind, and I indulged myself. "Does the ray you're considering for us have a name?"

  "As I assumed you understood, all ray control is via electrical impulses from a remote. They don't respond to names."

  "I understand. I'm just curious what you call the one we're purchasing."

  The salesman tilted his head and gave me the largest smile I'd seen in a while. "Bob."

  "Perfect!" I said. "We'll keep the name."

  Gustafson finished studying the details of the quote. He couldn't stop shaking his head. "He's going to kill me," he said as he handed back the quote and pulled out his wallet.

  I clapped him on the back. "Nonsense," I said. "I'm sure our friend will love Bob."

  It was Gustafson's turn to laugh. My discomfort at being in a private's blues must have been obvious, because every time he caught sight of me he turned away quickly to cover a chuckle. Wearing the outfit was bad enough—I'd hoped to never again put on a Saw uniform—but being marked as a private, well below my old rank, hit a nerve I didn't know I still had. I'd worked hard to earn the stripes I once wore, and not having them on my sleeves made me feel I'd lost ground. The uniform was necessary, however, because by working as a crewman on the Hathi, the largest of the Saw's matériel carriers stationed near Lankin, I attracted no attention from the Kelco and Xychek security people who we had to assume were monitoring the Saw launch facility. The well-leaked breakdown of the smaller personnel carriers covered our use of the Hathi for the R&R run to Macken.

  Lobo rode inside the shell of a large dirt mover the Saw was delivering for the FC. Bob's tank sat inside Lobo, and Bob swam to and fro in his tank. The ray in the tank in the PCAV in the mover in the transport: It struck me as a chain of key words from the sort of children's story Earl might make up for his kids—if he could ever bring himself to have children, and if he could overcome his reaction to what Bob and the tank had cost. Gustafson would be sharing tales of that reaction, which I gathered had involved equal measures of amazement and obscenity, with other noncoms over drinks for years to come.

  I had to hand it to Earl, though: He was a resourceful manager. He was already getting back some of the mission's cost by transporting the dirt mover for the FC, which he'd convinced to pay secure-cargo rates on the grounds that anything as powerful as the dirt mover was a potential weapon. The huge mechanical beast was hollow now, its main chassis a shell hiding Lobo, but once we hit Macken and smuggled Lobo out of it, some of the "vacationing" Saw troops who were actually transport mechanics would reassemble the giant construction machine.

  As we closed on the Lankin gate I made my way to a private viewing lounge for a better look. The Hathi shared the spare design, emphasis on functionality, and drab gray color of every Saw transport I'd ever ridden. Stay in any one area, and you'd have no way to tell if you were on a platoon shuttle or a major freight hauler. The five-meter-wide window in the viewing lounge was a rare exception, added, I'd heard, to appease the FC dignitaries the Saw had to transport from time to time. Though Hathi was huge, she wasn't slow: In the few minutes I stood in the lounge, the Lankin gate grew from a purple speck barely visible in the distance to an enormous pretzel of grape-colored aperture frames and connective pieces, the whole gate a humbling construct reeking of otherness.

  Gustafson appeared at my shoulder. "Always amazing, aren't they?" he said.

  "Yeah," I said, "I never tire of looking at the gates. They're like the oceans or the forests on a new planet, before any of us arrive to mess them up: inhuman yet usable by humans, awe-inspiring, somehow beyond us." I thought about the unspoiled beaches of Macken and the construction happening along them. "Too bad no ocean or forest ever proves to be beyond us for long. Give us enough time and let enough of us go after it, and we can shape, mold, change, or destroy anything nature can create."

  "Except the gates," he said.