No Graves for Heroes

by Jason Winn

  “Before what?” asked Ravel.

  “Never mind.” Axel thought for a moment. “Has anyone else been here?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Ravel.

  “Who?” Axel almost shouted.

  “Just some Brazilians, I think. But they left.”

  “Shit. When was that?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Were you two here when that happened?”

  “No.”

  So they’d been gone for at least two days. Axel took off through the suite once more. He found Ravel and Jean-Baptiste’s ID cards, passports, and bank cards. These were things they would need if they were going to leave the resort. They might be rich and famous, but they still needed their government-issued IDs. Plus, if they were out partying, they’d need them, also.

  Shit.

  Not wanting to argue with the AIs anymore, Axel went into the living room. He was met with a stunning view of the Columbia grounds, other hotel complexes, as well as the gardens in the imperial residence down the street. He looked over the furniture and electronics for any clue as to where the kids were, before sitting on a couch he was pretty sure cost more than he had made in his entire life.

  Thirty minutes passed by and nothing. Finally, he dialed Devon to see if she had any luck punching into some of the other resort networks.

  “Find them?” she asked.

  “Their ghosts. I’m at their place, but it doesn’t look like they’ve been here for at least a few days. Their papers are all here, including their wallets, but no kids.”

  “Maybe they ran out for a bit or are just visiting with some friends, somewhere else in Pangaea.”

  “Maybe…but I just don’t get a sense that’s what’s going on. Apparently, some Brazilians showed up a few days ago looking for them, but they were already gone. Call me back if you get any leads from the local networks.”

  “Can do.”

  The call ended.

  Axel found what looked like a remote and aimed it at the huge wall monitor. The screen came to life. There was a soldier in a uniform he recognized from the first Solar War. It was the Indian Planetary Recon, second army, fourth battalion. The silver tiger’s head gave it away. The frozen soldier’s sleeves were dressed regulation, too—buttons showing. He hadn’t seen one of those uniforms in almost thirty years, but that wasn’t something you forgot when someone wearing that insignia saved your life, when they should have killed you.

  Raj.

  Axel squinted at the image. It was a video game on pause. He found the controller under a cousin and tapped the home icon. The gamer tag “HBDGAF” came up on the screen. And then he had an idea. Which was good, because unless the kids were out shopping without their wallets, or had somehow turned invisible, this was all Axel had.

  He dialed Kaelen Hollywood.

  “Axel-Fucking-Nash?” shouted Kaelen Hollywood over the phone. “Seriously, that you?” Even though he was in his mid-thirties, Kaelen Mitchell, aka Kaelen Hollywood, still carried the enthusiasm of a teenager. He’d escaped the US through a visa he’d won in a video game tournament. The two knew each other through a freelance mission. Axel had used him to distract a target in a massive multi-player game while Axel snuck up behind the rogue engineer and strangled him.

  “It’s me. Calm down.” Axel stood on the Rudeaux balcony and watched the glittering resort below.

  “I thought you were dead, brother. No offense.”

  “None taken. Call it a long vacation.”

  “Like what? Ten years?”

  “Something like that. You ever go back home?”

  “Back to the States? Hell no. Not going to live under the Petty Jesus Boys.”

  “We’ve got a new president. You might have heard. He’s trying to make some changes.”

  “If he can live past next week.”

  “All right, down to business. You still in the game?”

  “Never left. You didn’t see that we won the Die Hard Eighty-Eight Invitational last month?”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t follow the professional gaming circuit.”

  “With that shitty American Internet, I don’t doubt it. Speaking of which, how the hell are you calling me from the States?”

  “I’m off-world.”

  “Oh shit. Come party with us, man.”

  “Can’t. I’m running an errand for someone.”

  There was a pause. “Who you got to kill?”

  “What? No. It’s not like that. I’m looking for these two idiot kids before some trouble breaks out.”

  “I see. What do you need from me?”

  “I think one or both of them are gamers, but I don’t know any more than that. There’s a pretty nice console setup here. Can you see if they’ve been on any of the major networks, lately?”

  “Give me a sec.” There was a pause as Kaelen shouted at someone. There was a loud explosion and then he came back. “Got their real names?”

  “Ravel and Jean-Baptiste Rudeaux.”

  “I don’t see anything. You got a gamer tag?”

  “HBDGAF is on the screen in their place. Looks like they were playing something that took place in the Solar War.”

  “Yeah, that narrows it down to about a hundred titles. Got any other specifics?”

  “Indian recon forces. Does that help?”

  “I think I’ve got him. Yes. Honey badger don’t give a fuck.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “That’s what the gamer tag means. It’s from some old video that resurfaced a few years ago and the kids were all watching it. I know. It’s dumb. Don’t ask me why it caught on again.”

  There was another moment of silence as Kaelen mumbled to himself.

  “All right, Nash. There should be a set of VG glasses or a synapse cap somewhere near that console. Find it and I’ll send you a guest pass to my network.”

  Axel went back over to the couch and started tossing cushions. After a few minutes he found a VR cowl. It was enamel white with gold scroll work. He had to adjust it to get it over his head. A menu, along with a keypad, popped up in front of his eyes.

  “Found it. What do I do now?”

  “Hold on, old man.”

  Axel’s phone buzzed with a code.

  “Wait. Did you find anything?”

  “Yeah. This is interesting to say the least. Punch that code into the headset and you’ll be in my VR space.”

  Axel did as he was told. He hadn’t been in virtual space in years.

  The room around Axel disappeared, replaced by a space filled with bookcases and comfy-looking furniture.

  “Over here,” said Kaelen.

  Axel looked around to see a tall young man standing next to a bookshelf. He held a leather-bound tome in his hands and wore a hoodie adorned with comic book characters. Axel had never seen Kaelen in the flesh, but he imagined he looked similar to his VR avatar, tall, thin, with thick blond hair that fell to his shoulders. His eyes held a quiet strength to him, like an old master in a kung fu movie.

  With a hint of clumsiness, Axel maneuvered his avatar over to Kaelen. They shook hands.

  “I thought it better to show you what my buddy found.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I’ll let you be the judge. You’re lucky, by the way. My friend is an admin on this game and he’s got access to the security network.” Kaelen waved his hand and a sparse command room appeared around them. “This is a safe area in Tiger Legion. That’s the game they were playing. That’s your boy, right there.” He pointed to a buff soldier bristling with weapons and armor. The scene paused.

  Axel almost burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight. There was no way one of the actual Indian Recon guys would have been able to carry that much gear and still be combat effective. He shot Kaelen a look.

  “What?” asked Kaelen, slightly annoyed. “Oh, get over all that. It’s a fucking game, Nash.”

  “I know. Whatever, just keep going.”

  “So, Honey Badger here is doing fine until this gu
y comes into the safe zone.” The scene started again and in walked a similar-looking soldier. But this player only had a private’s uniform and a pistol on his hip. “These two get into some sort of altercation. Unfortunately, they used a closed chat room, which was encrypted, so we can’t hear what they’re saying. But as you can see, they get pretty animated.”

  As the scene played out, the two players grew more and more aggressive.

  “The second one is pissed about something,” said Axel.

  “I’ve been that mad before at another player.”

  “Do we know his name?” asked Axel, pointing at the second player.

  “Tugarin_979. Apparently, he’s brand-new to the network and the game. As you can see, he’s got no gear. Basically, he started playing on the day this happened.”

  That struck Axel as odd. Why would a new player start shouting at Ravel or Jean-Baptiste? “Can we bring someone else into this? I’ve got someone I’m working with and she should see this.”

  “Sure. What’s her contact? I’ll send her the invite.”

  Axel told him and ten seconds later Devon was connected via voice.

  “What are we talking about?” she asked.

  Axel explained the scene.

  “Tugarin,” said Devon, “is an old Russian folk creature that apparently personified evil. I guess that’s fitting. And it takes the form of a dragon. Lovely.”

  “Can we see what else happens?” asked Axel.

  “This is it,” said Kaelen. “After five more seconds, Honey Badger’s avatar freezes and he gets disconnected for no activity.”

  “When is all this from?” asked Devon.

  “Three days ago,” said Kaelen.

  “Let me see the rest of it,” said Axel.

  The scene started again. Right before it ended, the private handed Honey Badger a black square.

  “Wait, go back,” said Axel.

  The scene reversed.

  “Stop there,” said Axel.

  He walked over to the pair as they were both touching the black square. “What is that?” he asked.

  Kaelen walked closer. “Looks like an in-game exchange. Could be anything, really.”

  “Can it hold data?” asked Devon.

  “Sure, I guess,” replied Kaelen.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Axel.

  “What?” asked Kaelen.

  “It was a dead drop, within the game,” said Axel. “I got to go. Thanks, Kaelen.”

  With that, Axel ripped the VR cowl off his head and he was back in the suite, staring at the frozen wall monitor. His phone buzzed. It was Devon.

  “I’ve got more bad news,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Tugarin is also the name of a Russian security franchise. There’s one in the staff quarters, under the resort.”

  “Do I even need to ask if the kids are in a Russian for-profit jail?”

  “They don’t use networked computers, so I can’t tell. But it’s a good bet they’re there. It would explain an awful lot.”

  “Fuck me.”

  It was two in the morning when Axel got back to his penthouse. He found Devon in a robe with wet hair. Under normal circumstances, he would be soaking in her beauty. But he needed to talk to Javelin.

  “Did you find anything else out?” asked Axel. He pulled out his phone and started searching for the encrypted call feature.

  “The Tugarin security office is on the edge of the staff area, near the cargo freight bays.” She sat down and turned on a wall monitor.

  Axel found the call encrypter and Javelin’s contact. “What else?”

  “I got into the logistics system. If the kids are still here, there is a real danger that they will be taken out of here tomorrow. That firm has a regular pickup for human cargo every week. Guess Pangaea doesn’t like keeping the riffraff…that’s how you say it, right?”

  Axel just stared at her.

  “Anyway, if they’re still here. They could be sent off station in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “No way to tell if they’re still here?”

  Devon shook her head as she flipped through different feeds on a wall monitor. She stopped on a news program.

  Axel dialed Javelin. It took several minutes for him to answer.

  “I think I found them,” said Axel.

  “Excellent.”

  “However, they might be in the hands of a Russian security firm. I think they run one of the local jails for resort staff.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Do you know why they would be making a dead drop in the middle of a video game?”

  “A what?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Javelin. What were these kids up to?”

  “If they were ‘up to something’ as you put it, I could not say for sure. I am merely your contact for French intelligence.”

  Fireworks blossomed in the distance, reminding Axel of the coming Chinese party. He felt a vice grip of anxiety squeezing his chest.

  “I may need some cash to bribe these cops-for-hire.”

  “Money is not an issue. We can get you that.”

  “All right, maybe that’ll do the trick. There’s a chance they’ll be moved off-station. If that happens, I’ll have to beat the details out of the station commander.”

  “I know you’ll do your best, Mr. Nash. In the meantime, I’ve transferred ten million euros to your account. That should be enough to get them out.”

  “Thanks. Let’s hope these Russians are as corrupt as the rest of their countrymen.”

  “Good hunting, Nash. I’ll update Cougar on your progress.”

  Javelin ended the call. Axel went into the bedroom and dove into his luggage. He found the Hijack shot and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Where are you going?” asked Devon from the living room.

  “To bust these kids out and get us the hell out of here. Call Danso, tell him we might be headed to the ship in a hurry. Have him make ready.”

  Devon appeared in the bedroom doorway. She looked concerned. “Wait,” she said. “You’re going to go confront these people?”

  “Might have to do more than that,” said Axel. With that he opened the weapons compartment and pulled out the same model submachine pistol he used to liberate Killick. He loaded it and placed it in his back pocket, along with several spare magazines. He then found a large caliber pistol and tucked it into his belt.

  Devon froze at the sight of the weapons. Axel crossed the room and planted a kiss on her lips. “In case I don’t come back, it’s been great working with you.”

  Her eyes went wide. “In case you don’t come back?”

  “Just get to Danso and he can get you back to Earth. Although…” He looked out the window at the fireworks display outside. “I guess if I were you, I’d try to stay here for as long as I could.”

  “Except for the whole Chinese civil war breaking out any minute thing.”

  “Yeah…well, you can pick then. Won’t matter to me what you do after I’m dead. Just send me the location to the jail.”

  He made for the front door, feeling the tips of Devon’s fingers on his back as he brushed past her.

  The Pangaea underworld was a smelly, low-ceiling maze of service tunnels, crammed with drone carts, dead-eyed workers, and employee lounges. The latter was nothing more than stalls set up to sell basic groceries and staples like toiletries and simple clothing. Smash-proof monitors hung from the ceilings, most of which had cracked screens, with a woman reminding everyone that the guests came first. The air wrecked of body odor, cheap cleaner, and food rations. The humid air felt about twenty degrees hotter than the resort area.

  After a while, Axel noticed people wore little flags on their uniform lapels, probably denoting which languages they spoke. He’d seen that before when he still traveled. He eventually saw some American flags, but didn’t bother to stop those people and praise the good old USA. All of them looked like they were one bad day away from eating a bullet. Rumors had circulated for yea
rs that the Values Party had sold slave labor to places like this, taking ninety percent of the workers’ wages. He wished he could do something for those folks. Maybe someday he would be able to help them.

  He checked his map and realized he was almost to the outer edge of the entire resort. The employee lounges and cramped corridors had given way to high ceilings and storage bays. Autonomous freight trucks lumbered past, carrying fresh food and consumer goods to the surface. His map blinked once when he was a few feet away from a cargo door of Tugarin Security. A black and white sign with the outline of a dragon hung above a smaller, human-sized door.

  The door flew open with a crash. Out came a pair of Latino men yelling at one another in Spanish as they carried a third man who looked drunk. The third man had a large bruise on his neck. Blue slime dripped from the limp man’s clothing and face.

  The hallway filled with the antiseptic smell of Cortozine, a medical stasis gel. Axel had smelled it more times than he could count when he was in the service. Men who were on death’s door were put into a body bag filled with Cortozine, to keep them in a state of frozen animation until they could be seen by a surgeon. The sight was puzzling to say the least. The limp man didn’t seem to have any injuries other than the bruise on his neck. Why had he been covered in that stuff?

  He scanned the wide corridors. There were only a few people around and all of them seemed occupied with their own business. He ran his fingers over the syringe of Hijack and entered through the small door.

  Inside, the air stank of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor. Scandinavian rock music blared through a static-filled speaker. Axel was met by a small, cluttered counter. Beyond that was an open space filled with stacks of blue coffin-sized crates. Several armed men patrolled the area along catwalks above the boxes.

  Shouting erupted over the rock music and there was the sound of scuffling. Axel watched as two huge men in thick rubber work suits fought with a Chinese woman in a hotel maid’s uniform. She was in handcuffs. One of the men swept his foot under her legs and she went crashing to the floor. One man drew a pneumatic syringe gun and pressed it to the woman’s neck. There was a hissing click and the woman screamed in pain. Next a crate lid was opened and the woman was unceremoniously thrown in the crate. They slammed the lid down and twisted a knob. Axel could still hear her muffled screams. The crate jarred back and forth as she struggled to claw her way out.