“I need passage up,” I say. I need to look nervous, but not too nervous.
One gestures, and intrusive computer scans try to break into my array. The scans only get to the first level, where I have my false ID. Why ask someone’s name, when you can lift it?
“Why do you need to go up?” one of the large boosters asks. “The way back up is that way, Terran.” He points back up the tunnel.
“Look, I just came down here for some fun. But the police are scanning everyone, and I’m in the records down here.”
“So?”
“Look…I have…needs. I can’t let it get out that I was down here. It’ll ruin me.”
Laughter. Good. You can’t take a threat seriously when you’ve got contempt.
“So? How’s that our problem?”
“I heard…you can take things, and people, up. I can make it worth your while.”
I gasp at the first price they give me. I could pay it and then I would be quietly executed. Anyone willing to pay that much is too much of a threat. I bargain down the price, but I don’t bargain down to a reasonable price. I’m supposed to be ignorant of this world, and I’m supposed to be intimidated by the boosters. It doesn’t matter, it completes my disguise to let them have a larger price. A quick exchange of encrypted data with one of my accounts, and I’m another customer.
They laugh, and the hatch opens into a crude, metal mesh elevator in a shaft of carved, bare rock. I go in, and the hatch grinds shut, leaving only darkness and the operating lights of the elevator.
It starts with a lurch, and grinds on the way up. The cut marks on the walls sweep past. Next stop, topside.
* * * * *
Chapter 43
A pair of toughs get in my face as I reach the top. A few work lights shine on bare rock, and the pit under the wire elevator disappears into darkness. The whole rickety thing creaks as a big booster puts his foot on it.
“Passage fare…now,” he rumbles.
Of course, the shakedown. I’d already paid, but they figure they can squeeze me for more. “I…” I work at making my voice shake. “I already paid below.”
He laughs. “You may have paid them, but you didn’t pay us.” He shakes the elevator with his foot. “Pay up, or back down you go.” The other one grins, and a large knife appears in his hand.
“But…” I stall. The other one leans forward, coming within my reach. “How…how much?” I shrink back against the edge of the cage, and they lean forward, off-balance and exposing themselves.
“How much do you have?” asks the smaller one with the knife, and he starts laughing.
I want to sigh. Why do so many people attack a target before they know what they are getting into? It’s too bad, really. If they had just asked for a little extra graft, I’d have paid it; it would have been less trouble than disposing of them. But, no. Greed and stupidity go hand in hand. Kids, these days.
As the big booster leans forward, I shrink back. He’s overbalanced, so it’s easy to pull him forward and throw him against the far wall.
The one with the knife is blocked by the larger one until I throw him and then he makes a big mistake, shrinking back. While he’s guarding his upper body and face with his arm and knife, I sweep out his legs.
While he flails, and the big one is trying to get up, I step off the elevator, strip the knife, and throw the small one behind me into the elevator. The elevator is shaking and looks like it’s ready to go. Up above is a single wire cable, holding the whole thing up.
A quick slice of the combat blade parts the cable, and the elevator basket starts slowly falling. Both the toughs give me horrified looks as they drop, and they are down and out of sight when the screaming begins. It goes on for a long time, and I hear the elevator bounce against the walls a few times before a loud crash silences the screams. One-sixth gravity; they’ll live.
I toss the knife; no need to be identified by it.
Not even a day, and I already have to get rid of one of my identities.
I make my way down a side-passage of the smuggler’s tunnels. It doesn’t take long to find the exit. It looks like these two were the only guards up here. The code breakers make short work of the concealed security door, then I’m in some kind of storehouse; boxes and crates of every kind line the walls.
Music thrums and pounds from above.
* * * * *
Chapter 44
I come up to an empty hallway. The sound of the music is coming from the other side of a hatch halfway down the hall. I can’t get caught back here. The code breaker makes short work of the lock, and I go right through.
Total sensory overload.
The sound of the music blasts through my bones, and the floor vibrates in time to the beat. The narcotic haze of the air glows with ever-shifting holograms of dragons, flying castles, and ships to a Mars that never was, complete with four-armed green men and fantastic cities. The far walls are invisible; the room seems to stretch off to infinity as Mars dissolves into a spinning galaxy, whirling madly overhead.
The dancers rise as one and twist while in the air before landing as one. With my shorter Terran limbs, I’ve never bothered to learn this dance, and I’m sure not going to stay to learn it now.
There is no way not to be noticed as I make my way through the dancers. The only Terran in the hall and the only one not doing synchronized leaps. I don’t have to see the club’s bouncers and toughs to know they are tracking me. My network array is already being interrogated.
That’s good or bad. Good, if they realize I’m paid up and am now leaving their front. Bad, if they are calling for reinforcements after discovering the two I tossed down the shaft for their stupidity.
The exit materializes out of the holographic fog, with two heavies flanking it. Am I clear?
One of the big Lunars raises a metal-reinforced hand toward my shoulder. It never gets there. I move in, grab the arm, and throw him into the dancing crowd behind me. In the one-sixth gravity, people can fly a long way.
The other is pulling a weapon out of his jacket when I hit him with an open-handed strike in the throat. He goes down gasping. Lunar medicine is great; he should be able to speak normally again, someday.
I attach the code breaker to the hatch and put on my shades while it’s working. The visual interface is going to be handy as things get rough.
The shades’ sensors pierce the haze and holograms. A good-sized crowd of toughs is gathering on the far side of the hall and elbowing their way in my direction.
The hatch unlocks, and I order the codes for the door to change. I slip out the hatch and slam and lock it behind me. It won’t hold forever, and they can call on allies outside, but it’s better than getting gunned down right outside the club.
The upper halls of Shackleton are broad avenues, with soft light glowing from side strips and diamond-silicon panes arching overhead, showing the stars of the endless night. With neither a regular day or night, Luna never really sleeps. Lunars walk along the sides of the tunnels, past panels glowing with news and advertising and side entrances to shops and entertainment. Small vehicles run silently along the middle of the tunnel, and a number are parked by the sides.
Several pedestrians stop and stare as I slam the door, and the two boosted bouncers on either side of it turn to face me.
I fire the needler close to my body, out of sight. I hit the first bouncer with the sleep toxin in the face, and rotate to kick in the kneecap of the second. Joints are really hard to reinforce, and he goes down screaming, while the other flails on the ground, trying to fight off the drugs.
The crowd begins to panic, and I race by, down into a side tunnel. Welcome to Shackleton, Brandt.
* * * * *
Chapter 45
Long, low bounds eat up distance as I race down a tunnel-street.
Fifteen minutes. The average response time for the Lunar Police. I can add in time; the toughs back at the club don’t want police involvement, no one in the street-tunnels saw my weapon,
and it’s a rougher part of Shackleton. Say, thirty minutes.
Not much time to disappear, and boy how I need to disappear. It isn’t my string of assaults or the illegal gear I have. It’s what will happen when the Lunar authorities turn me over to the Terran authorities. While the police would get me away from the thugs following me, the State of Terra would take me apart piece by piece. I’ll take the thugs, thanks.
I duck into a suit shop.
“Can I help yo—” begins a hologram as I walk through him.
Not too bad a selection, actually. This is Luna, of course, so you’re going to find some of the finest spacesuits here. I should get one. I duck into the small Terran section and send my measurements to the store computer.
Twelve suits are highlighted in my visor; I select a nice, dark gray one with an eye blink. It’s a topline model, with automatically adjustable fit, variable color and design, and micro-meteorite protection, and it’s good for a day on the surface. Disguise and armor all in one. It also gives me another way out. Besides, I need a new suit. I grab the suit off the rack and a carry bag to fold it into. Yeah, that’s right, I get my suits off the rack.
“Thank you fo—” says the hologram as I go through him. As I go out the back, my account is debited for the items.
I can’t see them following me, but I can feel them on the back of my neck. They don’t need to follow me, of course; any data system can be interrogated and reveal my presence. Time is running out.
I make my way down one of the darker, narrower tunnels, heading to the periphery. I pass windows that give me a view of the stark, Lunar plain, a sea of night lit with city lights and stars. It’s almost abandoned down this way.
I need a distraction; let’s see what my ghost can do. “Program: Sharron, activate.” I sub-vocalize.
Sharron’s image appears in my visor. “No need to be so formal, Brandt. We’ve known each other for so long.”
“Sharron, I need a distraction.”
She frowns slightly and disappears. About a second later, alarms go off all over the tunnel. Flashing strobes get blocked out ahead and behind me as big, heavy safety doors start to close off the tunnel.
“What the Hell?!?”
“You wanted a distraction; now, no one is paying any attention to you.”
“Yeah, but now all of Luna is on the way to THIS tunnel!”
“No, they aren’t.” She smiles. “Similar alarms are going off all over East Shackleton.”
My God…What am I stuck with? This isn’t a program, it’s a cybernetic disaster.
* * * * *
Chapter 46
The heavy security doors slam shut, sealing me into this hallway. Of course, it also seals anyone chasing me into other sections of the tunnels. For the moment, anyway.
I’ve got to lose this identity.
“Sharron.” I avoid shouting, somehow. “Override the local systems and replace my identity with the pre-loaded identity, Malcom Dorn. Also, re-program my spacesuit with his identity.”
Sharron’s image nods, and she rewrites the recent history of the tunnel and my suit. Data systems are compartmented, since you never know when an insane program might get ahold of a system. If data can be altered before the update is sent in, you never need access the central systems. My previous identity will be a dead-end, and there will be a full trail of my new fake identity.
While she’s doing that, I open the next packet of dermal symbionts and smear the mess on my face. It tingles and then feels like my face is crawling around. I unfold my spacesuit and put it on, activating the mirroring on the faceplate as I put the helmet on.
There are an emergency airlock and suit rack in every tunnel section. Living with vacuum death on the other side of the walls, Lunars take safety measures seriously. This alarm just unlocked everything.
I cycle the emergency airlock, and Sharron purges herself from the tunnel systems and reloads into my array. A small cloud of ice crystals form and shine in the airlock lights and then disappear in hard vacuum. When the outer door swings silently open, I glide out.
The regolith is packed down, so I don’t raise much dust, and exterior lights are coming on all along tunnels stretching into the distance. The whole of Shackleton seems to glow from here. Spacesuited figures are pouring out of airlocks along the side, getting out of supposedly compromised tunnels.
I can feel the disguise settle into shape on my face, its work now complete.
“Sharron.” I pause, trying hard to keep all traces of anger out of my voice. “Why did you do that? Do you realize just how much fear and panic you’ve caused?”
“Of course, Brandt. More than you. I’m a Lunar after all, and you Terrans are used to free air.”
I really need to not shout at the crazy program. “Sharron, I need to breathe. You don’t. I happen to like air. The idea of it going bad or disappearing is kind of frightening to humans. When humans get frightened, they do stupid and dangerous things.”
“I know that, Brandt. My processing array is faster and more complex than yours. You don’t need to act like I’m an idiot.” She pouts. Can a computer program get angry? I hope not, because this one is running my spacesuit right now.
“Look, Sharron, people could have been hurt.”
“I doubt that, Brandt. Lunars practice drills like this from childhood. They aren’t subject to random panic. This isn’t Terra.”
I’m going to let that slide. “Look, let’s discuss plans before we do anything like that again. No more surprises, OK?”
“Alright.” Her image frowns slightly and then disappears.
How can I get this system off my array?
In the distance, the Lunars are making their way to other sets of airlocks, indicated by green lights. All clear messages are coming in by radio, as well as directions to an airlock.
I cover the ground in a series of long, low leaps. Up ahead is a long queue of Lunars going back in, arranged in order of how much oxygen they have. Perfect. I’ll make my way back in with the rest of the crowd.
* * * * *
Part Seven: Glass Castles
Chapter 47
The upper levels of the moon are like a whole different world.
I’ve rented an anonymous little cube near the surface, a room with a view of the crater. After an actual shower and some new, clean clothes, I almost feel human. Almost. The monster is always there, waiting.
I take another pull on the glass of Lunar Eclipse and let the icy liquid burn its way down. The monster takes out the alcohol before it can affect me, but it’s still good. The room is quiet and secure. No one is trying to kill me right now, and I don’t have to constantly check my surroundings to see if anyone is coming in behind me.
I could get soft all too easily. I’ve overridden the controls on the door and the emergency shutters on the window and wired myself into the hotel’s camera and security network. If there is trouble coming, I’ll see it.
One entire wall is a floor-to-ceiling window looking out on the eternal night. The window is not cold to the touch or frosted. Vacuum is a perfect insulator. Still, I can somehow feel the cold out there in that darkened plain where the sun has never shone. Outside the window, the velvet darkness is pierced by towers of light. The glass castles of Luna.
Everything is made of reinforced glass, because Luna is made of silica dust. Kilometers-tall towers, pyramids, and domes of segmented crystal rise, shining, across the darkened crater floor. Inside are the homes, offices, and gardens of everyday life, all looking out on magnificent desolation. I’m a little creeped out by the eternal darkness with the lonely towers reaching up into the night, but for Lunars, it’s home. Still, lots of Terrans come through here, so I can try to blend in.
The Malcom Dorn identity hasn’t triggered any alarms. Not yet anyway. It will do for getting around in any non-secured area and for buying odds and ends. Some skills don’t get old. I’ve had a life of crime, then a life in Special Security, then a life of crime. I’ve needed to hide m
y identity in all my lives.
Disguise is much more than applying facial symbionts and giving them instructions to grow hair or change melanin and fingerprints. That won’t fool any computer worth anything. You need to change the way you walk and talk, your voice, your speech patterns…everything. Otherwise, the pattern-searchers will find you real fast. It also helps having your own AI running interference. Sharron’s on my side…for now.
Of course, if they find me, I’d never know until it was too late. The reconnaissance programs could be anywhere, secreted into ordinary appliances and fixtures. Their programs would record my presence from one of the ubiquitous cameras on Luna. Then, the data would send the signal, disguised as something innocent, like a power reading or a maintenance log. They would send their teams in after me and then, Boom! I’d be dead. Still, no point in worrying about it. That will only raise my heartbeat and release stress hormones, and all that can be picked up by reconnaissance programs.
Sharron is still out in the networks, searching for information and leads. She’s way better at this than the average ghost. Maybe she has some kind of Lunar Intelligence coding or something. No ghost is this good. I’m beginning to wonder if Sharron is a true AI.
I have my own independent reconnaissance programs infiltrated into public camera systems. I’ve bumped into a few people on my list and seeded them, so smart dust is being worn by staff and visitors to Singularity and being carried inside to get more information.
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