by Nathan Pedde
Des drove down the street in the stolen hover-van. It was a very temporary solution as sooner or later he was going to get caught. He should have picked a different vehicle, preferably one that wasn’t bright red.
He drove through the blue sector and stopped in a parking lot. The spiral parking lot was the standard design for the station being five stories tall. The big delivery van was only tall enough to fit on the lowest level.
Des set the brake to the van. The parking lot was half full of parked cars, and no one around. Des walked around back, grabbing the credit chip from Elsie’s pocket, with a large number of credits still on it. He locked the van and exited the parking garage.
Across the street was a used scooter sales place. It looked like it was a store no one ever thought to shop at. Des was nervous about buying a scooter. He needed one, though.
Opening his wallet, Des pulled out the Ryder Fly identity card. It wasn’t his real card, but one for Ryder Fly. He had asked for a third identity, but Cryslis denied his request. Based on the threat from the Mysterious Man months ago, both names Ryder and Des were known to him. His issue was his face didn’t match Ryder’s face.
This is going to cause me issues,Des thought.
Des pocketed the ID card and the credit chip, striding into the dealership. His work clothes stood out against the suits of the salesmen. A wide variety of scooters were spread across the showroom floor.
“How may I help you?” the salesman asked.
Des took a step back. The salesman had a glowing red ear.
“Come for the game?” the salesman asked.
“I’ve come to buy a scooter,” Des said. “Keep at least five steps away from me and please show me a scooter.”
The salesman complied, walking toward a scooter.“What are you looking for?”
“Two-seater,” Des replied, spotting one on the other side of the room.
It was a single scooter with a detachable side carrier.
“I’d like to look at that one,” Des said.
“Of course.”
Des walked around the scooter, which was in good shape. After a few minutes, and looking at the price tag, he decided to buy it.
“I would like to make you a deal,” Des said.
The salesman’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to give you this in exchange for a single point.”
“Of course not. I’m the special player.”
The salesman’s eyes widened for a moment.“This is my second class. The special player usually hides in a hole for seven days.”
“I’m busy and can’t stop to play a game,” Des said. “Here is the deal, I will pay you two-thirds price for the scooter and sidecar. You will ring it up using this ID,” holding out his Ryder Fly ID card, “then I will let you get my points.”
The salesman narrowed his eyes for a moment, contemplating the offer.
“Deal,” he said. “I only hope it’ll allow me to pass to the next section.”
Ten minutes later, Des drove out of the scooter sales lot. He hoped it would throw off his enemies. He drove around the block once, before he entered the parking garage. The van still sat where he left it.
Des checked the back, Elsie was still where he had left her, unconscious. Using a toolset he found in the van, Des went to work. He poured over the scooter, scouring for tracking devices.
He found three unauthorized tracking devices, one hidden underneath the seat, one behind the front hover-ball, and the third beside the engine compartment. Opening the scooter’s diagnostic computer, he disabled the station’s tracker.
Is station security even clean? Is it hacked? Des thought, grumbling. It probably is with how everything is going down right now.
Des cycled through the system options. After twenty minutes, he managed to disable the tracker. He kept the system thinking it was parked on the spot. It wasn’t a great idea. It wouldn’t be hard for anyone to see he wasn’t there. Des knew it would be possible to turn the tracker back on remotely. He would have to fix it later when he had a better computer.
With the scooter clean of tracking devices, Des loaded Elsie into the sidecar, her head slumped forward, and no way for her to fall out.
Des took off down the road, one helmet on his head, and another on Elsie. It wouldn’t hide the glow from his ears. It wasn’t a real light but put into a player’s head by the earpiece.
He drove through the sector streets making his way through the Blue Sector into the Green. He weaved his way across the streets, looking for any tails. After an hour of driving, taking a circular route, he entered the Yellow Sector, driving down the long straight roads. Behind him, there was no one following him. On the straight streets, it would be easy to spot a tail, however tough to lose them.
After another hour, he circled around the farmer’s field where his hideout existed in the grove of trees. Des gunned the lifters and hovered above the fence. It was hard on the scooter and barely made it over.
If I do too much of that, I’ll break it,Des thought.
With no one in sight, Des gunned his engine, racing across the field into the grove of trees. He parked by the hatch to the hideout.Des let the engine idle, opening the hatch.
“Susan,” Des said. “You there?”
“Of course,” Susan replied from down below. “Where else would I be?”
“Come give me a hand with Elsie,” Des said.
“What happened to Elsie?” Susan asked, climbing up the ladder. “Oh, dear lord.”
Des and Susan lowered Elsie down into the hideout. Des took her to the couch, putting her gently on it.
“What happened to Elsie?” Susan repeated.
“She got hit by a pin from a robot,” Des said.
“Knock out or poison?”
“I have the pin in my pack. I’m hoping it’ll tell me when I examine it later.”Des called over his shoulder, turning toward the ladder.
“Where are you going?” Susan said.
“To get the scooter out of sight.”
“It’s not coming down here.”
“It has to go somewhere. I don’t have a cloaking device for it.”
“Cloaking devise? Those are illegal.”
“Of course,” Des said.
Des rolled his eyes, leaving the hideout, climbing back up the ladder. The scooter still idled where he left it. Getting it down into the sanctuary was going to be a pain. The scooter was longer than the opening and would have to be lowered down front first.
He gunned the lifters, raising it off the ground higher than the opening. He swung it over the top, aiming the lifter at the side of the hole, he slowly lowered the scooter down into the hideout. He parked it over to the front of the room and shut it down with a hum.
“That was simple,” Des said.
“Now, I’ll have to reclean the entire room,” Susan said.
“You were cleaning?”
“What else would I be doing? There’s nothing to do here.”
Des nodded, walking back toward the ladder.
“Where are you going now?”
“To shut the hatch,” Des said.
Des sat on the armrest of the couch. The rest being taken up of an unconscious Elsie. Susan sat on the chair by the computer. The contents of his bag were spread across the floor by her feet.
“Is Elsie all right?” Des asked.
“I looked at the pin she got hit with,” Susan said. “It’s a knock-out pin, she’ll be asleep for at least four days, probably seven.”
“We are currently on Umtix.” Des said.
Susan set her head in her hands.“That changes things?”
“How do you know so much about it all?” Des asked.
“I’m in college. Working three jobs and keeping an eye out on you and Sheemo. The drug is very addictive.”
“Will it change what happens to her?”
“I’ve no idea. It might shorten, or lengthen her time under it.”
“Great,” Des said. “I told her it was a bad idea.”
“The next question is, what is this place?”
Des looked at Susan questioningly. “What do you mean?”
“The bloody storage room? Why hasn’t anyone else used it?”
“The answer to that is simple. This land is listed a station use. Scattered throughout the fields are entrances to the undercroft, and this is listed as that.”
“I see no entrance.” Susan said.
“Me neither, but it doesn’t matter. It is listed as such, and people stay away.”
Susan’s brows furrowed. “There’s a hatch which goes down, but I didn’t search it.”
“I didn’t get the chance either.”
“Do you know how old the station is?” Des asked.
“Seventy years or something.”
“I think it’s older than that.”
“How much older?”
“Closer to two hundred and fifty years old.”
“What? How do you think that?”
Des shrugged. “I’m guessing. However, based on information I found on the Station Net, as well as pieces I had found in the undercroft before they started to renovate it.”
“What type of data?”
“Two hundred-year-old paper calendars from Earth.”
“That’s odd,” Susan said, glancing down at the pile of gear and then at the scooter.“What are we fighting?”
“There is no we,” Des replied.
“I’m involved now.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“I want to help.”
“I brought Sheemo in and got him involved, and now he’s kidnapped. I won’t let something like that happen to you.”
“What does he think about you—”
“He doesn’t. I used a disguise when talking to him.”
“What areyoufighting?”
“Those robots, and some thugs,” Des said.
“What do we- you have to fight?” Susan asked.
“I have my weapons, plus supplies that’ll last us months if we need to hide here. We also have a computer, not a very good one, and it’s not hooked up to any network.”
“Is that it?”
“We have a set of cramped rooms, and a hover-bike that can take two,” Des said.
“Is that it?”
“We have no technology,” Des said. “I’m used to being able to throw on a new face when needed. Or technology to talk to each other. It’s like fighting blind.”
Susan stood up.“I’m going to go see what is on those back rooms. Perhaps there are some things that we can use.”
She walked away, leaving Des alone in the room with the sleeping Elsie. Des sat down at the computer. He opened some programs and started fiddling with the applications. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. At first, he thought to see if there was the possibility of connecting to the Station Net. But it wasn’t possible to get a secured connection. He thought about figuring out how to design a new face.
The program to do it was a smooth transfer from his data stick to the computer. He would need to manufacture the hardware, which he didn’t have the machine to do it.
The day slowly moved by, and Elsie didn’t stir in her slumber.
Chapter Seventeen
Sheemo sat on a small cot in a little room. The room was clean and tidy, because he was bored. He wasn’t sure how long he was locked in the room. It couldn’t have been more than a day or so. A small window was at the top of one wall. He could see out, but all he saw was an alleyway. He couldn’t tell where it was. He tracked the days by carving a small line on the concrete wall behind the bed.
His captors had taken away all his electronic devices. Sheemo couldn’t even play solitaire. He spent his day cleaning his room. Then once he was done, he started again.
Sheemo worried about his brother. As he cleaned his cell, he replayed the conversation with Des. He knew something was going on with him. He predicted the danger. When he got out of the room, he would have to beat Des to find out what was going on.
From all he could tell, he had no way to get out. The window was too small to fit his shoulders, and the door was a pocket door, sliding into the wall. There were no hinges to pop off. And the hallway had at least six robots standing guard over him. Sheemo thought about digging into the wall to tunnel his way out, but by his estimation, it would take him thirty years to do so from concrete and steel. He had to find a better way.
Sheemo, lying in his bed, thought of a way to get out of the room when the door slid open. Standing in the doorway was the lady from the diner. Except now, she was wearing black clothing and not her waitress uniform.
“Get up,” she said. “Now.”
Sheemo got off the bed, stood up, then flopped back onto the bed.
“Get up,” she said. “We’re going for a walk.”
“I like it here,” Sheemo replied. “I’m counting grains of sand in the ceiling, and you made me lose count.”
“Maybe I’m going to let you go.”
“I doubt that.”
“You’re right. The boss wants to talk to you.”
“That’s swell.”Sheemo didn’t move. “What’s your name?” Sheemo asked.
“Excuse me?”
“If you want me to co-operate, I require the name of the asshole who captured me.”
The woman walked out into the hallway. She muttered under her breath with fists clenched at her sides. Sheemo stood up, waiting at the end of his bed. A few moments later, the ex-waitress walked back into the room. Behind her were three of the robots.
“Are you going to co-operate with me now?” she asked.
“I could use a walk,” Sheemo said. “I’m getting flabby.”
“Follow me.”
The lady turned and left the room Sheemo walked behind her. Two of the robots fell in behind him equipped with shock sticks on their arms. He couldn’t get far if he tried to run away and make a break for it.
Sheemo followed the lady through the maze of tunnels and halls making up the building. After a few moments, the waitress walked into an elevator, and Des followed her in. The robots stopped at the doorway, not getting on.
“They aren’t going to join us?” Sheemo asked. “This elevator is wide enough.”
“They’re too heavy to ride this,” she said. “If we need them on other floors, they can take the stairs.”
As they rode up, Sheemo wondered if he could take her in a fight. But he couldn’t see a positive outcome for him. Not with all the robots and lack of knowledge of where on the station they were. He needed more information on how to get out.
The elevator stopped, and its doors opened. Two more robots waited for them.
“That was fast,” Sheemo replied. “I’m surprised those lumbering beasts got up those stairs so fast.”
“Don’t count on it,” the waitress said. “These are different ones.”
The waitress exited the elevator, and Sheemo followed close behind. Like before, two robots fell in behind him. They walked down the twisting hallway until they reached a set of large doors. The doors were marked in faded lettering, ‘Presidential Suite.’ It didn’t make any sense to him. Were they in an old hotel?
Those had all been closed when the war started, he thought.
The suite was clean and well kept. The rest of the building was falling apart. The walls had been recently painted, and new flooring installed. Sheemo wondered where they got the materials for it. Everything was so expensive now because of the war.
Sheemo followed the waitress through the suite to a back room. He looked at the real-wood trim around the doors and against the ceiling. Sheemo hadn’t seen real wood in forever. It was hard to get. He had seen trees. They existed in some of the parks and the farming districts. But timber, cut and dried to be used in building a house was unheard of. There weren’t enough trees growing on the station to allow for the type of excellent work.
When wood was used in construction, Sheemo knew it was imported from Ganymede, Io, Calisto, or M
ars. With the war against the Terran Republic, no one was producing the material. It was unimportant to the war effort.
Sheemo followed the waitress to the door. She knocked on the door a couple times.
“Enter,” a man’s voice said from the other side.
The room was fancy, with dark wood-lined walls and floors. A gold inlaid light hung from the ceiling. In the middle of the room was a large desk made from real wood, stained a red color, not a synthetic plastic looking like wood. It was stained a red color.
Sitting behind the desk was an older-looking man with gray hair highlighting the edges of his brown hair, dressed in a suit and tie.
“Welcome, Sheemo O’Neal,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Marcus Oraelius. Please sit.”
Sheemo looked around the room and saw a large leather couch next to the opposite wall. He sat on it.
“What do you want?” Sheemo asked.
“We’ll get to that later,” Dr. Oraelius said. “For now, do you know what your brother is up to?”
“Right now,” Sheemo said. “Probably at work.”
“He’s not,” Dr. Oraelius said. “You see, I was hoping to have you both, but he has alluded me. Do you know what he has been up to these last few months?”
“You mean besides letting his grades slip?” Sheemo asked.
Dr. Oraelius grinned, his white teeth glowed in the light.
“Besides that, I mean,” Dr. Oraelius said. “Do you know what his real job is?”
“What do you mean—” Sheemo said. “Real job?”
“Your brother has been working with station security. You may know him as Ryder.”
“What?” Sheemo said. “Ryder is Des?”
“It’s amazing what a good disguise will do.”
“But—” Sheemo was suddenly lost in thought. Pieces of the puzzle that was Des fit together. The grades, erratic behavior. The sudden job switch. It all fit.
Go Des,Sheemo thought.
“Where is he?” Dr. Oraelius said.
“I have no idea. Did you try knocking my uncle’s door?”
“Sheemo, Sheemo, Sheemo,” Dr. Oraelius said. “Don’t you think we would have tried that already?”
“No, comprender,” Sheemo said. “Speak, no English.”