Nigel traversed a long catwalk from the docking area to the main platform, moving slowly and calmly. He was told he’d be approached by a Grodenite and given more information. He was also told what to expect when looking for his contact: a short, stocky, pig-like creature with a bad attitude. It wasn’t long before that description became manifest.
“You Verok?” said the gruff alien, approaching Nigel from behind.
Nigel turned fluidly and cast his gaze downward into a pair of dark, empty-looking eyes. “I am. Who asks?”
“Trunig. I will not repeat this: listen now. The mark will be in room one-four-seven on level C in thirty minutes. Use code three-three-alpha-three to enter through the back door. Good luck.”
The Grodenite moved off without another word or a backwards glance at Nigel, and quickly blended into the bustling crowd.
Nigel committed the information to memory, and headed for a public computer kiosk. He found one quickly, and commenced his information request.
“Interface, show me a schematic of this station.”
“Schematic displayed,” intoned the computer in a dull monotone.
Nigel studied the schematic, but did not ask the interface for directions to his destination. He had observed security cameras in this common area, and assumed some were trained on the computer kiosks – and he did not want security to be able to trace him later.
The computer timed out and said, “Please make another request.”
“No. That will be all, interface. Terminate.”
The computer screen blinked and went to standby mode, awaiting a request from another traveler seeking information. Nigel turned and made his way through the crowd to a lift that would take him to level C. Once there, he found his way to a service corridor that led to a series of doors that were back entrances to conference rooms, used by the automated janitorial “staff.”
He found the door he needed, and keyed in the access code. He entered the empty room, and sat at the near end of the conference table. The meeting would be taking place here in the next five minutes. He placed his TOTE on the table, and configured it to scan for biosigns. He wanted to know when the others were approaching.
The minutes passed in complete silence, save the sound of his own breathing. Then a light blinked on Nigel’s TOTE, followed by another three blinking lights. Three individuals were coming, two Passis and one Skabrin.
Nigel pulled a component from his robes and one from each shoe, and quickly pieced them together. He removed the power supply from his TOTE and inserted it into a slot in the weapon he had assembled. He moved to the door, and stood beside it, flat against the wall.
As the Passiss entered, he stunned them with his weapon and turned on the Skabrin. But before he could fire, the Skabrin dashed the weapon from Nigel’s hand and assumed a fighting stance. Nigel dropped his outer cloak to the floor to afford him some freedom of movement, and backed up a step.
The Skabrin drew a wicked-looking hand blade from the back of his belt, and lunged at Nigel with all the ferocity of a mad dog. Nigel, who was skilled in nine forms of martial arts, easily sidestepped the attack, and used the Skabrin’s momentum to send him careening headfirst into the wall. Nigel heard a cracking sound as the Skabrin hit the composite material, and assumed the giant had split his head open.
But the Skabrin shook his shaggy mane as he stood, then let out a deep, barrel-chested laugh that turned into a snarl. He stepped away from the wall, revealing that it was the wall that had suffered all the damage.
Nigel’s eyes widened a little, but he quickly regained his focus and prepared for the next attack. It was difficult to gauge what level of force to use against his opponent, because although the Skabrin was much stronger and more durable, Nigel didn’t want to hurt him too badly. His objective was to abduct him, not maim him. With this in mind, Nigel faked left, then dove right to retrieve his energy weapon. He grasped it from the floor and rolled into a sitting position, firing directly into the Skabrin’s chest. The Skabrin was repulsed for a moment, but then kept coming. Nigel had to fire four more shots into the enormous alien before finally knocking him unconscious.
Unfortunately, the Skabrin fell directly onto Nigel, pinning him to the floor. Panting, Nigel wriggled out halfway from under the Skabrin, then managed to push the hefty body off of him and get up. He glanced over at the two Passiss, who remained still in the positions in which they had fallen.
Nigel dismantled his weapon and returned the power module to his TOTE. He tapped in some commands, sending a microspace signal. Within minutes, the next phase of his mission would begin. While he waited, he dragged the Passiss to one wall of the room, and covered them with his unfolded cloak.
Soon after, the door opened and three Deltazoid mercenaries entered to collect the Skabrin. As they reached down to hoist the Skabrin, one looked sharply at Nigel.
“You weren’t supposed to kill him!” he said.
Nigel closed his eyes and gulped. “Oh, crap.”
#
Nigel huddled in a black plastic booth at the back of one of the space station’s busy restaurants. He nervously fiddled with his TOTE, then finally opened up an encrypted text-only channel to Hughes.
“There’s a problem. The mark is dead.”
After six excruciating minutes, Hughes finally responded.
“Explain.”
Nigel reported in as few words as possible.
“Accident. Deltazoids fled. Room with two unconscious Passiss beside a dead Skabrin.”
More minutes passed.
“Excellent. Arrange the bodies to implicate the Passiss. Record images of the scene and transmit to me. End communication.”
The TOTE display went to black.
I’ve totally botched the job, and he calls it “excellent”? Nigel thought. Something is just not right here.
Then it hit him. I’ve been used!
Nigel pulled out the components of his energy weapon and laid them on the table. He configured his TOTE to scan the objects. Sure enough, a small processor resided inside the trigger part of the mechanism. Further study revealed that the processor contained a simple program. It was designed to deliver a deadly discharge on the fifth shot. Knowing the stun would be ineffective, his employers had anticipated his need to fire multiple shots at the Skabrin. And, exactly as they had planned, the fifth shot was fatal. The Skabrin who Nigel thought he was sent to abduct was now dead.
Nigel was fuming.
He made a point of slowly gathering his items from the table, to give him time to regain his internal composure. Despite the rage within, it was crucial that he suppress it and maintain his cover. As he left the restaurant, he mulled his options, but soon realized that he had no viable ones except to do as he was told.
Part of him wanted to just ditch the mess and let his employers deal with it, since it was really of their making, and he begrudged having to complete the task that they wanted of him, since he loathed being manipulated. But he knew better – if he didn’t finish the job, his employers would cease all support and disavow knowledge of his actions – essentially leave him hanging out to dry. He would lose his commission with the SpaceForce before even getting off the ground, and most likely end up being tried for the murder of the Skabrin. He shuddered to think what the Skabrin justice system must look like.
So, with no real alternatives available, Nigel returned to the scene of the crime and carried out his morbid orders, shuffling bodies around like a theatre director, trying to create an illusion of the conference room’s recent history. The Skabrin was already starting to stink – well, stink more than he had when he was alive – and the Passiss were sure to regain consciousness within an hour, so Nigel moved quickly. It was exhausting work lugging all that dead weight around. Once he was satisfied with their positions, he used his TOTE to record images from several angles, then left the room, and left the space station.
He made it back to the M’Leth with only three minutes to spare before departure.
Once in the privacy of his quarters, he removed his cloak and robes, and sprawled out on his bed to cool off and get some rest. Within minutes he was asleep.
#
Nigel was awakened by a rhythmic vibration deep inside his left ear. He realized it was Hughes trying to contact him via the translator device.
He sat up with a groan – not enough sleep and too much of a workout the day before. He flicked on his TOTE and opened the encrypted text channel.
“What do you want?”
Minutes passed, and Hughes replied. “Status report.”
“I did what you wanted.”
The delay continued between each transmission.
“Then transmit the images. The Passiss and the Skabrins are already beginning their investigations.”
“Not yet. I want assurances.”
“This is no time for jokes. Transmit the images, now.”
“You’ll get nothing until I am on a transport back to Earth.”
This time, the delay lasted nearly twenty minutes.
“It’s been arranged. When you arrive at Passis, board the Reyv’al immediately. It will bring you home. Maintain cover at all times. End communication.”
Nigel sat back and sighed. As it was, he was beginning to dislike being a secret agent. But being a free agent was even less savory, because he didn’t have much to bargain with. He was going to be glad when this was all over.
#
Back on Earth, Nigel was surprised to find his next meeting with Hughes was not in a back alley in the dead of night, for a change. Instead, Nigel stood alone in a high-speed elevator on his way to the thirty-first floor of the New Fairmont Hotel.
The air smelled faintly of a mixture of French perfumes and new carpet, lingering as a reminder of the wealthy guests that had last ridden the elevator and the fact that this luxury hotel was less than two months old.
The delightful perfume was alluring – Nigel felt he could really enjoy a life of luxury. On the other hand, the smell of new carpet reminded him that he, too, was new – new to success, new to associating with people of power, new to any kind of affluence. It evoked memories of helping his blue-collar uncle install floor coverings as a teenager back home in England. His upbringing left him torn between a quiet resentment for the rich, and an even quieter, yet stronger aspiration to become one of them himself.
A pleasant chime indicated the elevator’s arrival at the appointed floor, and Nigel stepped out as the doors parted. A very large, bald Asian man in a dark business suit ushered Nigel to an empty, dimly-lit conference room and shut the door, leaving Nigel alone to stare out the floor-to-ceiling window at the lights of the city.
“Spectacular view, isn’t it?” said a voice from behind Nigel. He’d not even heard Hughes enter the room.
“It is, said Nigel. “Why am I here to enjoy it?”
“Straight to business it is, then,” said Hughes, taking a seat at the head of the conference table – a long oval with a black, shiny top polished to perfection.
Nigel sat at the opposite end in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs. “Yes. Why am I here?”
“Well, Halsted, I think you know at least part of the answer to that question. You broke protocol on the Skabrin mission. You disobeyed orders.”
“And you used me!” Nigel said, glaring. “You lied to me and manipulated me into doing your dirty work. I don’t appreciate that.”
“All the work is dirty, Halsted. That’s why it takes special people like us to do it. You had a mission. That’s all that mattered.”
“You sent me off to assassinate someone! That matters!” said Nigel.
“We sent you to effect a certain change in the negotiations between the Passiss and a hostile entity. The accidental death of the Skabrin achieved that end.”
“It was no accident!” Nigel yelled.
“You won’t be doing yourself any favors by broadcasting that point of view, Halsted,” Hughes said calmly. “In two hundred years, nobody will care whether Corporal Nigel Halsted killed some obscure Skabrin diplomat on a remote asteroid on purpose or by accident, or whether he sat down and played a chess game with him. All that will matter is that the people of earth, and future generations, are safer as a result of our action.”
“So, you can see the future, eh?”
“We’ve been doing this for a very, very long time, Halsted. And our analysts have a remarkable ability to predict outcomes. If that weren’t true, you wouldn’t be sitting in this room today, now would you?”
Nigel seethed in silence. His head bowed slightly, he looked out at Hughes from under his knotted brow, feeling more and more like a pawn. “So, what has been the ‘outcome’ of my mission?”
“It’s still early in the game, but it appears the Passiss have lost the trust of the Skabrin faction they were negotiating with. There’s every indication that the non-aggression treaty will be a non-starter. Skabrins don’t quickly forget what they consider foul play. Meanwhile, there are indications that the Passiss will turn their efforts to adding a human presence to the playing field – bring us on as more of a partner, and begin to shore up support from some of their other allies. We’ll be introduced to those allies as an equal partner, instead of some pet project of the Passiss.”
“All this because I killed that Skabrin?”
“Of course not, Halsted. There were several other components in play. Your part was key, but it was not the only ingredient. That’s all I can tell you.”
While Nigel stewed, Hughes sat back and studied the young SpaceForce officer. “Your disobedience aside, I want to personally congratulate you on a job well done, Halsted. You performed strongly in a difficult situation. I believe our faith in you was well-placed.”
Nigel looked up at Hughes and pushed his chin out. “Well, I believe my faith in you and your organization was poorly placed. This will be my last assignment – I’m out.”
Hughes said nothing. Instead, he stood and strolled to the picture window. Nigel could see Hughes’ reflection as he gazed out over the city. He spoke without turning to face Nigel.
“You may take a sabbatical – to think things over – but nobody simply leaves our organization. This is not a country club, Halsted. Your allegiance to us is non-negotiable. And your confidence is expected – you will never speak of us, or of any of your experiences with us. As far as you’re concerned, you’ve never heard of the Skabrins, never been to Passis, never met me. Understood?”
From what Nigel knew of this group, they had no need to back up their demands with explicit threats. He was certain that if he stepped out of line, he would quietly disappear. He was just glad to be offered this “sabbatical” as a temporary way out. How temporary was yet to be seen.
“Understood.”
Hughes remained facing the window, and Nigel stood up to leave the room.
“And Halsted,” Hughes said, causing Nigel to pause in mid-step, “we’ll be keeping an eye on you. You can expect some changes in your life in the next few months, including a promotion. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you wound up serving aboard the Discovery under Captain Weatherly.”
“I don’t want your charity. I want to know that I’ve earned my promotions by myself, thank you very much.”
“Well, you never will know, Halsted. And never forget that you’re one of us. Never.”
Nigel’s eyes bored into the back of Hughes’ head. He felt like he could rush the man and shove him right through the huge window. Instead, he exhaled slowly, left the room, and wondered if he would ever be free of this group again.
THE END
* * * * *
Edge of Human
The seemingly imaginary glow of false dawn teased Raife Crenshaw’s eyes as he used his digi-lenses to spy out the last known location of his prey.
Today had to be the day.
If he could not bring him in – alive – his employers would evoke a new paradigm and require termination of the subject.
And he preferred not to
go there.
Not that killing this beast of a man would be a hardship. It’s just that a live capture was worth ten times as much, and Raife hated to waste the opportunity to sock away that kind of money.
Heck, he could retire on that much gold.
Why they wanted the one they simply called Cain to be brought back alive was a mystery. This abomination was a test tube baby genetically spliced together from the DNA of the twentieth century’s most vile mass murderers, and was thoroughly irredeemable.
His “fathers” had harvested DNA from Mao Zedong with his seventy million murders. Joseph Stalin and his twenty million. Adolph Hitler – fourteen million. Saddam Hussein and Slobodan Milosevic, among others. The blood of over a hundred million people on the hands of the genes of Cain.
Word was the government had created this monster as a eugenics experiment, an attempt to harness the power of those genes without the evil. They said these men had a genetic predisposition to charismatic leadership, with powerful strategic and tactical thinking ability and remarkably strong will. Properly harnessed, these attributes could be used to develop a man who could bring peace and prosperity to the world.
The timeless “nature or nurture” debate had had its pendulum swing clearly to the camp of “nurture” for a decade, and the experts all agreed that given the right building blocks and the ideal developmental environment, a superleader could be brought into existence to cure the world’s ills and unite the people.
Idiots.
As usual when men try to tamper with nature, it went disastrously wrong. This guy was pure evil from day one. No matter what they tried, no matter how many therapists they brought in, the little horror just got worse and worse, until one day, at age seventeen, he slit the throats of two nurses and escaped from the compound he was raised in.
Since that time seven years ago, Cain had been directly linked to over two hundred individual murders, and the rise of a cult of bloodthirsty followers who killed at his command – a trail of bodies nearly two thousand citizens long.
Spies: 7 Short Stories Page 13