“I run a tight ship, as you know, Mr. Gulliver. There will be no problems on that score. But knowing of potential problems in advance always helps, so thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Captain. Have a good crossing. And I hope to see you on the Abby Storm sometime again.”
Later that week, Bouchard accompanied Gulliver and Turley to a store off a side street near downtown Central. Bouchard had dressed down a bit, wearing flowing slacks and heels, and a frilly blouse with toreador vest.
The store was billed as ‘Theatrical Supplies’ on the sign on the wall above the one front window. They went in to a small front room with a glass counter in which various disguise items were displayed. They all looked amateurish to Turley, like something one would use in a school play or for a costume party.
The proprietor came out from the back room. He was a small man in his mid-sixties.
“Hello, Sam. I need to touch up some supplies.”
“Why, of course. And the ladies?”
“My partner here needs a full kit of stage supplies. Real professional theater stuff. And the young lady here is the daughter of a colleague. She needs some things to be able to dress down. A lot.”
“I believe I can manage that. Please, come with me.”
He waved them around the counter to the door leading into the back. The next room had quite a bit of professional theater gear, but he led them across that room to another door in the side wall. Turley heard the steel door unlock as he approached, a heavy, multiple-bolt sound.
VR lock. Huh.
They passed through that door into the next, much larger storefront, one that had announced ‘Closed’ from the street side. Here was a wonderland of costumes, make-up kits, false beards and wigs, and more esoteric disguises, like the chemicals Gulliver had used on Julian when he disguised himself as Mario Scarpa, assassin. It was all arranged in row upon row of shelving units.
Turley didn’t say anything. Neither did Bouchard, Turley noted.
“Here’s my list, first.”
Gulliver handed over a little note. Sam – if that was indeed his name – scanned it, then starting collecting things in a bag on a counter. A bottle of this. A jar of that. Some hypodermic needles. Some small vials. When he was done, he dropped the note in a little flash disposer. With a small pop, the note was reduced to ash.
“And your partner? A full kit, you said.”
“Yes. Like mine, but adjusted for sex and coloring.”
“Very good.”
Sam looked at Turley with a critical eye, then went down one of the aisles between shelving units. He returned with a small trunk that looked like a standard piece of luggage. He opened it, and it looked empty to Turley. He popped an interior panel out, which revealed a hidden compartment. One of four, as Turley would find out later. He started filling it with items he selected from various shelves and drawers.
When he was done, he put the panel back and set the trunk next to the bag he had prepared for Gulliver.
“Weapons?”
“I was thinking a forearm rig.”
Sam nodded and turned to Turley.
“How familiar are you with firearms?”
“Very.”
“Shot placement is more important than caliber. How good are you at hitting your target?”
“Fair.”
Sam turned to Gulliver and raised an eyebrow.
“Figure Imperial Marines Advanced Pistol Badge.”
Sam nodded. He retreated down yet another aisle, and came back with a case. In it was a delicate-looking contraption, a small semi-auto pistol, and several magazines.
Turley removed her blouse, down to the Marine-issue tee under it, and Sam showed her how to put the contraption on her right arm. He showed her the pistol was not loaded, which she checked herself, then how to mount it in the device.
“Very good. Now, can you see the device in VR?”
“Yes, actually.”
“In the menu, mark it private.”
“All right.”
“The unit will now only work for you. It is linked to you. It won’t even show to anyone else. Similarly, the gun will not fire for anyone but you. Only you can release the safety.”
“That’s pretty slick.”
Sam directed her to a padded area of the floor.
“Hit the draw button and try to catch the firearm.”
She did, and fumbled it. It fell to the padded floor.
“Again.”
This time Turley caught the pistol, if barely.
“Good. Practice with it. It is possible to get quite good with this if one practices. And be mindful of the recoil. While it is a small pistol, it fires a heavy platinum round.”
Turley nodded. She removed the rig and put it in the case, and Sam put the case in the trunk. He retrieved a thousand rounds of ammunition, and added it to the trunk. He came back and spoke to Gulliver.
“And the young lady?”
“She’s traveling into the colonies. Something she can wear on a freighter for the week, without causing problems.”
“I see. Anything particular in mind?”
“I traveled in Marine-issue MCU pants, boots, and tees,” Turley said.
Sam nodded. He walked up to Bouchard.
“Make a muscle for me, please.”
He demonstrated by lifting his bent arm in a bicep flex. Bouchard copied, and he felt her bicep and her shoulder.
“She’s had some training. She can get away with that.”
He eyed Bouchard’s chest.
“I wouldn’t recommend just the tees, though. Something loose would be more disguising of her assets.”
“MCU blouse as well?” Gulliver asked.
“Yes. That will do. The name?”
“Bouchard. B-O-U-C-H-A-R-D.”
Sam nodded.
“A week you said?”
“Yes.”
“Five sets, then, in case of delays. Boots. Ten days briefs and socks.”
He eyed Bouchard critically, sizing her with a look. He started collecting items then, assembling them on the counter. Marine-issue panties, socks, brassieres, tees, boots, fatigue pants. At the very last, he went to the other end of the room, around some partitions, and returned with five fatigue blouses, ‘BOUCHARD’ embroidered on the name tape.
Sam took one full set of everything, with the boots, and handed them to Bouchard.
“If you wouldn’t mind, miss.”
He nodded to a changing room.
“Of course.”
Turley looked around a bit while they waited. She didn’t wander, just rubber-necked. It was quite a collection of goods. Bouchard returned in a few minutes.
“How does everything fit?”
“Very well. You have a good eye.”
Sam just nodded.
“Check if you can move well in them.”
Bouchard ran through part of a kata, including a precisely executed spin kick and a snap kick head-high.
“I’m good.”
“That’s pretty good,” Gulliver said to Sam. “Perhaps make her a little less perfect from the neck up.”
“When does she leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Sam gave Bouchard a towel, a bar of soap, and a jar of cold cream, and gestured to a small washroom.
“If you would remove your make-up, please, miss.”
When Bouchard returned, Sam pulled a chair out from the wall and set it in the middle of the room.
“Please be seated.”
Bouchard sat, and Sam went to work on her head. It was subtle. He put her black hair into a low pony tail with a Marine-issue hair band like those Turley had worn when in uniform. He applied something to one cheek that gave her a bit of a scar there, slightly puckered and a bit lighter than her natural coloring. He added a blemish here, and another there, then stood back to eye his work.
“That should do, I think.”
“That’s good,” Gulliver said. “Really good.”
Tur
ley agreed. The transformation was amazing. From stunning beauty to merely pretty young Marine, and a tough one at that.
Sam held up a mirror for Bouchard, who eyed herself curiously. He then handed her a small bottle.
“This is the release agent for the blemishes and the scar. They won’t come off with soap and water, or with cold cream. They’re good for about twelve days before the skin itself will release them. But wetting them with this will take them off quickly. And resist the urge to wear makeup on the trip. You dress up too well. Best would be to stay in character now until you arrive on-planet at the other end. And when you walk, walk for the kumite, not the runway.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
Sam nodded, and Bouchard handed him back the mirror. When she did, Gulliver saw something else.
“The nails. We have to deal with the nails.”
Sam took one of Bouchard’s hands and inspected it. They were appliqués.
“With your permission, miss?”
“Yes, of course,” Bouchard said.
He retrieved the bottle of release agent from Bouchard and applied a drop to the underside of each appliqué. They popped off into his hand, and then he polished her natural nails with a small brush. When he was finished, Sam discarded the appliqués, and Bouchard held up her hand to Gulliver.
“Much better.”
Sam packed all her things into an anonymous shopping bag, then went on into the changing room and folded the clothes she had worn into the shop, packing them into the same bag.
“Weapons for the young lady?”
Gulliver had not considered that. He looked to Bouchard.
“Have you had firearms training?”
“Long gun and pistol. Target and tactical. Yes.”
Gulliver raised an eyebrow. Bouchard shrugged.
“My mother picked out my school very carefully. It was a comprehensive education.”
Gulliver turned back to Sam.
“I think another forearm rig.”
“Very good.”
Sam went through all the same fitting with Bouchard as he had done with Turley. She also caught the pistol on the second attempt.
“Very good. Practice. I can’t emphasize that enough.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Sam turned to Gulliver.
“Will that be it for today?”
“Yes, that’s it, Sam. Thank you.”
Sam nodded. They picked up all their purchases, and he led them out to the front of the shop.
“Break a leg,” Sam said as they left the store.
They walked down the side street to a larger downtown street where they could get a cab back to the hotel. Bouchard walked in front, her eyes scanning back and forth, every bit the alert young Marine running interference for her seniors, who followed along behind. Her walk was completely different, like she was spoiling for a fight to make her day complete.
Turley felt right at home. She had followed many an eager young Marine in her day.
Back at the hotel, Bouchard took her leave of them and went to the suite she shared with her grandparents. People didn’t stare at the young Marine as they had the young beauty, but they instinctively gave her a wide berth.
Once in their room, Turley had to laugh.
“That’s some store,” she said.
“Yes. But Alexa is a jumping-off point into the western colonies. Lots of people route through here. Lots of our people, in fact. And it is a planetary market, as well. There are almost a billion people on Alexa.”
“How did you find them?”
“I got one of those mails like we sometimes get,” Gulliver said. “It said it was a good place for supplies.”
So Section Six had sent him there, Turley realized.
“He never used your name.”
“He never does. I don’t know that he knows it. For that matter, I don’t know that Sam is his name either.”
“And we didn’t pay for anything,” Turley said.
“I never do. Presumably he bills it to somebody. Somewhere.”
“I don’t think Ms. Bouchard is going to need that forearm rig on the trip to Verano.”
“No, but her mother is president of Verano,” Gulliver said. “It may come in useful at some point.”
“If she figures out how to use it.”
“You want to bet any money she’s practicing with it right now?”
“No,” Turley said. “No, I don’t.”
The next morning Turley and Gulliver accompanied the Obertos and Bouchard to the spaceport for their transfer up to the ICV Abigail Sturm. As they were saying goodbye to the Obertos in the spaceport lounge, Bouchard, in her MCUs, stood at ease watching over them, her eyes walking back and forth over the crewmen assembling for the trip back to the ship from shore leave.
“And goodbye to you as well, Ms. Bouchard,” Gulliver said. “Bon voyage.”
Bouchard shook his hand and held it.
“Thank you, Mr. Gulliver. I owe you a large favor. When you have need of a favor from me, I will hear from you.”
She said it as a fact.
“I’m not sure what that would be, Ms. Bouchard.”
“Life is long and full of turnings, Mr. Gulliver. Do not forget.”
Gulliver nodded and she released his hand. Turley said goodbye as well.
“Say hello to your mother for us, Ms. Bouchard.”
“I will be happy to, President Turley.”
Bouchard did her homework. No doubt about it.
“Ms. Bouchard. Mr. Gulliver and I have a little wager. Did you practice last night? With your new equipment?”
“But, of course, Madam President. It would do little good without, would it not?”
“And you’re wearing it now.”
Turley made it a statement. Bouchard simply nodded.
The boarding of the shuttle was called, and the passengers went on ahead of the crew. There were last waves goodbye, and then Bouchard and the Obertos were gone.
As Turley and Gulliver watched the shuttle take off and gain altitude on its way to the Abigail Sturm, Gulliver muttered.
“What have I done?”
“What?” Turley asked. “Why?”
“I’m not sure making Ms. Bouchard even more dangerous was a good idea.”
“What harm can she do on Verano?”
Assignment
While arranging passage for Bouchard and the Obertos, and getting Bouchard outfitted, Turley and Gulliver were also researching their new assignment.
The message they both received from Section Six was almost ludicrously terse. It did include the -dxa- typo, so they knew it was from Section Six.
To: Paul Gulliver
From: Mary Clifton
Subject: Assignment
Your next assignment is the planet Dalnimir. Research anomalies in social dxata. Report problems found. Correct problems if possible.
“OK. So what do we know about Dalnimir?” Turley asked.
“Provincial capital in the Earth Sector,” Gulliver said. “A few hundred light-years from Earth. Population twelve billion or so. Settled originally from Earth a couple thousand years back. Dalnimir is a corruption of dal'niy mir, or ‘distant world’ in Russian.”
“Distant world? Hyperspace is fifty-five light-years per day, give or take. A few days spacing.”
“Yes, but the first hyperspace ships had a hard time maintaining 0.4g. Not for more than a few hours at a time. Then it took days to refuel and get ready to do it again. And if you dropped out of hyperspace on one of those hops, there was no one to come get you. So it was more like a dozen hops, each of which was fraught with danger.”
“OK, forget I said anything,” Turley said. “What’s the politics like?”
“Provincial Governor is Vincent Pearson. Planetary Governor is Hugh Knowlton. Knowlton is elected, while Pearson, like all sector and provincial governors, is appointed. Sector governors by the Emperor, provincial governors by the sector governor.”
&nbs
p; “So Pearson was appointed.”
“Yes,” Gulliver said, “by Earth Sector Governor Bartholomew Gerber.”
“And Gerber’s supposed to keep an eye on Pearson.”
“Of course.”
“Why don’t I like where this is heading?” Turley asked.
“Because you have good instincts. There has to be something going on the Emperor isn’t happy with but can’t resolve through Gerber, or we wouldn’t be talking about it.”
“And what are the anomalies in the social data?”
“That I don’t know,” Gulliver said.
“Then what do we do now?”
“Research.”
Part of the research on Dalnimir was how to even get there from Alexa. It was thousands of light-years away, all the way across the old Kingdom of Phalia, the original Sintaran Empire, the Autarchy of Annalia, and most of the old Democracy of Planets. It would be almost two months in hyperspace even on a direct route, which didn’t exist.
“Why so far away?” Turley asked. “Wouldn’t it make sense to send someone closer?”
“It would, if you and I didn’t need to get out of the Western colonies anyway,” Gulliver said. “We need to let the memory of us fade for a while.”
“Well, three months’ transit in each direction should help that, plus whatever time we spend on the ground there.”
“Which is no doubt what our superiors are thinking.”
Gulliver shrugged.
“Could be worse.”
“How so?”
“It’s three months on ship, but it’s all first class from here. Ever travel first class on a major passenger route?”
“Oh, no. Do they at least have a gym?”
For routes, all the easier ones ran through Center. This was something Gulliver wanted to avoid if possible. Center would involve changing ships there, which meant a layover, and security monitoring in Imperial City was always tight. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Empire’s security forces, it was that he didn’t want to have to trust them. The route he chose ran from Alexa to Monserrat, then Phalia. A transfer to a major-route liner from Phalia through Estvia to Annalia. Another transfer to a liner to Earth, which went on to Dalnimir.
EMPIRE: Investigation Page 2