Rogue-ARC (37 page)

“If I need to, I will. Thank you.”

I signed my print, and made a show of punching a code into her phone. I spoke to Silver, “Ma’am, I expect to be back on task shortly. The hospital did the right thing and released me.”

“Understood. I will send a buggy.”

Great NCO. She and I made a good team.

She met me outside and led me only a short distance as I struggled agonizingly into a fresh suit coat she’d stuffed into her pack. The low G was all that let me stay upright. In an access entrance that didn’t appear to have any cameras, I changed to a vest. She ran the entrance lock with a coder, walked in with a notepad held up to block the camera inside, then we moved a few meters down the passage, out another door and into a maintenance area. She snagged two bump caps and stuck one on my head. With her leading holding the notepad, and nodding preemptively, no one questioned us.

She spoke loudly enough for anyone to hear, “—inspections are quite good here, so it doesn’t look like we’ll need to do much crosschecking. The important thing is—”

We crossed, went down another corridor as she pointed along the ceiling, “—though I think we might have to have a leak test on that line—” with a finger out from her hand holding the pad to minimize camera view.

We slipped through another exit, took several turns in the corridors and disappeared into crowds, through them, changed outfits twice at stores, and I made a point not to favor the damaged arm by giving it light tasks so it looked busy. I did a couple of left-handed hairstyle changes, and put on some makeup. We split then, her going ahead, me leaving through a different store door. I wandered along window shopping at exotic games and gadgets, alert for any apprehension. I could fight with one arm if I had to; I was trained to. It wouldn’t be anyone’s definition of fun, though.

Silver paged me with an intersection location, and I showed up looking different enough it took her a few moments to recognize me. We made a show of discussing business matters and disappeared into a new hotel.

There was a man in the room. Tall, rangy, well-dressed and no-nonsense in demeanor.

“Private doc,” she said. “He’s good at the basics.”

“I’m an EMT and former Special Unit medic,” he said.

“What’s a T Nine?” I asked. I slipped out of the coat, shaking and gasping as I did so, then peeled my shirt. He eased over to help me as he replied.

“A long range HAHO insertion canopy, fitted into a T Seven C or T Ten A container. Your associate already quizzed me.”

“Well, good. Should I lie down?”

“Yes, this is going to hurt. He did a number on you.”

“Yes he did. The ER took care of some of it.” I started to lie down gingerly, then collapsed in a starburst of agony.

He said, “They did a decent job. There isn’t much I can add. I have some neural rebuilding nanos, and a nonnarcotic analgesic that will take the edge off. Start doing gentle exercise for therapy and work your way up. Give it at least a week before you even consider pushups. Knuckles?”

I held out my hand. He frowned and considered, then pulled out some kind of combination. He used an old style needle and shot me in each knuckle in turn as I sweated, gritted my teeth and grunted in pain. Yes, I knew I’d need several treatments for this, but damn, it hurt. It felt as if that needle was being inserted up to my elbow.

Then he pulled out a pressure injector and went to work around my arm. That was only mildly excruciating.

It was a good thing I was lying down. Pain washed through me in waves interspersed with cold sweats. Blotches and colors before my eyes melted with twangy waveforms in my ears.

I heard his tinny voice say, “She said something about your ribs.”

“Previous attack.”

“I hope you’re dishing it out as well as taking it.”

“I hope so, too.”

“They’re healing crooked. Want me to break them?”

“No. Will they hinder me before I’m done with my contract?”

“About five percent, but you’re taking cumulative damage here. Those on one side, the arm on the other. You get degraded and lose capability.”

“Can’t be helped. Am I in danger of another pneumothorax?”

He had an ultrasonic scanner and looked. “No, it’s going to hurt, though. I’ll follow up on the tendons in a couple of days. That’s all for now.”

He stood, and Silver handed him a grand in cash. I presumed that was on top of any down payment. He nodded and left.

“I’m going to sleep now,” I said, and passed out.

CHAPTER 22

I snapped awake,
an involuntary stretch of each leg raising my blood pressure and forcing alertness. The stretches were mostly internal; I didn’t move more than a fraction. It hurt when I did. Something was bothering me.

Silver looked worried.

“You were talking in your sleep. Something about Pony Three.”

“Ah,” I said. “Fire support gone bad on Mtali. UN arty blew up a few of their own people and almost zeroed us, too.”

“I heard stuff like that happened,” she said.

“It did. Occasionally our people screwed up, too. The trauma must be acting as a trigger.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Pained, but better. How long was I out?” I was too groggy to check the time myself.

“Most of a div. I let you sleep.”

“Thanks. But we need to be back on the chase.”

“You’ll work better when rested.”

“So will he.”

“What, then?”

“I’m assuming he’s headed for the surface, on that flight you mentioned. There are a few targets out this way, but most will be there, and anyone in a different jump point will be most easily reached through system, or out and around. Our best interception is from the surface in that case.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, and I could hear a tremor in her voice.

“No. I don’t see much choice, though.”

“Okay. I’ll book travel.”

“Book us completely separate for this leg. Different terminals. I’ll do my own.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

We’d patterned as couple or companions. We needed to change that.

If she was scared, I was terrified. Logically, I should be safe enough, fifteen Earth years later, looking different, with different ID, some of it official and real and clean, with the common story that we’d all died in the war. Part of me still feared what would happen if I were IDed, and another part was on the precipice of flashbacks to the worst mayhem in human history. Mine.

Then, the local cops were already looking for me under other ID, with prints. We had a limited supply of imitation pads I could wear, but their efficacy was limited and of course, one time per ID, mostly Freehold. After that we’d have to fabricate back stories for new IDs, and try to fake a trail to explain how a person with those prints had gotten through port and bond without leaving them. This was the worst place in the universe for espionage. As I knew. I’d done it before.

That helped a little. Or I told myself it did. I knew it was all rationalization, but it was all I had.

With improved shuttles, the trip insystem would only be six days. I used my arm gently, stifling pain as needed, and tensed up as I reached security. I wasn’t wearing the necklace chip. Silver had programmed a spoof one into my phone, but it wouldn’t look quite right. Even in my chest pocket, it sent a signal, told them I was someone, and that matched the ID I used. It should; it was coded through my own phone using their protocols.

The process was similar to entry, and holding my arms up to be scanned hurt like hell even in low G, but I didn’t dare admit it. Once again, they didn’t recognize my face structure by scan. They were bored, busy and let me through, probably assuming tourists meant money.

Luckily, it’s common for passengers to take tranks or sedatives to relax or sleep on the trip insystem. I mixed a cocktail that gave me long days, short, deep sleep periods with my senses semi-accessible while I slept behind a locked and barricaded stateroom door with a notepad in hand for use as a club, blissfully, icy calm and wired sensitive all at once. In six days I was three kilos lighter and rather nauseated, but I hadn’t been apprehended.

We were a day from Earth when a news load reported that Ministry of State Undersecretary Boulain had been killed in front of her house, in front of her children. Someone had burned her down to a smoking greasy spot with a linear energy release gun. Nothing like a concentrated beam of superhot radiation to make a hit with the kids.

The gun had been recovered at scene. Investigators were working on it. That to me meant he’d left nothing they could trace and didn’t care about the gun. I was curious as to how he’d gotten that on Earth. Those were largely in test phase and not available. Had he looted a lab?

So what next?

From Peace Station over the Americas I took another AtmoSurf down to North America, landing in Virginia. I was very glad for the trank. This is where it had all started ten years, sixteen Earth years before.

Silver had left a message for me. I got my bag, took a slideway to another to a train station, from the train to an autocar to one of the megascrapers they’d rebuilt, to a slideway, an elevator, a level. The light gravity was helpful, but the polluted, thick air was not. I managed on medication over the nausea, pain and quivering panic I felt.

At the level nineteen plaza, she met me. She didn’t acknowledge, just paced me for a while, and moved in closer as I followed her directions. One hall became hotel, and the door ahead opened for her.

“Well, hi,” she said, coming alongside.

“Hello,” I returned smoothly. We assembled as a friendly pair, and proceeded to the room. She clicked the door, we went in, and I sat carefully on the bed. It was a smallish room, a bit stale, adequately clean and with sterile polymer furniture. It would do fine.

I was in pain from the exertion of walking, though somewhat improved. I wondered how his dislocated elbow felt. I’d hit it pretty hard. Still, he’d cut me thoroughly.

She said, “I got down about three hours ago. Are you okay?”

“Pain. Weakness. Nausea.” The room spun, and the air didn’t help. I appreciated the extra O2 Earth has, but the pressure and humidity were thick and irritating. It reminded me of last time. I’d started in a cheaper, but similar room.

“Rest a bit. I’m running news searches, but there are so many people there are so many targets.” She looked dejected.

“Just plan on tracking him when he does. It’s harder to get resources here. We spent a year building and developing. He’s got days and has only had hours.”

“I remember the report, but I welcome any first hand intel,” she agreed.

The planet is different from the outer system. Space dwellers everywhere have a streak of independence and self-reliance. It comes with the nonnatural environment. Earth’s isn’t natural either, but is very carefully built to fit every human want.

So it felt different from the station. That had been bureaucratic and annoying. This was outright hostile. The propaganda machine of the news never stopped.

The word on Earth now was that the Freehold had collapsed, and was dependent on UN charity. So much for free markets, ha ha, look at the stupid peasants.

It pissed me off.

It wasn’t that it was untrue. It was propaganda. By definition it was untrue. It’s that they could have used that story from the word go, and we’d never have fought. It’s not as if anyone on Grainne really gives a crap what Earth thinks; as far as the Halo, as long as the bank drafts clear, they don’t care what anyone thinks. But ego and moral outrage on the part of Earth’s overlords had dictated we be a scapegoat.

The other pisser was that it was dangerously close to, “Look what you made me do!” I’ve never liked that argument. It’s a cop out. Earth’s billions of casualties were because my commander and I had decided they were a target in total war. My government had eventually concurred, and I was told to be the most vicious bastard in history. I had done so. I had done so well. They didn’t make us do it, we chose to do it as an object lesson, for right or wrong.

Nothing about this situation made me feel better.

Then it took a turn for the worse. My phone buzzed.

We both stared at it. I assumed a wrong code or a marketing call, and answered.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Dan. I have your phone code.”

Well, that was exciting. I pointed at Silver, pointed at the phone, and she went to work trying to get a trace. He was probably doing the same. Who had the better gear and training?

“You have one of my phone codes,” I said laconically. “I’m very impressed. You shall get a first mark on Electronic Intel Basic.”

“You seem to be popular on Earth now,” he said.

“Yeah, I spent all day getting photographed and tagging people,” I said. “I never really thought of myself as a war hero.”

“Hero,” he snorted. “You’re the one who ran away before we got hit, remember?”

“I was busy doing something that was mission critical at the time.”

“So, you left the three of them to die?”

“I’d hoped you’d take care of things in my absence. I wasn’t able to find any evidence that you did. It seems you were busy running in fear.”

He snapped back, “What do you care? You didn’t even touch your daughter. You just left her.”

He didn’t know I recovered her. Well, good. That was one less threat to me, for now. I was greatly relieved, and needed to not draw attention to it. So I said, “You wouldn’t understand the mission.”

That definitely triggered him. “You and your fucking mission. You killed two billion innocent people to prove a point. For the same casualties, we could have wiped out their military and been done.”

“They would have rebuilt.”

He didn’t like it when I stayed calm. Good.

He said, “Screw the politics. I only kill a few people, I charge enough to weed out vendettas, and I make sure they deserve to die.”

“So, are you Allah or Jehovah? I’ve never met a god before. I expected a deity to have a bigger bank account, actually.” I was conversational, cheerful, derisive. The more seriously someone takes themselves, the more mockery will anger them. Was that his only account, though? It hurt him regardless.