Rogue-ARC (8 page)

I slipped it off the rack, inspected the already open chamber and handed it over. She took it, inspected the chamber and dropped the bolt. It was a bit large for her, but manageable. “It’s a double-roller blowback with a gas piston shock absorber,” I told her. “But it will still kick. Take it to school tomorrow and go practice afterwards. Do a test range with it this weekend.” I handed her two boxes of ammo to supplement the ten rounds in it and the two magazines clipped to the butt and receiver. It was a bulky weapon, but the best thing for her to have at any range practical. “And the ammo in your pistol is at least six months old,” I told her. “Shoot it out after you buy some fresh.”

“Yes, Dad,” she agreed. She felt a bit reassured with the riot gun in hand. I’d really scared her.

I hoped I’d done so for nothing.

CHAPTER 4

We boarded the shuttle
without trouble, because there is never any trouble on a Grainne launch. We had tickets; they let us aboard.

I actually felt a little nervous. It had been ten long years since I did this, and that was leaving a desolated Earth. Before that, it had been my trip to Earth. None of that was conducive to pleasant memories.

I’m not claustrophobic, but I felt confined. I actually appreciated Silver’s presence.

That seemed to be the other part. I was back in “military” mode and operating without orders, support of a chain, or with any backup besides her. So the two of us were our element. Everyone else was an outsider.

I guess my brain shut off. We talked about something, I zoned out staring at couchbacks, then we docked at Vista Station.

We had regular luggage, and some well-concealed gadgets that no Customs flunky should be able to identify. We had several shipments going to mail drops, and to our embassies, which would take some wiggling to get hold of. We had our wits for making more, and a lot of cash.

I elected to do Customs at this end, because I figured they’d be less suspicious of someone asking to be inspected.

It was straightforward enough, but there was an element of nerves. We were officially in Caledonian space by electing to do this, and any discrepancies would end our trip right now.

The inspector was Indian in ancestry, with slicked black hair. Fit enough generally, dour and bored. He spent some time scrutinizing our ID and passports, which were from FreeBank. I made sure to look relaxed and keep a hand around Silver’s shoulder.

“You seem a little nervous,” he said to her.

“First time out,” she muttered weakly.

“Ah. Well, there’s nothing to worry about.” He smiled and waved us through.

He didn’t check the bags. He accepted our medical and immunization declaration, which was valid but under fake names. That meant Randall could have done the same.

Once in our small stateroom aboard the
Princess Caroline
—double bed that folded down from the wall, workdesk likewise, closet recessed around lavatory, commode and shower stalls—she untensed and sighed.

I met her eyes and said, “Yeah, you have to be less nervous when we arrive, and for future trips. Especially arrivals.”

“I know,” she said. “I wasn’t really afraid of being detained, but of blowing the mission.”

She unfolded the bed and sat down with another exhaled sigh.

“That’s fine,” I said. “Everyone takes a bit to get used to it. Remember this is the easy part. The worst that happens is a Caledonian jail, and we get bailed out. They’re nice enough people, and civilized. More likely, there’s some kind of meeting, we look clueless, bumbling and apologetic, and off we go, to acquire more hardware later.

“When and if we get to other systems, it’s a case of bribes working, or invoking threats to higher ups. But we’re the offense here. We don’t apologize and we don’t shrink back, unless it’s a deliberate act.”

“Got it,” she nodded. Then she smiled. “I think I’ll be fine after the first round.”

***

We were in that cabin for most of seven days out and six days in to Caledonia. She couldn’t find any vid she liked. There were some I might watch, but I couldn’t concentrate. We didn’t want to do too much interaction with other passengers, so meals were about the only time we left. It was cleaned daily, neat, smelled faintly of flowers and with a touch of ozone for clarity. The staff really did try, but it wasn’t enough.

I’m a loner, didn’t have any privacy, and I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way of saying, “Can you leave for a half div while I stroke off?” A shipboard shower stall is neither romantic nor comfortable. Her flipping channels got on my nerves. Me fuming in silence got on hers. She had an annoying habit of taking forever in the shower, when I needed to get clean, get off and get to sleep.

Which is all part of traveling with someone, especially other troops, and something you learn to cope with. I just hadn’t had to in a long time.

I did find it soothing to have a warm back against mine at night. Human companionship was something I always lacked.

The meals managed to be adequate without being either too institutional or flashy. I was impressed. Ships are usually one or the other. The housekeepers were agreeable to our request to come at dinner time, when we had everything secured. I didn’t want them wandering in otherwise.

I also had to put in long divs researching. Randall was in the Caledonia system. Great. Who was the target? We had nothing concrete.

I made a list starting with the Queen and other Royals and working down.

I ruled out the Royals. The only group that would target them was decades old, increasingly pathetic Common People’s Action Group. They didn’t have the money, and they’d never hire an “elitist” to do their killing. That, and my team had slaughtered them in a previous engagement. There were others who didn’t like the monarchy, but they all realized it was politically and promotionally bad to target them, because the Caledonians overwhelmingly loved their Royals. That was the basis of their colony, now nation, after their parent Earth culture got rid of its royalty in one of the UN treaties.

I supposed it was possible someone with enough money hired him to settle some petty score against an underling, but there were too many tens of thousands of possibilities to consider that.

In between were a few hundred notable business and political people who might be significant enough. I gridded them and managed to eliminate a few who were either too old, too meaningless or too noncontentious to matter.

That took most of a week. I’d have to spend the next week doing the heavy thinking on the rest. Also, there were some in from outsystem. I had to cut the ones who were definitely short notice, or strictly transient, or had made plans after the DNA intel date. Again, targets of opportunity were possible, but I had to stick to predictable strategic targets.

Right before we hit jump point, I did screen a message to Chel.

“Hey, kid. I’m about to leave system, but I am going to say goodbye. I’ll have updates relayed to you, and I’ll get back as soon as I can. Miss you. A lot. Be good. Love you.”

I just had a lingering fear that this would be the last she saw of me. So I had to send something.

Silver and I reached a détente the second week. She watched vid in the passenger lounge and turned down occasional passes. In the stateroom, I gave her a half div to send coded posts to a repeater back insystem that updated her social pages and noted she was doing a remote training course in the Hinterlands and would be out of contact for a while. She kept the screen turned away from others and used earbuds while she cruised and hopped whatever nodes she wasted time on. I spent that time staring at the ceiling above the bed trying to parse the chart I’d printed and had lying on my chest. Or, I went into the shower and pretended to be alone. Then she took her ridiculously long showers (okay, but she started it) and I did my nightly random node hop for mental relaxation.

Then we went to bed and I pretended I was only pretending to be interested in this woman in such a way people would think I really was, with her warm back against mine. I hadn’t had a bed partner in years, and that had been my then-little girl. The last adult partner was even more years.

During the days, I took a few more potentials off the list here and there. Some were definitely not targets. Either removing them would put someone more potentially dangerous in place, or destabilize something. While I was sure he could do multiple hits, his MO was one, then move. Rushing to get multiples would be risky. Of course, he might elect to start doing that. He hadn’t so far, though. Some I deleted on gut feeling. They were potent and had enemies, but had enough friends that killing them would generate support for them and ill will for any competitor trying to benefit after the fact.

By three days out I narrowed it down to 126 people who might be worth killing for enough money, and who might have enemies with that kind of money.

I leaned back, sighed and rubbed my eyes.

“Dan,” she said.

I stretched and looked over. We were traveling as Dan and Cynthia Charles.

“Can I offer some advice?”

“Please,” I said.

“You’ve been alone for a decade. It shows. You’re instantly edgy around anyone else, and can’t share. You also can’t express yourself.”

“Probably,” I agreed. I’d been expecting commentary on my list. Not on that.

“This is a nice ship, and it’s culturally Freehold, not just a flag of convenience.”

“Right. And?”

“Go spread someone,” she said.

I blinked.

“You need company, and you need to unwind. Go to the spa, take a div, and get your head back on a bit straighter.”

I almost blushed. Not because I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed not to have thought of it. Also, that I was so obviously having trouble with people.

“Keep the advice coming,” I said.

Yeah, that was a good idea. I got away from her, which was good for all kinds of reasons, and I got some physical sensations and synaptic rushes that really did help.

The spa had real leafy plants, wood veneers and scented air with attractive people in tasteful form-fitting clothes and elegant accessories. It offered everything from plunge to massage to fairly exotic sex. All I needed was human companionship, and that was easy enough.

I feel guilty about one thing. Bjirka, as she was known professionally, seemed to have a pretty good time herself. I wasn’t sure if it was real or an act; either was possible. However, I kicked in Boost and three segs later I knew it wasn’t an act. Every muscle in her body cramped and spasmed and her grin was still a meter wide when I left. They’d counted our doses on active duty, so we never got to try that. Physically, I got a bit more thrill from it. Psychologically, it was very satisfying. As they say in show business, always leave them wanting more. She was pretty much annihilated.

The part I felt guilty about was that I’d picked her because she looked a bit like Silver. It was a grudge fuck by proxy.

I felt even more guilty when I got back to find Silver had ruled out three more possible targets.

However, I was able to sleep better, and I was more relaxed. Actual human contact is necessary to mental well being.

The jump between systems was as disorienting as I remembered, and I was out of practice. My reflexes and coordination were shot, and I had trouble even standing. A nap straightened me out, but it was annoying. Silver had no significant problems.

A few potential targets left system during our transfer. We crossed those off. One other came home. One made a large charitable contribution, which didn’t take him off the list, but did make him someone to consider separately. A generous martyr taken out of the way could be used for a tragic or pity option for further fundraising. That had been done politically in one very high profile case a couple of centuries earlier. I expect it had been done more than once.

I availed myself of the spa once more before we reached orbit. Once down I’d have no such options. Silver and I were a married couple, and we needed to be a boring, unremarkable married couple. Visiting brothels, no matter how classy, would stand out in the oddly conservative culture of Caledonia. They’re modern and casual about sex in general, but marriage is very important. There wouldn’t be any stigma, being offworlders, but it would still be commented on. Discretion was great cover.

We transferred to their insystem shuttle. Very nice. The couches were comfortable, padded for extra support, and the services were all voice or touch controlled. It was a brand new Lola Aerospace AtmoSurf 5, in pale blue and white. There was no skywhip, which is part of why they use the Surfers. We went down in a series of graceful, dipping glides, a couple of sharp skilike turns, and a long, screaming approach. It was slower, but more interesting than a skywhip insertion.

Rollout was the same, and with the new port expansion we didn’t have to wait for docking. We unsnapped, shimmied out of those amazing couches, laughing softly at how awkward that was, stretched, and joined the debarkation line.

Surface gravity is 1.05, slightly lower than ours. The air was thicker even than Earth’s, but with comparable O2. It’s quite a nice planet, and I’d enjoyed my stint here with the embassy a lot. I knew a bit of my way around the general map of the capital. The adjusted twenty-three Earth hour day was short for me, but we’d be on an odd schedule as mission dictated anyway.

Once out, we grabbed bags, caught a “limo” that was an oversized van, ground only, and checked in at the New Raffles. A bellman in uniform took our bags and buzzed the door faster than we could get out.

“Good morning, Mister and Mrs. Charles. How was your trip?”

“Long,” I replied. “Is there a package for us?”

“Yes, a bag arrived for you. I’ll have it sent up.”

“Thank you.”

The elevator was fast, the luggage awaited, the view was good and offered a clear field of fire across the city center.

I slipped the bellman enough bill to make him happy without being flamboyant, and he closed the door on his way out.

I felt better already. I had more space, a spare bed if I didn’t like sharing, and the bag was from the embassy, and should contain some weapons. It wasn’t marked from the embassy, of course. It was marked from a safehouse used for the purpose.