The Courier (San Angeles) (17 page)

“W
HERE DO WE
go from here?” Yang moved away from the closed door and back to the large conference table.

“Let’s not move too fast,” said Jeremy. “The president surprised me today, and I don’t like it. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone our plans to overtake the Big Three. It forced my hand and made me reveal the higher level of our own forces. Some of the cabinet will not be impressed.”

“Do you believe they will block the president?”

“It’s too late for that, much too late. Any extra scrutiny they bring could hamper the plans though.”

Yang moved over to the president’s chair and sat down, spinning it to look at the view of Earth. “And what is the status of our plan?”

Jeremy stopped the retort that was already forming.
Our plan,
yeah right.
If Yang hadn’t caught his extra skimming, there would be no
our
. Jeremy would be the one reaping the rewards that war brought, the flow of unmonitored money that would move through his office. It would be easy, so easy to build his own little empire. First, he needed that war.

“Plans for the Quantum Jump Project have been in our mole’s hands for a week. He’s fed a copy into the SoCal systems and shipped another copy to Kadokawa.”

“Shipped? How?”

Jeremy felt a twinge. This wasn’t like Yang. He wasn’t this forceful unless he felt he had the upper hand. Was it possible he knew what was going on?
My god, if he knows—How the hell did he find out?
There were only three people involved in the Kadokawa delivery, and he was the only one with all the details. He made a mental note to look for leaks immediately.

“A courier package containing a memory card with the plans, documentation, and the successful Andromeda mission.”

Even with the plans, SoCal and Kadokawa would be at least a year behind, making the war one-sided until then. Quincy’s interruption of the first delivery using the SoCal hardware would guarantee the two would start fighting between themselves immediately. By the time they had their own quantum jump drives, the president wouldn’t be able to trace how they’d gotten them. Hell, he’d probably ask someone in the defense portfolio to look into it, and that person reported straight back to Jeremy.

“I have heard there are problems with the courier?”

Jeremy wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question.

Yang spun around in the president’s chair and looked at Jeremy. “From the information I gathered, SoCal met the courier in one of Kadokawa’s ancillary buildings. They tried to intercept the package and kill the courier.”

Jeremy breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Yang had the planted information: setting up a strong rivalry between SoCal and Kadokawa. “Yes, well. It seems our mole leaked the information to SoCal too soon. They must have been monitoring him more closely than we thought.”

“They knew what the package contained then? And what of the mole?”

Jeremy stood straighter, showing that he was still a military man, a man of action and results. “The mole has been eliminated, and the courier is about to be.”

“How?”

“I’ve taken care of it.” Yang was starting to feel too important. Jeremy watched him spinning lazily in the president’s chair, as if he belonged in it. Soon, it wouldn’t matter. Once the war had started, officially or not, Yang would cease to be a problem. Just one of the many casualties leading up to the final conflict. “I have my best person on the job. The courier will be eliminated and the rogue package will be back in our hands.”

Yang stopped spinning and looked Jeremy in the eye. “If you are discovered, I will wash my hands of this matter. The signatures on all the documents belong to you and,” Yang waved his hand over the chair he was sitting in, “the president.”

Jeremy raised his voice a notch. “This is not the time for threats, Yang. Especially not empty ones. We both have enough on each other to ensure that if one of us is caught, the other will hang beside him.”

“And now who is making the threats?” Yang changed tactics. “And what of Kadokawa?”

“They already have the information they require.”

“Good. Are you sure you want to leave IBC out of this?”

“Yes. If one of the top three doesn’t have the jump drive, it
divides them. If they fight amongst themselves, we will fare better, much better, in the end.”

“Good. Very good.” Yang stood and walked to the door. “Keep me informed if anything changes, will you? I hate getting my information secondhand.”

Jeremy watched Yang leave.
What a pompous ass. He actually seems to believe he has control over me. That won’t last long.
Jeremy turned back to the vid screen. The sun was setting behind the curve of the Earth and large swathes of light from the cities below glittered in the dark.

Miller led me past the windows lining the lobby. I had a hard time grasping where I was. Yesterday, I’d managed a few hours of sleep in my old Level 1 hole, covered in mouse shit and garbage. The day before that I had been sleeping in my own bed above Lee’s Fish Market. Now I was walking on lush carpet, passing real green plants, in a fancy hotel I wouldn’t have been able to get near if I was alone. I tried to brush some of the dirt off my jacket and only succeeded in spreading it to my hands. I had never felt more out of place, more like one of the bums on Chinatown’s streets, like unwanted filth. The urge to turn and run, to get back to where I belonged, burned in me, and I fought it as best I could. I brushed my sweaty hands on my jeans, trying to get rid of the dirt, and ended up just jamming them into my pants pocket. My fingers curled reflexively around the key chain that wasn’t there.

The Ambients that flooded in through the windows dimmed a notch and changed their tone to a more subtle orangey yellow. The joys of Level 4. On Levels 1 and 2, and most parts of 3, the Ambients
just dimmed or turned off abruptly at night. I wasn’t used to it, and it added to my feeling of not belonging.

The far wall, away from the windows, held a small gift shop. Souvenirs of the city lined the shelves with colorful t-shirts and handbags, rows of candy, and the prerequisite shelf of miniature toothpaste tubes and headache remedies.

At the end of the lobby was a small coffee shop, open to the outside with cute little tables and chairs on the patio. Beside it, inside the hotel proper, was a more upscale place with a hostess waiting to seat you. By the look of it, they shared a common kitchen between them.

I angled toward the coffee shop before Miller pulled me across the hall toward the hostess.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I just gotta fill the AD in on what’s been happening. Wait here.”

I nodded and moved closer to a potted palm near the front door. The hostess smiled at Miller when he walked past her, and then turned to me with a look of disgust on her face. I pretended to look out the windows. If the bitch had been through the same crap I had, she’d probably be dead already. The second the thought entered my head, I felt ashamed of it.

A few minutes later, Miller came back, brushing past the hostess as if she wasn’t there. He didn’t have the package anymore. It felt strange, not having it near me, as if it had become a part of who I was.

“Come on, Kris, we’ll get you something to eat,” he said.

I followed Miller into the restaurant, pretty sure that if he hadn’t led the way, the hostess would have stopped me. Rich wood panels covered the wall, and the tables were draped in crisp white tablecloths. In front of each elegantly carved wooden chair was an almost see-through plate topped with a beige napkin, rolled and tied with a
red ribbon. On either side of the plate were more knives and forks than I knew what to do with. Two wineglasses stood near each plate, reflecting the light from the flickering candle set in the center of each table.

I didn’t belong here. Hell, nobody I knew belonged here. What was I getting myself into? This place was way above my comfort zone. Way above my social status. With every step, I felt more uncomfortable with where I was and what I was doing.

Thankfully the tables were mostly empty. In the center, close to the door where they could see anyone that walked in or out, was a group of old ladies. They held teacups in their hands and on the table was a tray of dainties. To me, they looked like wannabe society ladies, imitating what they had seen on the old vids. Their open looks of disdain as I walked past, coupled with the way they covered their noses, mirrored those of the hostess. I looked at Miller’s feet. I hated feeling uncomfortable in my own skin.

Miller stopped and pointed to the far corner where a large man sat alone. “That’s the assistant director.”

I hesitated.

“It’s okay, Kris. Just walk up and grab a seat. He really wants to talk to you. I’ll get the waitress to bring over some food for ya.” He gave me a gentle push in the direction of the table and turned back to the hostess.

I looked back just as the hostess disappeared into the kitchen separating the restaurants. Typical. The fanciest-looking places in the world got their food from the same place as the run-of-the-mill coffee shop. I found it comforting.

Pulling out a chair, I sat across from the assistant director and took off my jacket, laying it on the empty chair beside me. I must have really smelled as bad as I looked; when I removed my jacket, he pulled back a bit and covered his nose with his hand, just like the old
ladies. He moved it so it only covered his mouth, trying to make it look like that was what he had meant to do in the first place. I sunk lower in my seat and gave him points for trying.

“Kris Ballard. You’ve been a very busy girl. It seems as though everybody wants a piece of you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I was pretty sure he did as well.

He laid his hand on the envelope beside him. “And this is the reason why?”

“Yeah.”

He stared at me for a second. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

I looked him in the eye and pulled myself up from my slouch. “I don’t know you.”

“Ah, of course! Where are my manners?” He raised his bulk and reached a hand across the table. “My name is Nigel Wood.” He leaned in and lowered his voice, as though sharing a big secret. “I’m an assistant director of ACE. I knew your parents.”

I just looked at his hand, but didn’t reach for it. My brain had gone numb.

“Perhaps after we’ve talked a while then.” Nigel sat back down and replaced the napkin in his lap. He was acting as though he hadn’t said anything
wrong
.

A waitress dressed in black pants and shirt left the kitchen, the door swinging behind her, hinged to go both ways. She held a tray as if it was contaminated, and moved toward our table. Without asking, she placed the food in front of me and left.

“Please forgive her,” Nigel said, waving at the food. “Serving cheeseburgers, french fries, and strawberry milkshakes is not part of the norm here. I’ll have to check with Miller to see how he managed to get them to do it.”

Somewhere in the back of my head, a thought pushed through the numbness—
He must have just smiled at her
.

“Please, eat. We can talk while you do.”

I just sat and stared at him. I couldn’t get past what he had said. He knew my parents?

As if just realizing what had happened, Nigel looked down at the table like he was embarrassed. “Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped that on you so . . . fast. I didn’t mean to upset you.” With the last words, he looked into my eyes. He seemed sincere. “Please, eat. I’ll explain everything when you’re done.”

I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I picked up the burger. When I took my first bite, the tomato slid off the melted cheese and fell with a plop on to the plate. Suddenly it was as if I hadn’t eaten in weeks. The first bite wasn’t enough. I barely swallowed before I jammed the burger into my mouth again for another bite.

Nigel leaned forward. “Whoa, slow down. We’ll stay until you’ve finished eating.” He laid his hand on the envelope again. “Now, did you open the package?”

The food must have been working its magic; I bristled at the question. “Is the envelope open?”

“Obviously not,” Nigel smiled, “but it has happened that carefully opened envelopes were resealed.”

I took a gulp of my milkshake, not taking the time to use the straw. “No, I didn’t open it. I’ve never opened a package I delivered.” I wasn’t about to tell him how close I got.

“Okay. Good. Do you know why you were picked to deliver the package?”

“You first,” I said, the words coming out in a harsh rasp. “What about my parents?”

Nigel sighed and looked down at the table again. “Okay, that’s fair. I really don’t know how to say this, except for the way it is. And I do dislike beating around the bush. Your parents worked for me—for ACE—before I was an assistant director.”

I must have showed some sign of disbelief, because Nigel stopped looking at the table and looked back at me.

“Oh, nothing like Miller, no. You see, one of ACE’s goals is to bring equilibrium back to the planet. The corporations have stripped or covered up so much land and water that sustainability has become almost impossible. Without the mines on Mars, without the water they are extracting, we would be on the verge of extinction. Your parents believed, truly
believed
we could achieve sustainability. But in order to do it, something had to change. They tried to be the catalyst for that change, and were killed for their efforts.”

“It . . . it was just a random attack,” I stuttered. “A gang looking for money.”

“That’s what we thought too, at first. But we take care of our own. When the police stopped looking, we kept on, we dug deeper. We don’t know which corporation ordered the hit, either SoCal or Meridian, but we’re sure it was a hit. The gang that did the work didn’t exist before that day, or after. Nothing else made sense.”

I just sat there. My brain had gone from numb to speeding at Mach 10. What if Nigel was telling the truth? I remember going to friends’ houses for a couple of days at a time. Was that when they took off and did their work for ACE?

“I know it’s a lot to take in, Kris. Our memories of our parents when we were kids are seldom correct. This change is just a bit bigger than most. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that later. I’ll make sure we do. This package”—he tapped his hand on the envelope again—“is somewhat time critical, so I’ll ask again. Do you know why you were picked to deliver it?”

“No. I figure Dispatch had a problem with me somewhere along the line.” I felt the beginning of a brain freeze headache from the shake and pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. It was supposed to work, and it stopped me from asking more about Mom and Dad.

“Maybe. We’ve looked into your dispatcher’s background, as well as yours. Besides the fact that she collected a Meridian paycheck, we didn’t find anything offbeat. We couldn’t find a connection to you at all, aside from the obvious work-related one. Certainly nothing that ties back to your parents. The best we could figure was that you have no obvious family ties. No one who would worry about why you didn’t come home at night.”

“You’re telling me I got fucked over because I’m a loner?”

Nigel took the swearing in stride, not even pausing in the conversation. I was beginning to like this guy. Better than Mikey from IBC anyway.

“It would appear that way,” he said.

I shoved the last piece of the cheeseburger into my mouth and slowed down. Leaning back in my chair, feeling fuller than I had in days, I started in on the fries. The thin film attached to my back pinched my skin and I leaned forward again, resting my elbows on the table. “When can I lose this damn blocker, or whatever Miller called it?” I had so many other questions to ask, but was afraid to.

“Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten. It’s actually your ID tag that’s caused a lot of your problems. Pretty much everyone born in the last fifty years is implanted with a tag at birth. It’s part of the cancer and heart disease vaccination given to young children. In specific terms, small carbon flakes are injected into the pleural cavity with the vaccination. They collect around the upper superior mediastinal lymph nodes and send out coded, low-pulse signals with every heartbeat.”

Nigel was beginning to lose me and I stifled a yawn.

“It’s the city administration’s, essentially SoCal’s, way to track people. What it really does is it allows them to probe into people’s private lives, and if it’s helpful to them, use that information to their benefit. It removes our freedom without most of us even knowing
about it. A monitored population is a controllable population. Very
1984
.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. Nigel must have seen my eyes lose their focus. I didn’t remember being this bored in school.

“But I’m preaching again. Sorry, I was in med school when ACE recruited me.” He shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “At any rate, the blocker will remain attached until we can get you to a facility that can modify the tag. It’s not a surgical procedure, but does require special equipment. It allows you to program pretty much any information into the tag as well, giving anyone access to anywhere.”

“Like Level 6 and up?” Had my parents ever been to Level 6?

“Exactly.”

“I’ve seen Level 6 security examine people’s backs. Are they looking for these blockers?”

“Yes, we used to use blockers exclusively, and the first editions were pretty bulky. When they started checking, we turned to surgery, but that left obvious scarring, of course. We lost a lot of operatives when they started checking. Since then we’ve gotten smarter. We override the carbon fibers with our own transmitters. It took us years to develop the tech, but so far, it’s been highly effective. They haven’t caught on yet.” Nigel paused. “Now, back to our questions.”