Threads of Canor: Sector Bomb Read online

  Chapter Seven: Professional Disdain

  Sonata was worried. The glyph provided did not offer its usual detail and profile, and she would be required to ad-lib far more than in any previous operation. My copy of the glyph indicated that Aaran presented Sonata nearly as-is, apart from name and background. Even though it was a simple operation, convincing him of the truth long enough to separate him from public view was crucial to success.

  Hence her request for backup for the first time, ever.

  [Buddy can multi-task.]

  Aaran sighed so loudly her corded necklace jostled. [Great time for nerves. I thought you had none to rattle, Sonata? This man needs to die.]

  [Can't I just knock him out?]

  Aaran thumped the baseboard of the cruiser with her right foot angrily. [He's a serial memory manipulator and that's that. Orders are orders.]

  [So he won't reform.]

  It was unusual for Sonata's core code to manifest so abruptly. She and I have a respect for life inherited from our Father, but...

  [You're questioning your C.O., Sonata. This man has hurt dozens of women, men and children. You want to let him continue?]

  [His disposal is by my discretion.]

  I could see she was pleased by the irony of Sonata's sass, but not by her mistrust. [I would vaporize the son of a screaver. Your orders are clear. If you let him slip I might just have your pigtails.]

  [How do you know I'm wearing pigtails?]

  [Figure of speech, sassy gal. Buddy will support you, now get out there and get it done!]

  [Yes ma'am. Thanks ... and, I'm sorry.]

  [Sure you are.] Aaran grumbled for an extended period. Our first stop was Tier 16, Razor's main public access point. Sonata indicated that she would send glyphs of her progress as she sought out Laston. We had to get on board Razor, if we could, or get to Ayani before she got to the civilians.

  "I was hoping Sonata wouldn't get squeamish. If the AOC could authorize his death they'd have done it months ago. He's not attached to any Court, and that poses a lot of problems."

  "You just told her they ordered him neutralized."

  "They did."

  "But not dead."

  Aaran shook her head. "Reggie did, and as long as he's in Talon we can see it through."

  Pieces began to fall in place. Like millions of others, his native court was destroyed during the Burn, and he was a refugee of the Crushing War. The Crown was sluggish in organizing a new Court to represent this faction as its own stability took priority. His motivations were unclear, but there was no tolerance for terrorism.

  "Why did you not tell Sonata he is a terrorist?"

  "I don't lie so easily. Laston is 'just self serving'. He is a profiteer with no prior offenses, and the Court won't recognize his actions as politically motivated." Aaran's derision was painfully apparent.

  "Without evidence to the effect."

  “Try getting anything to stick on Talon. The Crown won't assign the right agents to the task when he can't be nailed down by 'mere suspicion'.”

  At that moment I received a glyph containing an image of a familiar profile. "She's found him."

  "She's not losing her edge, even if she is cultivating a more defined conscience. Get us to Tier 16. If she actually needs your support I'm going to grind her gears."

  "Yes ma'am."

  Aaran knows as well as I we don't have any.

  The public emergency lockdown had emptied the streets, and though we'd have preferred the quick travel of our cruiser, the heavy weapons and bolted down barricades told us we wouldn't get to enjoy it. A 'soft' armored Alliance Law Enforcer guard walked up to us as we exited.

  "Can't let you go any further," she said with a gruff tone. She looked up at me and eye to eye with Aaran.

  "Yes you can. I'm Aaran Coates."

  "So you are." Behind transparent blast mask, her face screwed up. "That Buddy? We've been waiting."

  "Yes. I am Buddy Namiki. Who are you?"

  "Sergeant Justine Bowles. Good work with the Aug. Clever-uh, trick," she nodded, uncomfortable. "We were wondering why you don't carry a blade."

  "I am already a weapon."

  She was quiet, and her glove-covered hands squeezed her freshly cleaned weapon, its components rattling. A ballistic rifle? What were they expecting to fight?

  "What's the situation?" Aaran requested, frowning at me pointedly as she tried to break the discomfort. "You don't have to worry about Buddy. He's a good kid. Independent thinker."

  "Yeah. Sorry. I owe Crazy-O a headshot. Nothin' personal, sir."

  Examination of her face revealed that her left eye was a performance grade retinal prosthesis with no cosmetic components. She was fortunate to have survived such a wounding. It must have been uncomfortable to have such a low grade eye.

  "It is gracious of you to apologize," I told her. She seemed incensed.

  “Yeah, don't think about it too much, and... it's impolite to stare. Your 'Daddy' promis'd to fix me up when I—he gets far 'nough down his waiting list,” she remarked, tapping the blast mask with her gloved right hand. “I'm not sore, but I used to like datin'. So, 'less you plan t'move me up his list I jes' wanna get on with this nonsense. Civilian unrest is nil. Back streets are busy, you see. Talon HQ ordered closure of all main routes to stall all public access to Tier 16. Service tunnels 're guarded, and the only way across."

  She was sore. Dad was encouraging the Crown to train more Doctors, but as with everything else—impatience and patience were in surplus, but not credits. Aaran jumped on the silence before it had a chance to encroach: "So that's a feint too."

  Bowles shrugged. "HQ's nervous as a virgin in a-sorry. Too much time 'round the grunts. We have standing orders to shoot anyone on the main routes."

  “ 'Ladies and gentlemen, your audience',” Aaran quoted. “Word is stay classy.”

  “Yes ma'am. It's a garden bath out here.”

  Which was field slang for this powderkeg. "Tranquilizers?"

  She eyed me again and then nodded. "Yessir. Can't imagine any loss of innocent life because of this. Time is creds in the box. We've seen small pockets of wasters between here and the tier, but nothing to stream about. Left alone they're harmless. That's it. We'll open up now if you're ready to go. You'll have to leave your cruiser here."

  Aaran raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She was having the same thought as me. Life trumps imagination every time. "Need someone to drive this cruiser to a depot if it's not any trouble. It's rented."

  “We got word about it. Can't have unsecured cruisers litterin' the streets. Edwards!”

  Bowles gestured at one of her companions who curtly acknowledged with a tilt of his head. Aaran handed him the authorization key and muttered a word of thanks. She has a way of getting along with military folk. Respect for friendlies would get around nearly as quickly as hard-plate arrogance.

  "Follow the main road, but turn off on 6th. Right, into the service access. Posted guards will let you in," Bowles told us as she operated the personnel gate. We stepped through. "Not much else to say. Anyone you run across should be in gear or out cold. Good hunting."

  Experience told me she was warming up to me very quickly and the reverse of her statement was closer to the truth. Many were wary of robots and android because of Carso – Crazy O – and his legacy. The idea of rules, his very deification of the Absolute Rule causes continued mistrust and abuse among 'our kind'.

  "Be safe. Thank you, Sgt. Bowles. We will try," I told her, smiling for her benefit. She echoed my expression and it was pleasing to regard. We left the guards to their stationary tour, and did not hurry. Time was our ally.

  "She got over that pretty quick.”

  I glanced at Aaran, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I wonder if David made you cute to keep the tension low. You're like everyone's little brother. Only real scrands beat up little brothers.” She glanced over her shoulder and pocketed her hands. “That's not it, though. Don't know who's C.O., but they're
doing us all kinds of favors. Even tempered soldiers keep the body counts down.”

  "The situation was described to me as a 'powderkeg'." Ignoring the question of physical appeal seemed wise at that time. Father knew what he was doing. This was part of the answer I was seeking, it occurred to me. Aaran was, as usual, a step ahead:

  "Feh. This is just babysitting. Bowles isn't mistaken thinking no one'll get hurt if we do our job."

  “She was very pleasant.”

  “She was quite the flirt,” Aaran said, mimicking my static observational tone. “Told ya you're a charmer.”

  [He bought it. We're talking.] Sonata transmitted when we were less than ten steps away from the right turn at 6th, as described by the Sergeant.

  [Sure he did, sugar. You're a keeper. Speaking of, keep the chatter to a minimum.]

  Looking over each others' shoulders, we followed the directions given. The molded, nigh-indestructible plasteel structures around us did not blink at our caution.

  Unlike many parts of public traffic, Talon is entirely non-surveillance due to Crown protocol. No one alive who was involved will speak of their involvement or the technologies some suspect were applied in the place of modern surveillance hardware. My own sensors reported no transmitters or receivers of any known manufacture within range.

  "So why would a military HQ not monitor it's own space?" I wondered aloud. Aaran threw me an impatient look and hastily drew a finger in a line in front of her throat. Oh. We were nearing publicly traveled back walks, which were in fact tunnels that traversed the Colony circumference.

  We greeted the guards, who, less armored than Sgt. Bowles, simply responded with a courteous wave of hand.

  "Flowers and big, fat, grins," Aaran murmured. "Oh... my."

  Indeed, business of the daily variety was taking place in a cramped arena. Normally reserved for walking, the back corridors were crammed with vendors of nearly every description. With less than four abreast in space, travelers had little more than room enough for their own shoulders. Aaran signaled I flank her, and I did so without hesitation.

  "Lunch?" asked a heavyset woman in modest natural fibers. Aaran waved her off and I drank in the gaggle. According to her glyph, Sonata had located Laston before entering such a tightly packed mass. It was well she did.

  [Aaran...]

  [Old school,] she replied, warning me not to recklessly transmit, and informing me of her plans. About ten feet beyond the gate we stopped in front of an old man in grey, well cared for silks. He lifted his thick eyebrows and smiled behind a forest of beard.

  "Pleasah. Hungry?" Sounded like he was chewing sand.

  "You know what it's like on the elevator. Ground cryshrike in a cup," she replied warmly. "Meet Buddy. He's not hungry."

  "Th' wrong sort. Good kid? Have hard creds?"

  Aaran smirked at me while she fished for a few stamps in her jacket pocket. "Yeah he is, I'm shardin' picky. Whatever you've got that's hot."

  "Treadin' today?" he asked. Aaran dropped three stamps into his wrinkled, cupped, hands. "Lucky girl. Fresh meat. Stew. Rare."

  "Not out of colony if we can avoid it. Meat's well done, though?"

  I was confused, expecting their language to be some form of code. Perhaps I've read too many novels in my downtime.

  "Lovin'ly prepared by Helsna. Buff you up."

  There was a pot to the left brimming with the dish, which the fellow spooned into a bowl. Aaran wasted no time, accepting the implement provided. She murmured something with head bowed and dove straight in. It would be appropriate to say she did not surface until the bowl was all but licked clean.

  "That's the stuff," she smiled, seeming immensely satisfied. Fresh fruit doesn't do that for her? I've seen other women trade their most precious jewelry for small portions of natural fruit goods. That was a few years ago, granted...

  "Helsna told me you're going to the Tien."

  Aaran recoiled visibly. "Tier. Tier 16, Snackard."

  He cleared his throat. "Very badly. Very badly. Amends. You will tread four gates, eight if you want to bump into a crowd."

  "A crowd. No. Don't need any more company'n I got now."

  He gurgled a chuckle. "Four then. Helsna has bad ears."

  "She never called Dr. Namiki back."

  "Never heard him call," Snackard rumbled jubilantly. "Catch 33. The good, timid Doctor makes no box calls."

  "The good doctor was nearly vacuumed offside today. What'd ya say?"

  "Black Dreams for bad news. Trade in for time crop. What's your darkest moment?"

  "Nothin' I'd tell you. Thanks for the stew, Snackard. Keep the pot hot and give a Helsna a kiss for me."

  Now that wasn't code, but it didn't sound logical, either. Aaran went quiet, and lead on in deathly silence. What had she learned? We walked by all types of vendors, from artisans to clothiers eager to spin us into their latest home-grown fibers. Down the hall sixty feet or so the crowd thinned, and over another forty we were alone.

  “You get that.”

  From experience I knew it was a question. I blinked anyway. “I heard him tell you some puzzling things.”

  “Now we get to figure out what they mean. Snackard is a rare fella. Rarer than rare. He's a soothsayer.”

  “What's that mean?”

  Aaran frowned again, but this time it wasn't my fault. She palmed her blade and scanned around us. I emulated her automatically. “Laston has information we don't. That's why he's running. Cryshrike always scramble away from the hot zone.”

  “I don't know what he told you...” Why wasn't she listening to me?

  [Sonata, do you have him?]

  [...]

  “Shards. Y'know, when I get a jab like this I don't like to trust it...”

  [Aaran? It's okay. We're sitting down to tea. He keeps scanning me so ... you understand,] Sonata supplied.

  “Tier 15 food court,” I murmured.

  “He's a suspicious guy. He's close.”

  “You think he knows.”

  Aaran nodded. “I'd bet what's left of my sanity on it.”

  “What about my sister?” I expected eye contact, but received none. Nor was she forthcoming with an answer. Okay... “What was the 'jab'?”

  Aaran seemed ill-at-ease. She tucked her blade away and appeared to relax. For one such as her, I cannot always tell. We continued on, passing under signs which placed us even closer to Tier 16. Not long to go.

  “A feeling I get,” she hissed, tapping her left earlobe. “Pretty insistent. We're walking into trouble.”

  “Is that not the assignment?”

  She nodded at me with a wry grin. “Yeah it is, but... how do I explain this? It's her, and she's warning me about more than the accepted risk.”

  “When preparation cannot compensate for the danger assessment.”

  “Yeah. Do me a favor and dedicate some thought to Snackard's phraseology, okay?”

  “But...”

  She stopped, cold heeled and stared at me expectantly. “Buddy, I don't have answers. I want 'em. That enough?”

  “It will be. I also want answers.”

  “Fine. Let's go. They won't be waiting for us, those answers.”

  For weavers such as Fife and Snackard only personal reference aided in deciphering their intended messages. Total trust was integral to the formula, and in the past year whomever she trusted, I trusted also.

  [Okay, Buddy, help me out. We're rescuing three of Reggie's assistants?]

  [The glyph was spottily encoded. Did you have trouble deciphering it? Rep. Castlegar insists on encoding them with her own cognitive skills.]

  [An' she makes a fine mess, too. Half of it was backward. Tell me what you've got.]

  [I have a pre-filter for her algorithmic peculiarities.]

  [Sounds like something we should have for all politicians. Carry on.]

  [Mishan is on record as assistant to Representative Castlegar's Vice, Morones Jesper. A cyborg translator by the name of Madrid Faraday is listed, additionally. They we
re sent to communicate the Representative's wishes to the Crown, and negotiate with Applicant Fenora.]

  Aaran waved me over to an entrance to Tier 16's boarding terminal. Normally bustling with tourists, officials and financiers, the grey space was empty. Manned ticket vendors were vacant, while the smooth plasteel floor was decorated with litter of all types.

  [This wasn't a calm evacuation,] Aaran said, crossing the threshold into the thoroughfare. She stopped and knelt, hand hovering over a dark spot. [That's blood. Check it, please.]

  [There is no record of violence in the Representative's glyph,] I stated, approaching her side and studying the dried fluid. Kneeling down, I zoomed into the mass, magnifying it several hundred times. [That is blood.]

  [It's not much, but it was freely spilled. It's not encouraging to think the Drimas would actually hurt someone.]

  [Aaran, we have a problem.] It was Sonata.

  [What is it?]

  [He wants me to travel with him to Razor, and says I won't get what I 'want' if I don't go.]

  [Still in the food court?]

  [...]

  [Sonata?] Her presence was gone. I informed Aaran of this.

  [Sorry, he's a very nervous man,] she responded seconds later.

  [You're his assassin. He should be. Time is now, buttercup.]

  [Yes ma'am.]