Rogue-ARC

  “He’s still in this area but not where a camera can monitor. They don’t seem to have them in here.”

  Some guy overheard us, quiet as we were, and said, “Yeah, privacy. They don’t allow cams in events. Just at the exits and entrances. You need to find someone? I can get a page in.”

  I said, “Thanks, but we don’t need a page. We’ll find him.”

  “Isn’t his phone live?”

  “Yeah, we got it. Thanks,” I assured him, then turned my back and shut him physically out while we relocated. He took the hint.

  I continued to Silver, “We watch, I get close to the stage, you stay near the access door. Best we can do.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, sounding casual. Then she spoke into her dead mic, “Yeah, the event’s great. All kinds of goober stuff for promo.”

  I followed her lead. “Nance has samples, you should try to make it for tomorrow at least.”

  We slid through the crowd like fish through weeds. It’s a practiced skill, but more art than training. You just look for any opening and ease into it, and people move around you. For Earth, I do recommend keeping your phone in hand and any valuables in inside, chest pockets. It hurt my arm with every jostle, but I was healing.

  There were numerous exhibits and I would have appreciated checking them out as much as I hate these dogfuckers. There were parallels between our trades, much as I hated to admit it.

  I wormed my way toward the front. It would be a bitch to get on stage from here, but I assumed I’d have to. The MC said, “—our generation’s greatest market promoter, Jason ‘The Hit Man’ Groom.”

  There was light applause, Groom ran from the wings and stepped up on the riser.

  Then he burst into flame.

  I recognized the weapon at once. A hypergolic base with a flammable powder, sprayed right up from under the riser. Groom screamed and dove, creditably fast. He was cooked badly, though. I could smell the fried bologna stench from here.

  Then a moment later the screens switched to a pan of the audience, swept from back to front then back to me. My face popped up on the screens three meters high, holding my phone. It caught me by surprise and I twitched.

  I stayed right where I was, staring at the stage and looking horrified with everyone else. There was nothing else I could do. Either some camera operator had chosen my expression for the news loads, or Randall had staged it to gain extra leverage.

  It wasn’t more than a second, and then a few brave souls figured out the flaming man was real and rushed the stage, which triggered most of the rest to flee screaming for the exits. I chose the exit. There was nothing I could accomplish onstage; it had gone sour last time, and I might run into Randall. While I wanted to find him, it had to be on my terms. He’d won this round tactically.

  I was scared, though. That was a clear shot of my face, and I might have been snapped several times on Earth during the attacks. I’d escaped then because most infrastructure was down, and because I’d left as soon as they put word out. They’d had no reason to look for me on the way in. If they did a search now, though, I was dead. Deliberate or not, that image of me was a problem, and I was sure it was going to come up.

  I pinged Silver and said, “Three turns back,” and headed for that location.

  There was a press at the door, with several suited security guards reciting, “Remain calm, keep walking.” They had no actual power, they were mostly for courtesy, which makes little sense, but it meant I could ignore them.

  Once out the doors, the crowd thinned out, but kept moving quickly, but the flow slowed, much like a river delta, into the mass of people who hadn’t seen anything and weren’t aware of it. Rumors propagated out, and distorted into stories of cooking demos gone wrong, pyrotechnic failures, and the inevitable “Fake!” comments.

  I walked slowly, and Silver was waiting at the marked spot. We linked back up in a general way, nearby but not with each other, so she could evade if I got snagged.

  We took ramps, slides and escalators down fast, though “fast” is relative when we’re talking fifty to sixty levels. I did not want to be in an elevator. That would be too easy to stop or stall. I also wanted lots of witnesses and shields against apprehension or attack. I was worried more about cops than Randall on that.

  The news caught up fairly quickly. Groom was critical but alive and being evacuated. Cops were arriving in swarms to secure the area, interview witnesses and look for evidence. Incendiary attacks were frightening to Earthies, especially after the War. I didn’t blame them. We’d cooked millions.

  I was glad, though. If I couldn’t intercept, I appreciated the victim surviving, even if he was scum. In this case, the target survived because Randall was trying to be too cute and clever. He thought he could orchestrate my downfall with it. That just wasn’t going to happen. I was going to vacate the area and start over, though.

  It took most of an hour to get down to ground level in a hurry without looking like it. We found a way out to the street, though it’s hard to tell they’re streets with all the buildings around, the waste heat, and the crowds. The light’s a bit different is all.

  I needed to move further out of town.

  I snagged a cab, left the door open and Silver climbed in a few seconds later. I gave an address two squares away, swiped a card and off we went. This was standard urban evasion. There’s not much can be done to stop it, and it just takes practice.

  I tapped a message on screen, showed it to Silver well out of sight of the forward mounted security camera. It gave a location well out of town I’d used during the War, a park. It was west and south. She reached over and deleted it.

  At the stop, I climbed out, she went off and should bail out herself within a few seconds. I grabbed another one and went another three squares while changing my jacket down behind the seat, walked half a square, took another, walked some more, rode again.

  It was almost eight hours of walking, riding, walking and occasionally sprinting and ducking before I reached the safe area.

  CHAPTER 23

  It wasn’t safe. Though I didn’t find that out at first.

  What had been a park was now a commercial complex. I couldn’t loiter in a cab, it was late night, and most places were closed or quiet.

  I got out and let the last cab run, and walked around the area. There were quite a few wholesalers and some mass retail outlets. I decided to go around back and pretend to be a laborer. I headed that way.

  It was a big complex, and I should have had the cab drop me round back initially. Mistake on my part.

  It all added up. I was a tourist by ID chip, walking through a closed area alone, heading for the back, and clearly out of place. A cop got me.

  I heard the motion, pretended to ignore it at first while tracking it audibly, then turned and gave a slight wave and nod. It didn’t work.

  He hit the spotlight, revved up and braked in front of me.

  This was not good. Detention would be pretty much be the end for me. I had to be polite, though, if I wanted to get out of this.

  He stepped out, armed and armored and polite but sturdy.

  “Good evening. What are you doing here?”

  I said, “Good evening, sir. I’m in wholesale back home and thought I’d take a look at some of the operations here.” There was no point in lying about being an offworlder.

  “You should probably do that in daylight,” he said. “It’s not something done in the dark on Earth.”

  “I apologize,” I said.

  “No harm done yet. I’ll need to see your system ID and scan your chip. You are wearing it, yes?”

  I had a fake one on the phone in my pocket. It did match my ID.

  “I have it with me,” I agreed, while looking for a way out of this. I was worried about that ID, because we had limited resources. I should have changed it in the escape, but didn’t have a spare on hand.

  He waved a scanner, I handed the card over carefully, and it pinged somehow. Likely they’d tagged everyone le
aving that convention.

  “Were you at the Direct Marketing Strategies convention in Destiny Block earlier today?”

  “I passed through there, yes. Professional interest. I didn’t see much that would translate to what I do,” I said.

  “Did you hear about the incident?”

  “I heard something. I was heading out as it happened, I think, and decided I was better off not being in the way.”

  I’d been as reasonable as possible, and so had he. However, there were too many flags for him to let me go.

  He tried the standard routine. “I must detain you. Please stand in place, put your hands on your head, and don’t move.”

  I complied. I needed him close. I was surprised he was alone; usually they’re in at least pairs. It was probable his partner was in the area, too, and this was considered a nicer area. Safe. Family friendly. That’s why I stood out.

  He approached cautiously, and I remained relaxed inside, stiff and compliant outside.

  Then he hooked my ankle to pull me off balance, and reached for my left hand with the binders.

  I reversed that with a kick and twist. He was off balance, I had his arm, turned into a bar locking it back against his elbow armor. I had to wiggle a bit to get past his helmet and tap him in the throat, but that and a knee to the solar plexus, even through armor, slowed him down. It also made my knee hurt like hell. He had a plate in there. He grunted and slumped a bit.

  Still, I had enough time to flip his stunner from the holster and away, pulled his flex baton, passed it up to my right hand, poked it into his throat, and continued pulling stuff from him. I caught his phone and slung it, tossed his gas dispenser away, pulled out the stickyweb gun and the knife in his pocket. That last was illegal, for some unfathomable reason, but almost all cops carried one anyway. We spun around three times like some kind of bizarre dance.

  I smashed the baton into his headset and it blinked a fault as I unsnapped his helmet and peeled it up. Then I bent him over my knee. I took a moment to clip the web gun to my belt.

  “I need information. I require that you provide it. This is within the law, your oath and the practicalities of this situation.”

  He still tried to argue.

  “Assaulting an officer is an OWWW!”

  I wasn’t going to break his elbow. Not yet.

  “I’m doing the fucking explaining. Give me the information, you’ll be fine. Try to fight, you die. You are nothing in this fight. Nothing,” I repeated. “You and a thousand like you can die and not matter. Now you can give it to me and live, or I can pluck your fucking eyes out and jam then against the scanner while they’re still warm.” I was nose to nose with him, intimately close and encroaching, and I had him pinned. It hit all the panic buttons of an Earthie. In his position, he expected to have physical and psychological superiority over a single detainee. I wasn’t playing by the rules.

  “Oh, god,” he muttered. His struggles changed from aggressive to fearful, just like that. He wasn’t prepared for that kind of emotional onslaught backed up by someone who actually knew how to fight.

  I really had scared him to that level. He was completely limp and unresisting, without even a bluff of authority.

  “I’m looking for the individual who orchestrated that attack. That’s why I was there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need to find him, so this can stop. You may have heard of a pattern of killings in other systems.”

  I forced him down into his seat, with his own knife against his throat and the free arm bent far back. He could still call for help, but I could kill him in a second. He’d never even have time to pop the safeties on the car’s internal systems, much less trigger gas. He’d get one command out, but not two.

  He did as I said, clearly believing I would kill him if I didn’t like the answers. He scrolled through reports and brought up a fuzzy image of Randall. He’d beaten me out by less than an Earth minute.

  “Is that him?” he asked as the image came up.

  “Very good. What else do you have?”

  “He’s associated with another assassin who . . . oh, god.”

  Yes, that was my picture on screen.

  “As I said, I am far more concerned with him than with you. Please copy a file of everything you have on him.”

  While he did so, I tried not to clench my ass too tight, or cut his throat in shiver reflex. Randall the idiot had escalated the stakes to an insane level. Well, that meant I had him scared. It also meant he was edging into unstable. Hell, he’d swan dived into it.

  I watched the monitor, confirmed the load, snagged the rom, leaned back and said, “I’m going to depart now, sir. If I were you, I’d let me. If you locate that individual, I recommend calling the military and not trying to apprehend him either. Have a good evening and a healthy life.”

  I skipped, flipped and ran. He didn’t follow me, but I assumed he did make some kind of report. Half the fight would have been on camera.

  I deemed it prudent to withdraw and wait for Randall. Earth was too hot. The outer planets and stations would care about a reward, but otherwise were only peripherally part of Earth. Suburbs, culturally. Subterrae. Exoterrae. I’d look for the event, have more intel to work with, and could even slip some to the UN Intelligence Directorate. It’s not as if it mattered who took him down, as long as someone did.

  My immediate need was to E&E the area. I coded a message to Silver to use that trace we’d set up and locate me. I dodged several times, pulled out a hat, flipped my jacket, and crossed a highway. The vehicles were autocontrolled, and civilians prohibited, but I found a hole in the fence used by others, went down, across each carriageway in shadows, and back up. That put me in a completely different zone for everything, and should hinder pursuit. Eventually they’d have cameras everywhere, and I was sure the cop and video would be out there.

  They’d marked Randall as a suspect. That was predictable, with the fear factor we’d instilled in them. They’d never gotten over it, and it was a point of contention for civil rights activists. Sadly, our presence was going to justify all the additional intrusion and fascism they’d piled on the already thick layer. He’d attempted assassination, which would just trigger demands for more intrusion.

  I found an open food place, snagged a machine-built sandwich and settled in the corner, sat down. The store had its own security cameras, which the police could cut into with a warrant. They didn’t have to present the warrant, though, and if they cut in illegally it wouldn’t matter to me anyway.

  A while later Silver came in, grabbed something and left. I waited a short time and followed her.

  We took a manned cab to the travel station.

  I wish I could have enjoyed it more. The driver was cordial. “Is it warm enough?”

  I realized it had been quite cool outside. Late fall.

  “Yes, fine. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I come here from India. When I arrive, I get ride. I ask driver for more heat. He tell me it cost five marks. Illegal.”

  “Wow.”

  “I ask him about music. He says music is free, so I told him turn the music up and I stay warm listening. So now I drive cab. My business is Premier Shuttle. You know why it’s ‘Premier’?”

  “No.”

  “The heat is free.”

  I had to laugh. “Excellent. I appreciate it.”

  Shortly we were at the travel station, and Silver tipped him a little. It’s not done much on Earth anymore, but he deserved it, and I did feel better with the warmth, and the story.

  The bustrain rolled up, we boarded, and were on the controlled road in minutes. The seat requested my ticket, I fed it in, and nothing else happened. We made it back into the city in short order.

  We took a cheaper hotel, though that was a risk. We did not look the part of high end tourists, though, and the cheaper ones were at ground level, away from the entertainment and thrills, closer to the street and utilities.

  Once in the door, Silver had
enough exposure to me to read my expression.

  “We’re leaving?”

  “Off planet, right now. We need a flight, under plausible and completely deniable names. I want to be at a jump point and ready to take rapid transit on anything we can find.”

  “Working,” she said, and pulled up a screen within a screen within a screen. I hoped that was secure enough. “May I ask?” she said.

  “Check news.”

  She glanced at a side window which had my picture, and said, “Shit.”

  “Exactly. He’s desperate, which means I am, too.”

  “They’ve got an excellent shot of your face from arrival. I can’t do surgery here and they’ve got a very high probability of making you.”

  “We need to find a cover, then, with a backup.”

  “I’m busy. Can you do that?” She sounded concerned. Probably because I sounded stressed.

  “Give me a moment,” I said.

  “Got tickets for eighteen hundred tomorrow, but it’s going to be expensive and burn two IDs each. Our last ones.”

  “Can’t be helped. I can’t chase him and avoid twenty-eight billion enraged aardvarks at the same time.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  I kept thinking. What I wanted was something outré enough that it would be unseen, looked right past.

  “We need to find a sex shop,” I said.

  “I’m not sure my contract goes quite that far,” she said, with a nervous grin. “Unless you need advice on selection, in which case I can’t offer much.”

  “Not quite. I want D/s culture gear.”

  “That’s definitely not in my enlistment contract.”

  “Who said you’re the bottom?”

  She gaped.

  “You’ve got it,” I said. “Lead me through the port like a pet on a leash.”

  “It’s ridiculous.”

  “It is. And a recognized social subculture that includes several assemblypersons and governors. No one will hinder us and they won’t be looking for me in that context. Not even he’s likely to. It also gives an excuse to wear partial masks that can’t be called into question. They’re cultural.”