Counterweight (17 page)

“I’d better get him out of here,” Cal said, “before his
heart gives out.”

“Or before he finds out we lied to him.” Bel let out a
cheerful burp. “Wouldn’t be hard to find a girl he likes from
that
bunch. While you’re at it, better get him straight to the departure station.”
He looked over at C’Al, face serious. “You need my help?”

Cal shook his head. “I can get him out easier if we stay
low-key. You should stay and enjoy the party, Grandpa!”

Bel squinted back at his friend. “Gods! I’m getting old!”

Bon
Voyage

Tsekoh,
Capital of Chaco Benthic

“
H
ow
much longer do we plan on doing this?”

Cal dodged a simulated barrage of weapons fire, or at least
that was how it looked to the crowd. “If there’s anybody looking for us here,
I’m not seeing them.”

The battle simulator games were everywhere. Users inserted
their credit chip, climbed aboard and used the holographic menus to join private
battle lobbies or simply enter a random match. They served the company well.

The games bled off aggression, a sort of catharsis for those
who might otherwise be tempted into more than just grumbling about their lot in
life. They also bled off funds that might otherwise be saved for the exit
ticket.

With the internal displays disabled, they also served as an
excellent vantage point to scope out an area. Oddly enough, standing on a
platform and leaping around like a maniac was a commonplace sight in Chaco
Benthic. It allowed Cal to observe the inside of the station for almost a half
hour without being obvious about it. To anyone who might look his way, he was
simply a maintenance worker taking a break.

He was reasonably sure nobody in the vast space was a
watcher. Nobody seemed to be loitering for no reason. Few stayed for any longer
than it took to say goodbye to loved ones or to buy a ticket and line up for
departure.

“Alright, leave the game,” he told the visitor, “and walk
straight to the permit counter.”

“What’re you going to be doing?”

“I’ll keep watch from here,” Cal replied, “and support you
if it looks like anyone followed us. Remember: get a room with a sunrise view,
so you can see the signal. I got the message through so they might show up at
any point in the next two days.” He’d sent a request to accelerate the pick-up.
Whether or not a team from the Long Range Group could get to Chaco any sooner
than planned was still an unknown. “Good luck.”

“You too.” The link went dead as the Human stepped out of
the simulator.

Cal watched him pay for the exit permit and pass through the
security gate to join the departure line.  At least seven guards were on
duty in the lounge, checking the permits and preventing unauthorized access to
the line.

So far, so good.

Cal almost jumped out of his own skin when one of the
Stoners walked by in front of him, heading for the permit counter. They must
have had a flag put in the system for any Oaxians or Tauhentans buying exit
visas.

The one who’d tried to take Cal down in the plaza may have
gotten a good enough look at the young visitor. Whether he’d been able to
remember his face before taking fifty thousand volts to the groin at nineteen
pulses per second was an unanswered question. Even if he didn’t, he was already
aware of the tendency for Humans to pose as exiles from Oaxes or that planet’s
colony on Tauhento.

A quickly growing wind heralded the arrival of the elevator.
Despite the constant efforts of the atmospheric pumps, some of the city’s air
always found its way into the shaft. 

The elevator had unloaded by the time the Stoner reached the
counter and shoved passengers out of the way. Cal left the simulator and began
moving toward his large target. He would have to take him down as quietly as
possible and then try to slip away.

The Stoner looked over to the secure zone where the Human
from 3428 was waiting to board. He left the counter and began making his way to
the scanning gate.

Cal adjusted his path to angle in behind him, taking out a
holo-stylus used for accessing menus too small for fingers. He’d use it to stab
the Stoner in the lower renal organ. They were a tough species but even a
Stoner couldn’t stay conscious for more that a couple of seconds with such a
wound.

A simple bump in the crowd and he’d be at least ten feet
away before the target began to fall.

He was still closing in when a voice rang out.

“There he doth progress!” a male voice screamed in archaic
court Dheema. “Yonder tis that ruffian Stoner who got those magisters killed.”

Cal recognized the voice through the accent. His young Human
friend had learned Dheema from his ship’s pod system and it gave him an archaic
flavor.

The scene unfolding as a result of the outburst suddenly
reminded him of his own capture at a Calgary bus station more than a century
and a half ago.

The Canadians had arrested him, given him a few friendly
beatings and then extradited him back to the states to stand trial for what
he’d done. If it hadn’t been for that little old lady recognizing him in the
station, he probably would have died when the plague hit.

Cal veered away from the surprised Stoner, silently
applauding the young man’s quick thinking. He moved toward the exit as the
Dactari guards began closing in on their hulking cousin. He glanced over his
shoulder in time to see his friend slip past the wicket and duck into the half
empty elevator pod.

The boarding process had been interrupted by the accusation
and the boarding guard, in a brief moment of distraction, failed to notice the
young man slipping into the pod ahead of his turn.

Cal barely managed to avoid shaking his head in amazement as
he reached the main exit. The visitor was almost unnaturally lucky. He began to
wonder if the wood was the second most valuable resource on 3428.

Face
to Face

Tsekoh,
Capital of Chaco Benthic

G
raadt
had left his position outside the station when Kaans called for help. He pushed
his way through the crowded pedway and walked through the main entrance, hardly
noticing the flow of exiting citizens.

He could see Kaans in the middle of a ring of guards. They
weren’t quite sure what to do with the Stoner and the appearance of a second
might be enough to scatter them.

He suddenly stopped.

One of the individuals who’d just passed him had moved
aside, as they all do, but his face hadn’t shown any alarm. It was possible he
was simply not paying attention but Graadt had a feeling.

And an agent might make the mistake of hiding his alarm at
accidentally meeting his enemy, forgetting that his cover identity
would
show alarm at meeting a Stoner. He might betray himself through his own
self-discipline.

“You there,” he called out, turning to see the receding
figure. “The maintenance worker with the red harness – halt for inspection.”

The figure kept moving, though others were turning to see
who was calling the order. It was starting to add up. If the worker was
preoccupied, perhaps with the departure of a loved one, he might fail to notice
what was going on but an agent, having already betrayed his training through
his calm, would pretend not to hear him in an attempt to get away.

Graadt felt the blood coursing. He’d forced a change in
tempo on his enemy – a disruption in his exit strategy, and he needed to take
advantage of it before the Human could adjust his plans.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out another stun ball.
The distance to his target was now just a few steps and the Human angled left,
toward the cab stand. Graadt angled farther left intending to cut him off
before he could make a last-second dash for the nearest cab, but the Human
veered right.

As Graadt hastily corrected his own trajectory, he suddenly
stopped in amazement. The Human simply stepped off the platform and gave
himself to gravity. Graadt raced over to the edge in time to see the receding
form throw a mag grappler at the passing levels.

It was an unfortunate side effect of the company’s security
policies. Maintenance workers, like prospectors or emergency personnel, carried
tools on consignment. They were part of a lucky few who didn’t have to pay for
their tools because half of them could be used as weapons and the company
didn’t want to relinquish ownership of anything that might end up used against
them.

If a maintenance worker died on the job, his tools were
unlikely to be stolen. It was a major offense for workers from any other trade
to even touch them, and other maintenance workers had no need to steal tools
that they didn’t pay for in the first place.

Because the expensive, company-owned tools were attached to
the maintenance workers, the company displayed an incongruous interest in the
safety of those employees. A four-hundred-story fall could seriously damage the
equipment and so the innovative mag grapplers were standard issue.

They didn’t want an expensive plasma line cutter crushed
under some fool worker.

As Graadt watched in frustration, the line slowed and came
to a stop twenty levels down.  The Human’s slight outward momentum ceased
and he swung gently back beneath the rows of overhanging levels to grasp the
railing. He severed the line and, with a last look up at his erstwhile pursuer,
hopped over to the pedway and disappeared.

Graadt cursed.

“What happened out here?”

Graadt turned to find Kaans with a fat lip and spatters of
blood all over his clothing. “Human just got away,” he growled, waving a hand
at the edge of the cab stand.

“Took a cab?”

“Walked off the edge…”

“Well then,” Kaans declared in relief, “we can just go down
and find the body…”

“He had a magline,” Graadt retorted. He took another look at
his comrade. “That blood yours?”

A shrug. “Maybe a little.”

“You managed to convince them of your innocence?”

A grin. “Managed to convince them to stop caring so much
about it.”

“Good.” Graadt nodded back at the station. “Go back in and
buy yourself a ticket.”

Kaans grimaced.

Graadt tilted his head. “What?”

“Why should we risk our skins for the Republic? Those mice
in there,” he jerked his head to indicate the station entryway, “nearly killed me
and it wasn’t the first time those little bastards have tried, either.”

“I was done risking my skin for those idiots a long time
ago,” Graadt told him. “All I care about is redeeming our names so the
Krypteian Council lifts our banishment. I want us to go home to our families.”

“Fine.” Kaans was banned as well but had nobody waiting for
him on Oudtstone. Still, he’d been through a lot with Graadt and he’d back him
up. “I’ll go to the counterweight and find this…” He looked down at his wrist
pad. “S’Pongebob Doofenschmirtz.”

“Odd name,” Graadt grunted.

“Must be Oaxian. Those folk seem to judge their status by
how stupid their names are.” He waved as Nid brought the carrier close to the
platform. “There’s a force of fifteen magisters up there,” Kaans said. “I’ll
convince them to help search the place.”

Graadt gave him a companionable thump on the shoulder before
leaping the narrow gap to the carrier’s hatch. He clambered into the co-pilot
seat. “Let’s get up to central control,” he told Nid. “We’ve got a face for our
target now.” He tapped his headset. “We should be able to match him in the
company database and finally put all those security cameras to work for us.”

“Assuming the little bastards don’t try to kill us when we
walk in,” Nid offered cheerfully. “They seem to think we started that magister
riot.”

“Well, they can listen to us and realize they have a real
insurgency problem,” Graadt replied dryly, “or blame it on us and get caught
with their tunics hiked.”

Under Pressure-ized

Counterweight
- Chaco Benthic

R
ick
stepped up to the main counter, returning the polite smile from a young
concierge whose expression spoke of a thousand meaningless greetings. “I’d like
a room with a sunrise view.”

She opened a holo screen, scrolling for a few seconds before
tilting her head to the side. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but the only sunrise room
left is a suite.”

Rick grinned casually, already knowing the answer to his
next question because he’d begun subvocalizing it by the time she’d gotten to
the
only room
. “How much?”

The apologetic tone took on an edge of regretful finality.
“Nine thousand credits a night. Perhaps you’d care for a room on the sunset
side?”

Rick pretended to give it some thought. He didn’t want to
seem desperate for the room but he didn’t want the last one to get booked while
he dithered either. “No,” he said. “I’ll take the sunrise side. Three nights
should do.” He handed over his chip.

The clerk did a fairly decent job of hiding her surprise as
well as her skepticism. Rick couldn’t blame her, seeing as he was wearing the
EVA suit again. At best, he looked like a smuggler crewman, not the sort of
mogul who took out expensive suites.

She inserted the chip and, this time, he caught a slight
rise in her eyebrows as she saw the transaction approved. “Have a nice stay,
Mr.…”

“Yo’Mamma,” Rick flashed her a smile as he held his hand out
for the door code. Luckily his nameless friend down in the city had walked him
through the process. A temporary barcode was tanned onto the back of his hand,
giving him access to the door of his suite. He gave her a nod and walked past
the check-in line to find the risers.

The room, when he finally found it, was much larger than he
expected. Small wonder it was so expensive – it was four times the size of the
Human agent’s dwelling down in the city.