Starshine by G. S. Jennsen Read online

  He heard them giving chase almost immediately. So late in the night the street and air traffic was sparse, which was one reason he had begun the op when he did. It reduced the chances of his pursuers taking out innocent bystanders—and gave them a clearer line of sight to him. He wanted to make certain they knew where he was going before he left them behind.

  Their surface vehicles didn’t stand a chance of matching his speed and it would look suspicious if he slowed…but as anticipated, they had grabbed a skycar. He kept an eye on it via the rearcam, making sure it succeeded in following him through two major direction shifts.

  Satisfied, he kicked the bike into its actual highest gear and accelerated right then left, fishtailing around two street corners in rapid succession. He activated the concealment shield. It didn’t render him or the bike invisible, but it did make them blend into the surroundings and virtually impossible to track from the air at night.

  Then he sped toward the Bahia Mar spaceport. After all, he did need to get there ahead of them.

  Tiny flecks of light sparkled in the night-darkened waters of the Fuori River as Caleb pulled in the small surface lot. It was nearly empty, as most people took the levtrams to the entertainment district and had no need of parking.

  Once the engine had purred into silence he swung a leg off the bike and glanced up. A smile ghosted across his face at the dozens of meteors streaking against the silhouette of the giant moon which dominated Seneca’s sky.

  He noted the time. He had a few minutes to enjoy a little stargazing, though the conditions were far from ideal here in the heart of downtown. An exanet query confirmed the meteor shower continued for eleven days. Maybe he’d have a chance to get up to the mountains before it ended.

  Committed to this plan, he secured the bike in its slot. A last glance at the sky and he crossed the street and took the wide steps to the riverwalk park.

  The atmosphere on the broad promenade hovered at the optimal balance between deserted and overrun by masses of people. As it was a weekend night the balance wouldn’t hold for long, but for the moment it pulsed with energy while still allowing plenty of room to move about and claim your own personal space. He noted with interest the outdoor bar to the right, complete with live synth band and raised danced platform. Not yet. Business first.

  He slipped among the milling patrons until he reached a section of railing at the edge of the promenade to the southeast of the bar. Here the crowd had thinned to a few meandering couples and the music thrummed softly in the background.

  The light from the skyscrapers now drowned out the light from the meteors, but he couldn’t argue with the view.

  A thoroughly modern city to the core, humans having initially set foot on its soil less than a century ago, Cavare glittered and shone like a sculpture newly unveiled. The reflected halo of the moon shimmered in the tranquil water as the river rippled along the wall beneath him, winding itself through the heart of the city on its way to Lake Fuori. Far to his left he could see the gleam of the first arch which marked the dramatic entrance to the lake and the luxuries it held.

  It was an inspiring yet comforting view, and one he had spent close to forty years watching develop, mature and grow increasingly more lustrous. He contented himself with enjoying it while he waited for his appointment to arrive.

  The message had come in the middle of dinner at his favorite Chinasian restaurant. He hadn’t even had the chance to go home yet; the entirety of the belongings he had traveled with were stowed in the rear compartment of his bike. But in truth there wasn’t much of consequence waiting for him at the apartment, for it was home in only the most technical sense of the word.

  Never have anything you can’t walk away from. A gem of advice imparted by a friend and mentor early on in his career, and something he had found remarkably easy to adopt.

  He stowed the bike in a nearby stall he had rented in yet another assumed name and hurried to Bay F-18. He made a brief pass through the ship to make sure the contact points on the charges were solid, then sat in the pilot’s chair, kicked his feet up on the dash and crossed his hands behind his head to wait.

  They were hackers as much as terrorists. It wouldn’t take them long to break the encryption to the bay. The encryption on the ship’s airlock was stronger—for they would expect it to be—but not so difficult they couldn’t crack it.

  Planting enough charges at the headquarters to take it out would have involved significant risk of discovery and ultimate failure. But here, he controlled every step and every action.

  The hangar bay door burst open. Three…six…eight initially. He sincerely hoped more showed up before they got into the ship.

  His wish was granted when three minutes later seven additional members of the group rushed in. The surface pursuit, he imagined. The initial arrivals were still hacking the ship lock. He gave them another two minutes.

  With a last gaze around he pulled his feet off the dash and stood. He headed through the primary compartment and below to the mid-level, opened the hatch to the engineering well, and positioned himself in the shadowy corner near the stairs.

  They wouldn’t all come in at once, lest they end up shooting each other in the confusion. Three, maybe four to start, plus two to guard the airlock. They would fan out to run him to ground quickly.

  The first man descended the stairs. As his left foot hit the deck Caleb grabbed him from behind and with a fierce wrench snapped his neck. He made a point to throw the body against the stairwell so the loud clang echoed throughout the ship.

  Two down.

  Caleb looked over his shoulder to see Michael Volosk striding down the steps toward him. Right on time. Everything about the man’s outward demeanor projected an image of consummate professionalism, from the simple but perfectly tailored suit to the close-cropped hair to the purposeful stride.

  He extended his hand in greeting as the Director of Special Operations for the Senecan Federation Division of Intelligence approached. A mouthful worthy of the highest conceit of government; but to everyone who worked there, it was simply “Division.”

  Volosk grasped his hand in a firm shake and took up a position along the rail beside him. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me here. I have a syncrosse rec league game down the street in twenty minutes, and if I miss another game they’ll kick me off the team.” He wore a slight grimace intended to hint at the many responsibilities a high-level covert intelligence official was required to juggle…then presumably realized the impression it actually conveyed, because he shifted to a shrug. “It’s the only opportunity I have to blow off steam.”

  Caleb smiled with studied, casual charm. “It’s not a problem. I just got in anyway. And if the surroundings happen to discourage prying eyes, well, I appreciate the value of discretion.”

  Volosk didn’t bother to deny the additional reason for the choice of meeting location. “It wouldn’t hurt if your coworkers didn’t know you were back on the clock yet—and that’s one reason I chose you. Your reputation is impressive.”

  He chuckled lightly and ran a hand through disheveled hair made wild by the wind. “Perhaps I’m not discrete enough, then.”

  “Rest assured, it’s on a need-to-know basis. I realize we haven’t had many opportunities to work together yet, but Samuel always spoke of you in the highest terms.”

  He schooled his expression to mask the emotions the statement provoked. “I’m humbled, sir. He was a good man.”

  “He was.” Volosk’s shoulders straightened with his posture—a signal he was moving right on to business, as though it didn’t matter how good a man Samuel had been. “What do you know about the Metis Nebula?”

  Caleb’s brow creased in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn’t it. Okay. Sure.

  “Well, mostly that we don’t know much about it. It’s outside Federation space, but we’ve tried to investigate it a few times—purely scientific research of course. We know there’s a pulsar at the center of it, but scans return a fuzzy mess ac
ross the spectrum. Probes sent in find nothing but ionized gases and space dust. Scientists have written it off as unworthy of further study. Why?”

  “You’re very well informed, Agent Marano. Do a lot of scientific reading in your spare time?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m sure. The information I’m sending you is Level IV Classified. Fewer than a dozen people inside and out of the government are aware of it.”

  He scanned the data file. In the background the synth band shifted to a slow, rhythmic number threaded by a deep, throbbing bass line. “That’s…odd.”

  “Quite. The Astrophysics Institute sent in a state of the art, prototype deep space probe—the most sensitive one ever built, we believe. Honestly, it was solely for testing purposes. The researchers thought Metis’ flat profile offered a favorable arena to run the probe through its paces. Instead it picked up what you see there.

  “Obviously we need to get a handle on what this is. It came to my desk because it may represent a hostile threat. We’ve put a hold on any scientific expeditions until we find out the nature of the anomaly. If it is hostile, the sooner we know the better we can prepare. If on the other hand it’s an opportunity—perhaps a new type of exploitable energy resource—we want to bring it under our purview before the Alliance or any of the independent corporate interests learn of it.”

  Caleb frowned at his companion. “I understand. But to be frank, my missions are usually a bit more…physical in nature? More direct at least, and typically involving a tangible target.”

  “I’m aware of that. But your experience makes you one of the few people in Division both qualified to investigate this matter and carrying a security clearance high enough to allow you to do so.”

  It wasn’t an inaccurate statement. And if he were honest with himself, it would probably be best if he went a little while without getting more blood on his hands.

  He slid open the hidden compartment in the wall and climbed into the narrow passage, pushed the access closed using his foot and crawled along the sloped tunnel. When he got to the end he activated his personal concealment shield—which did very nearly make him invisible—and with a deft twist released the small hatch.

  He rolled as he hit the ground to mask the sound. The lighting in the bay was purposefully dim, and he landed deep in the shadow of the hull.

  As expected, there was a ring of men guarding the exterior of the ship. He waited for the closest man to turn his back, then slipped out and moved to the corner of the bay to settle behind the storage crates he had arranged to have delivered earlier in the day.

  He was rewarded by the arrival at that moment of an additional six—no, seven—pursuers. A significant majority of the active members were now inside the hangar bay. Good enough.

  They moved to join their brethren encircling the ship—and he sent the signal.

  The walls roiled and bucked from the force of the explosion. White-hot heat blasted through his shield. The shockwave sent him to his knees even as the floor shuddered beneath him. Pieces of shrapnel speared into the wall above him and to his right. A large section of the hull shot out the open side of the bay and crashed to the street below.

  One glance at the utter wreckage of his former ship confirmed they were all dead. He climbed to his feet and crossed to the door, dodging the flaming debris and burnt, dismembered limbs. The emergency responders could be heard approaching seconds after he disappeared down the corridor.

  He didn’t de-cloak until he reached the bike. He calmly fired it up, cruised out of the stall, and accelerated toward the exit.

  Mission fucking accomplished.

  Caleb nodded in acceptance. “I’ll need a new ship. My last one was, um, blown up.”

  “My understanding is that’s because you blew it up.” The expression on the Director’s face resembled mild sardonic amusement.

  He bit his lower lip in feigned chagrin, revealing what he judged to be the appropriate touch of humility. “Technically speaking.”

  Volosk sent another data file his way. “Regardless, it’s been taken care of. Here’s the file number and all the standard information, including the hangar bay of your new ship.”

  He ignored the mild barb and examined this data with greater scrutiny, but it appeared everything had in fact been taken care of. “Got it. This all looks fine.”

  “Good…there’s one more thing. It’s no secret with Samuel gone there’s a leadership vacuum in the strategic arm of Special Operations. He believed you were quite capable of taking on a larger role. Based on your record—a few isolated excesses aside—and what I know of you, I’m inclined to agree. So while you’re out there in the void, I’d encourage you to give some thought to what you truly want from this job. We can talk further when you return.”

  Caleb made sure his expression displayed only genuine appreciation, carefully hiding any ambivalence or disquiet. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir. I’ll do that.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get my ass kicked by ten other men and a cocky, VI-enhanced metal ball, after which I get to go back to the office and review the Trade Summit file for the seventeenth time this week.”

  He grimaced in sympathy. It was impossible to escape the growing media frenzy surrounding the conference, even with it over a week away.

  Twenty-two years had passed since the end of the Crux War; it had been over and done with before he was old enough to fight. The cessation of hostilities after three years was officially called an ‘armistice,’ but Seneca and fourteen allied worlds had—by the only measure which mattered—won. They had their independence from the mighty Earth Alliance.

  Now some politician somewhere had decided it was finally time for them to start playing nice with one another. He wished them luck, but…. “If it’s all the same, I’d just as soon not be assigned to that one, sir. It’s going to be a clusterfain of epic proportions.”

  Volosk exhaled with a weariness Caleb suspected was more real than contrived. “Don’t worry, you’re off the hook—wouldn’t want to endanger your work by putting your face in front of so many dignitaries. I, however, won’t get a decent night’s sleep until the damn thing’s finished.”

  Caleb sighed in commiseration, playing along with the superficial bonding moment. It seemed the higher-ups had decided he was worthy of being nurtured, at least enough to make certain he stayed in the fold. Bureaucrats. They had no clue how to manage people; if they did, they would realize he was the last person who needed managing.

  “Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you there, sir. But I will head out on this mission once I’ve pulled together what I need. It should be a few days at most.”

  Volosk nodded, transitioning smoothly to the closing portion of the meeting. “Please report in as soon as you discover anything relevant. We need to understand what we’re dealing with, and quickly.”

  He responded with a practiced smile, one designed to convey reassurance and comfort. “Not to worry, I’ll take care of it. It’s what I do.” He decided it was best to leave when I’m not blowing up three million credit ships and two dozen terrorists with them unsaid.

  After all, he fully intended to try to return this ship in one piece.

  After Volosk had departed, Caleb remained by the river for a while. His outward demeanor was relaxed, save for the rapid tap of fingertips on the railing.

  He had been on leave ever since the post-op debriefs for the previous assignment had wrapped up. Whether the vacation had been a reward or a punishment he wasn’t entirely sure, despite Volosk’s vague hint at a promotion. Nor did he particularly care. He had accomplished what he had set out to do, justice had been served—albeit with a spicy dash of vengeance—and the bad guys were all dead. But it appeared it was time to get back to work.

  The serenity of the cool night breeze and river-cleansed air juxtaposed upon the pulsing thrum of the music and swelling buzz of the crowd made for an appropriate backdrop. Time to retune himse
lf.

  He had enjoyed spending time with Isabela and her family, especially getting to play the bad uncle and fill Marlee’s head with rebellious and unruly ideas sure to drive her mother crazy for months. The little girl had spunk; it was his duty to encourage it.

  It had been a welcome respite. But it wasn’t his life.

  He pushed off the railing and strolled down the promenade to the bar area. The throbbing of the bass vibrated pleasantly on his skin as he neared. He ordered a local ale and found a small standing table which had been abandoned in favor of the dance floor. He rested his elbows on it, sipped his beer and surveyed the crowd.

  It was amusing, and occasionally heartbreaking, to see how people doggedly fumbled their way through encounters. All the cybernetics in the world couldn’t replace real, human connection, which was likely why physical sex was still the most popular pastime in the galaxy, despite the easy availability of objectively better-than-real passione illusoire. Humans were social animals, and craved—

  “What are you drinking?”

  He glanced at the woman who had sidled up next to him. Long, razor-straight white-blond hair framed a face sculpted to perfection beyond what genetic engineering alone could achieve. A white iridescent slip minimally covered deep golden skin. Silver glyphs wound along both arms and up the sides of her neck to disappear beneath the hairline.

  He smiled coolly. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  She dropped a hand on the table and posed herself against it. “Yes, you are. Would you like to dance?”

  He suppressed a laugh at the heavy-handed come-on. “Thank you, but…” a corner of his mouth curled up “…you’re not really my type.”

  Her eyes shone with polished confidence. She believed she was in control. How cute.

  “I can be any type you want me to be.” The glyphs glowed briefly as her hair morphed to black, her makeup softened and her skin tone paled.

  So that’s what the glyphs were for. A waste of credits born of a desperate need to be wanted. He gave the woman a shrug and shook his head. “No thanks.”