You know what the steps ahead are, but you don’t think about them, and not about the big picture. You can go crazy doing that, especially if it involved the Comity getting its hands on the Morning Star. You think about what is next and how to react. The door was thick enough that I didn’t hear anything until they were just outside, and she touched the ID bloc.
“Just a moment, big boy… not in the hall.” A nervous laugh followed the words.
The door opened, and I lifted the stunner.
As the door closed, I hit Bond with a full nerve jolt, then dropped the intensity to stun before I triggered it a second time. Neither even had a chance to see me.
Two bodies lay on the floor—one dead and one unconscious.
I straightened the girl, then dragged Bond’s form across the floor and into the fresher. There, I stripped off his uniform. Once I had the uniform off, I carried it out of the fresher and into the other room, laying it across one of the straight-backed chairs set on each side of the small table protruding from the wall.
Then I came back and stripped off his underwear before hauling the body into the shower/drainage basin. I didn’t look at his face. I knew better. I had to wash the underdrawers. Distasteful, but necessary. I hung them on the clothing pegs on the back of door.
Before I went further, I pulled on the double-layered impermeable gloves, then turned the water on in the sink, as hot as possible. Only then did I take out the packet and slide it under the stream of water, just long enough for the outer film to turn red. I quickly placed the packet on the chest of the dead man and stepped back to the sink. There I let the water run over the gloves before I stripped off the outer layer, then the inner one.
I left the fresher and closed the door behind me. The pleasure girl was still out, but breathing normally. I glanced back at the closed fresher door. The packet had held special nanites—gray goo, so to speak. Special gray goo, designed only to dissolve certain kinds of cells— and to be active only for so long. Still, I wasn’t about to step back into the fresher until that time was well past Well past.
I crossed the room to where the pleasure girl lay. With a smile, I bent and lifted her, carrying her to the bed against the wall. I laid her out on it, so that she’d be comfortable.
She was pretty enough, and my new “I” had paid for her services. There was no reason not to enjoy them. It would certainly be in character—and I’d be gentler than Bond was known to have been. I’d just tell her the truth— that she’d fainted as she’d stepped into the studio. I didn’t have to mention that I’d caused her to faint. The priors might not be happy when I was debriefed, and the adjudicators wouldn’t be pleased, but I could always claim that I’d had to stay in character as part of my mission.
In another fifteen minutes, well before she woke, I’d have to go back into the fresher and rinse out the residue in the shower basin.
7
Chang
Never got planetside after the courier left McClendon Alpha Station. Alya stuffed me into a clamshell in the courier’s passenger closet. Boosted out-system at three gees. Couriers don’t use full-grav protection. Too much mass.
Went through the out-system Gate like a hell-bat. Only dropped accel for pre-Gate and Gate. I’d held star-class, but wouldn’t have tried that. Definite way of putting me in my place. Stupid, too. Hit the edge of a Gate, and you become instant singularity, maybe even a graviton wave. That’s after the explosion, the hard radiation, and the general mess within light-hours.
No one asked me.
Courier docked somewhere. I pulsed the links. Where are we?
We’re locked at a D.S.S. station in the outer fringes of the Hamilton system. The exact locale is classified. You can release the clamshell.
I used the inside controls to open the clamshell. Once clear, I looked around.
No one anywhere, but words projected from the overhead. “Your gear is short of the lock. Leave by yourself. You’ll be met. Good luck, sweetie.” The voice was Alya’s. Hot pilot, but a definite fern.
Made my way to the lock. My one kit bag sat there. Took my time checking the pressure equalizations and temps before I opened the inner hatch and picked up my kit. Fog still formed when the lock hatch slid open.
Next hatch was to the station. Checked it more carefully. Indicators green. Opened the hatch and stepped across. More fog, and the faint acrid smell all asteroid stations had—oil and metal and ozone and people. Even nanite-based reformulators never get rid of everything. Faint grav shift. That told me one thing—the station was an asteroid type. Most likely nickel-iron, with tunnels. Easy to shield.
Gray-haired Comity D.S.S. commander met me outside the station lock. Wore the standard blue skintights and gray vest and shorts for stations and ships. “You’re Jiendra Chang.”
I nodded. Once.
“I’m Commander Daffyd Morgan. I’m the operations officer of the Magellan. You’ve been assigned to us, but the ship isn’t quite ready for us to embark.” He smiled, half-sympathetic, and half-hard as adamantine steel. “There’s another aspect of your job no one told you. From this moment on, you’re Lieutenant Chang, and you’re under my command. Your pay is still civilian star-class, but the Magellan is the equivalent of a battle cruiser, and all the pilots are in the military chain of command.”
Shit! I’d thought dealing with Graysham was tight-ass. Military was worse. “Yes, sir.”
“Come with me. I’ll try to answer your questions. Those that I can.” He turned.
I followed. Gravity was at one Tee, or close enough. Passageway was melted through the asteroid. Deck was smooth and even. Bulkheads and overhead weren’t. Station wasn’t regular installation, then. “Commander, was the station created for this mission?”
“That’s an interesting question.” He didn’t look back. “You tell me why you think so, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
“The deck is smooth. Bulkheads and overheads aren’t. Be hard to believe that of a regular D.S.S. installation.”
He laughed. “You’re right.”
“What is the mission?”
“I can’t tell you that until later.” He stopped at an unmarked hatch and touched his hand to the scanner. Hatch opened silently. Old hatches weren’t that quiet. Morgan’s office was smaller than Graysham’s cube on Alpha Station. Morgan dropped into a chair, gestured to the other one.
Didn’t feel like sitting, but didn’t feel like carrying the kit bag longer, either. So I sat and waited for him to tell me something I didn’t know.
He grinned, almost friendly. “D.S.S. hijacked you, Lieutenant. Get used to the rank. You’ll be using it for a long time—if you make it. If you don’t, you’ll still get star-class salary while you’re here and your ratings back. That’s if you don’t knee anyone or smash their kneecaps.”
Wondered how he’d found out about the kneecap incident. Had to have been fifteen years back. I waited.
“We need particular skills in shuttle pilots. Most D.S.S. pilots will handle vessels in deep space far better than any of you could ever hope. Most of you can handle small craft around stations, planets, and other moving bodies far better than your D.S.S. compatriots. Different skills, and we need the best of both.” He paused. “You’ll start specialized training tomorrow, along with Lieutenant Braun. She’ll be here in a moment to show you around the station and help you get squared away. She was the first shuttle pilot here. You two will be sharing a stateroom here. You’ll have your own on board ship.”