SUSPICIOUS PERSONS

Later in the day everyone had settled in. From Belfast, Rao had conjured our alt, a temporary identity he’d patched onto the N.EU grid and linked to the blank chip. Now we could hop on Public Access for easy communications, or withdraw funds from front accounts for any expenses we might have. As long as we weren’t traced, we could stay underground for a quite a while. As usual, the Triplets began field stripping and cleaning their weapons, this time under Gibson’s curious gaze. Alejo and Carmen had gone off, doing whatever they did for work around these parts. We’d all swapped out our Mitsubishi armor for street clothes, but seeing as I was the poser for our new cover, I’d picked out a suitably dingy formfit kevlar weave jacket for errands in the zone. It could stop blades, most shrapnel and smaller rounds. Not great, but just in case. I was rigging it when Curro ducked in, all concerned.

“Newsnets are ‘casting a story about a drug gang with nukes going after the B-Port. Hiding in the districts. There’s big rewards for information, suspicious persons, all that stuff. It’s everywhere.

Tam shrugged, “Don‘t stress - we’re see-through, straight & clear. And we‘ll only be here for a few more days.” He grinned and waved the boy off. After Curro disappeared back up the stairs,  “That didn’t take long.” 

“Nope. Guess DH wants their stuff back. Oh, last wave with Rao said APAC didn’t like our changing the delivery schedule. Sent back a nasty response.“

“Yeah, well… this is just a little detour. We have a man down. What did they expect, something this big? No worries; their new tech is coming. T.S. Associates will keep up their side. As always.”
I zipped up the jacket and edged in closer. “You think they realize this tech is a kid?

“A clone?”

I glanced over to see Mopsey all serious, trying to explain the to boy about the workings of the upper receiver and bolt assembly on his 10mm H & K assault rifle. “Yeah… a child clone.” I said slowly.

“Couldn’t say. Nothing in the CB & T hinted at it, but do I care? Contract brief stipulates payment terms; Tacticals are target schematics, data and capability assessments. They probably didn’t, but they wouldn‘t tell us everything. No ‘need’ in the ‘need to know’ loop. Doesn’t matter as long as we deliver the product, right?”

“Except this time the kid is the product.”

“He’s cloned, Jace.”

“So?”

“He’s product. And we uphold our side of the contract. Kid or not -we do the job.” He stared at me for a second. “Look, nano is the future. The next step. If Gibson’s authenticated, he, or what’s inside him, is the key. The Corp that holds that stands to make billions, even trillions over the next decade. Then Golden rule kicks in: them that has the gold makes the rules. We got hired and we do our part. It’s in the contract; we can’t burn bridges. That‘s the way it is.”

“And then what, we hand over a child and just ghost quietly off screen? We’re nothing to them Tam - only reason we’re still around is because we do their dirty work. That’s it. Period.” I looked back at Gibson who was laughing now, amazed as Mopsey reassembled his rifle blindfolded, his hands moving in curt, fluid motions, making the weapon reappear as if by magic. Mopsey tore off the blindfold and made a little bow as Gibson clapped. “Key or not, that’s a kid. Not cyber-ware. A-PAC’ll burn through him like plasma. They’ll squeeze him dry then toss the husk. What are we doing here?”
“We’re looking out for ourselves, like we’ve always done. This isn’t another one of ‘those’ conversations, is it?”

“I dunno, maybe it is. You have to admit, this is a first.”

“Right, ‘wave of the future‘, like I said. Cloning isn’t new; look at the Triplets. It being a kid is   new ground for us, I’ll give you that.” He stopped and watched the little show. ”If it helps, I don’t like it either. Feels bad.  But we finish our run - that’s our rep. And our key to survival. We drop our end, we might as well roll over and die right here. We’d be finished. So I say we lay low, request an extraction from A-PAC’s and make delivery. In the meantime, we get Doc K. in here and do what we can to heal up. There’s no other options.” 

“Speaking of that. How’s he doing?” I shook my head and changed the subject. Poet9 was still in the corner, laying on the bed pallet, his autodoc softly beeping.

“No way of telling. Carmen looked him over, says he’s fine except for the brainbox. It’s shut down and it’s got him drifting in and out of a shallow coma. She can’t tell what kind of damage is in there, or if it’s permanent. Not here anyway.” He held my gaze, “How close were you?”

“Right on the edge.  I grabbed him, threw him down, but it still frazzled my onboards.  They rebooted right away, but - “

“Carmen says she’ll pray for him.” he paused, staring at Poet9’s prone form. “Every little bit helps I guess.”

“She better pray Doc K gets here fast.”

“You tell her that.”

“Your job. She always liked you better.”

“ ‘darkside on Luna’ eh? “

“Hell yes! Remember that time off Qatar? On the boat? Alejo went down, and damn, that girl could shoot.”

“Well they wanted to see Allah, and she didn’t want to disappoint them.”

We laughed together. Tam gripped my shoulder. “We’re going to make it. Finish this, fix up Poet9 better than new, and start flushing out the next job. Face it; we‘re like sharks - have to keep moving or we die.”

I looked into his face. Tam has those typical flat Asian features, black eyes and thick, close cropped black hair. He could make his face utterly expressionless, like a mask if he wanted, but he looked tired, worn right then. Still, I saw that hard brightness in his eyes. Shooter’s eyes.  Survivor’s eyes.  He was right. “Yeah,  yeah. I know. What choice do we have? Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age; but I’m just not into handing a kid over to them. Uber-tech or not.”

“Jace, you know if it wasn’t us, there’d be some other crew doing this. We didn’t develop the technology. We didn’t grow the kid. We aren’t playing God and weaving the stuff into his DNA for kicks and a higher quarterly return. Like the story goes; we’re just a gang of scabs trying to make good and stay alive. Delivery guys - Corps placed the order. They’re the vampires sucking the planet dry. The blood’s on their hands.”
“Yeah.  Doesn’t make it easier though. I’m going out. I’ll check in with Rao to see what A-PAC says about an extraction team. Probably take it out of our finals, cheap bastards. I’ll be back in a flash.” I shrugged the jacket on and went up the stairs. 
————————————————

Hermano had a pounding headache. He leaned over, washing his socks under the tap, and the throbbing only increased. Another bad day at work, unloading container after container of things he could never afford for the Old B corporates he would never see. His shift supervisor, Senior Vandarm - an anglo - had yelled at him, called him slow and stupid. Well if they paid better, Hermano would work better. What did they expect? A man couldn’t feed his family on such pisspoor wages. There was barely any to buy a few drinks after work. They did that on purpose to make it just enough to crawl back the next day and stand in line at their gates, groveling like some beggar. Hermano wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going on. Well, as long as they pretended to pay, Hermano and the other dockers would pretend to work. And if that greasy little punta yelled at him one more time, he’d show him. He’d smash him in his greasy little face. He twisted the thin damp cotton in his hands, wrenching out a few more soapy drips.

He jerked his head at the thought and drums hammered faster in his temples. He groaned, and was   clutching the sink to steady himself when the stranger stepped out into the street. Hermano peered through the window with bleary eyes. He‘d never seen him before, and Hermano knew everyone in his district. It was another anglo, clean and fit, wearing an old jacket. He was walking tall, all proud, not weary and hunched over like a decent working man.

Ever since he got home the news had been blaring some special story about a group of druggies hiding in the zones. They said this gang wanted to detonate explosives at the B-Port. Put him and his friends out of what little work they had. That made him mad. Hermano had already lost two daughters to drugs; turned them into prostitutes. His beautiful girls. That anglo must be one of them. The ’cast mentioned a reward. A large one. With that kind of money he’d be able to buy some nice things. And some decent drink. He’d get recognized too. Finally. They would realize Hermano was no dummy, not just some oaf driving a lift. He’d be promoted to shift supervisor and that greasy little rat Vandarm would be fired. He could almost see the look on his face when the big bosses came down and pat Hermano on the shoulder, saying what a fine fellow he was and how they were so glad to have him watching over the shift. Senior Vandarm would slink off, sad and scared, escorted from the premises by security, and the big bosses would nod their heads and wink at Hermano, knowing things would run smoothly on C level, South Dock 16 from now on.

Hermano saw the anglo’s back disappear around the corner. Filthy druggie fanatic - he snapped the socks twice in the air, flicking drops into the smoky dusk light, then laid them on the edge of the sink to dry. He had a call to make.

That’s the end of the first cycle. Concerning the piece, this is what I call ‘Third draft” state. I won’t do too much more editing until the entire piece is finished. (Short of some extremely perceptive criticism here…)

Awesome, keep it up

Next section nearly done - folks want more?

YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

DON’T KNOW WHY - BUT AN ENTIRE SECTION ISN’T SHOWING UP. The start of chapter 7 should be here.

BOKER BLADES

After dinner that night, Alejo was quiet for several minutes nodding and thinking, stroking his moustache and nodding some more. I could almost see his brain scanning through options. Finally, “So, a place with a crowd, multiple exits, and no police surveillance? Hmmm… I know of three such spots nearby. I haven’t been to them since my conversion. They are not good, these places; deporte de la sangre. Blood sport, understand? And the people who run them …  ” He shook his head. He leaned towards us in his shabby old leather chair, smiling grimly, the former pirate breaching the surface momentarily. “There is one that will work better than the others. The Turks still owe me… for a couple of things.” His eyes hardened at a memory, then softened instantly as he peeked across the room at Carmen. “I will go make arrangements. You can rendezvous there safely,” he said. “Well… safer than the others.”

He shrugged back into a contented old man, grinning under his huge moustache as he scribbled on a scrap of paper. “Here is the address. Tell him they must come tomorrow night. At sunset. And now,” he pushed himself to his feet using the arms of the chair, “one more thing.”

He walked stiffly over to a battered military trunk lodged in one corner and started rummaging through it. We watched curiously for several minutes, listening to him murmur as he went though its contents item by item. “Aha!” He turned back to us. “Now - they don’t let spectators bring weapons inside of course. There’s guards and a Russian scanner at the entrance. But I have these.” He tossed a musty, stained cloth bundle onto the door table in front of us. “Could come in very handy.”  Tam unwrapped it with several quick motions and a dozen sharp, flat gray knives spilled out.

“Ceramic?” Tam inquired.

“Si, Boker blades - old C.I.A. stash .  No metal at all.” Alejo winked. “So they don’t show on older detectors.” I hefted one in my palm admiring the fine edge, evil point and dull stone gleam. It had such perfect balance I tossed it thrumming into the door jamb across the room.
“Hey!” Carmen hit me with her dishtowel. “You’re going to fix that.”

—————————————-

DISCRETIONARY OPERATION

BARCELONA PORT DOCK COMPLEX   ASIAN-PACIFIC CONSORTIUM TRADE OFFICES - BUREAU D   LEVEL 5 - SOUTH DOCK HUB
The guard snapped to attention as Colonel Otsu approached the black armorglass entrance. He saluted the trooper in return, a boy who was one of the new corporals, and entered the security office. They seem younger every deployment. Or am I really that old now? He shook his head wryly. He made a mental note to learn the young man’s name, to welcome him to the unit and let him know his commander wasn’t so ancient as to not be on top of things. The bedlam of the dockyards snapped off behind him, replaced by the steady hum of air conditioning and the array of computer systems. A small mob of Asian Pacific traders swirled around large screen monitors, shouting into satellite phones, sending their clerks scurrying off in random directions every few seconds. Compared to the twenty four hour racket of the harbor complex, it seemed positively blissful. His secretary was waiting, hot tea and several data pads in hand. She came along side him instantly, matching his stride. 

“Colonel - good afternoon. Captains Asaki and Girin-Taga want to speak with you this afternoon about the Libyan longshoremen. They say it’s urgent. Please sign here. And here. The Traders Collective has pushed up the monthly meeting to tomorrow morning, 0800. And here too sir. Sergeant Hashimi requested an order of 100 new cameras to extend the coverage on levels 3, 4, & 5. And there’s a secure line waiting for you sir - E.U. Head Office. Again.”

His brow furrowed. “How long?”

“Less than five minutes.”

“In my compartment. No disturbances.” She nodded and moved off. Colonel Otsu entered his small office and latched the door behind him. The green light was flashing on his desktop monitor. He steeled himself with several deep breaths, took his position in front of the screen and pressed the Accept button.

“Colonel Otsu. You have kept me waiting.”

“It was unintended Arbiter Hsiang. I just returned to the Trade Office moments ago. Your idea of our security audit cover was quite ingenious, but it is quite demanding, and it is necessary we maintain appearances.” 

“I have no time for excuses. Tell me about the mission. Have the Type 5s arrived yet?”

Yes sir. I’ve sent one of my men - Lieutenant Kaneda - to pick them up and get them settled. We’ve also made contact with the team’s agent and are making preparations for delivery.

“When?”

“Soon sir.  Our initial contact is tonight.”

“Perhaps I have failed to impress on you the imperative nature of this mission.  I want that technology now.  Not ’soon.’  Now, Colonel Otsu. Am I making myself clear?” Avery Hsiang asked dryly. “I did not hear from you at mid-day. I specifically asked for updates. Why are my requests being disregarded?”

Colonel Otsu frowned inwardly, but bowed low. This man is far too anxious about this mission. Is he simply uneasy about the funds? Or is it something more? “Arbiter Hsiang, I meant no disrespect. This morning’s sit-rep outlined our plan and mission details. I have already compiled pertinent information for this evening’s report.”

“And just what do you deign ‘pertinent information’, Colonel?
“Sir, the Shinsengumi cell arrived just six hours ago. We are establishing an interim covert base in the Sprawl even now. The lieutenant is supporting them in every possible way. Transports are standing by once the item is in hand, and my team stands ready to assist them. The preliminary meeting with the mercenaries is on for later this evening in a Northern Sprawl sector. Nothing has altered from this morning.”

“Northern Sprawl sector? Is that where the item is?

“Arbiter Hsiang, This is a rendezvous spot - they could be holed up anywhere. And most likely they do not have the technology with them. In addition, martial law has been declared on the report of a new terrorist threat. Spanish security and Dawson Hull units have locked down the entire region and are sweeping the Zones, presumably in search of the criminals. They are sure to act with extra caution.”

“You thought a declaration of martial law unimportant?”

“The state of emergency is common knowledge -reported on all the newsnets. I had no intention of wasting your already valuable time.”

“Colonel Otsu, your intentions are irrelevant.” Arbiter Hsiang breathed out a heavy sigh. “Colonel… perhaps you are too obtuse to appreciate the delicacy of this situation. I don’t know, or care any longer. I took it upon myself to inform the Shinsengumi they were free to act on my authority. They have maximum sanction Colonel. I want this operation brought to a successful conclusion. Whatever the cost.” He looked away, shuffling paperwork on his desk. “Even Tokyo considers this critical to our long-term global interests. And they want updates. ”

Even Tokyo… Colonel Otsu lingered on that last statement. A shade of suspicion flickered in his mind. He played a hunch. “Should I be forwarding my reports to the Directorate and Central Command as well sir?” 

Arbiter Hsiang sat up, glaring at the camera. “That is not necessary Colonel. This mission is being run through my office. It is streamlined and red stamped Top Secret. Duplicate channels only give opportunity for bureaucratic interference, not to mention any potential security breech. At the moment, you are performing this operation solely through my department. I will decide if and when to disclose it to Central, or any other section.” 

Aha – Obtuse am I? Arbiter Hsiang, you are trying to fly under the radar… Why?  “Very good sir.”

“Colonel, this is a window of rare opportunity. For everyone involved. Be aware that in the future I will not neglect those who recognized this season and rose to the occasion. You and your men must do your duty. Without delay, or failure. Hsiang out.”

“Of course Lead Arbiter.” Colonel Otsu didn’t even wait for the image to fade from the monitor. He turned, grabbing his black and red uniform jacket and headed straight out the door. His secretary was waiting for him, more datapads stacked in her arms. You and your men… The face of the young corporal came unbidden to his mind. He forced a wane smile and mentally added another item to his agenda for the already long day.

Barcelona Metro Zone. Dock District: La Sentina neighborhood. Afternoon. 

The knob trembled. Three heads turned simultaneously to watch as the door opened and Lieutenant Kaneda stepped in. The Shinsengumi clones were sitting rigidly still at a small plastic table, heads tracking him as he stumbled in lugging a large knapsack and kicked the door shut behind him. He stopped, and peered over the top of the heavy pack at the 2 men and 1 woman who stared back at him. Their faces were passive, heads cocked, dark eyes unblinking. It was almost reptilian. Kaneda suppressed a shudder. The Colonel told him these clone units were a new type, different. He didn’t know just how different. They looked normal enough, but something about them made his skin crawl.  He couldn’t put his finger on it; they were perfect for this area; all had olive complexions, dark hair and Spanish features. One of the men was tall and broad, thick, like a heavy laborer. The other man was small and racedog thin, almost malnourished. Those two passed for characteristic Sprawl scabs. The woman was a different story; some comfort girl bleed-through maybe in the gene-coding: medium height, but full bodied and fine featured with sensuous lips.  Lt. Kaneda thought that even dirty she was far too striking for the slums. It was always odd, dealing with replicants, but there was something wholly unnatural about these three. They reminded him of cobra snakes he’d seen as a child. He forced the thought away. This was an important mission and he was their superior officer. He cleared his throat and tried to put some command tone in his voice.

“You going to sit there and watch? Or do mission parameters allow you to help me?” The larger one slipped out of his chair and took the heavy back pack from him in one hand.

The young Lieutenant wiped his brow. “Now… you see your accommodations. This is the best we could get on short notice. This sector houses dockhands and migrant workers. There’s swarms of low level criminals as well. Your identities were inserted in the Barcelona database and job covers are in place. Just don’t do anything to attract attention; there are thousands of transients in and out every week, so your arrival and disappearance shouldn’t be noticed.” He kicked the heavy bag at his feet. “That’s the first load of equipment – I want a hand getting the rest from the van downstairs. We’re also in communication with the mercenary team. We’ll take delivery soon, so your stay here shouldn’t be long. You appreciate the critical nature of this assignment?

The three looked at each other and the small man answered directly. “We were briefed on the flight over. We understand our orders.”

The Lieutenant squared his shoulders. “Which are?” he demanded. He was their superior officer and would be treated as such.

“Mission critical is the technology and its safe delivery to Arbiter Hsiang. Recovering it is the absolute priority. Secondly, we are to eliminate the mercenary team, and all accomplices and witnesses, so long as the primary objective is not jeopardized.”

“Very good,” Lieutenant Kaneda nodded, “that is correct. I am your mission liaison for the duration. Here is my secure link code. We have an initial meeting arranged with the operatives tonight. That will get you in; you must proceed from there. You will only contact Colonel Otsu and the Security detachment at our dock facilities when the mission is finished. Extraction transport is on standby. Any emergencies or mistakes, you’re on your own. Understand? The E.U head office has made it clear to make any and all resources available in pursuit of the mission.” 

The three clones bowed their heads slightly, light smiles flitting across their lips. 

“Very well. I have more in the van downstairs. You -”  he motioned to the larger man, “come help me bring the other bags up.”  The two left, shutting the dingy steel door behind them.

The other two remained in the apartment cubicle. It was nothing more than a concrete box, maybe three times as large as a prison cell with half the illum-tiles in the ceiling burnt out brown and black, and the walls pocked and mottled thick with endless coats of white paint. Bed pallets lay off on one side of the room and a pitted stainless steel sink, cooking, and fridge unit were bolted along the opposite wall. A small closet at the far end held a chemical toilet and cheap one piece plasti-form shower stall. The only decoration was a psychedelic cyclone of caricatured icons, astrological symbols and anarchist graffiti drawn on the wall in 4 color markers. It twisted up out of the corner by the floor curling around the lone window in the room. That was a dingy little square of acid rain frosted plastic that looked onto the slab gray of the next tenement 2 meters away. A thick musk of stale sweat and ammonia was soaked into everything. The two didn’t react. It all meant nothing to them. Abruptly, they looked at the door again; someone began banging on it with a fist.

******** CAUTION ******** This section contains adult words/profanity. Don’t read it if you find it offensive *******

“Cleto! Cleto - open up! I know you’re in there you little pussy. Open the fucking door before I break it down.”

The two slid silently away from the table to stand on either side of the door.

“Cleto, you monkey shit. I want my money. Open this fucking door and give me my fucking money right now!”

The door shook under more pounding. The two looked at each other and on a signal the thin man thumbed the lock and turned the knob. The steel door flapped open on a kick and a broad, shave headed gorilla of a man sauntered in. “Cleto, you wiseass little -” he stopped when he saw the small man. “Who the fuck are you? Where the fuck is Cleto?”

He shifted the bulk of his denim jacketed body towards the smaller assassin, brandishing a length of chain. “I asked you a question shithead. Where’s Cleto?”

“No one named Cleto here.”

“Well I can fucking see that, you little dickwad. You’re Cleto’s friend or something, right? Cleto leave my money, or not? Little junkie fucker owes me.” The man stepped forward and closed on the small man. The small assassin didn’t move. He just stared as the larger man growled, rolled his shoulders and hunched over him.

“You’d better fucking smarten up paco. You have no fucking idea who you’re fucking with here.”

The small Shinsengumi looked up at him, almost whispering. The big man leaned forward imperceptibly to hear better. “We’re new here. We don’t know this ‘Cleto’.  Or anyone else around here. You’ve just made a mistake. You came in the wrong apartment.”

“The fuck I did!” the big man roared. “I know that little shit’s artiste scribble.” He gestured with the chain at the drawings. “Fuck you! I didn’t come all the way over here to be jerked around by some pussy assed little fucker.” He looked around the dismal room. “Someone’s paying me my money. If it ain’t Cleto, then it’s got to be you.” He smiled all teeth at the small Shinsengumi. “Lucky fucking you.” He reached behind him and slammed the door shut with a bang. “Now pay up.”

The female clone stepped out from the arc of the door and waved her hand almost casually. The shave head caught it out of the corner of his eye and jerked his weight slightly to turn and see. In that instant the small assassin darted forward, sliding up along his barrel chest, and there was a loud snap. A look of surprise flitted across the big man’s face; the realization, in the brief seconds remaining, that he was looking at a woman directly behind him because his head was twisted backwards. She stared into his eyes as they went flat, and he folded into himself onto the floor at their feet.

The door swung open again and Lieutenant Kaneda swept in, a two fisted grip on a little Kanji automatic. “I heard a noise. What the -” he froze, staring at the body.  “Who’s he? What happened?”

The female agent spoke first. “He forced his way in. He said he was looking for a previous tenant who owed him money.”

“So you killed him?”

“He was a witness.” the small one spoke up.

“Witness? Was there anybody else? Did anyone see him come in here?”

The big Shinsengumi agent strode in behind him carrying two more of the military sacks slung over his shoulder. He took in the body with impassive eyes and set the packs down. “There weren’t any others.”

Lieutenant Kaneda turned on him. “What? How do you know?”

“We passed downstairs. I checked in the lobby, and in the street while you were talking on the link. He was alone.” 
“Not even one day here…” The three saw his hands tremble as he holstered the pistol under his arm. Lieutenant Kaneda ran his hands through his hair. “Ok… ok. That call was the Colonel’s staff: a rendezvous is set up for tonight. You’re to meet the mercenaries somewhere in the northern sprawl. We have an hour to get there. And now this.” He shifted back and forth from one foot to another. “Alright.” He pointed to the smaller man. “You. You did this – you clean it up. Get rid of the body. And make absolutely sure no saw him. I’ll just have to take the other two with me.” He motioned toward the packs. “Get changed. And grab whatever you think you need. We’re leaving in five minutes. Hurry!”       
The three Shinsengumi agents gazed at each other, a silent understanding passing between them as the distracted lieutenant breathed out and started pacing the small room. In the sub orbital, Arbiter Hsiang had given complete discretionary operation. They were authorized to do anything they felt necessary to achieve their objectives. And once they were finished, their orders were to sanitize the “peripherals”. 
     
——————————————————————————-

HERE’S WHERE CHAPTER 8 SHOULD START. ANOTHER SECTION GONE AWOL. Call out the MPs!

Dentatus - 21 November 2007 02:32 PM

Thanks for the kind words. Hope people are enjoying it.

I am

Yep,
Keep it coming! 

I appreciate the chance to post this here but I wanted people to be aware the Honorable Matakishi is now hosting the story on his site. And doing a phenomenal job reformatting it with pictures and everything. He makes it look better than it is. Thanks to everyone for the opportunity to start it here, and for all the kind words.

http://www.matakishi.com/runningblack.htm