Living in Syn (15 page)

Major Carson
Pierce neared exhaustion.  He just put in a full hour on the simulated mountain
ranges and even a cold shower failed to bring him back to life.  He sat on the
bed and looked down at the clock.  10:00 am.  Only two hours till he could have
a lunch that made him think warm and happy thoughts about C-rations.  The com
beeped and he snatched it up.

"Pierce
here."

"Carson,
this is Mission.  I wondered if you could do some research."

"If
you had a speeder here, I'd wash it for you.  Does that tell you how bored I
am?  What do you need?"

"I'm
wondering about this station.  I mean, I've heard all the explanations about
this being the end of the line and all .... it just doesn't add up.  You know? 
When I see one of these facilities, I see a plan behind it that accounted for
every square inch.  Now suddenly we see an empty station.  Something isn't right. 
Can you access the original plans and budget, the number of flights in between
here and the settlement versus the same stats for some of the other
settlements?"

"Yeah,
I can do it.  You want me to show you what I've found tonight in the mess
hall?"

"That's
an appropriate description.  But no, I don't want the Dick to see us
conversing.  We’re supposed to be adversaries."

Pierce
sighed.  "I know, but Montag is not stimulating company.  And watching the
Dick haggle prices with the pleasure models is something even convicted killers
shouldn't have to endure.  Listen, Montag will help me with this and as soon as
we have something, I'll push the data over to you."

"Thanks,
Carson, it's only three more days."

"Now
I feel better."

Pierce
still hadn't contacted Mission at dinnertime, so he and Susan visited the
station cafeteria.

The
cafeteria server looked at Mission with the glazed stare of one who gave up
long ago.  When Mission failed to say anything the server, at his most
articulate said, "Yeah?"

"Yes,
I'd like your canned brown gravy over canned beef with reconstituted potato
flakes and a piece of the peach pie, but only if it's rubbery enough to patch a
tractor tire."

Susan
elbowed his ribs, but the server never even flinched.  Mission guessed he
learned long ago that any reaction to his customers only cost him more time.

They sat
down at a table and Mission said, "All of these stations need to start an
aggressive program to grow plants wherever possible.  At some point, it would
become cost effective to devote space to agriculture, even if only
hydroponics."

"I
think these places are a long way from anything like that."

Mission
grumbled.  "I think it's one of those
you need money to make money
propositions.  The uses for stations and settlements will never grow beyond
this primitive state until someone invests in those items people need over long
periods of time.  Like plants, fresh fruits and vegetables, rec rooms."

"I
think that’s happening on Titan."

"But
that's because they anticipate a breathable atmosphere in the near future. 
They know that space will soon be an abundant commodity.  It's not the same
problem to be solved on the space stations and all the other settlements."

Susan
looked at him with amusement and said, "So what's the solution,
Mission?"

"You
know, the President asked me the same question just last week.  Ah, I don't
know.  This, like every other question in the world is one of money.  If enough
businessmen see a potential for profit, those things will be here overnight. 
And that's the only way it'll happen.”

He
paused. “So what should we do tonight?"

"Let's
take another walk.  We can explore the southern end of the station
tonight."

"Sounds
kinda dull, but I guess that’s the best we can do in this place."

Susan
batted her eyelashes as quickly as possible and with a thick southern accent
said, "You don't think I'm boring, do you Miss? You have always been a
charmer, Miss "

Mission looked
at her with a half-smile and said, “I hope you didn’t fall for that routine.
She’s a smart girl."

“Yes, I
know.”

Enough
was enough. Carson refused to run one more simulated mountain range, refused to
watch Montag analyze one more data screen, and certainly refused to watch
Mission and Susan behave like teenagers in love, for even one more second. He
left his room, moving purposefully, determined to do something, even if it
meant getting drunk and beating hell out of some poor loudmouth.

Come to
think of it, tying one on sounded pretty good, and capping it off with a bar
fight sounded even better. He turned toward the bar, warming up to the idea.
Boilermakers! That was the ticket. He hadn’t done boilermakers since St.
Paddy’s and he was overdue. St Paddy’s. That was a celebration. And what was
that girl’s name? Sherry? Shelia? Sharon? He passed the cafeteria and slowed
down…then stopped. The bar didn’t serve food. He wanted to get plowed, but
residual effects the next morning would be killer if he didn’t eat. That’s it.
Some protein, some complex carbs, and then the boilermakers.

Carson
finished his tuna on rye and canned peaches in absolute silence. He sat in an
artificial corner of the cafeteria, created by a support post on the center of
the rear wall. An old habit. It was an excellent defensive position with the
post and the wall to his back. As he leaned forward to put his trash on the
tray and leave, he noticed that someone sat in his mirror image, right next to
him on the other side of the post. He saw a woman’s hands, holding a paperback,
a travelogue on the Virgin Islands.   He was curious. As he moved toward the
exit, he stopped in front of her table. Wow. Early thirties. Space station
coveralls, brown hair pulled back in a bun, brown rimmed reading glasses. But
huge brown eyes. And a very provocative mouth.

Carson
motioned toward the book. “I couldn’t help but notice. I love to snorkel off
Charlotte Amalie.”

She
didn’t even look up. “I’m sure.” 

He was
taken aback. “It’s…it’s just that the Virgin Islands are my very favorite beach
vacation.”

She
continued to read, never looking up. She still hadn’t even seen him. “I’m
really not interested.”

Carson
started to move away. “Sorry. Guess it didn’t occur to me that some folks are
here because they don’t want to talk.”

As he
headed to the exit, he felt a hand at his elbow. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”  

In a way,
the scene was eerie.  Mission and Susan walked for 45 minutes and hadn't come
across a single person.  Staring down the long corridors, the minimal lighting
disappeared before the vision did, giving the impression that one left the
darkness to eventually enter it again.  Mission held Susan's hand as she told
him about her nieces and nephews.

Suddenly
he put his lips to her ear and whispered, "Keep talking."

This was
not an everyday occurrence for Susan and she stopped.  Mission whispered again,
"Keep talking."

This
time she was better prepared and as she talked about the family reunion,
Mission whispered, "Maybe I'm crazy, but I swear I hear footsteps.  I
think someone's following us."

They
kept walking with Mission listening intently.  Susan couldn't hear anything and
she didn't see how Mission could.  Their own steps and voices echoed through
the station, and then came back at them.  She watched his face closely.  He
epitomized focus, a complete immersion in the moment. 

He put
his mouth back to her ear and whispered, "This looks perfect."

He
stopped at the sign reading
Docking Bay 11
, and studied the control
panel underneath.  Satisfied, he punched in commands and the pressurized door
hissed and swung partially open.  Mission stepped inside and switched on the
overhead lights.  He looked around and said, "That's what I'm looking
for."

He moved
over to a maintenance hatch and twisted the wheel until it opened.  Then he
turned and looked at Susan and said, "Your sweater.  I need to borrow your
sweater.   And your pocket reference.  Can you find a subject that will run for
twenty minutes, and put it on speaker?"

She
pulled out her com and started punching keys.  "A general query on the
solar system should do the trick."

The
reference began and the narrator's voice welcomed them to a discussion of the
solar system.  Mission took it and placed it inside the maintenance
compartment.  Then he laid the sweater down in front of the hatch with the door
slightly ajar.  He stopped at the exit and listened.  Perfect.  You could hear
the voice, but indistinctly.  "Let's get out of here."

They
came back out into the hall and Mission opened the door directly across from
the docking bay.  They went inside and Mission pulled out an ultrasonics
grenade and clipped it to his shirt.  He took a magnetic interrupter out and
pushed it into a patch pocket on his thigh.  Then he pulled out his Glock and
held it at the ready.

Susan
whispered, "If you have a runabout underneath that jacket, we can all go
home."

Mission
looked at her.  Couldn't she just dig her nails into his arm?  No, he wouldn't
like that.  Still, it unnerved him a bit for her to approach this so calmly. 
Perhaps he should interpret this as a sign of her confidence in him.  She knew
he would protect her.  Right.

"You
know, I do have a muzzle in here for people who talk during ambushes.  Look,
see how to lock this door from the inside?  I want you to lock it the instant I
move out.  Call Carson if I get in over my head.  Okay?"

She
nodded and Mission flipped the light out.  He watched the hallway as best he
could through the three inch diameter leaded glass window.  Susan crept up
behind him to look over his shoulder.  "Is that why you chose this spot? 
It's the only portal we've seen in ten minutes."

Mission
turned around and nodded and then put his finger to his lips.  She showed signs
of too damned much courage.  After at least five minutes, the follower came
down the hall.  Mission could see no more than variations in the shadows.  But
their follower looked to be 5'6" or so.  Great, another female killer. 
She hesitated at the doorway to the Docking Bay, and then slowly pushed the
door open.  The light coming from the bay completely blacked out the image of
the follower.  Mission waited, and so did the syn.  Finally, Mission whispered
to Susan, "She's too smart to go all the way in.  If I catch her by
surprise, I can push her though the doorway."

Mission
turned the door wheel ever so slowly and then began to pull the door open. 
There she stood, arms on the doorjamb, as she leaned in the room.  Mission
moved into the hallway and set for just an instant.  Then a quick step that
culminated in a jump and a jarring snap kick right on the shoulder blades.  The
syn made a strange, strangled kind of scream as the kick pushed her almost
halfway across the bay.  Mission pushed the door shut, spun the wheel, and
pounced on the control pad.

An
earsplitting siren blasted the area, and Mission put his mouth to the
microphone area.  "I've just initiated docking procedures.  In less than
two minutes, the bay doors will fly open and you'll be sucked into space as the
room de-pressurizes.  If you want to talk to me, I can interrupt the
process."

He walked
to the vue screen monitor that activated as part of docking procedures.  The
syn turned and it was no syn at all.  It was Dick Denman!

Mission
trembled with rage.  He still held his Glock as he picked Denman up by the
collar and pulled him close to his face.  "Let's have it.  Why were you
following us?"

Denman
looked as though he might shiver himself into a coma.  "I wasn't.  I
swear.  I was just taking a walk."

Mission
shook his head and said, "No.  If we walked down the main hall the entire
way, I'd say it's possible.  But we've taken three or four detours to see
particular spots that interested us.  You followed us."

"Okay,
okay, so maybe I followed you.  Maybe I think I didn't get the whole story on
this little trip when I found out you was a bounty hunter and she was a syn
shrink.  That don't sound like a diagnostics team to me."

Mission
let go of him and Dick straightened his collar.  Then he looked at Mission and
said, "What?  You didn't run a check on me?   Of course you did."

Mission
said in a very even tone.  "I retired from tracking.  I work for
Paradox."

"Yeah? 
Well that's real interesting, cause you are the only Paradox employee that's
ever set me up, kicked my ass into an airlock and started to blow me into space
while holding a Glock at the ready."

He
winked at Mission.  "That Glock there, says the bounty hunter is working
overtime.  Now if you don't mind ... "

Denman
started to walk past and Mission picked him up off the floor by his collar,
slammed him into the wall, and held him there with his feet dangling above the
floor.

"Well
I do mind .... Dick!  I don't like people following me.  And if I ever catch
you again, I'll shoot first and then worry about intention.  Get me? 
Dick!"

"You
know, you're a very touchy guy.  That temper's going to get you in trouble someday. 
See you, Mission.  My regards to Dr. St. Jean."

Once
Denman disappeared, Susan slipped into the hall and said, "Denman,
huh?"

"He
said he was checking up on us because our bios don't fit the job we've come to
do."

"Well,
he has a point there."

"Yeah,
but I want to know why he is here."

Susan
took his hand and said,  "Should we finish our walk, or head back to
civilization?"

"I
want to talk to Carson.  Would you care to join us?"

"No,
I want to do some more research."

"Do
you know how to get back to our rooms?"

"Sure,
we just walk 45 minutes in any direction."

Mission
knocked on Carson's door and Montag answered.

"Hello,
Mr. Mission.  I’m in the process of obtaining the information you
requested."

“You?
Where’s Carson?”

“Right
behind you.” Carson stood smiling, there in the hall.

“Going
stir crazy?”

“Something
like that.”

"Okay,
so is it possible for all three of us to fit in this room?"

Carson
called, "Sure it is."

But it
wasn't as easy as it sounded.  Montag had to exit and then Carson entered and
then Mission.  Then Montag could only come in and close the door.

Montag
said, "This will work better if you sit on the bed as Major Pierce is
doing."

Montag
picked Mission up and set him on the bed five feet up.  Mission sputtered and
said, "Montag, this is sort of a guy's rule kind of thing, but you can't
pick me up unless I'm incapacitated.  Okay?"

Montag
nodded.  "I will remember."

That
taken care of, Mission asked, "Well, what do we have so far?"

Carson
looked disgusted and said, "Shit, that's what we've got so far.  Five
different companies have tried to run this place, and the first four went
bankrupt.  We think the current business receives some type of government
subsidy to keep the place running.  But in any event, trying to find records is
the assignment from hell. Montag, has anything changed since I bolted?"

"I
have been in touch with Earth, to see if they could pull some information for
me."

Mission
said, "All of the records will be in Philadelphia."

"That
is what I thought too.  All interplanetary business ventures file returns in
Philadelphia.  But there are only seven entities that file as interplanetary,
and all of them are science and technology partnerships.  All the companies
that we see up here, are part of corporations on Earth, and their returns and
records are wherever the parent company is required to file."

Carson
scowled. "This whole place is an insurance claim waiting to happen.  And
the paper trail is a testament to anarchy."

Mission
sighed.  "Well, this tells us something, even if it doesn't help.  Is
there a place where the four of us can talk tomorrow night for a readiness
review?"

Montag
said, "I can locate an unused room for our meeting."

"Good,
then 8:00 tomorrow night?  Susan and I will come to your door Carson."