StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Author's Note: Decided to share, since I seem to be making some progress with it. Here are the first two chapters, the third should be up in a few days.

This story is set in an original universe I am contributing to with several other people. I hope you enjoy it.


Chapter One
Initiation

Fear. It was something every undercover operative had to learn to control. No fear, and something was wrong with you. Too much fear, and others wonder what else could be making you afraid. The taking of a life is an act that can involve a lot of fear. Fear of repercussions, fear of betraying the oath to protect and serve, fear of seeing death in front of you, questioning your own mortality.

As he struggled against his restraints, Gerald bit back his fear as he glared at his captors. Blood dripped from his numerous wounds onto the rusted metal floor in one of the dozens of water treatment sub-centers of Trade Station Argos. The pipes he was chained to refused to budge even as the heat from the treating process slowly burned his flesh. Pain had overwhelmed him, but he did not speak.

The man in charge was a cold man by the name of Richter, and was content with watching as his cronies had beaten Gerald into submission. He didn't smile seeing Gerald in pain, as some of the toughs did. He simply walked forward, looked Gerald in the eye and said, “Tell us who your partner is, and this stops.”

Gerald responded with a snort, which sprayed Richter with a mix of mucus and blood. Much to Gerald's dismay, Richter did not even flinch. He turned around and waved off the muscle-bound men that had already started to move in to give Gerald another beating. “If he hasn't talked by now, he won't,” He turned to another man, a subordinate, and handed him a pistol. “Take care of this for me, Luiz.”

Luiz paused as the weight of the gun suddenly filled his hand. His mind raced. Alone in a secluded area with Richter and his men, he might be able to take them all, if he was lucky, but then his cover would be blown. He raised the gun and took aim at his partner, grappling with the choice. Gerald's eyes burned at him, a mixture of pain and determination.

The sound of Gerald's blood dripping rhythmically on the floor drowned out all the other noise in the room to Luiz. The sight of the viscous red fluid staining the rough and ruined reddened steel caused his eyes to lose focus. The room swam around him, the only focus he had being the heavy pistol pointed at his fellow agent. His friend. His target. Something basic took over, training from another time, words that had been drilled into his mind: “Never point your weapon at anything you do not intend to kill.” His hand wavered for a moment, not sure of how to interpret that lesson in this case. He pulled back the trigger, and Gerald closed his eyes. Luiz took a deep breath, let it half out, and fired.

One of the thugs Richter had brought with him crumpled to the ground as the shot shattered his skull and left a pink mist lingering in the air where his head once was. Ruiz continued his spin into a crouched position and emptied another three rounds into the second thug. Rebounding from the spin, he bounced to his feet and aimed the gun at Richter. The cold metal had warmed up considerably on firing, and the heat seemed to fuel a new sense of determination. “Alphonse Richter, you are hereby placed und-”

His own scream cut short his statement, as the warm gun exploded in his hand. Luiz fell to the ground clutching his hand in agony. Richter walked up to Luiz's writhing form and drew his own weapon. “And here I thought you had more sense than Gerald. Oh well, I can still work with this,” He pulled the trigger, putting a slug of hot metal into Luiz's midsection. The shock of the wound kept him from sounding out more than a wet choking sound. Gerald looked on with indignant fire in his eyes. He opened his mouth to scream, only to be silenced by a pair of rounds entering his head.

Richter wiped down the gun and put it into the hand of one of his thugs, glaring at Luiz as the man looked on in confusion. Richter looked back and simply shook his head. “Damned fool, why did you have to be the hero?” Luiz collapsed on the floor, his breathing shallow and rapid. Richter went to the door and walked through, reapplying the security code from the other side. It was time to leave Argo Station, and soon. He had planned for this eventuality, but he had hoped it would not happen.

He made his way to the nearest thoroughfare, he had something he had to do before he left this station far, far behind him.


Chapter 2
Dropping Dead

Richter dove through the crowd of people, keeping a specific pacing with his steps. Fast enough to seem busy, but not to seem panicked. He dodged errant thoughts as he wove his way through pedestrians. He took out a datapad and looked at the display. Some names, a few inventory items, even some pictures. Of course, he had been taking pictures. If he had time, he’d scrub the images that included him, but time was not on his side. He plugged in a chip he had been carrying with him and started to copy several files over to the pad.

A patrolman’s hat peeked from above the heads of the crowd as Richter looked around. His heart began to pound faster, forcing him to control his breathing. There was no reason to be afraid, but reason and fear were rarely found together. The adrenaline from having Luiz point a gun at him was still flowing through his body. Idly he rubbed the button of the transmitter he had used to blow the gun’s magazine. He was lucky, and that was bad. Luiz had been lucky that his thugs hadn’t been able to draw their guns, and now he was slowly dying from a gunshot wound to the gut as a result.

The patrolman was getting closer as Richter worked his way through the crowd, his attention now split between the datapad transfer, moving through the crowd, keeping track of the patrolman, and his own thoughts. He cursed himself and put the datapad away. He had to try and remember the way. He looked at the signs around the thoroughfare, trying to get a better idea of which way he needed to go. Two signs clicked together and the map in his mind fell into place. He plotted out the path ahead of him and started off with new focus.

The station security patrolman put his hand to his earpiece as though to listen to an incoming transmission. He stopped and began to look around. Richter held back a wince and kept walking. The tips of his fingers began to itch, causing his hands to ball up to relieve the sensation. He passed the standing patrolman, fighting the urge to look back. He quickly thought of every possible eventuality, his eyes scanning for cover, his hands going to where he would normally keep his weapons, and his feet still walking along, determined to keep the same pace. His guns were gone, one destroyed by remote detonator, the other used to frame a dead man for the deaths he had caused.

“No, Hendrick, I'm not hauling my ass up to Blue Sector so you can sit on your lazy ass. You still owe me for the last six times I covered for you,” Richter let loose a small sigh of relief as he prepared to round a corner, away from the now irritated patrolman. As he left the officer of the law behind, he took pleasure in eavesdropping on the last bits of the conversation, “Oh go cry to someone who gives a shit, Hendrick. You wanna trade beats? Yeah, didn't think so...”

The next twenty minutes of walking were a welcome relief for Richter. With a direct goal in mind and little chance of interception, he moved with purpose to the first of his destinations. The sign for the locker storage area loomed ahead of him, and he moved inside without hesitation. He took an electronic key from his pocket, one he had taken from Gerald. Looking at the number on the key, he made his way to the corresponding locker. He removed the datapad from his pocket and pulled out his chip after ensuring that the right files had made it over. When he was sure that the few people in the facility were not looking at him, he wiped it down one last time and left it in the locker.

Key in hand, Richter left the storage building, remembering the steps he took when he followed Gerald earlier. Images of the shadowing flashed through his mind as he made each turn, until finally he appeared in front of a datacafe. He went inside and paid for a drink that only vaguely resembled the coffee he had known back home and sat down in front of a data terminal. Using Gerald's credit chit, he scanned a quick purchase of time and got to work.

Sniffing a computer network for specific traffic is a time honored tradition going back as far as the invention of networked systems, and there are two ways to hide special information; layers upon layers of code, which sticks out like a sore thumb in the sea of unencrypted traffic, or hiding it in plain sight. The former only works if the people using it do not see long term secrecy as an issue, but the latter has its own flaws.

When Richter had been following Gerald and wormed his way into the datacafe's network, he had gone over every piece of data sent and received. When the activity started and ended was a key indicator that allowed him to winnow down the traffic to three sets, and from there, he tracked down the sites they went to and what information had been sent back and forth.

Unfortunately, time had once again proven to be Richter's enemy. He looked at the three data sets with a grimace. He did not have time to try and find some clever solution to see which of the three was the Gerald's marker that a drop had been made. He had to follow all three sets and do each in turn.

As he moved his fingers over the input area, he began to wish he had a Logosian neural implant. While the holographic input did not record his fingerprints, much less provide a source for DNA samples, and he knew that he did not have to worry about someone finding him, every wasted second felt like an eternity. He had to leave, and the sooner the better. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the trade station as he possible could.

The last of the data from the sets had been entered, and Richter slid the electronic key into a small slot hidden in the lip of the table he was sitting at. He grabbed his drink and left, slowly sipping on the vile brew as he took out his disposable phone and dialed a voicemail number. He started to smile and cheer sprung into his voice as he talked, “Hey, Rebecca, how's things? Yeah, yeah, work's fine. Had a meeting today. Yeah, had to send a memo to the other office down the way. Turns out they hadn't got the T-2L forms yet. Yeah, yeah I'm sure there's a few people in both offices that'll get a real talking to, I made sure of that.”

Chapter Three
Closing Time

Having left his cryptic message, Richter wound his way back around to the other side of the station, finally finding the bar he was looking for. He sipped the last of the drink he had brought with him from the datacafe, still wincing at the beverage's horrid taste. As he pulled open the door, the now familiar scents of alcohol and salted foods raced to his nostrils. He shook his head and proceeded to the back of the bar to the private seating. He slid into a booth where another man was nursing a drink over a small, unhealthy meal consisting largely of grease and some sort of processed meat.

“Sid, we have a problem,” Richter grunted.

Sid looked at Richter with a snarl, clearly annoyed at having his meal disturbed. “What is it Richter?”

“We got Gerald,” Richter started as Sid cut him off.

“Well good. Hope that little shit rots in hell. Nobody saw you kill him, right?”

“Of course not,” Richter frowned, “but that's not the problem. Luiz was his partner.”

Sid's eyes narrowed, “That little shit? Fuck, and I was about to promote him. How'd you know?”

“The fact that he blew Ed and Maude away was a big fucking hint. I was able to take him out though. It’s all taken care of,” Ricther looked into Sid's eyes, waiting for a reaction.

Sid paused, chewing a bit of meat that was still sliding around in his mouth. “Shit! What the hell, Richter? That’s two of my boys gone! That means we've got to load that shipment now. Tell me we have enough time to get out of here.”

“If you can give me a few guys, I can go and clean it up some, maybe get us some more time.” Richter offered, his eyes quietly gauging Sid’s response to the suggestion.

“Where’d it go down?” Sid grumbled.

“Water treatment sub-center, in another sector. Next shift shouldn’t be in for a few hours at least. There was a gunfight, but we were isolated enough.”

“Maybe, maybe,” he paused for a moment as he chewed on a bit of meat. Richter felt a pulse of nervous energy slide through his body, waiting for the reaction. “No, it's too late for that now, chances are the station patrol already found the bodies, or they will soon. We need everyone we've got left to load the shipment and clear dock. Fucking cops, now we're going to have to change the transponder again. This latest haul better pay real fucking well, Richter, and you'd better haul ass,” Sid started to wolf down the rest of his food, shoving each bite into his overfed gullet.

“Right away,” Richter stood up, taking in a deep breath. “See you on the ship.”

“Just get that damn cargo stowed and get us out of here! I don’t care how, so long as we don’t have anyone after us,” Sid growled.

Richter nodded, “You know me Sid, I’ll work my magic. We’ll be out of here in no time,” he flashed a quick smile and walked out of the bar. As he stepped out, he clenched his hands to alleviate the itching at the tips of his fingers. His hand slid back into his pocket and retrieved his phone as he started walking back to the docking ring. He punched in the numbers, his fingers pressing just a little too hard. “Hey, Gessler, this is Richter. Yeah, Sid just told me we got a new delivery thrown into the mix,”

“Really? Sounds like he’s going to work you boys to the bone,” Gessler said dryly.

“Oh, you know how it is, but anyway, here’s the deal, we need to get our stock loaded double quick so we can make the deadline. Upside is you get our spot open a little early, and I’ll throw a little something extra your way for you and the boys,” Richter put a little bounce in his step as he hurried down to the nearest transit tube.

“Are you serious? I’ve got twelve loads working right now, I can’t spare anyone without pissing off some of the other ships.”

The bounce was gone, replaced by a sense of serious urgency, “Gessler, look, I’m not talking all the air between here and the moon. Just get a few boys in loaders to help out mine, that’s all. We really need to get moving here, I swear, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“My boys and I have families to feed, Richter. We show too much favoritism, and maybe some of the ships go somewhere else,” Gessler’s greed flowed into Richter’s ears through the phone.

“A thousand for each man you can get to come, five for you, plus an extra five if you can get it done in an hour. Good enough?” Richter strained to keep the cheerful sound in his voice.

“I always did like you Richter. We’ll get right on it,” Gessler said as he ended the call. Richter shook his head and hoped Sid wouldn’t mind losing that much money to avoid getting caught. He stepped into a quickly filling tube, sliding between several other bodies headed to different places in the station. He looked around at the others in the tube with him, watching for subtle cues of body language. Nobody seemed worried or stressed, at least beyond normal. There was a subtle change between being stressed out at work and fearing for one’s life, and that none showed that change was a good thing, it meant that he might actually make it out in one piece.

Before long, the tube stopped at the docking ring, and Richter moved quickly to the collar to which Sid’s ship was attached. He activated the airlock and walked through, trying not to think of the void that was being kept out by a too-thin wall of metal and plastic. The collar sealed at outer edge of the cargo ship’s hull, creating a strange wall at the end of the corridor. Richter punched in the ship’s general access code and activated the ship’s own airlock cycle. There were a lot of things that had to be done, and not a lot of time to do them.

Chapter 4
Blue on Blue

Alex Tanner looked at the scene before him and tried to suppress his emotions. He knew two of the four bodies before him personally, so his usual level of detachment was not what it should have been. “Is this the best resolution we can get, Maas? I can't make out the faces on these other two,” he growled.

“Sorry,” Maas sighed, “but I'm doing the best I can with the two dimensional images the local security patrols provided in the data stream. Their holographic equipment is so piss-poor you might as well look at colored boxes. I'll try to throw in some better images from the mug shots, but if you want to walk the scene, you're going to have to wait until we dock.” The scene shifted slightly as the holograms emitted from projectors all around the room updated the image based on the new information.

“Keep at it. I want to see if there is anything they missed. When I send my report to the main office, you can bet there's going to be hell to pay.”

“Yes,” a third man spoke, hunched over the holographic image of Luiz. “On that note, are you sure you want to report this back so quickly? You know what's going to happen once you do.”

“I want these bastards too, but-” Alex started.

“But nothing, Tanner!” The third man rose quickly, his eyes blazing with barely controlled rage. “This is our case, these are our men. Maybe they were born in UP space, but they are our people. We trained them, we gave them orders, and they were working our case when this happened. I'm not going to just sit here with my thumb up my ass while NID tries to find their dick in the dark.”

A wave of anger flowed through Alex, his every instinct wanting to lash out, but he took a deep breath and met the burning gaze of his compatriot. “Marquez, we've worked together for what, two years now? Not a lot of time, but I hoped it was enough. I know you’re angry, and you're not alone. But we have to consider the families and the nation they came from. We'd give any nation first crack at anyone that murdered their citizens, you know that, and we're not just going to step aside just because we don’t get to try them in the League’s courts.”

“We might as well. You do know the NID will effectively take over once we make our report. Happens all the time. On the upside, chances are good the people behind this will end up sucking void, which I don't feel too bad about,” Maas shrugged.

Marquez looked as though he was about to start to speak up again when Alex cut him off, “Look, I know the reputation, and I know the gripes, I'm not going to debate the NID here. That's a separate issue as of right now, we'll deal with it later. Right now let's focus on the sons of bitches that murdered two of our men. Maas, you processed the report the locals sent us, so let's hear it.”

“Right. I've sent what little data that was useful back to our lab for analysis already, my team is working on it and should have the results for us shortly after we dock. The thugs have been identified as Edward and Maude Tweed, hands on a ship owned by Sidney Hessik, a freighter captain we've tagged for suspicion of smuggling illegal goods. Word was some black market cybernetics, biomods, maybe some laundering. Luiz and Gerald were going to try and nail him with the goods in hand at the next port, where we or another branch would be able to grab him, maybe flip him for someone higher up on the food chain.”

“Hessik? Last I checked he was a low-level smuggler, when did he decide to graduate to black market cybernetics?” Marquez raised an eyebrow.

“We got a lead kicked to us from a UP Peace Officer division looking for possible suppliers of black market neural modifications. The nasty kind that promises the world without a care, because if you’re not satisfied, you usually don’t have enough of a brain left to complain.”

“You were handling the slave trafficking leads that week, so Maas and I put together the task force for Hessik's group. I figured you had a full plate,” Alex interjected.

Marquez sigh and rubbed his eyes. “We hit a brick wall about a week ago on that by the way, something we'll have to talk about once this mess is cleared up. So Maas, tell me more about this gear Hessik is carrying.”

“I'd love to, if I knew what it was. Gerald and Luiz said the cargo was going to be loaded the day they were killed, so they probably didn't get a look inside. Offhand, it's probably the usual garbage. Hacking tools to bypass computerized security, combat augmentations, machine and vehicle links,” He paused, bringing up a series of new images in the room's holographic display, illustrating his points. “Depending on the supplier, it's either legal equipment modded to hell and back, or it's stuff made by another transhuman cybernetic culture who just doesn't care. The Confederation usually tracks the latter pretty closely, so it's probably the former. I'd really like to nail the modshack that did them though.”

Alex nodded, “We'll damn well try. Now, what about the handlers?”

Maas paused for a moment and new set of data appeared before the trio. “They were in deep cover too. Minimal gear and insignia, they've only been recently allowed access to the scene after our office vouched for them with the locals. They sent Gerald's last dead drop to us to update us on the situation, it's with the rest of the evidence. I did notice one major anomaly on my initial analysis, however, and it's been bothering me,” He looked at Tanner and Marquez, idly wondering how they would react. “The timestamp for some of the data, including the dead drop's signal beacon, are placed at after or near the time of Gerald's death.”

Alex furrowed his brow as he processed the information Maas had just shared. He looked at the highlighted bit of data and frowned. “That's coordinate data for somewhere nearby, isn't it? Put it on a map and let's see where it is.” The holographic display shifted one more time, leaving the trio hanging among a vast starscape.

“Huh,” Marquez grunted, “Looks like it’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“Get me access to the station’s computer systems and we’ll see about that,” Maas said he brought up several other points of data. “I have a gut feeling about it for some reason.”

Alex and Marquez looked at Maas quizzically, “Sorry, I don’t think I heard that right. What did you say?” Alex asked.

“If it’s any consolation, I blame the both of you for it. You’re horrible substitutes for a proper datanet access and we haven’t developed social firewalls yet,” Maas smirked slightly as his comment elicited a chuckle from the other two men.

“Well, for all we know, it’s bad information, made by Hessik to tie up resources while he gets away clean and tries to slip into a new identity,” Marquez mused. “When are the analysis teams going to get back to us?”

“Probably shortly after we dock at Argos station. Tanner, what’s the status on Void Support outside of our cutter?”

“Should be enough if we have to initiate a raid. Marquez, can you finish up here with Maas? I’m going to get the uniforms ready. I doubt the locals will appreciate our being there. Maas, I assume you’re already set to go?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Low on a few chemicals, but we should have enough for this. I’ve already put in a request to the main office for more,” Maas turned to Marquez and started altering the display back to the crime scene that filled the room earlier.

Alex nodded and opened the door leading out of the lab, shutting it closed with a deep sigh of relief. This wasn’t the first time he had nearly lashed out at Marquez physically. It was an odd sensation, being in UP space but still having to restrain some of his behaviors, but the Cooperative Investigation Bureau, the League’s Inter-National law enforcement body was a not technically a part of the United Protectorates, and it had different rules of conduct for its officers, especially one of the three senior agents for a sector.

As Alex marched down the tight corridors of the cutter, he almost hoped some of the locals would cause trouble. He had a lot of anger that could use working out by way of a nightstick to a noncompliant suspect.