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Authors: John Jackson Miller
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prickly, smelled like cinnamon, and
tasted vaguely like lemon. Jamie could only imagine the alien who’d need to
lick his badge to identify him. Oh, and the thing was slightly radioactive.
Jamie thought if he tripped and fell with the badge on his chest, it would be
the end of him.
He looked coldly at the badge
before sighing and affixing it to his space suit for the hell of it. The thing’s
little widgets immediately began spinning and dancing. “My God,” he said,
thrilled the traders at Ops could not see him. Dear Selena would be laughing in
the aisle.
Thump.
Jamie spun around. It was what he’d
heard before. Someone else was out there!
“Welligan?”
Nothing.
He touched his earpiece.
“Bridget, listen. Something’s here—”
“I’m not talking to you anymore,
Jamie,” she replied in his ear. “I’ve got a job to do.”
“Protecting me is your job,” he
said. “I tell you, I’m hearing something!”
“It’s probably that toy on your
chest,” she said. It was peeping like a baby chick now. “I told you, I have things
to tend to first. I’ll see you when I see you.” She ended the transmission.
Jamie fumed. He looked down at
the badge and then around at the goods he was supposed to work with.
Screw
this , he
thought, pulling at the badge. But he couldn’t get a good grip on it, and its
moving and poky parts seemed to almost fight back against him. “Ouch!”
Aggravated, he gave up and let it
remain on his suit. He opened his naked palm and triggered the interface to his
EndoSys.
His personal supercomputer, the EndoSys resided on his left thumbnail, where it maintained
a wireless interface with whatever knowglobes and
other databases were around. The machine’s readout appeared on his palm, the harmless
work of resident pigment-stimulating nanoids injected
into his system. EndoSys implants had already replaced
tattoos in the twenty-second century, as humans eschewed static images in favor
of becoming walking animation studios; now, EndoSys-enabled
hands were replacing handheld isopanels. With a few
words and a finger tap, Jamie saw on his palm the map leading back to the whirlibang. Then he requested instructions for activating
the device. A reading of the details went to his earpiece.
The directions didn’t sound too
difficult. I can do this , he thought.
When a ’box was at a whirlibang station, it wasn’t really a spaceship anymore.
It was more like an elevator car, unable to go anywhere but where it was
supposed to. Jamie knew which whirlibang loop was
tuned to send ’boxes to Altair; the one he’d come in on.
Jamie wondered what would happen
if he returned. Falcone might not have left any
orders with the Altair whirlibang station crew
regarding him. All Jamie would have to do is take one ride to Altair, and then
the connecting link to Venus. He’d catch his shuttle home a few days late. And as for Quaestor’s hundred billion
dollars…
…well, he’d worry about that later.
It wouldn’t be his only problem back on Earth. Not by a long shot, not after
his relatives found out. But back home, he’d at least have a chance of
disappearing. He’d sell cheeseburgers to Czechs, lingerie in Lesotho. Anything
would be better than this.
Badge peeping away, Jamie ran
toward the exit. He heard the thump again, but this time he didn’t stop to
look. Next stop, home!
9
“Something’s wrong with the security system,” Trovatelli said, closing the panel. “We’re locked out.”
Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “Falcone said the Regulans gave us
all the codes in the sale.”
“Well, they’ve changed,” the
technician said. “I think there’s an access point one level up.”
The chief nodded. Pulse weapon
drawn, Bridget led the way. It didn’t seem necessary, but their destination was
a room she hadn’t checked yet. Yellow rungs jutted from the wall ahead, the
nearest route leading up.
“Mind if I ask a question,
Chief?” Trovatelli asked the older woman.
Bridget
tasted vaguely like lemon. Jamie could only imagine the alien who’d need to
lick his badge to identify him. Oh, and the thing was slightly radioactive.
Jamie thought if he tripped and fell with the badge on his chest, it would be
the end of him.
He looked coldly at the badge
before sighing and affixing it to his space suit for the hell of it. The thing’s
little widgets immediately began spinning and dancing. “My God,” he said,
thrilled the traders at Ops could not see him. Dear Selena would be laughing in
the aisle.
Thump.
Jamie spun around. It was what he’d
heard before. Someone else was out there!
“Welligan?”
Nothing.
He touched his earpiece.
“Bridget, listen. Something’s here—”
“I’m not talking to you anymore,
Jamie,” she replied in his ear. “I’ve got a job to do.”
“Protecting me is your job,” he
said. “I tell you, I’m hearing something!”
“It’s probably that toy on your
chest,” she said. It was peeping like a baby chick now. “I told you, I have things
to tend to first. I’ll see you when I see you.” She ended the transmission.
Jamie fumed. He looked down at
the badge and then around at the goods he was supposed to work with.
Screw
this , he
thought, pulling at the badge. But he couldn’t get a good grip on it, and its
moving and poky parts seemed to almost fight back against him. “Ouch!”
Aggravated, he gave up and let it
remain on his suit. He opened his naked palm and triggered the interface to his
EndoSys.
His personal supercomputer, the EndoSys resided on his left thumbnail, where it maintained
a wireless interface with whatever knowglobes and
other databases were around. The machine’s readout appeared on his palm, the harmless
work of resident pigment-stimulating nanoids injected
into his system. EndoSys implants had already replaced
tattoos in the twenty-second century, as humans eschewed static images in favor
of becoming walking animation studios; now, EndoSys-enabled
hands were replacing handheld isopanels. With a few
words and a finger tap, Jamie saw on his palm the map leading back to the whirlibang. Then he requested instructions for activating
the device. A reading of the details went to his earpiece.
The directions didn’t sound too
difficult. I can do this , he thought.
When a ’box was at a whirlibang station, it wasn’t really a spaceship anymore.
It was more like an elevator car, unable to go anywhere but where it was
supposed to. Jamie knew which whirlibang loop was
tuned to send ’boxes to Altair; the one he’d come in on.
Jamie wondered what would happen
if he returned. Falcone might not have left any
orders with the Altair whirlibang station crew
regarding him. All Jamie would have to do is take one ride to Altair, and then
the connecting link to Venus. He’d catch his shuttle home a few days late. And as for Quaestor’s hundred billion
dollars…
…well, he’d worry about that later.
It wouldn’t be his only problem back on Earth. Not by a long shot, not after
his relatives found out. But back home, he’d at least have a chance of
disappearing. He’d sell cheeseburgers to Czechs, lingerie in Lesotho. Anything
would be better than this.
Badge peeping away, Jamie ran
toward the exit. He heard the thump again, but this time he didn’t stop to
look. Next stop, home!
9
“Something’s wrong with the security system,” Trovatelli said, closing the panel. “We’re locked out.”
Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “Falcone said the Regulans gave us
all the codes in the sale.”
“Well, they’ve changed,” the
technician said. “I think there’s an access point one level up.”
The chief nodded. Pulse weapon
drawn, Bridget led the way. It didn’t seem necessary, but their destination was
a room she hadn’t checked yet. Yellow rungs jutted from the wall ahead, the
nearest route leading up.
“Mind if I ask a question,
Chief?” Trovatelli asked the older woman.
Bridget
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