Silo yawned and continued working on the scarf she’d started while awaiting the arrival of the Neo-Luddites.
After making their escape, Garotte had decided that they needed to identify exactly what the mysterious scanner the terrorists were carrying had been used for. He would have been content doing so while drifting in deep space inside their trusty ship, but while it had the absolute bare essentials for multiday trips, it wasn’t what anyone would call luxurious. Silo had firmly requested someplace with its own atmosphere and gravity to spend their downtime. He’d selected the planet Lark II, the most populous planet in its corner of the galaxy. Like most of the galactic neighborhood, it was in the process of being terraformed but was much further along than the yak-and-lichen stage. The patch of the planet that was colonized was home to a thriving pine forest and featured long stretches of low, snow-covered mountains. It was as though the planet’s designers had modeled half a continent after a ski resort. Silo and Garotte rented a small rustic cabin near the outskirts of the population center. Its porch faced the ragged fringe of the pine forest, giving way to a gray-green landscape that had no doubt been home to yaks during earlier stages of terraforming.
“This is a nice place. You picked a good one this time, hon,” Silo said. She placed a boot on the rough timber rail of the porch and pushed her chair back onto its back two legs, breathing the crisp air and releasing it in a contented sigh.
“I can occasionally be trusted to make a sound decision,” Garotte called out from inside the cabin.
He’d unloaded an assortment of communications apparatus as soon as they’d arrived and laid it out on the bed. He’d then grabbed the stolen scanner and a few items confiscated from the Neo-Luddite ship and threw himself into the task of identifying them. That had been several hours ago.
A few final stitches completed the scarf. Silo held it up to admire it, then stood and knocked on the door.
“Are you decent?” she asked.
“That’s a matter of some debate.”
She opened the door to find him still hard at work. A total of six slidepads, three larger datapads, and an assortment of older and larger computers and communicators were scatted along the near edge of the bed, and his eyes and hands darted across them as though he was in the midst of a piano concerto. She draped the strip of fabric across his neck and tied it from behind.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He glanced down to the scarf. “My apologies, but I shall not wear a pink scarf, my lamb.”
“It isn’t pink, it’s carnation.”
“Naming a shade of pink after a pink flower does not in any way diminish its essential pinkness. If anything, it compounds it. I don’t recall you doing any knitting back during your tour of duty in the legitimate armed forces, nor do I recall any mittens and booties being manufactured during our mercenary associations. Is this a hobby you picked up in prison?”
“Knitting? In prison? Maybe in that resort they sent you to, but in Millbrook Supermax they wouldn’t let something as dangerous as a knitting needle into the building. My grandma made me learn it when I was a little girl. She said ‘any decent lady ought to know how to knit.’ She never did approve of me taking after my brothers. I decided to pick it up again.”
“Whatever for?”
“My counselor in prison said a big part of my problem was that I fixated too much on the job. He said that it was dangerous to devote too much of my time and energy to a single pursuit. Particularly a violent one. ‘An individual must seek balance.’ It makes a lot of sense.”
“It makes a lot of sense if you are trying to deprogram someone you believe is a habitual criminal. Would they have said the same to da Vinci? I say give the artist his brush.”
“Leonardo da Vinci didn’t use a bazooka.”
“Have you seen some of his war machines? He would have jumped at the chance to use a bazooka. I get the feeling if he’d been born today, he would have turned out like Karter.”
“… That’s a worrying thought.” She slipped the scarf back over his head. “You should really consider letting me make a scarf for you. In nippy weather like this, they can be a real lifesaver.” She glanced at the bed and its assortment of equipment. “So what have you found out?”
“About the scanner?”
“Yes.”
“That it is a scanner.”
“Productive few hours, then.”
“Well, I’ve also been able to determine that the largish metal box in the corner there, which you loaded from their ship, is a long-range version of the same scanner and detects ‘quantum sync pulses’ as well. I’ve not, however, determined what that means at all. Also, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, each and every piece of weaponry you took from their ship was anti-electronic in nature. Even that big empty crate we found was studded with internal EM emitters. Practically a microwave.”
“Well, that’s their agenda, right? End technology to save technology or whatever nonsense.”
“Certainly, but look how much of it there is. And no doubt there was more in the ship. Despite our best efforts, the Neo-Luddites still have a few bases and stations scattered about. There is no reason for them to carry so much of it unless they were planning an all-out assault on a foe they were absolutely certain would not have any standard firearms or other weaponry that is immune to an EMP.”
“And meanwhile, all they encountered was that scrawny Sasquatch we found.”
“Another curiosity, that. The law enforcement channels have been positively chatty about it.”
“What was it?”
“No idea, but there’s a contingent of scientists eager to find out. They moved the thing to the nearest planet with a laboratory. Rumors are flying that it is an alien or some other cryptozoological absurdity. Meanwhile the stolen radio has been conspicuously silent. I imagine they’ve changed encryption keys.”
“We both knew that would happen sooner or later.”
“I was counting on it, but pity it didn’t take a bit longer. I’ll have to keep getting my hands on the new key until they’re forced to abandon the new radio entirely.” He rolled his neck, conjuring snaps and crackles, and rubbed his eyes.
“Maybe you should take a few minutes to gather your wits.”
“I make it a point not to let my wits become disorderly.”
Silo folded the scarf, eyes distant with recollection. “You know. I’ve worked with you off and on for a few years now, and I don’t think we’ve ever discussed what you do when you aren’t working.”
“I sleep, for the most part.”
“How do you relax?”
“Preferably gin. Whiskey or scotch in a pinch.”
“That’s not the healthiest way to unwind.”
“Hence my preference to remain wound. You and I are in a profession that requires vigilance. It has its prices.”
“Do you ever think about what’s next?”
“Next? I’ve arranged a meeting in a few days to pass on some key information. Then I imagine we’ll follow that creature they found. I doubt it is what they were after, but it was the only thing worthy of note on that whole planet. It is reasonable that they probably thought it was what they were after, so they’ll be after it again.”
“I mean after that.”
“Assuming we manage to scatter this cell, we find out where their next one is, until they no longer have the unity, numbers, or resources to keep themselves from being mopped up by the conventional authorities.”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean after the missions are done. All of the missions. Did you ever think about what you would do after?”
“Retirement?” His tone was incredulous. “Thinking about that isn’t just pointless, it is morbid. You should know by now that in this line of work the retirement options are a jail cell or a casket. But if you must know, of the two, I prefer the casket.”
“Maybe you’re willing to fight the good fight to the bloody end, but it has always been my plan to settle down once I put in my years.”
“Well, that’s refreshing. I seem to remember you were dead set on returning to prison once the deed at hand was complete. Something about serving your debt?”
Her eyes lowered. “Yeah… it’s been on my mind a lot lately.”
“It shouldn’t be. I’ve said it before. People like us need to be in the wild. We need to be filling in the gaps between what the law allows and what needs to be done.”
Silo shook her head. “Listen. I spent three years in a maximum security prison because our squad brought a device that was two crossed wires away from being a fusion bomb into a civilian population center. If an army or a paramilitary group had done that, I would want them locked up. It would be hypocritical to expect to be treated differently just because I believe I’m doing it for the right reasons. The bad guys think they are doing it for the right reasons, too.”
“If the forces of evil will take every advantage and opportunity, then it is the obligation of the forces of good to do the same, otherwise we are allowing chaos to have home-field advantage.”
“You can’t just…” She sighed. “We’ve been through this enough times, Garotte.”
“It would seem not, as you’ve not yet come to the proper conclusion.”
Before the debate could progress any further, the slidepads in their pockets gave the same subtle chirp. They reacted immediately. Garotte’s hand went to his sidearm, a small energy weapon clipped to his belt that was made to resemble a utility tool. Silo took two smooth steps back to the door, sweeping her eyes across first one side, then the other. She kicked open a small case by the door and pulled a significantly more intimidating pistol from it, a good old-fashioned high-caliber ballistic weapon. Garotte pulled his slidepad free and checked the alert.
“Ship sensors indicate a single person inbound, lightly armed and piloting a light vehicle,” he said. “Scanning for broadcast credentials.” His posture relaxed somewhat. “It’s an intrasystem police officer. Put the gun away.”
Silo nodded, securing the weapon and slipping it back into the case. “See? This is the sort of thing I wouldn’t mind putting behind me.”
The sound of a digital siren began to ring out in intermittent bursts. They stepped outside to find a man in a crisp khaki uniform, spherical helmet, and boots. He piloted a vehicle that was high on efficiency and low on dignity. A hoverbike, sleek and blue with a pair of faintly glowing hover modules in front and back. The vehicle was no doubt extremely fast and maneuverable, but aside from the paint job, it was identical to the sort of thing a teenager would be forced to ride until he was able to get his learner’s permit. Despite this, the officer brought the glorified toy in with a flourish, angling it and juicing the throttle just as he neared the ground to bring it to a short and impressive pinpoint landing just beside the path leading up to the cabin. He dismounted the bike and removed a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
“It looks like bribes don’t go as far as they used to,” Garotte muttered under his breath.
“Are you a Mr. Smith?”
“That’s me, Officer. John Smith,” Garotte said, his posh British accent suddenly replaced by an affable Midwestern one. “Is there a problem?”
“Nothing major, sir. Probably just a minor oversight,” the police officer said. He removed his helmet. He was a young black man with short dark hair and a neat goatee. “My name is Officer Wilson. It seems the clerk who rented this cabin to you didn’t follow procedure. Is it true that you paid for this cabin entirely in chips?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“I’m afraid renting a cabin is a transaction that requires an identification record on file, and must be done with a traceable commerce account.”
“Ah, er… yes. Tricia, pumpkin, go inside for a moment while I talk to the officer. And, uh,” he lowered his voice and flashed a devilish grin, “clear the bed.”
Silo slipped back inside and began to gather away the items on the bed. Garotte put an arm across the shoulders of the officer and walked him away from the cabin. As he did, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“You see that lovely lady in there?” he asked.
Wilson glanced back over his shoulder. “I do.”
He chuckled nervously. “See, my fiancé is back on Tessera. We have a few kids together already, and a few days ago I decided to make it official, you know? Now, don’t get me wrong, she’s a wonderful mother to my children, but she’s a little tame in the ol’ sack. You know what I mean? And while we’re on the subject, she’s a little thin. I like some meat on them, you know? I wanted to take this last opportunity to sow the ol’ wild oats, which we were just about to do. I think you’ll understand if I’d rather not have this little getaway show up on my bank statement. So you wouldn’t mind if we let this one slip by, would you?”
“I’m afraid I would, sir. Infidelity is in no way an excuse for breaking the law.”
“You’re putting me in a bind here, Officer.”
“Would you rather I put you in handcuffs?”
Garotte looked back to the cabin. “But, Officer, look at her.”
Silo was visible through the doorway, leaning forward to smooth the sheets of the bed that was now cleared of the electronics that might have piqued the police officer’s curiosity if he’d seen them. The position put a rather notable part of her body in very clear view. Garotte bit his lip and released an extremely convincing lustful growl. Officer Wilson’s vision lingered for a moment as well. It was a sight enough to weaken the boy-scout-level dedication to the rules he’d displayed thus far.
“Look, sir. If you’ve already paid for the cabin, all the law requires is that you put an account on file. As long as there aren’t any additional expenses, there won’t be any charges on the account.”
“I’d rather not take that chance.”
“This is as far as I’m willing to bend the law for you, sir. And I’ll need to see you do it.”
Garotte sighed. “Fine, fine. Just a second while I enter my PIN.”
The spy turned away from the officer and hastily pulled up a list of dummy accounts he’d set up. He selected one with the appropriate background and activated it, then turned back.
“Here’s the cabin rental page, there’s my account, and,” he pressed his finger to the screen, “there’s my authorization.”
“Thank you, sir. And I hope you take your commitment to your fiancé more seriously once she becomes your wife.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, Officer, I will. Just gotta get it out of the system. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get to it.”
Garotte walked toward Silo, who was now standing in the doorway waiting patiently for the interruption to be dealt with. When he was near enough to be heard by her, but not by the officer, he held out his arms and whispered, fast and steady, “I’m engaged, you’re the other woman, and we are having one last dalliance before the marriage. Make it look good.”
A trained eye might have noticed a remarkable narrative in the sequence of micro-expressions that flashed across Silo’s face. First was confusion, then was weary anger, and finally the best approximation she could manage of sizzling lust. She ran to his embrace, threw her arms around him, and began kissing Garotte deeply and vigorously enough to catch even the unflappable spy off guard for a moment. The pair stumbled, entwined in a make-out session that would have made an entire schoolyard of teenagers jealous, until they tumbled through the door and onto the bed. A deliberate flail of Garotte’s leg nudged the door nearly shut, and the frenzy continued with the door slightly ajar until they heard the officer take his leave in an embarrassed rush.
Garotte propped himself up and listened until the hoverbike was no longer within range, Silo turning her head to do the same. It wasn’t until they were both certain that the officer had gone that they each turned back to the other and realized the position they were in. Garotte lay atop Silo against the edge of the bed. She had one leg wrapped around his waist and one hand grabbing his hair. Turning back had left them face-to-face, eye to eye. Two awkwardly silent seconds passed.
“I suppose we should untangle ourselves,” he said calmly.
“Probably a good idea.”
As though there was nothing particularly unusual about what had happened, each stood and straightened their clothes and hair.
“So what happened there? With the officer, I mean.”
“I had to give him one of my dummy accounts.”
“Will it hold up if he does a background check?”
“It will bat him around for a week or so. He shouldn’t start to see anything suspicious for about ten days. We should plan to be well away from here by then, which means I may need to change the site for my upcoming meeting.” While his clothes were no longer in disarray, there were a few lingering sensations from their thoroughly enacted cover story that needed to be addressed. “I must say, I am rather impressed by your commitment to your performance.”
“If the officer had gotten suspicious, we’d have had a problem on our hands. Fake kisses look fake. You said make it look good,” she said with a shrug, then she poked him in the chest. “And don’t pretend you didn’t pick that story on purpose, Mister. Now, I’ve got to burn off some energy. I suggest you do the same.”
“I can think of something that might do the trick,” he said.
“Let’s not complicate things any more than they are, sweetie. Gravity drills for me. I’m sure you can take care of yourself.”
He watched her pluck a case from the ground and march into the main room of the cabin. When she shut the door, he did the same to the still-ajar door from the bedroom to the outside.
“That woman is an artist when it comes to mixed signals,” he muttered, digging out the equipment to resume his research.