Unknown

Vence fed the slot machine another coin and pulled the handle. The screens whirred and beeped, the cartoon wheels coming to rest tantalizingly close to a three-of-a-kind match. She feigned disappointment, and selected another coin from the cheap plastic cup. To her left, a group of men roared with excitement – one of their number had just made a decisive move against the house player in a game Vence did not recognize.

She searched for the game using her internal computer, and a second later, the search results came up – the man was playing the ancient game of Go, in which players used black and white marbles to capture territory on the board. It was a game of strategy, she read, not chance. Apparently this casino had developed a betting system centered around the game, and employed a retired professional player to represent the house against customers.

The game continued for nearly an hour, and as Vence lost more coins to the machine, she watched as the tide inexorably turned against the challenger, too. His friends’ raucous cheers died down, until eventually the game was over – the house player had defeated him. The man hung his head in shame, and his friends left, quieted.

The house player collected the man’s sizable wager, and bowed to his opponent. The opponent bowed back, and stood up to leave. Vence slid her remaining coins into her pocket and followed. The man went to the bar, and set a lone chip on the polished wood countertop. Vence took the stool next to him.

She thought the words first, using her internal computer and heads-up display to translate them into a phonetic spelling of the local dialect. <Let me buy you a drink,> she said, pushing his chip back toward him.

He looked at her in surprise.

<You look like you need it,> she told him, smiling.

<A glass of shochu,> he said. <Thank you.>

<My pleasure,> she said. She ordered herself a glass of wine.

They drank in silence for a minute, and then Vence held her hand out. <I’m Vivien,> she said.

<Shinoda,> he said, taking the hand she had offered.

<What do you do when you’re not losing Go games, Shinoda?>

He smiled, blushing. 

 Vence said.

<… but I’m in the service,> he finished. 

 Vence replied, raising an eyebrow. <They take good care of themselves, they stay out of trouble … and they know how to take orders.> She winked at him, and he laughed.

<Truth?> she asked, rhetorically.  She glanced around the bar, verifying that they were out of earshot of the other patrons. 

His eyes narrowed. <In what way?>

<I’m not going to try to sell you anything, don’t worry,> she reassured him. <But my boss would really like to know a little bit more about what Jokuan’s fielding these days. He’s coming in a couple weeks to make a pitch to your Chief of Procurement. I was thinking maybe you could help me fill in some of the blanks on what you already have, so he knows what you might need.>

Shinoda sipped his drink, frowning. <That would be unethical. And illegal.>

 Vence argued.  She set her plastic cup on the bar top, and tipped it toward him, to ensure he could see the stack of casino chips inside.

<What’s that?> he asked.

<That’s ten thousand dollars’ worth of chips,> she told him. 

He sipped his drink again, nervously. Under the cover of the bar, she slid a data drive into his pants pocket.

<Think about it,> she said. <No pressure. And if you decide you’d be willing to help,> she patted his pants pocket, <you know how to get in touch with me.>

* * *

Vence stopped to let a pair of construction workers pass, carrying a sheet of drywall from a truck parked in the street into the nearby building. Like many of the buildings on the street, it still bore the marks of Jokuan’s civil war – the upper story was blackened and gutted from a large explosion.

Farther along the sidewalk, a fruit vendor offered her several round objects with dimpled blue skin. Vence decided she was a little hungry, so she stopped and purchased one, thanking the man. The skin was quite sour, but after she had peeled it off, the flesh inside was sweet, and slightly tangy.

At the next intersection, she passed a pair of Jokuan soldiers standing guard. They lounged against a crumbled cinder block wall, smoking the foul-smelling herbal cigarettes the Jokuans seemed to like so much. Vence ignored them – she had studied the soldiers she had seen over the past week, and knew their measure.

Goons, she thought.

The day before, she had seen two soldiers beat an old woman senseless, clubbing her with their rifle butts. She had no idea what the woman had done to attract their attention, but she had been appalled at the casual violence they displayed.

Even goons can be dangerous.

Vence continued up the street and glanced up, studying the third floor of the apartment building across from her. Her informant’s window blinds were all down, but today, the blind in the last window on the right was halfway up.

Already? That was fast.

She crossed the street and walked one more block, stopping to wait with a small group of people at a bus stop. She started another of the strange blue fruit while she waited, leaning against the bus shelter. As she ate, she let her left hand fall to her side. Hidden behind her coat, she felt blindly along the underside of the bus shelter’s railing, and her fingers quickly bumped into a small, magnetic case. Vence detached it from the railing, and tucked it into her pocket.

The bus arrived a minute later – Vence threw out the remainder of her fruit, and then boarded the bus. She switched lines twice, and spent some time window-shopping in one of the city’s bazaars, doubling back on her route several times to ensure no one was tailing her. Satisfied, she ducked into a filthy public restroom, changed identities, and then made her way to her hotel room.

Inside, she opened the magnetic case, and withdrew the data drive she had provided her informant. She plugged it into her datascroll and opened it, scrolling through the files.

Vence gave a low whistle.

She tapped on the screen, opening up the video chat program. Paisen’s face appeared a moment later.

“Got something for you,” Vence told her. “My agent came through this morning.”

“That was fast,” Paisen said.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Their cyber-security must be for shit. I’m sending the files over now.”

Paisen studied her screen for a time. “Fuck me. This is their entire order of battle.”

“Looks like it,” Vence agreed. “I saw readiness ratings, training schedules, unit equipment inventories … there’s a lot to go through.”

Paisen exhaled noisily. “We need to hire an analyst,” she mused. “Or a team of analysts.”

“Not a bad idea,” Vence agreed.

“Pay your agent,” Paisen told her. “They’ve earned it. Then pack up and join me. I’m going to need an extra set of eyes to review all of this stuff.”

“You got it. I’ll need to figure out transport, but should be there tomorrow. How are the others doing?”

“Only had a few reports come in … well, speak of the devil. Tepper’s dialing in right now. Hang on, I’ll conference him in.”

On the screen, Vence saw Tepper’s face appear next to Paisen’s. He wore camouflage paint, and Vence could see a tree trunk behind him.

“Hey,” he said, whispering. “Is it a big deal if most of the Jokuan army appears to be training on planetary invasions?”

“Really?” Paisen asked.

“Yeah, really,” Tepper told her. “Wick, Rika and I have been shadowing a mechanized division for the past three days, and all they’ve been doing that whole time is loading up on deep space transports, then disembarking under different conditions. Daytime, nighttime, under fire, you name it. These guys are planning to start a war.”

“You have video?” Paisen asked.

“Hours of it,” Tepper confirmed. “We found something else, too. I think you better come see it for yourself.”