Project Starfighter (6 page)

“Reset her!”

“She hasn’t been up long enough
yet!”

“How long until we can?”

Ursula didn’t hear the rest, the
waves rushing up to meet her. At the last moment they parted,
revealing the smooth black forms of the rocks beneath them. The
impact wouldn’t hurt, she knew, and neither would dying.

In this place, it never did.

T
he
dead woman had been one of Sid’s neighbours. She lived one floor
down, almost directly beneath Sid’s own flat. In these kinds of
building, people mostly ignored one another. They would nod as they
passed in the hall, or as they stood silently in the lift together,
but otherwise would make little effort to get to know one another. In
the past, Chris had found this lack of community spirit to be an
indictment of a selfish society, where people cared little for those
around them. But today, he was glad of it.

“She knew me from when I helped
fix her entertainment systems,” Sid explained as he and Chris
quickly set about trashing Sid’s living room, emptying a few
bullets from the woman’s gun into the wall, to make it appear as
though there had been a struggle. A good thing the woman had fitted a
silencer to her gun.

“Do you think she bought the gun,
especially?” Chris asked, as he replaced the firearm by the dead
woman’s side, keeping with him the dishcloth he had used to handle
it.

“No,” Sid said. “From what I
understand, she works in personal security; gun for hire, that sort
of thing.”

“How did she know who you really
were?”

“I told her my first name by
mistake one day,” Sid admitted. “She must have put two and two
together after seeing my picture on the news.”

“They’ve got a picture of you?”

Sid nodded solemnly.

“There will be others,” Chris
said, glancing uncertainly at the front door. “We can’t stay here
any longer. More bounty hunters could come up here at any minute,
looking for you.”

He once again considered the body of
the dead woman on the floor. Short, black hair, rather like Sid’s.
Her frame and general body shape were also more like that of a man,
than a woman. Because she was face down, Chris hoped that anyone
stepping inside the flat would initially assume it was Sid. But then
again, Chris himself hadn’t. It would slow someone down for a few
minutes at most.

“Maybe we could put some of my
clothes on her?” Sid suggested, thinking along the same lines as
Chris.

“No time,” Chris said. “Someone
would probably come up here while we were in the middle of doing it.
Right, you ready?” he asked.

Sid nodded.

“Good. We need to hole up
somewhere for a few hours, wait for the drones to thin, and then get
to the starport.”

“Where exactly are we going?”
Sid asked.

“Getting off-planet and heading
over to Hail. That’s where most of the others have retreated to,”
Chris said, starting out Sid’s flat. His foot was still killing
him. He would need to get that seen to, as well. That would probably
cost him six months’ earnings in treatment costs. A good job he was
thrifty and had plenty of money to spare.

“We’ll need a change of clothes,
as well as some sort of disguise,” Chris told Sid. “The drones
will scan and recognise you in moments, otherwise. We’ll need to
get rid of your gun, too. We don’t want to be caught with a weapon
in public.”

“And they might still be looking
for you, too,” Sid pointed out.

A thought struck Chris. “Do you
know if that woman lived alone?” he asked, indicating the body.

“As far as I know she did,” Sid
replied.

“And she worked in security? She
might have the solution to our problem. Grab her pass card and show
me where she lives.”

~

The
two made their way down to the dead woman’s flat, using her pass
card to gain entry. Sid was quick to locate the intruder alarm and
disable it. A good job the woman hadn’t opted for any sort of
biometric identity systems Chris thought. He began ransacking her
bedroom, finding what he was looking for in just a few minutes.

“Fake IDs,” he said, holding
them up for Sid to see.

“Some of these are men,” Sid
said, sifting through them.

“I suspected they might be,”
Chris said. He made his way over to a wardrobe, opening it and
starting to rifle through the contents. He had originally thought
that the woman might keep much of her career-related paraphernalia
behind fake walls, under the floor and in other concealed places.
Most of it turned out to be easily accessible, a couple of her guns
actually hanging on a wall for all to see. She clearly didn’t have
guests over all that often.

He leafed through the clothes that
were hanging up, dumping on the bed anything that might fit him or
Sid. He spotted a box at the bottom of the wardrobe, and, bending
down to open it, extracted the one-piece outfit that was neatly
folded within. Chris’ eyes grew wide as he lifted it, and, turning
to Sid, saw the man just as stunned as he.

“Is this ...?” Chris began.

“Yes,” Sid confirmed. “It’s
a Chameleon Suit. One size fits all, by the looks of it; one of the
newer ones.”

Chris ran his hand over the suit,
feeling the silky smooth, elastic texture. “Lucky she didn’t wear
this when she came to visit you,” he remarked.

“I wonder why not?” Sid mused,
taking it from Chris. A short examination revealed the activation
switch on one of the cuffs. He pressed it. Nothing happened. He tried
again, holding it down this time. The suit remained opaque, not
reflecting its environment and creating the illusion of transparency
as expected.

“Maybe you have to be wearing it?”
Chris offered.

“No, it’s broken,” Sid said.
“That’s why she didn’t bother to put it on.” He looked at the
clothes on the bed. “Put it aside; there will be something more
useful in here.”

But Chris was reluctant. “I’m
going to hang on to it. It might come in handy, even if we don’t
use it ourselves.” He folded the suit neatly, ready to take along
with them, then continued to search the wardrobes.

“Bingo,” Chris announced, having
pulled a case out and opened it.

“What’s that, then?”

“The most important part of our
disguise,” Chris said, pulling out wigs, fake noses, and contact
lenses. “Wow, your neighbour certainly missed her calling as a
pantomime actress, didn’t she?” he added, finding beards, skull
caps, and other body-shape-altering items in the case.

“Do we really have time for all
this?” Sid asked. “Drones could arrive at any moment.”

“I think we've got about an hour,”
Chris said. “If her true identity isn’t on file, then perhaps a
bit longer. I doubt the drones will recognise her straight off, so
won’t be coming to search her flat immediately.”

“Okay,” Sid said, putting the ID
cards aside and picking up a set of fake coloured contact lenses.
“Let’s get started.”

~

They
left just over an hour later, well-disguised with beards, fake noses,
and coloured contact lenses. Chris had disposed of his Resistance
uniform and Sid’s gun under a loose floorboard he had discovered in
the dead woman’s flat. This hiding place had also revealed a case
full of money. A few thousand, in both paper and credit chips.
Emergency cash, no doubt. Chris had pocketed the lot.

Though, briefly, Chris felt bad, he
reminded himself that this woman had been quite willing to turn Sid
in for the reward, without caring what happened to him. Thankfully,
no one else seemed to have come looking for Sid since the two had
left his flat. Rain came on and Chris hoped that his and Sid’s
disguises were waterproof. The city was as busy as it had been when
he had arrived earlier, perhaps even more so. The square the two men
presently crossed would likely fill up even more later on. Many of
the bars and clubs did not open their doors until late at night, and
so a good number of the revellers – those that could afford it at
any rate – did not venture out until close to midnight.

“Flag down a taxi as soon as you
see one,” Chris said, hobbling along as quickly as he could. “This
stuff could start to wash off if we’re out in the rain too long.”

“Calling a taxi would be quicker,”
Sid suggested, taking his phone out and starting to dial.

“And remember, if we’re stopped
by a drone, don’t talk; just act like we’ve lost our voices, got
it?”

“Excuse me, gentlemen, may I have
a word, please?” The voice, polite but robotic in nature, came from
behind Chris before Sid could answer. Chris tried not to panic as he
wondered just how long the drone had been following them.

He turned around to meet it, keeping
his expression as deadpan as possible, something that wasn’t all
that easy to do when confronted with the very thing you were
attempting to avoid. Harder still when you realised it was the exact
same one that had shot you off the road earlier that day.
‘XS-0017811’ read the identifier along the top, the words
‘Wade-Ellen Asset Protection Corporation’ written just beneath.
Chris swallowed hard, but said nothing.

With both men facing it, a series of
red and yellow lights began twinkling on the drone’s body. It was
scanning them, attempting to determine their identities. Chris felt
his heart rate increase, his brow become wet, sweat mingling in with
the rain. If this thing became even slightly suspicious of their
disguises, there was no way either of them were going to escape. He
only hoped it wasn’t sophisticated enough to read into a person’s
display of nerves.

“Good evening, Mr Jenson, Mr
Albright,” the drone then said. “I am currently attempting to
locate the following people ...” A holographic projection of those
it was seeking appeared above its head. “If you know of their
whereabouts, I would be very grateful if you could share it with me.
The Wade-Ellen Asset Protection Corporation is offering a substantial
reward for any information that may lead me to them.”

Chris exhaled as strongly as he
dared. The drone hadn’t recognised them. Quite who Mr Jenson and Mr
Albright were, he didn’t know. Nor, right now, did he care. At
least the thing hadn’t said “Mr Bainfield”.

Chris glanced at Sid, seeing him
holding his poise admirably well. Chris wondered how the man might
have felt if he had been aware of what Chris had noticed. In the
short time that had elapsed since Chris had arrived at Sid’s
residence, two of the names had been scrubbed from the drone’s
wanted list. Farley Ross and Wesley London, it seemed, had been
caught and eliminated. Sid himself was still listed, though.

Chris returned his attention to the
drone, making a show of peering closely at the display, before
shaking his head. Sid did likewise. For a time, the drone did
nothing, leaving Chris to wonder if he was going to have to answer
verbally.

“Thank you, Mr Jenson, Mr
Albright,” the thing eventually said. “Enjoy the rest of your
evening.”

Chris and Sid turned immediately
and, without speaking, headed off.

“Sir, excuse me? Sir? Please
remove your mask, immediately.”

Chris’ breath caught in his
throat. Sid swore, and the two exchanged worried looks. They were
going to have to make a run for it.

“Sir, please could ... No, sir! Do
not run!”

Chris saw that Sid was still walking
at a steady pace, as was he. The drone wasn’t after them. He cast
about until he spotted the man the machine was addressing, seeing him
running through the crowds, pushing people aside as he went, some
being taken off their feet completely as he collided with them in his
haste to escape. The man was tall and somewhat overweight, charging
along like a bull. The drone was in pursuit, continuing to broadcast
instructions to the escaping man to halt and cooperate, but the man
was paying the thing no attention.

Just then, a second drone put in an
appearance. “Sir, stop now, or we will be forced to fire,” it
warned. A few seconds later, the two machines did just that. Screams
of panic erupted from people nearby as the flare of the drones’
cannon discharge brightly lit the immediate area.

The bolts hit the man square in the
back, fired with clinical accuracy, successfully avoiding everyone
else. The man stumbled, went down, pulled himself back up, and tried
to continue running. He staggered along, suddenly out of breath and
no longer able to move as fast as before. The two drones slowed,
continuing their pursuit at a more casual pace.

A stun bolt, Chris realised. It had
contained just the right amount of energy to burn its way through the
man’s clothes, partly into his skin and deliver its payload from
there. The man lurched on for a while longer before crashing down on
the wet pavement like a sack of potatoes. His breathing slowed and he
lay there in the rain, his eyes closed.

“Oh my God!”

“Is he dead?”

“Is he a terrorist?”

“Keep on walking,” Chris urged
Sid as those standing nearby began to question what had just
happened.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please
remain calm,” one of the drones was broadcasting. “This man is
believed to be a member of the death cult known as the Immortal
League, connected with attacks against the Wade-Ellen Asset
Protection Corporation. He has been stunned while we carry out our
investigation. For your own safety, please stand back. Local police
and security services have been notified.”

Chris saw that the man was wearing
the same garb as the two others he had spotted earlier, in the slums.
Drones and bots were the reason why the members of the Immortal
League tended to avoid open spaces – it was too easy to get spotted
and hunted down. Why the man had decided to walk around in full view
of everyone, Chris didn’t know. Maybe he had just gotten careless.
In fact, why wear that distinctive clothing at all, if it attracted
such attention? Was it pride, or part of the requirement of being a
member of that illustrious faith?