"I'm too old for this shit", grumbled the Girl while taking off the armored chest vest. She placed it carefully by her side, on the dusty-and-earthy floor. Anchoring her back against a stone wall, she closed her eyes listening to the howling winds - and thanks to the labyrinthic structure of the canyons, the sound had a ghastly quality to it (to be fair, the whole scenario was pretty macabre during the night hours).
'Canyons' was a kind way to describe it. A good portion of the planet was covered by mountain ranges and vast canyons. However, after being heavily explored by the predatory Mining Industry, that part of Thesus still resembled Swiss cheese.
Terraforming efforts covered most of the damage in most regions affected by miners, but it changed the climate in some places and affected how the native fauna and flora were going about reestablishing their domain over the planet's surface.
Some godforsaken places in Thedus were still 'in the project pipeline' for restoration. However, it would take more than terraforming efforts to solve the problems in some still dilapidated regions.
A few had been invaded by the homeless and poor families. Those were close to highways and cities. These places housed more than 200,000 inhabitants of the planet nowadays, so before the restoration process could take place, they would need to find a solution to a more immediate problem. And all budgets for social projects were currently being placed elsewhere by the Thedus government.
But that was not the case for the Girl's current location, no. She was in a very, very remote sector of the planet. At an abandoned mine (yeah, hard to believe any mining company would leave behind mines before completely depleting it). This region was so damn isolated, the climate so terrible, that the mines were abandoned before being fully explored (yes, as in more than one). At some point, the amount of material left for extraction didn't cover the cost of keeping the activities ongoing. The harsh weather and conditions would damage the equipment rather quickly. Which led to accidents. Which led to legal nightmares. Once a proto-colony confirmed larger reserves elsewhere, the Mining companies quickly retreated.
The place was so horrible that they even left behind some equipment and infrastructure. Can you imagine? It was better to leave behind expensive equipment to not accrue more damages and infinite costs of trying to operate in such a place.
No wonder a mercenary's trade point had been established there. The government would never be able to fund any decent patrolling effort in that region.
"Owww…", the Girl groaned in pain, while touching her ribcage. She didn't need to look to know she was injured (the pain was quite telling), but took off her shirt anyway, to determine 'how bad'.
Her left side was black and blue. She kept poking at her body, wincing and cursing.
"Motherfucker… at least nothing feels broken", inhaling deeply, the Girl started to change the settings of a small gadget placed in her gauntlet. It was the receiver of her communication device - tuning it to a specific frequency before opening a channel.
(She had it syntonized to the mercenaries' frequencies while on the field. It would be good to monitor them and get an idea of when they were alerted about 'her activities').
"Fer-de-Lance to the Cradle. I've reached the checkpoint. Cradle, do you copy?"
"Mordred to Fer-de-Lance. We are copying. Proceed with the status report. Over", the voice of the synthetic answered in his courteous tone.
"Assignment completed. Over", she reported the result first.
"Copy that. How's Trance? Over", the answers were coming with a certain delay and some static. The loud wind was also not helping.
"She's alive. Condition uncertain, but from my position, she probably only had some contusions, worst case broken bones. Checking on people with a scope is not an exact science. Over"', still wincing, she retrieved the garments left there earlier while waiting for the answer.
Part of her team was successfully infiltrated into the mercenary circles, and they were now trying to pitch one group against the other.
Which sounded like tons of fun, if getting tangled in the crossfire wasn't included in the menu (and an option that Trance would consciously choose, it seemed).
The stunt was planned, and her teammate knew what it entailed. Trance had requested to be allowed on board the transport that was Fer-de-Lance's target that night. Trance's reasoning? When the mercs started to side-eye one another, she wanted to be above suspicions.
(Which was worth risking some broken bones. Right?).
It was a hard sell. But the other lady was not the type to take no for an answer (no one in their team expected to win a debate against her. Trance's codename quite fit her character).
"Please, elaborate. Dad looks like he's going to blow a gasket. Over", the synthetic's attempts to humor using his courteous tone were hilarious. Fer-de-Lance shouldn't be laughing, though.
The Girl took a deep breath after swallowing down hard, trying to sound like the serious Black Ops operative she was.
"Trance was moving and conscious. So were others. I nailed three in the chest and the driver in the arm and head. They went off-road and crashed on a stony slope. We have another 6 hours before sunrise, so it will be hard to follow my trail while it's fresh. However, I might be late for the next check-in because I fell on my way here and got a nasty contusion on my left side. Over", the Girl was ascending one wall in the canyon and lost her footing. The ropes prevented her to hit the floor, but couldn't prevent her the slam against the slope. She was well trained, but climbing up and down a stony and dusty range of canyons was not her forte.
The Girl had been assigned the task because the team members who weren't busy, were recovering from the assault on another mercenary's trade point, in a system close by.
"Fer-de-Lance, do you need assistance? Over". Assistance meant 'pick up', which potentially also meant spoiling months' worth of work on her current fake persona.
"Mordred, I'm in condition to make my way back successfully. Let's wrap this up, I need to get going. Over" she needed to move, and fast.
"Very well. No new instructions for now. We will be on standby, waiting for your check-in in the next 48 hours. Good luck Fer-de-Lance. Over", came the answer.
"Copy that. Take care, guys. Fer-de-Lance out", she removed the earpiece, the receiver strapped to her wrist and destroyed both as per protocol - and would discard the small remaining pieces along the way.
After changing her garments, Fer-de-Lance started her way back, dumping everything she used during the hit in a hole 4 miles ahead, covering it up before leaving.
Hopefully, no one would find it, but if someone did, the chances of it becoming a problem were slim. Aside from the communication equipment destroyed, everything had been acquired in the black market and was not traceable. Hiding it away would keep people busy looking for the culprit, and if nothing was found, the tension around the attack would be higher.
XXX
Fer-de-Lance still had to climb some stony canyons before reaching the periphery of the city. On this side, there was a large slum: most people living there were born on Thedus, third or fourth-generation of poor and uneducated workers who immigrated to the planet (a small portion of them descendants of the miners who started a huge rebellion a century ago).
But officially, government and businesses would not use the term slum, no. That was a Communal Housing Site, which was designated for colonization purposes, meaning no one owned that land, but mobile homes could be parked there indefinitely. Trailer Park was not an acceptable designation as well, since 'homes' were not trailers (or so the manufacturers said). 'Residential Cubicles' was the name given to the small mobile containers shaped into apartments - and could securely be piled up into 3 stores buildings. If the Tiny House movement had known they would model for the colonization efforts, they would be proud. In a way.
Most cubicles were 225 square feet, and technically could fit two adult humans, allowing them safe housing and access to all basic appliances one would need in a colony.
Some Residential Cubicles house families nowadays. And the uprising of the miners had been a double-edged sword: for the survivors, changes were made. But the miner's village was not removed, and in just a few years, it had attracted people. Illegal immigrants, unemployed, homeless people… anyone who didn't have money and needed a house would choose a cubicle to invade.
The government, ever slow to take action, now had a problem on its hands: what to do with the poor population who inhabited those cubicles.
The difference between the people here now and the miners? Well, the miners had halted the flux of very valuable commodities. The poor souls who currently inhabited the periphery of the city had no significant impact on Thedus economy.
Obviously, this type of situation and place also attracts gangs, and some will charge 'rent'. A price to be spared and protected from their own violence (but they advertised it as running security against outside threats).
The Girl 'rented' a place there. But nah, not today. She couldn't risk being seen arriving at that hour. People could make (right) assumptions.
Some mercenary circles had contact with local gangs, and she was currently living the life of Barbara Frost, a dishonorably-discharged-corporal-turned-mercenary. Fer-de-Lance was successfully infiltrated, but respect and trust would take time (and the Girl truly wished they would gather the information necessary to complete the mission before she ever achieved neither trust nor respect). And well… the mercs would surely be looking for the person responsible for the attack.
The Girl kept moving, avoiding proximity to the slum. Halfway between the slum and the city access ( the rocky, hilly, and difficult terrain made it impossible to keep more than a few roads in that direction), she was able to stop to catch her breath, before looking for her stuff (sleeping bag, water, some rations) - emergency provisions she hid weeks ago.
Which (thank God) were still safely stashed in a cleft on a stony slope.
Staying (and sleeping) outside was not for the faint of heart. In truth, the place was more scary than actually dangerous - maybe she would luck out and be accosted by some reptilian creature, but nothing in the area would intentionally even get close to humans. The insects were bothersome, but she was vaccinated. Annoyance and some mosquito bites were the prices to pay for keeping her cover.
It would not be difficult to find a corner to hide away - especially because she was far from the road, and the area between the slum and the city was quite inhospitable.
Thedus had a cold, windy climate to complement its terrain. The temperature was now sitting somewhere between 50F to 55F. She just needed to find a spot protected from drafts.
Tucked in a thin sleeping bag, and sitting reclined against a rock, the Girl finally found some rest.
XXX
"Definitely too old for all this shit", grumpy, achy, and recently out of a shitty nightmare, (fake) Barbara assessed her surroundings. Light had not reached the sky, but sunrise should not take long.
Back, neck and shoulders cracked as soon as the Girl stretched. After last night's adventure, her body was not happy with their sleeping conditions.
Water and the rations would last a day. Being close to the city entrance didn't mean much - she couldn't simply walk in plain sight, and parade herself. Sounds like paranoia, but better to be safe than sorry (and 'sorry' came with a large range of consequences, in which death was preferable to Dad's ire). The Girl needed to move discreetly and reach her next checkpoint perfectly unnoticed. And that is not feasible during the day.
Right now, however, the Girl needed to find decent shelter and wait. Arid regions were cold at night, and hot during the day. Today promised to be long and exhaustive.
XXX
"You look like shit", a deep voice greeted.
"Awnnn, thank you!", she sounded sweet, but if the daggers in her stare could kill, the guy would now be a corpse.
"Seriously, Dad asked me to check if you had all your pieces", the guy went for an amicable hug, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
The man looked down when she pushed her clothes above the bra line.
"How bad?", he made a face. The huge hematoma on her left side transitioned to a strange shade of yellowish green after some days.
"Just a nasty contusion. Trance?", she asked. She had been fairly worried for the past week - her teammate could have been seriously injured, after all.
"Hit her forearm against a hard surface during the crash. It's broken, but she says the arm cast will do. Her face was a bit swollen, but should be ok now", he relayed.
"Thanks, Mau. Tell her I'm sorry", Lance sighed.
"You know she will tell you to go kick rocks, right?" He chuckled while taking off his backpack.
"It's all I did for 32 hours nonstop", she smiled, releasing her shirt.
They kept their conversation to amenities while the Girl checked the contents of the backpack and stashed one by one in her own bag. They didn't have much time, but it was good to see a friendly face.
"I will need to take some contracts to keep operating on the ground", she said while hanging the bag on her right shoulder.
"We know. It won't be possible to bring other supplies to you. Too much tension, carrying more than that is a huge risk", he explained, even if no explanation was needed - it was not easy to leave a sister in her position with just the bare minimum.
"No worries. Just letting you know so Dad can log it, and I won't spend days trying to prove I'm not a witch to the Spanish Inquisition", the girl snorted.
"Lance, there is no snowball's chance in hell you won't go through it", the man grinned but sounded apologetic.
Because, you know, infiltrate agents could go rogue. And by being a Black Ops agent, she was a liability on steroids - that is, if she ever turned her back to the United Americas Allied Command.
Given the nature of their missions, it was not uncommon that they had to gather outside resources to advance their efforts. Add to that the fact that being disguised as a mercenary, she couldn't just show up with the last pulse rifle mode, serial number, and cool scopes.
Actually, it would look better (aka in character) if she acquired the equipment for undercover activities using the black market channels. Which demanded money. So yeah, she had been carrying some contracts and making cash. That alone would grant her some days of endless debriefing and questioning.
But when they couldn't bring her the equipment required to keep communication flowing between herself and the rest of the team? She would need to make much more money. And much more money meant much more contracts (her broker would be happy, she was quite efficient). It was not like the Girl could make an expense report and give the command all the receipts.
"Mauler, just… Lie to me. Ok?" Nervous laughter ensued.
"You will have the time of your life?", Everyone was laughing now.
"See? I feel better already", the Girl sounded amused.
Because she truly was. Lance was an easygoing person when allowed to be herself. Affable, eager to help, easy smile, slow to anger.
Both agents said their goodbyes and soon enough the Girl was outside, making her way to one of her cubicles. It would be another fortnight before the next contact with her team. More than a month before seeing any of them face to face.
Part of her was grateful for the time alone. Working infiltrated meant she was used to putting on a mask and roleplaying for the world, but doing it for her own team members was eating at the Girl's fortitude.
Once her assignment at Seizei had been completed, her team had to head immediately back to the HQ. She spent 4 months of space travel awoken while the other agents slept under stasis. She was able to fend off her despair, but anguish crept in: the uncertainty of the Hunter's future (that is, if he even had one, given the possibility he had perished was quite real), the memories of the experiments, the impossibility of sharing it with anyone, in any capacity.
It took a lot to push it all deep down. After debriefing, her apathy and avoidance of contact were deemed compatible given the circumstances: her command knew about the alien, the torture, the tests. Hell, they even knew of Dahle's perverse nature - since she was caught red-handed by a staff member of her team, and after bullying the guy into resigning, it didn't take long for him to alert the authorities. Nothing came out of it, not officially at least (and the guy was later 'silenced', because if he was willing to break a nightmare of an NDA, blabbing away about monsters was almost certain). Her command was already working on the case, and the report was included in the briefing files. She went undercover knowing of Doctor Dahle's tendencies, but being an eye witness to sadism? It took more than a keen sense of duty to keep the Girl from finding a way to arrange a fatal accident for the monster with a doctorate.
Lance had wanted to set the Hunter free. And for that, she couldn't dispose of the head of the department. The project would need to be halted if Dahle's was no more, and due to that, her team would most likely be pulled off.
She had seriously considered killing off Dahle and euthanasing the Hunter (Hell, she even had a whole report planned about how leaving the alien alive was a huge liability, that hopefully would prevent any serious sanctions, since you know, technically her reasons were of sound reason).
But she couldn't do it. At first, her mind justified her decisions with the most logical of arguments: she had a mission, and it was bigger than her, the Hunter, and anyone else in that facility. Which was true enough, but not the whole truth. Not the whole truth…
First, she just toyed with the possibility of setting the Hunter free. For that, he will need to be able-bodied. And caring for the specimen's health was in her job description, right? Why not? Lance only took conscience she was a lost cause while considering the details of her plan and weighing the possibilities: not succeeding brought a sense of loss that couldn't be shaken off.
A job inside of a job. Carrying a whole effort to enable the Hunter his freedom alone was hard. Harder was the fact that she couldn't share it with anyone. The lack of technical support was quite anxiety-inducing - she had no one to double-check her plans, go over potential issues, brainstorm ideas, identify blockers. She had no help setting the various moving parts in motion. And obviously, she didn't have the most basic moral and emotional support: someone to talk to about it all.
And Gods, she had wanted to tell him. And could not risk it. Any of it.
And now…
Carrying her secrets and a broken heart alone was a burden, sure. But pretending all the time she was alright?
And she needed it. Fer-de-Lance had to be alright. So the Girl had to keep everything inside and not tell a soul whatever was going inside (and everything that she had gone through). After this much time, the martial court wasn't her only concern. They would scrutinize her whole team.
And here's the catch: given the type of lives they led, their superiors were somewhat lenient. And it was not out of the goodness of their hearts: they would not be able to keep their warm-blooded weapons, otherwise. The human mind could only bear so much without a semblance of humanity.
Fer-de-Lance couldn't fathom being the cause for her comrades being deprived of the concessions and liberties (that weren't many) they had because she couldn't keep herself together.
The Girl knew she had to come to terms with not knowing. Not getting closure. Accepting that in this very moment, the Hunter was either alive or dead, and nothing could be done. Not after all this time.
So, yes, she needed time alone. She needed time to be, time to breathe, time to find a way to move on (even if moving on meant pushing all that was broken into a dark corner).
Because now, all she could do was pretend.
Pretend she didn't miss black scales, sharp talons, and long tusks.
XXX
"Mordred, I need a hand here", the dark-skinned, stocky-built, dressed-only-in-boxers dude grumbled. He was sitting in one station at the vessel's command deck - the only other agent still working aside the former Dr. Kay Knight.
"Yes, Derrick?", the synthetic was probably the only one who had the habit of using the agents' given names.
"I think the traps we placed at the Cardis IV trade point wreckage are malfunctioning", said the man, turning his screen to Galahad.
"See…", he pointed to a specific corner on the screen, while a video recording played. For an untrained eye, it was simply the viewpoint of one of many cameras.
However…
A large piece of debris rolled slightly to the side. It was a huge piece of piping - attached to it, the remains of what had probably been a wall. It was sitting in that position since the moment it landed there. Too heavy to be moved by winds or small creatures.
"Could you replay the last 30 seconds?" Galahad used a courteous intonation in his voice at all times.
After analyzing the same 30 seconds for the 3rd time, the synthetic asked:
"Is this the only occurrence?"
"No, but it's the most obvious glitch", the man sighed, aggravated.
Galahad spent some time reviewing the rest of the material Derrick provided.
"It's not a glitch", was Galahad's conclusion.
"It must be. The movement sensors were firing erratically, but the video recording only showed… stuff moving, mostly debris", Breacher sighed.
"It's not. Someone tampered with the equipment. There were more visitors on the site in the last month, maybe someone noticed one of the traps", the synthetic said, trying to compute scenarios and possibilities.
"We don't have anything before today's glitches", Breacher said.
"Not glitches. You mentioned we had some blind spots when we set the cameras", Galahad pondered.
"Yes, but how would they avoid the movement sensors?"
The team had set motion 'traps' to the trade point wreckage right after storming the place. Once movement was detected, the cameras would start recording - otherwise, it was just too many hours of recording for analysis. They wanted to keep track of visitors in the wreckage site, that was the best way to not waste a life just doing it.
After a few days, they registered people were pillaging whatever they could find of value. Some groups also came to try and claim bodies.
Today marked two months since they raided the site, leaving it in shambles.
It was expected that the surveillance equipment would be discovered sooner or later. For that reason the data was not sent directly to the vessel's mainframe - it had a week of delay due to all security measures and distance.
Galahad ruled equipment malfunction for certain - glitches would often present a pattern, and not affect recordings in such specific manners.
The most logical answer pointed to data adulteration.
To investigate further, they would need to spend precious time on the matter. It would be up to the team leader to decide what would be the next steps regarding the wreckage surveillance, and if it had priority over other tasks.
"Dad's going to be royally pissed", Derrick let his body slide down a bit. Looking up at the metallic ceiling he let out a loud groan.
Infuriated was a more accurate description.
Since, you know, besides adulteration and malfunction, the only alternative left to the phenomenon was poltergeist activity.
XXX
Brokers worked as intermediaries between mercenaries and private contractors. They would negotiate, deal with packages bureaucracy, relay information, make payments and more. They were commissioned by contractors, and good brokers usually kept a 'mercenary portfolio' of sorts. Good brokers received larger commissions because their way to conduct business led to a higher success rate.
Lance preferred dealing with brokers, rather than doing the whole courting dance with direct clients.It was time-consuming and presented more risks. Besides, collecting the rewards with brokers was guaranteed.
The Girl was still building her reputation, so the best brokers were still reticent about her. But the guy she had been working with had some good stuff.
"Barbie-girl!" The broker weaved from his table. He was old, and by the way his face, neck and other body parts always seemed somewhat bloated, (fake) Barbara was positive the constant indulging in alcohol was going to melt his liver.
"Charlie. You look happy today", the Girl grinned, choosing to not get very close.
"Oh, I have good news! And I have some stuff for you. Are you free in the next few days?", he declared, looking straight at her. His sclera had some yellowing in the corners.
The Girl smiled trying not to think about the state of Charlie's organs.
That day she signed some courier jobs (aka supplying dealers with drugs), but the one that was going to fund her activities was a contract to integrate a convoy for cargo. After her stunt some days ago, any 'private' (aka unauthorized) cargo landing was contracting extra protection.
The shipment contents were not disclosed. With some luck, someone in the ship's crew would let something slip.
XXX
The payment for delivering drugs to the dealers allowed her to purchase the necessary equipment to integrate the convoy (and not die in a confrontation).
Better chest vest, ammo, an old but well-maintained pulse rifle. Serial numbers were gone, but she had enjoyed this model in the past.
The Girl smiled inwards. They were both old and 'well-kept'.
What a strange feeling.
Landing spots in that region of Thedus (horrid terrain), with the inconstant weather made choosing a landing spot for illegal sizable deliveries an art of sorts. The trade point was built in the stone walls of a remote canyon, and couldn't sponsor landing decks: that would attract too much attention.
If you were willing to pay the price, you could trade and acquire anything. Because someone would be surely willing to haul it. Or play security. Or be your fence. For the right amount of money, mercs would risk their necks for it.
Thank God this Barbara persona is ex-military, Lance thought while waiting for the dropship. It was difficult to change some habits and instances (and some guys could spot military people rather quickly). Not needing to mind her posture was a relief.
There were another six people under the contract for this convoy, and two of them already started the interrogation. Where did you serve? For how long? Discharged? How?
"Quiet. Listen", she advised and tried to focus on whatever sounds were coming under the strong winds.
"Oh, Charlie told me there is another group delivering a package", one of them said absentmindedly. "It's probably their vehicle", he completed.
This was not uncommon: since landing was not a trivial effort, it was wise to align more than one job, when possible.
Lance cursed under her breath. The two moons shed some light over the landscape, it didn't take much to spot the approaching vehicle.
Charlie, Charlie, I will shove a bottle of vodka up each one of your orifices…
Not being aware of such 'detail', made her uneasy. What more that drunken clown had not disclosed?
Once the other group unloaded, they didn't even try to keep secrecy around their trade: Organic products. Humans.