This is a fan translation of Agent of the Star Corps (Агент Звёздного корпуса) by the Russian science fiction author Leonid Kudryavtsev.
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 2
His enemies didn't keep him waiting. Based on their actions, Michael saw that they were far from green rookies. One after the other, they were running into the store and immediately hiding behind the racks or boxes with farming equipment.
Four against one.
Those aren't terrible odds, Michael thought. There could've been more of them. But now I might even play with them a little. Just a little, to make sure they're afraid next time. To have them suspect that they're only chasing me because I allow it.
Cheerful, somewhat careless anger fell over him.
Assholes, he thought. Starting a public hunt on me in the middle of the city. Not caring about centurions or civilians. A Star Corps agent is just a bug to be crushed. All right, it's time to show you something.
And it was about time to get started. If he gave the Magnusians a few more seconds, they'd scatter across the entire store, and it would be more difficult to deal with them.
The rack he was hiding behind was filled with jars of vitamin additives for growing aruga fruit. Carefully moving two jars apart, Michael was able to see one of the enemies. His head appeared for a moment from behind a pyramid of paint cans.
Michael fired the beamer. The pyramid of paint cans burst into flame.
The Magnusian hiding behind it screamed and, throwing caution to the wind, leapt to the side. His face was black from the soot, and his clothes were on fire in a few places. Trying to get the flames out, the merc was patting his hands all over his body.
Taking advantage of his enemies forgetting about him for a moment, Michael dashed behind another rack. He smiled grimly.
Very little time was left for further play with the Magnusians. By his reckoning, centurions were supposed to arrive to the store in a few minutes. He was supposed to be gone by then. But he could still have some fun for another minute.
It would be nice to make sure that a few of the Magnusians ended up in centurion hands, preferably alive. He was sure that law enforcement officers would love to ask them a few questions.
Obviously, the Ragnites would pull every string and grease all the palms they could. But Michael was certain that it wouldn't help them much. There was no way to hush up a shootout in the middle of the city. Pretending it hadn't happened wouldn't work either. Too many witnesses. It was also a slow day for holonews reporters. If they were grabbing onto some loser who'd tried to poison his mother-in-law with cat perfume, then they'd spent at least two weeks savoring, reshuffling, explaining, and commenting on this case.
As for the top brass of the centurions, there were more important things to them than money. Like prestige. Fear of losing their jobs. No, the Ragnites had definitely made a mistake here. A big mistake.
Running quickly to another rack, Michael crouched and looked around. Next to him stood a complicated farming machine of some kind, either a cross between a cultivator and a seeder or a seeder/mower. Not that its purpose mattered to Brado at the moment.
The machine was beautiful, covered entirely in shining wax.
Yeah, farmers liked something pretty and shiny. Practicality was also important, but appearance was paramount.
Leaping over to the farming tool, Michael tore off a mirror on a long stalk to the side of the driver seat. It was clearly a useless addition.
Why does a farmer working his field need a rearview mirror? To plow while also making sure that his neighbor wasn't sneaking up to his wife with bad intentions?
Diving back behind the rack, Michael dashed over to the other end.
Fortunately, the stalk had broken off at the base. That meant that Brado had a small mirror on a long handle. Exactly what he needed. His opponents weren't rookies either and knew how to shoot. So let them shoot at that thing instead of his head.
Sticking the mirror from around the rack, Michael turned it. He saw one of the mercs hiding behind sacks of fertilizer after avoiding the flames burning on the pyramid of paint cans. He peered out, trying to find Michael. The explosion of another paint can forced him to duck back. Meanwhile, another merc was crawling up to the rack where Michael had been hiding before. A third was looking out from behind a complicated machine, probably a portable press. The fourth was groaning and hobbling over to the door. He looked like he'd been burned a lot.
It seemed that one had had enough. He'd have to do some more work with the rest.
Michael carefully placed the mirror on the floor and slipped out from behind the rack.
They noticed him almost right away. That "almost" was enough for Brado to fire several times.
Just then the Magnusian hiding behind the fertilizer sacks stuck out his head. A fiery beam sliced across the pyramid. One of the sacks burst. A suffocating cloud rose into the air, enveloping the merc. Coughing, he dropped his beamer.
Michael's second shot struck the presser's control unit. Oddly, it was plugged in. Probably to demonstrate it to customers. The control unit burst into pieces. A huge lightning bolt ran over the presser. The Magnusian hiding behind it seemed to have been electrocuted and screamed.
The third merc turned out to be the nimblest. He and Michael fired nearly simultaneously. The blaster shot passed the head of the Star Corps agent and incinerated a stack of brochures on one of the racks. The beamer shot removed the Magnusian's left ear. The second beam sliced off his right hand.
Dashing behind the next rack, Michael pressed his back against it.
It was done. Now he had to leave. Centurions were about to show up.
He listened.
As if on cue, he heard a siren of the sort produced by a centurion aircar on the street. To be honest, calling it a siren was being generous. It sounded more like the shouting of a mad woodpecker, like the one from a series of cartoons popular on Earth in the late twentieth century.
Michael glanced at the door marked "Employees Only." The storage space beyond it had to have an exit to the neighboring street. Or not. Who knew what the store owners were thinking? Maybe they'd decided that an emergency exit was an unaffordable luxury.
But the cheerful screams of a mad woodpecker were getting closer. He had to chance it.
Michael leapt out from behind the rack and dashed towards the marked door. One of the mercs was recovered enough to take a shot at him. He missed. Brado no longer had time to shoot back.
Fortunately, when fleeing, the salesgirl hadn't locked the door. Michael ran into it, and it burst open. Brado found himself in a narrow corridor covered with boxes that obviously led to storage.
But he had to do something before making his escape.
Michael turned to the door again.
Fortunately, the store owner had equipped the door with a deadbolt. Why did he need it? It didn't matter. Maybe he'd known that one day a Star Corps agent would make use of it.
Sliding the deadbolt, Michael snorted in satisfaction.
Everything was going well. This door wasn't made of bioglass. It a real, metal door. It was impossible to blast through it. At least right away. And then centurions would arrive, and the mercs would have only one choice — to surrender to the law. And maybe, busy with the Magnusians, the centurions wouldn't try to pursue him.
He ran to the next door.
At the very end of the corridor, behind one of the boxes, the salesgirl was crouching. Seeing Michael, she pressed her back against the wall and covered her face with her hands.
"What's there?" Brado asked.
"Storage, what else?" The salesgirl puller her hands away from her face and threw a timid glance at him. "Who was chasing you? And why were they shooting?"
"It's nothing," Michael replied. "Just four idiots deciding to have some fun. Centurions are coming, and it's all going to be over. Is there another exit from storage?"
"Yeah. But it's locked."
"I'll think of something. Sit here and don't come out until centurions show up. Got it?"
The salesgirl nodded. She'd recovered enough to give him a smile. A playful one.
Right, Michael thought. Of course, a hero being chased by bad guys with guns. A dream to a romantically inclined girl. If we exchange a few more phrases, she's probably going to ask me out on a date.
"By the way, I locked the door behind me," he said. "If they start breaking it out, open it. Just make sure it's really centurions there."
"What if—" the girl began.
There was no time to hear what she was going to say. Michael ran to the storage area. It turned out to be three times the size of the sales area. Stacks of huge crates towered along the walls. Even rows of farming vehicles lined the center.
There really was an exit to the street. It consisted of a large gate sealed by a sizable magnetic lock that could be open with either a key or a lockpick. Neither was within reach.
Then again…
A lockpick didn't necessarily have to be small. It could even be many times larger than the lock.
Running up to one of the vehicles that seemed to, among other things, function as a bulldozer, the Star Corps agent climbed into the seat and turned on the controls.
Of course. The vehicle was fueled up and ready.
Michael shook his head.
I understand why they might want to indulge customers who want to see how it works before buying. But sometimes it might be used by someone who has no intention of buying anything. But then, no business is perfect.
Instantly figuring out the bulldozer's controls, Michael pushed one of the levers and grabbed the steering wheel. The engine roared, and the vehicle slowly moved towards the gate.
"Come on, dear, don't fail me now!" Brado shouted excitedly. The bulldozer's blade slammed into the gate, catching the lock with an edge. The kick made Brado's teeth slam together. But the gate didn't budge, and the lock remained intact.
Backing up a little, Michael turned the engine to full power and rammed the gate a second time. He heard a creak. Another shove, and the gate collapsed with a loud racket. The engine roared, and the vehicle rolled out of the storage area.
"Yeehaw! I'm the greatest warrior in all the prairies!" Michael shouted cheerfully and, shutting off the engine, leapt down from the seat.
Looking around, he spotted a centurion aircar landing on the other side of the store.
He wondered if any of the mercs would be able to escape.
By the way, it would be good for me to also get as far from this place as possible, Michael thought. I doubt I'll be able to escape. A few more aircars are going to arrive soon, and the centurions will start combing the streets. Which means I need to find transportation. Which one? And where?
He snapped his fingers.
Of course, the aircar the Magnusians had flown in on. It was probably still standing in front of the hotel. It was unlikely that the mercs had left more than a single person to guard it. If any.
Onward!
He ran to the stone fence surrounding the store's courtyard, climbed over it, and found himself on an empty narrow winding street. It looked like it was going to take him back to the hotel.
He'd been right.
The aircar was still there. The door was wide open. Not a soul next to it.
Excellent, Michael thought. Now to get to the aircar without attracting any attention.
Putting the beamer into a pocket, he casually walked towards the aircar.
What? Nothing special. Just an ordinary law-abiding alien taking a stroll by the hotel. True, there'd been some trouble not far away recently… But how would he know about that?
Michael was halfway to the aircar, when a voice came from behind him, "Hey, you, come here!"
It was likely that only a centurion could've given such an order. Obeying would've been utter madness for Brado at the moment.
Pretending he hadn't heard, Michael continued walking towards the aircar.
"Stop, I tell you!"
Now he had to turn. The law enforcement officer could easily shoot him in the back. Just in case.
"Are you talking to me?"
"Who else?"
Fortunately, the centurion was alone. It seemed his friends were busy with the mercs, while this one, suffering from an abundance of initiative, had decided to comb the nearby streets.
Initiative could be different. Some might result in a blow to the head. A very painful one.
Michael started walking towards the centurion.
"On what grounds are you stopping me, if I may ask? Have I broken any rules?"
"No, but—"
"Then what the hell?"
There were no more than five paces between them. Then the centurion finally realized what was happening.
"Stay where you are!" he ordered quickly and reached for the beamer on his side. It was too late.
When he was three paces away, Brado leapt. The only thing the centurion was able to do was grab the handle of his beamer. A moment later the first of the Star Corps agent struck his solar plexus. The punch was precise, and the centurion doubled over, gasping for breath. Nimbly grabbing the man's beamer, Michael struck him in the jaw. The centurion dropped to the street.
Tossing the centurion's weapon aside, Michael ran to the aircar. The time for sentimentality was over. If he might have been abele to somewhat explain his actions until that moment, assaulting a centurion had just made him a criminal.
The evidence of that followed almost immediately.
Brado barely shut the door of the aircar when a laser beam struck it. Fortunately, the Magnusian aircar had decent armor.
Running through the cabin, Michael burst into the cockpit and looked at the viewscreen. Three centurions were shooting at the aircar, while a fourth was bent over the one Brado had knocked out.
Keep shooting, Michael chuckled. I only need a few seconds to lift off. The armor is going to hold for that long.
He'd been mistaken.
As soon as Michale tried to start the engine, a message appeared in the upper part of the control panel, "Enter the code." Naturally, Michael didn't know any such code. Until he entered it, trying to make this thing lift off was pointless.
Swearing, Brado looked at the viewscreen again. The cops had stopped shooting and were discussing something. But their beamers were still aimed at the aircar. As soon as he opened the door, they'd open fire.
The vehicle he'd been hoping to escape in was now a mousetrap. All the cats had to do was open it and grab the captured mouse with their bare hands.
One of the centurions ran off in the direction of the store where their aircar was standing. One didn't need to be a genius to figure out what he was going to come back with. It was definitely going to be a plasma cutter of some kind, with which they would open up the door of the aircar Michael was sitting in like a tin can.
No way, Brado thought. You're not getting me!
He quickly searched the cockpit and found a flathead screwdriver that had rolled under the control panel.
Perfect! On occasion, slobs dropping their own tools may help someone they had no intention of helping.
Bending over the panel, Michael found a thin line that ran along the perimeter and jammed the tip of the screwdriver into it. Now all he had to do was push, and the upper part of the control panel creaked and snapped open like a suitcase.
Dropping the cover onto the floor, Brado began studying the innards of the panel. Pulling himself from this task for a moment, he was the running centurion. He was indeed holding a cutter.
Looks like you're late, buddy, Michael thought. That promotion for catching a criminal is going to have to wait.
The panel cover was hiding a mishmash of light wires, living crystals, and null sensors. Fortunately, this wasn't Michael's first time seeing the innards of an aircar's control panel.
Carefully using the screwdriver, Michael pulled one of the living crystals out of its socket. Out of its usual place, the crystal immediately started waving around its limbs, trying to get back to it. It wasn't going to happen soon, as living crystals moved very slowly. Skillfully changing the direction of several light wires, Brado snorted in satisfaction.
Glancing at the viewscreen, he saw that the centurion with the cutter was already near the aircar. Time to hurry.
Quickly replacing the panel cover, Michael pushed the engine star button. He heard a quiet rumble. The engine was working.
"Excellent," Michael muttered.
The aircar took off the moment the centurion was about to start using the cutter. Michael genuinely regretted not seeing his face.
Then again, he knew this was just the beginning. Centurions weren't the sort of fools who would just let him disappear. Brado understood that pursuit wouldn't be far behind.
After passing several blocks, Michael flipped a switch. A small square showing the view behind him appeared in the upper part of the viewscreen. Naturally, there was a centurion aircar there.
The cat-and-mouse game was continuing.
Making a sharp ninety-degree turn, Brado headed for the city limits. His plan could only be accomplished in the woods. Michael wanted to land the aircar in a suitable clearing. And then… let the centurions comb the woods as much as they wanted. He was certain he'd be able to slip away from anyone there.
Brado was already passing over the outskirts, when the centurion aircar caught up to him. Michael saw on the viewscreen as two magnetic clamps appeared from out of its front. They were intending to grab onto the back of his aircar.
No way, Michael thought. This trick isn't going to work. Do they really think I'm an idiot?
A few agile maneuvers, causing the centurion aircar, which was trying to keep Brado from getting away, to nearly hit an old bell tower, built in times immemorial when the city had been just a small settlement, proved to his pursuers that he wouldn't be taken easily.
Seeing the magnetic clamps retract, Michael snorted in satisfaction.
Now he could get back to his original plan.
He once again headed for the woods. Naturally, the pursuers followed.
Then Michael suddenly thought that the Magnusians had to have anticipated they'd be chased, given their line of work. And that meant they had to have prepared a surprise for the centurions.
Quickly looking over the controls, Brado noticed an extra button located somewhat apart from the others.
It was a good possibility that this button activated the surprise he needed. On the other hand, it could also be something else. Like a part of a self-destruct mechanism.
Hmm, choices…
Michael glanced at the viewscreen thoughtfully. It looked like the centurions were about try to the magnetic clamps again. It seemed that law enforcement on this planet, and many others too, wasn't known for inventiveness.
So should he push the button or not?
Even if the worst-case scenario is true, Michael thought, I doubt the aircar is going to start falling apart while in flight. It's probably just going to start the timer on a powerful explosive. Which makes sense. The person pushing the button needs to have enough time to escape. Maybe a minute or two. That's more than enough for me to land the aircar and jump out.
He glanced at the viewscreen again.
The city had ended, and he was now flying over fields. The woods were close now.
If the button turns on the timer, Michael thought, I'll have to land immediately. It's fine, I'll have time to hide in the forest. Although it would be better to get closer.
Maneuvering to avoid the magnetic clamps, Michael reached the forest and only then pushed the button. A hatch opened at the back of his aircar. A silver ball no larger than half a meter in diameter slipped out of it. It immediately unfolded into a huge dully shimmering canvas. The centurion aircar ran right into it.
The mercs' surprise worked!
The canvas wrapped around the centurion aircar like a mother swaddling an infant. It seemed the canvas was also producing a powerful magnetic field.
The centurion aircar dipped and, nearly hitting the tops of the trees, started to gain altitude. But that didn't last long. Turning back to the city, the aircar started to descend. It seemed its pilot had decided to land in a field to get rid of the canvas.
He could only hope that it didn't miss. Michael didn't want for the centurion aircar to slam into one of the buildings on the outskirts. Noting the trajectory of the centurion aircar, he decided it wasn't going to happen. It seemed it was being flown by a skilled pilot.
Thank God!
Michael didn't like the idea of having the deaths of several centurions and civilians on his conscience.
Spotting a small clearing in the woods, he directed his vehicle there.
It was time to land.
A pessimist would've called the situation Michael was in a complete disaster, suggesting that he ought to turn himself in to the authorities. An optimist would've said that the situation wasn't that bad. Yes, his partner had been killed. Yes, he was being chased. But he was alive and free. What else did he need? A realist would've suggested that he think everything through and only then act.
Michael was a realist. At least he thought he was.