Anarchate Vigilante (Vigilante Series 4) (13 page)

Kristen had been wondering exactly that.
The holo of Medun showed the Spelidon’s whiskers moving to form Anger Contained. “That is not your business. And if you continue to resist my generous offer, well, a fleet of battleglobes is coming to Antares A to enforce my demand. A fleet captained by a Dolmat named Running Leader. Do you wish to explain to a Sector Captain in charge of forty battleglobes why you will not surrender this Human to representatives of the Anarchate?”

Masterful roared angrily. “You threaten me! Halicene Conglomerate holds a seat on the Council of Sixteen! And your fleet cannot harm me or the embassy. Interference in this planet’s internal affairs is against Anarchate rules!”

“You idiot! Your tail is lusterless! Your wings are crawling with infestation! This is the office of Sector 14 that—”

“My wings are
not
infested!” cried Masterful in her ears even as Kristen’s neurolink vision showed the Mican griffin-tiger rearing back on its hind legs, preparing to attack a holo image.

The Anarchate wanted her. Bad. Kristen did not understand why the alien being
who ruled the entire Sector 14 of the Milky Way wanted her. Let alone why a large fleet of battleglobes led by a Dolmat herbivore was also coming to Antares for her. Were two parts of the Anarchate competing to possess her? Was this rush to grab her because of Matthew’s attacks on Anarchate bases? It could be. Which made her value far higher than piles of platinum Standards. She would not allow herself to be used against Matt. His crusade had the chance of ending cloneslavery in the galaxy. And ending the kidnapping that had killed her husband and her three young daughters. She had to escape. Now.

Reaching out to her shoulder bag,
Kristen began filling it with dried food, a water bottle, underclothes, a small knife sharp enough to remove the tracking nodule which Masterful had embedded next to her left carotid artery, the twelve Standards she had saved up since her last tech purchase, and her personal datapad  that held file sections immune to monitoring by her owner. She had also memorized the tachlink address of the Thuringia governor Metzenbaum in case she ever escaped captivity. The planet Working was highly urbanized, very industrialized and subject to monitor watch of every lifeform who visited a company planet run by the Halicene Conglomerate. One reason she had not tried to escape earlier had been her lack of the Standards needed to buy a seat on a passenger starship. Now, it seemed her value to someone in the Anarchate had gone so high she might be able to bribe a ship captain to take her away from Working and to Thuringia. She felt certain Metzenbaum would pay a ‘reward’ to the ship captain who transported her home.

She got up, headed to the bathroom and began cutting out the
tracking nodule in her neck. It took only seconds. A small sticktite bandage stopped the bleeding. The nodule she flushed down the refuse pit. Let Masterful go chasing all over the skyrise as the nodule moved toward the basement recycle vats. Kristen grabbed her shoulder bag, climbed onto her bed and reached up to the air vent grill that pierced the room’s ceiling. She pushed up on the grill, then pressed it sideways. Throwing her bag into the ceiling hole, she bent her knees and jumped up. Grabbing the vent edge Kristen pulled herself up until her elbows rested atop the vent edge. With her head inside the vent tube she leaned forward. Her breasts scraped against the edge, then cleared them. Her breath came hard and fast as she pulled herself into the vent tube. Seconds later her hips cleared the edge and she fell forward into the vent tube. She pulled her feet into the tube. Twisting around she put the vent grill back atop the round hole in her bedroom’s ceiling. Grabbing her shoulder bag and fingerlight, Kristen Dragoneaux scooted forward toward the inner part of the skyrise. Ahead lay metal tubes that fed air to the hundreds of habitat blocks that filled the skyrise she lived in. Their layout was something she had explored years ago, in preparation for this moment.

“Matthew,” she whispered to herself. “I’m coming.”

George  landed his shuttle
Tuatha De Danaan
on the spaceport landing field just outside Halath city, near where the wide river Fertile entered Megil’s eastern ocean. Two dozen other shuttles of Alien designs occupied one side of the field, while just ahead lay the Commerce Lounge that he must pass through on his way into Halath and then the countryside where he expected to find the estate of Charlotte’s owner, Nak ho-mesk of the Meligun species. The bear-like Meligun were often found in Anarchate facilities that dealt with trade or banking. But they preferred countryside living. Looking beyond the landing field to the ancient stone walls and pyramidal buildings of Halath, George saw the central gap where Matt’s antimatter beam had vaporized the Flesh Markets where cloneslaves were made, decanted and sold. Ninety or so small skimmers filled the air above the city, while along the river and in the rolling hills of the countryside there rose tall, red-barked trees with broad green leaves. The trees reminded George of the redwoods of Earth, though their leaves were quite different. That said, Megil lay just 121 light years from Earth. He sighed as he waved a hand over the control panel to shut down the engines. And power to the port and starboard laser pods.

“George,” called Suzanne from ten light years away, appearing in his mind wearing a white
cotton summer dress embroidered with red and blue cross-stitch designs. Her green eyes sparkled with joy. “Remember our rendezvous plans! And we all support your help to Matt in finding his sister Charlotte. You know he has a lot of memory pain from losing his family.”

“I know, and when I return to where the fleet is parked, I hope to hear your mezzo-soprano sing that Joan Baez song I like so much!”

Suzanne smiled at him. “Anything you wish, I will sing. Then you will listen to that romantic songstress Carole King that Sarah loves so much!” She paused, seeing his surroundings through his mind’s-eye. “Do you have what you need?”

George
stroked his full beard, stood up from the small Bridge of the shuttle, then walked on bare feet toward the passenger hold where his Greek-style clothes lay. Next to the clothes was a shoulder bag that held platinum Standards, a personal datapad, a small laser handgun, and a disk full of Trade goods that supposedly existed in the holds of his starship
Inevitable
, orbiting high above Megil, among a cluster of similar commerce Trader ships. He gave Suzanne a mental smile.

“My love, thank you! Don’t worry. I can handle a simple Infiltrate and Observe mission for Matt. Anyway,
after I locate the estate, I will have Inevitable activate my combat suit in the shuttle’s hold and send it out to me this evening.” He admired her as she resumed dancing on the Park’s green meadow. “Since Charlotte’s owner is off planet, according to Inevitable’s scan of Megil’s civil archive, I will enter and search for Charlotte, with my suit on full combat alert. Should be invisible to most security software employed by a rich merchant. And Matt’s sister may be there, since cloneslaves are not listed in the archives as ‘people’ to keep track of.”

The green cloud of Inevitable appeared in his mind
, her mindsense friendly and reassuring. “You will pass through the security scan at the Commerce Lounge with no trouble, George my ally,” said the T’Chak dragon, her two forearms crossed over the yellow scales of her broad chest. “I dropped down several limpet complinks before you arrived, along with an Offense Sled in stealth should you need removal while under fire. And our ship’s flexhull nicely portrays the shape of a Meligun Trade ship. Be at ease.”

“Thank you Inevitable.”
George finished dressing in his day clothes, slipped on durable sandals, slung his shoulder bag and stepped out into the humid warmth of midday on Megil. The shuttle hatch closed behind him. He smelled the salty moistness of the nearby sea. “Now, onward to the Commerce Lounge to register our ship and its fake cargo, then off on a pretend exploration of Halath city and its inebriation facilities. Hope the yellow beer of these Teecheen people is worth drinking!”

Suzanne laughed in his mind’s-
eye. “Judging by the vidcast ads for it, these very tall Teecheen drink enough of it to fall over into a stupor!”

“Too funny to imagine!” George sent her a mental embrace that might normally have squeezed her too tight. He often forgot his own strength with Suzanne. She was a woman smart in ways he was not, brave in ways they shared, and devoted to life and freedom
for everyone, whether human or Alien. And devoted to them both having their own new life to celebrate. Soon!

He
entered the sliding glass doorway of the Commerce Lounge, spotted the security roundel, walked up to it, flashed his Anarchate ID disk at the archway’s sensor pad and then stepped through the arch and stopped before the Teecheen native standing beside a holo data pedestal. The very tall humanoid glanced at the pedestal’s holo, then down to him with a grey-eyed look that betrayed no alarm or curiosity.

“Welcome Trader
George O’Hussey. Your business is welcome. Live food is available in the Food Alcove to your right, while climbing trees for relaxation are available in the upper Park habitat.”

George mentally translated the Belizel speech of the black-skinned humanoid whose long arms and long legs had evolved for climbing the trees of Megil in search of food animals, and to escape the planet’s
version of long-toothed predatory felines. While a carnivore species, the hairless Teecheen were a Tech culture with its own space navy and frigates in orbit above the planet. The Teecheen cared little for Anarchate formalities, but the antimatter destruction of the Anarchate naval base on their moon Salla had forced Anarchate officialdom to move their transit tracking functions to the landing field of Halath. The Teecheen cooperated since the Anarchate promised the planet defense against genome harvester pirate ships and against further attacks by Matt’s fleet. He smiled at the Teecheen native, whose four-sided jaw smiled back at him, displaying a remarkable series of razor-sharp canines.

“Thank you for the information and welcome,” he said, putting his ID disk in his shoulder bag. “However, I think beer and
seeing one of your Hunt plays will come before food!”

The Teecheen waved him inward with a friendly nod.

Walking into the interior of the Lounge building, George stopped in front of a self-service air skimmer pedestal. He waved his ID disk over the top of the pedestal, waited for the face of a Teecheen to appear in a pre-recorded welcome, waved his hand through the holo to make it stop, then touched the Options spot of the holo and ordered a bubble top skimmer. At the holo’s prompting he ran the ID disk through its field again, then withdrew it as the pedestal displayed a color image of the skimmer that would be awaiting him on the far side of the Lounge building. Passing through a loose crowd of aliens from the Meligun, Orko, Spelidon, Brokeet, Loglan and other species he did not recognize, George stepped outside. He entered the open cockpit of the skimmer, waved his hand over the control panel, and spoke his wishes to the onboard expert program.

“
NavCore, fly to downtown Halath, circle the city once at an altitude of one hundred meters above the tallest city structure, and identify beer service locations as we pass over them,” he said in Belizel.

“Complying,” said a Teecheen voice in the sharp screech talk normal for the arboreal species. “Advertisements for a variety of oxy-nitro breather services are—
”

“Stop. Discontinue any audiovisual advertisements,” George muttered, not liking how ‘advanced’ the Teecheen were in sell
ing their wares.

“Advertisements
cease. Cessation requires a supplemental rent payment of one platinum Standard. Lifting off.”

George grimaced. In the Anarchate nothing was free. Or simple. Including the option of travel incognito. He was aware the security archway had facial and body recognition
sensors that would alert any interested Anarchate official about the number of bipedal aliens who landed today at the Halath shuttle field. That was why Matt could not appear in person on Megil. His face and morphoform were surely on the Watch programs of all Security stations in the Anarchate. Whereas his own image ID and morphoform were last on record as working for Omega Casino in Zeta Serpentis system. He might be seen as a refugee from Matt’s attack on the casino, but nothing connected him with the crusade against cloneslavery.

“The destruction of the Flesh Markets section appears total,” said Inevitable in her soft feminine voice.
She floated in his mind’s-eye, a ten foot tall dragon of black wings, long tail, two muscular forearms, wingclaws on the forward edges of her wings, and purple spikes along her spinal ridgeline.

“So it would appear.”

George looked down at the circle of raw brown dirt that showed a ten meter depth. Ponds of slimy water spotted the one kilometer width of the total destruction zone. A ring of half-standing pyramid buildings, their roofs flat like the pyramids of the ancient Mayan people, showed fallen stone blocks, collapsed walls, and burned debris inside rooms and hallways that lay open to the weather. As the air skimmer flew toward the intact outer urban area of Halath, George saw plenty of land vehicles and other skimmers moving hurriedly. He looked back at the total destruction zone. Land dozers driven by tall black-skinned Teecheen were trying to level out some areas of partial destruction, while in the center of the zone someone was piling up dirt and stone to form what might become a Park island. Small trees, shrubs and other bushes occupied an area of the destruction zone, their roots encased in fabric for replanting on the Park island. Well, it had been months since the attack by Hexagon Prime fleet. It was to be expected that some municipal official would try to reclaim the area of total destruction.