Agent X

  AGENT X

  MORGAN BLAYDE

  © Copyright Jan 2016

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  Special thanks to the Warped Spacers and other friends: Amy Rogers, Chris Crowe, Jim Czajkowski, Dennis Grayson, Penny Hill, Dave Meek, Steve and Judy Prey, Jane O’Riva, Chris Smith, Caroline Williams, Sally Ann Barnes, Jesse Cox, Tod Todd, Leo Little, Scott Smith, Chris Reilly, Jean Colegrove, Georgia Harbeck for invaluable assistance.

  Contents

  Title Page

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PRELUDE

  1. BREAKTHROUGH

  INTERLUDE

  2. STRANGE ALLIANCE

  INTERLUDE

  3. SEA-CHANGE

  INTERLUDE

  4. ADAM AND EVIL

  INTERLUDE

  5. LAST REQUEST

  INTERLUDE

  6. DRAGON KNIGHT

  INTERLUDE

  7. GHOST TOWN

  INTERLUDE

  8. THE RIFT

  INTERLUDE

  9. THE TANDEM GAMBIT

  INTERLUDE

  10. THE TULGEY WOODS

  INTERLUDE

  11. CRYSTAL DREAMS

  POSTLUDE

  BONUS SHORT STORY: THE STRAY

  PRELUDE

  Charon: the ice moon of Pluto, Reaver Station, A HIGH SECURITY SUBLEVEL.

  Chim stood on the great seal of the Terran Imperium: an ashen Earth under a blazing phoenix that clutched a sword in iron talons. Other x-class agents were present, featureless shadows in the surrounding gloom of the chamber. Of them all, Chim was the only one caged in a haze of retro-light. The containment field’s glow struck fire off his belt and the platinum bands crossing his armored torso, adding vibrancy to the half-cape spilling like bloody cataract down his back. Movement was easy, unless he tried to leave the restraining field.

  He removed his helmet, with its one-way, midnight-green visor. He tucked it under an arm, and held himself proudly at attention.

  Words stabbed at him, “Guardsman Chimera, do you know why you have been summoned to judgment?”

  Though the voice sounded familiar, he couldn’t determine which agent spoke. He shrugged. “I assume you’ll get to it when the posing’s over.”

  “This is no game. The fate of the Imperium hinges upon what we do here.”

  “If charges have been made,” Chim said, “I’d like to know what they are.”

  “Later. First, tell us about ADAM. Shouldn’t you have destroyed such a threat?”

  “ADAM is only a threat to those who deserve of justice.”

  “That is our judgment to make. Tell us about your visit to Eskandar.”

  “It’s all in my report.”

  “Humor us.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice.” But he did. He’d tell them what they needed to know, but the rest... That lay between Elissa and himself. He drew a deep breath, wishing his comm implant could reach her. He’d gotten used to her voice running commentary in his head while he fought

  his battles. It felt strange fighting alone.

  Might as well begin...

  “My ship set down in the middle of a storm—more than one actually. Security came to meet me in a planetary crawler…”

  1. BREAKTHROUGH

  Inside the air lock bay, Chim watched all the approaches to the ship on the surveillance monitors, sealing himself into an armored exoskeleton. The holo displays showed two men exiting a ground crawler. “Volume up,” Chim ordered.

  The ship’s artificial intelligence complied, adding a burst of sarcasm, “An impressive bunch. They managed to find the field.”

  “I think you need more than two to have a bunch,” Chim said. “Now shush, I want to hear this.”

  “Shush! Well, I never…!”

  “Probably not. Do I need to make it an order?”

  “Males! Gotta make everything a pissing contest.”

  Elissa was going to be the death of him. If he ever found the joker that programmed her with the morals of a tabby in heat—and his dead mother’s name—he swore he’d...

  He sighed, venting tension, and pulled his mind back to the task at hand. He stared across the Bay One at support frames holding a dozen exo-suits ready for use. He’d trained since a child to extend his mind—to be an exo, wearing it like a second skin, an extension of his body. Mastering the cybernetic systems so they were effortless took a trick of mind that proved surprisingly difficult to many he’d grown up with in the X Program. Maybe it was a gift of spirit that set him so far apart—the elusive x in the human equation. Maybe he was just a useful freak.

  * * *

  Wide-eyed, Chim stared at the teacher. The man wasn’t just old; he was ancient with wrinkles on top of wrinkles. His skin was pale, his hair a fringe of white at the sides and back of a head that seemed too big for his thin body. He seemed so frail, any stray wind would likely bowl him over—not there were any stray winds here, miles below the crust of Charon. The people who’d taken him from the spaceman’s orphanage had explained that the frozen moon had been named after the ferryman of the dead in Greek mythology. Chim had been told that dead was a good way to consider himself in the years of training he’d spend in Pluto’s orbit—unless he washed out of the Program.

  The boys and girls in his dorm were all strangers. Shadows circled in eyes haunted with uncertainty. He wondered if his eyes were like that. Each week, some of the kids vanished—never to be seen again. He thought that might be a good thing. He certainly didn’t want to be here, light years from what was left of his home. He thought maybe throwing the tests—playing stupid—was the way to go.

  “Children, listen up.” The old man’s voice cracked at them, sharp as razor wire, demanding attention. Wearing a thin, white silk robe, he walked in front of the line they formed. His slanted eyes observed them coldly. Chim had never seen such eyes before. This hadn’t been a common feature on his home world. The teacher pointed at a small table with a tray holding a jumble of items. “Go count the weapons. I will ask you how many you see. I expect most of you to disappoint me.”

  Chim didn’t understand the expected disappointment—the test seemed rather easy. Maybe too easy.

  His eyes narrowed as he went to the table with the other children. Something in him hardened. The old man expected him to fail. That felt ... irritating.

  The tray held: silverware, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a children’s toy; two wooden disks connected with a short rod that had a string attached, and common items from around the house. He saw paper clips, a letter opener, a sonic toothbrush, and right in the middle of everything—a military beamer. Its LED indicated a full plasma charge. Twenty items total.

  As the class filed toward the exit, the old man asked, “How many?”

  Chim heard various answers, most of them “one” or “two.” Some of the students seemed intent on washing out. They said “Twenty.”

  Chim’s turn came. He walked within striking range of the old man, and was asked, “How many?”

  Chim’s mouth quirked. He spoke softly so his answer stayed between the two of them, “Twenty-two including the table and tray.”

  The old man pulled Chim from the line. “Stay with me.”

  The rest of the children gave other answers and left, herded on to other challenges.

  “Congratulations,” the old man said. “You gave the right answer, and have qualified for my advanced class.”

  * * *

  Chim shook off the memory, and made sure the silver and gold

  contact points on his skin-suit aligned with those inside the exoskeleton he’d chosen. The neural-interface gave him instantaneous control of the armored weapon that expanded his strength and speed to mythic levels. It was up to his mind to provide the judgment needed for the cyber-system to move with m
aximum precision—and grace, something else the old man had taught him.

  Chim turned his strayed focus to the holo monitors of the bay.

  On a central screen, wearing an oilskin slicker, the taller man loosened a non-regulation beamer in a shoulder rig. His coat hung open so the weapon was readily available. On his belt, a blue chrome badge glinted, catching the landing-field’s blue-white halogen lights. The man muttered around the contraband cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth. “Mark my words, all hell’s gonna break loose, again.”

  The short, bald man next to him grunted agreement, unwilling to waste words where inarticulate sounds sufficed. Uneasily, the men’s eyes drank in the leviathan-class starship.

  The tall one exhaled curls of blue smoke into the icy air. “It’s big.”

  “Damn-big,” his partner added, his sleepy gaze tracking the gantry that rolled up next to Chim’s IMPERIAL DRAGON. The latticework tower extended its tongue—a steel catwalk—into a yawning service port. “Why bring that monster down from orbit. Our field’s obviously too small to service a ship this size.”

  “That’s the Imperium for you—they always gotta flex their muscle,” the tall one said. “It gets old after a while.”

  Watching the screen, Chim laughed quietly to himself. “Yes, but it’s effective.” He sub-vocalized; testing his comm implant, making sure the exo-suit systems weren’t producing interference, “You can hear me, right, Elissa?”

  The ship answered, “Oh, now you want to talk.”

  “Don’t be cross. It causes wrinkles.” He entered the air lock, and closed himself off from the ship, but not the AI.

  “Humph! Go on. Your escort’s getting soggy out there.”

  “Dial down the drama,” Chim said. “We’re on a mission.”

  “Sorry. You’re right,” Elissa admitted. “Every parting should be treated as if it were the last.”

  Cloaked in the bloody crimson cape of Imperium Security, Chim paused in the airlock’s outer opening. “I’m not sure I’d go that far.” He crossed the catwalk to the gantry tower and let a lift drop him toward the field. Like a god descending to the realm of mortals, he expected the shocked stares he encountered; this was the first time an x-class agent had visited the remote mining colony, and such a reality was always more impressive than stories—which were seldom believed.

  The tall one stepped forward, extending a hand. “I’m Gannon,

  Security Chief here. This is Kolder, my best man.”

  The guardsman nodded, ignoring the offer to clasp hands. He walked between the men, toward the crawler, wading through the mystique he generated. Awed speculation was thicker than ozone in the storm-charged air. The auras of x-class agents were carefully nurtured and cultivated by the Imperium. That was why Chim wore a visor that kept him mysterious, a faceless cipher. Depending on the light, the visor was as mercurial as he was; now appearing black, other times a dark green, sometimes a mixture of both colors.

  The ship’s voice—heard by him alone—trickled into his ear through the comm, “They’re wondering what they’d see if they had the courage to rip your mask off. Chim, ever feel like yelling out the truth?”

  “No one would believe me if I did. In a mechanized society, human potential is underestimated and undervalued.” Chim stopped by the crawler. The steel bug was rounded, moving on oversized treads. The security guards caught up to him, but gave him plenty of room—it was whispered in the darkest corners of space that x-class agents weren’t human at all, but the ultimate perfection of cybernetic research. They had a reputation for being capable of any needed miracle.

  But I’m just a man in an iron suit, staring down the universe. Anyone who’s walked out of Hell can do the same thing.

  A persistent growl of thunder filled the air. Gannon hurriedly opened the vehicle hatch for his guest. “Welcome to Eskandar,” he said. “We’re glad you could answer our distress call, but we were expecting the Imperium to send a level-nine master tech, not an intelligence agent.”

  “Your transmission indicated time was critical. I was in the area and could be diverted. Do not be concerned over my technical skills—they are adequate to your needs, whatever they may be.”

  Chim turned his midnight-green visor toward Gannon as he puffed on his cigarette, releasing a blue cloud from his lungs. “Smoking is prohibited by imperial law. Violators are subject to stern reprimand.”

  “I have a note from my doctor,” Gannon said.

  “A prescription,” Kolder added.

  Gannon’s face was mask-like, lacking emotion as he lied. “I have to smoke at least one pack a day to function as a responsible citizen in society.”

  His partner added, “…And not go ape-shit.”

  Chim interrupted. “How did you obtain this prescription?”

  “Usual way,” Gannon answered. “A doctor will do anything for a patient who puts a gun to his head.”

  “You will at least refrain from smoking in my presence,” the guardsman said. The smoking wasn’t really an issue. Once in a while, Chim just liked jerking people’s chains.

  Everyone needs a hobby.

  Kolder nudged his partner, “Don’t argue with the guy. It’s cold out here.”

  Gannon nodded, tossed the butt, and gestured. “The shuttle here will take us out to the industrial complex. The problem’s there.” Gannon and Kolder climbed in.

  The guardsman followed. His voice carried without the need to gain volume. “Your transmission was vague. What is the exact nature of your emergency?”

  Gannon settled onto a cushioned seat. Chim took one across from him. Kolder sealed the door and settled beside his boss. Gannon touched a pulsing button. The shuttle started up and pulled away, driven by satellite remote control.

  “I’m a glorified security guard,” Gannon said, “just another corporate asset on a middle-of-nowhere—company-owned—ball of rock. The boss will explain things … personally.”

  “He’s good at that,” Kolder muttered.

  The guardsman asked no further questions, sitting with perfect stillness, his head half-cocked. He listened to Elissa’s tour-guide comments as they passed various sites, and tried to ignore the weight of duty. The crossed, metallic bands running from belt to collar were a brand on body and soul, marking him as part of an elite cadre trusted with the authority to order the deaths of entire worlds. X-class agents could not be bribed or seduced from service, only destroyed in combat. It happened infrequently, but could never be ruled out when starting a new mission.

  The sparse, evening rain became slanted sheets that fought the bay fog for dominion of the coastal road. The soggy air crystallized coronas around street lights, creating splintered geodesic patterns—a small touch of beauty in a miserable day on the way to getting worse.

  They reached The Complex, drawing up to a security gate. Gannon touched a stud on a wrist comm. It beamed his identification and the day’s gate-code to a guard who waved them through. The vehicle swept past barracks-style housing, loading docks and a labyrinth of non-descript manufacturing complexes that were ugly boxes. The crawler stopped at a large tower of steel and dark tinted Plexiglas that loomed above everything else.

  Gannon opened the door and stepped out. Kolder followed. They led Chim up a long flight of stairs to concrete apron outside the Admin Center’s main entrance.

  There was a metallic clatter approaching from the side.

  The Chim traced the sound, breaking stride as a metallic egg bounced and skidded across his path.

  It spewed vicious light from a burning magnesium compound. The

  security men threw themselves to the side. Gannon cursed at the light stabbing his eyes, making him helpless despite the gun he gripped. Kolder had been shielded by Gannon’s body and could still see.

  Chim spoke in a calm, unhurried voice, “Get your boss inside. I’ll deal with this.”

  He moved through the steps of a combat dance that was older than space flight. This carried him away from beamer fire th
at scarred the apron. One part of his mind kept track of his escorts while the rest of his awareness scanned the manufacturing buildings for the sniper.

  Kolder’s beamer spit needles of energy at an Admin Building window panel. With a sound like sizzling bacon—it dissolved. At the same time, he directed Gannon’s fire toward the shooter, “Fire forty-five degrees to zenith, four and five o’clock.”

  Chim continued his role as conspicuous target.

  Kolder hustled his boss inside, through the opening. “C’mon, move it, and keep your head and your butt down.”

  The guardsman smiled beneath his visor. Gannon had been right—Kolder was a good man. It was time to follow their example and retreat to cover. Chim dove inside the building, hit the floor, and bounced over the security men rather than pile into them.

  Gannon coughed. “What’s that burnt smell? Where are we? And what in the Pleiades is going on?”

  “At least two assailants,” Kolder answered. “One tossed a strobe grenade to deal with us, then a sniper opened up with a pulse-rifle on the guardsman. The ground out there is pockmarked with near misses.”

  Elissa spoke into Chim’s ear, “You weren’t in any danger at that range. The sniper should have gotten much closer, or used a military grade weapon.”

  Kolder continued, unaware of the interruption, “We came in through a Plexiglas wall panel I shot out.”

  “What was wrong with the door?” Gannon asked.

  “The security panel would have slowed us down too much, and that’s what the sniper was expecting. It would have been sure death. Now, roll over a few times. We’re still too close to the front of the building.”

  Gannon complied. “I thought I heard something going over us.”

  “That was me,” Chim said.

  “Dandy.” Gannon groped for the comm unit on his belt. “I gotta call in some men from the perimeter. Damn it, we just don’t have a large enough security force for these kinds of problems.” There was a click and a crackle. “Gannon here, Condition Red. We’ve got a shooter with a pulse-rifle outside the main tower. There may be other intruders in the area. Deploy counter-measures.”