The Stainless Steel Spy Ch. 01-02

[This is not a sexy story. The rat lives again.]

[This is not a sexy story. The rat lives again.]

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It isn't easy, trying to sell state secrets.

I should know, because I had to sit around, literally for days, waiting for the opportunity.

I was in Banxital's, a seedy bar on the outskirts of Dulle. That's on Varisk II. It's one of the most advanced planets in the League, or so they say. Dulle, the largest city on the western coast of the main continent, was home to one of the biggest research centers of the fleet. Very secret. Very hush-hush.

I sat in the bar, sighing as I sipped my drink. I had let it be known, by means both subtle and otherwise, that I was a disgruntled employee at Stellar Intelligence, the bastard cousin of the Column, which I actually work for. And that was all there was for me to do. I had parked myself in this bar for the last week, and here I sat, and here I waited.

I hated waiting. I am an operative, an agent, a man of action. Oh, I knew that some people enjoyed the prospect of tedious assignments. They actually enjoyed the freedom from thought. But not me. No, I was going out of my mind from the dullness of this job.

I was up for a vacation, but did I get it? No. I ask for infiltration work, and did I get that either? No. Instead, I sit here, waiting. Me, Clifford Croft, the hottest young operative in the Column. I could be on Sluria, on an important espionage mission. The Column always needed more espionage work on Sluria. Instead, I was stuck here. I had very little patience for sit and bait work.

The denizens of the bar seemed to be enjoying themselves well enough. They sipped their watered down liquor and stared, often with unfocused eyes, at the transceiver mounted on the wall. It was tuned into the finals from the zero gravity boosball tournament on Eridani II (Beta Centauri was ahead, last time I looked). Everyone ignored me as I sat there, at a corner table. I tried, with little effort, to look like just another grumpy worker.

And then they showed up.

Charles Waxman and Stanton Norno. Not their real names, of course, simply the fictional ID's they had presented at the spaceport. And how do I know this? I'm a spy, remember?

Yes, they were using false ID's, to be sure. I looked them over a bit. Totally unremarkable. One was a little taller. The other was a little less tall.

"Nice night for a walk," A Little Less Tall said.

I looked up. "Wash day tomorrow. Nothing clean, right." That was the code phrase we had agreed upon. How inconspiculous!

"Nothing clean right," said Little Less Tall, sitting down with his companion.

Tall and Little Less Tall, sat down, uninvited. "Do you have the material?" Little Less Tall asked. He was obviously the boss.

"Do you have the money?" I asked.

"We do," said Tall.

"I'm ready to deal," I said. "But I need to meet your boss."

Tall and Little Less Tall looked at each other. "Why?"

"Because," I said. "For all I know you could be military counter-intelligence. Do you know the penalty for what I'm trying to do? I want to meet your boss to see if he's legitimate."

"You can tell if he's legitimate just by meeting him?

"I work for Stellar Intelligence. I'll know."

Tall and Little Less Tall conferred rapidly. "Not possible," said Little Less Tall.

"Then I guess you really don't have an interest in knowing the names of every agent in Stellar Intelligence," I said, rising from my seat.

"Wait!" said Tall.

I smiled.

********

The exchange was to take place in an empty warehouse. It was obvious they meant to kill me after the exchange took place. Standard NGB procedure. But I was surprised when I got to the warehouse two hours later at the appointed time to find Tall and Little Less Tall waiting there, with an aircar.

They scanned me for homing devices, and found nothing. Then Tall said, "Get in."

We spent nearly an hour driving around, switching air cars twice. Finally we arrived at our real destination, an abandoned office building.

"Inside," said Little Less Tall.

I found myself in a dimly lit office. A man stood in the shadows. "You wanted to meet?" he said, with a heavy Slurian accent.

"I did," I said. "And you are...."

"My name is no important," he said, stepping out of the shadows. I recognized him immediately. He was Vladimir Kirchner, the Cook at the Slurian Embassy.

The Cook!

We had been searching for the Rezident at the Slurian Embassy for months. We had a number of suspects we had been following, but the First Secretary's Cook had not even been on the list.

"You have the list?"

"Oh, I have the list," I said. I handed over my datapad.

He looked at it, saw the long list of names. "Are these all the names?"

"All of them," I said. "What about my money?"

Kirchher nodded. "Pay him."

I was turning around smoothly even as Taller reached inside his jacket, pulling on his hand even as it gripped his blaster, sending it crashing to the ground. With my other hand I punched his faceas hard as I couldand he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Little Less Tall was slow to react. He watched his companion fall to the ground as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Only then did he begin to reach into his jacket as well.

He might as well have been moving in slow motion. I gave him quick rabbit punches to the head and neck and he joined his taller friend on the floor.

I reached down and slowly picked up his discarded blaster. "So you're the Rezident," I said, pointing the weapon at him. "You have diplomatic immunity, and so cannot be prosecuted. You can, however, be deported, and it will take your masters some time to find a suitable replacement." I hefted the blaster in my hand. "Do you know the mistake you made here, Vladimir? You assumed that one man was helpless. You made sure to drive me all around town to make sure we weren't being followed. Then you had me brought here. You assumed because I was one, unarmed man that I was defenseless. Defenselessness is an attitude, not a magnitude." I reached for my comm with my free hand while keeping Vladimir covered. "You might think about that, on your long trip back to Sluria."

********

I've been with the Column for more than ten years. My, how time has passed quickly. I remember that fateful day when I graduated college and had to make the big career decision. I could have gone into the family business (boring), become a teacher (and taken a vow of poverty), or gone into politics (that vacuous field), or a half dozen other endeavors. But the Column attracted me the most. I liked the idea of traveling to other planets, sampling a bit of foreign culture, cracking into a top security installation, doing some spying, and, on occasion, catching some enemy spies. It was a life of adventure, excitement, constant thrill and danger.

At least, that's what I thoughtbeforeI joined. It turned out that 90% of all Column people were memo writers and button pushers, analysts and logisticians. I think I would've quit if I had ended up among them. A scant 10% or so are field agents, and even most of those have boring jobs, like the sit and bait assignment I just pulled off. But I got into infiltration work. That's the fun stuff. Going to other planets, taking the fight to the enemy. That's where the real challenge is.

The only catch was the danger factor. Agent casualty rates were considerably higher than those of comparable groups of businessmen, teachers, and politicians. But capture, torture, and risk of death came with the job. I never gave it much thought; I was always too good to be caught.

The next day the Chief sent for me. Alden Alderman himself. I came, at the appointed time, only to find that I had arrived too precisely on the hour; I loitered for a few moments in the outer offices, so that I would be a few minutes late. It's never good to show up to appointments on time. Especially with superiors. It gives them the wrong idea of who's really in charge.

"You're late, Croft," the Chief growled, as I took a seat. The Chief always growled. That was the Chief's way. He had a face like a bulldog, with loud jowls that flapped every time he talked.

"What can I do for you, Chief?" I said, giving A.A. my broadest smile. "Did the Slurians protest when their cook was sent home?" That's a good tactic; it's always proper form to bring recent successes to the Chief's attention. A gentle reminder of my value to the firm.

"Yes, they did," he growled. "They also booted out two of our diplomats from our mission on Rurik."

"How sad," I said, running my fingers along the edge of his desk.

"But at the same time you were wrapping up the Slurian spy ring, there was a databreach at the military spaceport on Varisk II."

"Slurians again?" I inquired.

"No. We traced it back to the Happy Worlds."

For a moment, my heart grew cold. "The Happy Worlds." I repeated, a little dumbly.

"We've detected a pattern of stepped up espionage of late," said the Chief. "Many of our scientific and military installations are being raided for information. We've traced several of the unsuccessful attempts to the Happy Worlds."

Brrr. That name again. No one knew very much about the Happy Worlds, largely because no one ever went there. The League didn't even have diplomatic relations with the Happy Worlds, and trade, as far as we know, was nonexistent. But what we did know about the Happy Worlds wasn't very nice.

The Happy Worlds, as they are known, are actually a group of systems in the rather remote Gamma Sector, at the fringes of human existence. They are shut off, isolated from the rest of humanity. Their worlds are tightly controlled by a narrow circle of dictators. How tight is tight? Well, intelligence reports, if one could believe them, state that each and every mind on the Happy Worlds is under the control of the rulers. Each citizen is under a tight mental reign, conditioned to obey authority, to be productive, and... to be happy. Happy?

I never believed the rumors, but then I had never gotten close enough to get an informed opinion of my own. Nor did I want to. Unfortunately, I was getting an uncomfortable feeling....

The Chief was looking at me. "The next, step, logically, is to send a field agent-"

"No. No, no, and no," I said, making sure I was being thoroughly unambiguous. "I categorically do not volunteer myself for this assignment." I loved infiltration work, but this was suicide.

"Croft, we need to know what is going on there. You're one of my best people," he said, uncharacteristically softening a bit.

"Send someone else," I snarled.

"I have. Two agents in the past three years," said the Chief. "Neither returned. They have a very orderly society there. It makes it difficult to infiltrate. We need to find out what is happening there. We need to find out more about the Happy Worlds, and what it is they're after. You're going."

"I guess I am," I sighed.

The Chief nodded. "You'll be sent to Negan 14 immediately."

"Negan?"

"Negan 14, part and parcel of the Negan Empire. That's what the Happy Worlders call it, at least," said A.A.

"Negan 14? Is that it? There's no individual planet name?" I asked.

"There's no individual anything on those planets," said A.A., matter of factly.

I felt a small shiver go down my spine. This was not a good way to start a mission. "Nice name," I muttered.

"You leave immediately," the Chief repeated. Then, by way of dismissal, he said, "Report to Ops."

The Chief turned to his paperwork. That was that. Another piece of cannonfodder had been sent on its way. Not even a hearty "Go get'm!" or even a trite but appropriate "Good luck." I sighed, and started to get up to leave.

"Good luck," said A.A., not even bothering to look up. Maybe he couldn't afford to make eye contact with an agent he was about to lose. But he did look at his watch. "Better hurry along. Ops is waiting for you."

Ops was indeed waiting for me. They strapped me into a helmet which went down over my forehead, and strapped monitoring instruments to my body. But I ignored it all. I was thinking about the Happy Worlds. How did they control millions of people? Drugs? Telepathy? If it were telepathy, I would be spotted immediately. I caught myself shivering, and forced myself to stop; twice in one hour was a bad sign.

I felt a sting in my arm. "Ow!" I said, complaining to the technician. Then the helmet started to hum, and my mind started to feel fuzzy. All my fears started to drain as my thoughts clouded....

I saw, or imagined I saw, a small, foxy looking white animal. A dog, maybe.

I opened my eyes, suddenly coming to with a start. A thought faded, even as I grabbed for it. I blinked, trying to remember something, even as a technician was removing my helmet. I rubbed my arm, which was sore. There were a number of pinpricks there. I got up, cautiously stretching. My mind felt disoriented. I didn't remember hypnoinstruction being that rough. But now I knew the native language, and I had the pertinent mission details in my mind. I was ready.

Or as ready as I was going to be.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I was alone.

Alone, on a special stealthy Column scoutship. No one could spot me.

Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. At close distances even an antiquated detection system would pick up my blip. "Stealth" was one of those things, like deceiving your boss, that one could improve on over time, but never get entirely perfect. If anyone was looking a little too closely, I would be discovered.

But I was as stealthy as any League ship could be; in fact, more stealthy than most. The Column never skimped on getting the best hardware. They saved money by keeping other accounts trim, such as death benefits.

My speedy scoutship was, in spaceship terms, the relative size of a pea. A good salvo from a blaster cannon could demolish it. Still, I hummed contently as the days went by; this was the safest part of my mission. The real danger would come when I landed.

The ship rocketed towards the Negan Empire, in particular the Happy World that the transport ship had been traced to. Negan 14. One of many Happy Worlds. Soon I would be there, up to my armpits in Happy Worlders. This thought did not make me happy.

You have to understand; I'm good. I'm really good. I penetrated the sealed vault on Gulatron after four agents died trying. I've infiltrated the upper reaches of the government on Callos IV. I've invaded where others of my fellow agents have failed. But the Happy Worlds gave me the shivers.

I poured myself a drink and tried to be a little more analytical. It was the fear of the unknown, of course. The Happy Worlds were cut off from the rest of the League. Their societies were very ordered, very top-down controlled. Though it would be more difficult to stay hidden in such a society, it would still be possible. I could fool them; I hadn't yet met the adversary that I couldn't outthink.

But then there was the business of the mind control.

I coughed, putting down my drink.Thatwas what was bothering me. I've faced the risk of capture, torture, even death. But I was greatly alarmed by the thought of my mind being taken from me, used, controlled, abused... or perhaps they would simply destroy my brain, and turn me into a genially humming vegetable.

I idly thought of turning the scout around, and setting a course for a more, well, friendlier place. But I was on a mission and I couldn't shirk my duty. And besides, the Column would be more than a little peeved when they caught up with me.

"Enough talk of gloom and doom!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the small command cabin. I was the best of the best; I would show those Happy Worlders a thing or two.

I sat there in the control room, musing over my situation. It was impossible to make concrete plans because I had so little information. Usually when I infiltrated a society I didn't even set a small toe in before I had had extensive briefings on its culture, psychology, sociology, technology, and a whole host of other ologies that make a society what it is. But here I was, in a pea sized ship, speeding towards a planet I knew practically nothing about.

"That's good," I said aloud, again solely for the benefit of the listening audience. "Good. It will give me flexibility. Who needs plans? Planners plan. I'm a man of action."

But I wasn't convincing myself. Suddenly I thought of the image of electrodes wired to my head, sapping my personality... I blinked, forcing the image from my mind. I checked the rangefinder. I was coming up on the planet. I had to be ready to land.

Or not to. Our feeble intelligence branch couldn't tell me very much about the state of Happy World technology. If their space defenses were more advanced than ours, I would be discovered and shot down in short order. My ship would burst into flames and blow up in the atmosphere. Not a nice thought.

But I tended to doubt that would happen. For one thing, if their technology was superior to the League's, what were they doing stealing League technology? That was the very question I had been sent to answer.

********

I arrived.

Negan 14, the Happy World I was heading for, was a large magnesium copper rock, about 50,000 miles in diameter. My passive detectors picked up some pickets in the area, but they were slow moving, and didn't seem to notice my approach.

So I hoped. I kept a careful eye on them as I monitored the rangefinder. A sudden movement towards me would indicate detection. I watched them make their plodding circuits around the system.

They paid me not the slightest attention. As I entered the atmosphere of planet 14, I slowed, braking as I decelerated. Perhaps I would be able to land undetected after all.

And then I saw the red light blinking on my console. Someone had gotten a lock on me. I immediately activated my active detection systems. There, on the screen, were three surface to air missiles. All homing in on me.

They were large, oval shaped brutes. I set the analyzer to the merry task of finding out just what it was that they had sent up after me. When the answer came I raised my eyebrows. Chemical rocket engines... graviton stabilizers... Pallium warheads. My my. What an odd mix of the new and the old.

Even before the analysis came through I was accelerating to maximum speed. The ship creaked, and skipped a little on the atmosphere, but I wasn't worried about burning up; the missiles would reach the scout long before that would happen. For although these were mere chemical rockets, they were built for easy maneuvering in an atmosphere, and my ship wasn't. A small oversight.

I periodically glanced at the rangefinder to track the progress of the missiles as I loaded my equipment in the escape pod. Unfortunately, my scoutship was unarmed, another technical specification I had not been not very pleased with.

I threw everything I would need into the escape pod as fast as I could. But when I was done I stopped for a moment. Had I forgotten anything?

"Impact in forty seconds," said my instrument panel. I had keyed it for verbal transmission. It was really quite versatile. And, in a few seconds, it would no longer exist.

"Thirty seconds," said my instruments. Had I forgotten to pack something? Or was I just delaying, fighting an unconscious urge to abandon the mission? It was too late to back out now.

"Twenty seconds."

I was feeling uneasy about the mission, I had to acknowledge. No amount of doublethinking on my part would obscure that.

"Ten seconds."

That was the last time announcement that I heard from the cockpit. In a few short seconds the scoutship exploded, and burst into a million pieces.

But I was not in the scout; I had ejected, just several seconds before. The shockwave from the nearby explosion rocked the pod, and I was so shaken up I was afraid I had timed it too closely. I had wanted to make it appear as if the escape pod was a piece of debris from the scoutship. The rumbling continued shaking the escape pod for a moment, but things quickly calmed down and I steered a path down to the planet surface. If I was picked up, I would hopefully be perceived as a piece of wreckage. Hopefully.