"Undercover (scifi)" by Larry N. Morris

by Dirk Ceruse

Major Steele sat with his head down, appearing to stare into his drink. It hadn’t taken him long to learn and perfect this posture. It was a position that allowed him to take in the entire room without appearing to be looking at anything in particular. That’s why he saw them come in without even raising his head. A man and a woman had just entered, but there was something about them that set them apart from the drifters and derelicts who were regulars here. They had a wary confidence about them. They were Earthers for sure . . . or the descendants of Earthers. Maybe this was it. He had spent eight days at this shuttle transfer station, living in a low-class way-house and loitering in this dive; a bar called The Bloody Moon. Reports indicated it was a likely place to make contact with the rebels, the ones who called themselves Freedom Force. It was certainly the place to find mercenaries, smugglers, and worse.

The major scratched at his three-day stubble of red beard, while he continued to survey the room in an oh-so-subtle manner. He hated it, the stubble, he wished he could shave every day but he had a role to play. The couple he was keeping tabs on moved to the bar and talked quietly with the bartender. In the middle of the conversation the woman glanced toward him, then turned quickly away. Yes, this must be it. Contact! He felt the tension growing within him, the excitement that always came at moments like this. Eighteen years as a field operative for the Clandestine Operations Office of CEF, Consolidated Earth Forces, and he still got a high from a mission.

The man sauntered casually toward the major’s table and the woman followed close behind. When the man stopped to pull out a chair at the empty table nearby, the woman nudged the man with an elbow and mumbled something. The man shrugged and approached the Major. Standing close, he spoke softly, “You the red-headed guy been asking a lot of questions?”

The major raised his head for the first time. Casually, he studied the man, a tall burley type who didn’t look overly clever, then he turned to appraise the woman. She was tall for a woman and had a nice shape with a pretty face. After a time, he told the man, “I don’t ask many questions. Mostly, I just mind my own business . . . like everyone should do.”

The man heard the message in that and tensed, his voice grew hard. “You may not ask many questions, but the ones you ask are the wrong ones—unless you have business with us we don’t know about.”

“That right? And just who would ‘us’ be?”

The woman spoke for the first time. “Let’s stop playing word games. You’ve been asking questions about Freedom Force. That’s us. My name is Monica McGuire, call me Nica.” She nodded toward the man. “He’s called Duke—Duke Patterson.” Nica slid out a chair with one foot and sat opposite the Major. “You got a name, Redhead?”

The man called Duke took a seat too, and the major told Nica, “Richard, but everyone just calls me Rusty.”

She smirked and her dark blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “Most people have two names, what comes after Richard?”

“Steele.”

Nica laughed so loud everyone in the place turned to stare at them. “They call you Rusty Steele? Oh, that’s funny. Rusty Steele!”

After she said it out loud, Duke seemed to get the joke too. He grinned and nodded. Rusty couldn’t contain a smile himself. It always went this way the first time anyone heard his name. He turned up a palm and told her, “That’s what I’ve always been called.”

Nica wiped tears of amusement from her eyes with the heel of her hand. When she shook her head in disbelief, her auburn hair swirled around her shoulders. In an instant, she grew serious again. “We can’t talk here. You seem harmless enough, we’ll take you to meet someone. If you really want to join Freedom Force, there will be a lot of questions . . . and a background check, of course.”

“Of course,” Rusty replied sarcastically, and thought, Payday! I’m almost there.

The passageways of the transfer station were austere, to say the least. Add that fact to the state of cleanliness and they were not comfortable places. Still, they seemed like a walk in the park compared to some of the lesser accesses Duke led them through. Nica walked beside Rusty and he could feel those dark blue eyes on him from time to time. She would study him briefly, appraising him; weighing him. He kept his eyes on Duke’s back and acted as though he wasn’t aware of her scrutiny. After a time, they emerged from the secondary passageways, into a small docking bay. It was an auxiliary bay from the look of it, one Rusty hadn’t seen before. The only ship at dock was a small scout ship, not likely to accommodate more than eight or ten people, and it had no identifying markings.

Duke led them into the ship and Rusty only saw two other people, two older men. They both had gray hair but were trim—lean and fit. Grinning, Nica told the men, “His name is Steele.”

They both looked at her blankly and she said through a chuckle, “His nickname is Rusty. Rusty Steele!” She laughed again.

They didn’t seem as amused by the name as was Nica. The shorter man motioned Rusty to a chair. When everyone was seated, the taller man said, “I am Brigadier Watson.” He inclined his head toward the short one. “This is my second, Sub-Brigadier Sumoto. We’ve been hearing a lot about you around the station. Tell us something of yourself.” He leaned back casually, relaxed, and his voice was soft and friendly.

Well, I asked the right questions in the right places. I have their attention. “Not much to tell. I used to be a bounty hunter ‘til I lost my license. Now, well . . . I need to belong somewhere again.”

Sumoto’s jaw clenched, he went tense all over. “We don’t hire mercenaries. Our people are with us because they believe in our cause.”

Brigadier Watson raised a hand to silence Sumoto. He seemed more intense now. “Mister Steele, I’m afraid the sub-brigadier is correct. We fight to protect what is ours. This sector is ours, it has always been ours.” His voice rose as he talked. “The Consolidation governed here so long they think it is theirs to give away. They want to give our worlds, our homes, to a bunch of freakazoids. We will not be ruled by aliens!”

Have to proceed carefully here. Rusty knew the dislike of aliens was strong within Freedom Force. “As I understand it, this sector is much closer to those aliens than it is to Earth. Earth gave them control here as part of a mutual defense treaty.”

“Exactly!” the Brigadier exclaimed. “But you see Mister Steele,” he went on smoothly, “it’s not theirs to give away. Our ancestors colonized this sector centuries ago. It belongs to us.”

“Hey,” Rusty said, holding out his hands defensively, “I’m not defending the treaty, I’m no politician. I’m just trying to understand.”

* * *

The rest had gone better than Rusty expected. There would be a background check on the Inter-Global. That was no surprise. His cover story had been seeded into the interplanetary data base long ago, in preparation for him to go undercover. There were a number of plants in the data base, ready for field operatives to use. All that needed doing was to tweak it a bit, feed in his name, age, and physical characteristics. He leaned back on the bed in his room, in the way-house, hands clasped behind his head. Now, it was just a waiting game. He was being watched; he had no doubts about that. All he needed to do was lay low until they were satisfied with his phony background.

The rebels were growing in number, but that was to be expected. A movement like that always drew people from the lower levels of society; adventurers, opportunists, and the like. The problem was one of logistics. His mission was to find out how they were so well supplied. Where was it all coming from? How? Cut off the head and the snake dies. Without ships, food, weapons, and medical supplies, they would soon be no threat. The movement would probably just fade away.

With agents of Freedom Force watching him, he knew he had to maintain the proper image, to keep to his routine. The Bloody Moon was just the kind of place a busted bounty hunter was likely to pass the time, looking for work—or looking for women. He washed up and shaved. The shave felt good. Hell, even bums shave sometimes. Rusty secured the sheath of his concealed dagger to the inside of his forearm and slipped into a clean, long-sleeved shirt. He considered taking the mini-pistol that was hidden in his spare boots, but decided against it. After setting the trips an intruder wouldn’t see, he locked the door and set off for the bar.

* * *

Nica McGuire sat in her quarters, brooding over a cup of coffee. This fellow Rusty had given her quite a dilemma. She liked him, she was attracted to him, but now he was exposed. Trouble was, she would have to free him somehow. It was an unspoken commitment among undercover agents. In all fairness, she reasoned, it was most likely someone in his home office who screwed up. Some desk-jockey hacker must have done a bad job of eradicating his military records. It had only taken Freedom Force four days to make him and lock him up. He would likely be tried as a spy soon, then executed. It was her obligation to keep that from happening.

Trained as she was, as an undercover operative for the Secret Police, she should have seen through him right away. He was good, she had to admit that. Nica refreshed her coffee and concentrated. She had been undercover long enough to gather a lot of needed information. She would have to break him out and they would both have to flee. Too bad, that. She had wormed her way deep into the command level of the rebels. Oh well, every operation comes to an end. They could always plant someone else, it would just be time consuming. Why can’t the military just stick to their primary job and stay out of things that didn’t concern them? Why don’t they just stay out of the way? She would need a way in and out. There was the cell to deal with, of course. Then they needed transportation away from here, that would be an operation in itself. None of it was beyond her capability, it just took attention to plans and details. So Nica sat planning a way to pull another agent’s feet out of the fire, but felt so frustrated she wanted to scream.

* * *

Major Rusty Steele paced his cell, trying to grasp a means of escape. There had to be a way, there just had to. He had to admit the food wasn’t too bad, considering the charges against him, they weren’t starving him . . . yet. The physical abuse had been less than he expected. A black eye and a split lip were the only outward signs of the beatings. His right ribs and shoulder hurt like blazes, but he didn’t think anything was broken. Eight days had passed since he had been thrown in here. They would surely put an end to this soon. He wasn’t being told anything, but that was no great shock. So rusty paced his cell in the middle of the night, still unable to think of a way out.

Suddenly, his senses went on full alert. What was that? A sound? Maybe just a feeling. Something was happening, of that he was certain. Rusty backed into a corner and listened closely. It sounded like someone dragging something heavy. A body? A guard’s body. Another sound--not as loud; the slight scuffle of padded boots. What is this? They don’t need to send an assassin is they plan to execute me. His breath caught in his throat when a shadowy figure slipped into view. She was at the door of his cell when he realized who it was. Nica! Too bad. He had starting to feel something for her, but if it meant his escape, he would kill her. He went limp with relief at the sight of her and took a deep breath. “so, it’s you they’ve sent to kill me.”

“Ssst! Keep your voice down. I’ve come to get you out of here.”

Stunned, Rusty whispered, “Why would you do that?”

As Nica applied a pocket-sized code breaker to the controls on the force field of his cell, she murmured, “Call it an unspoken oath among agents, you must be aware of it.”

Rusty’s jaw dropped open, “You’re an agent? For who?”

At that moment, the force field that contained him wavered and disappeared. Nica grabbed an arm and pulled him close. “We can talk later. Stay right behind me. I have the route planned and we shouldn’t encounter anyone.”

“We’re in a secret base with the enemy all around us. How do you expect to get out of here?”

“We’re going to steal the scout ship on which you were first interviewed. I already have a cover story in place and a bogus flight plan filed.”

“And just the two of us can get away with that without notice? You must be crazy, they’ll be on us before we can leave the dock.”

Nica hesitated before saying, “This will work. It’s not just the two of us, there will be four. You, me and two hostages.”

“Hostages?” Rusty gasped, forgetting to keep his voice down. Slapping a palm to his forehead, he asked quietly, “And just who do you plan to take hostage?”

“The two men who always sleep on that ship. Brigadier Watson and Sub-Brigadier Sumoto.”

Rusty froze in his tracks. She has to be nuts. All women must be nuts. What is a woman doing in a job like this? Slowly shaking his head he followed in her tracks. What choice is there? We’re committed now and no one even ask my opinion. On the other hand, she is trying to save my bacon.

As soon as they were out of the detention cellblock, they moved into a shadowed alcove. Nica handed Rusty a pistol. “Watch our backs.”

Rusty nodded while he watched her move away. He had been in tight spots, to be sure, but he couldn’t remember his hands shaking so much before. He had to take his hat off to Nica, she seemed as cool as a winter breeze. When he heard movement behind them, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into a doorway. He peered cautiously around the corner, then nodded to her when the coast was clear. Nica led on and soon they were in a flight bay, the little scout ship just ahead of them.

* * *

They had only been away for a few hours when the fighters had joined them. A flight of five. An alert must have gone up soon after their departure. The two rebel officers sat bound and gagged, but in comfortable loungers. Rusty manned the flight controls and tried to ignore their less-than-friendly escort. He admired the way Nica was negotiating on the radio. She did sound frustrated though, almost angry. The voice on the radio came again. “kill your engines and stand down, we do not want to fire on you. You have no chance of escaping. If you continue your flight, you will leave us no choice.”

“I’m getting tired of this,” she told Rusty. Keying the mic she announced, “We mean nothing to you. You have more to lose than we do. We have two of you highest-ranking officers with us. Now, here is the way this is going to play out. You will stand down and let us continue alone. When we are safe, your officers will be released unharmed. If you persist in this chase, you can gather up what’s left of them after they get blown out an air lock. You will kill us anyway, we have nothing to lose. They will die if you don’t break off now. That’s a lousy trade for your side.”

A long pause followed. They were probably conferring on closed circuit. Abruptly, Rusty was darting away from the pack. They had powered down. It had worked. He turned to her with a grin. “Nice bluff.”

“What bluff?”

His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. It hadn’t sounded like a joke.

She glanced toward him, saying, “I’d like to keep these two and see them stand trial. We can’t though. Someone else may need the trust of the rebels one day. If we lose their trust on this, it could cost someone their life later.”

After awhile, they both began to relax. Nica smiled and those blue eyes danced again. “That was close Lover, we make a good team.”

“It was close and we pulled it off, but I don’t recall us being lovers.”

Her smile widened. “The night isn’t over yet.”

Rusty smiled too. He liked the sound of that.