19 – Leap of Faith
When the ID fixer’s AI suggested the surname “Valerius,” it caught Hector off guard because it echoed his birth name, Olivares, and his mind filled in the gaps with phantom memories. Once the initial surprise faded, he nodded slowly and said, “That’ll work.”
“All right, listen, my friend,” Kuroda said, reaching into his desk to retrieve a tiny silver drive. He held it over the deck on his desk, and it snapped into place. “I’m writing your new ID right now, but I’ll need to tie it to your biometrics before I send it off.”
“Send it off?” Lemon asked.
“Well, sure. It has to be uploaded to the Imperial database, and I can’t do that here. Don’t worry; my contact is reliable—done hundreds for me. You’ll be in the system within a few days.”
Hector reached down to his duffel and pulled out the box containing his new ocular implants. “I thought I’d have to have the chop-doc do it, but I guess it makes sense that you’re going to need to tie the ID to some retinas.” He put the box on the desk.
Kuroda looked at it for a moment, then he shrugged. “That’ll work. Open it up. There should be a data chip in there with the retinas’ default patterns. I’ll trigger a randomization, just in case the manufacturer kept a record.”
Hector did as he said, sliding his thumbnail through the plastic seal and then pulling the top off the box. There were several little containers inside—retinal and nerve nanites, lenses, irises, and, just as Kuroda suggested, a data chip. He slid it across the desk to the ID fixer, who set it on top of his shiny deck.
“Perfect,” he muttered as his eyes flickered with lights. After a minute or so, he slid the little chip back to Hector. “Your chop-doc’s going to need that for his autosurgeon.”
“Does he need to know anything more about his identity?” Lemon asked.
“Getting there, hon.” Kuroda flipped his lenses up and then retrieved his little drive, separating it from the deck with a click. “I’ll courier this out today. You can check on Monday, but I’d bet your ID will be live on Tuesday. As for who you are, Hector Valerius, you’re a former security grunt for the Winston-Komoto Consortium. You grew up in their arcology, which is in Wyoming near the Tetons. Are you familiar?”
Hector nodded.
“Good! You were an only child; your parents have passed away, and you are on Mars, free of your contract and looking for work as a security officer for one of the prospecting outfits—or so you declared at the port of entry. Simple, but I figured that was best. Any questions?”
Hector shook his head. Simple is good, fixer.
“Now,” Kuroda said, flipping the little drive between his fingers, “there’s just the matter of payment.”
Hector made a fist, presenting the skull ring to the man.
“Excellent.” He lifted his deck, touched it to the ring, and it chimed softly. “And that concludes our business. As I said, give it until Tuesday before you start getting worried.”
“I won’t be the one getting worried.”
Kuroda looked over the top of his specs, peering into Hector’s eyes, and the smirk and no-doubt-witty retort died on his lips. “It’ll be there. Like I said, I’ve never had a problem with this contact.”
Hector nodded and stood, then stooped to retrieve his duffel. With a glance at Lemon, he said, “Let’s go,” and worked his way out of the cramped set of cubicle offices.
As soon as he exited, he froze, taking in a scene unfolding not twenty paces down the crowded row of stalls. Two peacekeepers were there, their AIs’ voices loud and harsh as they questioned people, asking if they’d “seen this individual.” Hector took Lemon’s arm and stepped back into the cubicle where the accountant woman was working.
“Excuse me,” the woman said, brushing aside some of her colorful hair, “Kuroda just let me know he’s taking lunch, so—”
“We’ll be gone in a moment.”
“What is it?” Lemon asked, glancing from Hector to the door.
“A feeling.” Hector muttered, peering through the beaded curtain. Sure enough, one of the PKs was working his way closer and closer. Hector unzipped his bag, taking out the two small boxes containing his earlier purchases. They slid comfortably into his coat pockets, and he snapped the buttons so they wouldn’t fall out. Then, he unslung his bag and handed it to Lemon. “You mind taking that for me? I’ll meet you back at your place later.” She stared at him wide-eyed as she took the heavy bag, and he leaned close, whispering in her ear. “PKs. You don’t know me.”
One thing Lemon wasn’t was slow. She set her lips into a firm line and nodded.
Hector tucked his chin into his coat’s high collar, then he slipped through the curtain, and motored away to his left. He wasn’t certain the PKs were after him, but his gut told him something was up, so he went with it. Walking quickly, face down, he was starting to feel like he might be in the clear when an amplified voice rang out from off to his right.
“Freeze, citizen. I need to scan your ID.”
Hector knew the PK was talking to him, but he kept his head down and kept walking.
“Freeze or be fired upon,” the PK’s voice was gratingly loud, and people around Hector scattered.
Shoot me for not hearing you? Hector frowned. He supposed it was just as likely as not, now that he was just one of the cogs in the great machine. There was also the possibility that the PK would use some kind of less-lethal, but very unpleasant munition, so he stopped and held his hands out to his sides, fingers splayed to show he wasn’t holding a weapon.
Heavy footsteps approached, clomping on the concrete, and Hector turned, for once grateful that his long hair was unruly, draping down over half his face. The PK was shorter than the one he’d seen earlier, but he—Hector assumed—was still heavily armored. His gauntlet was resting on the grip of a similarly massive blaster, too. Not pulling punches then, huh?
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“Uncover your eyes, citizen, and state your name.”
The PK was only two meters away by then, and Hector played for just a little more time by acting like an imbecile. “Huh?”
One more lengthy stride put the armored figure within reach, and the PK rumbled, “I said, move your hair, citizen.”
Hector stood still and silent, and the PK did what most authority figures do when dealing with someone they assumed was either stupid or truculent; he took matters into his own hands, reaching a gauntlet toward Hector’s face. It was what Hector had been waiting for.
He knew that his skin, when it had been fresh, could only safely handle three aura. Now, though, after activating a class and gaining a level, he felt it would be safe to push things a little. He channeled five aura into his Strength Boost, grabbed the PK’s wrist, stepped forward and pivoted, throwing him over his shoulder.
To an outside viewer, it would have been a textbook throw—smooth and graceful, with Hector’s hips doing as much work as his arm—and nearly impossible considering the PK’s girth with all his armor and equipment. Nevertheless, as Hector’s frame erupted in a crimson glow, he seemed to swell, and the PK sailed through the air to smash into a curry merchant’s stall fifteen meters away with a tremendous clatter and crash.
Hector didn’t look at what he’d done; he didn’t even spare a glance to see where the other PKs might be. He bunched his legs and launched himself toward the walkway above—the galleria portion of the bazaar. Boosted as he was, his legs did the job, propelling him five meters into the air. He grabbed the walkway railing just as his boost began to fade and hauled himself over. Gasping for breath, limping from strained ligaments, he ran toward a clothing store—the first business his wildly scanning eyes settled on.
As he yanked the door open, he glanced left and right, noting quite a few people standing still in their tracks, watching him. He grimaced and limped through the door. If those witnesses were like most people of their social tier, they’d move on quickly, and they certainly wouldn’t want to get mixed up with the PKs who were looking for Hector. As the door closed behind him, he looked around.
The place was a legitimate store—not a stall or prefab structure—and he found racks of clothing of all sorts filling the space. He quickly pushed his way into the depths, ducking low so the clothes shielded him from the front windows. A salesman called a greeting, but Hector ignored him, intending just to hide for a few minutes. Something caught his eye, though, and he glanced at the clerk, pleased to see the man hadn’t even looked his way. He was busy folding clothes as he packaged them for a pair of young women.
Hector snatched a heavy gray scarf and then, after scanning the nearby racks, rushed to one where he took a few seconds to find an extra-large blue hoodie. Once again, he glanced at the clerk, then shifted his gaze to the back of the store. A door proclaiming itself to be for employees caught his eye. He rushed to it, saw a pair of fitting room stalls off to his right and called, “Gonna try these on.”
Once again, the clerk responded without turning to look his way. “Go for it.”
Hector grabbed the door handle, but it didn’t budge. A keycard panel on the wall beside it explained why. Frowning, he queried his system for an aura report:
//Aura Pool: 6/10
End Report.//
Wincing at the stiffness in his joints, Hector channeled three aura into a Strength Boost. As the aura sent his mind reeling with a heady rush, and his body swelled with power, he coughed loudly and then twisted the handle until something inside broke, and the latch disengaged. Hector pulled the door wide and, without a backward glance, slipped through into a dim stockroom.
He paused there, listening at the door, but no sound of footsteps came to his ears. Thank the fates and thanks be to the gods of luck and battle! The prayer came unbidden, welling up from a deeply buried memory of his first year in the Imperial Guard. He banished the memory and yanked the hoodie over his head, pulling it on over his dark synth-leather jacket. Then, he wrapped the scarf around his neck and face, obscuring most of it.
With his makeshift disguise, shoddy as it was, Hector pushed his way through the stockroom, looking for a back door, hoping there was a service corridor that ran behind the shops. To his delight, he found one, and the door opened when he pressed the crash bar. He peered through the opening, looking left and right. Nobody was there, and he saw a metal door not far away with a stairs symbol imprinted on its surface. He didn’t hesitate, but shuffled toward the door, trying to favor his right knee, which had begun to throb.
The door wasn’t locked, and he slipped through, glanced down, then shook his head and climbed up. A few seconds later, he stood before a locked door with a sign that read, “Roof Access.” Sighing, Hector channeled his remaining aura into yet another Strength Boost and, grinding his teeth against the pain, he pulled on the metal door handle. The door creaked, and something sharp dug into his flesh. He soldiered on, and with a shriek, the handle pulled free, dragging the innards of the latch with it. Hector stuck a finger into the hole and pulled the door open.
He took a moment to wipe his blood off the ruined, bent door handle, then with blood gathering in his fist, he staggered out into the stiff wind, suddenly glad for the scarf beyond its ability to hide his face. He glanced at the gray sky. Were the winds working in his favor?
Get off the damn roof before a drone clocks you.
Hector ran, still limping, to the edge of the massive roof, choosing a side away from the street, with an adjacent, under-construction office building ten meters away. As he moved, he checked his aura again:
//Aura Pool: 1/10
End Report.//
He’d had an idea: the opposite building had a plasteel scaffold winding up the side. Could he leap that far with a boost? Not with one aura. He hurried to a big air-treatment pump and squatted beside it. Could he be so lucky that the drones wouldn’t see him?
Maybe the PKs brought their drones inside to scan the crowds. Blowing hot air into his hands, he rubbed them together, careful not to reopen his flap of loose skin. Meanwhile, he waited for the ambient aura to find its way into him, slowly refilling his pool. He forced himself to count to twenty between checks, and as soon as he had four aura again, he stood and fired his Strength Boost.
//Caution! This corpus vivum hasn’t fully recovered from recent boosts. If you proceed, you may suffer an aura overload.//
Scowling, Hector ignored the message and proceeded with the boost. Glowing crimson, like a human torch, he sprinted to the side of the building and leaped. It turned out that his body was good for it. The boost burned, and he knew his pathways were going to be raw and sensitive for a while, but he handled it. More importantly, the added strength, combined with the muscle memories of his past life’s training, was more than enough to send him across the gap.
He smashed into the plasteel scaffold, and sharp lances of pain shot through his ribcage where a plasteel bar dug into it. Ignoring the pain, Hector grasped the icy bar and hauled himself onto the platform. With a groan, he clambered to his feet and then limped and climbed down to the street using the ramps and ladders.
Standing there in the building’s shadow, he ensured his scarf covered most of his face, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his new hoodie, and hurried out of the alley. He glanced toward the bazaar’s main entrance and saw one of the PKs standing there, scanning the crowd. Hector ducked back around the corner of the building and waited until a group of pedestrians walked by the alley mouth, then he fell in with them, shuffling along like the rest of the workers toward the nearest train station.
He could have ignored the pain in his legs, but he didn’t. Assuming that the PKs were tracking him somehow—probably with drones—Hector figured that meant they’d followed him from where the first one had checked his ID, and that meant they might have data on his gait and posture. That said, he leaned into the limp and ensured his face never looked past the few meters before his feet.
As he walked, he worked on the problem, trying to analyze what had happened. Why’d the PKs change their stance on him? The only thing he could think of was that the bench warrant that the first PK issued had triggered something in the system. Someone had noticed that Paul Chevalier had resurfaced, and the bench warrant had been upgraded to a priority arrest warrant.
Hector patted his pockets, ensuring the little augment boxes were still safe. They were. More than ever, he needed to lose Paul’s old identity, but he wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know what other sorts of demons might be lurking in his new skin’s past.
