The Razor's Edge Page 8

  He couldn’t stay here with a dead body on the floor. He couldn’t leave it here either.

  * * *

  This body was harder to hide than the first. The only place he could think of was his room; it had worked once already. He carried her as if she were drunk, stumbling down the halls of the sleeping ship back to his room on the lower levels. The ruse turned out to be unnecessary; no one was awake yet. It didn’t matter, he didn’t relax until the room door was locked behind him.

  The process for this body was the same as the first. He finally found the memory chip glued above her hairline on the back of her neck and ripped it off, sticking it in his comm unit, already knowing what he would find. By the time the soft beep came, he’d gotten her clothes back on and her body jammed under the bed with her partner. She barely fit, and he had to twist her arm and cram it between the other body and the bottom of the bed so she didn’t roll out. He tried to rearrange the blankets to cover the view.

  The decryption signature was different. This one was a known variant used by SoCal, the biggest and most ruthless corporation out there. They owned most of the west coast of North America, turning it into a multi-level city called San Angeles.

  Another surge of pain spiked deep in his back and he rushed to the toilet, barely making it before releasing a pink stream of urine into the metal bowl. His kidneys had taken more damage than he’d thought. He put down the lid and sat, staring back at his reflection in the cracked mirror over the sink. His eyes were bloodshot and the thin web of scars on the left side of his face almost glowed white in the artificial light. He looked beaten.

  IBC and SoCal had both tried to get the data chip he’d picked up on Mars. They had also both failed, but it had been close. Too close. What did they know about the package that he didn’t? They obviously thought it contained something vital, and not just to one of them. For a brief moment, he considered opening it, reading what was more important than his life. As he stood, he realized he didn’t really care. He had a job to do, and if it would help wrestle power from the corporations and put it in the hands of the people, that was good enough. It was all he needed.

  He pulled up the time on his comm unit. Nine more hours to go until they landed in San Angeles and he could get back to normal. If he could get back to normal after this trip. The San Angeles shuttle port was where he was supposed to deliver his package, meeting up with his boss to hand it over to him. He figured he could stay in his room for that amount of time. It was going to be a long nine hours. He lay down on the bed, acutely aware of what was underneath it. That’s when the smell hit him.

  The first body had started failing.

  * * *

  Miller verified the Do Not Disturb sign was still on his door and left the room as fast as he could. Which wasn’t very speedy. Every move reminded him of the two beatings he’d taken. He laughed quietly to himself as he used the wall for support. You should see the other guy.

  He knew he’d have to go back to his room to get the package, but that was something he’d worry about later. All he wanted right now was out.

  He made his way back to the dining room and sent a message to his handler. Second attempt to get package. Second body in my room. It was only after he’d pressed send that he started shaking again. Maybe the delay meant he was getting used to what was happening. Part of him thought that was a good thing; most of him didn’t.

  The dining room stayed empty the rest of the night. Miller fought off sleep, his back to the corner where he could watch the entire space. More than once he caught himself as his head fell forward and jerked back upright. When the smell of breakfast reached him, he almost threw up. He wouldn’t be eating for a while.

  As the dining room filled with hungry people, he kept his spot at the table. Several times, individuals and groups asked if they could join him. He sent them away to hunt for seats somewhere else. He wasn’t about to restrict his view or allow another corporate operative to get close to him. He held the table until breakfast was done and the room was back to being empty.

  There were two more hours to go. He knew he wasn’t going to make it. He lurched as he stood from the table, grabbing onto it for support. The dining room had become a tunnel, the walls pressing in, squeezing the life out of him. It wouldn’t matter if someone attacked him now. They would have the upper hand and he would lose. The two beatings coupled with staying awake all night were taking their toll on his body and his mind. He just wanted to lay down, close his eyes, and ease some of the pain.

  On a ship this size, that meant only one thing … his assigned room.

  Miller stumbled down the hallways, barely aware of where he was, bouncing from wall to wall as his battered body tried to maintain its balance. The simple fact that he found his room surprised him. Even standing outside the door, he could smell the bodies inside. Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Either way, he just didn’t care any more. He unlocked the door and fell into his room. He had no memory of closing the door behind him.

  He woke to the gentle sound of audio coming from the ceiling. The music ended and a voice floated down.

  “This is your final warning. We will be entering Earth’s atmosphere in two minutes. Please secure your belongings and strap yourselves in. There will be minor turbulence. We expect to be at our arrival gate on time.”

  Scrambling for the only chair in the room, he glanced at the bodies under the bed, hoping he’d lodged them in deep enough. At least the smell had receded. He did up the buckle just as the ship pierced the upper layer of atmosphere.

  As promised, the turbulence was short lived. An arm vibrated out from under the bed, but other than that, the two bodies remained stuck where he had put them. Miller sighed in relief. He didn’t want to touch them again. He undid the buckle and stood. He felt like shit. Every move sent deep-rooted shards of pain through his body. He ran what was left of his cold water rations and splashed his face. It didn’t help.

  When his hands were dry, he pried his fingers under the cracked mirror and lifted the bottom of it away from the wall. A memory chip no bigger than his pinky fingernail fell into the palm of his other hand. Whatever it contained, there were at least two people who thought it was worth dying—worth killing—for. But it would be out of his hands in a few more minutes. That’s all he cared about. He taped the chip to the bottom of his foot.

  Straightening as best he could, he moved back to the bed. He didn’t care about his luggage … clothes and toiletries could be replaced. All he needed was his ID and to get off the damned ship. He grabbed his ID from the small table and pocketed his comm unit, double-checking the room before opening the door.

  A blur charged into him, knocking him into the nightstand. The back of his head hit the edge and stars flew around the room. He felt more than heard the door slam shut as he scuttled backwards to the far wall.

  * * *

  Miller could feel blood dripping down the back of his neck as he pushed himself up against the wall. The man came in hard and fast, driving into Miller as if he intended to push him right through the composite bulkhead. When he backed off, Miller slipped to the floor again.

  Realization hit him harder than the man had as he slid the last few inches. He wasn’t going to win this one. He had nothing left to fight with.

  The man knelt beside him, a smile on his face. “Where is it?”

  Miller stayed quiet. His fingers wrapped around something that had fallen to the floor. His toothbrush. The bristles pressed into the palm of his hand.

  “I will get what I want. Your choice here is whether you die quickly or slowly.” The man’s hand moved to Miller’s neck. He squeezed, cutting off blood flow to Miller’s brain instead of choking him.

  Reflex took over. Fight or die. Miller tightened his grip on the toothbrush and in one quick motion jabbed it into the man’s neck with enough force to bury it deep. He pulled the toothbrush back out. Blood spurted from the hole. The man’s eyes widened. Instead of clasping his han
d over the wound, he grabbed Miller’s arm with both hands, one on his wrist and the other on his elbow. He twisted with inhuman strength.

  Miller heard the crack before the pain registered. The toothbrush fell from his limp fingers.

  A split second later, his attacker’s tactics changed, instinct kicking in. The man tried to get to his knees, both of his hands clamped around the gaping wound in his neck. Blood shot out from between his clenched fingers with every beat of his heart, spraying onto the bed and wall.

  The man fell forward, landing on Miller’s broken arm. Miller screamed. He pushed with his good arm, rolling his attacker off of him, and struggled to his feet. The room blurred and he fell to the left, almost landing on the bed before catching himself. He only had one thought. One plan. Get out.

  Miller stumbled from his room, falling into the people heading for the gangway. Several of them pushed him away. He screamed in pain as one yanked on his arm, turning and running almost full speed into a wall.

  Slumping against it, he sucked in huge gulps of air. He had to get off this ship and he had to do it now. There wasn’t any other thought in his head … he forgot about the package, the bodies, everything except that he needed to get out.

  The short hallway had cleared. Everyone had run as far from him as they could. He moved back to the open door and closed it on the dead man on the floor, not bothering to hide the body. There was no place left to hide it anyway. Miller tugged on the bottom of his shirt, reflex trying to make him fit in with the other people on the ship, and shambled away from the gangway, using every gram of concentration he could muster to stay upright. Too many people had seen him. Security was probably already on its way. He needed to move.

  There was no way he was going to get off this ship without being caught by the police, or worse, one of the corporations. He stopped, swaying in the hallway, unsure of what to do next. ACE had trained him as a courier, not as a killer. He jammed a hand into his pocket and felt the hard exteriors of the memory chips he’d taken from the first two bodies. No! He had a job to do! His brain commanded his feet to move.

  “Ian Miller?”

  The voice came from behind him. He spun, slamming the shoulder of his broken arm into the wall. He bit against the scream, refusing to show his new attackers any weakness.

  “Miller, come with us.”

  The man that spoke was tall. Taller than Miller, at least. His clothes were dark and he wore a mask over his face. The weapon in his hand was blacker than the depths of space. His three companions looked exactly the same. Miller tore his eyes from the gun and backed away.

  He couldn’t do this anymore.

  “Miller,” the man spoke again. “We’re ACE. We’re here to get you off the ship and to a safe house.” He stepped forward and grabbed for Miller.

  No! They weren’t going to get him. He fell back as the gun swung towards his head. The hallway went dark and the pain mercifully disappeared.

  * * *

  Miller woke up in a small room with a firm mattress under him and warm blankets on top. Light shone through yellow curtains, and on a black dresser in the corner sat new clean clothes. The door opened for a man with wireframe glasses perched on the end of his nose.

  “Ah! You’re awake. Good. I’m Dr. Searls. I work for ACE. I’ve patched you up. You’ll be as good as new in a couple of days. Get dressed and go to the living room. There’s a couple of men who want to talk to you. You’ll find some clean clothes on the dresser.” The doctor fussed for a couple of more minutes, examining Miller’s arm and head, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

  Miller got up, carefully stretching his muscles and moving his arm. He could still feel it wasn’t quite right, but it wasn’t broken anymore. Whoever was out there had paid a lot of money to fix him up. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the doctor, or anyone at this point. He vaguely remembered the four men in the ship saying they were from ACE. But could he believe them? What if this was just another corporate tactic to get the package? He shook his head. He still wasn’t thinking clearly. It didn’t make any sense. They could have taken the package from him any time they wanted, he’d been out cold. It surprised him when he found the memory chip on top of his clothes. But they could have made a copy and put it back to lower his guard.

  This level of paranoia was new to him, and he didn’t like it.

  He got dressed as quietly as he could and moved to the window. It was sealed and the glass was at least half an inch thick. Unbreakable. The only way out of this room was through the door the doctor had taken. He sighed and opened it. Voices drifted from his left.

  The first person to see him was a large man. He almost broke into a sweat standing up from the sofa, a smile creating deep dimples in his cheeks. The other man was Miller’s boss. Miller could feel the tension leave his body.

  The large man extended a hand. Miller took it. The handshake was firm.

  “I’m Nigel Wood. You, of course, already know Steven.” His jowls shook as he waggled his chin at Miller’s boss.

  Miller just nodded.

  “I’ll get straight to the point,” Nigel said. “Your talents are being wasted as a courier. We’re moving you to black ops. Training starts next week. Steven has all your particulars, so you won’t lose your apartment. You’ll stay here until it’s time to leave.”

  Miller took half a step back. An operative? Doing what the three people that had attacked him did for a living? “And if I don’t want to?”

  “Miller—”

  “No, Steven. The boy has a point.” Nigel sat back down. “ACE is losing, my boy. The corporations seem to be one step ahead of us at every turn. How they knew you were carrying important data is something we haven’t found out yet. We need operatives that can handle themselves, that can get into and out of places without being caught, and if they are caught, have the intelligence to get themselves out. You’ve proven you can do that.”

  Miller stayed quiet.

  “Look,” Nigel sighed. “If we keep going the way we are, ACE won’t be around this time next year. We need to build up our operatives. We need you. If you choose to remain a courier for us, we would of course do our best to protect you. If you become an operative, we wouldn’t have to.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I … I hate what I did up there. I hate that I let myself get so out of control that I don’t even know how I beat them.” He hated how he shook like a leaf when it was all over, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

  “Part of your training will be how to deal with that.” Nigel stood and began pacing around the room. “Take the training, Mr. Miller. It’s the best offer you’ll ever see. Part of your new job will be making sure what happened to you doesn’t happen to any of our other couriers.”

  Miller stared at the floor, chewing the inside of his cheek.

  “I do need your answer.”

  If he could help another courier, another person … If he could make their lives better, safer … If he would be safe from more of what happened on the ship …

  As if reading his mind, Nigel stopped pacing at the door, one hand on the handle. “Good. You’ve made the right choice. Enjoy the house for the week. Training will not be easy.” He opened the door and left, followed by Steven.

  Apparently, he’d made a choice and hadn’t realized it.

  Neural Net

  Sharon P. Goza

  Craylxz floated behind Domar Juyk as the slender overseer slipped effortlessly through the connected cerebral units. Juyk was almost twice the height of Craylxz and possessed six limbs, two of which propelled him across the floor with barely perceptible sucks and pops. Juyk’s next two limbs ended in four-fingered hands, which were typically either gesturing or delivering punishment. The last two limbs terminated in cupped tips that could be used for holding things but were usually clasped behind him.

  The walls of the chamber whooshed and puffed, breathing in oxygen and emitting the precise chemical composition needed to keep both the cerebral units an
d their overseers alive. Stout Craylxz felt akin to the walls as he expelled oxygen through his pores at the rate necessary to stay the pre-requisite distance behind his Domar and not float past him or slam into a unit. In two of Craylxz’s three-fingered hands he held an interface device that displayed a constant stream of neural waveforms. His third hand flitted over the device in an attempt to notate the instructions from Juyk. The acquisition of the biological transport chamber had been a major find for the Domar’s race, the Vyrlk. Although the last cerebral network had lasted a mere twenty cycles, these human units were highly compatible with the transport chamber and had been calculating for nearly three hundred.

  Craylxz felt awestruck any time he wandered amid the units. There were thirty in his chamber, and although he was not a Domar, he felt personally responsible for every single one. That’s what caused him to call his overseer here today. One of the units had been exhibiting strange neural patterns. Craylxz had followed protocol and disconnected the unit and processed it through a purge and wipe procedure, but that had only worked for ten cycles. The unit was once again starting to exhibit the fluctuating pattern.

  Juyk stopped to examine the connection stalk on the offending unit. “Craylxz, show me the display.”

  Craylxz isolated the requested waveform, floated over to his Domar, and held the display out where the Domar could read it.

  “Hmm, I see nothing wrong with the stalk. You say you’ve purged and wiped this unit once already?”

  “Yes, Domar Juyk. Ten cycles ago. The pattern isn’t as strange as it was before I wiped it, but it’s off enough that I wanted to make sure it wasn’t causing an error in the calculations.”