Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5) (16 page)

LIVINGSTON

Chapter 25

“Mr. Alexi Stanislovski” presented his documents at the Livingston immigration booth. 

“Look into the scanner, sir,” the agent told him as he captured the card on his reader.

Ryck leaned into the retinal scanner, nervous despite himself.  The subtle modification in his irises coupled with his extensive, if completely fictional background, should make it through the scan, but that was theory, not proven fact.  So Ryck was relieved when a short beep accepted him as the Realtitude Sympatico businessman.

“Welcome to Livingston, Mr. Stanislovski,” the immigration officer intoned.  “You are welcome to stay for 30 GMT days.  If you wish to stay longer, please report into any Level 2 government office for an extension.”

He handed Ryck back his card and was motioning up the next person in line, who happened to be “Evgeni Sidorov,” known to Ryck as Corporal Hans
Çağlar, UFMC.  Evgeni was registered as a personal bodyguard and so was allowed to carry a non-lethal handgun.  Sams had laughed when the assignments had come out, calling Çağlar’s persona form after function. 

This mission was real in the sense that no one on Livingston was aware of their real identities.  However, there was no mission other than certifying the procedure.  There was no Intel to gather, no fight to be had.  It was simply get in, spend a few days moving about, then get out, all without being detected as Federation Marines.

Ryck’s leg bones still carried the mod from the mission on New Beginnings, and Ryck barely even thought about it anymore.  His face, though, had been altered again.  He still felt weird looking in the mirror. The reflection still looked like him—sort of—and that subtle difference was more disconcerting to him, he thought, than had it been a completely different face.

Ryck waited just beyond the immigration station as
Çağlar—no, Sidorov, Ryck reminded himself—went through his screening.  His took longer as he had to turn over his Douglas to get its serial number recorded and for the immigration armorer to take it to the ID booth for a beamprint.  If the weapon was ever used while on the planet against anything organic, that beam pattern could be traced to the weapon.

It took a few minutes for Sidorov to pass through, and he immediately moved in front of Ryck and led him to the luggage claim.  He really looked the part, Ryck had to admit.  Ryck had known Çağlar for several years, from the private who had been nervous about screwing up his first mission to the quiet, but competent Marine he was now.  But from an outsider’s point-of-view, Ryck knew the big Marine could look intimidating. 

This exercise was employing almost half of the battalion with Bravo’s three platoons going to Livingston.  Each team of two or three, with Sams and Captain Yancy “Siomai” Lee being singletons, had been given different identities.  Ryck and Çağlar were from
Realtitude’s Sympatico station, a huge conglomeration of ships and habitats semi-permanently connected in the Sixth Sector.  As with each of Realtude’s stations, the accepted reputation was that most of the business only bordered on the up-and-up, and many activities that were accepted on the station were outright illegal in much of the rest of human space. 

The four targeted planets, each with teams from the four companies in the battalion, were all in the Liberty Alliance.  Each of the 21 planets and 12 stations in the Alliance were independent governments that pooled resources for defense, trade, and other activities so as to be able to better compete with the Federation, the Brotherhood, the Confederation of Free States, and other governments and cooperatives.  But it was the fragmentation caused by their almost religiously-fervent independence from each other that made the four selected planets good targets.  Their Intel and counter-surveillance could not be as good in the more established groups, or even the smaller Greater France, the Advocacy, or other multi-planet governments.

Ryck and
Çağlar
waited by the luggage claim for more than 30 minutes before their billet chimed, indicating their bag had cleared customs.  That was the longest Ryck had ever waited, and he guessed that the Livingston government bordered on the paranoid.  Ryck loaded the two bags on the hoversled while
Çağlar watched over him.  Ryck would have thought that it should have been Çağlar’s job to fetch the luggage, given their roles, but the briefing had been adamant that the bodyguards had to remain unburdened as was custom on
stations such as Realtude’s.  Ryck had assumed that the bodyguard would function more as an assistant, but evidently, in the more Wild West atmosphere of many stations, bodyguards did just that—guard.

Ryck had always been given to believe that the Alliance worlds were technologically behind the rest of humanity, but the waiting autobcabs looked pretty much the same as anywhere else.  He loaded the bags as
Çağlar
kept watch, then slipped inside.  The ID plate on the dash indicated that this cab was made by Peugeot, just like those on so many other worlds.

“The Night’s Rest in Altura,” he said, naming the local hotel of the mid-level chain favored by businessmen.  Ryck had never stayed in a Night’s Rest, but the advertisements proclaimed them “Your home away from home on more than 125 planets!”

Both the capital and the planet went by the same name, and as capital cities went, Livingston was not overly impressive, Ryck thought.  It seemed smaller and less frenetic than most capital cities.  As the cab passed into the city’s Altura district, the mood shifted to one of casual nightlife with restaurants and pubs.  Their hotel was right on the main thoroughfare.

Checking in was simple.  Ryck even had a Good Night Club rewards card, replete with records of previous stays at different Night’s Rests around human space.  The auto-concierge spit out his key-swipe along with a printed list of “recommended” restaurants, all undoubtedly paying the chain for the recommendation.  A simple pass-over with his PA, and each restaurant would be in his system with foot or autocab navigation instructions.

Ha!  I guess it is just like home
, he thought to himself. 

Business is business, and it just keeps marching on.

Ryck and
Çağlar took the elevator to the fifth floor and went to their room.  It was an “Accompanied” room, meaning it had a small anteroom where a bodyguard or secretary would sleep.  Through another locked door was a well-appointed central work room, and a bedroom and master bath were off to the left.

Ryck grunted his reluctant approval.  The room was rather nice, and if the two of them were going to be on the planet for four days, this sure
wouldn’t be a bad place to do it. Better than any other operation he’d ever been on, that was for sure.  He was just glad that it was on the Federation’s tab, not his. 

He and
Çağlar pulled their bags off the cart, then hit the return button.  As the cart trundled out, the doors automatically closed.

Leaving his bag on the floor, he wandered over to the pantry where he was greeted by a well-stocked minibar.  He pulled out two Anton’s Hard Ciders, holding them up for Çağlar to see, who nodded his acceptance.  He dropped them into the cooler, dialed up 5 degrees, and then pulled the chilled bottles out, tossing one to the corporal.

Ryck plopped down on the Roman couch, kicking off his shoes and taking a swig of the cider.

“Not too plastic,” he said, using one of the local station phrases given to him by his briefers, in case anyone happened to be monitoring two unimportant businessmen.  “Not too plastic at all.”

To top it off, they were getting per diem for all of this. 
Sometimes it just paid to be a Marine.

Chapter 26

Ryck and
Çağlar sat on the park bench, a
bánh
mi in one hand, a bottle of sparkling panderfruit juice in the other. The sandwich was not like any
bánh
mi
he’d ever had before.  It was on a baguette, at least, but the processed meat was different, and the entire sandwich was much sweeter.  Ryck didn’t know if this was just the local version or if the fabricator that made the ingredients was not up to the job.

Across the street was one of their four objectives.  Ryck had no idea what the nondescript three-story building was, only that it had been assigned to the two of them.  They were to take it under observation for a minimum of 30 minutes.  This was the second of their two objectives, and so far, nothing of note had been observed at either of them.  Ryck suspected nothing of note would be at any of them.  It wasn’t what they observed that would be important, only that they did observe them.

A few people entered and exited while they watched, but the glass and plastosteel office building next to it had far more traffic.  Their objective didn’t look very important, and maybe it wasn’t, but it made sense that certain types of important buildings did not look the part.

Of course, that line of thinking was slanted as if the Alliance was a belligerent force, not an unwitting setting for a simple exercise.  The building probably was just what it seemed:  a run-down piece of real estate that would soon be torn down for a more modern and better rent-producing building to take its place.

“You about done there, Sidorov?” he asked
Çağlar.  “We’ve dawdled long enough.  We can’t make any money sitting on our asses.”

He took Çağlar’s sandwich wrapper and along with his, dumped them in the round trashcan at the end of the bench.  He wiped his hands on his trouser legs,
the motioned for
Çağlar to precede him.  They were done for the day, so it was back to the hotel.  The other two objectives would be hit tomorrow.

The air was crisp, even in the city center, and pleasantly cool as they walked back.  Despite this, and despite their slow pace, Ryck had worked up a slight sweat, and he looked forward to taking a shower back in the room.  The shower had no less than five heads that shot the water out with surprising, but welcomed force.  If Ryck weren’t renting their townhome back on Tarawa, he’d consider installing the same thing back there. 

Çağlar
, still in character, pushed open the door to the hotel and made an effort to look around for any danger.  Ryck wondered if this was overkill, but he wasn’t going to say anything.  The two went to the elevator.

“Uh, Mr. Stanislovski?  Sorry to bother you, sir,” a voice said from behind Ryck.

Both Marines turned to see one of the hotel staff walking up to them.

“There is a problem with your payment.  It just got declined.  Can I see you back in the office to clear this up?”

Grubbing hell!  Leave it to the pogues to screw this up
, Ryck thought sourly.

He forced a smile on his face and said, “Sure, no problem.  I’m sure this is just a mix-up.”

The hotel had very few employees.  There was no reception desk, for example, only the three electronic concierges to check in and check out guests.  The three men walked past the concierges and through a small door that led into the hotel offices.

As soon as Ryck stepped through, he knew something was wrong. 

He stopped dead as one of four men looking at him said, “Major Lysander, we’re going to need you and Lance Corporal
Çağlar
to come with us.”

Ryck felt more than heard
Çağlar
start to move around him, and he shot out his arm to block the NCO.
[14]
  This was a non-actionable exercise, and force was not authorized except to protect life and limb.  This was not such a case.

He started to protest, but with a sinking heart, he knew it was over.  He’d failed his mission. 

What the grubbing hell did we do wrong?  How did we screw up?
he wondered.

“May I ask you who you are and where we’re going?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“I’m Sub-Major Hersheim Lindt, of Internal Security, and we’re going to the precinct jail.  You are to be charged with illegal entry into Livingston.  So, if you please, we’ll be going out the rear staff entry so as not to cause a scene and board the waiting police van.  I shouldn’t have to add that I hope you two will come along peacefully.  Any attempt to escape could result in an unfortunate turn of events.

Ryck looked at the four men.  All of them, including the sub-major, looked more than capable of handling themselves.  And there were probably more of them outside.  A part of warrior Ryck wanted to shout out a loud “Hell no!” and make a break of it, but the rational Ryck pushed that back down.  This was not life-or-death, merely something for the diplomats to handle.  If one of these men were hurt, that would only raise the ante of what groveling the Federation would have to perform.  No, better to just go along meekly, no matter how much that grated on him.

“No worry, Sub-Major, Lance Corporal
Çağlar and I will cooperate,” he said, using Çağlar’s old rank, the one the sub-major had used.  Çağlar had been a corporal for four months now, so however they’d been caught, the Livingston database was not up to date.

“Your sidearm, Lance Corporal?” one of the other men asked.

Ryck nodded, and Çağlar reluctantly handed over his Douglas.  A Marine should never have to give up his weapon, but it was out of their hands.

Trying to buck up himself up, Ryck took a deep breath as he marched out of the office and into captivity.