Starbase Human (22 page)

And the food made her long for Simiaar’s cooking.

The distance from the hotel to the industrial park was less than a kilometer. She walked it easily, the air so thick that it caught in her throat.

It had rained just before she left—a passing thunderstorm, the concierge told her—and that made the air seem more humid rather than less. The moment she stepped out of the hotel, her blouse stuck to her skin as if it had been glued there.

Her clothing was thin, but professional. Loose-fitting pants, a loose-fitting blouse, open-toed shoes, and no jewelry. Simiaar had thought she should have worn her uniform, but Gomez had vetoed that, reminding Simiaar that she was on leave. The uniform just wasn’t appropriate.

Simiaar had said that she wanted Gomez to impress them, but Gomez had the sense that Simiaar really wanted Gomez to remind them that she was law enforcement in the wild Frontier and knew how to handle herself.

Gomez felt that her job spoke for itself.

Simiaar didn’t agree, but Apaza did.

And Gomez needed Apaza on her side. He had to concentrate on setting up information dumps that would go directly to the Moon government—or what remained of it—should anything happen to Gomez.

The three of them had spent too much time debating just how to do that. Simiaar had wanted the
Green Dragon
to proceed to the Moon, even if something happened to Gomez.

Gomez wanted Simiaar to change ships as quickly as possible. Charlie Zamal could help them find one. No one would know that the three of them were involved with Gomez.

Apaza wanted a multi-pronged strategy. If Gomez was detained, he believed that Zamal should pilot the
Green Dragon elsewhere,
while Apaza and Simiaar traveled separately to the Moon to give the information they had gathered to the surviving government there.

If Gomez were injured, killed, or never heard from again, then Apaza wanted to send the information to the Moon and vanish himself, maybe even officially Disappear.

If someone or something attacked
The Green Dragon
, Apaza wanted to send the information to the Moon as the attacks began.

And all of them agreed that there should be some kind of failsafe built into the
Dragon
so that if it exploded, the information would be sent automatically.

Apaza had said that was the easiest thing for him to do, and he set it up.

But the other plans were harder to agree on.

Gomez didn’t want Apaza or Simiaar involved if something happened to her, but she got outvoted on that. Apaza and Simiaar would travel to the Moon separately if Gomez were detained.

If Gomez disappeared or got killed, then Simiaar would go alone, and Apaza would send the information, heavily encoded, once he had gotten somewhere safe.

Neither Simiaar nor Gomez felt that sending the information as the
Green Dragon
was being attacked was a good idea. Both of them believed that any attacking ship would be prepared to download whatever communications a ship under attack would send out—and maybe even trap that information.

Apaza promised to work on something that wouldn’t look like an information packet, but Gomez hoped they wouldn’t need that. She felt safe enough with the packet going out as the ship was destroyed.

Otherwise, she believed the information would reach the Moon one way or another.

But as she walked down the cobblestone that someone believed a good idea in place of an actual sidewalk, she found herself regretting not using all of the tricks that Apaza had designed.

Gomez didn’t feel good about this meeting, and she finally figured out why.

Most of the people she had passed as she got closer to the industrial park looked the same.

They didn’t dress the same—they wore everything from overalls to kimonos, short skirts to long dresses covered in ruffles. But they were the same height and their skin color was a neutral tannish brown, their eyes a bit wide and their noses small.

Even the children looked similar.

If they weren’t clones, then they were heavily enhanced.

She tried not to stare at them, feeling a bit dumpy and out of place as she moved.

She left the edge of the commercial area—filled with hotels and restaurants and a few shops—and crossed a green space. Five people worked on their hands and knees, plants in containers beside them, switching out the dying flowers with hardier looking ones.

The ground they had dug up was black and rich. She could even smell the heavy scent of wet dirt.

As she approached the industrial park, the cobblestone spread in three different directions—directly ahead, and off to her left and right. The paths that went left and right butted up against a fence made of the same material.

The fence was at least a meter taller than she was, and appeared to be so solid that she wasn’t sure how anyone could break through it.

It did look easy to climb, but she would wager that there was some kind of protective field around it.

The path she was on led to an unmanned gate. She flattened her palm against the lock, letting her badge flare.

“Judita Gomez,” she said. “I have an appointment.”

She had made that the night before with their personnel office, just like she would have done if she were applying for a job here.

A calm settled over her.

She had missed this kind of risk, missed those moments when she went alone into a place where she had never been and a future that remained entirely unknown.

The gate swung open just enough to let her slip through. Then it eased closed behind her.

Building Fourteen
, said an automated voice in her links as a map appeared below her left eye.

Building Fourteen was only a few meters left of the entrance, which made sense. Most strangers would come into the industrial park to either interview for a job or start their first day on the job.

If Gomez had to guess, the buildings to her right housed other services geared toward guests.

The cobblestone continued here, reminding her that Hétique City was a company town, and that the cloning factory had come before any official city government.

Plants, similar to the ones being replaced outside the gate, glistened in the sunlight. Since the rain clouds passed, the sun had come out very bright. Hétique held a similar position in relation to its sun that Earth had in relation to its, but Gomez couldn’t remember ever feeling this hot and sticky on Earth.

Nor could she remember the sun ever seeming to be so bright, the light so vibrant.

But it had been a long time since she had been to Earth, and even longer since she had gone into a human-only city with that same feeling of possible danger that she often had on the Frontier.

The map illuminated her way around some stone benches and a lovely little gazebo. A couple sat inside, having a serious conversation, almost as if they had been planted there as advertising for how wonderful and peaceful this park could be.

Gomez glanced at them, and let the details reach her—more tannish brown skin, wide eyes, and long, thin forms. She realized, after a moment, that two people she had assumed were some kind of couple might have actually been brother and sister—or clones with their gender modified.

Gomez shivered. She hated thinking about the way that human beings could be manipulated for profit.

Building Fourteen was wide and rectangular, with a low roof. Greenery that she couldn’t identify hung down from the gutters, and she wondered if, from above, this building looked more like a hill than an actual building.

The walls were recessed just enough that she had to walk through vines to get to the door.

It swung open as she appeared.

Judita Gomez, proceed one meter to your right, then turn left.

She followed the instructions as they were sent through her links. She felt better than she had in weeks, as if she had done this before.

And technically, she had, every single time she approached an alien government in the Frontier when someone in that government insisted she come alone.

Regulations stated she should never go alone, but, as she had told Nuuyoma when he took over the
Stanley
, regulations on the Frontier were merely suggestions.

Another door swung open, and this time she entered a sitting area. The temperature had cooled here, and the air was drier. Her damp skin left her feeling colder than the temperature gauge she’d called up in her right eye told her she should be.

“Marshal Gomez.” The voice belonged to a man, but Gomez didn’t see anyone.

A hologram appeared before her, deliberately clear at first so that she knew she was speaking to someone who wasn’t bothering to be in the room.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” the man asked.

He was thin, like the men she had seen outside, but his skin was several shades darker. His eyes were a light green, making them almost disappear on his face.

“I’m here to discuss a position,” she said.

“We haven’t advertised a position,” he said.

“Of course you haven’t,” she said. “You never advertise positions. And yet, I heard from a reliable source that you need trained law enforcement.”

She had heard that—or rather Apaza had found it deep inside the files that Gomez had found on her database. Anyone interested in working in facilities like this one needed ties to law enforcement.

“Who told you that?” the man asked.

She smiled. “If I told you that, then I might get my source in trouble. Confirm or deny that you’re looking for trained law enforcement. I’m hoping to ease into retirement with a cushier job than I’m used to, and if there are no jobs here, then I’ll move to my next stop.”

The hologram winked out and yet another door opened.

“Come on in, Marshal.” The same voice came out of that open door, only this time the voice seemed a little richer. The actual person, apparently, sat inside that room.

Gomez walked inside, and realized that no one sat here. Tables stood to one side, mostly housing screens so that someone could fill out documents or look up information. Gigantic white pillows were pushed against one wall; apparently they were what a person used if she chose to sit.

The floor was covered in thick, green, shag carpet, and the walls matched. The wood trim was dark, making the white pillows the only things in the room that seemed bright.

A man stood in the center of all of it. He was barefoot and wore thin pants that seemed suited to the humid weather outside. His shirt was white and loose. He was younger than she expected, and looked nothing like the people she had seen outside.

His skin was darker—more coffee than tan—and his face wider, his eyes closer together, his mouth broad and curled in a smile. Somehow the combination was charming rather than off-putting.

He waved. “We don’t shake hands here,” he said. “We’re a little conscious of where we leave our DNA.”

Then he laughed, as if he had made a joke. Maybe he thought he had.

“I’m Ashraf Guan. I handle initial hiring here, and I’ll be honest. I’m interested and intrigued. Interested in you as a possible employee, intrigued that you found us.”

That last had a bit of an edge, as if he didn’t expect anyone to find them.

Gomez decided to put him at ease. “I use old databases because I’m with the FSS. I’m not sure if the notification I saw is gone now, but I can send it to you, if you would like.”

“Please do,” he said.

She was prepared for this moment. She had the notice, along with enough of the database so that he could identify where it had come from.

She had had Apaza go over everything to make certain that sending this little piece of the
Dragon’s
database did not give anyone here a way into the ship’s systems.

“My last few years on the Frontier have been difficult ones.” Gomez could truthfully say things like that because
all
years on the Frontier were difficult. If Guan looked at her service record, he would see that she had handled crisis after crisis.

His eyes had glazed just a little: obviously, he was examining the notification she had sent him.

“I’m not getting younger,” she said. “I think I would like to stop traveling and settle for a while.”

Then he focused on her. “You can retire now. You don’t have to do any work. Why apply for another job?”

Gomez smiled, prepared for that, as well. “My friends accuse me of being addicted to adrenalin. They might be right. I liked the challenge of my job with the FSS, but it’s starting to wear on me. I still need that occasional adrenaline hit, but I don’t think I need to constantly risk my life to do it.”

“I’m not sure what you expect here,” Guan said. “We are never threatened from outside. We have guards. What we use law enforcement for is training.”

She felt a surge of victory. She had gotten him to admit they had placed that notice.

“I’ll be honest,” she said, “I doubt I would make a good security guard. That’s boredom punctuated by terror, and usually better suited to bots and androids—at least in the early phases.”