Superego (10 page)

“I have a new plan, which I rate to have approximately a 23.847% chance of success. Do you like the number? I made it more computer-like.”

“I don't care how many decimal spaces you give me. I need a much better plan.”

“I will keep working on it. If I may query about another subject, do you plan to kill Detective Thompson?”

I checked my guns one last time. “I have plans to kill everyone I meet…including a witty line to say afterward.”

“What will be your witty line upon dispatching the detective?”

Now I was joking. “Well, since I'll only have to kill her if she's smart enough to see through my ruse, I'll say, ‘If you had only been dumb enough to trust a psychopath, you'd still be alive.'”

“Ironic. Still not very funny.”

I put on the light jacket I had picked out. “Like you have any ability to judge that.”

“I think you should revisit my conclusion that you are evil.”

“I told you I don't have time for that. I have too much work to do to indulge your learning algorithms.”

“Do you really think you'll be able to find the terrorists, Officer Rico?”

“A killer in search of killers—it just might work. Plus, I'm betting the detective knows something useful and could use some help outside of the law.”

I had a keen eye—that's how I survive—and I should have been able to pick up on something if pointed in the right direction. Something was bothering me, though, and I still couldn't quite place my finger on exactly what was wrong. This assignment was just so unusual, from Burke's unexpected visit to having a job without any details to not knowing whom I'm supposed to work with or how to contact them to being led right into a terrorist attack and then tasked to hunt the terrorists. Each bit wasn't a big deal on its own, but when I thought about all the oddities at once, I felt a little pang at the back of my mind. I might have actually been…scared. That was okay in itself. What bothered me was that I didn't understand exactly what I was scared of.

“Rico! Knock, knock.”

“Shut up, Dip.”

Fear—the slight, nagging feeling that I didn't want to continue onward—was not an emotion I had ever found useful. I knew logically the danger of my actions, so I didn't need my subconscious piping up. But this time it seemed like it had information I didn't.

So what was I afraid of? Not death. Not pain. Not loss. What else was there to fear? I felt like I was losing touch with myself, but I hoped that if I found the terrorists, dispatched them quickly, and finally found out what the syndicate wanted me for, things might fall back into their proper places.

“Are you all right, Rico?”

If my feelings had leaked to my demeanor, then I was losing control of myself. “Just thinking about yesterday.” The detective motioned me into the passenger seat of her car. “So what's the plan?”

“Still working on that.” She took the vehicle into the air. “We'll need to stop by the station first so you can fill out some paperwork.”

The place every hitman wants to be. In the middle of a police station. Filling out paperwork. “Is that really necessary?”

“I plan to push the rules a little today, so I might as well comply where I can.”

I could see the layout of the city again. We were in the nice, modern downtown area, but farther out, things didn't look as good. I guessed I could get away with more out there. “This won't take long?”

“I won't let it. We've gotten a notice from the terrorist group that they will keep attacking until the conference is canceled and we give up our ‘imperialist ways.' I don't think they're bluffing.”

“Could this affect the conference?” I assumed the conference was central to why I was here, but maybe the syndicate wanted it disrupted.

“I really don't care, Rico. I just want to make sure no one else gets killed.”

I hoped she meant “other than the terrorists” or she was going to be seriously disappointed.

The station was new, spacious, and filled with armed cops. I didn't think I'd need to, but it was fun imagining having to shoot my way out. The gunpowder-based firearms would quickly run out of ammo, so I'd want to move first toward the nearest armed person to appropriate his or her weapon. That would probably be the detective herself, but I hadn't seen her pistol so I didn't know if it would be adequate to fight my way to the parking lot.

“What are you smiling about?” the detective asked.

“It's a nice station. I wish we had a place like this on Rikar.”

She nodded. “You have kind of a creepy smile, you know that?”

That statement was somewhere between playful and genuinely insulting. I gathered she was still making up her mind about me.

“So this is the hero?” Two officers were approaching us, a human male and a Corridian female.

“This is Rico,” the detective told them, nodding. She turned to me. “These are officers Randall and Meela.”

“I guess you're pretty good with a gun,” Meela said.

“It wasn't my first shootout. I'm a police officer on a planet called Rikar. It gets a bit rough there. I was hoping to get an idea of how things are done on a more civilized planet.”

Randall laughed. “I'm not sure Tommy-gun is the way to go with that.”

“Time is of the essence here.” The detective ladled the annoyance on thickly.

“Okay, then,” Meela said. “The chief may be loosening your leash today, but you know he'll use anything he can against you when it's all done.”

Randall asked, “Will you have any backup today? I doubt they'll let Rico have a gun.”

“I'm just going to be asking a few people some questions.”

“Well, don't be stupid, Diane.” Meela sounded a little concerned. The detective seemed to have a bit of a love-hate relationship with her peers.

“I'll take ‘not being stupid' under advisement.” She motioned me to follow, and I waved a short goodbye to the two police officers. I had a slight urge to shoot them. I don't like cops.

“We need to meet with the chief quickly.” I could tell by her tone that this was not her favorite thing.

“You and he have a problem?”

She smiled at me. A devious smile. It was kind of pretty on her. “I don't have a problem. I'm comfortable with the fact that he's a corrupt bureaucrat.”

We entered an office where a slightly overweight and age-worn Corridian male was seated behind a desk. “Good morning, Chief Rudle.”

“Thompson, I really wanted to keep him out of here. It would make the illegal weapons charge easier to sweep under the rug,” he said.
And hello, Rico. Nice to meet you. Thank you for your heroic actions.
And
I'm
the sociopath.

“I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble.” I think Corridians can pick up on human sarcasm. Little things like that are the reason they and humans can somewhat get along.

He ignored me. “I know you're going to make a big mess, and I'd rather have fewer witnesses.”

Diane said, “Feds aren't looking in the right places. They have too many regulations to follow. I know where we should look and I'm the best chance to find the terrorists right now. You know it.”

Rudle did not like the detective at all. He didn't even bother to hold back his look of contempt. “You do what you want, but if people complain later, there will be a reckoning.”

“I firmly believe that a person always has to answer for her actions,” she said.

He growled a bit. “Just have him fill out the liability waiver and get his DNA and photo into the system.”

This is where a rookie would probably panic, but the fact is I probably have my DNA and photo in tons of different law enforcement databases throughout the universe. As do billions of other criminals. Nystrom has probably accessed and scrubbed some of those databases, but even if not, trying to share databases between planets causes information overload, and keeping records only works if a criminal is dumb enough to commit a crime and stay on planet. I assumed that within the week I'd be gone from here one way or another.

Anyway, panicking is never, ever helpful.

“Thanks, Chief. We'll find these people,” the detective said, not looking particularly thankful.

“You'd better…or it will probably be the end of you, knowing what you're likely to do. I've got to get back to work. On top of all this, we have word there's going to be an assassination attempt on Senator Gredler.”

“If someone shoots Gredler, let me head the investigation so I can be the first to shake the killer's hand.” Diane left the office, and I followed.

This latest piece of information had my attention. “Who is Gredler?”

“Our senator in the Galactic Alliance. People say he's a big candidate to head this new stronger Alliance they're talking about. That's why I don't have much faith in it. I'm pretty sure Gredler is in bed with the Randatti crime syndicate. I assume you've heard of them.”

One of Nystrom's biggest rivals. Now things were starting to fall into place. But that also made me wonder if I was the assassin they were talking about. That really would seem to be sloppy work by whoever was running things if the police knew about the hit before I did. “That's a big charge to make,” I said.

“The government is corrupt. That I know. Now, let's get that form and get your picture and whatnot and get to this.”

Of course, I didn't know for certain that there would be more to my job than hunting down terrorists, but that seemed like a really odd use of my time. And they were going to be some very dead terrorists…as long as I could get a little leeway from the real law enforcement.

She stopped and faced me. “Rico, you're new here, and people don't expect you to know the rules. Is it okay if I exploit that when I question a few people?” Diane smiled a mischievous smile, which also was quite pretty on her. I would enjoy her exploiting me for all sorts of things.

This would be my first time not working alone. At least I could have done worse for a partner.

CHAPTER 12

Why did the syndicate want me to hunt terrorists? Pretty much everyone likes terrorists to be killed, but a bunch of religious fanatics trying to blow people up seemed a bit beneath Nystrom's concern.

I was usually fine with not knowing the why, but this time I had the feeling it might have personal ramifications for me. With the violent siege on Zaldia and the conference here that would give the Alliance the power to take on Nystrom directly, big things were underway…yet here I was apparently on a side venture. Still, Anthony Burke had personally assigned me this job because he wanted me to know how important it was. Then I almost got blown up at a café. I was starting to think I should be more concerned with the big picture. What was Nystrom's game here? And where were my damn contacts?

“You're very contemplative, you know that?” Diane seemed to be only half-paying attention to me at the moment. She was watching out the window as the car took us to the edge of the city. Her mind was certainly on the task at hand, but she apparently wasn't done observing me—whether out of habit or true suspicion, I couldn't quite tell.

“There's a lot to contemplate.” I have to concentrate in order to be talkative; it's tiring and hard to keep up. “You haven't told me much about the plan yet.”

“It's still in progress.”

“Anything for me to do?”

She handed me some photos. “We have what you left of the terrorists pictured here.”

I flipped through them quickly. I don't really like looking at dead people. So ugly and broken. “Do you think you know people who might have seen this group?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No one who would be forthcoming. But I also have pictures of their weapons.”

I looked at one. It was the typical cheaply made automatic rifle, but I didn't recognize the exact model. There are so many gun manufacturers on so many different planets that firearms were often extremely unique. It was rare to run into one you recognized.

“Some people might have seen those guns, and I know who to ask,” she said. The detective landed her vehicle in an old parking structure. “You ready?” She put on dark glasses. “These are my interrogation glasses—very important. They make me look serious, and I can remove them dramatically to make a point.”

“Should I be writing these tips down?”

She laughed. “Seriously, I'll just want you to stand behind me and look tough.”

“I don't know how to not look tough.” I actually do, though. I hunch a bit, talk slightly higher-pitched—it's not too hard.

“Good. Let's go.”

We were certainly in a bad part of town, judging from the worn-down buildings with broken windows and graffiti on the walls. People around here had little—which you might think would cause them to take good care of the little they had. But the opposite seemed more often to be true.

We came to a shop with a fading, handmade sign labeled, “Shakey's Repair.” She turned to me, her expression serious. “You're just observing right now, you got that?”

“You don't have to worry about me.”

Inside, a middle-aged human male was hunched over some disassembled electronics at a workbench. He looked up at Diane with a very negative expression of recognition and at me with a much more cautious glance. “What the hell are you bothering me for? I haven't done anything.”

“I just have some questions, Shakey,” Diane said.

He set down his tools and stood up. He was not an imposing man, but he didn't look scared, either. “And if I don't answer them, what happens?”

Diane was very businesslike in her expression. “There's no reason to be like that.”

Shakey scoffed. “And who is this with you?”

“Some guy,” I answered, keeping my expression pretty stoic.