Tales of Kid Crimson: Issue #7

Senator Hannigan was Caro. The second I made the connection, everything started making perfect sense: Senate vessels aren’t subject to Customs scrutiny, his position allowed him to monitor and compromise Advocacy investigations, the bastard was even on the Subcommittee for Development & Expansion, which gave him full access to all those untouched worlds, just crawling with untouched property.

The more laps the notion took around my mind, the more obvious it became. The solution started to become crystal clear too.

The K&W LR-620 Precision Railgun could put a round through 36mm of titanium at three thousand meters. It’s expensive but if you want a guaranteed kill, it’s worth the stretch.

Up in Dovkin’s penthouse, the rifle looked like one of the over-priced works of art on the wall. The clean design. The impeccable placement of every feature. It was beautiful. Who knows, it might even achieve sainthood once it blasted the skull of the worst trafficker in the UEE.

Dovkin brought me a drink. I took it and sipped. He broke out the nice stuff. He expected a sale.

A tiny man with a gnarled face, Dovkin smoothed his suit jacket as he leaned against the wall and watched me. Raj hooked us up a couple years back. Although we had several transactions between us, we weren’t friends by any stretch. Dovkin didn’t deal in friends. He was a fixer, he dealt in acquaintances.

“Reg is clean. Won’t come up on any systems, guaranteed.”

“Save me the pitch, Dovkin.” I lifted the rifle up, powered up the sights, and tested its weight. It felt good, balanced. “I know you deal clean merch.”

“Remember that when I tell you the price.” His mouth contorted into a wretched smile.

“It’s worth it.” Dovkin’s eyes glittered.

“Must be someone big. I’d almost like to know.” Dovkin chuckled. I tracked a taxi moving in the distance.

“No, you wouldn’t.”
* * * * *
I had the tool. Now I needed to focus on the man, see how he breathed. Punching out a UEE Senator was not something to be approached lightly. While it’s easy to drop anyone (moral/ethical dilemmas aside), getting away with it is the real puzzle.

Terra’s Citizen Day festivities lasted the entire weekend and Senator Hannigan was the guest of honor. I scanned the local NewsOrgs and found them to be more than helpful in providing a rough schedule of the Senator’s appearances.

From here on out, I had to be a ghost. Laser-burn knew I was still out there. He might run with the notion that Fake-me dropped Hannigan’s real identity but I know Caro’s reputation, he’s beyond slippery and it’s highly unlikely that he would be anywhere near Fake-me. The glimpse of Laser-burn and Hannigan on the NewsFeed was pure dumb accident. He couldn’t have known that I’d seen that. Even so, I’d bet my ship that Laser-burn is the cautious type so I could look forward to beefed up security details, counter-snipers, and maybe even random wave-sweeps of the crowds for weapons.

On the screen, the NewsFeed showed clips of Hannigan at the opening of some new Vivarium. Flashes captured his every move. He smiled his way through the crowd like a man unburdened by conscience, who believed that the multitudes of wretched sins wouldn’t ever come back to touch him. My head started swimming…
* * * * *
I was running. Blood, sweat, and that damn red dirt kept getting in my eyes. We had to keep moving, at least until dark. Back in the pens, I heard the guards complain about their terrible optics. So at night, we would be harder to track. We’d have a chance.

So we ran. I could feel her hand in mine. Even through the rough red clay caked on both of us; I could still feel her skin. I held it tight.

Then it was gone.
* * * * *
“Hey!”

I was back. The rail-thin, Stim-smoking shop-owner stood over me. I checked the screen. Twenty minutes had passed this time. The News moved from Hannigan, covering some local idiot celebrity nonsense.

“The hell’s the matter with you, buddy?” He muttered and spewed a stream of smoke.

“Plenty.” I tapped my card on the beat-up sensor to pay for my tea and vacated.

Back on the street, I put my head back onto the task at hand. There were two events that felt promising.

Hannigan was set to give commencement speech at TU in eight hours. Between the students and their families, thousands were expected to attend so there would surely be vulnerabilities. Downside, it was going to be held in an auditorium. Getting in would be tough, getting out of the inevitable lockdown once the shot popped off would be harder.

Tomorrow, he was scheduled to attend the Governor’s Ball for the closing festivities. Security for that would be damn near impenetrable but it’s on an open-air platform just off the bay and there are a lot of tall buildings around. That was going to be Plan B. While I could generally place a shot where I wanted, between the distance and cross-winds, this would require masterful aim.

I hit the University first and watched for an hour or two, seeing where the advance teams checked, where the Sniffers looked for explosives. No sign of Laser-burn or any other familiar faces from last night’s dance at the landing yard.

A group of students hovered by a side-door, chain-smoking Stims. It took me about twenty minutes to be their new best friend. They were the stage techs, more than a little disgruntled about being booted for the Senator’s personal lighting team. Another fifteen minutes of listening and I had a plan.
* * * * *
Two hours to go. The LR-620 lay across my bed. I put the final pieces of my costume together. I watched the NewsFeed for anything that could upset my plans. I did my best to keep focused. I threw in potential obstacles and worked out contingencies. It was a puzzle I was more than happy to engage.

Maybe I was too focused.

I heard the beep before the door exploded. The force bounced me off the window. The world swirled away from sight and sound. By the time the smoke and my vision cleared, there was a gun in my face with the Advocacy Agent on the other side.

“Got you.”

. . . to be continued

Senator Hannigan war Caro. In der Sekunde, in der ich die Verbindung herstellte, machte alles Sinn: Senatsschiffe unterliegen nicht der Zollkontrolle, seine Position erlaubte es ihm, Advocacy-Untersuchungen zu überwachen und zu kompromittieren, der Bastard war sogar im Unterausschuss für Entwicklung und Expansion, der ihm vollen Zugang zu all diesen unberührten Welten gewährte, die nur vor unberührtem Eigentum wimmelten.

Je mehr Runden die Vorstellung um meinen Verstand herumging, desto offensichtlicher wurde sie. Auch die Lösung wurde immer klarer.

Die K&W LR-620 Präzisions-Schienenpistole konnte eine Runde durch 36 mm Titan auf dreitausend Meter bringen. Es ist teuer, aber wenn Sie eine garantierte Tötung wollen, ist es die Mühe wert.

Oben in Dovkins Penthouse sah das Gewehr aus wie eines der überteuerten Kunstwerke an der Wand. Das klare Design. Die einwandfreie Platzierung jedes Features. Es war wunderschön. Wer weiß, vielleicht erreicht sie sogar die Heiligsprechung, sobald sie den Schädel des schlimmsten Schleppers in der UEE zerstört hat.

Dovkin hat mir einen Drink gebracht. Ich nahm es und trank. Er hat das nette Zeug rausgeholt. Er erwartete einen Verkauf.

Ein winziger Mann mit einem knorrigen Gesicht, Dovkin glättete seine Anzugjacke, als er sich an die Wand lehnte und mich beobachtete. Raj hat uns vor ein paar Jahren mitgenommen. Obwohl wir mehrere Transaktionen zwischen uns hatten, waren wir bei weitem keine Freunde. Dovkin handelte nicht mit Freunden. Er war ein Fixer, er handelte mit Bekannten.

"Reg ist sauber. Wird auf keinem System auftauchen, garantiert."

"Spar mir den Pitch, Dovkin." Ich hob das Gewehr an, schaltete die Visiere ein und testete sein Gewicht. Es fühlte sich gut an, ausgeglichen. "Ich weiß, dass du mit sauberer Ware dealst."

"Denk daran, wenn ich dir den Preis sage." Sein Mund verzerrte sich zu einem erbärmlichen Lächeln.

"Es lohnt sich." Dovkins Augen glitzerten.

"Muss jemand Großes sein. Ich würde es fast gerne wissen." Dovkin kicherte. Ich verfolgte ein Taxi, das sich in der Ferne bewegte.

"Nein, würdest du nicht."
* * * * *
Ich hatte das Werkzeug. Jetzt musste ich mich auf den Mann konzentrieren und sehen, wie er atmete. Das Ausstoßen eines UEE-Senators war nicht etwas, das leicht angegangen werden sollte. Während es leicht ist, jeden fallen zu lassen (moralische und ethische Dilemmata beiseite), ist es das eigentliche Rätsel, damit durchzukommen.

Die Feierlichkeiten zum Bürgertag von Terra dauerten das ganze Wochenende über und Senator Hannigan war der Ehrengast. Ich scannte die lokalen NewsOrgs und fand sie mehr als hilfreich, um einen groben Zeitplan für die Auftritte des Senators zu erstellen.

Von nun an musste ich ein Geist sein. Laser-Burn wusste, dass ich immer noch da draußen war. Er könnte mit der Vorstellung laufen, dass Fake-me Hannigans wahre Identität fallen gelassen hat, aber ich kenne Caros Ruf, er ist jenseits von Glitschig und es ist höchst unwahrscheinlich, dass er irgendwo in der Nähe von Fake-me sein würde. Der Blick auf Laser-Burn und Hannigan im NewsFeed war ein reiner dummer Unfall. Er konnte nicht wissen, dass ich das gesehen hatte. Dennoch würde ich mein Schiff wetten, dass Laser-Burn der vorsichtige Typ ist, so dass ich mich darauf freuen könnte, Sicherheitsdetails, Gegenscharfschützen und vielleicht sogar zufällige Wellen-Sweeps der Menge nach Waffen zu verstärken.

Auf dem Bildschirm zeigte der NewsFeed Clips von Hannigan bei der Eröffnung eines neuen Vivariums. Blitze fingen jeden seiner Bewegungen ein. Er lächelte sich durch die Menge wie ein Mann, der vom Gewissen entlastet wurde und glaubte, dass die Menge der erbärmlichen Sünden niemals zurückkommen würde, um ihn zu berühren. Mein Kopf fing an zu schwimmen.....
* * * * *
Ich war auf der Flucht. Blut, Schweiß und dieser verdammte rote Dreck kamen mir immer wieder in die Augen. Wir mussten weitermachen, zumindest bis es dunkel wurde. Zurück in den Ställen hörte ich, wie sich die Wachen über ihre schreckliche Optik beschwerten. Nachts wären wir also schwerer zu verfolgen. Wir hätten eine Chance.

Also rannten wir weg. Ich konnte ihre Hand in meiner spüren. Sogar durch den rauen roten Ton, der sich auf uns beiden angesammelt hatte, konnte ich ihre Haut noch spüren. Ich hielt es fest.

Dann war es weg.
* * * * *
" Hey!"

Ich war wieder da. Der hauchdünne, stimarauchende Ladenbesitzer stand über mir. Ich habe den Bildschirm überprüft. Zwanzig Minuten waren diesmal vergangen. Die Nachrichten zogen von Hannigan weg und berichteten über einen lokalen idiotischen Prominenten-Unsinn.

"Was zum Teufel ist los mit dir, Kumpel?" Er murmelte und spuckte einen Strom von Rauch.

" Vieles." Ich klopfte meine Karte auf den Sensor, um meinen Tee zu bezahlen, und ging.

Zurück auf der Straße setzte ich meinen Kopf wieder auf die anstehende Aufgabe. Es gab zwei Ereignisse, die sich vielversprechend anfühlten.

Hannigan sollte in acht Stunden eine Eröffnungsrede an der TU halten. Zwischen den Schülern und ihren Familien wurden Tausende erwartet, die teilnehmen würden, so dass es sicherlich Schwachstellen geben würde. Unten sollte es in einem Auditorium stattfinden. Reinzukommen wäre schwierig, aus der unvermeidlichen Sperre herauszukommen, sobald der Schuss gefallen ist, wäre schwieriger.

Morgen sollte er am Ball des Gouverneurs für die Abschlussfeierlichkeiten teilnehmen. Die Sicherheit dafür wäre verdammt undurchdringlich, aber es ist auf einer Open-Air-Plattform direkt vor der Bucht und es gibt viele hohe Gebäude. Das sollte Plan B sein. Obwohl ich im Allgemeinen einen Schuss zwischen Distanz und Seitenwind platzieren konnte, erforderte dies ein meisterhaftes Ziel.

Ich traf zuerst die Universität und beobachtete ein oder zwei Stunden lang, wo die Vorausteams nachsahen, wo die Schnüffler nach Sprengstoff suchten. Keine Spur von Laser-Burn oder anderen bekannten Gesichtern vom gestrigen Tanz auf dem Landeplatz.

Eine Gruppe von Schülern, die von einer Seitentür umgeben sind, die in der Kette rauchende Stims. Es dauerte etwa zwanzig Minuten, bis ich ihr neuer bester Freund wurde. Sie waren die Bühnentechniker, mehr als ein wenig verärgert darüber, für das persönliche Beleuchtungsteam des Senators gebootet zu werden. Noch fünfzehn Minuten Zuhören und ich hatte einen Plan.
* * * * *
Noch zwei Stunden. Die LR-620 lag über meinem Bett. Ich habe die letzten Teile meines Kostüms zusammengesetzt. Ich habe mir den NewsFeed nach allem angesehen, was meine Pläne stören könnte. Ich tat mein Bestes, um mich zu konzentrieren. Ich warf potenzielle Hindernisse ein und arbeitete Eventualitäten aus. Es war ein Rätsel, das ich mehr als gerne gelöst habe.

Vielleicht war ich zu konzentriert.

Ich hörte den Piepton, bevor die Tür explodierte. Die Kraft hat mich vom Fenster gestoßen. Die Welt wirbelte weg von Anblick und Klang. Als sich der Rauch und meine Sicht auflöste, stand mir eine Waffe im Gesicht, zusammen mit dem Advocacy-Agenten auf der anderen Seite.

" Ich habe dich."




. ... wird fortgesetzt

Senator Hannigan was Caro. The second I made the connection, everything started making perfect sense: Senate vessels aren’t subject to Customs scrutiny, his position allowed him to monitor and compromise Advocacy investigations, the bastard was even on the Subcommittee for Development & Expansion, which gave him full access to all those untouched worlds, just crawling with untouched property.

The more laps the notion took around my mind, the more obvious it became. The solution started to become crystal clear too.

The K&W LR-620 Precision Railgun could put a round through 36mm of titanium at three thousand meters. It’s expensive but if you want a guaranteed kill, it’s worth the stretch.

Up in Dovkin’s penthouse, the rifle looked like one of the over-priced works of art on the wall. The clean design. The impeccable placement of every feature. It was beautiful. Who knows, it might even achieve sainthood once it blasted the skull of the worst trafficker in the UEE.

Dovkin brought me a drink. I took it and sipped. He broke out the nice stuff. He expected a sale.

A tiny man with a gnarled face, Dovkin smoothed his suit jacket as he leaned against the wall and watched me. Raj hooked us up a couple years back. Although we had several transactions between us, we weren’t friends by any stretch. Dovkin didn’t deal in friends. He was a fixer, he dealt in acquaintances.

“Reg is clean. Won’t come up on any systems, guaranteed.”

“Save me the pitch, Dovkin.” I lifted the rifle up, powered up the sights, and tested its weight. It felt good, balanced. “I know you deal clean merch.”

“Remember that when I tell you the price.” His mouth contorted into a wretched smile.

“It’s worth it.” Dovkin’s eyes glittered.

“Must be someone big. I’d almost like to know.” Dovkin chuckled. I tracked a taxi moving in the distance.

“No, you wouldn’t.”
* * * * *
I had the tool. Now I needed to focus on the man, see how he breathed. Punching out a UEE Senator was not something to be approached lightly. While it’s easy to drop anyone (moral/ethical dilemmas aside), getting away with it is the real puzzle.

Terra’s Citizen Day festivities lasted the entire weekend and Senator Hannigan was the guest of honor. I scanned the local NewsOrgs and found them to be more than helpful in providing a rough schedule of the Senator’s appearances.

From here on out, I had to be a ghost. Laser-burn knew I was still out there. He might run with the notion that Fake-me dropped Hannigan’s real identity but I know Caro’s reputation, he’s beyond slippery and it’s highly unlikely that he would be anywhere near Fake-me. The glimpse of Laser-burn and Hannigan on the NewsFeed was pure dumb accident. He couldn’t have known that I’d seen that. Even so, I’d bet my ship that Laser-burn is the cautious type so I could look forward to beefed up security details, counter-snipers, and maybe even random wave-sweeps of the crowds for weapons.

On the screen, the NewsFeed showed clips of Hannigan at the opening of some new Vivarium. Flashes captured his every move. He smiled his way through the crowd like a man unburdened by conscience, who believed that the multitudes of wretched sins wouldn’t ever come back to touch him. My head started swimming…
* * * * *
I was running. Blood, sweat, and that damn red dirt kept getting in my eyes. We had to keep moving, at least until dark. Back in the pens, I heard the guards complain about their terrible optics. So at night, we would be harder to track. We’d have a chance.

So we ran. I could feel her hand in mine. Even through the rough red clay caked on both of us; I could still feel her skin. I held it tight.

Then it was gone.
* * * * *
“Hey!”

I was back. The rail-thin, Stim-smoking shop-owner stood over me. I checked the screen. Twenty minutes had passed this time. The News moved from Hannigan, covering some local idiot celebrity nonsense.

“The hell’s the matter with you, buddy?” He muttered and spewed a stream of smoke.

“Plenty.” I tapped my card on the beat-up sensor to pay for my tea and vacated.

Back on the street, I put my head back onto the task at hand. There were two events that felt promising.

Hannigan was set to give commencement speech at TU in eight hours. Between the students and their families, thousands were expected to attend so there would surely be vulnerabilities. Downside, it was going to be held in an auditorium. Getting in would be tough, getting out of the inevitable lockdown once the shot popped off would be harder.

Tomorrow, he was scheduled to attend the Governor’s Ball for the closing festivities. Security for that would be damn near impenetrable but it’s on an open-air platform just off the bay and there are a lot of tall buildings around. That was going to be Plan B. While I could generally place a shot where I wanted, between the distance and cross-winds, this would require masterful aim.

I hit the University first and watched for an hour or two, seeing where the advance teams checked, where the Sniffers looked for explosives. No sign of Laser-burn or any other familiar faces from last night’s dance at the landing yard.

A group of students hovered by a side-door, chain-smoking Stims. It took me about twenty minutes to be their new best friend. They were the stage techs, more than a little disgruntled about being booted for the Senator’s personal lighting team. Another fifteen minutes of listening and I had a plan.
* * * * *
Two hours to go. The LR-620 lay across my bed. I put the final pieces of my costume together. I watched the NewsFeed for anything that could upset my plans. I did my best to keep focused. I threw in potential obstacles and worked out contingencies. It was a puzzle I was more than happy to engage.

Maybe I was too focused.

I heard the beep before the door exploded. The force bounced me off the window. The world swirled away from sight and sound. By the time the smoke and my vision cleared, there was a gun in my face with the Advocacy Agent on the other side.

“Got you.”

. . . to be continued