Chapter 35: Chapter 11: Picking Up The Trail

Cutter guided the Pursuit through the cluster of bulbous tugs clearing out the main channel of Terminus. Control had advised he wait until every little bit of floating rock had been accounted for, but Cutter declined. The rock bits were too small to cause any damage; at most he’d fly away with a couple of dings. But more importantly, the agents couldn’t afford to wait any longer—each lost minute decreased their time to get to Praxum Depot ahead of the target and increased their chance of getting connected to the nefarious activities on Terminus. Should security suddenly demand the Pursuit’s return and send a tug after the ship, they’d be in for a nasty surprise in the form of the point defense system.

Before they’d departed, a security officer had grilled Cutter—who understood the officer was sniffing for culprits for the grisly scene in the suite. Bloek had already stashed the smashed headset aboard the ship, the only evidence of their visit to the suite. With enough searching of the security cam logs, security could conceivably link the agents’ path throughout the station to the scenes of the crimes. They presumably hadn’t gotten around to it yet, given they didn’t trot out the evidence or try to detain Cutter and crew. Cutter recounted the cover story to the man, that the agents were investigating the station for a possible investment, and he let them go.

“Good thing this is a corporate-sponsored operation. SecForce would shut this dockyard down until they distributed a mountain of fines and had someone in the brig,” Bloek said from the co-pilot chair. On his display were the names of the ships Bania had volunteered. Bloek began parsing public data for any clue as to which one might’ve taken on the target.

“I half wish security had tried something dumb. It’s been a while since I’ve popped someone,” Parr said. Bloek acknowledged the lust for violence with a supportive grunt. Cutter said nothing, focused on their immediate surroundings.

The Pursuit passed the berth contained Bania’s ship. The tug which drove it back into place was gone. Cutter wondered if security would still blame everything on Bania. Corporate-based security teams had a reputation for corruption when the local economies were strained. Terminus met those criteria with the sanctions and a steep decline in business. It was a shame in Cutter’s opinion. The Atan system was growing in population and prosperity. Terminus seemed like it would’ve been a solid operation.

Cutter slowed the ship as a tug snagged a head-size rock from between the heavy tunnel doors. The tug cleared the flight path, and Cutter navigated the ship out of the tunnel. Clearing the station territory, he set a course for Praxum. His body pressed into the seat a bit as the ship accelerated. A few freighters appeared on the forward sensors, transponders off but engines running hot. With the sanctions in place, ships departing Terminus built up as much speed as they could and flung themselves to the Atan system core, then went dark for a stretch, in order to avoid detection. A recent mandate from the Administration made clear that a hard crackdown on the outer system operations—including Terminus—was incoming. It was mostly talk at that point, for the Praxa SecForce contingent lacked the ships and creds for effective enforcement.

“You think our credentials will give us a free pass if a SecForce skiff picks us up?” Bloek asked.

“In my experience, they don’t like being told to butt out of people’s business,” Cutter said.

“And neither does the Envoy,” Parr said, his feet once again on his console. “This Praxum Depot lead better pan out, or the Envoy is going to throw a fit when they get here and we’ve got nothing.”

“We’re acting on their intelligence. It’s not our fault the target was seemingly tipped off,” Cutter said.

“You better hope so, being the lead bounty hunter and all,” Parr said, a biting grin on his face.

Cutter glanced at him sideways, but said nothing. He’d quickly learned there was no use arguing with Parr. The solution was to tolerate him. The job—and his mission—was all that mattered.

Remembering his satchel sitting on the deck next to his chair, he retrieved the broken headset. It was in worse condition than he initially thought. The display was off, and his PD couldn’t sync with it.

“Try turning it off and back on,” Bloek said, not looking away from his display. “Rule number one for all tech.”

Cutter examined the exterior again, finding the power switch, and followed Bloek’s instructions. A few seconds later, a faint glow appeared in the remnants of the shattered polyglass. Cutter put the headset on. The previously opened app loaded to the login screen. It showed what appeared to be ships flying about unrealistically—diving about as if in atmosphere and blasting each other with ridiculous fixed cannons that made no sense in space. He could make enough of the title to put it together.

“What is Galaxy Battles?”

“Are you kidding? It’s that hugely popular sim game all the kids are playing,” Bloek said. “And adults too, for that matter.”

“I don’t play, and even I know what it is,” Parr said.

“It appears someone in that suite is a player,” Cutter said.

Bloek perked up in his chair. “What’s the username?”

“Can’t read it.”

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“Let me try.” Parr handed the headset to Bloek. “I might be able to find some data in the cache.” He fiddled with it some more. “Ah, there it is. The user is SexySlyOnYourSix.”

Parr snorted. “What an idiot.”

“He’s ranked a Wing Commander?” Bloek said. He brought up the game’s GalaxyNet hub on his display. “That’s high. Whoever they are, they’re good at the game. They’ve got a sizable amount of followers too.”

Cutter said, “Show me.”

Bloek shared his findings to the main display.

“I was wrong,” Parr said, looking over the social feed. “The real idiots are the people worshipping this idiot.”

Cutter pointed to a calendar icon. “What is that for?”

“In-person follower events,” Bloek said. “But the details are locked. You have to be an official follower, which requires a VID profile submission and a payment.”

VIDs were unique virtual identities assigned at birth, used in everything from credit profiles to criminal history and, in this case, legitimizing accounts. Cutter said to Bloek, “What are you waiting for?”

Bloek nodded and opened the new account hub. “I’m making a new profile using Parr’s VID so we can join the fan club.”

Parr spun around. “Don’t even—”

“Too late, it’s done,” Bloek said. He glanced sideways at Parr, as if daring the stocky man to do anything about it. “Congratulations, you are now part of the Commander’s Coalition. I picked the premium membership tier too. It’s auto-billed to your account on file.”

Parr stood, a vein prominent on his forehead and neck. “You’re paying me back for that, you fu—”

Cutter spun around to face Parr. “We have a lead. You want to capture our target or not?”

Parr said nothing while Bloek opened the followers page for the account of Wing Commander SexySlyOnYourSix. On the bridge display, they saw the posting for the canceled event, due to “unforeseen work circumstances.” Then the hub updated with the latest data packet from the GalaxyNet boosters lining the system, and a new posting appeared. An image loaded, overlaid with a cartoonish graphics filter. A figure peered heroically at the cam, wearing some brightly colored flight suit overly adorned with multiple pistols, knives, and gadgets. Most of the face was obscured by a helmet, the lower covering left disconnected to reveal an obscenely chiseled jawline with green skin. Bloek said, “There’s our Wing Commander.”

“Who’s the devilish character behind him?” Parr asked. On the edge of the image, another figure had received a filter, giving them blackened armor, red skin, the scowling face of some demon-like creature, and two black horns as long as a Human forearm.

“Someone he doesn’t care for,” Cutter said, and read the text that loaded below the image. “Rescheduled event coming within the next half-cycle on Praxa Prime. That’s where we’re going.”

Parr’s jaw hung limp. “You’re seriously using a Lorddamn fan club event as the lead for finding this kid?”

Cutter thought, what was the old Earth saying? Two steps forward, one step back. The target dodged them at Terminus, but the agents were still on his scent. Cutter delivered on every sentient retrieval contract he’d taken. He wasn’t about to break the streak now. “Yes, we are,” he said, adjusting their heading.“We find this SexySlyOnYourSix character, and we find the target.”

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