The Soldier: The X-Ship Page 4

  “Permanently, sir?”

  The Director gave Quillian a sharp glance. “Why do you think I’m talking to you?”

  She dipped her head.

  “As Brune, or as a man in mental conflict, and certainly as his old self, he will be dangerous,” the Director said. “Remember that.”

  “I can handle him—if that’s what needs doing.”

  The Director studied her, finally reaching out and clapping her on the shoulder. “This is a delicate mission. Halifax has certainly compromised himself. You’ll be operating farther from home than ever before. I hope you know that I will generously reward success to the same degree I punish failure.”

  She showed her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “The poor bastard won’t know what hit him.”

  “I hope you’re not referring to the new Brune. Remember, he’s dangerous. It’s why he’s going. Your greatest asset is that you know the score and he doesn’t. If and when you clean up the mess, do it as decisively as you can the first time, with extreme violence. Because I doubt the new Brune will give you a second chance.”

  “Count on it.”

  “I am,” the Director said flatly.

  Leona Quillian knew then that failure wouldn’t be an option for her or her team.

  Chapter Six

  The interstellar trip took time, as Rigel A was 863 light-years from Earth. Even with a star drive, such a journey added to the difficulty of the mission. It had taken Halifax time to go from Helos to Earth, and now more time to go from Earth to Helos.

  All things considered, it would be two and a half years since Rohan Mars had slain the original Brune. How did the Director think a new Brune would react to the time loss?

  “You can manage it,” the Director had told him.

  Even if Halifax could manage the new Brune to that extent, how would the man pick up such a cold trail? How could he possibly find the woman on Avalon IV now? An aboriginal would surely have murdered her. Besides, how could he convince the new Brune—?

  The small doctor scowled. He sat in an airline chair inside a big shuttle, one that had left the starliner in the outer Rigel System and headed for Helos. He’d failed to bribe a starship cargo handler, failed to take care of the problem during the long journey home. The functioning cryo unit was now in the shuttle cargo bay. That was in the starliner record, one the Director could check. It wouldn’t be as easy to dispose of the new Brune, at least getting away with it.

  With an intensified feeling of paranoia, Halifax leaned out of his seat into the middle isle, glancing at other passengers. Fifty-nine extra individuals had left the starliner for Helos in the shuttle. Not all of them had come from Earth, but enough had. Were some of the others Group Six personnel? Halifax was sure that was the case. They would be watching him, but probably not noticeably this second.

  The small doctor resumed a normal position. Was he being too paranoid? He doubted it. The Director had shown him ancient secret videos. That proved how dedicated the Director felt about the mission.

  Halifax nodded. He would have to go forward. In that case, maybe he should add extra memories to the new Brune—

  “Stop that,” he whispered to himself.

  He could no longer afford to think of the subject as the new Brune. He would have to treat him as the original. What kind of Brune would this one be, though? If he added extra memories—

  Halifax’s eyes widened as he snapped his fingers. After all this time, he had it. Maybe desperation motivated his subconscious to greater effort. In any case, he knew how to proceed with the new—with Brune. He should have seen it sooner. He would use what he had, not make things more complicated with extra memories, but false ones. Brune had felt the bullet to the brain. Halifax knew because the Director had used a device that could read the ancient cyborg obedience chip. After the bullet to the brain, Brune had slumped forward on the desk, dying. That was the ticket now, the thing to use.

  Halifax put his hands on his chest, feeling relieved. He finally had a workable plan. Two and a half years had passed since Brune’s murder. That was fine. He could explain that to Brune, and he could give Brune a cover story that people might accept. The story would be a stretch, but it would have a veneer of plausibility.

  The rest of the problem—he would take care of each step as it came. One couldn’t foresee everything. Besides, the new Brune—

  “Brune,” Halifax whispered. “He is Brune.”

  A slender, dark-haired woman by the window seat glanced at him.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She sniffed in disdain before going back to her reader.

  Through her window, Halifax eyed the growing star, Rigel A. He was coming home. After two and a half years, he was finally returning to sanity.

  Rigel A was a blue supergiant with a radius over 70 times that of Earth’s Sun. He happened to know that the surface temperature was 12,100 Kelvin. The star was an incredible 61,500 times as luminous as the Sun, and it had lesser companion stars, being part of a multi-star system. Helos was a unique Earthlike planet in such a system, much farther from Rigel A than Earth was from its Sun.

  Even with the special polarized window, it was unwise to stare at Rigel A for too long. Maybe the woman didn’t like how Halifax stared past her. She shut the window port.

  Halifax smiled at her, nodding. “Good idea,” he said.

  She sniffed again, bringing the reader a trifle closer to her face.

  Halifax shrugged, tapping his chest with his fingers, waiting for the next stage in the process.

  ***

  The shuttle landed at the Sparta spaceport. As a Helos native, Halifax moved faster through terminal security than the rest. He hired a small U-hauler, having the port personnel load the cryo unit in the bed.

  Soon, Halifax was driving through the city, the biggest on the planet. There were a few modest skyscrapers, corporation towers, with the headquarters of each corporation on richer Concord worlds.

  Helos belonged to the Concord, a poorer world as such things went. It was nearer the outer edge of the Concord than most, one of the farther civilized planets from Earth. In many ways, Helos was like ancient Earth in North America during the pre-space flight days. Many people here traveled in land vehicles like the truck, although some used flitters, and the Helos military had anti-grav tanks and lifters.

  Halifax left city limits, moving into a poorer area with ramshackle housing that blended into industrial parks. Finally, he reached a chain-link fenced complex belonging to Juan Graff the Promoter. Halifax had phoned ahead while in orbit, arranging things.

  “Where have you been all this time?” Graff had demanded.

  “It’s a long story. Look, I need the bunker.”

  There had been silence on the other end.

  “I still have credits due me,” Halifax had said.

  “You’ve been gone over two years, doc. You expect me to remember the amount?”

  Halifax had haggled. Graff had reluctantly agreed in the end, especially as the “doc” hinted that Brune was still alive. In the early days, Brune had brought Graff tons of credits, as the Earther had been a star cage fighter. Everyone knew Earthers were weak stay-at-home softies. Thus, Brune’s kicking ass in the cage had made many spectators angry, willing to pay top credits to see someone hand him his head.

  It was how the original Brune had gotten his start on Helos.

  Anyway, Halifax stopped at the gate beside the guard shack, speaking to the bored gunman there. The man made a call and directed Halifax to drive in. There were several block buildings and one round bunker. Halifax went there. Three waiting heavies hauled the cryo unit from the truck, through the bunker entrance and down to the basement.

  Halifax gave the leader a tip, asking the man if he could drive the U-hauler back to the spaceport.

  “The boss is already taking care of it,” the heavy said, stuffing the credits in his back pocket. “But thanks, pal. What’s in that thing?”

  “Sure you want to kn
ow?”

  The heavy scratched his bristly cheek. “Naw. Guess not. Later, doc.”

  The trio left Halifax alone with the cryo unit. They’d attached a power cable to it and switched off the battery pack, taking the high-tech battery with them.

  Halifax’s stomach began to twist as he thought about bringing Brune out of deep freeze.

  The main basement chamber was big, holding a cot, large sink and door to the toilet. Graff had connections with the Helos underworld, and this had been a safe house more than once.

  It was better to do this than overthink it. He couldn’t kill Brune now, not by his own hands or actions.

  Halifax muttered, steeled his resolve, and began tapping in the code to start the thawing. He would have liked a drink, maybe several, but he had a feeling he was going to need his wits about him once Brune woke up.

  Chapter Seven

  The man that had dreamed of himself as Cade began to thaw, to awaken. The Director had claimed he was an early Ultra, but Cade no longer knew about such claims or even the name.

  What did Cade remember? It was vitally important. Had he really been out for over a thousand years or more? Was he a modern-day Rip Van Winkle? Likely, no one would have even known the reference, not even him.

  The man in the cryo unit thawed out. His brain functions resumed as he heaved a deep breath into his lungs.

  In time, he opened his eyes. He cringed, and his head pounded. He was so damned cold, hungry and confused. He was deeply confused.

  “Brune?” someone said from the heavens. “Jack Brune, how are you feeling?”

  The man in the open casket scowled. The voice, the name, made the pounding in his head worse. Why did it do that?

  The man concentrated on the pain. He let it wash over him. He accepted it. Then, he began to dampen its influence over him. He would handle the headache. First, he needed to figure out who he was.

  He closed and then opened his eyes again. Blurriness reigned just as before. His body was sluggish. He was cold, naked—

  “Cryo unit,” he said, remembering something at least.

  “That’s right,” the heavenly voice said. “You’ve been in a cryo unit healing from your injury.”

  The man took the concept and played with it in his mind. Why would he need to heal? What injury?

  “Don’t you remember the head wound?” the voice asked. “Rohan Mars shot you in the head.”

  The man in the casket scowled, but he did so for a new reason. The name—he hated Rohan Mars. Yes. He recalled now. He’d spoken to the man. His lookalike twins had spat oil after he’d shot them with the WAK .55 Magnum. They might have been cyborgs.

  The man stiffened. Cyborgs. He needed to get out of here. With bitter resolve, he forced himself to sit up. That caused his entire body to shiver. He let it. Cold didn’t matter to him, not enough at this point.

  He sat there, twisting his neck, moving his head from side to side. Finally, the blurriness faded as vision resumed. He saw the small brown man in the white smock and pants staring at him. There was some familiarity to the foxlike features: the high forehead, the bright intelligent eyes and narrow nose.

  The small man touched his chest. “I’m Dr. Halifax. Do you remember winning me—as in becoming my owner—in a poker game?”

  Memories surfaced, although they had a strange quality, as if they weren’t his. But how could he remember them then? Maybe he’d watched a movie. Yet, if that was true, Dr. Halifax might know that. Why would the little man lie to him?

  “Don’t you trust me, Jack?”

  The man tried the word on himself. It didn’t quite fit. No. He did not accept that he was Jack. The little man clearly wanted him to believe that, though. It dawned on him that maybe others were trying to use him. He had a feeling that others had often tried to use him. He also believed that he had gotten sick of such treatment. He could feel anger build up in him. He suppressed the anger, as it wouldn’t help him this moment. He needed more information before he acted.

  What did he know for certain, then? “I’m a soldier,” he said, feeling the truth of the statement.

  “No. You’re a private dealer,” Halifax said quickly. “You find things, people in particular, in order to earn credits. The head wound may have distorted your memories.”

  “I’m a soldier,” he said stubbornly. He knew a truth when he heard it, regardless of what this man was telling him.

  “You were a soldier,” Halifax said. “You’re right about that. Remember the tiny tattoo I found under your right arm? It showed that you used to be an Anza Drop Trooper of Earth.”

  The words unlocked more of the movie-like memories in him. Those memories seemed to block others that he would have liked to know. The pain had also increased in his mind. It was almost as if something was doling out the pain to force him to accept the movie-feeling memories. There was something about that he should know or understand.

  “You’re acting as if you’re confused, Brune. I can understand why. You’ve been healing in the cryo unit for two and a half years.”

  That brought his head around sharply as he stared at Halifax, at the cunning features.

  “I looked after you the entire time, big guy.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Hey, you saved my life more than once. I owed you. I pay my debts. You used to know that.”

  Since he could think of no other name to call himself, he decided to use “Brune” for the moment. It did not ring true, but—

  He cocked his head in surprise. As he mentally accepted Brune—for the moment only—the pain in his mind lessened. That was a telltale, a giveaway. Enemies had awakened him, meaning Dr. Halifax was a front. His enemies used pain to induce him to accept falsehoods. He knew almost nothing except that he was a soldier. He did not accept the Anza Drop Trooper story, as he felt he must disbelieve anything Halifax told him about himself. He would only accept as true memories those he could independently confirm.

  Yes. His enemies used false memories to trick him. The obvious reason was to get him to do a task or a set of tasks for them. Who were they? He decided he should go along with the pretense until he could improve his position and/or his memories.

  That seemed correct. A soldier used tactics, which often meant deception and misdirection.

  “Are you hungry, Jack?”

  “Yes,” he said, realizing he was. He began climbing out of the casket and slipped.

  “Let me help you,” Halifax said, rushing forward.

  The man’s warm hands touched his flesh. He had an instant desire to wrestle the weaker man into a submission hold and force him to tell the truth…but how could he measure Halifax’s words? He had no points of reference other than his inner sensations. He couldn’t trust anyone at this point, but…

  Wait, he cautioned himself. Learn everything you can and get stronger while you’re doing it. Eventually, your enemies will make a mistake. That will be the moment to strike.

  Chapter Eight

  The soldier lived in a bunker basement with Halifax.

  He walked around, finding that his joints were stiff. Even down here, he tired easily and he felt old beyond time. He couldn’t figure out why that would be, although he dearly wanted to know. Halifax said it was due to the two and a half years in deep freeze. Brune disbelieved that on principle.

  Yet, he was skin and bones, with almost all his fat melted away from his body.

  “That was due to the extended cryo time,” Halifax told him. “You were frozen. Your body was functioning at a vastly reduced rate. During the cryo time, you lived off your fat stores like any hibernating animal.”

  Brune nodded, accepting that because his physical state confirmed it. He exercised more each day and ate a prodigious amount of high proteins and calories. His body craved them.

  At other times, he listened as Halifax recounted his old life, the Jack Brune life as a private detective and bounty hunter. During the process, it began to feel as if Halifax was a spymaster giving hi
m a cover story. A soldier understood the need for spies. Was that his function here, a spy? Given the circumstances, it seemed probable. Soon, Halifax insisted that he, Brune, needed to hunt down his assailant, the one who had shot him in the head.

  “Why would I bother?” Brune asked as he sat on his cot, with his feet on the floor.

  “Are you kidding? He almost killed you.”

  “Cleary, he failed.”

  “Don’t you want revenge?”

  “I’m not feeling that,” Brune said.

  “He stole two and a half years of your life,” Halifax said. “Hell! He stole two and a half years of my life, keeping you alive.”

  “You want me to kill Rohan Mars for you?”

  Halifax hesitated. “I’d at least like to know why he wanted you to do all those things. Aren’t you curious about the escaped girl, the one who vanished on Avalon IV?”

  Brune shrugged.

  “Why was she in stasis all that time?” Halifax asked loudly.

  Brune heard the words—and he stiffened as a weird feeling swept over him. The girl had been in stasis. That meant something terribly important to him. He was certain that he’d known someone in stasis, a woman—

  “You remember—”

  “Shut up,” Brune snarled, the first emotion he’d shown.

  Halifax winced, but he kept his mouth shut.

  Brune bent his head, thinking about stasis units and a woman…a woman…someone dear to him.

  It struck Brune then. He had known a woman, but he had known her as a different man. At that instant, he knew the Jack Brune persona was false in one specific manner. It was not him. He had been, and was indeed, someone other than Jack Brune. Halifax was part of the team that wanted him to be Brune for reasons—