Choffard forgot he was in pain as a new kind of fear settled in. He examined Delagarza head-to-toe, taking into account his ragged reg-suit, the pistol on his belt, the way he stood and carried himself.
Delagarza knew exactly what Choffard was trying to figure out. Which of those groups he belonged too?
“I’m with neither,” he said.
“Fuck, man, you’ll get your ass killed!” Choffard said. He winced, like expecting a punch.
“I can take care of myself. Now, about those meetings—”
“They found nothing! ATS corp is squeaky clean, there’s nothing to see. They came, asking all kinds of questions, and then left.”
“Of course they did,” said Delagarza. “Neither knew where to look, did they, Bunnie Brunie?”
Kayoko’s database, which she claimed came from the Shota-M in the enforcer’s possession, had a long string of almost unintelligible interstellar travel-logs and coordinates, no doubt pulled from a ship’s flight computer. Delagarza suspected Kayoko’s efforts were focused on translating the travel-logs, hoping to track Isabella Reiner by following her path to Dione.
The last file, though, mentioned a scheduled meeting with Alwinter Travel Services, Choffard’s company. They updated ship databases between trips.
This clued Delagarza in that Choffard had given both Kayoko and the enforcers the slip.
“People always forget that corporations are made of people,” Delagarza said. “And that those people can act behind said corporation, while enjoying its resources at the same time. Right, Choffard? Yes, you know what I’m talking about. See, people talk in Alwinter. Oh, they don’t talk to people like you, or the enforcers, or even Taiga Town’s revolutionaries. After all, you all mean trouble, and everyone knows it. People talk to me, though, their good friend, top-notch guy Mr. Johnson. Wonder what they say about you?”
Choffard’s deer-in-the-headlights expression gave Delagarza all the confirmation he needed.
“That if anyone wants to leave the planet, but is in trouble with the authorities, they can come to you for a new identity, one good enough to fool Outlander’s security. This, of course, for a price.”
It hadn’t been hard to figure out how Choffard did it. Contractors died during trips. Accidents happened, pirate raids happened. Shit happened.
Some of those ships used ATS services to keep their databases updated, and ATS bought the ships’ databases in exchange for a discount. Add a backroom deal with Alwinter’s authorities, and ATS updated those databases, which included ID recognition. It was all a huge data orgy, with Choffard at the center, spewing strangers’ data-emissions everywhere.
And to make a quick buck in his spare time, Choffard sold dead contractors’ IDs and reported them as alive.
“Sweet fuck,” whispered Nerd, “that’s some useful contact to have. I’ll keep you in mind, Choffard.”
“No!” Choffard said. “It only works because people don’t know the personal ID software can be gamed. If word spreads, they’ll plug the bug…”
“Shut up,” said Delagarza, “I don’t care about your grave-robbing shtick. I care about this.”
He opened the Shota-M file with the ATS receipt on it.
“Sixteen years ago, you handed a woman a new identity, didn’t you? Only that, instead of going out of Dione, she wanted to stay in.”
Choffard paled. “You really think I remember? I’ve sold hundreds—”
Lotti softly caressed Choffard’s cheek before clenching her hand into a fist. Choffard gulped and shut up.
“Thanks, doll,” Delagarza said. Then, he told Choffard, “Send me the file you kept on her. Don’t bother denying it or my friend here will hurt you. Of course you keep a file on your clients, Choffard. Where do you keep it? Your office would be too risky. A warehouse? I don’t think you’re that smart. Maybe your house?”
The last one got a visible reaction from Choffard. Delagarza nodded, like the man had confessed, and went on:
“Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll let you go, right now, and pretend this never happened. In exchange for this favor, you’ll go to your house, to your wife and your children, and will send me the file I want. If you don’t, if you even try going to security, we’ll show everyone the video of this meeting. I wonder what the enforcers will think about your side-business then. Wanna know what I think? They’re not going to like it. You know what a loyalty test is?”
Nerd and Lotti exchanged a glance. “Buddy Johnson is good at this,” Nerd whispered to his boss.
Choffard was too busy being scared shitless to hear them. “Please, there’s no need to…”
Behind him, a couple gangers approached with a new garbage bag. At a gesture from Lotti, a third one approached Choffard and waged a sonic baton next to his ear. The man’s eyes rolled up, and his body fell like a rag-doll into the waiting bag.
“A bit too soon,” Delagarza complained, “I want to be sure he’ll do it.”
“Believe me,” said Lotti, “I’ve done this a hundred times, and that man is not a fighter. You’ll get your data, dear Mr. Johnson.”
Sixteen hours later, the information came through. Delagarza was alone in a capsule motel since he didn’t dare return to his apartment with Krieger’s thugs looking for him. He unpacked Choffard’s file after scanning it for viruses and finding it clear.
He also took care to not look at the data directly. It was text, not an image file, but he wasn’t keen on getting Kill Virus-ed twice in the same week. He looked at the holo from the reflection of a pocket mirror, and once he was satisfied, he started reading.
Got you, he thought, one hour later, with his eyes half-closed from sleep deprivation. The woman in the image was sixteen years older today, but he was sure he’d recognize her anywhere. She had been thirty seven, now fifty three, which matched Isabella Reiner’s current age. Auburn hair, an air of grim elegance, brown eyes hard as steel. The perfect image of a princess in exile.
Isabella’s new identity was Edith Sharpe. Sharpe’s career had been all over the place these last sixteen years, never leaving the planet. She had worked in a non-profit—a foster home, then done a full-switch into a financial institution, then back to non-profits, including a ganger rehabilitation center (now closed), a homeless shelter, even a free emergency clinic, which was her current place of employment.
Sixteen years of fighting poverty and suffering. Failing over and over again, having all her ventures foreclosed, or running out of funds, or raided by gangers.
The woman was a saint, Delagarza decided, looking at her long list of well-intentioned failures. When the Edge got a hold of her story, they’d fall madly in love with her. He could see it already, the story of the exiled princess, fighting for the people even while hiding, not once giving up her father’s mad quest for a free Edge. There’d be movies about her. Scratch that. They’d hand her the presidency, if she dared ask for it. A princess in all but name, then. She only needed to get off planet.
Whoever is coming to save you, Edith, I hope they’re one hell of a fighter. Tal-Kader isn’t surrendering you that easily, thought Delagarza right as he fell asleep.
He woke up in the middle of the work-cycle. His first thought was:
I have to meet her.
16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CLARKE
“There’s a targeting laser bouncing off the Beowulf’s hull,” said Captain Navathe.
Few words could curdle a man’s blood as well as those.
Clarke cursed under his breath and double-checked the straps to his g-seat and the oxygen supply of his pressure suit. Not that it’d help him survive a barrage from a patrol gunship, but it was all he could do. With the Beowulf burning as many g’s as it could without killing its remaining crew, he was struggling to remain conscious as it was.