19. Leap of Faith

19 – Leap of Faith

When the ID fixer’s AI suggested the surname “Valerius,” it caught Hector off guard because it echoed his birth name, Olivares, and his mind filled in the gaps with phantom memories. Once the initial surprise faded, he nodded slowly and said, “That’ll work.”

“All right, listen, my friend,” Kuroda said, reaching into his desk to retrieve a tiny silver drive. He held it over the deck on his desk, and it snapped into place. “I’m writing your new ID right now, but I’ll need to tie it to your biometrics before I send it off.”

“Send it off?” Lemon asked.

“Well, sure. It has to be uploaded to the Imperial database, and I can’t do that here. Don’t worry; my contact is reliable—done hundreds for me. You’ll be in the system within a few days.”

Hector reached down to his duffel and pulled out the box containing his new ocular implants. “I thought I’d have to have the chop-doc do it, but I guess it makes sense that you’re going to need to tie the ID to some retinas.” He put the box on the desk.

Kuroda looked at it for a moment, then he shrugged. “That’ll work. Open it up. There should be a data chip in there with the retinas’ default patterns. I’ll trigger a randomization, just in case the manufacturer kept a record.”

Hector did as he said, sliding his thumbnail through the plastic seal and then pulling the top off the box. There were several little containers inside—retinal and nerve nanites, lenses, irises, and, just as Kuroda suggested, a data chip. He slid it across the desk to the ID fixer, who set it on top of his shiny deck.

“Perfect,” he muttered as his eyes flickered with lights. After a minute or so, he slid the little chip back to Hector. “Your chop-doc’s going to need that for his autosurgeon.”

“Does he need to know anything more about his identity?” Lemon asked.

“Getting there, hon.” Kuroda flipped his lenses up and then retrieved his little drive, separating it from the deck with a click. “I’ll courier this out today. You can check on Monday, but I’d bet your ID will be live on Tuesday. As for who you are, Hector Valerius, you’re a former security grunt for the Winston-Komoto Consortium. You grew up in their arcology, which is in Wyoming near the Tetons. Are you familiar?”

Hector nodded.

“Good! You were an only child; your parents have passed away, and you are on Mars, free of your contract and looking for work as a security officer for one of the prospecting outfits—or so you declared at the port of entry. Simple, but I figured that was best. Any questions?”

Hector shook his head. Simple is good, fixer.

“Now,” Kuroda said, flipping the little drive between his fingers, “there’s just the matter of payment.”

Hector made a fist, presenting the skull ring to the man.

“Excellent.” He lifted his deck, touched it to the ring, and it chimed softly. “And that concludes our business. As I said, give it until Tuesday before you start getting worried.”

“I won’t be the one getting worried.”

Kuroda looked over the top of his specs, peering into Hector’s eyes, and the smirk and no-doubt-witty retort died on his lips. “It’ll be there. Like I said, I’ve never had a problem with this contact.”

Hector nodded and stood, then stooped to retrieve his duffel. With a glance at Lemon, he said, “Let’s go,” and worked his way out of the cramped set of cubicle offices.

As soon as he exited, he froze, taking in a scene unfolding not twenty paces down the crowded row of stalls. Two peacekeepers were there, their AIs’ voices loud and harsh as they questioned people, asking if they’d “seen this individual.” Hector took Lemon’s arm and stepped back into the cubicle where the accountant woman was working.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, brushing aside some of her colorful hair, “Kuroda just let me know he’s taking lunch, so—”

“We’ll be gone in a moment.”

“What is it?” Lemon asked, glancing from Hector to the door.

“A feeling.” Hector muttered, peering through the beaded curtain. Sure enough, one of the PKs was working his way closer and closer. Hector unzipped his bag, taking out the two small boxes containing his earlier purchases. They slid comfortably into his coat pockets, and he snapped the buttons so they wouldn’t fall out. Then, he unslung his bag and handed it to Lemon. “You mind taking that for me? I’ll meet you back at your place later.” She stared at him wide-eyed as she took the heavy bag, and he leaned close, whispering in her ear. “PKs. You don’t know me.”

One thing Lemon wasn’t was slow. She set her lips into a firm line and nodded.

Hector tucked his chin into his coat’s high collar, then he slipped through the curtain, and motored away to his left. He wasn’t certain the PKs were after him, but his gut told him something was up, so he went with it. Walking quickly, face down, he was starting to feel like he might be in the clear when an amplified voice rang out from off to his right.

“Freeze, citizen. I need to scan your ID.”

Hector knew the PK was talking to him, but he kept his head down and kept walking.

“Freeze or be fired upon,” the PK’s voice was gratingly loud, and people around Hector scattered.

Shoot me for not hearing you? Hector frowned. He supposed it was just as likely as not, now that he was just one of the cogs in the great machine. There was also the possibility that the PK would use some kind of less-lethal, but very unpleasant munition, so he stopped and held his hands out to his sides, fingers splayed to show he wasn’t holding a weapon.

Heavy footsteps approached, clomping on the concrete, and Hector turned, for once grateful that his long hair was unruly, draping down over half his face. The PK was shorter than the one he’d seen earlier, but he—Hector assumed—was still heavily armored. His gauntlet was resting on the grip of a similarly massive blaster, too. Not pulling punches then, huh?

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