Chapter 595: Stock Car Race (2/2)

”I wasn't,” Trucker said.

She shook her head. ”Don't lie. You look like Patton when World War Two ended and he didn't have anyone left to kill,” she said, giving a short snort. ”Soldiers feel sorry for themselves in a different way.”

Trucker looked around and heard The Detainee click her tongue. When he looked at her she was holding out a tin of chewing tobacco. The main body of the canister was thick waxe cardboard, the top was tin with stamped letters and numbers that Trucker knew was one of the ancient Terran languages but not one that he knew.

”Here, figured you could use a real can of dip,” the Detainee said.

”Uh, thanks?” Trucker said.

The Detainee shrugged. ”No charge,” she handed him an empty bottle. ”Here, don't spit on the floor, it's disgusting.”

Trucker shook his head, then packed his lip while the woman, dressed in a charcoal gray suit-blouse/skirt combo, went through the ritual of packing her cigarettes, turning over a lucky, and lighting her own.

”You're a week from boots on the ground on Telkan,” the Detainee said.

Trucker nodded.

”You're wondering when I'm going to come for your soul,” the Detainee said.

The smoke she blew out of her nostrils smelled of rusted iron, fresh hot blood, and sulphur.

”Yes,” Trucker answered.

”Today,” she said. She smiled, a terrible cold thing. ”I have been carrying out my side of our bargain, Manuel Garcia Trucker, it is time for you to begin carrying out your side.”

Trucker closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them. ”All right.”

”No request for proof? Impressive,” the Detainee said. ”Let's get down to it then,” she pulled a short strip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him. ”Go to that cyberclinic aboard the ship. The doc there is going to do some work on you before I will tell you much more than I need you for the operational plan.”

”What is the plan?” Trucker asked.

She shook her head. ”Not as long as you have a standard datalink and SUDS interface,” she said. ”Our opponent is more powerful even than I am, he just does not have the system mastery I have acquired.”

”All right,” Trucker said. He glanced at the sheet, saw the number, memorized it, then crumpled it up and popped it in his mouth.

”Good,” the Detainee said. ”You'll be having your eyes replaced, your command cortex interface replaced, your datalink swapped out, and your SUDS stack will have its signal input/output hardware physically disabled.”

Trucker nodded.

”The design is my own. All of it,” she said. ”Don't worry, you won't be the only one getting this treatment.”

Again, Trucker just nodded.

”Once you've got the new hardware, I'll be briefing you a little more in-depth,” the woman said. She leaned forward, her gun metal gray eyes intent. ”This is going to be the biggest challenge you have ever faced. There will be no reinforcements, no air or orbital or artillery support, extremely limited assets, entirely in hostile territory, with an opponent who outclasses us in a myriad of ways.”

”I understand,” Trucker said. He'd gotten those kinds of briefings before.

”Not yet, but you will,” the Detainee said. She exhaled smoke, filling the room with it.

When it cleared, she was gone.

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He had to admit, the new datalink felt strange. The eyes felt realer, almost... wetter... some how. His skulljack interface had been replaced and he could almost feel it, like it was coiled around his cortex. He felt strangely disconnected from something, like there was speech or music that had been a background noise all of his life and was now missing.

The lights in his room flickered and dimmed slowly to darkness. He could smell brimstone and rusting iron before the lights slowly brightened enough to see the short woman in front of him.

”Now you can be read in,” she said. She dug in the lower pocket of her waist and pulled out eight inch-thick steel balls and one black glass one. She showed them to Trucker with a flourish, then set them on the table. The black glass went in the middle, the silver around them.

”Touch your forefinger to the glass one,” she ordered.

Trucker felt it scan his fingertip, then, when he removed his finger, a light flickered and a hologram appeared above it.

”I've never seen something like this,” Trucker said, looking at the menu. ”Confederate Intelligence?”

She shook her head. ”No. Standard tech, I just used it in different ways. It's a completely secure distributed data network that can connect with your datalink and your in-skull RAM system.”

She pointed her finger at it and ran through the menus until she got to the personnel files.

”These will be the people you will be working with, their records, abilities, the equipment they'll have access to. Look it over, make suggestions, tell me where the data is wrong or incomplete,” the Detainee said.

Trucker looked at the list of names and shook his head.

”Won't work for two of them,” he said.

The Detainee frowned. ”Why not?”

He reached out and touched one name. ”She's on of my victims. A necromancer brought her back to life.”

The Detainee shrugged. ”I can get around that.”

Trucker shook his head. ”Maybe. I don't know. But the second one, no way he'll work with me.”

The Detainee frowned. ”Why not?”

”Because of her. He already told me, the next time he sees me outside of duty, he'll kill me.”

Above the circle of marbles the one eyed human stared balefully out at Trucker, almost accusingly.

The Detainee smiled. ”We'll see about that.”