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Rayse Valentino was one villain amongst many. Too long ago to remember, the Administrate established galactic patrols to maintain the delicate balance of power between such villains. Ten minor players in a grand scheme was easier to manage than a leading antagonist’s soliloquy. Lucius was amongst the first agents posted to the front lines between the seemingly endless territory conflict between Scara Brae and Salvar. In any other lifetime, he would have put a bullet between Valentino’s eyes and been done with the whole thing.
“Remember this, when you’re back home,” he whispered.
Alyssa looked up from her binoculars, still trying to work out how to turn off the night vision.
“The constant smell of sweat and the infinite desperation of a drunken spy?”
He stuck out his tongue.
“What it feels like to be constantly constrained by bureaucracy, rules that make no sense to anyone save for P.A.X.” He dropped his eye back to the sniper scope and continued his vigil.
“She seems the sort.” She flicked a switch and, with a silent look of glee, examined the far end of the loading bay.
They made it aboard the flagship without incident. A small insertion torpedo took the duo into contact with the portside hull and, as Alyssa still found surprising, deposited them inside a servo chamber without so much as a fluctuation in temperature or decibels.
“Are you sure you don’t want to kill him?”
So many questions had led to so many more questions during her initiation; three days biting her tongue was long enough. She figured now was as good a time as any to find the underlying cause of things, before they potentially died horribly, or were tortured for days in the brig.
“Oh. I am sure. Those strings I’m strung up by are quite tight, however.”
The loading bay was one of two serving the flagship Company. Half a mile long, and a thousand feet wide, each opened at the front end and a carefully monitored security barrier ensured only Vorgruk Stokes vessels entered and departed. A nagging doubt at the back of Lucius’s mind drew attention to the fact that, of all the drunken destitute low life scum in the galaxy, Leopold Winchester was the only man to smuggle something out from under Rayse’s nose…
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he sighed. He looked away from the sniper rifle and checked the ammunition clips strapped to each hip. “Our mission is to disable the ship as best we can. Once crippled, Rayse will have no choice but to hold off on his attack on the Scara Braen home planets and – as I’m sure I and P.A.X mentioned a dozen times, buy the Scara Braen govern-”
“Some much needed time, yes, I know. I was just double checking.”
Lucius nodded. He had to give it to Alyssa; she had taken to the assignment well. He put the assimilation down to the constant subconscious stream of information provided by the A.R.I.A system, which served to normalise the fact that she was now several thousand years out of time, and desperately out of sorts. Shifting his weight off his groin, the agent pushed himself upright on his hands and knees and made his final checks.
“I mean, I we accidentally blow the ship up and Rayse is on-board then…you know,” he shrugged.
“Strings. Very tight strings.”
“Okay, okay, no killing. Let’s make a move, the patrols have started to change and we don’t have much time to get into the main deck section of the ship.” He began to dismantle his rifle and turn it into a compact burst machine gun. He left the scope and silencer in the duffel bag behind a crate of fertiliser, and stood over his charge as she made her final scan of the bay.
“We’re good,” she said, when she was satisfied, the way was clear. “Pettigrew, synchronise with Agent 492.”
Static crackled in their ears as the two systems combined, forming a dissonant, eerie voice that immediately proved more annoying than their respective parts. Alyssa stood, readied her implants, and vented a draught of magic by way of preparation. Lucius stared at her, somewhat jealous that she was the only living thing amongst trillions to possess even the command of what the Tap was, had been, and would be.
“After you, Agent 456.” He stepped to one side, bowed, and swept his hand north. “Your examination has begun.”