Topic: Garsem-3

Michael Kennedy · Date: 2012-09-23 13:49 EST

It was supposed to be an easy brush pass. In and out of the spaceport in less than two hours. She was just bringing a top field agent a briefcase full of cred sticks and ident papers. She was supposed to look for a man wearing a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses with bright yellow frames who was carrying an identical briefcase. She was supposed to walk towards him, pretend to bump into him, and exchange briefcases quickly. Then she was supposed to walk away and board another shuttle that would take her back to Terra Nova.

Things went wrong almost as soon as she stepped aboard the shuttle that was taking her to Garsem-3. It was too crowded, for one, and she'd almost been bumped from the flight. She'd had to threaten, beg, and ultimately bribe the desk agent in order to secure her seat. Then once aboard, they'd stuck her next to a screaming baby with an ineffectual nanny, and had been forced to listen to the kid squall for three hours.

Once the shuttle had arrived at Garsem-3, things only got worse. The concourses were packed with refugees fleeing the threat of civil war. It was a madhouse with people milling around in confusion, families being separated and squeezed into shuttles like animals being transported to slaughter houses. Rebekah had no idea how the hell she was supposed to spot the guy in this churning, seething mass of bodies.

As soon as Michael saw the spaceport at Garsem-3, he realized that the clusterf*ck potential for this exchange had just gone through the roof. The place was an absolute madhouse. Everyone and his brother were trying to get away before violence erupted between General Feyad's forces and the Laisvė?a rebel group trying to overthrow the General. There'd been skirmishes already, but now the conflict was on the verge open warfare.

The flip side of that, of course, was that it made getting someone off the planet unnoticed far easier than it would be in peaceful times. With thousands leaving daily, two more would hardly be noticed, especially if they took some care to be unremarkable. He was good at that, even if he was a bit taller than the average. He had an open, honest face that made people want to trust him?or so he'd been told?and warm brown eyes, though they were currently hidden by a pair of unflattering yellow sunglasses. He walked through the crowd looking around like a man trying to find his shuttle, or maybe a missing family member, trying to spot the courier they'd sent to him.

In a spaceport full of desperate refugees, dragging all of their worldly possessions with them, how hard could it be to find a knock-out blonde carrying a briefcase? Harder than one might think, especially if said blonde was nowhere near his height. Luckily, dark hair was more common on Garsem-3, so the few blondes and redheads around tended to stand out at least a bit.

Pushing through a group that stood huddled together at her concourse's exit, Rebekah finally spotted the agent she was supposed to make the exchange with. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. This would be the very first time she'd ever done field work for the Intelligence Committee and screwing up would mean the end of her career, and if she screwed up badly enough, the end of her life. Plastering on a disinterested expression, she timed her approach with that of another group of refugees, one that was pushing and shoving amongst each other.

Just as she was about to pass by the other agent, she faked a stumble, throwing herself sideways and into the agent's arms. As she braced herself, she dropped her briefcase and made sure that it landed closer to him, while positioning herself so that his case was closer to her.

He caught sight of a likely prospect?young, blonde, gorgeous?heading his way and gave her a quick once-over, thankful for the masking presence of the dark shades. She had the right kind of briefcase, no obvious weapons or the telltale bulges that might hide them. She looked nervous, which was to be expected, but also fit perfectly in the near panic of the spaceport. He watched her in his peripheral vision as they drew closer, careful not to focus directly on her.

As they drew alongside one another, she tripped and suddenly his arms were full of sexy blonde. Hello nurse! More exchanges ought to happen this way. "Careful now," he said to the woman, his voice intentionally loud enough for nearby refugees to hear. "You don't want to sprain an ankle in this mess." He steadied her, and then bent down to pick up 'her' briefcase. Just as his hand touched it, a tremendous explosion rocked the entire concourse. The noise was deafening. Full-blown panic erupted all around as people tried to run away from the site of the blast, screaming and shoving at each other in their haste.

Rebekah clung to the agent, the years of training slipping away almost immediately as a rising tide of panic threatened to wash over her. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Her training didn't cover this. The mission briefing hadn't prepared her for this. Her brain shut down and she had no idea what to do.

He saw that terror take hold behind her eyes and realized that this was probably her first op. Or this was a setup, and she was a hell of a good actress. The timing of the explosion was suspicious enough to make him consider the latter possibility, but his instincts were telling him that she wasn't faking the fear. He trusted his instincts. They'd kept him alive more than once. "Come with me," he hissed to her, taking her arm in a firm grip and all but dragging her along with him as he merged with the fleeing crowd. In this chaos, they looked like just another pair of scared refugees trying to get away from the explosion.

Michael Kennedy · Date: 2012-09-23 13:50 EST

She followed in his wake, a tiny ship dragged along by a larger tugboat. At least she'd had the presence of mind to pick up her briefcase, the one she?d brought with her from Terra Nova. It would be damaging to the Committee if she'd lost the money or the ident papers. Once they were on the move, she felt that cold, calm rationality that training had instilled in her seeping back in and she opened herself up to it fully, embracing the clarity it brought with it. She assumed the agent had transportation waiting somewhere outside of the spaceport, transportation that would take them immediately to a safe house where they could contact the Committee and arrange for her safe passage off the moon. She'd just have to stick close to him in the meantime and try not to get in the way too much.

He shot a glance at her from the corner of his eye and noted that she seemed to be over her brief flash of panic already, and that she'd held onto the briefcase. That impressed him. There was a trained mind inside the pretty package. He'd ditched his own briefcase, but that was okay?it was a simple decoy, with nothing in it but a spare set of clothes and some toiletries. Nothing that would arouse a security checkpoint's suspicion.

He let the pressure of the crowd carry them along for a while, scanning the faces around them for anyone who looked out of place. In the back of his mind, he was going over the events leading up to the explosion, trying to find something that might give a clue as to who'd set it off and why. The bugs he'd seeded throughout the spaceport might help with that, when he had a few minutes of calm to review the footage recorded by the airborne micro-cameras. When they'd moved far enough from his original position, he split off from the main crowd, following a minor tributary that was heading for an emergency exit.

She finally shook off his arm and followed under her own power. Once they hit the emergency exit?which miraculously was undiscovered so far?she said, "Did you know that was going to happen?" She was proud of the way her voice didn't tremble.

"No," he said tersely, eyes searching their surroundings. "Did you?" If this exit was like most, opening it would send out an alert to the security office. While said office was bound to be far busier dealing with the explosion, he didn't like leaving a trail, even such a small one as this. It only took a moment to find the junction box for the security conduit. It was a good thing Garsem-3 was far, far from state-of-the-art when it came to tech. They still used physical wires in public buildings. He dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a tiny baffler, clipping it onto the conduit and hitting the power switch. The baffler would block electromagnetic impulses until its battery ran out--which took five minutes?then fall away and self-destruct.

She watched him like a hawk, soaking up information like a thirsty sponge. The word around the Committee was that this guy was one of the best ops in the business and she knew he could teach her a lot. "No," she answered, taking a moment to lean against the wall while he worked his tech magic. "There was nothing in the intel package that even hinted about a bomb today." She was shaking as the effects of the spike of adrenaline wore off, and she noticed that her mouth was dry and her heart was racing.

He looked hard at her for a moment, then nodded. She seemed to be telling the truth. If she was playing him, she was good enough that he didn't want her out of his sight anyway. "Come on," he finally said, pulling open the emergency exit and peeking carefully out before stepping through. When she was out, he pulled the door closed. The next time someone used it, provided it was more than four minutes and thirty seconds from now, the alert would go out as normal. No one should ever know the door was used before that.

She felt as though she'd just passed some sort of test and allowed herself to indulge in a moment of pride. She wanted to pepper him with questions but was terrified of being intrusive and distracting. "Will this impact the hand-over?" she asked after they'd moved along with the crowd for about fifty feet. She meant the defection of General Feyad's money man.

It was a valid question. She was thinking clearly. He approved. "Yes," he replied. "It's going to be harder getting him off-world now."

"You'll be able to do it, though. I mean, you're Michael Kennedy."

Was that a hint of hero-worship? He had to admit that the prospect didn't completely annoy him. "I'll still be able to do it," he confirmed. "Just have to use a different plan." Speaking of which... "You're not going to be able to get back on your shuttle, you realize. You have a backup plan, I hope?"

"Uhm..." she said, biting down on her lower lip. "I thought maybe you had a safe house somewhere and I could crash there and wait for the Committee to get me out." That was better than explaining that she didn't actually have a contingency plan.

He stared at her for a moment. If this was a setup, giving her access to a safe house of his was a serious danger. He had more than one, of course, but even someone trained not to leave clues behind couldn't hide absolutely everything. On the other hand, if she was on the level, he couldn't just let her dangle in the wind. Being a spy isn't an every-man-for-himself job, even if that's how most people imagine it. In a dangerous, often hostile galaxy, a man had to know that he wasn't facing it alone. "All right," he finally said. "I have a place, but you're going to have get there on your own." He leaned in and murmured a street name to her. "Look for the rose," he said. It was a calculated risk, but the house he'd given her was his least-frequently used one. It would have the fewest traces of him there.

She nodded and flashed him a grateful smile that quickly turned mischievous. Now that she'd moved away from the chaos of the smoke-filled spaceport, she was feeling more confident and well, if she was really honest with herself, she wanted to show off a bit for him. "Last one there makes dinner tonight?"

He grinned, the expression completely changing his face from competent and focused to boyishly handsome and open. "Deal," he said, then turned and moved off quickly, disappearing in the crowds that still surrounded the spaceport.

Michael Kennedy · Date: 2012-09-23 13:51 EST

She spotted what she needed just as she reached the edge of the enormous, twelve-story parking structure that serviced the entire spaceport. A native Garsemian?she could tell, thanks to the webbed fingers?was just arriving at a personal transport that was attended by another native who was nearly as broad as he was tall. The guy was clearly a body guard as well as a driver. She paused for a moment, breathing fast and shallow so it appeared that she'd been running in a panic. "Excuse me, sir?" she called out to him, noting how the body guard's whole stance changed.

The rich guy paused and looked at her. Since she was watching his face, she saw his attitude change from one of extreme annoyance to one of interest sprinkled with a little lust. He was on the hook; now to reel him in. "I was wondering if you could help me?" she said, thickly pouring on the fair maiden in desperate straits act.

"Certainly, Madame. What may I do for you?"

Rebekah smirked inwardly. "I got separated from my sponsor and have no way of getting to the hostel where I'm supposed to stay. I was wondering if you could give me a lift?" The man exchanged looks with his driver, who gave him a subtle nod. Rebekah assumed the guard had been giving her a careful once-over to search for signs of a concealed weapon. Luckily, the Committee didn't allow couriers to carry weapons.

"I would love to be of assistance, Madame. After all, you're a visitor to my planet and this business with the bomb can't have made a very good first impression. It's my duty to rectify that immediately." He stepped back and the guard opened the door for Rebekah, who slid across the plush velvet bench seat to the far side of the compartment, leaving room for the man to climb in behind her. The rich man joined her and soon they were on the way to the street that Michael had indicated.

As soon as the courier?he'd neglected to get her name, he realized?was out of sight, Michael cut a swift but polite path through the crowds and turned down the first side street away from the spaceport. He'd stashed one his rides there, a one-person vehicle that resembled a Terra Cascus motorcycle with much broader wheel and a canopy over the seat. There were plenty like it all over the city, most weathered and oft-repaired. On the outside, his appeared to fall into that category.

Looks were deceiving, though, for the inner workings of the vehicle were in perfect condition, not to mention somewhat illegally modified. Popping the canopy, he hopped in and pulled out of the parking spot, heading down the main thoroughfare at a fast but unobtrusive pace. He'd studied the possible routes between his safe houses and the spaceport, driving them over and over until he was sure he could get to any of his houses without worry of getting lost. Since there was no pursuit, he chose the quickest of the routes to the house he'd told the courier about and was there in minutes. The house was dark when he arrived, which brought the wide grin to his face again. He went inside and settled down to wait, wondering how long it would take her to find a way to get there.

A few moments after Michael arrived, a private vehicle pulled up at the end of the street and Rebekah hopped out, after taking the man's comm number and promising to get in touch with him before she left the system. Once she was on the walk and the vehicle had pulled away, she crumpled up the number and tossed it into the nearest trash bin. Then she turned and headed down the street, peering closely at every house. "Look for the rose," he'd told her. None of the houses on this street had gardens, so an actual rose bush was out of the question. She began studying the architecture more closely, looking for roses in the wrought iron fences that surrounded the buildings, or in the gingerbread that adorned the roof lines.

She almost missed the sign, it was so subtle. In one of the houses towards the end of the row, there was a single white rose bud in a green vase in the window of the main floor. One corner of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile and she went confidently and boldly up the front path, just as if she had every right to be there. She tested the knob, found it locked, and then rapped loudly on the door.

Michael Kennedy · Date: 2012-09-23 13:52 EST

When a knock sounded at the door only ten minutes later, Michael looked at it in surprise. That was fast work, if it was her. He took out his gun, in case it wasn't. It was a standard CEW rather than the far more primitive projectile weapons that were in common use on Garsem-3. The directed energy blasts would give him away as an off-worlder if anyone saw it, but it was a hell of a lot quieter, which was always a good thing. He checked the monitor above the door, saw that it was her, and nodded, impressed. He studied the street behind her for a moment, and then opened the door. "Inside, quickly," he said.

Her brows attempted to join with her hairline as she ducked quickly inside the house. "I wasn't followed, if that's what you're worried about. I know well enough to check for a tail." She sounded hurt by his seeming lack of faith.

"I don't doubt it," he said placating, closing the door behind her. "In fact, I'm impressed by how fast you made it here. No, it's nosy neighbors I'm more worried about than tails."

"Oh," she said softly. Then she took a moment to look at her surroundings. They were standing in a modernized version of a mid-nineteenth century Old Earth home, called a Victorian rowhouse. It was four stories tall and very narrow, with tiny rooms and plastiwood floors. It was probably beautiful in the morning when the light streamed through the windows, but now it was shuttered and dark. The furniture was covered with tarps and a thin film of dust covered the floors and surfaces. "Nice place," she said, meaning it.

"Sorry about the dust," he said, shooting her a grin. "I don't use this house often enough to hire a maid, and I'm way too important to clean my own place." Now that he was in one of his safe houses, his demeanor had shifted to something much less businesslike.

She snorted a little laugh. "Too humble, too, huh?" She moved down the hall towards the back of the house and found a well-turned out kitchen that actually looked like it was lived in. "Well, I guess since I got here last, I have to make dinner, right?"

"Those are the rules," he said, completely ignoring the fact that she was the one who'd suggested the little wager. He leaned up against the entrance to the kitchen. "Can't break the rules," he continued solemnly.

She nodded. "Nope. I'm definitely not a rule-breaking kind of girl." Never mind that she was basically a criminal with a government pay check. "So. What do you like to eat?" she asked, turning to look through the cabinets and the cold unit. There really wasn't much in the way of fresh food, unsurprisingly, but she thought she might be able to whip up a Bolognese or possibly some chicken tikka.

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't leaning against the doorframe. "I'm not picky. You learn to take what you can get, you know? Surprise me." He started to turn away and go back into the living area, then stopped. "Hey," he said, turning back to her. "What's your name, anyway?"

"You mean you don't know already?" There was a teasing tone to her voice as she hunted down the things she'd need to make a Bolognese.

He grinned. She was quick and had a sense of humor. That was good. "Sorry, they don't bother telling me stuff like that. Not relevant to the op, they say. I could find out in a couple minutes, but hey, you're right here to ask." He moved back into the kitchen and leaned against the counter facing her.

"It's Rebekah. Savage. Nice to meet you," she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder at him. "I hope you like spaghetti Bolognese, 'cause that's about the only thing here I can make."

"Good to meet you, too, Rebekah," he said, meaning it. "Spaghetti sounds great. Not many people can cook much anymore. You learn at home, or are they offering a housewife course at the Farm now?"

She snorted. "I was a Fleet brat. Spent a lot of time by myself in base housing, which as you may or may not know isn't exactly the most advanced. Had to learn to feed myself."

He nodded. "Base food. Bleh."

"Exactly." She fell silent as she emptied dried food packets and aluminum cans into a pot and set some water to boil as well. "So. What do we do now?" She went and leaned against the counter across from him and braced her elbows on its surface so she could cup her chin in her hands.

Michael Kennedy · Date: 2012-09-23 13:54 EST

He raised a brow at her. "You wait for pickup. I finish my op."

She nodded and tried not to look too disappointed. "Did you contact Committee already?"

He shook his head. "Not yet." Then he reached over and patted her shoulder. "Cheer up, kid. You did really well today, and I plan on telling them so."

Kid. She pulled a sour face and turned away from him on the pretense of stirring the pots on the heater unit. He was throwing her a bone at least in letting Committee know that she'd performed well despite the failure of the op. Wait. Not a failure. She turned around and pointed to the briefcase on the table. "That's the one I brought, right?"

He saw that sour look and tried not to chuckle. "Sorry, I shouldn't call you that. You're definitely a woman." He glanced over at the briefcase. "Sure is," he answered, grinning.

She was flush with pride. "Well, then this wasn't all a waste, was it? You got the ident papers and the cred sticks. Hopefully you can still get done whatever it is that you need to get done."

"Not a waste at all. I got what I needed, plus a bonus armful of smoking hot courier." He shot her a wink. "Far as I'm concerned, your mission was a solid success."

She blushed and turned away to hide it. "Well. Good then," she said awkwardly. "I think this is done," she announced, happy to change the subject. "Do we have plates and stuff?"

She was blushing. How cute. He wondered how old she was. Couldn't be more than mid-20s. "Sure, in that cabinet." He pointed. "Might need to dust them off a bit, too."

"I cooked. You set the table. And you get to clean up after, too."

"Fair enough," he said, going over to pull out a couple of plates and some silverware. "Have a seat," he said, setting out the plates and grabbed the pot, dishing out two equal portions of the spaghetti.

She sat down at the table and watched him. "Is there any sort of rules against ops sharing personal info?"

His brow went up again. "No, of course not. We're on the same team. Why?"

She shrugged and dug into her food. "I'm curious about what it takes to be the best senior field op in the entire Committee. I wanna be that some day."

"Best senior field op? Am I really?" He didn't hide the pleased smile that the thought brought on.

"That's what they say. That op you pulled on Dagger Point is taught at the Farm." She privately thought the smile he was wearing made him look like a little boy. It was cute and suited him.

"I'm blushing," he said, though he wasn't. He was still smiling, though. "You really want to know the secret?"

"Absolutely." She was surprised at the meal; it was really quite tasty, despite the ingredients. Modern food technology to the rescue!

"I have a set of Rules that I've put together over the years, and I always try to stick to them."

"Rules?" she repeated in disbelief. "That's it? Huh."

"Well, that's not it, but it's a big part of it. Being a good operative is about being prepared. Every time you go out on an op, something is going to go wrong. Maybe something minor, maybe something not so minor. It's how you respond to those things that determines whether you succeed or fail. Pay attention to everything. You never know what little tidbit might save your butt."

She found herself nodding and filed away this information. "That's really good advice," she said seriously. "What else?" She was plowing through her food with abandon and realized that it'd been at least twelve hours since her last meal. She could never eat on a shuttle.

He shared with her a handful more rules while they ate, and once they?d finished the meal, he cleaned up and then contacted a case agent at Committee?s HQ in Nova Angelus, on Terra Nova. He explained everything that happened, from the successful brush pass, to the bombing, to them seeking shelter in one of his safe houses. The case agent promised that he could get Rebekah out of Garsem-3 on a shuttle that was leaving in four hours? time, so Rebekah thanked her host and caught a public transport tram back to the spaceport. In four and a half hours, she was cruising at Slip-6 through the Garsem system on her way back to be debriefed at HQ. She wondered whether she?d ever see Michael Kennedy again.

((Continues on here.))