Duncan Long - Wrong Side In

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WRONG SIDE IN

By Duncan Long

Long Term Publications

information and free access to short stories,

artwork, music and articles by Duncan Long, visit

http://duncanlong.com/

All rights on both text and cover artwork reserved,

which includes the right to reproduce this book or

portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as

provided by US and international copyright laws. Any

resemblance between characters in this book and

those living or dead is purely coincidental.

PROLOGUE

e became the tsunami that

changed history and turned it

wrong side out. Of course all

events didn’t unfold as planned by

those who thought they were in

charge; but those in charge never

suspected our coming. The simplest departure from

their machinations became a far-reaching danger, as

if one pebble thrown into a pond somehow created

the tidal wave that came back to destroy.

I know now that the pivotal event started quietly,

the way many do. Like most, it merited no mention in

the newspapers. Its real damage wouldn’t occur for

nearly a century, long after all but one of the players

was dead. Thus, event heralding this storm charging

toward my doorstep occurred long before my birth.

It started shortly after Jeff Huntington cast his

smoldering cigarette toward the tarmac. Its glowing,

crimson tip arched in the darkness then crashed into

a thousand sparks. He exhaled smoke, eyeing the

glowing sunrise that promised to transform the humid

night’s heat into another Thailand scorcher.

As part of the sweaty step crew, Jeff stood

nervously with the other specialists stationed at the

end of the runway, waiting for the bombing mission to

be flown. Their job was to fix any of the electronics

that broke down before the takeoff of the eight aging

B-52s.

Lieutenant Norton came charging up behind Jeff

and the others, his approach masked by the jet

engines winding up. “Huntington,” he yelled,

announcing his presence and causing Jeff to wince.

“Get to the second BUFF. They’re having troubles.”

Jeff swore under his breath. “You’ve got to be

kidding.” The BUFFs were starting their engines

which meant he’d have to go along and fix the

package in the air—bad news since only the air crew

had ejection seats and Hanoi’s SAMs had become

more accurate over last few months. They’d brought

down two B-52s the day before. Huntington opened

his mouth to protest, but wasn’t quick enough.

“Get moving,” Norton yelled. “This isn’t a matter for

negotiations, mister.”

Jeff glared at the lieutenant a moment, then pulled

his muffs over his ears, augmenting the ear plugs he

already wore, in a vein attempt to shut out the noise

of the distant jet engines. Grabbing his tool kit from

the pavement, he headed for the second aircraft as

the aircrew opened a hatch so he could board the

massive bomber.

Minutes later the engines throttled to full power

and the big steel bird soared into the air for its

bombing run on the distant city. Jeff remained

encased in the eagle's belly, repairing a backup

module that would never be needed.

CHAPTER 1

looked Death straight in the eye and tried not to

lose control of my bladder; had I known I’d be

seeing him, I definitely would have skipped the

Morning Thunder. I made a mental note to do so

in the future—should I somehow escape his

clutches one more time.

His henchmen must have had a milliwave scanner

because they had very efficiently relieved me of my

main and hideout pistols along with my four knives.

All they’d missed was the mini-claymore strapped to

my thigh—apparently mistaking it for part of my exo-

armor.

The claymore was useless weight at this point.

Firing a claymore on your thigh was a guaranteed

broken leg but I would have risked that. My main

consideration was that the six-foot swath of jagged

plastic that would exit the front of the device might fail

to kill Death. The last thing I wanted to do was wound

him again and be unable to escape. It would be better

to do nothing and let him kill me coolly and quickly

rather than have him angry and able to do his worst

for a protracted time.

Dying quickly beats dying slowly any day—

including your last.

Of course setting off the claymore was all

academic since I couldn’t reach the firing pin with

Death’s thugs gripping my arms in their muscled

claws. I stood there sweating and fighting to control

my bladder while Death’s two mesomorphs held me

by either arm, threatening to dislocate my shoulders.

A mech-clock ticked off long seconds in the room that

smelled of sweat and blood.

Death stared at me across the smoke-filled room,

sitting behind an antique steel desk that resembled a

mortician's examination table. As always he wore the

chrome face with the crazy grin molded into it; he

never seemed to wear any of his other masks which

hung along the wall like an eyeless crowd of

onlookers. His antenna darted around like a nervous

cricket’s as he faced me. “Surprised to see me again

so soon?”

“Just get it over with,” I said. No more waiting for

me. I wanted to at least go with clean underwear.

Death threw back his head and roared, creating a

grating that was his way of laughing. “You think we

brought you here to...” He chuckled with what could

pass for a death rattle.

He uncoiled himself from his chair and rose to his

feet, stooping so his dented skull didn’t scrape the

ceiling. “Actually I have a little job for you.” The hand

that ended in digits instead of a claw snaked into his

chest compartment and retrieved a plastic vial.

“Here.”

The meso on my left let go of my arm so I could

receive the tiny jar. I recognized the pearlescent liquid

inside without checking the label. “I don’t do jet

anymore. You can have this back.”

Death’s eyes turned red in the dim light. “You’re

not going to wear out my patience today, are you?”

“No,” I answered quickly. There was no way I was

going to do that.

“I’ve paid to see your records,” Death said. “You

have three jet-net convictions and two months in

detox on your records. I know you’ve used the stuff,

so don’t try to smudge me.”

“Used to use is the key point here. I quit. I’ve seen

what happens when a guy crashes and splatters his

gray mat all over the —”

“Let’s just say you have no choice in this. It’s

nonnegotiable. You aren’t in a position to bargain.”

With a blur of motion his hand snaked toward me and

abruptly a razor sharp steel blade was at my throat.

I know when to fold. “I’m over a barrel with my

pants down,” I said in as steady a voice as I could

muster. “Please continue.”

Death withdrew and then paced the narrow room

for a few moments which seem like eternity, his

clawed hand opening and snapping shut with quiet

efficiency. Finally he stopped and spoke. “There’s a

man we need to find. Lost—very thoroughly. But he

probably left tracks in cyber. That’s where you come

in.”

“You want me to jet net him? That’s not what you

have in mind, is it?”

“That’s precisely it. For a cypher-tech like you, that

ought to be a grav dive with eyes closed.”

“What kind of pay are we talking about?” I asked.

“If I’m going to risk frying my mind —”

“Pay!” Death roared, making the sets of teeth in

the skull collection on the shelf behind him rattle

ominously. “You think you have room to bargain

here?”

“I thought, maybe,” I ventured. “You know...”

“You ought to be glad I’m not going to kill you

outright after what happened last time.”

He was right on that point.

I’d left him short a couple of arms after capturing

him in a booby trap I’d left behind. Unfortunately I’d

failed to kill him—hence my consternation at being

brought into his chamber earlier. When you try to

assassinate a crime king, you don’t want to botch it. I

was glad, yea even surprised, that he hadn’t brought

me in for a slow roasting over a low flame.

Death leaned toward me, coming so close his

antenna brushed my face, tickling my sweat-covered

brow. I could hear tiny gears whirring somewhere

inside him. “Fortunately for you I’m feeling generous

today. You find our guy’s hard address by the end of

the tomorrow and —”

“Just find his hard address?” I asked. “You don’t

want me to make the pick up or anything?”

“That’s correct. I’ve got other guys looking for him

now—they’ll make the pickup if you find his hard

address first. You find his hard address before my

other guys and I’ll delete your criminal records from

the PD machine and throw in a couple of thou to boot.

How’s that sound?”

“Very generous.”

“As a bonus, I won’t kill you.”

“Very, very generous.”

“Here’s his data file,” he said, handing me a ROM

dot. “This is everything we have on him. He left

records behind when he went into hiding.”

I took the tiny storage device and carefully placed

it into the PA on my wrist. “Is this guy dangerous?”

“Not hardly,” Death replied. “An antique. You

remember the Supreme ruling last month? The one

that said all vets had to be compensated for the past

sins of the UN and its member states?”

“A hundred thous per year, for each year they

continue to live,” I replied. I was up to speed on this

because I’d been trying to figure out some way to

hack my way onto the list of those who’d be receiving

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WRONGSIDEINByDuncanLongLongTermPublicationsCopyright©2000,2003,2004byDuncanLong.CoverartworkCopyright©byDuncanLong.Formoreinformationandfreeaccesstoshortstories,artwork,musicandarticlesbyDuncanLong,visithttp://duncanlong.com/Allrightsonbothtextandcoverartworkreserved,whichincludestherighttoreproduce...

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