Djinn Rummy

Original title - New United Earth. Science Fiction.

A corporate spy, intent on infiltrating a technologically superior world, discovers he isn’t who he thought he was.

Status: First draft about half written. I stalled out when I realized it needs to be re-plotted and re-written - it doesn’t work as it stands. Parts are salvageable, but so much needs to be redone that those parts will be few.

***

Fred walked into the darkened room. He’d had a bit of a fun time finding it. He’d been warned that he had to follow his directions completely without any exceptions, or the meeting room would not be there. It was only appropriate, he thought, as he speculated on how meeting rooms such as these were designed to not be found.

He looked around, but couldn’t make out anything in the room. He briefly considered leaving but, when he checked the door and found it locked, he decided he may as well stay. See if the offer was worth taking. He hoped they wouldn’t waste his time. He squinted, but could discern only bare shadows. He walked forward a couple of steps and banged his shin into something solid. He felt the object and realized it was a chair. Wooden, he realized, as he got a splinter in his thumb.

"Sit down," boomed the voice coming from somewhere above his head. He looked around, but no, still couldn’t see anything, so he obeyed. He picked at the splinter, tearing at his flesh until he prised it out. He sucked at the blood, the coppery taste not bothering him a bit. And why should it? He was used to blood by now.

"We have an assignment for you. Will you accept?"

He frowned. This was highly unusual, he thought. Usually, he at least got to meet the people he was working for in person even if he didn’t get to see their faces. "I don’t accept anything until I know what the job entails. You know that. It’s standard contract." He smiled. Got ‘em stumped now, he thought. They’ll have no choice but show their faces.

"This job is designated Vector 3 dash M8934121. Will you accept?"

Startled, he thought quickly. "What’s the pay?"

"You know the deal. You don’t find out until you accept the contract."

"Yeah, but how do I know it’s worth it?" he asked. They gotta give me something to go with, he thought. I can’t just accept something blindly.

"It’s Vector 3. That’s all you need to know right now. That’s all we’re legally obligated to tell you. Accept or decline, it’s your choice."

"But damn, you haven’t given me much of a choice, have you?" he blurted out. He shifted in his seat, twisting around to see if there was anything to see, anything at all. But no, nothing but shadows. "At least show me a face. Anything!"

"Vector 3. Your time is running out. Accept or decline?"

Fred reflected on his abysmal state of finances. He owed a tonne of money on his apartment, his education, oh hell, on everything, but dammit, that’s the way this guildhouse worked. Provide you with training, housing, all the basic needs in life, set you up with a good employment network, and do it all on credit so you’re stuck paying it back for the next ten years. Oh yeah, they knew what they were doing, all right. His mind raced as he considered the alternatives. He could refuse, but when would he have this lucrative an offer show up again? Sure, he had no idea what the contract was for, but everyone knew that any Vector assignment paid extremely well. He knew a couple of other robbers who’d had Vector 1 contracts, and one who’d had a Vector 2 contract. But Vector 3? That was unheard of.

Everyone also knew, he thought wryly, that they paid extremely well because they were high risk. He may not live to complete the contract. Hell, even if he lived, if he didn’t complete the contract, he’d end up working out the penalties for failure for the rest of his life. But what choice did he have?

"Yeah, okay. Okay, already. I’ll accept the damn thing. But it better bloody be worth it!" he yelled to the empty room.

"Your acceptance has been recorded. Standard voice recording with biorhythmic signatures matching. Your copy of the contract, your acceptance, and the dossier are now on the table in front of you." The lights came on. Fred looked around and realized why he couldn’t even make out shadows of the furniture. The walls, ceiling, and floor had been painted black. In fact, everything in this room - everything except himself, that is - was black. Even with the lights on bright, it still gave off shadows.

Two chips appeared on the table in front of him. The green one was for the contract. Standard. But yellow? That wasn’t the standard color for dossiers.

"You are authorized to discuss your assignment with no one except for the other Gadianton Robber mentioned in the yellow chip. All details are to be assimilated within two standard days. At the end of that time, the chip will cease to function and will disintegrate. You cannot delay disintegration, nor can you copy it, either in full or in part. You can view it only on the viewer encoded to you personally. It can only be viewed within the confines of your own residence. I suggest you get started immediately."

"Sure, yeah. Okay. But how much does it pay?"

"One million standard credits with bonus for early completion."

Fred nearly fell off his chair. He grabbed the table for support and uprighted himself. "Uh, what?" he asked. Did he have something in his ears?

"One million standard credits with bonus for early completion."

"But. Um, how long will it take to complete this assignment?" Standard credits, not planetary. This is a big job, he surmised. Must be an off-planet client. Probably couldn’t get their currency exchanged without a lot of people noticing.

"Estimated time to completion is two and a half standard years. For every standard month you are early on completion, you receive a bonus of one hundred thousand standard credits. For every standard month late, you are penalized an equal amount."

Fred’s ears pricked up at the thought of the bonus. "And, uh, any other bonuses in there for extras?" Always worth pumping for more, he thought. Never know what else they may want. When there was no response, he said, "Right. So back to my quarters and read. Nothing more you want to tell me?" Still no response. "Okey dokey then." He tried the door and found it unlocked once more.

He left the building the same way he entered - he knew it was the only way to make sure he came out where he needed to, instead of in some seedy neighborhood, or, worse yet, some seedy neighborhood where someone might recognize him. And for all he knew, if he took any path than the one he was assigned, he could be trapped here. He’d heard of it happening. Other guild members who thought they could take a short cut. Well, thing was, they took a short cut everywhere else. Their work was hardly quality, unlike his, so it’s not like it was a crying shame that they never turned up again. Could always tell. Take short cuts in one area, especially where you’re warned of the consequences, only makes sense they’ll take short cuts in other, equally important areas. He, Fred, was not that stupid.

Back in his apartment after a long walk through some not-so-healthy neighborhoods, he put the chip into his viewer and smiled as he did so. What they didn’t know at the guildhouse was that, prior to signing up with them, he’d been a developer for SolTechSystems on Sol6. Those people had no imagination. Can’t come up with a better name for their floating lab than Sol6? He cracked a smile and shrugged off the thoughts of them coming after him if they even suspected that he was still alive. He was supposed to be very, very dead at the bottom of a burnt out crater. He’d staged an accident for himself after he’d discovered, purely by accident, that company security was investigating him. Seems they’d caught wind that he’d been secreting some prototypes he’d designed that even they didn’t know he was working on. Then he’d made his latest breakthrough at the lab and suddenly all eyes were on him. It was time to disappear. He hadn’t made adequate preparations for an exit, though, which was why he’d landed in a Gadianton Robber guildhouse. He’d had to figure out some way to make a living and build up his capital so he could complete his final project.

But good thing he’d stashed his toys in a safe place, he mused as he slip the chip into his viewer.

He plugged his viewer into another device, one of his own design, a sniffer that he called pig, and smiled as he punched a few keys. In a few seconds, it was busy copying the contents of the chip onto its memory. Meanwhile, knowing full well he still needed the information in his memory as well, he sat down to read the contents of the chip.

New United Earth. No wonder the assignment had such a huge paycheque, he thought. They were tough to infiltrate. They had all the latest devices to tell when someone’s lying. Hell, he thought, they invented all those devices. They were years ahead of anyone else in the League. They even had devices that could tell when someone was lying to themselves, or if they’d had a part of their memory chemically altered. And they didn’t let just anyone on their planet. He’d read about it, of course. Everyone who wanted to earn a quick buck did. Until they realized that New United Earth was never the way to a quick buck, only to frustration.

He read on, and saw that NUE, as people were wont to call the planet - much easier than that mouthful, he mused - had opened themselves up to receiving political and religious refugees. Oh! Not just brainiacs for work permits anymore, he thought.

Political refugee status was hard to claim, though. Only a handful of planets still had tyrannical rulers, and it was damned hard to forge documents for those worlds. Didn’t help that it was damned difficult to get off those planets, which made it sooo much harder to prove you’d been a citizen there when you hadn’t. But religious persecution. Now that’s a possibility.

He scanned the contents of the chip, seeing what kinds of suggestions it would have. It mentioned a few religions and on which worlds they were persecuted. there were also details of how the believer would be received on NUE, which, theoretically, had an open policy towards religious belief. You could believe anything you wanted to get there and to get a temporary or rehabilitation visa. But if you wanted to become a citizen, which he would have to if he wanted to succeed on this assignment, then that changed everything.

He continued to pore over the documents until his eyes burned. He shut his viewer off and looked at his sniffer. It was still processing, so he let it be while he went to bed.

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