Vatican Assassin (2 page)

It’s here somewhere... right here! No, just a random access panel. It’s gotta be here
somewhere. It’s in the plan. I’ll find it. The plan. Let’s see...
When I find the hatch, I’ll go up and out through a maintenance closet off the main mall,
near the rest rooms on the opposite end of the conference hall from where the governor was. I’ll
change into my spare clothes I stashed near there and head back to the conference. I’ll be seen
coming back from the opposite direction from where the governor was, for misdirection’s sake,
strike up a quick conversation or two on the way back to establish my presence. Then I walk back
into the hall into the chaos that has ensued. The Plan.

Man, this sucks. I made a fast exit, all right, nearly slid under the surface of this gunk
when I slipped down the access hatch out of the bathroom... I knew I’d run into something down
here but this is disgusting. Glad I’ve got the change of clothes hidden near the other rest rooms. I
knew to expect some slime but this...

The next hatch should be right about here, should lead to that closet and those other rest
rooms, but I don’t feel it. Damn tunnel wall’s so smooth! This tunnel is carved right out of the
lunar rock, marble-smooth walls, ceiling and floor, all rounded for easy slippage and falling on
one’s face or ass into the combined excrement of the Moon’s largest settlement.
Oh joy, Oh bliss.

The glorious life of an agent of the Office of Papal Operations, BC my boy...
I can almost hear the Big Guy, the Old Man, in my head, see him in the robes of his office
as he speaks words that seem somehow wrong coming from such a blessedly adorned figure:

“She must be eliminated, my son, so that many more will not die. It is God’s will, you see.
You, as always, Father Campion, are merely His instrument.”

Instrument. Hmph. I am feeling pretty played right about now...
Light and sound break the dark silence. Alarms. Flashing white and red light. A voice saying something unintelligible.

Shit, what’s that? An alarm? Wonderful.
Nice light show. Something’s talking, too.
Amplified, but still muffled. Some kind of warning.

Great. Just great. Hallelujah everybody. Too far away to see it yet, but it sounds like an
automated security bug. No human Lunar Security Cop would want to come down here.
Ugh! The smell is getting worse! I didn’t think that was possible! The security robot is
getting closer. It’s making a sizzling noise. Must be sweeping around the tunnel with lasers,
superheating the sludge whenever it fires down into it. Oh no. Oh man. I can feel the waves of
warm shit flowing down past my legs through the sludge, superheated by the security bug’s lasers.
Heating up the shit. This just sucks.

At least the announcement is getting clearer. There’s a positive, huh?

“ ...non-standard behavior, including unauthorized access to these maintenance tunnels, is to be reported, investigated and resolved to the satisfaction of Lunar Security. Unauthorized access to this area is covered under the Lunar Emergency Powers Act, and is classified as highly suspicious. Extreme force is authorized, even automated extreme force, as provided under the War Codes . A General State of Emergency has been declared by the Lunar Free Colony. Any nonstandard behavior, including unauthorized access to these maintenance tunnels, is to be reported, investigated and resolved to the satisfaction of Lunar Security. Unauthorized access...”

The robot’s getting closer. I can see the white strobe flashing, the red laser sweeping a
webbed pattern around its perimeter. Man, I can hear the sludge bubbling and sizzling. It’s
definitely getting hotter. Still can’t find the damn hatch!

“...highly suspicious. Extreme force is authorized, even automated extreme force, as provided under the War Codes. A General State of Emergency...”

Finally! There’s the rim of the hatch. It’s about chin-high.

Let’s see what the sign on the hatch says... “Access 14/Lunar Reclamation System Tunnel
28-C.” Ahoy, me maties, thar she blows! In the nick of time, too, damn goo is getting too hot,
damn... where’s the control panel? There!

Clicks. Good sound! Whirring gears inside the hatch. And another click.
The hatch swings in. BC pulls himself up through the hatch as lasers from the security bot start to reach him. A red beam slices into the bottom of his right boot before he pulls it through the hatch.
Damn!

Red and white light flashes and splays chaotically across the hatch as he shoves it closed behind him.

He’s in a small space, a meter and a half square around with no visible ceiling. It’s another tunnel carved right out of the lunar rock, this time leading up. There’s a ladder carved into the wall in front of him.

He climbs up easily in the light lunar gravity.

There’s another hatch in the wall at the top, just above the last rung of the ladder.
Locked!

He takes out a small silver cylinder. His handlaser. It glows red on the end as he fires it up. He focuses a short, intense beam and runs it along the seam of the hatch. The seam smokes as his laser cuts through it. He works his way around the hatch door.

He braces himself, his back against the tunnel wall opposite the hatch, and kicks the hatch in. It falls with a soft thud.

That’s wrong.
Clang, yes. Soft thud, no...

He looks through the hatchway. The hatch has landed on something.

On someone, actually.

It’s hard to see. Dim emergency lighting in here. It’s a maintenance closet. A storage area,
toxicological suits in lockers, broken old cleaners piled off to one side...
And a woman lying on the floor under the fallen hatch door.

Is she all right? Is she unconscious? Why is anyone in here anyway?

He climbs through the hatch, drops to the floor next to the woman. She’s wearing a uniform.
Wonderful! A Lunar Security Cop! All right, God... How about a little help here? Could
you work out a helpful coincidence for a change?
I’m not looking for a miracle, just a little help
here. C’mon.

I wonder if that security ‘bot sent out an alert. Shit! Why else would she be here?

He checks her pulse.

She’s still alive, just knocked out. Should be fine. Looks like she took a good whomp on
the head from this thing, though.

That’s good. I do try to limit my killings to just one a day. Any more than that and I’d
begin to think it was becoming a bad habit... hmm, bit morbid...
She’s pretty... like a sleeping Latino angel... hope she stays sleeping for a while.
Damn, though, this is not in the plan. I’m leaving too big a footprint here, now. She’s
bound to report this, even if she never sees me. And this is taking time I don’t have.
Gotta move.

He picks up the hatch and props it back up in its original position.. He puts the handlaser on a slightly lower setting and runs it back along the seam around the hatch, fusing it back into place. The Lunar Security Cop on the floor begins to stir as he finishes. He slides past her across the room in his damaged shoes and soaked pants. She begins to move her head. BC reaches the closet exit and tries the door.

Locked!

He uses his handlaser again. The door’s lock gives a good fight but loses. BC burns through and pushes the door open.

The door slides halfway open then stops.

Shit! Well, it’ll have to do.

He slides through.

If I’m doing Your work, why won’t You cut me any slack? Huh?

He’s in a small side corridor off of the main dome of Reagan Station. He edges down the right side of the corridor toward the atrium, tries not to look suspicious covered in sewer sludge and smelling as bad as he looks. He pulls his priestly collar off and pockets it.
No need to look that suspicious.

BC leans out of the corridor to visually scan the area ahead, the edge of the central atrium for Reagan Station. Groups of tall pines tower over, stretching to the starry roof of the dome.
Like a forest in a mall. Pine needles and plastic. My bag should be just over by the trunk
of that huge pine...

I don’t see it from here. Good hiding job. Let’s hope
.

He ducks out of the corridor and into the first stand of pine trees in the atrium. He tries to nonchalantly search around for sign of his bag.

It’s not here! How can it not be here? Is this the wrong group of trees? No, right trees...
He pokes around under the pines and walks into a sprinkler hidden by the needles. He feels his left ankle twist the wrong way and he starts to fall.

Ouch! Damn!

He breaks his fall and plops down onto the pine needles and grass. He sits, massages his ankle and looks around for any sign of his bag.

Looks like it was stolen. There’s an indentation in the bushes under the trees where I left
it. It was here. It should be right here, these are the trees... c’mon, any helpful coincidences?

Who would steal a priest’s clothes?

Reagan Station began as a military outpost. Now, as Lunar Prime, it thrives as an independent city-state, a hub of commercial activity, a cosmopolitan capitol and neutral territory in the war, home to over two million people. More than just a moon base, Reagan Station is a city unto itself. Built off the main dome are over fifty separate neighborhood areas, engineered and designed to be aesthetically pleasing and diverse as well as functional.

Most of Reagan Station was constructed in the last half of the 21st century, after a UIN missile strike back in 2062 destroyed most of the first Reagan Station, originally built by the old United Nations as a military security and Mission to Mars base and later ceded to the UTZ. The UIN’s missile strike gave them control of the Moon in 2062.

The UIN took over the moon after their attack forced the UTZ off. They began rebuilding, making improvements and adapting the base to their needs. Nine years later in 2071, the war shifted, the UTZ regained control of the Moon and reestablished Reagan Station.

Though still technically a military base, the rebuilt Reagan Station’s entertainment facilities and landing facilities became commercial ventures, subcontracted to corporate members of the UTZ. The UTZ is driven by commerce, and finds ways to make money in any venture. The facilities became incredibly popular, a gold mine for the subcontractors. The entertainment facilities’ growth soon outpaced the UTZ military’s developments on the Moon. The Moon became “civilized”. The employees of these facilities were the moon’s new working class. Luna’s new backbone. Many of the workers were non-Christians from Earth, who moved to the Moon to escape the war. As this population increased, as Reagan Station grew, the independent nature of the people of the Moon grew as well. The moon became a refuge for those party to neither side in the bitter conflict. An interesting and independent place, intentionally diverse and tolerant. In 2082, Luna became an independent state under UTZ auspices. Reagan Station has been growing ever since. Though more city than station, the name has stuck. The Independent government calls Reagan Station “Lunar Prime,” but just about everyone else still calls it Reagan Station. Reagan Station is lived-in. It’s like any other city, with good sections and bad, old, broken-down dark areas and shiny new construction.

Independent and united in their neutrality, Luna’s populace segregates itself into its own smaller, separate areas: The Jewish Section, The Pagan Enclave, The Universal Temple, Chinatown. Their separate sectors spoke off the central hub of old Reagan Station proper and the Main Dome through a series of interconnected corridors and airlocks.

The Main Dome is at the center of the old station and the city, a giant atrium nearly a mile across, the central hub for the station. Three floors of residences and shops circle the atrium. The dome atop the atrium is clear, allowing a breathtaking view of the stars and Earth. Artificial gravity supplements the moon’s weak attraction on the floor of the main dome. At the center is a wide, roughly circular pool almost a half a mile in diameter, deliberately overgrown with vegetation and teeming with aquatic life. It’s designed as a part of the environmental systems and also to be “aesthetically pleasing.” The pool is crisscrossed by two broad walkways lined with trees and bushes. Maples and pines, oaks, elms and Douglas firs, and ferns, hedges and dogwoods, all can be found under the moon’s Main Dome.

There are lilac bushes and stretches of grass surrounding the central pool. Artificial breezes circulate. We try to bring Earth with us, to recreate it best we can. It’s been recreated well in the Main Dome of Reagan Station.

BC is in a deserted part of the Dome. There are cleaners and other maintenance robots around, but no people. This is part of BC’s plan. This immediate area has no shops or residences.

And now, no bag. Not a part of my plan. And my ankle hurts!

I thought my bag would be safe around here. Maybe it was picked up by Maintenance.
That might be worse than getting stolen. They’ll make a record of it.
I think I hope someone stole it. Twisted.
Huh, like my ankle. Bad pun. Is that a pun? I
don’t know...

BC looks back at the wall of the Main Dome. The circular outer wall of this level of the dome is blank, but above him, on the second level, he can hear the din of people and commerce.
Where I need to be.
The reception hall entrance is back up there, on the other side of the
dome.

I can’t go up there looking like this, all in black with my collar off, legs dipped in shit and
the rest of me splattered. Real fine company.

Then there’s the Lunar Security Cop I knocked out. She’ll be waking up. I gotta get outta
here. Gotta get some new clothes, fast, too.
Time to move.
He walks through the pine trees and heads for the center of the dome, towards the central pool. He walks along the pool’s edge until he sees a line of shops ahead on the dome’s outer wall. He scans the signs of the shops until he sees the one he needs. Men’s clothes. Just ahead.
Men’s Shop. Perfect. Now, I’ve gotta kind of casually walk out of the trees and into the
open, covered in shit. Hum Dee dump Dee dum...