Only Human

Snow was falling heavily from a pitch black sky over the sprawling skyline of planet New Berlin. In a small non-descript building shrunken by the tall skyscrapers all around it a man woke up with a start. His face was covered and he was in a chair obviously not designed for comfort. Gripped with confusion he tried to stand but found himself strapped down. He started thinking of a way to get free; he could feel that his gun and holster were gone, along with the knife on his belt. Feeling his shoulder with the side of his head he could feel that the small blade hidden under the false patch of fabric was still there but with his face covered he was going to have a hard time getting to it.

Just then he heard the hiss of a door opening and the light clang of feet in army boots on metal. The sound of a gun being loaded; by the distinct deep hum probably a particle blaster, top of the line technology. The bag covering his face was removed and light momentarily blinded him. As his eyes adjusted he looked around the room. The walls were a clean gray metal and lights were sunk into the corners of the walls and roof to light the small room evenly. Two men stood before him in what were instantly recognisable as Rheinland Military Uniforms. One of them, the one who was pointing the gun at his head, was a Lieutenant and the other was an Oberst.

The officer studied the man for a moment and then began to talk. “You, my friend, are dead.” The man looked a little puzzled, glanced at the gun in his face and then back to the general. “I don’t suppose you remember much of what happened. A patrol found you in Hudson with a hold full of cardimine and opened fire, you killed a few of my men but the patrol managed to bring you down. They gassed you to stop you from being a problem while they bought you here, it will have interrupted your memories. We’ve faked your death so that no one will come looking for you.”

“You wouldn’t bring me here just for smuggling, why fake my death?”

“You, my friend,” the captive shivered a little at the officer’s tone, “are what we in the business call a rare commodity. You have a combination of skills that makes you just the right man for our needs.”

“Skills?” asked the captive dubiously.

“You are one of the leading experts in trade lane programming and civic computer networks. Your... colourful criminal history has made you adept at using and countering computer viruses as weapons and your combat profile would make any self respecting soldier raise an eyebrow and move their hand closer to their weapon.”

“Are you trying to flatter me to death?” the captive’s voice the very essence of sarcasm.

The officer smiled coldly, “It’s hardly flattery. There are reported cases of you taking on four skilled Outcast pilots at once and being the only one to walk away. You’ve also had your fair share of combat with Nomads,” the officer paused to prepare himself for the next statement, “and even rumours that one of them has complimented you on your fighting skills. Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” A slight shadow of doubt appeared on the officer’s face, “One of those four outcasts was already severely damaged and barely got a shot off before I killed him and the Nomad complimented me just after he blew my ship to smithereens. I guess that means I’m not the guy you’re looking for... don’t suppose I can go now....?” the captive asked jokingly.

“HAA... no my friend,” scoffed the officer, “In light of past crimes against Rheinland the government wants you put in prison and we both know that you have a price on your head that, once you were discovered to still be alive, would see you dead within a week. However I have convinced those concerned that you are more useful alive then dead. Here’s the deal, you operate for us under an alias doing our dirty work where it needs to be done, be it in the border systems or in another house. Once you’ve done your time, or ceased to be useful, you might be released, free to start a new life with a new name, one that doesn’t have a criminal record or a price on it. If you chose not to cooperate then you die here and now.”

The captive gave the officer a long stare while he thought about it. “What’s to stop me just running off once you put me in a ship?”

“We’ve injected thousands nano-probes into your blood. At our command they will kill or disable you as the situation warrants. Anywhere you go in Sirius, we have our leash on you.”

The captive glared at the officer as though to make his head explode, “And when you say ‘dirty work’... what happens if I get caught? You ‘terminate’ me?”

“That is the most likely eventuality, yes. You are our plausible deniability. Consider that your... motivation,” said the officer with a smirk.”

A pause... “It seems I have no choice but to accept your offer,” said the captive looking again at the particle blaster pointed at his head.

“I’m glad,” said the officer, “You will begin work soon. A word of advice, don’t try to tamper with the nano-probes, I’d hate to have to find someone else.” The officer turned to leave.

“One more thing...” said the captive, the officer pausing, “What alias have you given me?”

“Jager Schlamm.”