Capisco.
The population census was about a hundred thousand. A lot of supplies from the Seven Nations, especially food, were funneled into the base from the city. The area beyond the base and its ten rad buffer zone was thick with towns and farms growing crops and raising livestock.
I was going to meet a contact from Imperial Security, a Melannee Siroptic. However, since my outing was supposedly a pleasure trip, I dressed in a pull-over shirt covered in flowers, shorts, and deck shoes. I had no idea what the local fashions were and hoped for the best.
There was one main road of four lanes exiting High Guard War base with three checkpoints: the base gate, midpoint, and leaving the land claimed by the Empire and entering the Seven Nations. For those without vehicles, buses shuttled people back and forth to Capisco.
The ten rads of land surrounding the base were filled with mobile defenses, hard points and obstacles. Periodically, Ground Service troops would set the vegetation on fire to keep the land clear.
Along the route, I counted at least six tank bunkers housing Tlokan heavy tanks with their distinctive twin 90mm barrels. One bunker was adjacent to the road; their treads were massive and twin anti-air batteries mounted behind the turret were just as impressive, a threat on the ground and the air. Seeing those twin guns pointed at me for even a fraction of a second was disconcerting. Supporting the tanks were armored versions of the electric four-door ChoCacs. A few sported cargo bays like the one I drove, but most were equipped with a shielded heavy machine gun turret or a 35mm gun. Some were modified to use tank treads in the rear half or were converted entirely to tank tread for covering especially rugged terrain. There were also dedicated artillery units and anti-air hardpoints supporting the Ground Service units. Thick concrete walls lined the road, enough to slow down or halt civilian trucks.
Besides the midway checkpoint through, incredibly, there was also a store where people could stop off for refreshments or use a latrine. There was also a pullout on both sides for inspecting incoming and outgoing vehicles. The traffic wasn't what I'd call heavy, but it was steady.
Ground Service personnel strode around in bronze uniforms, and more than half were supplemented with powered battle armor and assault rifles. The unarmored troopers used scanners, checking for contraband or comparing shipments to manifests. With them were guard dogs, trained to sniff out contraband drugs and to kill.
Because of my vehicle's shielding, I had to turn the vehicle off while they opened the rear doors and ran the scanner through. The team at the midpoint were in and out in under five seconds. The armored Second Sergeant with his shielded visor and speakers resembled some of the new battle droids being adding to various national arsenals as the new critical weapon in ground combat supremacy.
"You're clear," came his bored voice.
As he moved on to the next vehicle behind me, the servos moving his armor synchopated with the heavy sound of his boots clamping onto the concrete road. From here, the Ground Service defenses protecting High Guard War base looked impressive. But once the walls were breached, I still had my concerns. With nearly everyone on foot, there would be almost no mobility, no means to move warriors to where they were needed to rapidly contain a hostile force, and no means to evacuate non-coms out of harm's way.
At the third checkpoint before entering the Seven Nations, I was stopped again. This time, the sergeant was just in his summer class B, carrying a tablet computer and a radio mic set. Two infantry with scanners opened my doors, waved around and checked compartments, yelled "Clear!" and the doors and rear closed back up. The sergeant handed me back my ID card, then leaned against the vehicle. "First time in Capisco, Lieutenant?"
"Yes."
"Grant me wifi access to your AI, please? Sending ... now. If you need to go places, the AI in your vehicle will now have the proper local maps. There are streets in Capisco that are reserved pedestrian only. And they have streets that are strictly one-way. Park only in designated areas. The local law will boot your tire if you park in the wrong place, and the fines can be heavy. Also, there is a list of places in Capisco that are off limits. If you are within four blocks of any such establishment, the AI will warn you to avoid them. Mostly they are drinking establishments with a tendency to relieve you of your cash. If you get in trouble, ask for the Imperial Consulate. Please be advised that it can take a day or three for them to extricate you, depending on what you do. One last thing, sir."
"Yes?"
"Get your vehicle painted for Air Service, sir. Or at least, get rid of the Ground Service paint job. It irritates some of our officers when other branches drive vehicles with our markings."
I grinned. "Appreciate the advice, Sergeant. I will take care of it when I get home."
Nodding, he slapped the roof. "Cleared!"
I passed through a swatch of forest about a rad in length, then the trees thinned and I began to see houses and shops and narrower side streets. Following the advice of the sergeant, I had the AI map out the route with the new road restrictions. I frowned. The proposed route was a circuitous path through a maze of streets. Then the male-voiced AI surprised me. "Do you wish driving instructions, sir?"
I shrugged. "Sure." Then I felt stupid because the AI couldn't see me shrug.
"Resume driving straight ahead for one-half rad. Turn right on Teotonka Drive."
"I can't read the native language!" I looked at my watch. I had an hour to get to my destination. The checkpoints had eaten up twice the expected travel time.
"Assessing ... resume driving for one half rad." It paused. "Approaching right turn in five seconds. Four. Three. Two. Turn right. Continue for one quarter rad, moving to left lane."
And so it went. The first thing I noticed was a lot of civilians on the streets and in vehicles, and an absence of soldiers. Instead, they had something called police, who were in uniforms, sure enough, but carried only a single pistol and riot baton, and the ones I saw on foot traveled alone rather than pairs or groups. And I didn't see very many of them either. And, there were no police or military from the Seven Nations at the checkpoint into their country.
Nearly an hour later, I arrived at my destination. I paid the attendant, I put the sticker on the dashboard and parked. A credit to park and a two credit sur-tax. Ouch!
I pulled up a readout on the GPS display for the address. The AI identified 245 Palm Drive as a diner called Gator Bits. I hoped that wasn't all they served as I had skipped lunch in an effort to be here early. Instead, because of the long, circuitous route through most of the city's crowded streets, I was in danger of being late. A lot of the vehicles were Imperial made HueCacs and ChoCacs. There were also Aesir-made vehicles, and a lot of Trundlers -- an odd but durable three-wheeled vehicle built by Roanoke Manufacturing, the same Seven Nations heavy industry that also supplied a lot of military parts.
I locked my ChoCac, took the elevator down, and walked the two blocks to the diner. In the window was a large neon sandwich beside a smiling alligator. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food and hoped for the best.
The diner had most of the lower floor for tables, separated into sections with support beams. For a late afternoon workday, it was fairly busy. A waitress greeted me when I entered. She spoke another language at first, which I shrugged at, so she tried a rough version of Queschua. I nodded and she motioned for me to follow.
She pointed to a table. I sat, and she handed me a menu. Presumably it was the local dialect on one side and Queschua on the other -- or rather a cousin of the Empire's main language. I wondered what rear-ended pork was and how earnest the vegetables really were. Butter-flavored butt cakes? And several versions of fried alligator. One was saucy and another frisky. Hoo boy.
Melannee appeared as the waitress left. She turned out to be a blonde, thirty-something white woman with bright green eyes and a trim, athletic figure. Her face was delicate with a slightly upturned nose. Clad in a cream and dark blue blouse, a mid-length blue and red plaid skirt and knee-high leather sandals, she looked both competent and attractive. She also carried a wide, black leather briefcase.
Sliding into the seat across from me, she introduced herself, then said in Vedan, "So you're Ranji Kandikan. Bernim said I'd like the look of you and he is right, as usual. You are a handsome one."
"Who is Bernim?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Ah. You probably know him as Itznacoco. Is he still a sergeant these days? I forget. He's been at Tikun a while now." She pushed the briefcase under the table with her foot. "That's for you. There's a computer inside, voice coded for you only, with a spare battery and a charger. The computer is equipped with a self-destruct and a rather impressive amount of plastique. You don't want to be nearby if it goes off. The case also contains a Beltan stunner and two mini flash grenades as well as two pistols, a Chon .44 and a Wampag Talon. The magazine for the Chon holds eight shots. The ammo are teflon hollow-points. The Wampag clip holds twenty-five shots, including one in the chamber. It uses sabot flechettes, which aren't very good against powered armor, but are very effective at bare flesh and body weave vests. There are four boxes of spare ammunition, two each. The stunner can do four shots without a recharge. Questions so far?"
"No false papers to go with this?" I moved the briefcase closer to my chair.
She scowled. "Don't be an idiot. This isn't a damned vid show! You will likely be trained for wet work, not undercover ops. Besides, your looks are too distinctive to blend in well here. And according to our records, you don't even speak the local language."
The waitress came over, holding a pad and writing pen in her hand, and Melannee's face resumed being pleasant.
"I'd recommend the mastodon burger. It's flavorful and grown locally. There's chicken, but I think it comes from the production farms in Kena-Tuck. Okay for fast food, but not for real eating. The alligator is chewy and the fried breading is only for the brave of stomach."
I shrugged. "Mastodon it is then."
Melannee spoke to the waitress who nodded and moved off. "I ordered us some sweet tea. It's a black tea with sugar. On the sweet side, but it's a popular local drink. The burger comes with chips."
"Chips?"
"Slices of potato fried in oil. Not bad with salt. You can try the dip they come with."
"That sounds good," I replied. "Your name. It sounds--"
"Atlantean? That's because it is." She leaned back in her seat. "I'm also half Aesir. At least that's what the genetic testing says. Typical sad story. Atlantean maid raped by Aesir raiding party. Nine months later, here I am. Boo hoo."
"So why are you working for the Empire?"
"Not on a first date, Kandikan. Maybe later you'll earn that tale."
