Replica (Original Work)

Chapter 17 - (I Can't) Be Cool

I hopped off the train into an uncomfortable chaos. Passengers disembarked each car down the length of the maglev, some looking exhausted, others simply bored, and shoved and crowded their way out into the hazy gloom of the Greater Metroplex Memorial Station. The dark looming walls and neon lit signs scattered around the haphazardly assembled platform failed spectacularly in matching the grandeur of the uptown New York station. The alluring scents of the few food vendors still open drifted over the air in the place, spoiled by the stench of humanity and the sounds of disembarking and boarding passengers from all over the NAU.

The five of us stood out of sorts after stepping out of the private car. This place was alien. I knew I'd never been this far south, and I suspected was true of most of us. Boones looked calm, bored even, but that was near expected as he'd been all over the world by this point in his career.

"How are we supposed to find anyone in this mess?" Cutter asked.

I crossed my arms and the corners of my mouth dropped slightly. "My bet is that we aren't." I said. "They gave us next to zilch in the way of directions, but they put us on a private car. Odds are our contact will find us. Let's wait a bit. Either way things should die down some after the train pulls out again."

"And who's our contact?"

"Somebody named O'Donnell, according to the operational specs I was given. I have facial recognition data, so I'll be able to pick the guy out when he shows up. Until then I guess we just kill time."

"I've seen better looking refugee towns than this place," Dunlap said, gazing around the station.

"This basically is a refugee town, isn't it?" Peirce said. "A lot of the stations this far south were just plowed through refurbished sets of structures. War left a lot of unusable land, and in these parts civil authority is practically nonexistent. I hear there are still militia groups inside the Dallas exclusion zone claiming independence from time to time."

"Isn't the DEZ still mostly radioactive?" Cutter asked.

"I never said militia groups were smart." Peirce shrugged.

"Well, no civies means I can smoke where I want, at least." Cutter pulled out a cigar and lit it with a flick of his metal lighter. "Makes you wonder why we have a branch in the ass end of nowhere though."

"Same reason people fought and died for it," I said. "Mineral resources. Hexadyn is probably still pumping the place for the last bits of oil and natural gas. Cheap power is cheap power, after all. Fossil fuels still have their uses in areas with poor infrastructure."

The train started to pull out behind us, and I turned around and scanned the crowd again. I spotted our contact making his way across the platform with several armed men, genestock from the look of them. This put me on edge, not that me being on edge meant a lot lately. A light breeze put me on edge at this point.

O'Donnell was a pale, tall man, unremarkable in most respects save his manner of dress. Jet black outfit, combat boots. Hell, he looked more like a private military contractor than any kind of investigator. I realized the man wasn't Texas SID as I had expected. He approached us and addressed me in a coarse, militaristic tone. "Lucy 636, New York SID?" He held out a hand. "Lieutenant Darren O'Donnell. South branch OpSec."

Of course. Operations Security. It figured the most militarized branch of the company would be responsible for asset defence in the more or less lawless south. Ranks and everything, what a show. I shook his hand. "OpSec? I figured we'd be working with local SID."

He shook his head as he turned around. "Main branch is really out of touch, aren't they? We don't have any investigations departments down here. OpSec handles everything. If you'll follow me, we can get to work."