14 October, 2258

  Agent James Ving leaned back in his chair. The chill in his quarters was making his fingers numb. Freighters like this were always cold. No need to waste power on heat when you're hauling food. It would just make the cargo spoil faster, and cargo was money. The gray metallic walls, the stale smell of paint and dust, the windowless box he called a room—every detail reminded him how badly he wanted this mission over.

  “All right, play it again,” he said to the computer. A holographic image reset to its starting point, showing the movements of several ships approaching a freighter—much like the one he was on. He skimmed the AI's analysis. It didn't matter how many times he reviewed it—the information was useless.

  “This is absurd,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He shut off the holoprojector. Months of work, and nothing to show for it. An endless string of pirate raids out on the Frontier. It was disrupting the shipping lanes that people depended on for food and supplies. Ving was sent to investigate.

  Pirate raids were rare on the Frontier, but something changed. These guys were well equipped, and utilizing a tech that allowed them to approach ships completely undetected. It pointed to an organized effort—something Frontier pirates weren’t exactly known for.

  Ving clenched his fist, opening and closing it repeatedly. Constant pain in his right arm; the frustration of the mission was starting to get to him.

  Most days, Ving liked his work. He felt like he was doing something good, and genuinely helping people. Usually, the ships on the Frontier were on their own. The Federation’s mandate to “protect human life and property throughout the galaxy” had plenty of limits in practice. That’s what brought Ving out here as a Space Intelligence Agency operative. The Federation focused its resources on domestic projects closer to Earth. The Frontier usually got a few agents—if that.

  Almost every ship out on the Frontier had weapons, and some even had their own private security force. But when you’re that far out in deep space, there’s no one coming to help you. You’re on your own. When you were attacked or robbed, finding the people responsible was almost impossible. Ving did the impossible, and he was damn good at it.

  Ving was traveling on the freighter Night Sky, which was a prime target for a pirate raid. The idea was simple: Ving would be aboard during a raid and could get firsthand intel on who they were, how they were operating, and where to find them when they got away.

  In all honesty, Ving was fine with nothing happening. He’d rather the ship just make the run without incident, and he could turn the case over to another agent.

  Ving stood and dropped onto his bunk. Sleep was constantly on his mind —especially during a mission. Especially in quarters like these.

  Just as he was starting to drift off, an alarm in his ear woke him.

  “James, you have a priority message from Commander McKay. Shall I play it?” The voice was from Mage, his personal AI assistant. Ving had an implant in his left ear, so she had the ability to speak with him at all times. Annoying and useful in equal measure, it was the one thing Ving could count on during a mission. Plenty of people used AI assistants, but not to the extent Ving did.

  Ving jolted upright. He sat there for a moment, just staring at the foot of his bed. Was that alarm part of a dream—or was this real?

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  “James? Shall I play it?” Mage repeated.

  “Jesus Solar Christ, Mage, I just want a few hours of sleep. Is that too much to ask?” Ving said.

  “Your mission settings are an immediate alert for priority messages. You created those settings, so you can’t blame me for your loss of sleep,” Mage replied.

  “Is that supposed to be sarcasm, Mage?” Ving asked.

  “Yes it is, James. Very perceptive,” Mage replied.

  “Did I program you to be such a glitch-sucker?” Ving asked.

  “You didn’t program me, James. You don’t have any skills in AI programming,” Mage replied. “Would you like me to list all the things you lack skills in to avoid further confusion?”

  Ving sighed. Aside from being a useful tool, Mage was designed to keep Ving from getting lonely. Most of his missions were solo. Mage’s personality evolved through interaction. Naturally, she turned out sarcastic and jaded—just like him.

  “Yeah…yeah, go ahead and play it.” The disorientation was wearing off.

  Ving suffered from relentless insomnia, and being constantly awakened didn’t help. Too many years on the Frontier, too many horrible things he had seen. When he wasn’t on a mission, he could take sedatives. That wasn’t an option now, because at any minute the ship could come under attack.

  “Agent Ving, I’m sorry to have to do this to you. We’re postponing your leave. We have a time-sensitive mission on the Frontier, and we need multiple agents on this. An anonymous tip led to the arrest of a smuggler leaving Earth about 8 hours ago, Earth time. The smuggler was carrying a large quantity of DNA samples. His messages indicated he was headed out to the Frontier to meet with an illegal cloning operation. He’s not giving up much information, but his flight plan indicates he was meeting a ship at the coordinates I’m sending you. You’ll disembark at Barnard’s Station. You’ll meet up with agents Batin and Rollins. Batin has an SIA ship that will take you to the meeting location. With any luck, you’ll find the ship of cloners he was supposed to meet. I’ve sent more details to your phone along with this message. Good luck, Agent Ving.”

  This far from Venus, it was a one-way transmission. There was no discussion to be had. Ving’s vacation was postponed, indefinitely. Best case scenario: it would only be a couple of days. If they had to hunt the Cloners, it could take weeks—maybe months. Longer than he could stomach. He needed a break, but this mission felt pressing to him. Something he could actually make a difference on. Not just going in circles on freighters.

  Illegal cloning wasn’t new—banned under the Colonial Federation’s founding constitution, it had simply gone underground by pushing it out into deep space.

  Anyone involved in cloning moved their operations beyond Federation jurisdiction, often driven by wealthy elites chasing immortality.

  They funded research into both cloning and consciousness transfer, aiming to clone new bodies and, on their deathbeds, upload their minds into a younger version of themselves. The cycle would repeat indefinitely, allowing them to live forever. That was the idea, anyway. It never worked.

  They could clone the body, but not transfer the mind.

  Sometimes, it had interesting results. Partial mind transfers were common. Glitches. Fractured memories. The result was usually madness. The clones were usually destroyed, as directed by the original. Otherwise, the clone would just live out its life as an insane version of the original.

  Never anything resembling a success. Didn’t stop them from trying.

  Ving sat there for a moment, vaguely considering the idea of declining the mission and just retiring from the SIA altogether. The thought had crossed his mind before. He hit twenty years last year. Thirty would nearly double his pension. It was an excellent way for SIA recruiters to keep experienced agents onboard, and certainly worked on Ving. Most of the time.

  A loud explosion rattled through his quarters. A blaring alarm sounded over the intercom. Ving jumped up and opened the door to his quarters to see two men running past him.

  Ving signaled the bridge. “Captain Rober, are we under attack?” Ving asked.

  “Negative, Agent Ving. We had a water line burst. It was near your quarters, that’s probably why you heard it. It’s an old ship, it happens all the time. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I see, glad everything’s okay. Could you please let me know when we’re approaching Barnard’s Station?”

  “Will do, Agent Ving,” Captain Rober replied.

  “Right on script,” Ving muttered, running a hand down his face. One more malfunction on a ship that was barely spaceworthy. One more reason to be glad he’d never see the Night Sky again.

  The comm cut off. Ving went back to his bunk.

  The smart thing to do was try and get some rest. He wouldn’t get any over the next few days. Sleep wasn’t going to happen though. The random explosion had left him rattled. If he was lucky—just a few hours of nightmares.