The Impressionist

Chapter 3

Jen, like her colleagues, had been trained from birth in tone recognition, therefore developing perfect pitch. She, personally, had the advantage of a four-octave range and could mimic almost any voice, including most men’s tones. Of course, Control would never put a woman in the field as a man. The risk of discovery, by obvious means, was too great.

The contacts, like Lissa, were mainly made up of those people who hadn’t developed perfect pitch. An impressionist had to be able to copy a voice note-for-note to get past the voice recognition locks that were used everywhere. The contacts were, however, still well versed in characterization and could appear to be any kind of person that Control needed to place somewhere, anywhere, throughout the colonies.

Contacts were trained in the programming of the mask forms into the computer and by-hand plasti-skin sculpting. Lissa could program the computer to make the nano-technology dance to her tune. She could 3-D model a face from memory if she had to. She was a true artist. Jen could make a slightly less detailed mask for herself if she had the time, credits and access to the materials. She shook her head, letting go of her last hope of having a new mask to wear any time soon.

Thinking about the details that she had so far, Jen was now worried about Lissa. It was beginning to sound like a real crime, not associated with Control. Some of the different political factions were running completely out of check. The modern-day mafia, Mac had called them. Jen agreed, and felt a certain futility that her job revolved around protecting them from each other. Control asserted that a power balance needed to be maintained and they worked hard to achieve it. And although Jen often felt resentment toward the organization that dominated every aspect of her life, she did see the value in her work. Well, some of the time.

She walked with the casual light-hearted step of the character that she had cobbled together. Jen felt ridiculously pleased to have a walk, other than her own, to move her down the street. She moved with purpose as she had decided that hanging around here was a waste of time. Perhaps she would have better luck at the shuttleport.

Jen had left her personal shuttle there under the name of her usual alias, Jean Tully. Jean had been designed to be unmemorable, with short, dull brown hair, brown eyes, medium build, not too curvy. Lissa had the computer program that would have returned her look to that of Jean. Her current “natural” look was too far off of her regular assumed identity. Without her usual appearance, Jen was going to have to come up with a creative plan if she was going to get her shuttle back. Once on the shuttle, she had a small supply of plasti-skin and the computer program necessary to get her Jean mask back in place.

Jen entered the gate of the busy shuttleport. It was the largest building in the pre-fab colony set up. A drab gun-metal gray, it was darker than the other buildings in the area. There was no thought given to comfort, just function. Jen noticed that it was a lot busier and more crowded than it had been the day that she arrived. That seemed like a very long time ago now.

She walked toward the repair area for shuttles and other small personal craft. She had left her tiny ship there, scheduling a simple upgrade for her computer guidance system. Jen had been looking for a chance to get the thing upgraded anyway, and this assignment seemed like a good opportunity to get the work done. She hated being grounded when she had time off. The only place that she felt completely comfortable was in her shuttle in the middle of nowhere. There was no audience, no need to be on your toes every second, just blessed… silence.

Jen rounded the last corner to the repair area and was run down by a tall lanky youth who cut the corner sharply at a jog. She was in mid-stride when his elbow hit her chin, and somehow her feet kept going without her. She fell directly onto her backside. The kid then had the nerve to trip over her and fall, his elbow jamming her right in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of her. As she struggled to catch her breath, rubbing her stomach, some part of her brain heard the young man trying to apologize as he stood up as quickly as he could. He managed to step on her hand as he did so, when the large man behind him lifted the kid up off of her by the back of his tunic.

She felt his hand grab her arm and pull her to her feet next. A bit dazed, she murmured a quick thanks as she tried to continue on her way. She was stopped by the ever tightening grasp on her arm.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said in her “Lissa voice.” She was assuming that the man was demanding an unwarranted apology on her part. Some of the tough pilots who hung out in the shuttleport were like that, all bluster and ego. She didn’t see any point in stirring up trouble. So, taking the blame for the run in, she pointedly turned away from the dark, hulking man who was still holding onto her and she turned to the youth.

“Umm, I’m sorry I ran into you?” she said tentatively.

“Oh no, it was totally my fault! Everyone is always telling me to watch where I’m going,” he gushed.

Jen acknowledged him this time with a slight nod of her head and then looked expectantly at the other man who was still, inexplicably, holding onto her and looking at her as if trying to place her face. This was too much scrutiny for her comfort. She deliberated flight or flight before finally, looking pointedly at his hand on her arm, saying “do you mind? I am in a bit of a hurry.”

At last, he released her. That was gonna leave a mark she thought looking at her pale arm.

“I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said, looking like he was trying to convince himself of that, more than to her.

She looked at him through her lowered eye lashes for a beat, gave a vague smile to the younger man, and then turned and walked away, trying to blend into the stream of travelers once again. After she had put some distance between them, she stopped behind a post and searched the crowd for them. She had tried not to stare at them too much, keeping her face and head down as much as possible. Now she studied them for a moment. The boy could be no more than seventeen years in age. He was fair, Nordic in complexion, and tall. Judging from the way that he moved, he was uncomfortable and ungainly with his height. So him running into her was probably a true accident.

The older man that was with the boy was probably in his third decade. He was as dark and the boy was fair, dark eyes, dark skin, his hair was almost black. He must be from a heavy gravity planet, she thought as she eyed his stocky musculature. The were both wearing civies… or at least nothing that looked like a uniform. They were probably traders of some kind.  

As she studied the man, she couldn’t help but notice the way that he held himself. He looked confident, intelligent, and a little wary. Jen automatically mirrored the expression, trying it on like a new garment. He directed the youth toward the main traffic area of the complex. They looked too different to be related, so Jen was fairly certain that the boy worked for the older man. She shook her head at herself for her dangerous lack of attention that had led her into such a situation. She needed to get her head in the right place. Something dangerous was going on.

Jen reached the bay where her shuttle should be. Looking through the glass partition, should could see it on the far end of the bay. They had probably moved it once the repairs had been completed. She slowly surveyed the bay, seeing what sort of fight she might have on her hands if she attempted to “steal” her own ship. She immediately spotted the five customary security officers at their assigned posts. In addition to that, there were at least eight more local government-type guards. That was extreme.

Jen walked along the perimeter to the first security station, scanning the crowd in a manner that would give a casual observer the impression that she was looking to meet someone here. She leaned back against the door frame of the security room and peeked inside. Paling, she quickly averted her eyes as she saw several composite sketches of herself on the large screen. Well… of Jean, anyway. She took a breath. She had to remember that she didn’t look like that right now. But with a similar body type, she might get more attention than she wanted.

After careful observation, she now knew that there was no chance of getting to her personal shuttle. It was being watched very closely. She had spent three years personalizing the damn thing. It was the only thing that was all hers and she would be cursing the loss of it, not to mention the fact that she had paid for the improvements in advance. That totally added insult to injury.

Jen shifted focus. Her main objective was now just getting off of this colony world and back to Earth and the offices of Control. And she had to do that with no identification, no credits, and no mask. She would have to find a not-so-picky pilot to take her on, or at least someone who was too busy to ask for details before departure.