She focused on the surveillance feeds again. Several people with tool kits were centered in a room labeled with an alphanumeric designation that, upon checking the schematic, placed it very near the control room of the ship. They were industriously tugging at modules and wires.
“Okay, that explains why the power is down. Whatever they’re doing has to be done with the system off.”
Here and there she saw flashes of thugs escorting bound workers through the main corridors. Considering how few active employees there seemed to be on the station, rounding them all up hadn’t taken long. It looked like they were escorting them to a single room to lock them up. The number of prisoners didn’t add up, though. There were only five. That meant a large proportion of the station’s crew must have been working with the attackers. It certainly explained how the plan had gone off so quickly and effectively.
“Oh no,” Michella murmured.
Her eyes finally found their way to the final room with anything visible in frame. Two of the armed interlopers were present. From what Michella could make out in the glow of their flashlights, they were in what passed for the cafeteria. In zero-g, rather than tables and chairs or benches, the snack room had elastic straps lining the walls and regularly spaced columns. Assorted panels for dispensing baggies of food and drink were clustered at the corners of the room. In the center, strapped to one of the columns with tie-downs, was Preethy.
She didn’t appear to have been hurt, but one thug was giving her good hard talking to. Unlike the other thug, the one doing the talking didn’t have a gun. The small, still image didn’t offer much in the way of details, but the hand doing the threatening was balled into a fist. The only hint there was a weapon at all was a silvery black glint in some images.
Michella made a note of where the room was, then scrutinized each refreshed image for new information. The interrogator was the leader of this group. His body language screamed it. He was tall. While uniforms designed to fit everyone equally well tended not to fit anyone, in his case this was extremely noticeable. The pseudo canvas suit hung loosely from wiry arms and legs, and a bit too much ankle and wrist showed. He pulled back ragged brown hair to reveal a complexion just a tad darker than Preethy’s, the result of what seemed to be some sort of mixed heritage.
An updated still showed him reaching for something at his belt. Michella held her breath, worried he was drawing a weapon. She stared at the screen, waiting anxiously for it to refresh.
The screen went black, and the lights turned on with a resounding thump, nearly stopping Michella’s heart. Even the dim light of the disused utility room was blinding after gazing at a screen in total darkness for so long. After a moment, the console screen kicked back on. The sudden power spike had caused it to reboot.
“Come on, come on,” she growled.
After a few angry slaps failed to bring it up any quicker, she turned back to the door and tapped the latch button. It hissed open. “Okay. Good. I’m not locked in anymore. That’s something.”
She shut the door again and found the console was ready for her log-in. Much swiping, tapping, and code-entering got her back into the system. She furiously navigated through the menus to find the surveillance feed. Whatever emergency setting had activated the cameras hadn’t been reset when the system was, as they were once again entirely active. She quickly shut down the one giving away her position, as well as the cameras in every other utility room. On the off chance someone else was checking the feeds, it wouldn’t do much good to have exactly one camera blacked out, as that would make it pretty obvious where someone might be hiding.
With that done, she found the room with Preethy and, for the first time, managed to activate the audio.
“…your time and mine. Just tell me the code,” the thug said, the feed picking up midsentence.
Like his features, the head thug’s voice was a subtle enough mix of accents that she couldn’t nail down an origin. Now that she had control of the feed, she zoomed in on him, hoping to learn something more from the closer inspection. The only useful bit that presented itself was the nature of the weapon he’d been threatening her with.
It was what could loosely be called a pair of brass knuckles, but it was at the same time more elegant and more crude than that. The man talked with his hands. With the lights on, he’d returned his flashlight to his belt and was free to sweep his left hand about, scything the air as he made idle threats. The other hand flexed and adjusted the weapon. It was a blue-black bit of metal, one continuous loop of the stuff. The finish was polished to a high gloss in places, the sort of telltale sheen of a piece of metal that gets a lot of handling. An artful twist gave the business end of the loop a spiral flourish that probably also added to the damage it would deliver with each blow. He flipped it forward in his hand and gave it a buff on his jumpsuit as he continued his attempts at persuasion.
“I’ve been through the logs, Misra. I know this is a weekly meeting for you. And I know you’re the bossy sort. Sticking your fingers in everyone’s pie to make sure they’re doing things the way you want.” He flashed a smile that revealed enough broken teeth to suggest he’d taken a few blows to the mouth over the years. “That’s a lousy way to run things, you know. Slows the whole thing down. Better to let folks do things the way they want. It’s all about results, right? No sense micromanaging.”
“Did you have a point, Mr. Hatch?” Preethy said.
Her tone was cool and controlled, but with a tension that suggested she was wrestling terror into submission to maintain that level of detachment.
“Heh. Heh-heh.” The thug, evidently the Ramses Hatch she’d mentioned earlier, drifted closer and leaned the knuckles against her chin. “You should count your lucky stars I need you to be able to talk, because I don’t like sass.”
He gave her chin a nudge with the weapon, pushing himself back to drift to the far wall. “As I was saying. We know your schedule. We know you hang out up here for hours at a time. It wouldn’t be so strange for you to be up here until the wee hours of the morning. I wouldn’t expect any red flags to be raised until sunrise in your hometown. That gives us plenty of quality time. My crew has got yours tied up. Might toss them out an air lock. Might not. We don’t really need them. Once this place is up and running, it can be run by, what, two people? Knocking out the power gave us a chance to physically disable the communication for the whole station. Long story short, there’s no help coming for you until it’s too late, and there’s no way to call it regardless. So there’s three ways we can work it. The easy way is you tell me the activation codes right now. Land and Orbital. I know there’s two. The hard way is my crew finds the right modules and just links them all up manually. The fun way is I soften you up until you tell me. What’ll it be?”
“Are you really so small of a man that you would threaten to hit a woman?” she said.
He crossed his arms and gave the wall a tap, slowly sending him back in her direction.
“Please, Misra.” He was speaking with an airy, overtly noble tone. “I’m a truly evolved individual. I see the whole human race as equals. I know the true strength of women. You bear our children. You endure the whims of an anatomy that rebels against you on a monthly basis. You’ve overcome untold travails of social inequality to rise to the very pinnacle of society. I would not think to belittle you by excusing you from something that I would consider a man worthy of. That’s what you call benevolent sexism. I’m better than that.”
He clutched a strap on the column beside her head and pulled himself in to deliver a sharp punch to her midsection. It was a calculated blow, not enough to injure, but more than enough to knock the wind out of her.
“So yes. I’d hit a woman. It’s only fair. Intimidation is like a good golf swing, after all. It’s all about the follow-through.”
Michella tightened her jaw and felt a jolt of disgust and anger rush through her. Preethy gasped and coughed. She was trying to speak, but she couldn’t get any w
ords out. The radio at Hatch’s belt blipped.
“Boss, we need some extra hands down here. It looks like they’ve got a few extra transmitters that might be data links. We’ll need to cut them in a hurry if we want to be sure the surface controls won’t be able to lock us out,” said the voice from the other end.
Hatch sneered. “I just get through lecturing you about micromanagement and these idiots remind me why sometimes nothing gets done without it.” He snatched the radio. “On my way.”
He turned back to her. “I’ll let you get your wind back. Let’s hope, when you do, you use it to tell me what I need to know.” He held up the brass knuckles. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen someone worked over with one of these. A good old-fashioned beating. It ain’t pretty. Easy to go overboard. Leads to the kind of bleeding that doesn’t show. What you’d call a ‘hemorrhage.’ Nasty.” He waggled his fingers. “Ta-ta for now.”
He grabbed the railing on the wall and pulled himself into the corridor. Michella flicked through the different camera feeds until she spotted the room he’d been summoned toward. It was easily half the station away. She quickly reviewed the rest of the feeds before settling on the snack room again. Every other room with thugs in it had at least two of them. All but the one with Preethy. She was guarded by a single pistol-wielding woman.
Michella weighed the options available to her, but there was only one that made any sense. She mapped out a path, deactivated the majority of the surveillance along the way, and headed for the door.
#
Preethy took slow, steady breaths in and out until she was confident she could breathe without coughing. When she was composed, she looked to her keeper.
The young woman had her eyes trained upon Preethy. Her arms were crossed, and her leg was hooked through one of the wall straps to keep her from drifting about.
“I imagine you must be a well-respected member of the crime family,” Preethy said.
Her tone was as calm and collected as ever, as though neither the blow to the stomach nor the hostage situation was any reason to behave in an unbusinesslike manner. Though her outfit was disheveled by the capture, she still looked every bit the executive. Rather than the typical jumpsuit that most people wore during trips to the space station, she wore a smart business suit. It was impeccably tailored to her form and complemented by a pair of low heels. Or at least it had been. The heels had been taken from her after one of the attackers had learned just how much of a statement a sensible business shoe could make when thrust into the ribs. Her handbag had been taken as well.
“Ramses Hatch is a top-tier man. Last I heard, he was working directly for David Kelso,” Preethy continued.
The thug remained silent.
“Have you been working for him long? … No. I don’t imagine you have. In operations like this, there is significant churn at the lower levels. Casualty rates are quite high. Uncle has been clear about that. Such is to be expected in an enterprise where the chief means of advancement is murder, either of one’s targets or one’s internal rivals.” Preethy shook her head a bit. “Your superior’s attack seems to have left my glasses askew. I wonder if you would be good enough to straighten them?”
The thug looked at her distrustfully.
“No need to worry about physical violence on my part. That was never my role in the organization, even when I was on that side of the ledger. Mine was always an administrative role.”
“I saw you kick Johnny.”
“Things happen in the heat of the moment, but I am composed. And for that matter, I am thoroughly secured.”
The jailer floated over to her and double-checked her arm and leg restraints, then straightened the glasses.
“Many thanks,” Preethy said as the jailer returned to the door to keep watch. “Tell me, were you well prepped for this operation?”
“I won’t give you any information,” the thug said.
“I wouldn’t waste my breath to seek it. I’m simply curious how thorough the planning phase for such things is. I must admit, I was never privy to the specifics of this manner of exercise when I was working under my uncle.” She grinned. “He called them ‘capers,’ by the way. That always made it seem more innocent, somehow. Like it was nothing more than mischief.”
“I know what I’m supposed to do. I know my part.”
“Your part. I see. That speaks of compartmentalization. Lower levels are told only of the aspects necessary to fulfill their roles. Good planning. That decreases the possibility of potential leaks. It also underscores the lack of trust involved.”
“Shut it.”
“I apologize. That was an unfair assumption. I do not know how Kelso operates. I can only speak from my own experiences.”
The jailer gruffly cleared her throat.
“Are you thirsty at all?” Preethy asked. “Help yourself to the refreshments. We do take care to provide only the highest-quality refreshments for our workers.”
“I’m fine.”
“Very well. I must say, I admire your dedication to the organization. This is a mission fraught with potential for failure. If Hatch had not seen fit to interrupt me, I would have informed him of such.”
“We’ve thought of everything.”
“No one ever thinks of everything. Take it from someone who has been running her own business enterprise. Little unexpected problems and oversights always pop up. In this instance, there is the matter of my social calendar. Your superiors did their diligence on my work habits, but it so happens that I had a private appointment today. Do you have the time?”
The guard tugged a device from her pocket and glanced at its display. “It’s 2251 Universal.”
Preethy shut her eyes and sighed. “You’ve made me tardy. I was due to have drinks with my good friend and business partner, Trevor Alexander. I was looking forward to that.”
“Tough.”
“I pride myself on not missing an engagement. My absence will be missed. A good deal sooner than Hatch’s preparation would indicate.”
“So?”
“How familiar are you with my uncle?”
She sniffed. “Nick Patel. Used to be a big shot. Now he’s basically out of the game.”
“A fair, if basic, assessment. It pays to be aware that ‘basically out of the game’ is not the same as ‘out of the game.’ Uncle is reluctant to fully set aside the old ways.”
“So?”
“If memory serves, your syndicate has a multiplanetary presence. A force to be reckoned with on several worlds. Uncle’s own influence is limited elsewhere, but it is exclusive here on Operlo. In raw size, we of course cannot compete, but being in full control of the government and economy of an entire planet has benefits. Planets, for example, have a military.”
The thug’s expression flickered toward concern, if only briefly. “We’ve got heavies. We can fight.”
“Oh, we have them too. Quite an assortment of enforcers at every level. But we also have a military. Better training, you understand. Better equipment. And entirely at the beck and call of my uncle. Ready to be deployed, should the need arise.”
“He wouldn’t do anything that would threaten you. You’re family.”
“It would be flattering to believe that, but you and I both know that in a business such as his, sacrifices must occasionally be made. Not that I think it will come to that, of course. At this point I wouldn’t expect to survive this operation. Once my usefulness is exhausted, I’ll likely be killed.”
“No one’s going to kill you. This is about playing a strong hand. Can’t do that with you dead. If this all works out, your uncle will be kicking money back to us. Things’ll go smoother if you’re alive and well. You’re just collateral.”
“Mmm. That’s sound reasoning. I am not certain how you hope to compel my uncle to do so, but then if you are seeking control of this station, I have some ideas of how you think you will. Perhaps it would even have worked, if Hatch hadn’t assau
lted me. Uncle won’t be pleased to hear that. The last person who threatened me specifically was Veemer Gadd.”
The thug’s eyebrows lifted. Preethy continued.
“The stories about Mr. Gadd aren’t entirely accurate, of course. For one, his fingers aren’t in a trophy case in Uncle’s office. Uncle isn’t so boorish.” She lowered her head and glanced over her glasses. “They were shipped to his family. It was the least he could do, as they certainly weren’t going to be having an open casket with what remained of Mr. Gadd.”
The thug shifted uncomfortably.
“It is also completely untrue that Gadd’s demise came the very same afternoon that he’d issued the threat on my life. That is the part I find most curious. It wasn’t swift at all. It took two and a half years before Uncle made his move. A proper bit of deterrence takes time. But then, considering when all was said and done Gadd’s entire wing of his syndicate was dead, I suppose there wasn’t anyone left to deter.”
Preethy shifted and took a pained breath. “My uncle has a long memory and is very thorough. Those who wrong him spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders. Fortunately, those lives from that point on are typically quite short. But he also never leaves a debt unpaid. Were you to render aid to him, he would be quite thankful.”
Indra Station Page 11
