“Ooh, share,” Brazel replied.
“Nah,” Grond said. “I’d rather surprise you if I’m right.” He watched the agent enter his ship through the binoculars. “He’s in. Let’s make it two hours. I want it good and dark.”
“Gotcha,” Brazel said. “You staying up there the whole time?”
“No reason to move,” Grond said. “Unless he gives me one. I’ll keep point. You go get Namey ready for a chase if we need to and meet me back here.”
“On it,” Brazel said.
Five
They ended up waiting three hours, as the spaceport stayed populated and busy later than the rest of Arradon. The spidership, luckily for them, had been parked in a private dock, with no other ships around. The gate to the dock was locked, but Brazel worked at it for a few moments and was able to convince the AI running the gate that he was an overzealous maintenance worker on a night shift. Eventually it opened the gate.
The spidership sat in the middle of the dock, with no external lights on or any other signs of life.
“It occurs to me,” Brazel said, “that if we’re wrong about this guy being an impostor and this ship not being Benevolence, that we have just done something incredibly stupid and are probably about to die.”
“Yup,” Grond said. Without another word, the halfogre pulled Angela off his back, readied her, and fired a single carefully aimed shot at the top of the ship. He hit a small round object that was affixed to the very top of the spidership’s central sphere. The object exploded. A moment later, the entire spidership shimmered and disappeared, leaving behind a small two-man cruiser perched on three landing struts.
“Hardlight. You’re fucking kidding me,” Brazel said.
“Yep. Spotted the projector from the rooftops a few hours ago. You have any idea how difficult it was to not just shoot the thing right then and there?”
The cruiser’s external lights flooded on, and the engines began powering up.
“Shit,” Brazel said.
“Can’t have that,” Grond said, and fired a few more shots. Each hit a landing strut, bending two of them and damaging the third. The ship collapsed to the ground awkwardly and the engines whined down.
“No external guns, I hope?” Brazel said.
“Good luck aiming ‘em,” Grond said, moving closer to the ship. The cruiser had a transparent cockpit, but there was no one in it.
“Come on out,” the halfogre roared. His eyes started glowing a bright red color. This was an ogre trait. It had taken Grond months of sustained effort to teach himself how to do it, and he couldn’t maintain it for nearly as long as a full-blooded ogre. But it was insanely intimidating for as long as he could keep it up.
The cruiser was flat and wedge-shaped, with prominent wings on each side and the engine taking up most of the back. There wasn’t going to be much room in there for two people to coexist, especially if neither of them was actually in the cockpit.
“We sure he’s there?” Brazel asked.
“He didn’t leave,” Grond said. “I was watching.”
He raised his voice again. “Two choices, stranger: You come out or I come in. Or maybe I just cut your tin can open and let you fall out. Your choice. Five seconds.” He reached into a pouch at his waist and held up a couple of fragmentation grenades.
“That’ll make an awful lot of noise, won’t it?” Brazel asked. “Weren’t we being subtle?”
Grond didn’t bother responding. He was starting to prime one of the grenades when a hatch opened on the side of the ship.
Brazel had to suppress a shudder as a black-armored, black-caped Benevolence agent walked down the stairs from the cruiser’s exit hatch.
The agent walked a few meters away from his ship and stopped, his black cape fluttering in the slight evening breeze. He stood there, silently, staring at the two of them through the opaque visor on his helmet.
Grond snickered, took two quick steps toward him and punched his head clean off.
It took Brazel a few moments of sheer, trousers-ruining terror to come to grips with what his partner had just done. Despite first impressions, Grond hadn’t quite literally decapitated the agent. What he had done was punch him in the chin hard enough to launch his helmet completely off of his head, sending it flying across the hangar to clatter into a corner. The agent was bounced off the side of his ship by the force of the blow, hitting the ground hard and rolling weakly onto his back.
Grond kicked him in the ribs and then sat on him, his eyes still blazing red. He cracked his knuckles, then punched him twice in the chest. The agent’s black armor shattered under the force of the blows, and Grond grabbed what was left of his breastplate, tore it off him, and threw it into the corner to join the helmet.
“Lemme ‘splain somethin’ here,” Grond growled, his face centimeters away from the panicked man’s. “If you were Benevolence, that helmet would have been wired into your living brain, and ripping off your chestplate would have torn tubing out of your lungs. You’d be sitting here trying to decide whether to drown on your own blood or die gibbering like an idiot, and I’d have two broken fucking hands to worry about while you died. You’re not Benevolence. This armor’s a fucking cheap costume. You’re gonna tell us who the fuck you are, and you’re gonna tell us why you’re bothering people, and you’re gonna do it now, or we’re gonna have a real problem.”
He sat up a bit and raised his voice again. “And whoever the fuck else is on that boat had better be off of it before he finishes talking, too.”
Brazel just stood by and watched, his eyes wide. Grond appeared to be in a bit of a mood.
The man opened his mouth to speak and passed out, his eyes rolling backward and a deep groan escaping from him. Grond slapped him, to no avail.
“Wonderful,” he said.
“Still the other one on the ship,” Brazel said. He had a pistol in his hands and was moving toward the door.
“Gimme a second,” Grond said, tying the man’s hands behind him. “I think he’ll probably be out for a bit. That didn’t look like acting. We’ll both go.” He smiled. “You first, though. Smaller target, and all.”
“Asshole,” Brazel mumbled under his breath, but he headed for the door anyway. He glared at the agent for a moment before boarding the ship.
“A fucking cape. Unbelievable.”
It became clear quickly that anyone still on the ship was hiding. There was no exit airlock. The ship was not designed to be docked with or opened up outside of the atmosphere. The cockpit was empty, and the only other available room was a simple living/sleeping area with a few compartments for cargo. The ship was really only designed to move short distances quickly. Even the Nameless, which was hardly a yacht, looked expensive and spacious by comparison.
Grond pointed to the cargo compartments. One of them was closed. He and Brazel exchanged a few quick hand signals, having a brief, silent argument about which of them was going to open the door. Grond eventually moved behind the door, with Brazel standing a few meters away, his gun at the ready. The halfogre counted to three and yanked the door open, nearly tearing it off its hinges.
There was a ‘bot inside the cargo compartment. Well, most of a ‘bot. The thing looked about half-constructed, roughly human-shaped, with exposed wires and circuitry everywhere and one arm ending abruptly at the elbow. One of its “eyes” lit up and its head tilted toward Brazel.
“Oh my,” it said.
Brazel shot it.
“Fucking creepy,” he said. People-’bots had been popular for a few years a decade or so ago, but had quickly fallen out of fashion. Most people who needed a ‘bot around needed it for some specific function, and that function almost never required the ‘bot to look like a human being.
Grond put a hand on the thing’s shoulder and pulled its smoking remains out of the cargo hold.
“Hey, this is interesting,” he said. “You just shot the ship. That was a telepresence unit for the AI.” He pointed at a couple of cables running from what was left of the ‘bot’s h
ead to a port in the cargo hold.
“Surprised a ship this small even needs an AI,” Brazel said. “Much less one that can walk around. This must have been what people thought was the second agent. God, can you imagine if Namey had legs? We’d have melted him into scrap years ago.”
I HEARD THAT, the Nameless said over subcomm.
“The fact that you were even listening is part of the reason that you don’t get a telepresence unit,” Brazel said.
GROND TOLD ME TO LISTEN IN, the boat said. IN CASE YOU NEEDED A QUICK EXTRACT. THAT WAS HIS EXACT WORD. EXTRACT.
“You still don’t get a telepresence unit. But get over here anyway. I think there’s just enough room for you to crowd into the dock with us. We’re bringing back a passenger.”
Grond was rummaging around in the cockpit. Brazel heard a loud crack and some scraping sounds. He emerged with a glowing cube, a few interface cables dangling from it.
“Found the ship’s brainbox,” he said. “If our buddy outside bothered to put an AI into his boat, I want to know what it’s been doing.”
“I’m gonna shoot the ‘bot again, if you don’t mind,” Brazel said.
“I do not,” Grond said. “But let’s get the hell out of here quick-like. Somebody had to have heard some of that, and even if they do think there are Benevolence in here their curiosity is gonna win out sooner or later.”
Brazel shrugged and put his pistol away and the two of them spent a couple of enjoyable minutes tossing the small living area. They found a datapad and some of the “agent’s” personal effects, which Grond tossed into a convenient knapsack. They also found a second suit of fake Benevolence armor, which they left behind.
THIRTY SECONDS, the Nameless announced.
The pair exited the cruiser and waited, Grond picking up the still-unconscious impostor and slinging him over his shoulder like a sack. The Nameless just barely managed to fit itself into the bay, bumping the cruiser just slightly on the way down. Brazel headed for his usual spot in the cockpit while Grond looked for a better way to tie up their captive.
“One of these days we’re gonna install a detention cell in this thing,” he said to himself. This was not the first time they’d needed to keep someone locked up, and something told him it wouldn’t be the last either.
Six
Somewhat surprisingly, their captive was still unconscious when Brazel and Grond got back to the resort, and the two quickly spirited him away to Rhundi’s small detention center deep underground. Technically only usable by resort security for the occasional unruly guest, the facilities had been cleared out so that the three of them could interrogate their prisoner.
“How do we want to play this?” Rhundi asked.
“Well, I already did crazy scary halfogre, and he’s been unconscious for an hour,” Grond said. “For a guy ballsy enough to dress up as Benevolence he sure can’t take a punch too well.”
The three of them contemplated their prisoner. He’d been stripped of the rest of his makeshift armor, which had turned out to be made mostly of cheap polymer. The stuff would barely turn a knife, much less anything from a projectile gun or energy weapon. Grond was happy he hadn’t hit him harder. He would have caved his chest in. As it was, the punch had knocked out a molar or two, and the bruise on his chin was intense enough that it was surprising Grond hadn’t broken his jaw.
He was a human male, olive-skinned, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, with a thin, underfed look to him. His hair was medium length, dyed blond from black, but it hadn’t been retouched in a while and the roots were showing badly. He had a scraggly black beard that looked like the result of a couple of weeks without access to proper sanitary facilities. Brazel had already wrinkled his snout at the man’s lack of proper grooming. He wore a simple black skintight bodysuit underneath the armor, which fit him closely. He’d had no weapons with him, apparently hoping that the armor itself would be enough to frighten Brazel and Grond away. It had worked, after all, with almost everyone he’d encountered all day long. It wasn’t the worst of ideas. It was just that it was going to get him killed the very second it stopped working.
“Let’s start off with reasonable,” Rhundi said. “Which one of us is best at reasonable?”
“You are,” Brazel said. “He’s human, so he’ll probably mistake you for nurturing.”
Rhundi shot him a look. Brazel grinned and blew her a kiss.
“Wake him up,” she said. “Do it nicely.”
Grond quietly slipped out of the room, and Brazel held a small vial of smelling salts under the man’s nose. He jerked away, snorted, and started coming around.
“We’ll be right outside,” Brazel said, and followed Grond out.
The man shook himself awake, trying to stretch his arms and then reacting with surprise to discover himself cuffed to a metal chair at his ankles and his wrists. He tried to speak, only to find himself gagged as well. Rhundi sat a couple of meters away, on a chair that lifted her to his eye level.
“You’re safe,” she said. “You’re not in any danger right now. You could be, but you’re not. Let’s start with that. Shake your head if you understand, whether you believe me or not.”
A glimmer of panic still touched the man’s eyes, but he nodded.
“Okay. We’re going to proceed here slowly. Nobody does anything stupid, right? Shake your head if you understand, whether you believe me or not.”
His head shook. Rhundi tapped a button on her chair and the gag unlocked itself.
“Shake your head and use your tongue to push that out of your mouth. Just let it fall on the floor.”
The man did as he was told.
“Good. Do you want a drink of water, or anything like that?”
He shook his head no.
“Okay. What’s your name?”
“Haakoro,” he said.
“Haakoro. Don’t humans usually have surnames? Just Haakoro?”
He nodded. “Just Haakoro.”
“What are you doing on my planet, Haakoro?”
He blinked. “Your planet?”
“Far as you’re concerned, yeah,” she said, smiling in what she hoped was a nurturing manner. Stupid Brazel.
“I’m looking for some people,” he said.
“Okay. Got one right here. A couple more people pounded you into unconsciousness a few hours ago. You needed to fake up some Benevolence armor and hardlight yourself a spidership for people?”
“Only saw the one ogre,” he said.
“Back to these people you’re looking for. Who are they?”
“Not sure I should tell you,” he said, a touch of amusement showing in his eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to get mixed up with the wrong ones.”
He’s actually trying to protect me, she thought. Brazel was totally right. She hated it when Brazel was right.
“Around here I pretty much am the wrong people, Haakoro. Can the chivalry, okay? The faster you’re honest, the faster we’re done with the gags and handcuffs and things like that.”
The bastard actually winked. “I kinda like handcuffs, actually.”
“So does the halfogre. They hold you still while he’s beating you.”
That got his attention.
“Yeah, you remember the halfogre? The guy who beat you unconscious and tore that cheap-ass fake armor off you? He’s one of my people. He’s right behind the door over there,” she said, nodding toward the door. “But I don’t really need him involved right now. Like I said, you’re not in danger. Yet.”
She paused, smiled, let just the barest hint of ice creep into her eyes and her voice. “But you’re gonna have to stop the bullshit, and if you try to flirt with me again the halfogre will be the least of your problems.”
She gave him a moment to let that sink in and let her tone go back to relaxed and conversational again.
“So let’s start again, Haakoro. I imagine that your face and your teeth probably hurt. Would you like something to drink?”
This time he nodded.
/>
Rhundi snapped her fingers, knowing that Brazel was coming anyway but wanting to look in control of the situation. The door opened and her husband walked in, two glasses of ice water on a tray held above one shoulder. Where the hell did he get that?
She took one of the glasses and gestured toward Haakoro. Brazel carefully let him sip some of the water, daintily dabbed at his chin and lips with a towel he’d brought with him, then set the glass and tray on the floor and retreated to a corner of the room. A back corner, Rhundi noted, where Haakoro couldn’t see him.
“I hope that helped. We can get you some medication for the pain later, if your jaw is bothering you.” They’d already injected Haakoro with some painkillers, but not quite enough to make him comfortable, just enough to make him a little loopy and worried that he might be hurting more soon. If they’d just left him alone, he probably wouldn’t have been able to talk at all.
“One more try. You say you’re here looking for some people. Tell me about them.”
“That’s the problem,” he said. “I don’t exactly know who they are. They’ve got something of mine.”
Rhundi made brief eye contact with her husband. Brazel raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“And what do they have?”
“I’m really not sure I should tell you,” he said.
“This is the part where I remind you about the handcuffs again, then,” she said. “We can come back in a few hours. Or a couple of days. Or I can just send the halfogre back in here for a couple of minutes.”
He was quiet for a moment, thinking.
“Okay,” he said. “I work for … some people.”
“There’s that people again,” Rhundi said.
He tried to wave a hand, forgetting that he was tied down, then chuckled a bit at himself. “Point is, I had a job to get some information about some guns. Middleman stuff. I was supposed to make sure the datachips were in a certain box on a certain train and somebody else was going to steal them. Only thing is, I got lucky. I got a lot more information than what I was supposed to get. But I had to burn some people to get it. And my stupid contacts disappeared on me. I can’t get ahold of anybody anymore to tell them I’ve got more stuff for them.”
The Sanctum of the Sphere: The Benevolence Archives, Vol. 2 Page 4
