Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  I nodded politely and said, “After you.”

  She held back a frown while entering first.

  Compared to the hallway, the room beyond was brightly lit, with floors, walls, furniture, and exercise equipment all in combinations of white, accented by cobalt blue, and polished metal. The ceiling reached almost ten feet, giving a more spacious feel, especially as several areas had mirrors reflecting down from it. There were free weights and weight machines, treadmills and climbing machines.

  A squat, oval cleaning bot, attending to a padded floor mat along the left wall ceased activity and rolled out of sight into the next room. Opposite the wall with the floor mat—probably a wrestling mat—stood an open doorway the cleaning bot had used, leading to a shower room and, by the small-windowed door visible beyond, possibly a sauna. Across from the entry door rested a large bed covered with a white, puffy bedspread. That stood at odds with its gothic wrought-iron framing, posts, and intertwined design that formed the headboard.

  Colossra closed the door behind us with an oral command. A lock clicked into place. A red light in the panel next to the recessed door handle verified it was indeed locked. The green button below the red light would presumably unlock it, as would an authorized voice command.

  So would my bayonet and revolver.

  “This room should do as good as any,” she announced. “Assuming you are not interested in any of my services.”

  “Thank you, I’m not,” I said, trying to keep the sound of relief from my voice. I didn’t know what she knew or suspected, nor what her expectations might be. But engaging in services wasn’t on my list, and having to say it first might’ve been insulting. “How secure is this place?” I asked, examining the walls and mirrors a little more closely.

  Nothing obvious. Maybe behind the mirrors, or behind some of the cobalt paneling that wasn’t as opaque as similar instances of decorative accenting.

  “From whom?” she asked. “Visitors, intruders?”

  “That,” I said. “And surveillance?”

  She nodded, signaling for me to follow her across the room to the bed area. “Restricted from accessing this section of the Palace. I’d be informed of anyone entering this floor. Pictures and recordings? Those only happen if clients specifically request, and then only through entertainment recording bots authorized entry into the room or suite. The Palace is known for its discretion, especially as some influential clients don’t want any record of their visits, electronic reservation, audio, visual, or otherwise to exist. Or ever to have existed.”

  That last statement reminded me of a lie I’d told just prior to being attached to the Cranaltar IV. I was on death’s doorstep at the time, and the experimental device was supposed to have scrambled my brain, even as it downloaded my memory in order to translate it into a visual and auditory presentation. One intended to prove my innocence, and turn the tables on Capital Galactic, on Falshire Hawks, their representative accusing me.

  I hinted to Hawks during my pretrial that I’d glimpsed a vid of him enjoying himself at the Celestial Unicorn Palace, and that the memory might become part of the official record, what had later become known as the Documentary.

  Well, at least by seeing Falshire Hawks here on the Bonnisbin Orbital Colony, there might’ve been some truth to my blind assertion. And, such an assertion made by me, if reported by Hawks, or at least shared with his circle of trusted friends and associates…

  Maybe I blushed or betrayed my thoughts as Colossra shifted her stance and put her hands on her hips. With a frown, she gestured to a padded chair along the wall not far from the bed, angled to face it.

  “You know who I am?” I asked, unshouldering my satchel and preparing to sit.

  “I do, Relic.”

  The way she said ‘Relic,’ more than using the word, caused me to bristle. A list of derogatory retorts lined up to cross my tongue, ready to be shot back at her. In the past, I’d’ve been ready to fight for less, but I managed to keep my hands from balling into fists. It wasn’t that she was a mountain of muscle. I’d been beat down by Colonial Marines that could wipe the floor with Colossra—unless she was some unarmed combat expert. And even then…

  No. Instead, I took a deep breath, and said, “Yep, I’d say you’ve got me pegged.” Figuring that sitting down would further diffuse the situation, I did.

  She followed suit, sitting on the edge of her bed, one hand resting on the iron trellis-like footboard. Her eyebrows narrowed as a scrutinizing look crossed her face. “I think Maintenance Tech Segreti doesn’t know you as well as he indicated.”

  I thought about that a second. “What? Because I’m not issuing you a bruising?”

  Her left eyebrow arched before a playful smile stretched her lips. “You really think you could?”

  “You realize I have a set of brass knuckles in my pocket.”

  Her arms flexing, Colossra said, “If you think they’d help.”

  I shrugged. “Usually they do. But there was this Colonial Marine named Pillar, and this Five-Time Platinum Ring Kickboxing Champion. I did manage to bruise them a bit—while they proceeded to clean my clock.”

  “Segreti said you weren’t one to be intimidated.”

  “I’ve decided to focus my aggressive tendencies on the enemy.”

  “You mean the Crax?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Them, the Stegmars, the V’Gun.”

  “What about the trail of bodies you left behind recently? Human bodies.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I have to be alive to continue killing Crax. Besides, anyone allied with Capital Galactic is the enemy.”

  “No one that works at the Palace thinks much of the Capital Galactic Investment Group. At least not anymore.”

  “I can imagine,” I said with a smirk.

  “No, Keesay…or Deering—or Bleys?”

  “Let’s stick with Deering for now.” I leaned back in the chair. “Easier for me to keep track of who I’m supposed to be.”

  “Okay then, Mr. Deering. You probably can’t imagine.” She leaned back, propping herself up on the mattress with an elbow, then thought better of it and stood. “We’ve got time to burn. Would you mind background music, maybe some tea?”

  “Authentic tea?” I asked.

  She started to roll her eyes. “I can serve you Earl Grey, cinnamon apple, or peppermint. And authentic sugar.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “This is a high class establishment. I’m used to getting only the synthesized stuff.” I had a stash of gum wraps with authentic sugar back on the Nuclear Pitchfork.

  Wondering if I’d ever board the shuttle again distracted me while Colossra walked along the wall beyond her bed, over to the corner. She tapped a few places and a panel slid aside, revealing a small kitchenette dispensary. “I take it you’d like sugar then, Mr. Deering?”

  “Yes,” I said. Then I mumbled, “Whoever picked that name…” Taking a breath I decided on a change in direction. “Just call me Kra.”

  She giggled as she placed two cobalt blue cups in a microwave. Giggling just didn’t seem to fit her. While the water was heating, she returned to the bed and placed her palm on a panel, causing it to lift, revealing a computer console. After a few voice commands, soft harp music began to play.

  “So what’s the plan?” I asked. “Time to kill—burn until what?” Scratching my neck, I continued, explaining, “Segreti didn’t say anything beyond getting here and asking for you.”

  “Kra, you say?” She returned to the kitchenette, selected tea bags and dipped them in the steaming cups of water. Before she turned and brought them back, I removed my contacts and returned them to the thumb-sized case in my pocket.

  With a grin she said, “I’m trusting you without a saucer.”

  I looked down at the carpet, my eyes now able to fully focus.

  For a second she giggled again. “It’s duro-sealed fiber. I don’t have saucers even if you wanted one.” Again, a giggle just didn’t match her build and original demeanor. Maybe because I
wasn’t one of her clients?

  I smelled the tea before taking a sip. Earl Grey. With sugar. Leaning back, I asked, “The plan?”

  “The goal is to get you back to your shuttle, alive and undetected. The details are still being worked out.”

  “So then…how much time do we have to burn?”

  “Enough for you to tell me why Capital Galactic wants you so dearly, dead or alive.”

  “If I tell you, will you tell me why you dislike the Capital Galactic Investment Group?”

  She sat on the bed, legs crossed in what looked like a yoga position, or how some of the colonist kids from the Kalavar used to sit on the shuttle bay floor while I explained game rules to them, like whiffle ball. The seated position didn’t appear easy for Colossra to achieve, muscular legs and holding a cup of hot tea. I politely looked past her, toward the kitchenette.

  She giggled, almost spilling her tea. “Don’t be concerned, Kra. I’m wearing undergarments.”

  Maybe I was blushing, and tried to mask it with a smile. “Good to know. Should I call you Colossra?”

  “Yeong,” she said, and smiled back. “Very few men ever ask me that.” She gently swirled the tea in her cup. “Have an interest in my real name.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Most men, I suspected, didn’t pay to have tea and a conversation with Colossra. The men who visit her? They must have some odd ideas of fantasy fulfillment. In all sincerity, I replied, “That’s too bad.”

  She stared at me hard, probably trying to determine what I was thinking, so I added, “Sort of like when I worked as a security specialist. All people saw was my 4th Class rating.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “On my duty coveralls, above the right breast pocket is my name patch. Above the left is my C4 Security rating.”

  “So?” She took a sip of tea.

  “Only Relic Techs are assigned an initial Class 4 rating. I-Techs start at a C3.”

  It was her turn to blush. Maybe she was thinking back to her calling me a Relic.

  I shrugged. “Not like a lady like you, at an establishment like this would see many R-Techs—at least not security specialist R-Techs.”

  “You’re right, as far as security goes. But every now and again a Relic Tech client makes his way here.” She got up after finishing her tea. “I’ve heard you also killed more than your fair share of Stegmar Mantis and Crax. I almost expected you to arrive at the Palace carrying your old-style shotgun and bayonet.”

  She’d probably gotten that last part from Segreti. I finished my tea and started to stand, but Colossra signaled for me to remain seated. While she strode over to retrieve my cup, I said, “I’m not in the class of a Colonial Marine, but I’ve killed my share.”

  “It is possible that what I’ve come to understand isn’t accurate,” she said, placing the cups in the kitchenette’s cleaning compartment. “Or you’re a modest individual. One doesn’t see many of those here at the Palace.”

  I laughed. “I’ve been called many things, Yeong. I don’t recall modest.”

  She returned to the bed and again sat cross-legged on it. “You were going to tell me why Capital Galactic wants you so dearly. And then maybe about the war?”

  “Will we have time? You’re supposed to tell me why you don’t like CGIG, same as me.”

  “More than enough time.”

  “Okay,” I said, leaning back in the chair. Thinking about Capital Galactic, my hand involuntarily slid toward my sidearm. I had to be careful. There were parts of my story that remained classified. To give me a few seconds to gather my thoughts, I pulled out my stun baton and began to reinstall the battery. “Since the Crax and CGIG are tied together, you’ll get both stories in one. But, beyond the reason you dislike Capital Galactic, I have a few questions I’d like answered. Primarily how I’m supposed to get back to my shuttle—whatever details you might have.”

  She nodded. “If the stories satisfy my curiosity, I’ll do my best to satisfy yours.” The excitement in her voice caused me to look past her equivocation.

  I decided to start with my waking up on the Pars Griffin, just before my pretrial and subsequent connection to the Cranaltar IV. Then I could skip about here and there, still telling about some of my time aboard the Kalavar and the enemy boarding. I made no reference to Maximar Drizdon Jr., and replaced him with the Chicher diplomat where it made sense. I then briefly told of my experience in the trench line, defending against the Crax invasion of the Tallavaster colony city, and getting wounded and captured by an elite Crax warrior, omitting any reference to the secret Umbelgarri subterranean breeding facility.

  As I spoke, her rapt interest left little doubt that my tale went far to satisfy her curiosity.

  Chapter 21

  My watch showed that I’d been talking for well over an hour and through two more cups of tea. Close attention as she was paying, Yeong hadn’t said a word while I relayed the highly abridged version of my tale. It ended with me on the operating table and Lawyer Heartwell assuring me that, despite the fact that the Tallavaster Colony would be temporarily liberated from Crax control, they’d get control of me again.

  Needless to say, my voice was getting a little hoarse, having talked for so long. And, filled with tea, I asked Yeong where I might find the restroom.

  Upon returning from the restroom located off the sauna area, Yeong had changed into a white T-shirt and shorts, both stretched tight by her overly muscled frame. She asked, “One question, if I might, Kra?”

  “Sure,” I said, anxious to discover the plan to get me back to the Nuclear Pitchfork.

  “What happened to the Chicher diplomat?”

  I sighed, and choked up for a second, recalling the moment of the diplomat’s death. He’d left the safety of our escape shuttle to help me fight off a burly engineering tech who’d blindsided and tackled me.

  “He took a Crax caustic round in the back as I was hauling him up the ramp to our escape shuttle,” I said. “He’d just saved my life and I failed to save his.” I took a breath. Looked down at the floor. “Racing out of the atmosphere into space we spotted a behemoth class transport, a Capital Galactic ship orbiting the quarantined planet controlled by Capital Galactic. With a Crax frigate exiting its cargo hold.”

  Absentmindedly, I rubbed the small scars on my throat where the diplomat had bitten me. The bite occurred even as the rat-like alien suffered a brief but agonizing death. Me being a friend and companion to the Chicher diplomat, I served as a surrogate, being the closest thing he had to a pack member. That’s why I was bit, at the culmination of the death ritual. Something accomplished despite the fierce pain Crax rounds bring as their fluid spreads, killing the victim.

  I hadn’t really had the chance to share my story with anyone. Nobody on Io talked about it. Agents Guymin and Vingee had seen the Documentary, so there wasn’t much to tell that they didn’t already know. Even the brief telling I’d just relayed, riddled with holes and inaccuracies as it was, offered some small valve of relief.

  I’d always been a loner of sorts. What R-Tech traveling through space wouldn’t be? Telling Yeong had given me a chance to unload, like setting down a heavy weigh that I’d been hefting for far too long. Even picking it up again, it felt a small fraction lighter.

  But it’d also stirred up anger. Not only at so many deaths—Mer, Benny…virtually everyone aboard the Kalavar, crew, colonists, and passengers, and so many more. And, being reminded of Deputy Director Simms and Janice Tahgs, captives of CGIG. Maybe dead by now.

  Except for times of prayer, I suppressed memories of those crewmen, those friends and colleagues. People. And if the Crax get their way—if they win—humanity will be enslaved, or an extinct species. Sure, maybe small pockets hiding on isolated moons, or scattered refugee ships on the run.

  My jaw tightened. My nails bit into my palms with my hands clenched so tightly into fists. I took several deep breaths to relax, knowing I wouldn’t be one of the few, scattered survivors, hunted and
hiding, on the run, as our numbers dwindled. Humanity diminishing to nothing.

  We’ll win, I reminded myself. And if we don’t, I’ll take down as many Crax and Stegmar—any of their allies as I could. That promise included human collaborators.

  But I’d have to get off the Bonnisbin Orbital Colony, and not as a captive to be delivered into Capital Galactic’s clutches. With that notion in mind, I asked Yeong, “So, what’s the plan then? For me to reach my shuttle undetected.”

  “Are you hungry, Kra?” she asked, pointing back toward the kitchenette with a friendly, earnest look on her face.

  “The plan?”

  “It’s still coming together,” she said.

  “Maybe you could check on the progress?”

  She placed a finger on her right ear, indicating her communication chip implant. “I’ll be signaled.”

  Leaning forward in the padded chair, I said, “You must have some idea. This isn’t your first attempt at covert activity.”

  “I would ask that you be patient. I’ll get us something to eat, and tell you about Capital Galactic’s—”

  I cut her off, saying, “Patience isn’t one of my long suits, Miss Yeong. For all I know, this is nothing more than an elaborate setup.” I held up a finger and continued before she could interject. “More likely than that, those working with you have been stymied, or detained.”

  Sure, stirring up those memories might’ve shortened my fuse. But playing at being an Intel agent just wasn’t me—and wasn’t working. I was a trained Security Specialist, and a good one. My instincts and actions had enabled me to survive thus far. Sure, more than my fair dose of luck, but aggressive attitude, decisive action got things done. Thumped more than a few times, but being me kept me alive.

  I stood. “The R in R-Tech doesn’t stand for retarded.”

  At the change in my demeanor, Yeong’s—or Colossra’s—eyes widened, then narrowed, hands sliding to her hips. “All you’ve got is a stun baton and brass knuckles in your pockets and a knife in your satchel. And you think you can intimidate me, here? In my office?”