Friends in the Stars

by Mackey Chandler

  “You have the key to the room you rented?” Leonardo asked. “That’s our alibi.”

  “Right here,” Atlas said. “Do you have somebody who can defeat locks?”

  “Not to worry,” Leonardo said, “I have a master key.”

  He walked to the hand tool bench and selected a stout forged wrecker bar. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 20

  Sam and Bill arrived to find the parking lot empty. “Perfect, I’m going to open our own room first, and if anybody comes before we’re done, we were just getting some crackers,” Bill said. He opened the door to 114, hung the open lock back in the slide bolt, and stepped in. The lights came on automatically. The pallet of crackers was ripped open at one corner and a box was gone. He opened another box and extracted a tin, breaking the seal and extracting a foil pack of crackers. “We won’t mess our own lock up until we’re ready to head out the door. Which one is the State Department room?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sam said. “Room 115 across the hall belongs to the university people by public record. 116 next to us is the Foy’s because it was printed on the food boxes. All of them that concern us should be close by. They were all rented in a narrow time frame. Let’s try 112 on our side.”

  Sam turned the lock up to put his probe down the keyhole, and blinked at it. There was a slot with contacts in it, like for a memory card. Bill saw what the trouble was too. “We could waste hours on that. Just cut it.”

  Sam darkened his spex and sprayed some black foam on the shiny surfaces around the lock to suppress specular reflections. The lock was cut in less than a minute, but it felt much longer. The foam bubbled and ablated making a dusty odor. When they entered Sam was disappointed and angry. The room was empty. Why even bother to lock an empty room? It seemed like a bad joke.

  “I don’t like this,” Bill said. “It might not even be the State people’s room.”

  “I don’t like it either, Sam agreed, “but why so concerned?”

  “Because it doesn’t make any sense to me,” Bill said, “and that’s dangerous. If I don’t understand one thing, I may have a great deal wrong. I have that itch that says we should probably just get out of here.”

  “It could be some other renter not connected to the group at all,” Sam said. “Let’s bust in one to the other side, number 117. I have no trouble with popping them all. If we leave now it may be even more dangerous to come back in the future. The Derf aren’t big on security, but they may add alarms or video after a lock is cut.

  “For that matter, what lock?” Sam asked. “It’s in my kit and the black foam is dry by now. I’ll wipe it off and disperse it on the floor. They will have a missing lock, not a visibly cut lock, and they can blame each other. It’s not like anything was stolen. They have quite a few people with access to choose from as suspects.”

  Bill nodded. “And it’s as easy to blame a bunch cut opened on a robbery motive. Let’s hit 117 first and then come back to 116. That one at least we know is the Foys, and then the researchers out of curiosity.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam said, when it was open, disappointed again. “This is somebody’s household goods.”

  Some of it was obviously furniture by shape, wrapped with protective edges. Boxes were labeled with a large bold marker as kitchen or bedroom. There were larger boxes towards the outside overhead door and one big enough to be some sort of vehicle.

  “It’s Human goods though,” Bill said. “Open that one marked keepsakes and pix.”

  “Aha! It is the Foys stuff,” Sam said. So, the other room must all be food.”

  There were small items packed individually but a whole stack of electronic pictures like you would display and a portfolio of prints. There were a couple of scenes of California and some of the Moon. There was even a formal framed portrait of the couple that seemed to be rendered by hand. “It’s not bad work,” Bill said, tilting it to catch the light. “Is it watercolor or pencil?” he asked.

  “Looks like mixed media to me,” Sam said. “Pencil and watercolor, done with a pen or dabbed, maybe even a little blush of pastels there.”

  He pointed with a finger.

  Bill looked at Sam surprised. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about.

  “What was that?” Bill asked, lifting his head abruptly.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Sam said.

  “It could have been a car door slamming,” Bill said. “Let’s step over to our room for a moment,” Bill urged, herding Sam for the door. “If it’s a regular customer come to pick something up they probably will be done in a few minutes. Who empties an entire room late in the day?” Bill eased their door shut quietly and slid enough of the bolt to hold it.

  “Why did you bring that?” Sam asked nodding at the drawing.

  “I don’t know,” Bill whispered. “I was holding it and on autopilot, intent on getting out. Now hush, if it’s Derf they hear everything.”

  “That looks like a rental car to me,” a woman’s voice echoed down the hall.

  “Yeah, it’s got the extra antenna and the little radar dome on top. Not many private cars have the fully autonomous systems,” a male voice agreed.

  “Crap, it’s Ms. Harvac,” Bill whispered in Sam’s ear.

  “It smells funny, like something hot. What the hell is this?” Pamela asked, incensed.

  “Somebody took our lock,” Kirk said, stating the obvious.

  “You paid the rent didn’t you?” Pamela asked.

  “Paid up for a year, so no reason for the management to cut it off,” Kirk assured her.

  “Pull the door open for me and stay to the side,” Pamela ordered. There was the unmistakable sound of a pistol slide being racked, then the noise of a door opening.

  “Clear,” Pamela announced. “At least they didn’t plant anything on us.”

  “I didn’t know you were armed,” Kirk said.

  “Aren’t you?” Pamela demanded.

  “That’s different,” Kirk said, evading and not explaining why it was different at all. “I’m just upset because I can usually tell if somebody is packing.”

  “Good, maybe nobody else could tell either. Let’s see if any of the rest have been broken into,” Pamela said.

  Bill grimaced and looked around. There was nothing with which to jam the door and there was nothing but a stubby thumb tab sticking to the inside to move the bolt. The door swung to the outside so no way to wedge it from swinging. The best he could do was to slowly push the bolt all the way in and take a stand against it with the palm of his hand poised on it ready to push. The lock hanging in the hole through the bolt outside ran up against the tab and kept the bolt from going all the way home, but it was engaged in the latch hole.

  “This one, 117, is sans-lock too,” Kirk’s voice said, closer.

  “The same drill, let me clear it,” Pamela said. There was the rattle of a metal door again but from across the hall. With more stuff to look at and behind cautiously, the ‘clear’ was longer coming in this room.

  “This is somebody’s private stuff,” Pamela said. “I’m not going to mess with it. It doesn’t pertain to our business and I know how pissed I’d be if somebody pawed through my stuff.”

  “That one box is pulled away from the rest and opened,” Kirk pointed out.

  “OK, look in it but don’t touch,” Pamela said, moving back to the door and checking the hall before looking back at Kirk.

  “The end here turned away from the door is marked keepsakes and pix,” Kirk reported. “I see framed items, a couple of portfolios, and a bunch of small stuff individually boxed and wrapped.”

  “I’d bet this is the Foy’s stuff. They’d be waiting to move into their embassy under construction to unpack it all. Come back out and wipe the bolt handle off.”

  “I don’t have any DNA suppressant,” Kirk said. “Some burglar I am.”

  “No help for that, at least you can wipe your prints,” Pamela said.

  “The lock is hanging open
on this one,” Kirk said in front of 114.

  Pamela waved him away from in front of the door and then made him move further away from it with emphatic gestures. She moved to one side of the door and leaned over and rapped on it with the muzzle of her gun.

  “Yo! Anybody home?”

  There was no answer.

  Pam held the pistol tight against her chest and reach with the free hand, pushing against the bolt handle with her fingertips.

  Inside Bill was braced hard against it so it didn’t budge at all.

  Pamela looked at Kirk and pointed at the overhead light. Then made a look gesture with two fingers in front of her eyes pulled away. Lastly, she pointed at the bottom of the door. The doors were fit snug, but not sealed.

  Kirk nodded he understood and got against the opposite side of the hall and got down on his hands and knees lowering his head near the floor to look for light coming through the crack from inside. He got back up quickly and nodded yes.

  Pamela put her foot against the bolt handle and shoved hard, harder than Bill could keep pressure with just his palm on a short tab. The bolt moved back a centimeter or so and then sprang back like it was on a spring.

  “You inside,” Pamela called loudly. “I’m going to shoot the bolt in two if you don’t open up. If you don’t want to get hit you better get away from the door.”

  “Don’t shoot,” a slightly muffled voice said. “We’re pushing the door open”

  The door wasn’t exactly flung open, but propelled with enough authority to swing all the way back against the wall and rebound a little.

  Bill King was standing inside showing her the palms of his hands. They were empty because he’d shoved the incriminating picture under the cracker pallet. Sam Burnstein was standing well back against a skid of something with the corner of the wrap torn open exposing tins. He wasn’t holding his hands up but he looked scared, not aggressive.

  “This is our storage room,” Bill told her. “You have no right to intrude.”

  “Just stay in it then,” Pamela said, and kept the gun aimed at the floor between them. “You wouldn’t know anything about this other room broke into would you?” she asked with a jerk of her head to indicate the open door.

  “That’s not your concern. Have you ever shot that thing, Miss Harvac?” Bill asked with a sneer.

  Pamela barely shifted her aim between the two men and fired a round into the skid of Graham crackers. The sound of the hypervelocity round was deafening. It blew chunks of packaging and a brown spray of pulverized crackers out the other side.

  “Yeah, recently,” Pamela said back, matching his sneer and attitude.

  Sam looked to Bill for leadership. He had more experience. But Sam wasn’t sure he was thinking straight about this lady. She looked like she’d prefer shooting Bill over other solutions, and she wasn’t handling that gun like a beginner.

  “Toss your weapons on the floor and kick them over to my assistant,” Pamela said.

  “We don’t carry in the field,” Bill lied. “Not unless we face an organized opposition that doesn’t exist on Derfhome. Guns cause more trouble than they help in a general intelligence gathering operation.”

  “Funny, I don’t feel that way at the moment,” Pamela said.

  “Voice analysis says he’s fuzzy on that,” Kirk said from behind her.

  “It’s probably safer not to try to search them,” Pamela decided. “Agents can have conditioning to render veracity software less effective. Don’t trust them.”

  This time there wasn’t any doubt, two doors slammed loudly outside.

  Pamela stepped back without saying a word and slammed the door shut. Bill was well back from it and she had the lock in the hole before he slammed into the inside. She carefully turned the hasp so the fact the lock was open wasn’t obvious, and left it hanging there. She sprinted to the closest door, the Foy’s room across the hall with Kirk on her heels. They managed to get inside and latch it before the outer door opened.

  “It stinks in here,” Leonardo bellowed. That was his normal voice.

  “There are cars outside, there must be people in some unit,” Atlas said, worried.

  “Not our concern,” Leonardo said, “we have our own business to attend to. This is the one isn’t it, number 115?”

  At Atlas’ nod, Leonardo stuck the pointy end of the wrecking bar behind the lock and twisted. It didn’t make that much noise resisting, one loud snap and a couple of metallic jingles of parts falling on the floor. He opened the door and kicked the broken pieces inside. “This is big. They’ll be some time before they can fill this up. How nice of them to have everything neatly labeled and dated.”

  He didn’t bother to pull the door closed and Atlas, much timider and worried about getting caught, closed it.

  Next door, Pamela and Kirk were looking at each other, listening to the loud-mouthed Engineering Professor. When Atlas closed the door, she put her fingers to her lips and eased the door open. A jerk of her head told Kirk to come on and she walked past 115 with exaggerated care, trying to be silent. Atlas inside heard them pass in the hall, but he was as filled with guilt and as anxious not to be heard as her. He wished Leonardo would lower his voice.

  Pamela was barely past the looting Derf before more doors slammed outside. It was too far to go back so she dashed to their own room, number 112, and ducked inside.

  “It smells funny,” Eileen Foy said on entering.

  “Yep, like hot electronics,” Victor agreed. “There is some black crap on the floor, maybe somebody cleared their unit out and didn’t clean up very well.”

  “Our lock is gone,” Eileen said. Vic knew that icy tone of voice.

  “Somebody has busted the lock off and is in our room,” Born said behind her. He was trying to speak low, but humans just couldn’t hear that well. Leonardo and Atlas could, and it got suddenly quiet in the scientist’s room.

  Vic made hand signs to Eileen and they went to check their room guns drawn.

  Behind them, Lee and Jeff looked at each other and lifted their eyebrows. Strangelove just watched, hard to excite. Lee quietly drew a hidden pistol and Jeff reached a hand in each pocket of his vest and extracted tennis ball-sized spheres. When he tossed them in the air they made a loop mapping the area and took up station hovering a little behind each shoulder. They used very quiet boundary layer airflow to stay aloft, with the addition of electronic noise cancellation. It still made a quiet sighing sound to Derf ears.

  Born kicked his own door, angry. “Who’s in there?” he demanded. “Show yourself empty handed or we’ll consider you hostile.” That was kind of funny since he wasn’t armed himself, other than a set of nine-centimeter claws and attitude.

  “Just a minute, coming,” Leonardo called from within. When he opened the door Leonardo look over the mob crowded in front of the door but looked right at Born ignoring the rest of them and said, “Oh it’s you, good.”

  “Good?” Born asked. “There’s nothing good about it you slack eared crook.”

  “Born! I’m wounded. We came by to do some measurements in our own unit and saw yours open. We were seeing to your interests,” Leonardo protested.

  “Show us your key to your own unit,” Born demanded.

  Atlas quickly reached in his pouch, but Jeff’s drones made a low ominous sound and moved forward bracketing Atlas. Lee stepped to one side to get a clean line of fire. Atlas wisely drew his hand out much slower than he reached in.

  “See?” Atlas held the key up for all to see.

  “Maybe, I don’t have a veracity module for Derf,” Jeff said, “I don’t even know if they make one.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Born assured him. “I have never heard such an unadorned pile of crap since my six-year-old niece got caught with an entire tray of sweet rolls and explained she was taking them to her room for safekeeping. He’s a terrible liar.”

  “Wait here until Born and Musical look over their storage for loss or damage,” Lee ordered the trespassers. She looked
to Jeff for support and got a nod.

  Jeff gestured for Born and Musical to proceed, and they went in avoiding Leonardo by a large margin. They came quickly, even more upset.

  “He had the last two disks we brought here sitting on the floor and the shelf tags ripped off. I suppose he thinks we are so stupid we’d never notice they were gone if the labels were gone.”

  “Somebody has been in our stuff too,” Vic said, rejoining them. “Eileen is trying to figure out if anything is missing. Our other room still has the lock untouched.”

  Down the hall, Pamela sat on the floor and was taking her shoes off. Kirk looked at her like she was crazy, and then understood. He quickly did the same. Their door opened away from the group busy talking. Pamela pushed it open millimeter by millimeter, extra wide so she wouldn’t make a noise brushing against it, and blocking the view. The two of them walked for the exit with exaggerated care carrying their shoes, lifting their feet high and setting them without scuffing.

  Then the two security officers Strangelove called came in the door.

  “Shit,” Pamela said, and whirled around to find Strangelove looking back at the sound of his officers entering. They had nowhere to run. Pam just froze her guts roiled in fear. She thought she was comfortable with Derf, but had never been in a situation like this confronting them. They were scary big.

  Strangelove walked down and inspected Pamela and Kirk, who decided it was pointless to make a run for freedom. He glanced in their open door as he passed.

  “Is this your storage unit?” Strangelove asked, looking confused.

  “Yes, yes it is,” Pamela replied.

  “Aren’t you going to lock it up before you leave?”

  “Somebody cut the lock off,” Pamela said. “It was unexpected, so we didn’t bring a replacement lock. There’s nothing in the room anyway, so we’ll leave it open for now.”

  “Remarkable,” Strangelove said, checking his pad for the veracity of that statement. Remarkably, it was tagged as true, even if it made no sense at all.

  “You came by to visit an empty room and somebody took your lock. Did you have any other purpose for this visit?”