Hard Strike

by Eric Thomson

  “Those two are smarter than I thought. Neither spoke a word during the entire return trip. The device we placed inside their car told us they left it near the intersection of Tenth Avenue and Salter Street, then sent the vehicle back to its home rental lot. Since the listening devices my men stuck to their blasters’ power packs are single function, we don’t know where they are or where they’re staying. The area has half a dozen hotels.”

  “So few? Then they shouldn’t be difficult to trace. It’s residential west of Salter. Besides, your bugs will pick something up, eventually.”

  “I doubt it. If Zadeck and Peel were smart enough to ditch their ride, they’ll check themselves for listening devices. Any decent sensor would pick up the carrier wave.” He shook his head. “No. Those bugs are gone. They knew exactly how to cover their tracks.”

  “Which tells you something about the DSA’s level of professionalism. That’s reassuring, no?”

  “Mannsbach didn’t hide where he was staying. He simply told us to keep away. Why are these two acting differently?”

  “As Sherri said, circumstances and players have changed. Gustav’s death raises the stakes for everyone, including the DSA. She and Corbin can’t be sure his assassination wasn’t an inside job, so it’s natural they would take added precautions.” She took another sip while studying her chief of security. “What’s bothering you, Piet?”

  “Zadeck and Peel seem too good to be true, especially showing up out of nowhere so soon after someone killed Gustav.”

  “Or is it just they’re too good, and that annoys you?”

  When she saw a faint scowl deepen the lines around his mouth, Cortez sent peals of laughter echoing off walls hung with priceless artifacts.

  “The difference between them and Mannsbach is...” he searched for the right word, “eerie, I suppose. Alek didn’t strike me as anything other than a corporate recruiter or a sales executive with knowledge of field craft. Zadeck and Peel, however, are something more. More dangerous, more deadly, more professional. Call it what you want. They’re just more. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Don’t tell me they frighten you.”

  “No.” Yorik didn’t seem offended by her insinuation. “But something’s off-kilter. Sure, they know all the right things if they’re genuine, they speak the right words and sound like experts in forcible government change. You wouldn’t expect anything less from people representing an umbrella group such as the Democratic Stars Alliance. Yet they seemed a bit too matter-of-fact for committed revolutionaries. But since Gustav didn’t take me into his confidence beyond generalities, no one can tell whether Zadeck is telling us what Mannsbach told him. And I tried again to call Alek, this time from one of our throwaway communicators, in case he was blocking me. But without success. It means we have no way of getting independent corroboration your new best friend and her gorilla really are DSA envoys even if no one’s heard of them before this afternoon. And they sounded so damn glib to my skeptical ears, Eva. They were telling us, especially you, everything we wanted to hear.”

  “Hm.” Cortez tapped the rim of her glass against her lower lip. “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Take a step back and try not to fall in love with Sherri. She may seem like your type, but something tells me she’s considerably more dangerous than you might think and won’t let anyone interfere with her or her employer’s agenda.”

  A pout appeared on Cortez’s lips.

  “Spoilsport. The one time I meet a kindred spirit and you warn me off.” The pout vanished, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “Don’t worry, I see your point, and in retrospect, perhaps she was subtly manipulating me. But into doing or accepting what, exactly?”

  “So long as you’re aware, it’s fine. We continue as per plan tomorrow morning and see where it leads, but cautiously.”

  “Maybe I could speak with Kristy Bujold and see if the Constabulary might agree to put a tracer on them.”

  Yorik shook his head.

  “Don’t. She’ll want to know why and you can’t tell her, even if she is part of the patrons’ circle. Besides, poor old Kristy is running around like a headless chicken because Gustav lost his to a tungsten dart. It scared everyone in the administration from the governor to the colonial council’s apprentice bottle washer. They want action, any action, and they want it now.”

  “All right. Forget I even mentioned it. Let’s see what develops tomorrow.” As Yorik turned to leave, she asked, “Where did you stash that kilo of MHX? Here?”

  “No. Gustav didn’t want it anywhere near him after seeing the demonstration of its power.”

  “The beach house, then.”

  “Yep. It’s the only other property we control that has a sufficiently secure arms room.”

  “Doesn’t our townhouse have one?”

  “Yes, but the idea of it accidentally exploding in Ventano’s poshest district, killing thousands, many of whom fund our movement, terrified Gustav.”

  “Of course. We mustn’t risk our wealthy supporters.”

  Cortez drained her brandy and placed the glass on a side table where one of the housekeeping droids would find it during the night.

  “Did you want company, Eva, or can I do my rounds and head to bed?”

  She stared at him through narrowed eyes for a few heartbeats.

  “No. Not tonight.”

  — Ten —

  “Nice.”

  Decker and Talyn, in everyday clothes rather than the previous evening’s business suits, climbed out of their new rental. The beach house, a two-story concrete, plastic, and metal structure whose outer cladding cleverly imitated wood while being able to withstand the worst gales, stood on a low promontory overlooking the Tyrellian Sea, the mostly placid expanse of water separating Mission’s two largest continents, Ashima and Nanshe.

  Straddling the equator, their northern and southern shores were washed by savage circumpolar currents separating the planet’s temperate zone from its extensive ice caps. But here, in the shelter of the thousand-kilometer long Benden peninsula jutting out from Nanshe’s northeastern corner, the climate was almost balmy.

  “This place is a small fortress. I’ll bet its walls can withstand small arms fire, and it likely has an extensive security perimeter and maybe even remote weapons stations hidden under the eaves. With lines of sight reaching for the horizon and little beyond scrub and widely spaced trees, you can see someone coming from kilometers away. And the neighbors, if they’re so inclined, can watch who comes to visit.” He pointed at a distant black cube surrounded by tiny tree-like ferns further along the peninsula.

  “I prefer the wooded glen, even if it is a sniper’s paradise. There’s something disquieting about this open space.” She gestured at the three cars parked in front of an outbuilding of similar construction to the main house. “Whoever owns this isn’t shy about spending money on ground transport.”

  A stout metal front door surfaced to mimic dark oak, swung inward and Piet Yorik stepped out into the morning sunshine.

  “You made it.”

  Decker jerked a thumb at Talyn.

  “She’d cut out my sweetbreads if I got us lost. Quite the castle on the rock, Eva’s little beach house.”

  “They call it Blanca’s Folly after Eva’s mother. She demanded her husband Sergio build them a villa far from the city, capable of withstanding a siege in case the Shrehari decide to return, back when Eva was a child. This place wouldn’t hold long against determined troops, perhaps only a few minutes, but I understand it helped keep her various neuroses in check.”

  “Is Blanca still alive?” Decker asked

  “Yes, but she doesn’t come out anymore. The Cortez family now owns another, larger property further south, almost exactly on the equator, where the sand is warmer and the sea less prone to intruding cold currents from the north.” Yorik gestured at the open door. “Eva is waiting for us on the seaward terrace, along with freshly brewed coffee and pastries. I’ll ask you to leave your weapons
at the guard post again.”

  Decker gave Yorik a knowing smirk and winked.

  “Only if you promise our power packs won’t catch another dose of security transmitted disease.”

  The man’s laugh, a single bark, conveyed amusement with a hint of annoyance at being caught.

  “Cute.”

  He pivoted on his heel and led them into the cool shadows of a structure whose design owed more to the architecture of bombproof bunkers than wealthy industrialists’ playthings.

  “I see you changed cars and rental companies, but chose the same make and model.”

  “Yep. Nothing wrong with the car’s specs.” Decker’s smirk widened. “But it developed a defect last night.”

  “How’s that?”

  “An incurable desire to invade our privacy overcame the damn thing, and it broadcast our location.”

  Yorik’s hyena-like bark echoed off the walls, but this time without the slightest trace of humor, confirming Decker and Talyn’s suspicions he’d bugged their rental as well. He gestured at the man sitting behind a security console in the vestibule.

  “Anton will make sure your hand artillery stays disease-free.”

  Decker didn’t bother restraining his mirth and answered, between bouts of genuinely amused laughter, “If you say so, Piet.”

  After going through the same process as the previous evening, they followed Yorik through the silent house and onto a broad terrace overlooking the Tyrellian Sea’s dark waters. Small waves twinkled with reflected sunshine while the warm offshore breeze was bracing and mercifully devoid of the pungent ocean smell so prevalent around Ventano’s harbor front.

  Eva Cortez, also casually dressed, a coffee cup in hand, turned toward them and leaned against the waist-high stone balustrade.

  “Good morning, Sherri, Corbin. I trust you had a pleasant night.”

  “It was remarkably quiet,” Talyn replied smiling warmly.

  “Yeah, eerily so,” Decker added with a sly grin. “After we finished making noise.”

  “Really?”

  “I guess the sound didn’t carry to your mansion in the glen. Pity.”

  Cortez gave Decker a strange look, then glanced at Talyn and smiled back.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please. I take it black.”

  “As black as her soul would be if she could actually claim one,” the Marine added. “I’ll take mine black as well, but only because I hate killing the taste with additives.”

  Talyn raised her finger and pointed at him with mock severity.

  “You really are fishing for reassignment to the punishment detail, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t help it, Sherri. My mouth has a mind of its own.”

  Yorik handed Talyn a finely crafted porcelain cup exuding the rich aroma of Earth-grown coffee beans.

  “This smells absolutely yummy, Eva!”

  “The finest blend you can find in the entire Rim Sector.”

  Decker took the cup proffered by Yorik, inhaled, then sipped before saying, in a contented voice, “This is living.”

  “Help yourselves to the petit fours, freshly baked by the beach house kitchen droid.” Cortez touched Talyn’s arm and nodded toward the open water. “What do you think of the view?”

  “Stunning. But as I told Corbin when we arrived, I prefer the intimacy of the foothills, places like your private glen.”

  “As do I. Did Piet tell you what we call this place?”

  “Blanca’s Folly.”

  “Yes. My dear mother and her constant fears of a Shrehari invasion. Never mind she wasn’t alive during the occupation or even had family members living in this star system at the time. But my father rarely says no to her.”

  “Or to you?”

  “Oh, he’s said no to me more often than I can remember. I wasn’t daddy’s little girl. Quite the contrary. That role still belongs to my younger sister Alexandra, while the role of heir apparent belongs to my older brother Carlos, also known as C.C. by our social circle. I was stuck finding my own way in the world.” The hungry stare of a hunting predator briefly tightened her features. “Any siblings, Sherri?”

  “None. And no living parents either. I’m the perfect orphan. Alone in the galaxy but for my friends and colleagues.”

  “She has me, and I’m all she needs,” Decker interjected, earning a dirty look from both women.

  Yorik gestured at him with his cup and nodded toward the other end of the terrace.

  “Let’s leave our bosses to it.”

  “Probably safer that way.”

  When they were out of earshot, Yorik asked, “How did you know we bugged your car and weapons?”

  Decker shrugged dismissively.

  “It’s something I would do without hesitation. The car was a no-brainer. I’d want to know where those annoying newcomers from Cimmeria spend the night, and what sweet little nothings they whisper into each other’s ears. Sticking listening devices to our blasters’ power packs wasn’t any more difficult to guess. They’re not immediately visible and can leech off the cells to stay operational for days. Except without a re-transmitter, like the multifunction device you put in our car, they aren’t much use so far from their base unit. Next time, you should send a mobile unit to tail your subjects from a discreet distance.”

  After a moment to digest Decker’s words, Yorik said, “Noted. For a former Marine Corps combat engineer, you seem well versed in surveillance techniques.”

  “Bust your hump for an outfit like the DSA long enough, and you learn all sorts of things.”

  “Yet the DSA isn’t even a year old. How does that compute?”

  “Sherri and I worked for one of its founding organizations on Cimmeria. Don’t ask me which one. We’re not allowed to discuss life before the Alliance.” Decker took a healthy mouthful of coffee and swallowed. “While the brass talk privately, why don’t you show me the MHX brick? Get that done before they ask.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Yorik and the Marine drained their cups and placed them on the serving table. “Gustav stored it in what we call the arms room, a hardened vault two stories below the surface originally meant to be Blanca Cortez’s rabbit hole in case of attack.”

  He led Decker through a gleaming, almost antiseptically clean kitchen, past a charging alcove where housekeeping droids waited in silence and down a bare hallway ending at a door that wouldn’t seem out of place in a starship’s airlock. He laid his palm against a matte gray screen set into the wall hard against the jamb.

  A virtual keyboard appeared before his eyes and he entered a code with fingers dancing too quickly for Decker’s eyes. Hidden mechanical latches fell clear with a muffled sound and the door swung outward, revealing a circular metallic staircase disappearing into the promontory’s living rock.

  The shaft was lit at regular intervals by glow globes attached to the walls. It ended on a landing opposite another armored door twin to the one above. Yorik again placed his hand on a matte gray screen before entering a code on the virtual keyboard. After another set of mechanical sounds, it too swung outward. Beyond lay a long corridor pierced by steel doors set at regular intervals, three to each side.

  “This was, at one time, a fully serviced apartment with space for the Cortez family and supplies to last several weeks. Now, they store items with too much sentimental value for disposal but not enough monetary value to overcome sentiment in that room.” He pointed at the far door on their right. “The three on the left are used for weapons, explosives, and ammunition.”

  “And the other two?”

  An evil smile pulled up the corners of Yorik’s mouth.

  “Prison cells. Down here, no one can hear you scream, and there’s no escape.”

  Decker put on an appreciative expression.

  “Convenient. Do you use them often?”

  “Once or twice in my time as chief of security. People presenting a threat to the Collective, Eva, or Gustav. The MHX is stored in that one.” He pointed at the furthest door on t
he left. “If you’ll follow me.”

  After one last handprint and security code, they entered a chamber almost ten meters square filled with rows of mostly empty metal shelving. The few small crates in evidence bore the markings of mining explosives. Save for one, prominently displayed by itself.

  The size of an ordinary travel bag big enough for toiletries and a change of clothes, the box bore no markings, though Decker hoped the actual brick was still inside the shielded wrapping applied at the time of production. It would bear the name of the manufacturing plant and the ammunition depot that subsequently took possession.

  “Help yourself,” Yorik said, pointing at it.

  Decker picked up the smooth, silver plastic box and quickly found the release with his fingers. It split in half, like a clamshell, exposing a smaller brick inside a black bag nestled among material designed to fool any but the best military-grade sensors into thinking it was only an innocuous carving. He lifted the brick from its cradle and opened one end of the bag so he could glance inside.

  To his relief, he saw the characteristic dull green wrapping common to every explosive compound produced by Armed Services-owned factories. A quick shake and the MHX-19 sat in his open right hand, looking no more deadly than a ration bar. He stared at the manufacture and depot markings, committing them to memory, before peeling back the wrapper at one end, where someone had already done so.

  It was indeed MHX-19, better known as Mayhem. The compound glowed with that peculiar, almost buttery color and felt slick to the touch. He raised the brick to his nose and inhaled. Burned almonds. There could be no doubt this was the genuine article, capable of destroying the entire colonial government precinct in a fraction of a second.

  “Happy?” Yorik asked from the open doorway.

  Decker carefully repackaged the compound and placed the silver box back on its shelf.

  “Ecstatic.” He turned to see a dubious expression on Yorik’s face, one that quickly vanished as he stepped back into the corridor. “I’ll tell Sherri.”

  Once back in the stairwell, Yorik asked, “So that’s it? A look, a touch, a damn sniff? You can tell it’s the DSA’s MHX-19 just like that, without a proper scanner?”