Galaxy Run: Azken

by Sam Renner

  Nixon pulls out his reader. He taps a finger on the address his mysterious Tychon friend sent earlier. A moment later a map appears in front of him. An indicator blinks blocks and blocks away. Nixon studies the location and the rest of the map for a moment then puts the reader back in the pocket of his cloak. He walks.

  The street is mostly empty and quiet except for the banners that pop in the night breeze. It also blows through Nixon’s hair and he pulls the hood of his cloak up to keep out of the cold. His stomach grumbles, and he reminds himself that he needs to at least eat something before they head out for the meeting in the morning.

  There he is again: Shaine. Nixon can hear him. He can see him. He’s stepping into Nixon’s little hole back on Exte, bent at the waist because the low roof means he can’t stand up straight. He’s carrying a paper cup and a spoon. He hands both to Nixon and tells him to eat.

  “I don’t need you distracted by a growling stomach.”

  Nixon would pop the lid off the cup and eat whatever was inside without any kind of hesitation. It was likely the first real meal he’d had that week. He didn’t care what it was as long as it was thick and warm, and it usually was. He’d crush the cup in his fist when he was finished and they’d head out. Shaine would remind him of all the things the plan needed him to do that day.

  Shaine never needed to eat, but he always made feeding Nixon part of the plan, because success was paramount. For Shaine, it was the plan above everything. Everything in service to the plan.

  Nixon got it then. He doesn’t now. Not since he’s in charge. His team is admittedly smaller, but all of them coming out of this alive and ready to fight again means more to him than anything. Yes, he wants them to also come out of this with each of them five thousand credits richer, but that was a bonus to coming out of it at all.

  He stops and pulls his reader back out. He looks around to orient himself then starts walking again. He’s only a few blocks away from tomorrow’s destination now and, even though the real thing won’t happen for hours still, the little flutters in his stomach have already started. It’s the rush of excitement that proceeds running a scheme.

  This part of Azken doesn’t look all that different from where his walk started. The buildings all look like they’ve been popped out of the same mold. They are wide and tall, their tops disappearing into the dark night sky. Lights shine through random windows, blinking on and off like bubbles popping. Almost all of the doorways are dark now. Those occasional shops don’t operate over here. Also, Tychon’s presence is much less subtle now. Those small black circles are bigger, displayed proudly over every door. This is clearly a Tychon neighborhood.

  Nixon checks his reader again and turns left at the next corner. This street is narrower than those he’s just walked. The buildings on either side are just as tall, and, in the dark, Nixon can feel their looming presence. The indicator blinks on his reader, and he keeps walking toward it.

  The street opens up to a wide landing that’s about half a block wide. A set of three steps lead up to a wide flat space. A bit further back the space narrows to three more more steps and another flat space. Then a bit further back the space narrows again to three more steps that lead to a bank of eight doors that lead inside one of Azken’s biggest buildings. It’s glass all the way up, and about 20 feet above these doors is a bisected T logo that’s a story high and a story wide. His meeting is happening on Tychon’s front porch.

  He looks left. He looks right. Up and down both sides of the road, and there’s nothing there. There are no doorways. There are no streets that connect somewhere in the middle of the block. It’s just flat building front all the way down. There’s no place to hide. There’s no place to run to if things go south. He doesn’t imagine that’s by accident.

  Running was always his fallback. Did something go wrong? Run. Did someone seem to get suspicious? Run. Did the whole plan collapse in the middle of the execution? Run. There’s no running here if he thinks it’s going poorly because there’s no place to hide.

  So don’t let it go wrong.

  He takes one more look around, takes a mental picture, then begins his walk back to EHL.

  Laana is waiting for him when the ramp opens. She’s still sitting in the navigator’s chair but stands up when he steps on board.

  “I don’t like your plan,” she says.

  “I don’t like it much right now either,” he says. “But we’re sticking with it.”

  “What do you mean you don’t like it?” she asks following him down the hall to the galley.

  Nixon opens the cabinets. He pulls out two bowls and a pair of grain packets. He stirs water into them and places them in the heater. While he does all of this he describes what he found.

  “We are meeting right out front of Tychon headquarters. Literally on the steps that lead up to the front door. And that’s not ideal, but whatever. I can work with that. What worries me more is across the street.”

  “What’s across the street?”

  “Nothing,” Nixon says. “I mean, it’s a building a block long. But there are no doorways into this building. There are no planters. There’s no kind of decoration. It’s just smooth wall from one end of the block to the other.”

  “That’s not good.”

  The heater chimes, and Nixon pulls out the two bowls of grain. He keeps one and hands the second bowl to Laana. He sits at the table.

  “Eat that,” he tells her as she sits across from him. “I don’t need you distracted by an empty stomach tomorrow. We’ll have another bowl before things get started.”

  “About tomorrow.”

  “And the plan you don’t like?”

  “You aren’t using me,” she says around a bite of mush from the bowl.

  “I am.”

  “Not well. You have me waiting here.”

  “I have you flying us out of here. You’re handling the getaway. I’ve given you arguably the most important job.”

  “Only if you succeed is my job important. If they kill you on those steps then I’m just a girl in someone else’s ship.”

  Nixon chokes down a bite of the bland grains. “You think they’re going to kill me?”

  “I hope they don’t, but is it possible? Yes. Is it probable?”

  Nixon waits, but she doesn’t answer.

  “You think I’m probably going to die?”

  She shrugs.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She shoves a half-eaten bowl of grains to the middle of the table. “I understand the need to eat, but if you want me to finish a meal in the morning then you need to give me something better than that.”

  Nixon pushes his partially eaten bowl to the middle of the table too and Laana picks up the conversation.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have confidence you could pull it off. But I’ve known too many others who were caught off guard by something unforeseen. So, yes, there’s a chance that you don’t come back tomorrow. I just want to be able to help you increase your odds, and I can’t do that from this ship.”

  Nixon leans back in the stool and thinks about her argument.

  “No,” he says after a moment. “I want you here. I need you here. I need EHL ready to jump to deep space as soon as the exchange is done. That’s the only way this works, and if you’re out there with me then there’s too many steps that need to happen before we can leave.”

  Nixon takes the bowls from the table. He empties their contents into a compactor and drops them empty into the sink.

  “I do appreciate the argument. And you make a good point. But I want you here.”

  Laana lets out a long breath and slips lower into her seat.

  “Don’t pout,” Nixon tells her. “It’s my decision, and that’s the one I’ve made. Now get to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

  “For you,” she says.

  12

  Nixon doesn’t need the blinking indicator on his reader’s screen, but he has it out anyway. Aldius is glancing at it ever
y dozen feet, and Nixon figures he needs to keep the big guy as comfortable as possible.

  The streets are crowded, just like they were yesterday, but everything feels … more. The people seem more amped up. The conversations happening all around them feel louder. The blasts of the movers’ horns echo longer. The lights above each of the doors are brighter, their colors more intense. Nixon pulls a hand inside of his cloak and presses it to his chest. His heart is pounding hard. He can feel its power through bone and tissue and skin.

  These aren’t nerves. This is anticipation. He’s ready. All of this—Exte, Umel, Ibilia, Makurra—all of this that’s happened has been pushing him here to this moment. To this now, and he’s ready. He has his plan. He has confidence in it. And, if nothing else, everything that’s happened since he picked up this stupid case has taught him that he needs to have confidence in himself. He’s a scrambler. He’s a fighter. He’s a survivor. Even if something happens and he has to scrap his plan, he’ll fight his way to safety somehow.

  Aldius glances over to Nixon’s reader one more time, and Nixon clears the screen. He puts the device back in the pocket inside his cloak.

  He points to the corner they are approaching. He tells Aldius they’re turning right once they get there, but he’s surprised that Aldius can hear him at all. His breathing is quick, and it’s shallow.

  “You OK?” Nixon asks. “We need to loop the block to give you a moment to gather yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re about to make yourself sick. You need to take a few deep breaths and calm down. I need you able to focus.”

  The pair stops at the corner. Traffic rushes by them on the street. A mover blows its horn and Aldius jumps.

  Traffic clears, and Nixon crosses the street. Aldius follows saying, “I thought we were turning there.”

  “Not right now.”

  Nixon slows his pace, and Aldius matches it.

  “If you need to beg off this that’s fine.”

  “I’m fine,” Aldius says. “I promise.”

  “Seriously, I’ll pay you your cut. No hard feelings. The case you made is more than enough to earn you your share.”

  Nixon stops in front of a bench and sits. Aldius joins him, his breathing slower now but only slightly.

  “Quit.” The word comes out short and clipped. “I’m fine. I’m just mostly a behind-the-scenes guy, so I’m not as used to this kind of work as you are.”

  “Take a second then let’s go.”

  Aldius rests his elbows on his knees and bends deep at the waist, his broad back exposed. He’s nearly sweat through his shirt.

  Nixon stands and gives Aldius a moment. That’s when Nixon looks up and realizes where they’ve stopped. A few dozen feet ahead is an entryway, a bank of at least ten doors. And above those doors hangs a bisected Tychon T that’s twice the size of the one just a block over. Behind it is a blue glow, and below it are the words “Shop Tychon.” This is a Tychon storefront, and it’s a block long.

  This makes it even more curious that there are no doors in and out on the back. There’s no way to move new product in and out through the rear of the store.

  A few moments later Aldius stands and lets out a long breath. “OK,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  ++xxx++

  Both Nixon and Aldius stop before heading down the street that will lead them to Tychon’s entrance. Nixon looks to his left and that flat, blank wall.

  This place isn’t like it was last night. Then, it was empty. Today, it’s filled with workers. Some are guiding float carts piled with boxes out of Tychon headquarters. Others are hurrying down the sidewalk with bundles of documents tucked under their arms. All of them, Nixon assumes, making a life by working for Tychon. For some reason Nixon had pictured this swap happening with no one else around. Just him and a Tychon agent. And Aldius now. All of them alone, voices echoing down the street, the shadows making everything feel dark and ominous.

  Nixon looks to Aldius, and Aldius gives him a nod. Nixon takes the first step down the street. This walk didn’t feel as long last night, but today it looks like it will take forever. All of those feelings of anticipation that felt so intense earlier are double that now. Triple. His heart is so loud in his ears that he can barely hear any of the people around him. Light from both of the suns seems to wash everything out.

  He has both hands pulled into his cloak. One is squeezing the handle of his blaster so tight a small part of him expects the whole thing to snap in half. The other is holding the case Aldius made, and he isn’t certain that when he pulls it out to pass it across the case won’t be crushed into something unrecognizable.

  He’s watching the steps in front of them. It’s all motion, people moving in and out of the Tychon building, but he’s looking for someone waiting, standing still. But there’s no one.

  He looks to Aldius. The big man seems better. Not that it matters at this point. They are committed. Can’t turn back, and he’s not going to let them just keep walking past the steps. If no one comes out, then he’s going to go in. He’s pulling this off, and he’s doing it today. He’s not wasting all of this work and a full day’s anticipation.

  Then he sees it. Someone comes to the steps and stops. They are waiting. As they get closer he sees it’s a woman. A human woman. She’s looking down one side of the street then down the other. It doesn’t take her long to spot the mismatched pair. Nixon hadn’t considered how much they’d stand out. He’s tall and thin and wearing an oversized cloak. He’s walking next to an orange-skinned something even taller than he is and wider than a door. They look nothing like the workers around them who are all in jumpsuits or put-together workwear.

  She begins to come down the steps and right toward them.

  She smiles. It’s not a welcoming smile. It’s not one of warmth. It’s one of obligation. It’s her attempt to start this process on a friendly note.

  “Gentlemen,” she says once she’s close enough. “I believe you have a case of mine.”

  “We do,” Nixon says.

  The woman has stopped short. She’s keeping distance between them. It’s at least an arms length from Aldius. It’s more from Nixon.

  They are on the sidewalk. Workers keep walking past, unfazed. Across from them is the smooth wall of the Tychon storefront.

  “You got here just under the wire,” the woman says. “That forty-five day clock was really starting to tick pretty loudly.”

  Nixon had forgotten about the deadline. Shaine had mentioned it, but forty five days seemed to be impossibly far off when that conversation happened. Then, with how that exchange ended, things like deadlines all fell away. He just wanted to get this case delivered.

  “Now,” she says, “which one of you is Shaine?”

  Nixon can feel Aldius giving him a look then says: “I am.”

  “Well, Mr. Shaine, can I see the case?”

  Nixon pulls the case from his cloak and begins to hand it across to the woman then hesitates. He pulls it back.

  “First,” he says, “we had a deal. Fifteen thousand credits for the safe delivery of the case. I want half of that now.”

  The woman considers then agrees. She pulls a reader from a pocket. She navigates through a few screens then puts the reader away. Nixon feels his own reader vibrate a notification that the credits have been transferred.

  “Thank you,” he says and pulls Aldius’ case out from inside his cloak. He hands it to the woman then pulls his hand back inside of his cloak.

  She runs her fingers across the grooves. She plays a thumb across the locking mechanism. She enters the code that unlocks the box, inserting a set of pins that she’d also been carrying in her pocket. She opens the case, and, even in the direct light of the Azken suns, her face takes on a green tint.

  She smiles. “You know, you were right, Mr. Aldius. You do very nice work.”

  13

  Nixon turns to Aldius. A million thoughts start to align.

  “How much of this was f
ake?”

  Aldius considers the question.

  “Depends. The case was fake for sure.”

  “You know what I mean. Were you burned on Otanzia?”

  “That was true. Like you all said, running through the halls carrying a wailing case tends to attract some attention.”

  Nixon begins to walk a tight circle. Head down. Thinking.

  “But I don’t … we told you to come with us.”

  “And I told you that I had a nice set up there. I’ve done all of this.” He swings his arm in a wide circle. “I’ve drawn blasters and run scams, splitting a paltry amount of credits between too many players. I’m done with it. I have been for a long time. And on Otanzia I had a place where I wasn’t asked a lot of questions. I could live my simple, small life.”