by J. N. Chaney
It made sense and I chided myself for not thinking of it.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded and started circling again, trying to do what he’d told me.
“Let’s start with a handicap,” Dorian suggested. “I’ll give you an opening for a head strike. You anticipate the next few steps.”
This time, I played the sequence out in my head. Me going for the strike, him blocking it and retaliating with a punishing cross right to avoid using his injured left arm. It clicked then and I smiled as the rest of the scene unfolded in my mind.
As promised, he dropped his guard and I moved in. As I’d predicted, he blocked the punch and brought his right fist around to counter. I shoved my left arm up, deflecting the blow, then crouched and delivered a rib shot that had him grunting. Instead of stumbling back, disoriented, as I’d envisioned, he tightened his core and absorbed the hit.
Taking advantage of my surprise, he brought a knee up and connected with my jaw. I staggered back and Dorian kicked my diaphragm hard enough that I fell on my rear. No serious damage, but my pride certainly hurt.
I took his offered hand and stood up, gasping. “Guess that was a bust.”
“Not at all,” he contradicted. His expression read as approval and that made me feel a little better. “You took my advice and that’s more than some who think they know it all. You’ll learn. And boy, they better watch out once you do.”
Dorian’s muscles tightened ever so slightly, and I leaned back just in time to dodge the incoming fist. Next, he sidestepped to the right, but I anticipated the feint. In my mind’s eye, I saw him pivot and attack from the left. If I moved in the direction he was pushing me, I could expect a blow to land squarely on my cheek. To counteract this, I would block with one arm … no that wasn’t right. If I did that, he’d just counter with the opposite hand. But if I blocked the first then waited until he came at me with the other fist, I could block that as well and disrupt his momentum. Then I could use my own momentum to bring one elbow up and connect with his jaw.
It played out perfectly, until I attempted the elbow strike. He leaned back and I missed completely. I’d been so confident that all the power behind it threw me off balance and he swept my feet out from under me.
“Much better,” he said with a big grin. “The other lesson there is that you may not have time to study and anticipate. In those moments, you’ll have to make split-second decisions. Added to that, your opponent may not react as you thought they would.”
“This is fast becoming apparent,” I grumbled, feeling somewhat deflated.
“Hey, chin up, Al. You’re not bad. Good enough to take out a couple drunks in a bar, at least.” He winked knowingly.
So, the Vetus had seen the fight. “I’ll strive to improve,” I promised, humbled. “It would help if I weren’t so skinny.”
Dorian moved to a closet and grabbed a couple towels, then threw me one.
“Alphonse, you can’t think of your size as a limitation. A blow in the right place will still do damage. You need to concentrate on your intent. You already know how this works in macro. You hit the defenses of a building at their weakest point. You circumvent systems. You take the shortest paths in and out.”
I nodded and wiped sweat from my brow. “Military training is just espionage with different wording.”
He gave me his cocky smirk. “Kid, it’s the reason they pair us like this. Wetwork--or assassinations, if we’re being blunt--happens when a carefully imagined plan gets executed by people with instinct and determination. If you’re going to be an effective Constable, you learn to do both.”
“I have some ideas on that,” I announced, switching gears. “The casino is going to be a hard target. I put together some rough ideas by cross referencing some old files from the archives. We need to establish ourselves to Velio and any of the other cutouts Evelyn is using to screen the buyers. I have no illusions that she won’t see me coming. However, I think she will toy with me rather than stop me outright.”
Dorian considered the information carefully. “Official records, if she could even get her hands on those, show you escaping while being transferred from Meridian to a black site. I doubt she would imagine you were recruited and have been in training. Shaw said as much.”
“I think we’re going to need to get a few locals into the mix to make it look like we have more support and a larger plan. We want her to feel as powerful as possible.”
Dorian cleared the table. “If we even get that far. First, we have to deal with this pre-buy meet. Best you hit your bunk and ice up. We’ve got work to do.”
9
Over the next day we focused on strategizing for the upcoming auction. Our plan included contingencies for possible issues we might run into and backup plans for the contingencies. Then, when we’d finished, I ran through it with Dorian again, looking for holes and weaknesses.
After some time, it all started to get a little fuzzy, and Dorian proposed a sparring match so I could practice anticipating our bouts.
“Yeah, Al, that’s it! Way to use that big brain of yours,” he said from his position on the mat.
I’d finally succeeded in countering all his advances, and after throwing him to the ground, I leaned forward to help him up. His eyes glinted with mischief and I saw he meant to pull me down. I spun around and put his arm in a lock, then released quickly so as not to strain anything. Any injury at this point would only spell trouble later.
Dorian scrambled to his feet and smoothed out his clothes. “Great job, Malloy. Seriously. You picked that up way faster than I thought you would. Go ahead and smile, you’ve earned a pat on the back.”
In an effort to be humble I tried to be stoic but couldn’t suppress the grin at his urging. It felt damn good too.
“Captain Tribal, we are nearing the final SG point that will take us to Din,” announced the ship’s A.I in a flat, robotic tone. “ETA forty-five minutes.”
“Good way to end the day,” declared Dorian in a cheerful voice. “Get cleaned up and meet on the bridge in thirty.”
I nodded and tossed the towel I’d been using into the laundry bin. “Dorian, thanks for all your help.”
He lifted a shoulder and smiled. “Don’t even worry about it. That’s my job as your Vetus and fellow Constable. I’m sure you’ve heard it a million times. We’re only as good as our weakest link. Only good can come from you getting better.”
“Still, I appreciate it. See you on the bridge.”
I turned to leave but Dorian spoke again. “That’s not the only reason I’m working with you. I know you feel guilty about before and you’re trying to atone. Not a lot of people would have taken the deal and changed their life around. You did and that says a lot about your character. Alphonse Malloy, you’re okay in my mind.”
I wanted to thank him, but the words stuck in my throat, so I simply inclined my head and shuffled off.
Three hours later we were burning toward Din, a tiny prick of light in the endless black. When we got close enough for their sensors to detect us, the navigation console lit up with a dozen warning vectors and red zones.
Dorian slowed the ship and drifted into a wide arc. “Din is the most populated planet on this side of the Deadlands. It operates as a trading hub for many of the deeper operatives of the Deadlands. They have a small but effective fleet doing patrol sweeps. Mostly, they protect the red zones, places where resources mined or refined on-planet are shot into orbit to be gathered and then loaded onto bulk freighters, which will haul them to places like Taurus Station to transport to the core worlds.”
I indicated a safe vector and sent a transponder code requesting planetary approach. “That seems like a lot of fuel and energy to travel slowly instead of putting in a dedicated slipspace pathway.”
Dorian followed the trail I projected into his monitor. “Sure, but this gives the Union a few advantages. One, it keeps radicals and fringe elements safely away from the transport stations. They can see attack forc
es mounting from a lot further off. It also lets them spin their corona of protection. Why be a part of the Deadlands, the rim, or the fringe, when you could be a core world? The more planets and systems that join, the stronger and wider the core becomes.”
“It also gives the independence seekers something to strive for. It’s boring to be a part of the safe and tame and regulated core worlds when you can seek your fortune in the outlaw badlands.”
“Right. For criminals and those wanting to make a few quick credits, Celtan has a lot to offer. Besides the casinos there’s a thriving red-light district and black market,” I recalled from the data.
A ship no bigger than the MikroTrek sailed into a guard position above us. They started a passive scan that turned invasive after the initial pulse. “Looks like they aren’t playing by regulations.”
Dorian flipped a switch, activating a low power stealth field to interfere with the scan in key places around our engines and power conduits. “It’s their own personal defense fleet. They’re just sniffing us to see which kind of bad news we are. It’s important we look like the useful kind.”
I nodded. “Track along this new vector, it will bypass a second scanning satellite in our immediate path.”
Dorian did as I indicated. “Nice touch. Makes us look more sophisticated. Better pay in that.”
The guard ship finished its scan and peeled off. New vectors turned green as we entered low orbit. I locked a shallow pass vector that would loop us through several thousand kilometers in a slow spiral ending in Celtan. “Course set, boss.”
The ship bounced and lurched as we hit Din’s upper ionosphere. The consoles blipped off and on. The engines burned brighter and then shifted as they cut out and started up again.
I checked our heading. “Reentry clear, still on vector.”
Dorian throttled forward and we began to glide over the irregular surface of the planet. “Din, population 6.5 million,” announced the computer. “Of that, two million are located in the immediate vicinity of Celtan. 1.1 gravity, so please be mindful of your joints. Enjoy a 26.3-hour day with a partial dip out of the habitable zone. Atmosphere holds through the dark phase, and overall planet temperature is quite pleasant.”
I was already well aware of this information, having read about Din the moment we hit the ship after receiving our mission.
“Scans are picking up lots of dark areas. Shielding or interference?” inquired Dorian.
“A little of both,” I answered. “More legitimate concerns are obviously employing shielding to keep them from being targets. The less legitimate are jamming scans so they can maintain hidden work camps and bunkers. You go a few miles out of the city, and you can be certain to have a weapon pointed at you from a hundred hidden places.”
“What am I seeing down there?” I indicated some obvious structures and some irregularly shaped geological formations.
“The buildings are refineries and mines. That clump of small rectangles would be one of Velio’s roughneck parks. A string of small, sturdy, but not reinforced structures was formed around a hover tram station. You can see the route here. That will terminate closer to the city and his carnival of ways for workers to lose their money.”
He throttled up again and cut a section of the vector. “I had an unpleasant experience near here with an anti-air cannon. Never did figure out what it was about. It’s best to keep clear.”
I checked the vector and inserted notes. “There. Next time you come here, it won’t even plot this far out.”
He laughed. “If you want to do it the easy way. No sense of adventure there. Anyway, the geology here has some instability. Another group of people you will catch limping into the Deadlands are archeologists and ruin hunters. A lot of artifacts get found out there. Makes me think there is some truth to the rumors about Din’s orbital position.”
I recalled the files from the Red Tower archive. Some planets with oddly elliptical or otherwise unprecedented orbits were thought to have been moved intentionally by some race in the distant past. One particular hypothesis suggested such worlds were possessed of a basic volition. A type of consciousness that allowed them to perceive the universe like a thinking agent.
“Final arc and then we head for a berth outside of Celtan’s southwest corridor.”
“Any reason you chose that as our landing zone?”
Dorian smirked. “Let’s just say it has better parking.”
The better parking that Dorian had referred to turned out to be a personal port that was courtesy of Oliver Trinidad. With the codes and coordinates he’d supplied, we breezed through the security protocols and were directed to the private landing strip.
Dorian set the ship down after nearly scraping an energy cell off the port side and chuckled. “It’s a bit tighter in here than I’d like. Do you think the ship’s put on weight?”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe the pilot is just getting old.”
“Haha, Malloy, you’re a damn riot. Let’s go.”
Unlike the stop at Taurus Station, this was going to be a longer stay. We packed our clothing accordingly, at least I did, and loaded the kit box with supplies from the armory. Not wanting to leave anything on the ship that would reveal our true intentions, Dorian made the ship’s computer inaccessible to any who might enter. The Union had provided a piece of tech that would render the AI inoperable and dump the computer’s memory if the failsafe was tripped.
After the MikroTrek had been sufficiently secured, Dorian directed a tech to get our gear onto a land hover transport. We drove in silence for thirty minutes, after which he pulled onto a side road.
“Gotta take a leak,” he said easily, slanting me a look.
“Hurry up, will ya? I have to go too,” I said with a touch of dramatic impatience as we both got out.
He’d explained beforehand that prior to speaking, the car should be swept for listening devices or spyware. This had been taught at the Red Tower as standard operating procedure and I observed diligently as he went through the motions of scanning the land vehicle.
It didn’t take long to find the first, a tiny device disguised as a decoration in the driver side headrest. A check of the passenger side yielded its twin. By the time we’d resumed our travel, seven pieces of spyware had been found and left on the side of the road.
It took another hour of driving before the city of Celtan became visible, its tallest of the buildings appearing to scrape at the pale blue sky above.
The city began as such cities do, with the outskirts being ever cheaper housing tossed up in larger and larger blocks of cloned floor plans. It wasn’t too different from the arrangement of the Union worlds. As we pressed in from the rim to the fringes, the buildings got bigger, some older and others more modern. After that, we entered another section of the city, its original structures all torn out and refashioned—the historical district, the system called it. Beyond that, towers and sprawling commercial centers occupied the heart of the city, its busy streets and intersections overrun with pedestrians and traffic.
If I’d thought the terrace at the Red Tower and Taurus station had been frenetic, Celtan was on a whole new level. The place pulsed with energy as people rushed to and from their obligations, barely bothering to look at one another.
Dorian maneuvered the transport up to a stark white edifice of a hotel with a large awning, black against the opulent synthetic marble. Shiny laminate decorated the visible window spaces and a gold revolving door manned by a pair of white gloved attendants marked the entrance. Curling holo letters on the awning read: The Prime Lady.
One of the doormen rushed to open the door of our posh vehicle. I noticed a slight change in the man’s demeanor when we stepped out, one that I read as disapproval. Thanks to my Constable training, I no longer had to rely on my gut to interpret micro expressions. The doorman’s facial features had raised ever so slightly. The wrinkling around the nose and way he showed his teeth read clearly as disgust. He didn’t want us to be here. A well-practiced smile r
eplaced the negative look an instant later and the attendant moved to help with our things.
Din’s weather stayed warm and arid throughout its orbit and today was no exception. The heat was almost oppressive coming at me like a cocoon of dry dust. It didn’t surprise me as I’d learned from my study that deserts and plateaus made up much of the planet.
The door slid open automatically and allowed us to enter before carrying us inside to the massive lobby. Just as grand as the outside, it spoke of wealth and privilege. I caught our reflection in one of the mirrored walls and the attendant’s initial aversion made sense.
We looked like street urchins in comparison to the other patrons. So much for blending.
I followed Dorian, who seemed either oblivious or simply didn’t care, to the concierge, while I studied the room’s occupants. Nobody looked nervous or suspicious and I counted at least thirty bodies in the room. I heard the host tell my partner that our rooms were still being readied and for us to relax anywhere we liked. The Constable opted for a standing position near the back of the room. A strategic choice that offered a clear view of the exit and most of the lobby.
It was on my second sweep of the space that I noticed the woman. The fancy black dress she wore fit like a glove and the only jewelry I noted was a simple necklace with a pendant bearing a shield. Rich brunette hair cascaded down to her waist and I could just make out the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks.
She stood at the far end of the room, her gaze sliding from person to person. When it landed on me, her brows arched up and she locked ice blue eyes with mine before she moved on. I couldn’t be sure from this distance, but she looked nervous.
Odd, I thought. Maybe I should—
“Your rooms are ready, sir.” The host had reappeared, and I pushed off the wall.
