by Hugo Huesca
“Why didn’t you mention the pirates in the first place?”
Because we didn’t tell Jarred to frickin’ improvise?
“Well, we figured you cared more about a business opportunity than one corrupt accountant.”
“Har!” Maizer’s laugh was like hearing a hyena choke on a corn cob. “Har! True indeed. Throw a stone into space and eventually it’ll make its way to a corrupt bureaucrat. You think like a smuggler, boy!”
Jarred muttered something to himself. Sounded like, “I have a PhD, you know.” But no one paid him any mind.
“That’s why we came here to you,” I told him. “Jarred here probably ran his mouth too soon about you, but is it really that bad? We want to do business and we’re trustworthy. Let me show you the cargo so you can check for yourself.”
Maizer looked someplace behind him, then back to me. “It’s true that you’re not being tracked by the Federation, boy. Perhaps I’ll take a look at your cargo after all. Why don’t you and your crew park your ship over here and we all have a beer?”
“We’d be glad to,” I told him. “I hope you have something stronger than the crap this ship serves.”
We cut communication and everyone on my side breathed with relief.
I closed a prompt that announced my Persuasion had gone up another rank, and went to Beard’s side.
“That went well, didn’t it?” asked Jarred, who was eager to please now that he hoped he’d come out alive from this.
“They’re going to kill you as soon as you step out of the ship,” Walpurgis explained.
“No way!”
“Yeah, pretty much,” confirmed Anders. “Smugglers survive because they can keep their hideout a secret. When they realize someone is running their mouth on them…”
“Yeah, they’ll torture you before killing you, guaranteed,” said Joseph. “Seen it a thousand times myself.”
“No! But I did everything you wanted…! You have to protect me!” He was ready to prostrate himself at our feet.
“Aight, have a little dignity,” Beard told him. “We still have some use for you. Go get geared up. Everyone else, you know the drill.”
We did. The drill, at this point, was simple. Land the ship. Get out of the ship. Dissolve a smuggling ring. Throw enough plasma at our problems until they went away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
More like Suggestions, Really
Maizer lowered the shields of only one asteroid compound, a rectangular building the size of a football field. All in all, it was the biggest building of their entire base, so it meant it was the most heavily defended. There were only ten fighters stationed here, and they were at least ten years outdated. My pilot soul was pained to see the state of disrepair some were in, with patchwork armor held together only by cheap industrial sealant.
Ten fighters, so at least ten pilots nearby, not counting the starfighters outside.
As the Lucky Star landed in their hangar, the AI pointed out that at no point had the anti-ship weaponry stopped aiming at us. A paranoid smuggler was a living smuggler.
“Everyone ready?” I asked for the last time. This was the moment of truth.
“Just one more second…” muttered Beard as he tinkered with a tiny piece of equipment. “There you go. Sorry for taking so long, dude.”
He handed me over my freshly repaired personal IFG. I knew of no one else who had enough Engineering skill to repair the advanced equipment in less than ten minutes. “Thanks, Beard.”
I handed the IFG to Mai. “I want it back, lady, so don’t go around taking any risks.”
“I’ll take care of your videogame item, Dorsett,” she said before turning around.
“Good.” I ignored the sarcasm.
The Galadriel AI appeared next to us to announce the landing. “The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little, and it will fail—”
“Shush,” Walpurgis said. The AI shushed.
We exited the Lucky Star. Anders and Jarred were at the front, followed by Joseph. Then Beard and I, and Walpurgis at the end of the line.
The hangar looked nothing like the one at Argus. The Federation built its stations with style and just a bit of grandiloquence. Their hangars looked just like you’d expect a science fiction hangar to look.
Smugglers had built theirs like so: Big metallic strip for take-offs and landings, a shield generator to cover it, then all the essential machinery strewn at the edges of the strip.
If questioned about their poor taste in base building, a normal smuggler would say:
What do you mean “Control Tower?” Sounds expensive. Never heard of it before. If you don’t want to crash with one of our fighters you should fly slower, asshole.
Maizer the Defiler approached us as soon as we were out of the ship. He was surrounded by his own private mercenary group, all of them clad in patchwork power-armor that seemed like it had been looted from a hundred different security companies. Their signs didn’t match, the colors were all wrong, and some of them even had exo-suit parts.
It’s a minor detail to notice, sure, but keep in mind there are some players who won’t equip a more powerful item if it looks uglier than the one they’re using. So, players noted these kind of things.
“Nice to meet y’all in the flesh,” called Maizer. His voice was raspy and suggested a throat burnt by cheap space-moonshine. What’s space-moonshine? Alcohol made using a ship’s recycling machines as a makeshift distiller. The only people that drank it were smugglers and pirates. “I hope you won’t mind my friends here, but it’s a bit strange you guys are all power-armored businessmen.”
“We’re mercs,” I told him. Once again, technical truth is the best kind of truth. “Obviously. Otherwise we wouldn’t have defeated the pirates.”
“Right,” conceded Maizer with a sly smile that conceded nothing. “Nice going, nice going. Where’s the livermorium?”
“We thought you wanted to discuss it over some beers,” said Beard.
The man shrugged. “Ya know how it is. Business before pleasure.”
“Word.” Beard lifted the diamond cylinder with the livermorium ball suspended inside. “A sample. There’s more in the ship. A precaution, you see.”
Since there was no honor among thieves, Maizer wasn’t even faced. He nodded toward one of his mercenary friends and the man slowly clanked over until he reached Beard. He took the cylinder from my friend’s hands and examined it.
“This livermorium alright,” he yelled back in Maizer’s direction.
Rookie mistake, I thought. A pro would use a private channel, as to control all communication. Then again, most of the mercs didn’t even have helmets. Made them look cooler, sure. Not using a helmet made you look like an action hero, the one group with personality among hordes of faceless mooks.
Everyone on our side was wearing a helmet. My visor was lowered, since Persuasion worked better if people could see your face.
These kind of details were noticed by someone’s Perception.
“Glad to hear,” Maizer came back. “I’d have disliked atomizing such a fine group of gentlemen, and lady. How many cases you have with you?”
“More than enough,” Beard was a merchant, so he knew how to make up believable numbers. “Ten cases, ten kilograms per case. We believe the pirates assaulted a science vessel.”
Maizer’s eyebrows went up. “A hundred, eh? That’s something. We probably can’t afford to unburden all that livermorium from yer hands, pal, but I’d very much like to try.” His sly smile got wider.
Ever see a movie where a villain says something with an evil double meaning like, “This is the last time you have to worry about me, Mister Main Character,” then he cackles like a maniac and everyone is none the wiser? Maizer did that.
Beard, Walpurgis, and I exchanged a look. Walpurgis rolled her eyes. “Let’s get this over already, the timer is almost done,” she said through a private communication channel.
“Just a bit longer,” I told her. “
We’re not in position yet.”
Beard spoke like nothing was wrong. “Great. It was very lucky we ran into Jarred, to be honest. No idea what we would’ve done with the shipment otherwise.”
A good merchant would never indicate he had no other way of selling the cargo. I could almost see Maizer taking off a few zeroes from his offer.
Which was the entire point. We wanted him to think he was about to swindle some hopeless party of brutes. A person who thinks his opponents are stupid won’t be expecting any kind of plot from them.
“Yes, what a stroke of luck.” He turned to Jarred, who was trying very hard to be a tree, and failing. “You’re always helping us out, aren’t you, Jarred? You sure as hell deserve your reward, don’t you?”
“First the beer,” said Beard before the NPC had a chance to pee himself. “My men are thirsty.”
“Please, follow us.” Now that he was thinking of all the livermorium he was going to gain, Maizer finally relaxed.
Internally, I was smiling. It was in Mai’s hands now.
Rule one. Never let your enemy know you’re fighting.
We followed the mercenaries and the smuggler leader to his “office.” On the way, I counted at least twenty smugglers. The hangar was the biggest part of the ring, so I assumed there’d be at least ten more men in the other buildings. About sixty people total, plus two to three per starfighter… plus seven mercenaries as guard for Maizer the Defiler… That’s a lot of smugglers.
What kind of asshole names himself the Defiler.
Didn’t matter much when he was about to get killed.
We reached the office, a dirty room behind the only door that required a password to access in the entire hangar.
“Your men will have to stay outside,” Mazer apologized. “I’m afraid there’s not enough space in there for all of us.”
“No offense, man, but your guys are pretty bulky, too,” I told him, even while he was addressing Beard.
“That’s how things are. It’s not like you have something to fear from me, I’m only doing business, right?” he told me. “Tell you what, the girl and Jarred can join us. Women are always scarce in these parts, really.”
“I’m a woman,” objected one of Maizer’s mercs. Another one elbowed her.
“Absolutely. There’s no problem. Stay put, boys, and make no trouble,” I said.
“No trouble at all, sir,” said Anders.
Walpurgis’ smile was shark-like. Maizer’s Perception must’ve failed him, though, because he smiled back at her in his best flirty manner.
The office was barely big enough for the mercenaries and us. There was a table on one side with a computer and a bunch of tissues. Half the mercs stood behind Mazer’s chair, and the other half behind us. The seven of them were carrying laser rifles. I counted two plasma pistols and three blasters. At this distance, the weapons would be lethal in about two to three seconds, even with our end-game armor. Of course, only if they were smart enough to target-fire the same combatant.
Walpurgis quietly marked the four behind us, taking note of their position in our minimaps.
I was silently counting the seconds. Any time now…
“Well, kudos for the great deal,” said Meizer. “Of course, there’s still the talk about price, but I think that’s more or less settled. Har!” He took a case of old beer from a stand of boxes nearby.
“Yes, har,” whispered Beard. He was counting under his breath, too. Any time now…
The smuggler raised a beer can after tossing the case to our edge of the table. Since there were no other chairs, we had to stand.
So, there we were, standing awkwardly with warm, disgusting beers in our hands. Every person in the room pretending to be friendly and non-threatening, but silently getting ready to murder the other group—in case it came to that, of course.
“So, Jarred, pal,” called Maizer while downing his beer, “you sure are a gift, huh? Will you stay with us after the sale, Jarred buddy, old friend? There’s much we have to discuss about the Lion Fang’s finances.”
Just say yes, I thought. Yes, he’s planning to kill you, but it’s not like it’ll matter in a bit.
The accountant was at the end of his wits, though. “I think not,” he said, pale as a sheet. “I’m thinkin’ I’ll go back to Argus and perhaps schedule a vacation on Japeto. Get away from work for a while.”
“That’s too bad, buddy,” said Maizer. “But one or two days here with your Lion Fang pals won’t hurt those vacations. I’ll pay your passage back to the Fed myself. Whaddaya say?”
“I… I’d rather not?”
“Is something wrong, Jarred?” I asked him. Better me doing the questioning than Maizer.
Jarred looked at me like a puppy whose owner had just kicked in the butt. “What? I… uh…”
“I think the pirates must’ve gotten to him,” Beard said. “Ugly business, that one.”
Maizer wasn’t smiling anymore. “Yeah. About those pirates. What were you doing in pirate regions, Jarred? Very unlike you, pal. To be honest, I’d pegged you for a sweet-water coward, forever hidden in the insides of some station or another. Very unlike you.”
“Har?” Jarred proposed weakly.
We all smiled at each other like the joke was very funny. Internally, I was screaming at myself and trying real hard not to go for my blaster. Beard was tugging at his beard, a normal habit of his when he was nervous. Jarred had begun crying. Walpurgis finished her beer.
“Don’t know, Jarred… my good, old friend Jarred. What’s the name of those pirates of yours?”
“I didn’t—I didn’t catch their name…”
“Why does it matter—?” I began, but Maizer raised a hand to silence me. He was totally focused on Jarred. Except for his hands, which were under the table all of a sudden, his can of beer forgotten half-empty in the middle of the table.
“What was the name of the ship you were in when they captured you?”
“Eh… Um…”
The artificial lights flickered. Someone outside screamed. Maizer’s eyes flicked for half a second in the door’s direction.
This all happened in the five seconds that followed. Walpurgis and Beard turned back and killed the four mercs behind us. Four shots total to their unarmored heads, at a distance that they couldn’t miss. Jarred jumped to the floor—which saved his life. I unholstered my blaster, aimed it point blank at Maizer’s head and killed a merc standing behind him while utterly missing the leader. The remaining two mercs shot me with a full-auto burst of laser fire. One of those shots hit me on the side of the head. It didn’t kill me, because I was wearing a shielded helmet.
My shields evaporated. I overturned the table and jumped into cover before the laser fire had a chance of melting my armor. I landed next to Jarred, who had already soiled himself.
Walpurgis and Beard were already crouching in separate corners of the rooms. They shot at the mercs. The mercs shot back. I shot at the mercs. Maizer shot at me. Someone killed him at some point.
There was a lot of noise, a lot of smoke from evaporated walls and tables, a lot of molten metal scorching armors, and a lot of screaming.
End of the five seconds. The door opened. Anders and Joseph shot the last remaining merc until it was a charred mess.
Beard and Walpurgis’ shields weren’t lower than 50%. Rule number two, done.
“OhmyGod—” I heard Jarred scream over and over. “OhmyGod—please get me out of this, I’ll be good, I’ll never break a single law again, I’ll be a model citizen—”
“Shush,” Walpurgis told him. He shushed, but kept sobbing quietly. Then she turned to Anders and Joseph. “What took you guys so long? A second later and Cole may have bit the dust.”
“I think I did fine,” I told her as my shields slowly regenerated. I could hear my armor’s power core complaining because of the added stress of having to start from zero. A couple more close calls like that one and the core would blow out.
“It’s not about doing
fine, Rune doesn’t really have a Tank class,” she told me.
“We had to deal with two smugglers who heard the commotion,” explained Anders as we left the office with Beard carrying Jarred, who wasn’t in any condition to run.
The accountant wasn’t wearing armor during the fight, so I could see patches of his arms and legs where the molten metal had burnt skin, muscle, and bone. Thankfully, the man hadn’t realized his condition yet, otherwise he’d be screaming much harder.
There were two smugglers a few feet away from the office, torn to shreds by plasma. As we ran past them, the lights went off, this time for real, and a second later gravity followed. The bodies drifted to the middle of the building. Someplace behind me, Beard quickly put an emergency breathing mask on the accountant’s face (let’s worry about exposure to vacuum in the medbay). We had promised the man we wouldn’t kill him, and while there wasn’t a visible Karma metric in the game, it would feel wrong to just leave him to die.
“Magnetize boots, people!” I exclaimed as my own boots glued themselves to the ground with a loud clanking. It was followed shortly after by four other pairs of heavy footwear smashing against the floor.
We ran like a Robocop knockoff towards the Lucky Star. At all times we kept our weapons at the ready. All the remaining smugglers we came across hadn’t been using self-pressurizing suits, so as soon as gravity went off, they had been either sucked into space or had suffocated.
Which left all the fighters useless in their spots at the hangar, held in place only by straps and chains.
I saw a man fight to breathe in space while his face became a disgusting shade of purple. He was stumbling across the ceiling at the end of the hangar. No idea how he had avoided getting spaced in the first place, but someone in my crew put him out of his misery with a well-placed plasma shot.
We reached the Lucky Star less than a minute after we had killed the mercenaries and Maizer the Defiler. The doors were already open and the landing strip lowered. We boarded as fast as our magnetized extremities left us.
