by S F Chapman
“I think she’s next door at the bar.”
Lev pointed with alarm at an approaching group of boisterous miners.
Four burly locals crowded around the table with plates piled high with food.
An especially hefty fellow scowled at Ryo, “You two from Free City?”
“Yeah, but we haven’t been there for months.”
The big man softened a bit, “So you missed that friggin’ sneak attack on EurAfrica?”
“Fortunately, we were doing endurance testing on a new ship in the Belt when it happened.”
The group of miners looked much more empathetic now.
“I have a cousin from Arusha,” a scruffy old miner volunteered, “luckily she was in Nairobi on business when it happened.”
“I heard from a friend,” Ryo added, “that everyone there is worried that they’ll be next if Dimitri Verhovnyi doesn’t get his way.”
“Most of my relatives were wiped out long ago in the war,” a young man interjected, “I don’t want anything like that to happen again.”
“For once I’m glad that nobody knows that we are here on Lutetia,” the lanky man at the far end of the table voiced what was probably the sentiments of most of the residents of the mining facility.
The others reluctantly agreed.
“How’s it been here since the blast?” the Investigator fished around for information.
“Production in the mine is way up,” the big man groused. “Nobody can figure out if it’s just to keep us busy or if the mine owners are stockpiling ore to take advantage of any spike in metal prices due to war.”
“Some of the new guys wanna storm the Palace on Titan and kill that friggin’ bastard,” the young workman growled.
The older miners chuckled at the rough and ready novice.
“When they sent us out to the Belt,” Lev said warily, “they warned us about pirates. Is there any of that stuff going on around here?”
“No,” the scruffy old man said, “they pretty much stay away from Lutetia. I guess the goons in the Mining Guild scare them off.”
Ryo pushed the littered plate aside, he’d finished as much of the atrocious meal as he could endure. “It’s been nice to meet you gentlemen, but sadly we have to get back to work ourselves.”
• • •
They spotted Keira a few minutes later chit-chatting with a fawning group of roustabouts in a gloomy bar ironically called the Parisian.
As they slipped into a nearby booth, Ryo noticed Lev staring jealously at the flirtatious crowd of drunken men.
After several minutes of giggly interplay with the laborers, Keira pointed to the booth and strolled over.
“Who are those guys?” Ryo asked Keira.
“Most of them independently mine the surrounding asteroids.” She shook her head sympathetically, “They tell me that it’s brutal work.”
Several of the inebriated workers waved to Keira from across the room. Lev frowned at the attention that the woman elicited from the motley men.
Ryo glanced at the group, “Since you were trained as a liaison to the locals, see what you can find out about our fugitives.”
Keira smiled pleasantly at the old Investigator before rejoining the workmen.
“We’ve only have about a half a day left before we have to resume the search,” Ryo mentioned to Lev as his sidekick grimly watched over the woman.
The young man rubbed his head in exacerbation, “Yeah.”
“When we’re all locked up in the Seiran again,” the old Investigator warned his unhappy colleague, “I want you to really work at getting along with her.”
Lev stared miserably at his mentor.
“Remember that we’re not at the Free City University Student Union here where you can hop in and out of bed with no great consequences. When the time comes, the three of us must work together flawlessly or we could well perish as squabbling fools.”
Keira returned to the booth with her arm wrapped around a roughhewn youngster who looked barely fifteen.
“Go ahead, Benny,” she coaxed the teenager, “tell my boss about what you spotted the other day.”
The wide-eyed newcomer studied Ryo before beginning, “I was heading back here yesterday from Rock 853111, which is a dinky asteroid about four days away that my brothers and I are secretly mining.”
The kid cautiously scanned the surrounding patrons for eavesdroppers before continuing, “I gotta be really careful when I bring in a load of ore so that the Mining Guild doesn’t find out what we’re doing.”
Ryo nodded reassuringly at the implied subterfuge.
Keira stroked the teen’s hand to fortify his waning confidence.
“I had the wide sweep radar set on ‘high’ and I picked up something lurking way off in the distance. I thought it might be a Guild Interceptor.”
Lev tipped his head in interest at the tidbit, “What was it?”
“I couldn’t see anything, so I finally used the telescope. Even then, I could barely make it out.”
“Tell them what you think it was, Benny,” Keira prompted.
“I’m pretty sure that it was that big tanker that got hijacked awhile ago in the Outer Reaches.”
“The Xenon Lightning?” Ryo asked skeptically.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Was it adrift?” Lev inquired.
The youngster shook his head.
“Interesting; why would a particularly valuable commandeered gas transport be out here?” Ryo wondered.
Keira kissed the kid’s cheek in appreciation, “See Benny; I told you that they’d like your story.”
29. The risky ruse It had taken hours and no small amount of luck for Lieutenant Zmuda to finally ‘lock’ the stealthy vessel into an oddly skewed orbit around Saturn that would conceal it from detection by any observers on Titan.
The crew was still stiff and disoriented from the blisteringly fast trip that had required their prolonged confinement to acceleration couches in the diminutive vehicle.
“Well, you two certainly look the part,” Mixion noted as she helped Jasper and the Lieutenant into their disguises as they prepared for the risky first encounter with the unstable Warlord in the Titan Palace.
The men reluctantly climbed through the docking port and sealed the heavy hatch.
A dozen minutes later, the shrewd young woman watched though the porthole as they rocketed away in the tiny landing craft towards the huge unseen moon.
Her part in the imperative assassination attempt would not arrive for many days and would depend entirely on their slim chances of success.
• • •
“You may see the Supreme Exalted Ruler of All Humanity now,” the stern palace guard reported to the men.
After enduring two very thorough searches for hidden weapons and spending hours in a waiting room that would have been flatteringly called a jail cell anywhere else, Jasper and Lieutenant Zmuda finally followed the sentry to the Warlord’s chamber.
“Please remember that all visitors to the Palace are carefully watched at all times,” the guard mentioned.
The heavily armed sentinel paused at the door, “Gentlemen, be sure to bow when you meet the Warlord. You must refer to him only as the Supreme Exalted Ruler.” He knocked tentatively on the door. “If you displease him, you risk execution.”
Jasper frowned at the severe edict.
The guard pushed open the door, “Oh my Master, the Supreme Exalted Ruler of All Humanity; two provisions traffickers wish to converse with you on a matter of commerce.”
Zmuda suppressed a sneer when he first caught sight of the most reviled of all men.
Dimitri waved the visitors into the room without looking up from the mounds of work spread around his worktable, “I have no need for whatever overpriced supplies you two are hawking.”
The men respectfully lowered their heads.
“Oh Super Exalted Leader,” Jasper twanged in his thick Australian accent.
Dimitri scowled at the m
inor gaffe.
“We’ve come to buy, not sell.”
A smug grin darted across the Warlord’s face, “Well then, that is a different matter.”
Zmuda extended his hand, “My business associate and I operate a modest trading vessel. We make a long slow circuit between the Kuiper Belt Station at one end and the Eros Asteroid Encampment at the other.”
Just as the two clandestine assassins had predicted, Dimitri’s unquenchable impulse to strike a bargain was obvious.
“What is it that you desire, my friends?”
“Our ship is small and the journey is long,” Jasper lamented. “My shipmate has a nimble young drudge to see to his manly wishes, but I currently have none.”
Zmuda nodded lecherously, “We happened upon a Slaver at a watering hole on Vesta who said that you were in possession of an underage girl that you planned to sell off soon.”
The Warlord beamed at his luck. “Perhaps I could part with the dear thing,” his eyebrows arched up in fake sentiment, “although she’s just like a daughter to me.”
“Naturally,” Jasper turned towards the door, “we wouldn’t dream of separating you from the beloved tyke.”
“But,” Dimitri held up his hand, “although she’s grown a bit too old to be a submissive parlormaid, I suspect that the wretch would be superbly acquiescent to your perverted requirements.”
“Excellent,” Zmuda cooed.
“May we inspect the cherub?” Jasper asked.
Dimitri nodded, “GIRL!”
The door creaked open.
A particularly spindly child with huge sad eyes stood shivering at the portal, “Yes Master?”
“Come here.”
The girl complied.
The Warlord smoothed her rumpled brown hair. “Turn around, let us have a good look at you.”
Her head drooped in shame as the three men stared ominously.
“I suppose she’ll do,” Jasper frowned.
Zmuda nodded.
“There is one little matter that I’d like to assure myself of in private, if I may,” Jasper smiled at the Warlord.
“Of course,” Dimitri acknowledged. “Girl, take this trader to the slave quarters and obey him as if he were your Master.”
The poor parlormaid had a look of overwhelming panic at the unprecedented request, “Yes sir.”
Zmuda and Dimitri watched the child usher the big man away.
When the door closed, Zmuda turned to the Warlord, “He’s rather well-endowed. I’m sure that he’d like to measure the merchandise for himself.”
“Shall we discuss the price?” the Warlord asked greedily.
• • •
The little parlormaid led Jasper past the palace guard standing watchfully at the chamber door and down a short dim passageway to a filthy and dank cell littered with the cast off scraps that the pitiful child had collected over many years.
Jasper carefully inspected the tiny room for surveillance devices; although he found none, the man decided to conduct his activities as if the unpredictable Warlord himself was spying on them.
The girl watched him in dread as he quickly stripped off much of his clothing.
The big man selected the darkest corner of the quarters and pressed the whimpering waif into it.
“Now let’s see what we have here!” Jasper grunted with exaggerated showmanship.
The girl pressed her eyes tightly closed for the upcoming onslaught.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered to the trembling little thing, “I won’t hurt you.”
Jasper continued his contrived attack, “I’m sure you’re a fine play toy!”
She stared at the big man in growing disbelief.
“We’ve come to rescue you,” the man murmured.
The girl nodded hopefully.
“AH! This will do nicely!” As he clattered boisterously from side to side, he continued his hushed assurances, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Dilma.”
He groaned loudly like rutting beast. “Play along with me so your Master won’t suspect anything.”
She smiled mischievously to her liberator and screeched dramatically.
“Good,” Jasper coaxed, “we’re going to take you out of here Dilma, but I need you to do something very important before we leave.” He banged loudly against the wall with his shoulders as he hunched protectively over the girl.
“OK,” her big eyes glistened with hope.
• • •
“I must insist on at least fifty thousand Units for girl,” Dimitri stated.
“Well, I suppose we will buy the perfectly acceptable child that we inspected in the Jupiter Colonies a few weeks ago for merely ten thousand then,” Zmuda countered.
The leisurely bidding game progressed between the two men.
In the distance, the apparent carnal misdeeds of Jasper and the girl proceeded noisily.
“I don’t want you to leave empty-handed,” the Warlord chuckled, “perhaps I could let her go for forty.”
An especially piercing scream filled the chamber.
Dimitri stared uneasily at the door.
“I doubt that he’ll permanently damage the scamp,” Zmuda reassured the man, “although she does seem quite frail.”
The frightening crescendo of Jasper’s thunderous bellows intertwined with the ragged adolescent shrieks of agony finally unnerved Dimitri. “I’ll let her go for twenty.”
“You have a deal, sir.”
• • •
Jasper returned just as Zmuda was authorizing the payment for the slave girl. Both men secretly tapped their cheeks as a signal to the other that the plan was proceeding as expected.
“I trust you enjoyed yourself?” Zmuda teased.
“A little rough around the edges, but in time she’ll improve,” Jasper replied.
“Where is the brat?” Dimitri demanded.
“I told her to clean herself up and gather her possessions, assuming of course that an agreement would be reached.”
The door slowly opened.
Dilma stood in absolute defeat at the portal, her face red and tear-stained, clutching a grimy bundle of meager belongings.
Jasper secretly marveled at the little actress’s abilities.
“Gentlemen, do stop by again,” the Warlord smiled.
The men bowed and left the chamber with the bedraggled slave girl in tow.
• • •
When the landing craft was well away from the giant moon of Saturn, Lieutenant Zmuda finally relaxed.
Jasper tousled the girl’s hair as she studied her two stocky saviors in awe. “What did you get for us, sweetheart?”
Dilma grinned in triumph as she opened the little bundle.
The former parlormaid held up an antique hairbrush, three unwashed forks and a tightly wadded men’s undergarment, all recently purloined from Dimitri Verhovnyi's bedchamber.
“Excellent,” the Lieutenant complimented the young burglar; “we should have no problem extracting his DNA from these treasures.”
30. Atonement As Jasper coaxed the spacecraft into a high orbit around Titan, Zmuda prepared the freshly made assassin's weapon for Mixion as she waited in the airlock just outside the landing craft.
Dilma looked on with interest.
Mixion inattentively stroked the girl’s sullied and tangled hair.
“Let me see your palms,” the Lieutenant said.
The raven-skin woman displayed her hands. Thick and irregular calluses crossed high over both palms just below the fingers.
“Nicely done!” Zmuda commented.
“Thanks,” Mixion said, “I found a knurled hand rail in the engine compartment. While you were away I spent hours twisting my hands around it.”
Dilma stared at the woman’s leathery hands with concern.
“It’s OK, kitten,” Mixion assured the child.
The former slave girl compared her own tiny white hands to Mixion’s large ebony appendages.
Zmuda readied the
syringe, “Do you have an explanation ready, in case it comes up?”
The woman nodded, “Rusty exercise equipment at the Europa Diplomatic Mission fitness center.”
“Simple and unambiguous.” The Lieutenant massaged the rough callus on her right palm for several seconds and carefully injected the thick milky fluid just under the skin to produce a long distended blister.
Mixion studied the bulging skin.
“Maximum lethality will last for about two days,” Zmuda stared at her with a growing sense of dread. “If it takes that long to initiate the process, I suspect we’d all be done for anyway. Unfortunately it’s not nearly as effective as I had hoped, but it will have to do on such short notice. The CRAMP’s working on a more virulent strain called the y-pathogen.”
Jasper joined the group at the landing craft, “Alright, I sent the message to the Palace and they’re expecting ‘Assistant Deputy Ambassador Mixion’ in the next hour or so.”
The woman climbed into the landing craft’s pilot seat.
“Remember, you need to touch his bare skin as much as possible,” Zmuda instructed her with more than a little remorse. Just before he closed the hatch, the Lieutenant added, “I’m sorry to say, my dear friend that, if need be, all four of us are considered expendable in this matter.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Mixion smiled nervously.
• • •
Just as Jasper and the Lieutenant had forewarned her, Mixion had undergone a careful search for weapons and several hours of lone isolation in a stark, cold cell.
When the sullen palace guard came for her, she clasped her hands together reverently and followed him. Using the sharp thumbnail on her left hand, the woman stealthily sawed back and forth across the swollen blister on her right palm.
As they reached the sturdy door of the Palace workroom, the skin split open and the opaque fluid trickled out.
Mixion feigned interest in the sentinel's droning lecture about etiquette as she steadily wrung her hands together to secretly spread the toxin that had been custom-made using the DNA from the personal items that Dilma had stolen.
She smiled disarmingly to the guard as he led her into the chamber.
“Oh Supreme Exalted Ruler of All Humanity,” the sentry proclaimed, “Assistant Deputy Ambassador Mixion from the municipality of Free City has come to pay tribute to your excellence.”
