I could see the warehouse district: imports, exports and transshipments. Modern sodium lights threw yellow glows and even at this late hour there were people wandering the streets along with trucks and cargo carriers. Neon lights advertised bars and seedier establishments. We passed over immense warehouses heading for the one Dusko owned. The crimelord maintained a storefront in the better part of town and a villa on the mountain dominating the city, but he spent most of his time in his warehouse headquarters. Maybe he felt like a fake in the more civilized places. Maauro had tracked his movements and patterns for several weeks. He was down there.
Maauro circled the aircar down and entered the streets, driving in an indirect pattern until we reached the back of Dusko’s huge metal and concrete building. We parked in a service station among some other vehicles left for repairs.
The three of us stared up at the massive building that looked like a cross between a spacecraft hanger and a fortress. A razor-wire fence surrounded the dark and looming building. Light covered most of the various doors. From the number of vehicles in the parking lot there wouldn’t be many people inside.
“Interesting,” Maauro said. “I detect a number of standard security devices—curious…”
A shape came around the corner; it seemed to both scuttle and roll over the ground.
“What’s that?” Jaelle gasped.
“A Confederate Mark 42 combat robot, about fifty years old,” Maauro replied. “Doubtless it is war surplus.”
“Crap,” I said, sweat beading on my forehead as I watched the machine, painted in urban splinter camouflage stalk across the parking lot.
Maauro looked at me with her infuriating small smile.
“What?” I demanded. “It may be obsolete by military standards, but it’s still a goddamn tank. How can you fight that?”
“Fight that?” Maauro said. “I could and would win, but why? It and its companions are about to become my new army.”
“What?” I said.
“Wait here,” Maauro said. She raised her hair and pulled a lead from the back of her skull, then opened the door and slipped out. She seemed to vanish as she stood. I’d seen Maauro use her optical camouflage before but never to this degree. I could tell she was there but my eyes couldn’t focus on her.
I heard the light patter of her feet as she accelerated into a run. The optical distortion that was Maauro raced across the street. Then she was in the air, sailing over the razor wire.
The crab robot froze, its pincer arms and weapons raised, but evidently it had the same difficulty locking on Maauro, as it did not fire. Suddenly it convulsed, as if trying to shake off something, then froze in mid-movement. The machine turned back toward the gate and rolled forward. The gate opened in response to some electronic command. Then the distortion atop it flickered out and Maauro sat astride her conquest, waving.
I started the car and quickly drove into the yard, parking in the darkest part of the lot. Maauro rode her new toy over as we pulled out weapons from the trunk. I could see that she’d opened a panel in the top of the machine and had her good right hand thrust into it, along with a lead she’d pulled from her head.
She looked down at us. “A robust, but simple machine, I’m glad that I did not have to fight it. Dusko has made our infiltration easier by relying on computerized systems. I have enslaved this unit, and through it infiltrated and assumed control of the others. Their defense barriers were quite pathetic. All his other passive alarms are disabled or deceived. We need only concern ourselves with four interior guards, a visitor and Dusko.”
“Are you sure it’s so few?” Jaelle asked.
“The regulars are identified in the fire-control computer of this machine. The guest wears an ID badge. ”
Jaelle looked at me. “Is there anything she can’t do?”
“Haven’t found it yet,” I replied.
Maauro dropped lightly from the top of the machine. “We must educate this foolish Dua-Denlenn on the unprofitability of opposing an M7 combat android. Follow me.”
We walked up to a side door that slid open when Maauro raised her hand. Her effortless mastery of hundreds of thousands of credits worth of security gear made me wonder about bank heists and museum robberies for a wild second. She’d cracked the barriers of mega-computers as if they were virtual tissue paper.
As we entered, I placed a hand on Maauro’s shoulder. “If possible,” I whispered, “if possible, I want to avoid killing.”
She gave me a searching gaze but to my surprise nodded. “I will not kill unless there is a need, but I will not fail to kill if I do need to.”
“Fair enough.”
“We walked down a hallway, Jaelle and I scuttling from one doorway to another. Maauro strode down the center of the hall as if she owned the place, which in a way, she did. We stepped through some double swinging doors into the warehouse proper. The space ahead was filled with crates and containers and shelving stacked stories high. I could see refrigerated rooms and other secured sections for the storage of more delicate cargo.
Lights in the distance betokened some activity. Maauro turned her head from side to side as if scanning. “Voice pattern indistinct,” she murmured, “but a high probability it is Dusko.”
We stalked forward, eventually coming in sight of a boxy construction. An a/c unit hummed atop it and light streamed out of the windows, but I could not see clearly. Maauro did not speak. Instead she signaled that she was going up on top of the stack near the office box. We settled in to wait.
Chapter 15
I slowly climb the stacks of containers, as I cannot risk the material breaking under my weight. I am tracking many targets and functions. I have seized control of all security functions other than mechanical ones that I avoid, or the armed guards ahead. I am concerned, given the appearance of the crab robots, that they may now have military-grade weapons that could be lethal to me. Given time I could reverse the security systems and use them on our enemies, but we do not have that luxury now. My analysis is that most of the guards will be near Dusko.
On reaching the top I engage my optic camouflage and lower my chassis temperature so no thermal sensor can lock on me, then peer over.
I am above the office box that sits on the warehouse floor. The one-story unit is approximately sixty meters long and twenty wide. Its heating and cooling systems are designed to comfort the biologicals in the otherwise unregulated warehouse and this has fortunately concentrated my targets. I cannot view the interior but my magnetic resonance sensors penetrate the building and detect five biologicals in the structure.
One is unaccounted for. I extend my senses and am appalled to hear footsteps near where I left Wrik and Jaelle. I move as quickly as I dare, fearing a reoccurrence of the disaster when they stumbled on Lostra in the village. As I reach the area above where I left them I hear the sounds of a struggle. Fear, such as I have never felt before, floods me. I snap my palm blades out and leap off the stack, somersaulting to the ground below.
I am not needed. The unaccounted-for guard, a Dua-Denlenn female, is on the ground. Jaelle is wrapped around her, applying a sleeper hold. Wrik is sitting on the guard’s legs holding her weapon and looking pleased with himself. The guard slumps in Jaelle’s grip and she lays her down. I manufacture an anesthetic for the guard and jab my needle finger into her thigh. She will not awaken for a day at least.
“Dusko is ahead,” I whisper. “Wait for me to attack then come in after, carefully.”
Now I simply leap to the top of the stack racing back to the area over the office cube and launching myself in a compact ball at the roof below. As I hit, I shoot out all my limbs. I have correctly judged the strength of the roof and crash through to the room below. I initiate targeting the instant my head projects from the ceiling.
In .0043 seconds, I locate all enemy personnel in the room. Biological reaction is usually about .05 seconds, so
I have leisure to identify the three guards of varying species carrying the heavy triple autos I feared. Dusko is beyond, seated at a desk; a small glass of liquid is slowly falling from his hand. His eyes are beginning to widen. Opposite him is an alien of a type that I have not seen before, blue-skinned and apish.
My head and shoulders are now through the ceiling and I begin to bring up my arm. There is no time for aesthetics or other niceties. A single, low-velocity, depleted uranium slug slams into each guard’s skull as they try to bring up their weapons.
I am through the ceiling now and invert in the air while considering the other two. Dusko I must take alive. He is reaching for a weapon in his desk, but I still have plenty of time to deal with him. The other creature starts to rise. His face is blue, with fangs protruding onto his upper lip. He wears the uniform of a ship’s officer.
I hit the ground, springing forward at the alien. I strike both arms and a leg. It gives a cry of pain, falls, three limbs smashed but otherwise preserved for interrogation. I pop onto the desk, almost face-to-face with Dusko, who has his hand in the desk drawer over a pistol. Remembering the effect that it had on Wrik, I raise a set of ripping teeth in my mouth and smile at him. Dusko freezes in place.
“We have not met face-to-face before, Dusko. I am Maauro.” I reach into his drawer take out the pistol and casually crush it.
Wrik and Jaelle storm into the room. But resistance is ended as I planned. Wrik checks the dead Guilders and exchanges his weapon for one of the new Confed weapons. Jaelle follows suit and covers the moaning, blue-skinned alien.
Dusko slowly leans back in his seat, raising his hands. His eyes, blue from lid to lid, convey little, but sweat sheens his face in a manner similar to a human’s. “Yes, Maauro, I know you. You have proven most formidable and most troublesome. My encounters with you have been unprofitable to the point of disaster. Clearly a reassessment of the situation is needed. How can I help you?”
“In many ways,” I reply. “Your service to me will be most demanding and complete. Or I will simply amuse myself by seeing how slowly I can disassemble your body while keeping you alive. I understand your people practice torture as an art. Are you prepared to become a masterpiece for the Guild?”
“No,” Dusko says with an easy frankness. “I am however, prepared to part with a great deal of wealth in exchange for my survival.”
“It simply begins there,” I say.
“Don’t give into threats,” the alien on the floor coughs in surprisingly unaccented Standard. “Where is your pride? You are Guild.”
I look at Wrik. “What is that?”
“Morok,” he replies, “from the other side of the Confederacy, good fighters, bad organizers, very loyal to clan and kin.”
“Just so.” The Morok glares up at me. “You will get nothing from me.”
I analyze Wrik’s generalization. It strikes me as sound, given the Morok’s defiance in the face of death.
“In answer to my friend’s point,” Dusko continues, “I am more interested in my life than in Guild bravado.”
“Do you wish me to pull a few digits off your hand so you may demonstrate resistance to your comrade, or will you tell me who he is?” I ask.
“He captains the Guild runner that is fin down at the port,” Dusko offers up promptly. The green and gold vessel is called the Faberge. Of course you know that, or you wouldn’t have tested me with it.”
It suited me to have Dusko believe in my omnipotence, so I did not correct him.
“Who does he work for and who sent him?”
“Dusko,” the Morok warns.
Wrik kicks him, drawing an anguished cry and a sulphurous curse.
I fire a flechette past the Morok’s nose; his eyes lock on mine.
“Remain silent. I have already categorized you as a useless intelligence source. Speak again and I will eliminate you.” Red eyes glare, but the mouth remains shut.
I turn back to Dusko. “Answer.”
“The vessel belongs to a Guild senior known as the Collector. I know no more, save that the Collector deals in antiquities and secrets. She would love you.”
“I’ve heard of her,” Jaelle says. “I think she’s the one who was buying up most of what I’d found near the Tar Sea. She used different agents, but I traced the sales to the same banks.”
“Is that who paid you to hunt the Murch, invade the Tar Sea and harass Wrik and me?”
“Yes,” Dusko confirms. “Left to my own devices, I would have long since abandoned my conflict with you as unproductive.”
“Lie,” Wrik says. “Dua-Denlenns are notoriously vindictive.”
Dusko nods. “True, but not when it is as dangerous as this. This was just business.”
“We are leaving now and you are coming with us,” I say.
“I’ll be a burden slowing you down,” he counters.
“Not if I slice off and cauterize your appendages,” I reply. “That will make you easy to pack. Or you could walk.”
Dusko promptly stands.
“Coward,” the Morok spits.
Jaelle gestures with her weapon at the Morok. “What about this one?”
“Leave him alive,” Wrik suggests, as he binds Dusko’s hands behind him. “He can tell the Collector how readily Dusko gave her up and cooperated with us.”
“Rest assured of it,” the Morok growls.
I walk up and snap the Morok’s other arm quickly and cleanly. I have not time or leisure to analyze him for an anesthetic. “You’ll be found in the morning.”
The Morok curses us as we leave. I am pleased I need not kill him, as he is a warrior worthy of respect. I disable any weapons we are leaving behind.
We quickly return to the entrance. Dusko looks in disgust at the security bots I have lined up awaiting us. They adopt a protective formation around our car. We climb in. Now Wrik drives alongside Jaelle, who hides our weapons in some cloth. I sit in the back with Dusko and undo his bonds.
“Bear in mind the prospect of your certain and painful demise as you answer my questions,” I say. Wrik pulls out of the warehouse, the crab robots rolling behind us on their road wheels. “How many crew on the Faberge?”
“Four”
“Is the ship ready for immediate departure?”
“No.”
I strike Dusko at a spot that causes agony in his species. It takes him a minute to recover.
“Reconsider your answer.”
“Yes,” he gasps. “The ship was due to lift off seven hours from now, provisioned for interstellar. I know nothing more.”
“Can you order the crew off?”
Dusko considers. “They might think it unusual that the command did not come from their captain, but odds are they will obey me.”
“Spaceport security gate ahead,” Wrik calls.
“Get us through,” I order Dusko.
He nods as we roll up to the gate. A disinterested-looking, human security guard looks in. “Evening. Isn’t it a bit late for cargo?” He eyes the robots behind us. “What’s so important to warrant all the security?”
“The Crown Jewels of the Star Empress Vadnais,” Dusko snaps. “What matter the cargo? Your scanners picked up my ID.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Dusko. No harm intended. I take it you’ll vouch for these others?’
“Yes,” he growls.
“Pass through,” he says. Ahead of us barriers drop into the ground. Wrik wastes no time in moving forward. Then we are on a road to the spaceport proper, passing other roads leading to gantries and terminals. The traffic around us is mostly commercial trucks with the occasional minibus of tired travelers being shuttled about.
“What is the port call number for the Faberge?” I ask. Dusko rattles off a series of numbers.
Wrik hands me a com but I wave it off. “I will transmit the call internally on a tim
e delay sufficient for me to prevent any message from you but what I wish. Order them to leave the ship to go anywhere but the warehouse and to leave the hatch open.”
Dusko nods.
I open my mouth and out of it comes the buzz of a live com channel. Dusko seems to be having trouble facing me as a phone. I retract my serrated teeth, which appears to help.
“Faberge here, officer of the watch speaking.”
“This is Dusko. Take the crew and leave the ship. Head over to the Spacewitch bar and amuse yourselves. Your master and I need the vessel for a meeting.”
“Leave the ship unguarded and unattended?” the office says.
“Do not question me. We will be there in six minutes. You will be gone in five. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged, we’re going, but if there is any trouble over this with the skipper it’s on your head.”
“Agreed. Move.”
I close my mouth and the circuit.
“Excellent. Wrik bring us to the ship. Take your time. Use the first route I programmed into the car.” We dodge through a variety of gantries and towering vessels heading for the outskirts where the smaller vessels land. We find the somewhat chunky, green and gold hull of the Faberge where we expected it.
“That’s luck,” Wrik says. “It’s an old Comet-class courier, fast and leggy if not overly generous with internal space.”
“Hold here,” I direct and Wrik pulls to the side. “I will scout the ship.”
***
Maauro slipped out of the car, and I turned toward Dusko, pistol in hand. He waited until Maauro had vanished up the rampway to the Faberge before starting in.
“Wrik, this is madness.”
“That’s Trigardt to you.”
“The machine is leading to your death. She may be able to survive and escape the Guild. You have no chance. Release me and your reward will be immense.”
“Does he really believe we’re that stupid?” Jaelle wondered.
“Jaelle, listen. My operatives will not take my disappearance lightly. There will be reprisals. Unfortunate circumstances may overtake your father—”
My Outcast State (The Maauro Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
