by Dave Bara
“Five packs each, and the grenades,” he said. Renwick shook his head.
“Three packs each, that’s nine between you and your friends here. No grenades. Those are for trading,” he said. The guard eyed him warily, hesitating. Then Renwick sweetened the pot.
“And one adapter each so you can use your current power packs with the new rifles,” he said.
“Done,” said the guard. Renwick held up a hand.
“One more thing, we get your old rifles,” he said.
“Why?” asked the guard.
“The more valuable the commodity you’re trading, the more desirable it is to blend in,” stated Renwick.
They spent the next several minutes exchanging equipment with the guards. The lead guard kept all but one pack each for himself, passing the others to his friends but keeping all three of the rifles.
“You’ll have to disarm before debarking,” he said. Having anticipated this action, Renwick and Makera went through the motions of storing the rifles and pistol power packs on the skiff.
“Satisfied?” said Renwick. The guard nodded.
“Just remember, regardless of our dealings here, if you break a single station rule your cargo is forfeit. Break two and we take your ship. Break three and you’ll be standing in the auction pits,” he said.
“Understood,” said Renwick. The guard finally motioned them past. Renwick sealed the skiff behind them and then started down the docking arm, trailing Makera and Amanda/Yan, who were being escorted by the underlings.
“One more question, trader,” asked the guard. Renwick stopped and turned in the corridor.
“That woman-thing. Why would you give up something so valuable?”
Renwick looked at him and smiled his sleaziest smile.
“Because everything has its price,” he said, then turned and walked away with his companions.
The guard hesitated a moment, and then walked to a wall com console and dialed in a private number. There was no ringing, but after a few moments a voice came on the line.
“Yes?”
“It’s Hendrix , sir.”
“What is it?” said the voice.
“You asked me to contact you if a certain type of cargo ever came aboard the station.”
“Yes?”
“Well I just passed one through Port 27, Leg 9, sir.” There was a pause at the other end of the line, then:
“Well done, Hendrix. Your bonus is in your account now,” said the voice.
“Thank you Mr. Zueros,” said Hendrix back, but the line had already been cut.
8.
Three hours later and they had secured a small berth in the main station complex, away from the seedier elements in the docking arms. Those were the places where the seamiest deals took place; the trading in underage slaves, illegal weapons, drugs and the like. The main complex held the “legitimate” trading areas; the livestock markets, slave auction pits, equipment trades, ship sales, and the like.
“What’s the currency here?” asked Makera.
“Officially Unity crowns. Platinum, gold or silver, some copper and uranium. But primarily it’s a barter exchange, with values being determined before you can bid based on what you’re trading in,” he said.
“And since we left all of our weapons onboard the skiff or with those guards, we’re trading what?” she asked. Renwick pointed to Amanda/Yan.
“Are you serious?” said Makera, concerned.
“But only long enough for us to-“ he started.
“Stop!” said Amanda/Yan, cutting him off. She looked around the room, then raised her hands, palms out. “Close your eyes, quickly, and keep them shut,” she said with urgency. They both did as instructed. Even with his eyes shut Renwick detected a bright flash of white light followed by a rainbow of colors glowing under his eyelids for a few seconds, then it diminished.
“You can open them again,” said Amanda/Yan
“What just happened?” asked Makera.
Amanda/Yan turned to her two companions. “I detected observation devices in the room. They have now been neutralized and a protective shield is operating with ten meters of me at all times,” Amanda/Yan said. “We can speak freely now.”
“Observation devices?” questioned Makera.
“Probably standard procedure,” said Renwick. “I’m sure any information on what new traders are bringing aboard the station would be valuable.”
“That’s comforting,” said Makera.
“Can we trust our personal com devices?” asked Makera of Amanda/Yan. The android held out her hand to the two of them. Renwick took his and Makera’s ear coms and handed them over to the android. She worked over them for a few moments and then handed them back.
“What did you do?” Renwick asked.
“I recalibrated them to operate on a frequency outside the standard ranges of the base security net. They should be good, but we should rotate the frequencies every few hours to be sure.”
“Thank you,” said Renwick, placing his com back in his ear.
“Now, as I was saying,” he started. “Our cover story is that we’re here to trade the android in return for enough credit to buy HD drive materials, when in fact we’ll be looking to buy back any crew members of the Phaeton that we can find. And no, Yan, we have no intent of leaving you behind. You’ll just have to pretend to be a simple-minded android servant long enough for us to engage in enough trading to make us look legitimate, then we’re out of here.”
“Thank you,” Amanda/Yan said.
“Along those lines,” he said, “I’d like you to scan the auction trades scheduled for today and see if you can find anything that looks like it might be from the Phaeton. People, equipment, anything could be a lead to where Captain Aybar or her crew might be. Scan ahead twenty-four hours and then back seventy-two, at least. Makera and I are going to survey the landscape. We should be back in a couple of hours.”
“That should be plenty of time to do the scans,” Amanda/Yan said.
“Good,” he said. “And I think it would be best if you stayed out of sight.” She nodded.
“Agreed.”
“If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to get a couple of charger packs for the pistols, um, out of you, if I could,” he said.
Amanda/Yan obliged, taking only a few moments to produce the packs. “You’ll need to keep those well-hidden. Remember it’s a station violation if you’re caught with them,” she said.
“Thank you, Yan,” said Renwick, “we’ll be careful.” Then he stuck the pack inside his diplomatic vest, hidden now under an outer cloak purchased at a station shop, and handed the other to Makera.
They gathered their equipment, being sure to brandish their heavy rifles and weaponry. Renwick gave Amanda/Yan a reassuring look, and then they were gone, out the door and into the unknown.
RENWICK DOWNED THE last of his ale, the aftertaste burning down his throat as he swallowed. It was near agony, but outwardly he maintained an expression of complete calm as he monitored the auction boards on display in the bar. He and Ambassador Makera had wondered in off of the main thoroughfare bisecting the station over an hour ago, and this was his third ale in that time. Makera had matched him drink for drink, despite her obvious distaste for the local swill.
“The gray haired one in the corner is still watching me,” she said.
“He’s probably just sizing you up for a bid,” replied Renwick without taking his eyes from the constantly moving auction board. The auction was a twenty-four-seven process, and you could monitor it from all over the station, but you had to actually go down to the auction pits if you wanted to bid.
So far Renwick had seen at least three lots of equipment that had no doubt come from the Phaeton based on its condition, sophistication, and price, which was well below market to promote a quick sale. But no sign of Phaeton personnel, which likely meant that they had already been auctioned between the time that they had spent in the Void and on the Kali and arriving here. They were going to ha
ve to rely on Amanda/Yan’s research abilities to locate any of them, if they were in fact still on the station.
He had also fielded at least half a dozen offers of sale or trade on Makera, including one who only wanted her for an hour, but he was an elderly gentlemen and clearly wouldn’t have survived the process. Makera, for her part, had handled the last suitor, a particularly annoying and drunk merchant, with a flurry of punches that had quickly knocked him down and out. He was currently unconscious, as well as functioning as doorstop for the bar.
Renwick had registered the two of them as traders and used his own personal accounts to establish their trading credits. He also listed “Subject Property” that would be evaluated later for auction; Amanda/Yan, without specifically identifying her as the property they intended to sell.
He took his last drink of ale and turned away from the screen at last.
“How much longer do we wait here?” Makera hissed at him under her breath.
“Kiss me,” he said.
“What? You’re drunk,” she replied. He leaned in closer.
“I’m not drunk. Now kiss me,” he insisted. She did as he requested, her tongue flicking sensuously in and out of his mouth. He took a fraction of a second to glance at the gray haired man she had mentioned. After an appropriate time he pulled back and whispered in her ear.
“Activate my com,” he said to her. She looked at him, then leaned in and covered his ear, pressing the com device with her tongue.
“Yan,” he said quietly after doing the same for Makera. Amanda/Yan responded through his earpiece.
“Here,” she said.
“What do you have for me,” he whispered into Makera’s com, pretending to nuzzle her.
“I’ve found three listings for Phaeton personnel,” she said. “The engineer Kish was auctioned off to a station maintenance crew three days ago. Captain Aybar was purchased by an unknown private party, who’s yacht is apparently still at the station, yesterday morning. The Phaeton’s pilot, Lieutenant Mischa Cain, will be auctioned in twelve hours.”
“Is that all of the Phaeton crew who survived?” he asked.
“That’s all that came to this station, Renwick,” Amanda/Yan said. “As to other survivors, I cannot comment on facts I do not know.”
“You’re sounding like an android now,” he said while continuing to kiss the Ambassador, whose breathing was getting sharp and shallow.
“Quit insulting me,” said Amanda/Yan. “You may be right that being in this body is depressing my emotions, but I’m still me.”
“Do you have a location on the engineer?” he asked, impatient.
“Docking maintenance crew. Six decks down from your current location, in the Centaurus arm of the station,” Amanda/Yan said, then: “Damn! Every time you ask a question it’s like I have no control. I just answer you.”
“Meet us on the maintenance deck in ten minutes,” said Renwick, ignoring her plight, then he cut the channel. He pulled back from the kiss. Ambassador Makera’s skin was turning an olive ochre tone. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted. He had never seen her face when she was so aroused in the light.
“We have to go,” he said to her. She opened her eyes, looking at him like a predator looks at its prey.
“Of course we do,” she said, then she followed him out the door.
“WAS ALL THAT SHOW BACK there really necessary?” asked Makera as they made their way to the public lifter. Renwick shrugged.
“Perhaps not. But I did rather enjoy it,” he said. She stopped him by grabbing his arm forcefully and in the same spot that Amanda/Yan had earlier. It hurt him.
“Renwick, every time you... arouse me, it takes a great deal of effort on my part to come back down to Raellos,” she said. She was angry.
“You mean back down to Earth,” he said.
“The planet doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “The point is-“
“The point is I’ll do my best to satisfy you later, Ambassador. But for now we have an engineer to rescue.” With that he broke her substantial grip and headed to the lifter.
There was a crowd gathering by the lifter doors. Renwick supposed it was a normal congregation of traders, auction holders, and merchants in nefarious items. Once on board, the most popular destination was four decks down; the auction pits. They’d have to go there soon enough, but for now they rode the lifter down two more decks to the connecting module that would take them to the Centaurus arm of the station. There were at least ten others that got off on the same deck.
“Did you notice-“ started Makera.
“Yes,” said Renwick, “right when we stepped aboard the lifter. One of the guards in our greeting party.”
“He’s following us.”
“Act casually,” he said, then he pushed her against the wall in a dark corner as others mingled about on the dim deck. He kissed her hard, then whispered in her ear:
“Do you see him?”
“No,” she said, between kisses. “And this is getting intolerable. Wait, I see him. He’s talking to a man that looks like a trader. I think it was the man that was staring at me in the bar.”
“The gray haired one?”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. “They just saw me, they’re looking away, trying to cover-” Renwick grabbed her by the arm and started running.
“C’mon,” he said. They started down the dock arm, peeling off to both port and starboard as they weaved their way through the spider-webbed infrastructure. Finally they stopped and Renwick activated his com.
“Yan, where are you?” he asked.
“On my way,” came her quick reply.
“Be careful, we’re being trailed.”
“I’ll keep that under advisement,” she said.
“Can you track us?” he asked. There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“I have your location. Stay put. I will come to you,” she said.
“Affirmative,” he replied. “And Yan, be careful.”
“I will,” she said, and cleared the line.
They waited for almost five minutes before Yan appeared around a corner and then quickly dropped the guard at their feet, like a pet would bring a prize to its master.
“I’ve neutralized the guard,” she said.
“Apparently,” said Renwick, looking down at the unconscious heap. “What about the trader he was talking to?”
“I only caught up to this one two turns back. I saw no trader,” said Amanda/Yan.
“That’s a concern,” said Makera. “They will undoubtedly come looking for him eventually.”
Renwick motioned for Amanda/Yan to pick up the guard. She did, following him a few feet down the corridor to a large air return vent near the floor. Renwick removed the grill and Amanda/Yan stuffed the guard in.
“He’ll be okay, right?” asked Renwick.
“Eventually,” said Amanda/Yan. “Mr. Kish, the Phaeton’s engineer is working on a crew about six hundred feet down the next corridor over. But they’re behind an EV controlled airlock, sealed in for the duration of their work shift.”
“Can we get in?” asked Makera. Yan looked at them both matter-of-factly.
“I can,” she said.
“That’s what I thought,” said Renwick to her. “Lead the way.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER they were positioned outside the sealed airlock door to the maintenance bay.
“Burning through with the coil rifles will take too long and alert the guards, if there are any,” said Renwick.
“Agreed,” said Amanda/Yan. “Breaking the seal with force or explosives would seem the more logical approach.”
Renwick thought of the grenades in Amanda/Yan’s belly. “I don’t want to use the grenades if we don’t have to. Can you break through the door?” asked Renwick.
“Of course,” she said.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Makera.
“Smash and grab,” said Renwick, then he turned back to Amanda/Yan. “Once you get in, can you neutralize the observ
ation devices like you did in our cabin?”
“With an EMP pulse, yes. But it will knock out our communication devices, at least temporarily.”
“Will it kill their tracking chips and wipe Kish’s registration?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then do it,” he said. He signaled for Makera to move away from the door. When she was positioned he turned back to the android. “By the way, how do you generate the EMP pulse?”
“I have a small fusion reactor where my uterus should be,” she said. Renwick swallowed hard.
“Great,” he said, nodding while mentally crossing her off his list of potential sex partners.
“You’ll have to step back. The maintenance bay is a low-EV work unit. Minimal atmosphere and heat to encourage performance,” said Amanda/Yan.
“No problem,” he said, backing away to where Makera was standing.
“What did she say?” asked Makera, curious. “What’s she going to do?”
Renwick looked at his Raelen companion. “Let’s just say she has a bun in the oven,” he deadpanned. Makera gave him a confused look at the turn of phrase, then he grabbed her shoulder and they hunkered down together behind a bulkhead support. He quickly loaded his power pack into his rifle and Makera did the same. He signaled Amanda/Yan that they were ready, then watched as she turned to the airlock seal, gripping the handles, and pulled the hatch off in one smooth motion. Atmosphere started venting immediately as a wind of decompression swirled by them. They held on tight to the bulkhead support while the air pressure between the work room and the corridor normalized. Renwick looked up to see Amanda/Yan walking in the whirlwind effortlessly, pushing aside two door guards with ease. Inside he could hear shouting and other sounds of distress coming from the workers.
Seconds later, once Amanda/Yan had cleared the doorway, workers started pouring out of the door dressed in low-EV pressure suits. They were actually the unlucky ones. Those stuck further inside would have their identity chips wiped clean by the EMP, while the first escapees would be tracked and likely re-conscripted. He watched as Amanda/Yan raised her hands again, like she had in the cabin.
