by M. D. Cooper
An anonymous tip?
She hadn’t replied, and Raynes answered his own question. “Because you knew how it would look.” Raynes cocked his head, studying her. “And you can probably guess what’s going to happen next.”
“You’re going to arrest us.” Bubbs’ voice quivered with rage, and her shoulders heaved. If she had her good arm, Kylie was pretty sure everyone in that hallway would’ve been dead. She didn’t disagree with Bubbs’ base instincts, but it was the wrong call to make.
“Damn right I’m going to arrest you. Your pals Rogers and Ricket, too—soon as we find where they went. They managed to duck our trail. Anyone left on your ship?”
Kylie shrugged, but Raynes pointed a finger at her. “Don’t think of lying to me because I have a breach team headed there to check it out. If anything happens to my people….”
“Nothing will happen. My chief engineer, Winter, is on board. He’ll stand down when they arrive.” As Kylie spoke, she opened a channel to the Barbaric Queen so Winter would hear.
Kylie’s heart felt like it had been caught in a vice, but she kept her thoughts to herself as Raynes cuffed her hands behind her back.
“This isn’t how you want things to go down. We don’t have to be enemies,” she said quietly.
Raynes just pushed her toward his guards while he handcuffed Bubbs. Kylie was glad that the woman had complied, though she could still feel the silent rage radiating in every direction.
She glanced back, but one of the guards smacked his gun into her back, sending a wave of pain up her spine. She grunted, nearly falling over as she entered the lift.
Bubbs was beside her a minute later.
Kylie met Bubbs’ eyes.
Bubbs sighed aloud and clenched her jaw.
BREWING TROUBLE
STELLAR DATE: 11.03.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: C1 Brewery
REGION: Chimin-1, Hanoi System (independent)
Rogers glanced to Ricket who raised her eyebrows and shrugged.
The transmission ended, and Rogers sighed, running a hand through his hair. Kylie was getting harder on herself with the father guilt all the time. They’d end up in a bad place if she didn’t find a way to put it all behind her.
“She’ll be OK.” Ricket put a hand on his wrist and slowly, Rogers lowered his arm.
“I know. I just…worry.”
“You guys must go way back. It’s cute the way you care about her. Trying to protect her from herself.”
Rogers shrugged. “We all do what we can, right?”
“Absolutely. We’re all here for her now. She doesn’t have to do this alone.”
True as it was, Rogers knew Kylie. She’d always take things alone if she could. The tricky part would be getting her to accept their help. Nothing much they could really do except continue to offer it and remind her that she wasn’t alone.
Rogers turned his attention back to the brewery, which presented as a large steel wall set into the stone of what he imagined was an expansive cavern beyond. The doors were clear plas, and he walked toward them, cupping his hands to peer through into the darkened interior.
It looked normal with the usual tanks, piping, barrels of barley, oats and other ingredients. The only thing wrong was that everything appeared to be shut down—as if no one had been there in quite some time.
“Coast is clear. Not sure if that makes a case for or against us,” Rogers said.
“We’ll see about that.” Ricket’s eyes crinkled from a genuine smile as she opened the bracelet she wore on her wrist and attached a small probe to the control panel on the door.
Guy could get used to all these superwomen. Especially when they break into a brewery with you.
“No one inside that Laura can see. I’m disabling the motion sensors…we’ll be inside in a minute.” Ricket drew her words out as she concentrated on breaching the door’s security. Rogers let her work in silence, enjoying how her beauty shifted from elegant to cute when her brow scrunched in concentration—how her pouting lips separated just so.
Damn woman was a work of art no matter what she was doing.
When the doors slid open, Ricket glanced back at him and smiled. “There we go. One open door, as ordered.” She slipped inside and Rogers followed after her.
Rogers rubbed his hands together and gazed around—time to get to work. The room was lined with supply stations along the back, workspaces running through the center, large sinks and tubs, and nine aluminum barrels stacked in a clear chiller on one side.
Considering there was enough space to hold a hundred times more kegs, the small amount was worrisome—unless they had recently sent a large shipment out.
Rogers found the control console in the center of the room and turned it on. There was no security to speak of, and after a few minutes he found the shipping records and manifests.
Orders from both Battia and several stations in Silstrand were listed as outstanding, weeks late on fulfillment. They were marked as skipped and transmissions had gone out to the buyers apologizing for delays. The inventories also showed that just about every ingredient needed for the brewery to operate was nearly gone.
Whatever was going on, Chimin wasn’t keeping up with either supply or demand.
But is it something they’re doing on purpose, or had there been some sort of accident? Rogers wondered. A problem with the grain, maybe? Perhaps an equipment failure of some sort.
Operational logs were spotty starting three weeks ago, and nothing had been entered in the past five days. Rogers made note of the individuals who had managed the records and who ran the operation.
Everything pointed to something being suspiciously wrong with production, but was it criminal? Rogers wondered if they were in the weeds, lost on a wild comet chase. Their primary mission was to get information that would lead to Paul Rhoads, or to the people who wanted Kylie dead.
Rogers wasn’t sure investigating the brewery would lead them to either.
He sighed and turned off the console, clearing the captured data from his HUD. With his focus now back on the room, Rogers’ vision shifted. It took him by surprise, the change being similar to how he saw when at the Barbaric Queen’s helm.
The world was like a
schematic, a white-and-blue wireframe instead of a solid structure. Motion caught his attention and he saw the shape of a person turn a corner and enter the room.
There was no doubt about it, the figure was Ricket’s. Even as a data overlay enhanced with physical characteristic notation, there was no mistaking the roundness of her hips, the gentle curve into her hourglass waist, or the roundness of her breasts, bobbing gently—with mass notations floating on either side—as she strode into the room.
A moment later, his vision snapped back normal—almost as if nothing had changed at all and he blinked, shaking his head.
“Anything?” Ricket asked and put her hand on the console next to him. Her eyes narrowed. “You OK?”
“Sure, yeah. Fine.” Rogers cleared his throat. “They don’t have enough beer to fulfill orders from half the bars on this rock, let alone any of the off-station shipments. All the supplies are pretty much gone too. I don’t think anyone is even showing up for work anymore. It’s weird, though. Up ‘til three weeks ago, they were meticulous and never missed a shipment.
“Yeah, I saw the grain stores. There’s almost nothing back there. A bushel, maybe if they’re lucky. Another room’s infested with bugs and mice. Maybe they stopped caring about the operation. Either way, bad news for the people of Chimin.”
Rogers stroked his chin. “But is it something worth investigating? Will it reveal anything about who is gunning for Kylie or where we’ll find Paul?”
Ricket reflected on it and gave a little shrug. “We’ll take the news to Kylie and see what she has to say about it. Her call, we can just make a recommendation.”
“And yours?” Rogers asked. “What is your recommendation?”
“I think it’s time to move on. Sucks for the people on Chimin, but we’ve already wasted enough time here.”
Rogers eyes narrowed. “And all those dead people in the apartment block?”
Ricket’s eyes reflected the pain of human loss. “Like I said, it sucks for the people here, but we have a mission that could stop the deaths of millions. We can’t afford to get distracted.”
Ricket’s words rang true, but Rogers didn’t like leaving something half done. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the short hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. Glancing over his shoulder, he felt a shift in the air flow. Panic mounted in his chest, and Rogers didn’t have time to put together what it all meant.
“Get down!” He grabbed Ricket by the shoulders and they both fell to their knees behind the console as a ballistic weapon opened fire. The shots tore through the air where they had both been standing only a moment ago.
Rogers had saved them, but the truth of the matter was Rogers’ hadn’t seen an attacker. He had felt them, just like how he felt the Barbaric Queen when she flew through space. The implications of that scared him, but there was no time to think about it now.
Ricket reached down and pulled a small pistol out from beneath her dress, grinning as she held it up for Rogers to see.
“Here I thought we were supposed to keep our weapons on board the ship,” he whispered hoarsely.
Ricket checked the weapon’s charge. “Good thing I’m a very bad girl.” She leaned around the console, fired two shots, and pulled back to Rogers’ side. “Two of them. Flanking us on either side.” She placed her handgun into Rogers’ hand.
“What about you?”
Ricket pulled the red bun sticks from her hair and shook her wavy mane out. The sticks came to a fine point and Rogers could see that they were needle-sharp. Gripping both of them loosely, Ricket gave a jaunty smile as she bounced lightly, ready to attack.
“Picked up this idea from another agent. Now, before they get us…you ready?” Ricket asked.
Rogers nodded, indicating that he was. She gave a three-count and then they leapt into action. Rogers rose just enough to see over the console. The man coming around the left side fired, and Rogers ducked back down, narrowly avoiding a bullet in the head.
He took a deep breath, and this time rolled to the left, surprising the attacker who had his weapon trained where Rogers had shown himself before. Rogers stopped on his stomach, raised the pistol in one hand and squeezed off three focused pulse blasts.
It was a crazy shot, one he’d never attempted before in combat, but it struck true. All three pulse waves hit the attacker square in the heart.
The man made a choking sound, clutched his chest, and fell to the ground.
Rogers crept to the man, only half aware that Ricket was still in combat as he examined his attacker.
A second later she was behind the man, one of her bun sticks at his throat.
Rogers could see her whispering in his ear, probably telling him to talk or die, when a strange smell reached his nose—a smell a little like pineapple salsa—followed by soft footfalls behind him.
Rogers stilled his breathing, forcing his heartrate to calm. He closed his eyes and spun, one hand wrapping around his would-be attacker’s throat, the other landing squarely on the man’s gun barrel. With a deft twist, he pulled the weapon free from the man’s grasp.
“Who the hell are you?” he growled at the man. “What the hell is going on here?”
The man gurgled in response and Rogers realized he was gripping the man’s throat tighter than he’d meant to, somehow able to maintain his grip even with the man clawing at his gloved hand.
Rogers held the pistol to the man’s head. “Need me to repeat my questions?”
There was more anger than fear in his enemy’s eyes. “You’re not welcome on Chimin. There’s more going on here than you realize.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that. Who do you work for? Who sent you?”
“I can’t answer your questions, I have family. I’m sorry.” The man bit down hard, and a strange hissing noise came from his mouth.
Rogers dropped the man as foam began to spill out of his mouth and his body began to shake. A few seconds later it was over.
Poison. The second time in as many days they had lost a witness to an act of suicide and self-sacrifice. Rogers knelt beside the body and checked the dead man’s pockets as Ricket came up behind him.
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Get anything out of him before he died?”
Rogers shook his head and stood up straight. “Wish I had. Other than vague threats about us being unwelcome, and something weird going on here, I’m a big fat nope. Marge is running the other guy’s face. If he’s a wanted man, or has any sort of connections, we’ll find it.”
Ricket took a deep breath, twirling her bun stick over her fingers like a miniature baton. “Mine took his life too. Sure is a grizzly way to go. By the way, thank you for earlier. You saved our lives. I’m not sure how you knew that attacker was there, he must have had some sort of dampening field—my probes didn’t pick him up ‘til a second later than you.”
There was a question nestled in her gratitude. Rogers knew what she was after but didn’t feel like sharing how his senses seemed to be changing. “You’re welcome.”
“How did you know?” Ricket pressed, sounding sincere and looking far more innocent than she was.
And there it was. “I just…my gut told me.”
“Your gut? Or was it something else? Your connection to the ship? I heard how it changed the old pilot. Maybe we’re starting to see the beginning o
f how it’s going to change you,” she said. Her words were those of someone merely curious, but her stance had become ever so slightly more guarded.
“And if it helps me save my friends, I have no problems with that,” Rogers said emphatically.
Ricket sighed. “I was just trying to express my concern. That’s all. Clearly I’m not very good at it.”
“You and Kylie both. I know you mean well, but I’m fine. I’m not a fragile puppy. I can handle this.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Ricket said without managing to sound sorry at all.
Stars, I may not be a Hand agent, or filled with golden-age tech like Kylie, but I can still handle myself. Lived a long time by my own wits before I met either of these women.
He was sick of being treated like he needed protection.
A moment later, Laura interrupted the staring contest Rogers and Ricket were having.
Well, shit.
“What do you think that means?” he asked aloud to Ricket, placing his hands on his hips.
“Well, Hubei was destroyed, and it destabilized the entire system. Now people are swooping in to pick up the pieces, put it back together in a way that suits them, not the general population. Hired guns like this are probably having a field day. But it doesn’t tell us much about why we just got attacked by thugs for breaking into a closed-down brewery.”
