Hardshellz

by Morris Kenyon

  ***

  Later that day – or early the next – Knofahgginarebagz himself entered our suite. He wore a brown heavy protective suit that made him look even more bulky than before. Water dripped from his suit and onto the tiled floor where it steamed in the cooler air.

  The ape-man pointed at me. "You. Come with me," he snapped, throwing a spare suit onto the floor before me. As he did so, I noticed he had a dagger strapped onto his belt. I knew that blade – knew it well. It was my own blade carved from a solid diamond. It cost a small fortune and it had saved my life on many occasions. I wasn't happy about seeing it at the ape-man's side but what could I do? Nothing.

  "You only had to ask," I said mildly. I slipped on the suit and sealed it. Çrámerr checked the seals for leaks.

  "Take care, Vic," Julianna mouthed as I followed Knofahgginarebagz out the airlock and into the rainstorm beyond. Water rattled against the insulated cloth. The suit smelled foul – of old sweat and body odour. Don't pirates ever take showers? Or is it part of their macho image to smell bad?

  I studied my surroundings carefully as we left our building and crossed a wide, cleared area. In the driving, torrential downpour, I couldn't see much. The clearing was mostly flanked by buildings, some obviously used for accommodation, but Knofahgginarebagz took me to a long, low metal structure that had to be a storage warehouse of some kind.

  As we walked, I saw a few more distant meteor strikes. It seemed as if this world was undergoing a cometary shower but as Knofahgginarebagz didn't look worried, I tried not to show any emotions. The percentage chance of being struck by falling space rocks is very small anyway.

  Knofahgginarebagz unlocked a pedestrian door set next to a larger vehicular gateway. We stepped into an airlock, through my suit I heard the hiss of an air interchange, and then on into the main warehouse itself. We unsnapped our helmets and I was glad to breathe fresher air again.

  It wasn't as full as I expected. I sort of expected something you'd expect from a child's holo-movie about space pirates. You know the sort of thing: a warehouse crammed to the ceiling with treasures looted from one end of Orion's Arm to the other. Jewels, high-tech machine parts, valuable artworks, high-powered sports-flyers, furs and hides from endangered species, bottles and barrels of rare liqueurs and sad-eyed slaves waiting to be sold on in one or other worlds where slavery is legal – or at least goes on under the authorities' noses.

  Instead, there wasn't much here and I guessed that their previous stolen property had not long been fenced. Knofahgginarebagz led me over to a well-known crate and pointed it out to me. I looked at it. Knofahgginarebagz took out a HandPad and scrolled down the cargo manifest. His evil apish eyes glared at me.

  "So this thing is worth sixty-six mill?" he growled, shaking his head. "Let's have it open and see it."

  "Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, I'm just a guard – not an art specialist."

  "Just as well I've got some servo-bots who are programmed to handle delicates. Let's see it." The word 'delicates' sounded odd coming from Knofahgginarebagz's fanged maw. He pressed his HandPad and two multi-armed robots swooped from out of the corners.

  "Open that crate – break what's inside and I'll have you dismantled. Got that?"

  "Yes, sir," one of the robots said. Its voice was tinny and mechanical and I hoped its handling techniques were better than its vocalisation. I sat on another nearby box and watched as the two servo-bots rapidly unscrewed the crate, their multi-arms working quickly, then stacked the sides neatly and undid the packaging.

  Soon, there it was, exposed in all its glory. One and a half metres of dull, disappointing nothing. Knofahgginarebagz looked at me.

  "You should see it under ultraviolet. It looks very different then," I told him.

  "I know what I'm doing. I am aware of the special properties of Kisisium hennessyanum. But no way is that worth sixty-six mill of anyone's money. I won't get anywhere near that amount for it."

  "Oligarchs," I said. "Money's meaningless to those guys. I wouldn't pay that much for it myself but if they want something bad enough, then they've got to have it."

  "Something smells fishy about the whole deal," he grumbled.

  I sniffed the air. The shell had been thoroughly cleaned out and I couldn't smell anything fishy. Only the stench of under washed pirate leader but I didn't tell him that.

  "Well, at least we know it's undamaged. I tried to keep our shots away from the cargo holds but sometimes accidents happen." Turning to the servo-bots, he commanded that they re-crate the shell.

  On the way back to the airlock, I asked how long he intended to keep us passengers but he didn't answer me. He seemed deep in thought – probably contemplating the folly of people with more money than sense. He escorted me back to our suite but took my suit away with him when he left. I hadn't really expected he'd forget about it.

  When I entered our room, I heard Çrámerr telling Julianna, "My wife doesn't appreciate the 24/7 365 commitment of the modern work-life interface. I'm a work hard, play hard kinda guy."

  Julianna was sitting on an easy chair with an unreadable expression on her face. All the same, I didn't want Çrámerr getting over-friendly with her. This out of the way world hadn't been connected to the Galactoweb – or else dampers had been fitted to these buildings. Either way, nobody was broadcasting anything so he couldn't show us his vast office, teams of lackeys and underlings, personal moon home, chauffeured private shuttle etc. We were strictly on our own, cut off from the rest of hi-manity.

  "When they cloned you, did the docs get rid of that embarrassing social disease at the time? Oops, sorry," I said, putting my hand over my mouth.

  Julianna grinned at me but Çrámerr gave me a foul look. That probably put the temporary blocks on his take-over bid.