Retribution Required

by C. R. Daems

  Maxim stood wide-eyed, surveying the room, then he smiled. "Glad you're all right, Mr. Zotov," he said, then in a raised voice, "You heard Mr. Zotov. Dispose of the garbage. Miss Zenaida, what would you…and your companion like to eat and drink?"

  "Steak, cut in two-centimeter chunks for my companion, and a blue ice for me," I said, then added. "While they clean up I'd like to stretch my legs and use the ladies’ room down the hall." I rose and, seeing Zotov nod, left. In the ladies’ room I retrieved my container, removed the Dream Drug, which I placed inside my shirt, and freshened up while waiting for the shakes to stop.

  "I felt sorry for you when I heard the Tykhe had arrived and I knew you were Wu's carrier," Zotov said after I had sat. The bodies were gone, along with the bloody mat Boris had been standing on. "Good thing Wu had an accident. They might have let you go."

  "She didn't." I rose and placed the sack of Dream Dust on his desk. "What kind of a carrier would I be if I gave my package to some wannabe?"

  Zotov roared with laughter. Even Maxim, who had stayed, smiled. "I always liked your father. He was not only reliable but always in a good mood, amusing, and trustworthy. I knew you were an active part of his business but never imagined a woman could survive alone. We have women in the business but they have twenty men to back them up if necessary. You're my exclusive merchant when you are available, and everything in my club is free for you and Shadi. Give me your chip, Zen." He reached out his hand and I handed one to him. He slid it across his tablet and handed it back. "I should give you more of a bonus but it would ruin my Russian image as cruel, greedy, and tight fisted."

  When I looked at my chip he had added a quarter million credits. "I'll make sure your image stays intact." I smiled. Zotov insisted I stay for dinner and we talked late into the night. Because of the late hour, he had Maxim and a couple men escort me back to the Tykhe.

  * * *

  "I was concerned when you weren't back earlier, and more so when I saw you accompanied by three nasty-looking men," Kraig said when I entered the galley.

  "Mr. Zotov insisted I have dinner with him and thought I needed an escort because of the late hour." I said, grabbing a beer and sitting. "He confirmed the Easy Trader drops off military-like crew and collects them several months later. Ten are here right now."

  "That's good news. It means we can pick up the Easy Trader's trail here and hopefully track it back to the Raiders." Kraig studied me for several minutes. "What else happened?"

  I spent an hour explaining my encounter with Sokolov, leaving out what the package contained. Of course, Kraig knew it was illegal since there hadn't been any packages in the cargo bay or listed on the ship's manifest.

  "If we survive you are going to be a rich lady, Zen. And on the positive side, the Black Hand didn't help you. But on the negative side, footprints indicated they were on the ship while we were gone. Want to look?"

  "Can I get drunk first? It's like date-rape. You're sore and bruised but you can't remember why," I said, feeling the urge to kill something, preferably a Black Hand or two. After finishing my beer we walked down to the missile compartment. I opened the missiles using my tablet—both compartments were empty.

  "Interesting," Kraig said. "Either the local Black Hand checks your ship every time it lands somewhere, or they've retrieved whatever they sent. The question is whether they will add something when they know where you are going or just load things, knowing each system will look or…"

  "Makes me want to place a rat trap inside. Not a spring-loaded bar of metal but an explosive charge to blow off an arm. Bastards!" I swore, feeling frustrated. I couldn't stop them without serious consequences but their continuing trespasses were driving me crazy.

  "What do you think we should do now?" Kraig asked.

  "Go about business as usual. I'm a merchant and need business to pay the bills."

  "Where?"

  "Let me check the merchant's guild to see if they have anything…otherwise perhaps Bijapur, Plata, Vayk, and Odessos before heading back toward Dacca. We can check to see if the Easy Trader goes that far south. Vayk and Odessos are close to the ACS and a logical place to meet a merchant scouting the Central Systems," I said and saw Kraig nod agreement. I did get lucky at the merchant guild and picked up several deliveries to Bijapur.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Star System: Bijapur

  The customs inspection was very routine since I had packages for Bijapur.

  "I think I'll check in with AIA to hear the latest news. Maybe Sherman got lucky and they caught the Raiders and you can retire in luxury," Kraig said as he prepared to leave.

  "I'm not sure what I will do if we survive this mission."

  "You could trade in the ACS."

  "Shadi and I would be bored to tears. It would be like living in a rest home," I said trying to look comatose. Kraig choked out a laugh.

  "You'd miss playing with the Black Hand?"

  "Retribution is still required," I said, not sure how I was going to achieve that but sure it was still required.

  "You're a pit bull with a bone. I plan to retire when we finish. I've had enough excitement for a lifetime…and I would've thought you’d had enough for three."

  "We both have bones. They're just different. You'd do anything to stop the Raiders and I do anything to get even with the Black Hand."

  "True. See you later." Kraig waved as he strode down the hallway to the exit hatch. I finished dressing and decided to visit the merchant's guild and Figueroa since our last gig had been very profitable, if a bit too exciting. The guild actually had several packages waiting transportation within the lower Rim where we intended to go, so I signed up to take them.

  Next I caught a taxi to the Blue Lagoon. It was midday and the bar area had few customers. I didn't see Figueroa and was about to ask the man serving me when a muscular man in his late twenties approached. He looked like security, with the assortment of weapons on his belt, but the equipment was expensive, well cared for, and used—a professional.

  "Miss Zenaida, Mr. Figueroa would like to see you in his office if you’re not busy," he said and gave a small welcoming nod.

  "Never too busy for Mr. Figueroa," I said and followed him down a hallway where he stopped and motioned for me to enter. He followed me in and closed the door. Figueroa didn't rise but the smile said he was genuinely pleased to see me.

  "That was a sweet profit you made me on Hohhot. Jerrelle thought to double his profits and wound up cutting them in half. I don't think he likes you," he said and laughed and even his henchman smiled. "Word is you saved Zotov's ass, not that anyone cares. Those Russians can be ruthless sons-of-bitches, but if you keep this up you are going to be the exclusive method of delivery in the Rim."

  Or dead, I mused, thinking it wasn't far from true. I had been lucky and that's good, but not something on which one should base a long-term career.

  "I have some packages that need delivery. Interested?"

  "Probably, depending on what and to whom and how fast," I said, then smiled. "But I think Hohhot is out for a while."

  Fergueroa laughed and slapped his desk. "You did screw up his brilliant plan to get Velvet on the cheap. No, Dacca and Lietzow, color black, and within fifteen days."

  "Doable," I said, but he interrupted before I could continue serious negotiations.

  "We can skip the haggling. It's dangerous and I trust you so you're worth a bonus. Seventy-five for each kilo." He smiled, as well he should. Black, street name Devil's Root, was not only illegal but carried harsher penalties because it was highly addictive and caused extremely erratic behavior. But I was told it gave a high like no other drug available today. And like Velvet, it was easy to detect because of the vapors it leaked. Notwithstanding that, seventy-five per kilo was a very generous offer—fifty would have been a fair price considering his time frame for delivery was reasonable.

  "Agreed," I said with a nod while trying to keep my mouth from hanging open.

  "Negotiating with friends is v
ery easy. I offer a fair price plus a bonus because I know you are honest and trustworthy. I can send a kilo with you and don't have to worry you will decide to steal it, and it's unlikely anyone else will. That’s good because it's expensive hunting down thieves." He roared with laughter.

  * * *

  "I just heard that Lutetia had been attacked by Raiders. And the news is that an ACS cruiser interrupted the raid. Unfortunately there was only one ACS cruiser and two Raiders. They apparently destroyed the ACS cruiser but it inflicted heavy damages on the Raiders' ships. They left the area, probably because they couldn't be sure when more ACS cruisers would arrive," Kraig blurted as soon as he saw me enter the galley, his voice high with excitement. "I thought we might be able to detect them arriving if we were in Dacca."

  I could understand his euphoria. As a military man, he could feel the excitement of the hunt and be pleased our information had offset the gas we delivered to the Raiders.

  "So you want the Tykhe to go against two Raider cruisers which destroyed a well-armed ACS cruiser?" I asked and cocked my head as if to hear better. Kraig sobered and took a sip of the beer he had in front of him. Then laughed.

  "It would look great in the history edition. The Tykhe, a little merchant ship that destroyed two Raider cruisers." His face looked to have a faint blush to it. "Let me start again, now that you have doused the flames of my burning enthusiasm. Lutetia is approximately eighteen days’ travel to Dacca, given they don't have to layover to make critical repairs. If we went directly to Dacca, I thought we could hang out near the exit into Dacca space and maybe get an idea where the cruisers base is located based on the vector they take."

  "And if their base is in Tyrus?"

  "Then we will know it's not in Dacca." He smiled.

  "Well, then you will be delighted to hear I have a delivery for Dacca and Lietzow. The client has given me fifteen days. So given your information isn't a week old, we have a reason to go to Dacca drop off my package and then Lietzow. Then we could return to Dacca space and wait. If we are caught or questioned we could claim we had more unfinished business in Dacca."

  "This may be the break we have been waiting for," Kraig said, full of his previous excitement. I wasn't so sure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Star System: Dacca

  Do you want me to go along? Even the police don't like going into Sin City except for periodic raids, and if you got caught in one of those…" Kraig said when I told him the client owned a massage parlor in one of Sin City’s suburbs called Eastside. In reality it was a very liberal suburb and only marginally safe in the daytime.

  "The tribulations of us honest, small, independent merchants. We're forced to take the leavings of the wealthy merchants," I whined. Kraig choked on his coffee.

  "You forgot to add underpaid."

  "Good point. The client expects me to risk my life for a paltry seventy-five thousand credits."

  This time Kraig spilled his coffee. "Ooch," he shouted, rubbing his leg where his coffee landed. "Seventy-five thousand! What are you delivering, a signed copy of the original ACS Constitution?"

  "I'd want a hell of lot more credits to carry that document into Eastside. Probably tie me to a stake and use the manuscript as fuel to start the fire."

  "Be careful, Zen," Kraig said with real emotion. "We need you."

  "I'm not suicidal. I'll be back by sunset." I waved and exited the Tykhe, found a taxi, and paid a ten-credit bonus to go to Angel's Massage Parlor.

  "I’ll be lucky to get out alive," the cabbie complained after agreeing reluctantly. "My children will starve if I can't work…" he continued, muttering the entire thirty-minute ride through the city and through two more working class suburbs and finally into Eastside. I gave him an extra five credits since some of his rants were quite amusing. "My wife will bury me in the backyard and empty the chamber pots on my grave every morning and nag me all day about how I stink."

  The Parlor was located in a modest brick building with its share of graffiti. But the front door was impressive—frosted glass with a beautiful female fairy that no male could pass without tripping or stumbling into someone or something. Inside there were several booths along the wall with men scanning monitors, which I assumed provided a menu of services and pictures of available angels. I continued to the glass counter where a pixie of a woman sat perched on a stool that looked like a tree stump, complete with flowers and vines.

  "May I be of service?" she said in a voice that would have rivaled the ancient Greek Sirens. I idly wondered if she had modeled for the image on the door.

  "I'd like to see Madam Angel," I said. The neighborhood and the building was old and rundown, but the parlor was comfortable and well maintained. I'd wager there were no cheap massages.

  "She only entertains special customers and then only by appointment." Her seductive tone never changed, somehow making me feel she and I were alone in the world.

  "Tell Madam Angel that Zenaida is here to brighten her day," I said.

  "If you can do that I'm sure Madam Angel will make an exception," she purred then said something in a singsong language. Several minutes later two men appeared, professional guards by the look of them.

  The older of the two evaluated me as a potential threat before nodding toward the hallway behind him. As I passed him he spoke. "I like your security. Doubt anyone would survive a bout with her."

  "She does keep the drunks and idiots from getting fresh."

  He snorted, as he opened the door to a modern office suite and two more guards.

  "Pilot Zenaida, it's a pleasure to meet you. You and your companion have quite a reputation in the Rim."

  "Thank you. Where would you like delivery?" I asked, never sure who the recipient trusted. Madam Angel was a beautiful woman although not young, maybe in her early fifties, but still able to turn heads and raise more than a heart rate.

  She smiled. "It's safe here."

  I looked around and found a door I thought a private powder room and pointed toward it. She nodded.

  In the bathroom I removed the Devil's Root from my container, returned to the room, and handed the bag to her. She weighed it in her hand and smiled.

  "I see your reputation is real. He usually sends one fifth of this amount to lower the carrier's temptation to steal it and reduce the loss if it's seized by customs, which is half the time."

  "If you would like a massage or something to relax you, it's on the house."

  "That's kind, but no thank you. I need to get back to my ship. It's been a long day."

  "I understand. Petra will get you a taxi. Best not wander the streets if it isn't necessary. The residents can be pushy at times and damn right nasty at others, especially if they think you look vulnerable."

  By the time I got to the door a taxi was waiting and I was back on the Tykhe a half hour later. When I entered I clicked on my tablet, hit the footprint icon, and swore in several languages. Someone had entered the ship. I used my tablet to open the fake missiles and marched down to the missile compartment. There I removed the contents and brought then to the galley for inspection. Two hours later, Kraig returned.

  "That's a nice collection of…stuff. A new consignment?" he asked, retrieving two beers and handing me one.

  "No!" I screamed. "The Black Hands’ merchandise for a dim-witted-bimbo to smuggle around the Rim. No charge, no risk, and the fluff-head is clueless." I pounded the table. "Well, there is a charge and I'm going to have the last laugh."

  "What are they smuggling?" Kraig asked, looking at the assortment of things scattered around the table.

  "Drugs—expensive ones to buy and export because they are easy to detect. Electronics—chips and design plans I would think come from the ACS. Art—valuable stolen art the rich are willing to buy for their personal collections. That," I pointed to the table, "stuff is worth in the millions of credits."

  "I wonder where it is destined to be picked up—"

  "It's fucking labeled!" I screamed. "Look." I turned a bag I
thought contained Devil's Root to show a symbol. Kraig frowned in confusion. "That's Kanji, an old Japanese written language. It's used by various groups in the Rim. This is the symbol for Hohhot and this," I turned over the cylinder that contained a painting, "this is the symbol for Divona."

  "Good system. Wait until we leave the Tykhe then check to see what if anything is meant for delivery to the current system. And add anything going to another system." He nodded in appreciation of the cleverness of the system. "What now?"

  "I'd like to space it. But obviously I can't without signing our death warrant. So, on to Lietzow and the hope we can find the Raiders. The sooner we have that problem solved the sooner I can get my retribution."

  I spent most of the two-day trip fantasizing over what retribution I could deliver. That helped to relieve the frustration and headache.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Star System: Lietzow

  Ironically, Figueroa's package was for a Mr. Truitt at the Ranch. I knew Uzomo was dead but the idea of visiting the place still made me nervous. Uzomo could have relatives or friends who wanted revenge, high rollers could think I cheated and owed them for the money they lost, and who knew what bad spirits remained. I decided the best thing was to get it over with as quickly as possible. So I left the ship before Kraig and caught a skimmer to the Ranch. The outside looked exactly the same but I was relieved to find the inside no longer contained the boxing ring, fighting cage, or dirt-fighting pit. They had been replaced by a large glass-enclosed area where robots competed against each other. There appeared to be three kinds: vehicles, drones, and freestyle. Each type had predefined limits on size, weight, weapons, etc. The idea of machines killing each other was much preferable to animals and people. I hoped that meant Truitt and Uzomo had nothing in common but doubted it, based on the Devil's Root he had purchased.