“That it does,” said March.
“You realize, of course, that we don’t actually need her to accomplish the mission,” said November. “Rendering the fungi inert is all well and good. Dumping it into a sun will accomplish the same thing just as efficiently.”
March sighed. “Evidently the Mercatorian government would like to study the inert fungus. They think they can learn something from it. They probably can. Which is why I would rather it go to them instead of, say, the Falcon Republic or the Final Consciousness.”
“Our two favorite governments,” said November.
March grunted, and the lift car came to a halt, and the doors slid open.
The faint sound of pulsing music came to his ears.
“Ah,” said November. “It seems we’ve found the local entertainment district.”
“Such as it is,” said March.
They left the lift car lobby and looked around Habitat Dome 6. The dome arched a hundred meters overhead, its panels of transparent metal offering a splendid view of the stars. The central third of the floor was filled with a small round park that doubled as a hydroponic farm, and businesses lined the base of the dome, each one with a good crowd of customers. The businesses were the sort that catered to the vices of the rough men who worked in asteroid mines. March spotted two bars, another establishment that according to its signs offered “adult dances” (its sign featured a hologram of a lithe woman writhing around a metal pole), and another establishment that featured both android and human prostitutes.
There was a place like this on every mining station that March had ever visited. Despite the availability of lifelike android prostitutes, some women voluntarily came to the brothels to join humanity’s oldest profession. The clever and ruthless ones returned to their homeworlds with a large sum of money. The less clever or the unlucky ones returned broke, broken, and with a venereal disease or three. And sometimes women were brought here against their will, hired from their impoverished homeworlds with the promise of “work” on an asteroid station.
The Silent Order and the Ministry of Security took a dim view of such activities, especially since they were often a front for Kezredite slavers or Machinist operatives. March had shut down a few such operations in his time.
“Why the hell are they staying here?” said March. “Great way to get mugged.”
Or to draw the attention of intelligence operatives.
“An excellent question,” said November. “Shall we ask them? I believe that is the hotel.”
They crossed the dome and came to the hotel, a three-story building that extended into the rock of the asteroid. A shimmering holographic sign proclaimed that rooms were available for rental by the hour, the day, and the week, and that all crimes would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
The lobby was cleaner than March expected.
November strolled up to the registration desk. A young woman in a white uniform stood there, turning a bright, cold smile in their direction.
“Good day, sirs,” said the clerk. “How can I assist?”
“We’re here for a meeting with Masters Shipping,” said November. Dr. Northridge and Lieutenant Alan had been traveling under the guise of agents for a shipping company.
“One moment, sir,” said the clerk, tapping at her computer. “Here we are. The meeting is in Conference Room 7, just down the hall there.” She pointed. “I will let the others know that you are here.”
“Thank you,” said November.
March followed him down a carpeted hallway to Conference Room 7, and November opened the door. The conference room beyond was dominated by a large table equipped with a holographic projector. The walls were the rough rock of the asteroid, though there were several pictures on the wall showing Exarch Station against a starry backdrop.
“Charming,” said November. He dropped into one of the chairs and put his feet on the table. “That clerk could have at least offered us coffee.”
“We have coffee on the Tiger,” said March, remaining standing so he could watch the door.
“It is a matter of principle,” said November. “Always eat the free food at a hotel.”
March grunted. “Food at a place like this might give you a disease.”
“No, the employees here might give you a disease,” said November. “The food ought to be perfectly safe. Truth be told, I’ve found the that the best food in a spaceport is at the buffets in either strip clubs or the casinos. But I know you prefer protein bars and vegetables.”
“I thought you didn’t like to eat,” said March. “Takes blood from your brain.”
“When I am working, of course,” said November. “Then digestion is an unnecessary distraction. But…”
The door slid open, and March saw three men standing in the hallway.
Right away his instincts screamed an alarm. The three men all wore the jumpsuits of starship crewers and jackets loose enough to conceal shoulder holsters. The men looked rough, and the first man held a stubby black pistol with a boxy look to it.
A stun weapon. And unlike the plasma weapon that March had used to make his point with Siegfried, this weapon had a power pack in place.
“Don’t move, either of you,” said the lead crewer. The other two men reached into their coats, no doubt grasping stun weapons of their own.
“What do you want?” said March.
“You,” said the crewer to November, gesturing with the stun gun. “Get to your feet. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Slowly, November got to his feet, his hands raised.
March noted the position of the stun gun, gauging the distance. Could he attack before the crewer fired the stun gun? Probably not.
“Now,” said the crewer, gesturing with the gun again. “You’re both going to come with us. No trouble, understand. I’d prefer not to carry you, but we will if we have to.”
“All right,” said March. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll come quietly.”
“Good,” said the crewer. “Now…”
The word had barely left his lips before March moved.
He charged forward, his left arm leading. The crewer was quick, and recovered at once, pulling the trigger on the stun gun. A bolt of harsh blue light leaped from the weapon’s emitter, and March snapped up his left arm and caught the blast. The stun weapon’s bolt was designed to scramble the target’s nervous system, but the charge grounded out on the alloy of March’s cybernetic arm.
He stepped into his attack, and his right palm slammed into the crewer’s face with enough force to snap his head back. The man stumbled with a gasp of pain, and March seized the stun gun with his right hand and ripped it free with enough force to break his foe’s fingers.
By then the other two men had recovered and yanked their own stun weapons from their jackets. The second crewer stepped forward, leveling his weapon, and March struck with his left hand. The cybernetic fist landed on the second crewer’s wrist with enough force to shatter bone, and the gun fell from pain numbed-fingers. March reversed the grip on the stun gun he had taken from the first man, squeezed the trigger, and the blue bolt sent the second crewer to the floor.
The third man pointed his weapon at March and fired, but he was already moving. His left hand seized the first man by the collar and wrenched him to the right just in time to intercept the stun bolt. The first crewer fell limp to the floor, and March pulled the trigger. The stun blast caught the third crewer in the chest, and he fell back, hit the door, and collapsed.
All three men lay unconscious on the floor.
The entire fight had taken about ten seconds.
March stepped forward, opened the door, and looked up and down the corridor, but it was empty. There was no sign of any other attackers.
There was also no sign of Dr. Northridge or Lieutenant Alan.
“Shit,” muttered March.
November was already searching the unconscious men and had claimed one of their stun guns.
“Too m
uch of a coincidence for muggers,” said November, pulling out a wallet and pocketing the ID card.
“Agreed,” said March, producing his phone. “Vigil?”
“Captain March?” came the cool voice in his ear.
“Camera check,” said March. “Is there anyone outside the ship? Also, what is Dr. Siegfried doing?”
There was a pause as the pseudointelligence processed the request.
“No one has entered the landing bay since you and Mr. November departed,” said Vigil. “Dr. Siegfried is presently in the gym. Would you like to access visual feeds?”
“No,” said March. “Please notify me immediately if anyone enters the landing bay or if Dr. Siegfried attempts to access any vital ship systems.”
“Acknowledged.”
“They’re not going after the ship,” said March. “I doubt Siegfried knew or was involved.”
“Good,” said November, finishing his search of the stunned men. “Nothing of interest. Some ID cards, probably forged. I took their phones, though they’re encrypted. One of them had a coupon for a free lap dance at a local establishment.”
“A trap, then,” said March. “They were waiting for us to show up. Which means they’ve probably got Lieutenant Alan and Dr. Northridge on lockdown already.”
“But not for long,” said November. “Too risky. Too much of a chance of drawing the attention of station security. Which means they’ve likely only been here a few hours.”
March nodded. “They might still have Alan and Northridge on hand.”
“Probably holding them captive here in the hotel,” said November, drawing out his phone with his free hand.
“Do you know which rooms they used?” said March.
“No,” said November, “but I have an idea. A place like this will use automated cleaning drones to save on costs. The network for controlling housekeeping drones usually isn’t terribly secured…ah! Here we go. The status updates for the drones. Most probably Alan and Northridge were staying in one or two of the weekly rooms…and the drones have been doing a daily clean of only one of those rooms. Room 308.”
March nodded. “Let’s go.”
He paused long enough to give each of the unconscious men another shot from the stun gun. Too many stun hits in too short a time could cause a stroke, but two would be mostly harmless, and March didn’t want the unconscious men to warn their friends. And these three men had almost certainly intended harm. March didn’t know if they were hirelings of the Final Consciousness, operatives of another intelligence agency, or simply opportunistic thugs.
Nevertheless, he did not want them behind him.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got a map on that thing?” said March.
“As it happens, I don’t,” said November. “But the drones do.” He tapped a command on his phone. “Lift or stairs?”
“Stairs,” said March. “They might have someone watching the lifts.”
“This way, then,” said November.
They headed down the corridor, turned a corner, and came to a utility door. It was locked, but March’s cybernetic hand ripped it open, and they climbed a set of metal steps. After three levels, November pointed at a door, and March opened it. They stepped into a deserted hotel corridor. The carpet was an inoffensive shade of blue, the air smelled of disinfectant, and closed doors lined the hallway. November pointed, and March moved down the corridor until he came to a corner. He gestured for November to stop, and then March dropped to one knee and peered around the corner.
Right away he saw the problem.
Two more rough-looking men stood guard outside the door to Room 308. They were wearing the coveralls of maintenance technicians, and a closed toolbox sat on the floor next to them. They looked like technicians repairing the local environmental systems, and no doubt if anyone approached they would start digging through the toolbox and talk about air filters and nitrogen levels.
Both men held stun guns.
“Two,” he whispered to November.
“Chancy,” whispered November back. “Might be more in the room.”
“Yeah.” March thought for a moment. “Don’t suppose you can control the cleaning drones?”
“I think I can,” said November. He tapped some more commands into his phone. A smile flashed across his face. “Yes, this will do nicely.”
“What did you do?” said March, glancing around the corner again.
“I instructed the system that there were severe biological contaminants directly in front of Room 308,” said November, “and that immediate emergency cleanup was required.”
March grunted. “Clever.”
“Yes, I really rather am.”
Further down the hall, March heard the clang of a lift, and then a hiss of a door. Both men in maintenance coveralls turned towards the lift lobby, and then a pair of cleaning drones rolled into the corridor. They had the same sort of spidery look that Adelaide’s cleaning drones possessed, though these two drones looked far more robust.
Both men lowered their stun guns.
“Damned things,” said the first man. “Never liked them. That’s what women are for.”
The second man snorted. “Yeah, but drones don’t talk back or bitch about their mothers. Get out of the way. The lads downstairs should be done with that privateer soon, and then we can get the hell out of here.”
Both men stepped to the side, intending to let the drones roll past to their programmed destination.
Their surprise was absolute when the drones came to a stop and started spraying them with white cleaning foam. The odor of disinfectant redoubled, and both men let out furious curses.
“How the hell do you turn these damned things off?” bellowed the first man.
March glided around the corner and walked forward in silence, stun gun raised before him.
“I don’t know,” snarled the second man. “Go down to the lobby and…” His eyes widened as he saw March approach. “Shit!”
March squeezed the trigger. Blue light flashed, and the second man collapsed to the floor in a growing pile of cleaning foam. The first man scrambled for his stun gun, and March shot him. He joined his companion on the carpet, and March gave them both another shot to make sure they stayed down. He then stepped to the side, just out of sight of the peephole of Room 308, the foam piling up around his boots.
The door opened a crack, and March caught a glimpse of another man in a maintenance coverall. The man’s eyes widened as he saw the foam, and he pulled open the door a little wider for a better view. It was a natural response, and it was also the wrong thing to do. March kicked the door, and it swung back and caught the man in the forehead. He stumbled, and March surged through the door and shot the man twice in the chest with the stun gun.
He went down in a heap, and March stepped into the hotel room, his eyes sweeping the perimeter and checking the corners. There were two chairs against the wall, currently holding a man and a woman, both bound and gagged. Probably Lieutenant Alan and Dr. Northridge. There was a queen-sized bed, just one, and a man leaping at March with a yell, a knife in his hand…
Instinct and training took over, and March stepped back, snapping up his left hand in guard. The man stabbed his knife into March’s left hand, no doubt expecting to wound him. Instead, the blow skidded down March’s left palm and forearm. It was a good knife, and it ruined his glove and bracer, but the blade was useless against March’s cybernetic arm.
His attacker just had time to blink in astonishment, and then March shot him.
The stunned man fell between the bed and the wall and did not move.
March glanced back at the hallway just in time to see November switch off the drones and stroll into the hotel room.
“Splendid,” said November. “You seem to have things well in hand here.”
March stooped, picked up the knife in his left hand, and walked towards the chairs. The woman was short, blond, and pretty. She was wearing formal clothes common to a Calaskaran woman – a white blouse
, a black jacket, a black pencil skirt that reached below her knees, and a pair of high-heeled black shoes. She had vivid green eyes that were bloodshot with fear. The man was big and heavy with muscle, his black hair in a crew-cut, his business suit a little on the cheap side. Everything about him screamed off-duty Royal Calaskaran Marine.
“You do the introductions,” said March, “I’ll cut them loose.”
November nodded, and March reached up and tore the duct tape from the woman’s mouth. She let out a little yelp of pain and glared at him.
“Good day,” said November. “The siren sings, but the starship display shows forty-seven error messages.”
The woman blinked a few times and then spoke the appropriate code counterphrase. “Um…reboot the main hard drive array, but…be sure to buy extra onions for the lawn mower.”
“Excellent,” said November. “Might I presume that I have the honor of addressing Dr. Melissa Northridge?”
“You…you do,” said the woman. She tried to sound intimidating, but it only came across as terrified. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am John November,” announced November. “This is my colleague Captain Jack March.”
“Hold still,” said March, lifting the knife. Their attackers had done a good job with the ropes. “I’ll cut you and Lieutenant Alan loose.”
Northridge went very still as March started sawing.
“We arrived recently to pick you up for the next stage of our mutual mission,” said November, “but by good fortune and our own prodigious skill, it seems we have arrived in the nick of time to rescue you.” March rolled his eyes but kept cutting. Northridge twitched as he got her ankles free. “Might I inquire as to the circumstances of your current, ah, misfortune?”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” said Northridge. “They just came through the door. Kent would know more.”
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