Chaos Station 01 - Chaos Station

by Kelly Jensen

  “Shit.” Felix turned away from his past and walked through the med bay hatch, driven by the need to tend his present. Zed would have to find his own way off the ship.

  “Karma is a bitch, man. Any-way.” Elias drew the word out in a sarcastic drawl. “I recognized a tattoo on the contact’s neck. A moth. Our deal wasn’t with Agrius cartel. Ness and I ran, but they got people all over the docks. It was a setup.”

  “You think those drugs belonged to Agrius?”

  Of all the cartels to steal from, they’d chosen the most violent. Wonderful.

  “Doesn’t matter what I think, does it? They’re pissed at us and that’s the most obvious connection.”

  “Damn it. Okay...where are you?”

  “We hid in a shipping container over at Dock C. Problem is, the door locked on us and I’m not sure banging on the sides will summon the right sort of assistance, if you know what I mean.”

  Long strides brought Felix to the armory locker. He waved his bracelet in front of the lock and keyed in a sequence of digits. The door hissed open.

  Felix grabbed a small stunner. Simple projectile weapons were prohibited aboard stations and he’d rather not carry a laser carbine through the docking area. He checked the charge and shoved the stunner into his belt. A shift of his boot confirmed the presence of the knife he kept sheathed inside. “What’s the nearest gate?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “On my way.” Felix flicked the channel. “Qek?”

  His bracelet emitted one of Qek’s clicks.

  “Running out to pick up Eli and Ness. Ready the drive so we don’t have to test the cold jump theory.”

  “There is no cold jump theory.”

  “We might need to leave in a hurry.”

  “Roger that. Ping me when you are approaching the gate and I will endeavor to pull away from the dock with the cargo ramp still lowered so you may perform a heroic leap into the ship.”

  Despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins, or maybe because of it, Felix laughed. Without looking back at the med bay, he ran toward Cargo One.

  * * *

  A smart man would leave. Zed didn’t have the capacity to handle the emotions rumbling in his chest. He’d barely been able to keep himself from lunging at Flick and throwing his arms around him. All that had stopped him were the little motions Flick had made with his right wrist, flexing it, stretching it, reminding Zed that not too long ago, he’d been on the verge of snapping it for no worse a transgression than an uninvited touch. What kind of person did that?

  Obviously the kind of person he was now, which meant it was even more important that he grab his bag and get the hell away from Felix Ingesson. Flick didn’t need Zed’s bullshit in his life. Whatever had happened to bring Flick back from the dead had left its marks all over him. He didn’t need to know about Zed’s scars, the ones that were visible or the ones that weren’t.

  But Elias said there was a problem. Flick had turned as white as the ghost he was supposed to be. And now he was headed out onto Dardanos, alone, and Zed...

  Zed couldn’t let him go.

  He darted into the mess, grabbed his stunner from his bag, and pounded down the cargo bay ramp after Flick. He didn’t call out for the other man to stop, since he was pretty sure Flick would just ignore him. Instead, he steadied his breath and his thoughts, and reached for his training. The Zone.

  His vision sharpened, as did his hearing. The emotions that had threatened to incapacitate him faded to little more than a nudge deep in his chest. The mission became paramount. Out of habit, he waited for the reiteration of the objectives in his ear. It didn’t come, and he remembered that it wouldn’t, not ever again.

  Not important. He knew his mission: protect Felix Ingesson, former Lieutenant, AEF, current engineer of the Chaos, civilian corvette. Facts and relevant memories streamed by, dispassionately, as Zed’s feet pounded into the flooring faster than Ingesson’s. Ingesson served in the AEF for five years as a combat engineer. Excellent scores in weapons, outstanding capacity in mastering mechanical systems. Reported MIA 2261. Declared KIA 2262. Unknown injuries, though significant scarring evident on casual observation. Left hand mangled under quasi-robotic glove.

  Conclusion: Ingesson would hold his own in combat against an equal force or slightly greater, unless his injuries were worse than presented.

  Zed matched his pace to Ingesson’s once he reached him. The former lieutenant glanced his way, frowned and fell into a quick walk.

  “Don’t need your help,” he growled.

  “You need backup.”

  “Not from you.”

  “Situation.”

  “What?”

  Zed stared at Ingesson, taking in the man’s flushed features. The run had not been challenging for a man of Ingesson’s abilities, which suggested that emotions were the cause of the redness and quickened breath. Incapacitation due to emotional burden possible.

  “Situation,” he repeated. “I need to know.”

  Ingesson leaned forward, his brow furrowing more deeply. “Your eyes, man. They’re...weird.”

  “Irrelevant.” Zed glared at him. “I need to know what we’re walking into in order to plan accordingly.”

  “You sound like Qek.”

  Qek. Ashushk name? The pilot of the Chaos was unaccounted for; did Idowu employ an alien? Confirm upon return to ship.

  “Elias said there were Agrius all over the docks. We might have stolen one of their shipments. By accident,” Ingesson reported. “He and Ness are hiding in a cargo crate that’s been locked. It could be moved in preparation for shipping at any time.”

  “Not ideal.”

  “No shit.”

  “You can track them?”

  “When I get close enough, I’ll be able to find them,” Ingesson said. “It’s getting close enough that might be an issue—”

  Zed grabbed Ingesson and shoved him into the shadows of a pair of crates. The slam of flesh against toughened plasmix sounded loud in his ears though it would not echo for others in the vicinity. He held Ingesson in place with a forearm across his chest.

  “Hold,” he ordered.

  “Zed, you are acting really fucking—”

  “Hold means still and quiet.”

  Zed craned his head around the corner, searching for the people who belonged to the shadows he’d spotted. He lifted his nose, searching for scents that didn’t fit, but all he could detect was the metallic tang from Ingesson.

  He remembered that scent. That taste.

  Review later.

  “Clear.”

  He released Ingesson and stepped out from between the crates. Bending at the waist, he moved soundlessly along the row of containers, keeping his silhouette compact and his shadow from stretching out too far. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Ingesson followed at an acceptable distance.

  He paused at the edge of an open area, scanning the entrances to other gates across it. “Which one?”

  “Gate twenty-nine.”

  Zed started forward, only to retreat before taking a full step. Ingesson bumped into him but quickly shifted back. “Company,” Zed whispered as two figures drifted into view. A man and a woman. Their hands were empty, swinging harmlessly at their sides. He watched for a moment, focusing on the gap of the woman’s open jacket that shifted with every step. After a minute or so, Zed’s suspicion was confirmed.

  “Armed with stunners,” he said.

  Made sense. The small handheld weapons were easily concealed and legal to carry on any station so long as they were used for self-defense only. Less messy than a pistol or a knife—at least in public—and less likely to punch an inconvenient hole in an exterior wall.

  “Wait here.” Zed inched forward, only to be halted by a hand on his shoulder.

  “Like hell. I’m not helpless, Zander.”

  Zed stared at his charge, his mission parameters echoing in his mind. Protect Felix Ingesson. But no, Ingesson was not helpless. Two were better odds against two.<
br />
  “Stay tight on my six. Use your weapon only if your life is threatened.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine what.”

  “Fine what? I’m not calling you sir.”

  Zed blinked. Right. Ingesson was no longer a lieutenant, and Zed was no longer a major. The AEF had released him, leaving him and his team blowing in the wind.

  Review later.

  They crept forward. Zed gestured at the tango on the right and started for the one on the left. He kept low, to the shadows around the crates, surging upward only when he was sure he could grab the man around the throat and mouth to drag him backward without a sound. The man kicked, but he couldn’t break Zed’s hold. In seconds, he hung limply from Zed’s arms—alive but incapacitated.

  A soft grunt drew his attention to Ingesson. He’d disabled his first target, but another had emerged from the shadows. Ingesson ducked low and swept out a leg to upend his opponent. The man tumbled to the floor, gasping as the wind was jolted out of him. Ingesson dropped down to slam a fist into his temple, knocking him cold.

  Zed gave Ingesson a thumbs-up and continued deeper into the realm of gate twenty-nine. “Anything?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “No, nothing...wait.” Ingesson chewed at the corner of his lower lip as he studied the display hovering over his bracelet. Not a military-issue wallet but obviously specialized equipment. Review later. “This way.”

  Before Zed could grab him, Ingesson darted ahead. Zed followed, his steps light and sure. He watched for more enemies as the former lieutenant focused on finding their targets.

  “Got ‘em.” Ingesson marched up to a blue container. He tapped on the side before starting around, looking for the entrance. Remaining alert, Zed followed. “Eli? Ne—”

  His voice cut off. Zed’s attention jerked back to Ingesson. A tango held him around the neck, stunner pressed to his temple.

  Chapter Four

  Stupid, stupid, stupid...

  He’d been distracted and now some asshole had him around the neck and what felt like a stunner pressed to his temple. Shit. Should he try to step back and duck? If he moved fast enough, he might just end up with a few crispy curls rather than scrambled brains—which would seriously diminish his capacity to unlock a shipping container.

  Felix breathed out and forced his body to relax. There was only one play here, the one directed by the man with the weapon.

  “Hands where I can see them,” the asshole said.

  Zed twitched in place, the odd movement consistent with the weird way he’d been acting since he’d followed Felix off the Chaos. The quiet moment stretched and Felix got the sense, via a creepy creep over the back of his scalp, that Zed was more dangerous than the man holding a stunner to his temple. Felix looked into the eyes of his erstwhile friend, and then wished he hadn’t. Zander Anatolius had checked out. The man before him had become someone else, the mysterious Loop who’d been covert ops for five years, deeper for the last two.

  The man behind Felix either didn’t get the same sense of doom from Zed’s flat gray eyes, or he was used to staring down danger. He dug the stunner into Felix’s temple and growled past his ear. “Turn and face the container and put your hands—”

  He got no further. Zed exploded into action, barreling forward in an unreal blur. Felix chose that moment to try ducking. He dropped down and pushed back just as the whirlwind named Loop hit. Electricity snapped, stinging the top of his ear, and a heavy weight slammed into his shoulder, opposite side. His gloved hand clattered and screeched against the metal grid flooring. Felix tucked and rolled, readied a kick and looked back for an opening. Zed stood over the immobile form of the asshole, both men utterly still. Zed’s head didn’t hang at an unnatural angle, though.

  Felix pushed to his feet and wrinkled his nose at the acrid stench of singed hair. He prodded the back of his head and winced as his fingers encountered crispy curls. He fingered his burnt ear. “Ouch.” But better than scrambled brains.

  “Can you open the container?” Zed asked, his voice as flat as his gaze.

  Nodding, Felix raised his left wrist to access his bracelet. As he tapped at a projected display, he used the moment of near normalcy to gather himself. Five years with the AEF had left him combat trained, but his term in the stin work camps had worn down his starched, military lines. Felix felt he could hold his own in most situations, but...

  He glanced over his shoulder at the cool, unflappable figure of Not-Zed. Loop. “What did they do to you, man?”

  “Review later,” Loop said.

  Brow furrowing, Felix turned back to the menu hovering in the dusty air above his wrist and quickly accessed his list of hacks. He flicked open a second window to monitor the heat signatures inside the container and breathed a sigh of relief as two glowed into being. A third command opened a channel. “Eli?” he whispered.

  “Here.”

  “Outside, working the lock. Hang tight.” Thank all the stars he wasn’t inside; he didn’t do well in enclosed spaces. Dark enclosed spaces? Nope, nope, nope.

  “This container is slated to be loaded aboard the Gregory at sixteen-oh-five,” the lock cheerily informed him. “To alter this schedule, please input authorization.”

  Felix sensed rather than saw Zed-Loop-Whoeverthefuck tensing behind him. Resisting the urge to turn, he continued scanning his log of hacks until he matched the make and model of the chatty lock sealing the container. He knew how to work as part of a team, how to let another man watch his back, and even after years of separation, he remembered who Zed used to be. He trusted him.

  The first display flashed and code began streaming top to bottom, symbols spinning, glowing, and turning as the program sought the right combination. Felix added the human element, tweaking the direction of the stream when he sensed a quicker path. He didn’t always get it right, but he did more often than not. He had a knack...and it required almost all of his concentration.

  Two digits unlocked, he ran into a block.

  “Are you trying to change the schedule? Please input the correct authorization.”

  Fingers flying over the truncated virtual keyboard, Felix called up a second routine and plugged it into the first.

  “You could’ve picked a cheaper container, Elias,” he muttered.

  “Maybe we could steal it when you’re done.”

  Three digits unlocked, three to go. Felix dismissed the second routine and assisted his hack with the fourth and fifth digits. The display dimmed as the fifth locked.

  “That is not the correct authorization.”

  A soft curse whispered past his lips as a timer materialized in a fourth display. Sweat gathered under the curls flopped against his forehead, and the stink of burnt hair intensified. Felix felt his shoulders twitching together in a programmer’s cramp. He considered himself a competent hacker, but this lock might have him beat.

  “Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” he murmured, the three distinct names loosening his tongue and a degree of tension. It had been his father’s favorite curse and Felix only used it when he truly needed divine help.

  “I hate it when you swear biblically.”

  “Shh!”

  His fingers became a blur as he fought to beat the clock, his hack scrolling on, digits revolving, flashing, winking out of existence. He assisted, he battled, he sweated and strained. He thought he heard movement behind him but couldn’t waste the seconds it would take him to glance over his shoulder. If he didn’t disable the lock in thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight seconds, a small detonation would fuse it permanently to the door. They’d need a laser torch to cut Elias and Nessa free.

  Twenty-two, twenty-one...

  He had a thousand combinations left. Too many, too many!

  Biting his lip, Felix made the decision to abandon the least likely half. The display flashed again, the frame deepening to a worrying shade of red. The program didn’t like being overridden.

  “That is not the correct authorization.”

  He should
have silenced the lock first. Sixteen, fifteen...

  Felix caught a pattern and stabbed the display. It locked and froze. Heart slamming against his ribs, Felix shook his wrist in the direction of the lock, the metal of his hand flashing in the dim light. “Open, damn it.”

  The display turned green and the lock chimed in joyful echo, celadon points of light blinking happily across the top. The container door hissed open. Felix breathed out and gripped the side. His head made one lazy loop of the cargo area before returning to the situation at hand. Nessa rushed out first, her delicate features tightly pinched. She ducked under his arm and stopped still.

  “Holy crap.”

  Felix turned around and swore under his breath. Zed stood in exactly the same spot as before, close enough it appeared he hadn’t moved. But there were bodies on the floor. Four of them. The scene couldn’t have been more chilling if blood speckled the bland coveralls of the Agrius thugs. And they were Agrius. Each had the distinctive moth tattoo peeking over their collars.

  A shiver crawled down Felix’s spine as he glanced up to meet Zed’s gaze. The flat edge of detachment hit him first, the slam of a palm to his sternum. Beneath, however, swirled something else—darker, scarier. Felix’s hair tried to stand on end, the weight of his damp curls notwithstanding. He looked away, but not before he recognized what had scared him nearly speechless. That dark thing lurking in Zed’s gaze, unfathomable and strange, meant him no harm. In fact, Felix formed the distinct impression Zed would have cut through twenty men to keep him safe.

  Elias bumped him out of his daze, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a sideways hug. “Knew you’d come through.”

  A stiff smile visited Felix’s mouth. “‘Course.” He pulled out of the half hug, measuring his discomfort with close contact against the fact he was glad he hadn’t had to watch the container get loaded into a waiting hauler. Turning, he gripped Elias’s upper arm, the gesture as close to a hug as he usually gave. Elias patted his hand.