Star Scavenger: The Complete Series Books 1-5

by G J Ogden

  Despite this, the Gale Basin was still home to many forms of illegality, and it was still a dangerous place, especially for the unwary. Not everyone who entered the Basin came out unscarred by the experience. Not everyone who entered the Basin came out at all.

  Despite the risks, and despite the fact that the Council was hunting for them, Griff had no choice but to accept it was their only option. There was a chance that the Council could be bartered with; Griff knew he would get no such clemency from the CET and MP authorities.

  Griff stepped off the rear cargo ramp of the FS-31, and stood beside Cutler. He’d intentionally waited for the mercenary to step off the ship first, making some excuse or other for why he had to delay. The real reason was that he wanted to take the alien crystal out of the now defunct device he’d stolen from Hudson’s ship. It had been fractured in half from Tory’s wayward bullet, but Griff still wanted to keep it close. Bringing the crystal back to Superintendent Wash might save his ass, he thought. And if not then it could still be used as a bargaining chip with the CET or MP. He might even be able to sell it, relying on his talent for lying to convince any unwitting potential buyer that it wasn’t broken at all. Tory’s wayward bullet had not created a clean break, and the two halves no longer neatly pieced together. However, no-one else knew what it was supposed to look like, which gave Griff the advantage.

  The spaceport was busy with the usual hustle and bustle of commercial traffic, in addition to a host of private shuttles. These had ferried visitors in from the reputable Martian cities, in order to partake in the Basin’s unique indulgences.

  “What a shit hole,” grumbled Griff shaking his head at the place. Griff hated Mars, and he had no love for Martians either. Even the feel of the place was unnatural. Martians preferred the temperature always a little too hot for Griff’s liking, and he could somehow even taste the manufactured fakeness of the place in the air. Even the gravity felt wrong. Adapted from technology discovered on the alien hulks, the artificial gravity wells that enveloped Martian cities felt clingy and invasive. It was like being anchored to the floor by elasticated rubber straps. “Can we get this done and leave as quickly as possible?” he grumbled, already regretting stepping off the ship. “This place makes my skin crawl.”

  Cutler pressed a button on his ID fob to close the FS-31’s rear ramp, then thumbed the credit scanner to pay the docking fee. Griff noticed that the registry ID of Cutler’s ship did not flash up on the credit scanner’s screen. The mercenary had stealthed their ID before taking off from Arsia Mons. Ordinarily, this would prohibit them from entering any Martian space port, but since anonymity was a key feature of the Gale Basin, they had been permitted to dock. Nevertheless, Griff knew that the MP could still trace their movements. Cutler may have been able to stealth their ID, but an FS-31 Patrol Craft was a ship that tended to stick out in a crowd.

  “The person we need to find is an ex-hunter called Miranda Yaeger,” said Cutler, glancing anxiously around the docking garage. “Like you, she shares the curious penchant for being referred to by her last name.”

  Cutler’s edginess was making Griff immediately uncomfortable. He also began to peer around the docking garage, suddenly seeing phantom Council assassins and MP officers lurking in every dark nook and cranny. Then he saw an MP patrol ship docked in the far corner, and his heart leapt. He quickly turned his back to it and steered Cutler so that he also faced away. The mercenary shook him off, and glowered at him.

  “Take it easy, Cutler,” said Griff, staring back with matching venom. “There’s an MP patrol back there; I’m just trying to make sure we’re not seen.”

  Cutler glanced behind briefly, before his eyes resumed their usual poker-faced inexpressiveness. “They are likely here for the same reasons as the others. But all the same, we should proceed with caution.”

  “Apology accepted,” muttered Griff, plucking a cigarette from the packet in his pocket. He noticed he was down to his last two. He lit it and motioned for Cutler to lead the way. “So, let’s go and find this Yaeger person so we can get off this dusty rock.”

  Cutler led them out of the docking garage and onto the long boulevard that eventually joined up to the central precinct. It was one of four such boulevards in the Basin; one for each of the four quadrants of the domed, circular city.

  The boulevard was one of the ritzier parts of the Gale Basin. It was lined with bars, massage parlors, gambling dens and worse, all designed to capture the eager traveler. In many ways, it wasn’t unlike a scavenger town, Griff realized. And like the scavenger towns, Griff knew that the best and the worst that the Basin had to offer were likely to be found in the more off-beat places.

  Cutler hailed an autonomous ground cab, and got in. Griff scowled, and sucked in the remains of his cigarette, before tossing the stub to the floor. He blew out the smoke and then climbed in beside Cutler. “I hate these damn things,” he complained, fidgeting to get comfortable in the seat. “I prefer to be the one in charge.”

  Cutler glanced over at Griff. He seemed to be growing more and more irritated by Griff’s comments and complaints. “But you’re not in charge, anymore, Inspector,” Cutler said, darkly. “If I were you, I wouldn’t forget that.”

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Griff hit back, but Cutler didn’t answer, and instead just pulled the cab’s microphone closer.

  “Quadrant four, section thirteen,” said Cutler, before resting back in the seat.

  Griff watched him out of the corner of his eye for a time, mulling over what Cutler had said. Though it was often difficult to determine Cutler’s true meaning, due to the monotone way he spoke, to Griff it had sounded like a warning, or even a threat. Cutler still needed Griff’s money, and his influence to get back to Earth. However, he also knew that there would soon come a time when Griff was merely an encumbrance. Cutler’s veiled warning – whether intended or otherwise – served to remind Griff that they weren’t friends, or allies. Cutler wouldn't hesitate to kill Griff when the time was right, and he needed to be ready to strike first.

  The cab trundled on through the Basin’s narrow streets, then turned a corner to join one of the main transitways. “How well do you know this Yaeger woman?” said Griff. It was partly to fill the silence, but he was also curious to find out what information the secretive mercenary was willing to divulge. “Can you trust her?”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” said Cutler, flatly. “I only trust what motivates people.”

  “Oh, and so what motivates her?” said Griff, intrigued by Cutler’s cryptic reply.

  “Getting the better of me,” replied Cutler, flatly. “I once cost her a lot. She will enjoy getting her payback.”

  Suddenly the cab was rocked from the side and Griff’s head was slammed against the window. He grabbed the door handle to steady himself and touched a hand to his head, again feeling blood. He cursed and peered out through the cracked glass. Another ground transit had just rammed them. Two men were inside, and Griff could see the barrels of weapons poking up above the window line.

  “Shit!” Griff shouted, looking into Cutler’s wide eyes. “It’s the Council – they’ve found us!”

  CHAPTER 19

  The Council vehicle suddenly veered towards the autonomous ground cab for a second time, and Griff steeled himself against the impending impact. “Hold on!” he shouted to Cutler, as the lightweight cab was rocked again.

  This time the impact was hard enough to drive them into the safety barrier. The cab rebounded off the metal wall, then spun out of control. Griff held on tightly, the street outside merely a blur, before the cab collided with the safety barrier at an intersection and came to a jarring halt. Griff flew forward and bounced off the rear of the front seat, before tumbling down into the footwell. Blinking the pain from his head, he looked up to see Cutler slumped back in his seat, blood trickling from his temple. The mercenary appeared to still be conscious, but was heavily stunned.

  Griff clawed his way off the floor of the cab a
nd peered out of the smashed front window. The other ground transit had pulled up about twenty meters ahead and the two men were getting out. Both wore smart suits with a typical Martian cut. However, both also carried compact SMGs, of the sort than only one organization regularly used – the Council.

  “Cutler, get up!” Griff yelled, staying low. Cutler didn’t answer, so Griff reached over and grabbed the mercenary’s jacket, shaking him vigorously. “Cutler, wake up, it’s the Council!” he shouted again, but Cutler’s head just lolled back and forth. “Shit!” Griff swore, before reaching over and pulling the door release on Cutler’s side. The door swung open and Cutler fell out onto the tarmacked road like a rag doll.

  Griff then heard the rattle of the SMGs as the Council goons opened fire, and he flattened himself to the footwell again. Fractured glass from the rear and side windows peppered his head and body as the bullets thudded into the cab. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the sidearm he’d concealed there, before crawling out of the open door. Another volley of gunfire rattled against the cab’s metal chassis and punctured through the seats. If Griff had waited only a few seconds longer before moving, he’d already be dead.

  Griff quickly checked on Cutler, but he was still groggy, and unable to stand. Staying low, and using the cab as cover, he dragged Cutler behind the junction barrier they had crashed into.

  Griff’s heart was pumping so hard it hurt his chest. He remained crouched behind the barrier, waiting for the men to launch another assault. Seconds later, he heard the weapons open fire, and the rattle of metal as dozens more bullets turned the cab into something more closely resembling a kitchen sieve. He’d got lucky; the Council thugs evidently hadn’t seen him slip out.

  Taking a deep breath, he stood up and aimed. The goons were working their way around the side of the cab, carefully checking inside. Griff held his breath and fired. The first few shots missed, but then the nearest of the two Council thugs was hit twice in the neck and shoulder. He was thrown back against the cab, before he slid to the road, leaving a smear of blood on the bullet-riddled door.

  Griff continued firing until he was empty, then released his empty magazine before reaching for another. The second Council thug then jumped up from behind the cab, and raised his weapon. Griff ducked behind the barrier instinctively, as bullets pinged into the metal partition. The magazine fell from his hand and skated off down the slip road.

  “Shit!” Griff roared into the stuffy Martian air. Then he remembered that Cutler also still carried his weapon and crawled back to the mercenary’s side. However, before he could reach him, the Council thug appeared on the other side of the barrier, and aimed the barrel of the SMG at his chest. Griff froze and raised his hands, before the crack of gunfire rang out again. The goon fell forwards, blood draining from beneath his chin. Griff looked down to see Cutler, back pressed against the safety barrier. His weapon was aimed upwards, and smoke oozed from the barrel.

  “We have to move, now,” said Cutler, still woozy. “More will come.”

  Griff didn’t need telling twice. He darted down the slip road to collect his wayward magazine, and reloaded his weapon, before recovering the empty magazine and sliding it back into his pocket. He then raced back to Cutler and helped him to his feet.

  “We can take their transit,” said Cutler, spotting the Council vehicle by the side of the road. There were sirens in the distance, but other transits were still blocking the road behind them.

  Griff set off towards the transit, stepping over the dead body of the Council thug. His tailored suit jacket had flopped open, and tucked inside the inner pocket was a black packet of cigarettes. Griff paused and yanked them out of the dead man’s pocket. “I’ll take those, you piece of shit,” he snarled, kicking the dead body in the side.

  “Hurry!” Cutler called back to him, as the mercenary edged around the vehicle. He was still moving sluggishly, and blood continued to trickle down the side of his face.

  Griff ran to the vehicle and dropped into the driver’s seat, before slamming the door shut. A few seconds later, Cutler slumped into the seat at his side.

  “Which way?!” cried Griff, starting the vehicle’s engine.

  “Double back, and take the lower slip road,” said Cutler, dabbing blood from his head with his sleeve. “We’ll take the subterranean roads. It’s slower, but it should avoid the MP police, and any more trouble from the Council.”

  Griff nodded, then spun the transit around, before driving the wrong way down the road, and turning off along the slip road. He noticed Cutler reach forward and press the door lock button on the center console.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to get out of this thing until we reach the shipyard,” said Griff, wondering why Cutler had locked the doors. “And I just saved your ass, so I’m not likely to kick you out now!”

  Cutler rested back again, and peered out of the window. “It’s not to stop us getting out,” he said, flatly. “It’s to stop anyone else from getting in.”

  Griff scowled at him, “I’ll probably regret asking you this, but who would want to get in?”

  Cutler continued to dab blood from his head, before glancing back at Griff. “Not everyone who enters the Basin leaves as rich as they were when they entered,” he said, ominously. “And for those who lose everything, they end up down here. Trust me when I say, you don’t want to get out, and you don’t want to let anyone else in.”

  Griff laughed, nervously. “I really hope whatever this Yaeger has against you is enough to get us a new ship,” he said, following the nav chart and taking a right turn. “Because I’ve had it with this shitty place already.”

  Three shadowy figures lurked on the corner as Griff slowed, each of them watching the vehicle closely as it passed by. Griff quickly sped up again, taking the corner faster than he would have liked. After Cutler’s warning, his sense of urgency had been ratcheted up a notch.

  “She will provide what we need,” replied Cutler. Then he looked at Griff, his eyes suddenly sharper and more serious, “But it will cost us.”

  “How much?” asked Griff, steering to avoid another cluster of suspect-looking pedestrians, huddled by the roadside.

  Cutler waited for Griff to meet his eyes, before he answered. Then with a chilling finality, he said, “It will cost both of us everything we have to give.”

  CHAPTER 20

  On Cutler’s advice, Griff had stopped their stolen vehicle before exiting the subterranean layer of the Basin. To drive it back up to the surface layer would risk them being spotted by surveillance cameras or drones. It was far less likely they’d be identified on foot, especially once they had made it inside section thirteen. The shipyard district was always bustling, and it was also one of the Council’s most lucrative businesses. As such, the MP police in the city treated the goings-on in the district with a relatively light touch. This allowed the various black-market deals to proceed, unhindered by their intimidating presence.

  “How far is it to the shipyard from here?” asked Griff, sliding open the door and stepping outside. He held his pistol ready, and carefully checked the dark corners of the underpass for any signs of movement.

  Cutler got out and went to the rear of the transit. “Not far,” he answered, throwing open the trunk and searching inside. “This section of road is disused, to regular traffic, at least. But we can pass through one of the service maintenance areas into section thirteen from here.”

  Griff scowled at Cutler, who was still rifling through the contents of the trunk. “What the hell are you doing in there?” he called over. “We need to get moving.”

  Cutler removed something from the trunk and moved around to Griff’s side, before holding out an ID card to him. “This is a counterfeit ID,” he said, as Griff took the card. “Knowing the Council, it will likely open most doors, including the service hatches.”

  Cutler then adjusted his hold on the object he’d taken from the vehicle, and Griff finally got a better look at it. Curiously, it appeared
to be a standard black leather briefcase. Watching with interest, Griff observed as Cutler placed the briefcase on the floor and opened it. He squinted in the gloom to get a better look inside. There was a sidearm, which Cutler took and slid down the back of his pants, and an assortment of metal tools. Griff suddenly realized what it was. “Is that a damn torture kit?” he said, shuddering a little at the thought that it had been intended to be used on them.

  “Yes,” answered Cutler, pulling out a white bottle of pills and a small spray can. “But they always include some simple medical supplies too.” Cutler stood up, popped open the bottle and swallowed some of the pills. He then pocketed the bottle and sprayed the aerosol on the cut to the side of his head. The bleeding immediately stopped.

  “During the process of interrogation, it is always helpful to keep your victim alive and cognizant for as long as possible,” mused Cutler. He then placed the spray bottle into his pocket too. “To do so increases the chances of extracting valuable information, before unconsciousness or death.”

  Griff laughed at the laid-back, yet macabre manner in which Cutler had described the purpose of the briefcase. However, he was also slightly uncomfortable at how much Cutler seemed to know about it. “These Council assholes are dark, but they’re smart, I’ll give them that,” said Griff. He wanted to play it tough, so that Cutler didn’t think him squeamish. “Maybe I’m starting to like them.”

  Cutler didn’t appear to be amused or impressed by Griff’s bravado, “You would not say that if you saw what the Council interrogators did with these implements, Inspector.”

  Griff shrugged, “Yeah, well keep hold of that briefcase; it will come in handy when I finally catch up with Powell.”

  “You would not have the stomach for it,” answered Cutler, derisively. He then closed the briefcase, and left it on the damp concrete floor. “You think you are as hard and as remorseless as these people, but you are nothing like them, Inspector Griff. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, and you’re way out of your depth.”