by Andria Stone
He slid into the passageway in front of them, moving to the entry hatch. They straggled behind him. Axel’s steps quickened nearing the hatch. He sprang to attack. With extreme pleasure, he swung around, delivering his favorite knifehand move to the man behind him, who dropped to his knees, falling onto his face. One down.
He followed it with a lethal kick of his augmented leg to the ribs of the next man. He heard bones cracking and a whoosh of air expelled as his target slammed against the wall, then slid toward the floor. Two down.
In his peripheral vision, Axel saw Kamryn burst out of Parker’s room. She leapt into the air, catching the last man around the neck. Landing in a crouch, she used leverage to flip the man up and over her head. He slammed to the deck flat on his back with a loud ka-thump. One of his arms flopped on his chest, slipped to the floor, and twitched.
Kamryn shot him in the hand, then looked at Axel. “Well, you saw it. He tried to escape.”
Grinning, they clasped arms. As soldiers, they’d practiced this ritual many times in the past. Endorphins flooded Axel’s systems. His heart raced, but no more than after a typical workout. Still, he relished the moment, knowing Kamryn did, too.
They both turned to see Mark standing, his arms outstretched, looking perplexed. “There were three of them.”
“My fault. I was a little overzealous,” Axel said. “You get two next time.”
Mark eyed the hefty, unconscious trio littering the floor. “We’re going to need a bigger roll of tape.” He took finger and faceprints while Kamryn went in search of more binding. Axel dragged them into Parker’s room.
After their latest captives were bound next to Parker, Mark noticed Victor’s hand. “What happened here?”
Axel shrugged. “I don’t know. I barely touched him.”
Mark gave him a skeptical look. He turned to Kamryn when he saw another wounded criminal. “Who did this?”
“He tried to escape,” Kamryn said.
“While he was unconscious?”
She also offered a dismissive shrug.
Mark shook his head. “Now I have to keep my eye on both of you.”
Axel and Kamryn grinned at one another.
“Okay,” Mark said. “Back to business. Should we interrogate one of our new guests?”
“Which one was the leader?” Kamryn asked.
Axel kicked the one Kamryn had subdued. “Him.”
“We need to know why they’re here,” Mark said, “if they came alone, and the location of their ship.”
They hauled the man up into the ‘hot seat,’ administering a shot of pain meds to keep him from being distracted by the pulse wound to his hand. Kamryn gave him a whiff of AZ2 before she jabbed him in the neck with a taste of Quazar. Mark and Axel backed away to record the questioning from both sides.
“Hi there, handsome,” Kamryn said, taking a friendlier approach. “What’s your name—all of them?”
He stared cross-eyed at her. “Ronaldo Salazar, Bulletproof Ronald, Muscle Meat.”
Kamryn covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “Where did you come from? When did you arrive on Mars?”
“From Chile. On Terra. Landed today.”
Unlike Victor, this prisoner seemed quite chatty. Kamryn pressed him for more intel. “How many people came with you? What are their names?”
He told her the names of his five companions, two of whom remained on his ship, the El Navarro.
“What’s your ship’s cargo?”
Now he became tight-lipped. Kamryn asked three more times before he responded.
“We’re carrying 275,000 pounds of weapons.”
“Are all of you Argus employees, or freelance mercenaries?
He began blinking, trying to focus on her. “We are highly skilled soldiers of fortune.”
Kamryn grabbed her nose to keep from snorting at his last comment. “When do you contact Argus? What are the codes and passwords?”
With more prodding, she learned his orders were to send confirmation of delivery at six o’clock—or eighteen hundred hours Terran EST—to Argus in the United Caribbean, along with the code and password.
Mark sent the recordings to Ohashi.
Her response read: GO NOW
Chapter 8
They ran to the hidden hover trolley like their lives depended on escaping from the hangar and sped away. Keeping to the shadows created by other ships, they raced into the Maintenance building. There, Axel found them more uniforms. Kamryn and Mark disguised themselves as he drove to the employee’s exit, where they mingled with others who were leaving. They shed the coveralls as Kamryn commed Ohashi.
“Clear confirmed. Why did we have to run?”
Ohashi broadcast to all their comms: “Dimitrios ordered Rushing to coordinate her TMD forces with the Mars Military Command to secure your location. I’d already started monitoring Governor Bryant’s communications after your message saying he was on the Parker’s payroll. Someone alerted him to the impending arrival of the joint forces. Bryant sent pilots to fly those two ships out, plus a squad of armed mercs to make sure it happened. I didn’t think you’d want to be caught in the crossfire.”
“Good call,” Mark said. “Where are you?”
“At the hotel, trying to talk Eva out of going to visit Dr. Lerner at MarzTek.”
In his sergeant’s voice, Axel said, “Ohashi, do not let her visit either of those scientists. Get out of there. CSMO. Find another hotel. Use cash. Lie low. Contact me with your new LZ. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir. Ohashi out.”
Kamryn saw the puzzled look on Mark’s face. “Collect your shit and move out.”
“Hmm.” Mark nodded. “Is there a list of those acronyms I can memorize?”
“I sometimes forget you were a scientist, not a soldier.”
“That is categorically untrue. None of us are soldiers anymore. But I was one, the same as you. Also, a Xenobiologist.”
“You’re right,” Kamryn said. “Can we discuss the finer points of your argument later? We need to get the hell out of here first.”
They moved through the outskirts of Aurora, putting the tarmac area far behind them. Whether by accident or by design, the Cemetery neighborhood lay straight ahead. The Dead Dog Bar offered an excellent hideout for the short-term, where they could regroup and plan what to do next.
The back door proved a more inconspicuous way to enter. One by one, they filtered in, moving through the smoky dimness, which didn’t mask the persistent aroma of backed up plumbing. A new bartender worked behind the bar. The earlier shootings cleared out the previous crowd, replaced by a similar collection of riff-raff in altered states of drunkenness.
Axel went to the bar for three beers while Kamryn and Mark occupied a different table than before. Mark checked his finances. Less than 500 cash for incidentals. Going to a bank, or using his credit account, wasn’t a safe option, and getting the six of them off this rock in a hurry would cost far more than he had.
“We’re low on cash. We can either rob a bank, or I need a card game.”
Wide-eyed, Kamryn asked, “You want to play cards?”
“Fine.” Axel signaled Kamryn not to bother objecting.
They sat relaxing in a dark corner, sipping cool beer, while mulling over the information gathered from the interrogations. Kamryn asked, “Do either of you find it odd that Victor didn’t know where Valerie was? Why not? They live together. They’re in business together. They kill together.”
“Unless…” Mark leaned in closer, “she’s deserting a sinking ship to align herself with a new partner, namely Clarence Bryant. He has status, authority, power. She has weapons, clones, cyborgs. Reciprocity. A perfect match.”
“What if,” Axel ventured, “Bryant has a Martian military informer on his payroll, who alerted them to Rushing’s orders to join forces with Mars? Or an ex-military cyber who can hack communications? As a result, they could send in backup for Victor and retrieve the weapons.”
“We can’t
stay here forever.” Kamryn wrinkled her nose. “The smell is getting to me. Besides, I don’t know if it would even be worth going to the Parker’s residence. It’s been under surveillance since they went missing after the MPLE agent was found dead in the bakery.”
“We could scout out the Bunker,” Axel suggested, “if you don’t think the MMC has already raided it.”
Mark frowned. “Let’s wait until we hear from Ohashi. I need to know everybody’s safe, at least for the time being.”
They sat idle for close to half an hour watching gin-soaked boozehounds make fools of themselves before Mark straightened in his chair. Someone entered who fit his qualifications as a prime gambling candidate: male, fiftyish, medium build, captain's hat visor hiding the eyes, wearing expensive boots and a pinky ring that sparkled like a supernova even in dim lighting. The stranger walked to the far end of the bar, ordered, but remained standing.
Feigning a slight degree of inebriation, Mark sauntered up on the pretext of getting more beer. Still using the undercover name of Kell, he struck up a conversation with the new arrival, a gray-eyed man with a mustache named Gaige Rayburn. He turned out to be a likable fellow, with an impeccable English accent; a self-professed gambler and upper echelon member of the Martian criminal underworld. Gaige, a longtime resident, owned an illegal underground distillery, much like the bootlegging of Old Earth.
They discussed the merits of cognac versus brandy until two new men entered the bar. The pair strolled past everyone else, stopping in front of Rayburn. Moments later, the three moved to a round table covered with a crimson cloth. Mark remained at the bar, doing his best to look bored, until Rayburn waved Mark over to join them. Although elated, Mark continued his affected drunkenness as he wandered over to take a seat.
“Kell, this is Zorić.” Gaige flipped his hand to the pasty-skinned man with longish blond hair sitting to his right. “And this is Ranko.” He pointed to the bronze weightlifter on his left wearing a strip of wiry hair down the center of his shaved head.
The bartender brought over a tray of glasses plus a bottle of Namuzko brandy, which happened to be Rayburn’s top-of-the-line product. He left three sealed decks of cards on the table.
Through the back door came a small Asian man dressed in black pajamas, or, upon closer inspection, a Karate gi, or traditional martial arts garb. He offered a slight bow to each man, then sat beside Rayburn to shuffle cards. The Asian used cards like an artist’s brush. He could have built a stairway to the Space Station out of those little pieces of paper.
The game they would be playing was called five-card draw. Gaige was an old hand at gambling. He knew the games well. The other two were hustlers; they played for fun, money, and the rush. Mark had played for those reasons, but not today. He concentrated only on winning.
In poker, you played your opponents as well as the cards. That’s where Mark possessed a gift. A divine gift. He could count cards. Mark learned how as a kid playing with Eric, his older brother. They were two years apart, and always competitive. Eric accused him of cheating, so he’d kept it a secret, losing enough for Eric to continue playing.
As Mark counted cards, he also paid close attention to the other players, cataloging their tells, betting accordingly. Within minutes, he realized the two newcomers were cheating. Mark’s experience in designing cybernetics enabled him to identify the difference between augmented and human motor skills. To anyone except Mark, Ranko had an undetectable cyborg eye. He’d also bet all the money on the table that Zorić had a neural implant. They were linked, sending each other signals, of which their usual opponents would be unaware. Mark decided to pass on taking Gaige’s money unless it was unavoidable. Instead, he’d go for the throat of these two. It might take longer, but it would be far more enjoyable.
For an hour, Mark drank while he won hands in which the cheaters were heavily invested. Zorić tried to mask his confusion. Ranko failed to conceal his anger. Near the end, not more than 200 was stacked in front of either one. About 7,000 sat in front of Gaige, a bit more in front of Mark. He glanced at Kamryn. She looked green from the fumes. This would have to be his last hand, otherwise they would have to carry her out of the bar.
“I’ll take a couple,” Mark said, discarding two cards face down. He kept three hearts.
The Asian dealer complied. Mark received an ace and a king, both hearts. Now he held an ace-high flush, all five cards from the same suit. Four hands could beat him, but it wouldn’t happen. He could shove, or go all in, forcing the cheaters to either play or fold.
Zorić took one card. For an instant, his lips twitched with the glimmer of a smile.
Gaige took two cards, remaining stone faced.
Ranko fidgeted in his chair.
This sent a red flag warning to Mark’s nervous system. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Conditioned reflexes made him reach for the knife in his boot. In a microsecond, he’d raised it in his right fist, stabbing the blade though Ranko’s cuff and straight into the table.
Chairs fell over, clattering on the floor. Everyone else jumped away. As if by telepathy, Axel and Kamryn appeared behind Ranko. Axel’s guns were aimed at Zorić. The muzzle of Kamryn’s gun rested between Ranko’s shoulder blades. “Don’t blink,” she told him.
Ranko was paralyzed. He glared at Mark. “What are you? Crazy? Look’it what you did to my jacket.”
In slow motion, Mark pulled out his knife, then snaked the tip into Ranko’s sleeve, skewering the point of a playing card and drawing it out in the open. With the knifepoint, he flipped it face up. The ace of diamonds.
Gaige took a step forward. “You are both finished in this dome. Leave, before these people reconsider their benevolence.”
Kamryn and Axel flanked Mark, guns still trained on the two criminals. They started to scoop up their money, but the Asian dealer slammed his hand down on the table. “Forfeit. For cheat,” he said in a singsong cadence, shaking his head.
Ranko made a beeline for the exit, Zorić on his heels. Gaige slipped the dealer a wad of cash. They exchanged polite bows.
“Good game, Kell,” Gaige commended. “These nice people must be your friends.”
Mark nodded, introducing them as their alter egos, Marixa Tecton and Hyde.
Gaige seemed quite taken with Kamryn’s persona of Marixa. He offered his arm. “Miss Tecton, let’s get you out of here before this distasteful bouquet completely overwhelms you.”
After Kamryn took his arm, they moseyed out, chatting like old friends.
Mark hung back with Axel as he received a comm broadcast from an unhappy Ohashi. “I figured out how to track your chips. The signal’s bouncing off a thousand geosats from Terra to Mars, and I’ve encrypted it so much I’m amazed to be tracking you in real time. We’re here in the Cemetery, about four blocks away. Checked into the Palace de Mars, which it is not. Eva’s pissed. I’m starving. Petra’s just having the time of her life. Please don’t leave me alone with these women for too much longer, or I’m liable to do something nobody’s gonna’ like.”
***
They lunched at a nearby restaurant called Gypsy’s Curse, where the servers dressed in either pirate or skimpy wench costumes. In single file, they moved through the outdoor dining area, preferring to sit inside, away from the ever-present surveillance cameras.
Once they’d finished their tasty burgers and barbecue, Gaige finally asked, “So, what brings you to Aurora?”
Kamryn acted as spokesperson. “Our employer wants information on particular individuals.”
Wearing a cordial smile, Gaige said, “I might be able to help. I know most everyone in these parts.”
Kamryn received nods from her two compatriots. She scanned the surroundings before speaking. “Valerie and Victor Parker.”
Gaige’s brows knitted together.
“They negotiated a business deal in bad faith,” she added. “Our employer wants reparations.”
“I recognize the names, but I’ve never done business with them. N
ot my caliber of people. I do, however, have connections. I could make some discreet inquiries.”
“Any inquiries must be covert. The authorities are also searching for them. We have reason to believe she’s in league with Clarence Bryant.”
Gaige’s eyebrows rose toward his receding hairline. “Aurora’s governor?”
“The same.”
“He has many enemies here. Were he to walk down this street, there would be nothing left to bury later.” Gaige twisted his pinky ring, deep in thought. “And they’re working together, you say?”
Everyone nodded as Kamryn said, “Against not only this dome, but all of Mars.”
A disturbance broke out in the patio area. The Terrans spun around to see six uniformed MPLE officers trying to maneuver through the crowded tables, rushing toward the interior. All three jumped up, racing for the rear of the restaurant through the kitchen, dodging employees on their way to the back door.
“No!” Gaige yelled. “This way!” He fled down a hall in the opposite direction, turned left into a storeroom, and opened an obscure door with steps leading downward. “Follow me.” He led them into a catacomb-like tunnel, complete with air, light, and wide enough for two people to walk abreast. He stopped, turning to face them. “I don’t need any more excitement today. What say we find a cozy spot for a nice long talk, eh?”
He breezed through a maze of hallways which, in time, opened to his distillery; a complete, space-aged, underground plant with several dozen employees. The Terrans trailed him into a well-appointed office with wine-colored leather furnishings. While they settled in, Kamryn maintained her Marixa guise as she skimmed over the recent events: a man murdered instead of Mark, the cyborgs, clones, ships full of weapons, finishing with the sale and sexual abuse of juvenile females.
Gaige listened. His amenable features shifted into a grim, tight-jawed frown with a disturbed glint in his eyes. Comfortable in his environment, Gaige’s voice deepened into a rich British baritone. “You’ve certainly gotten mixed up with a reprehensible cast of characters. Have you entertained the possibility that you’re in over your heads and won’t be able to affect reparations—or is it retribution?”
