Starship Fairfax: Books 1-3 Omnibus - The Kuiper Chronicles: The Lunar Gambit, The Hidden Prophet, The Neptune Contingency

by Benjamin Douglas

  “Understood.”

  Lucas turned back to Darren. “I don’t know you,” he said.

  Darren shrugged impassively. “I don’t know you.”

  Lucas nodded. “Alright. You get us a core, quickly and quietly, and you can hitch a ride with us out of the belt. We’re headed for the nearest neutral hab-zone. You can get off there.”

  “Titan,” Darren said. He tilted his head in assent. “Let’s go.”

  They left the room for yet another corridor, this one shorter than the others. As they passed a room with large windows looking onto the hallway, they heard voices. They all dropped to a crawl to sneak past, but not before Lucas caught a glimpse of a couple of guards lounging in the room. Past the windows there was a reinforced door, and beside it, a console. Darren used it for a moment, the door hissed quietly open, and, like that, they left the mafia fortress and reemerged onto the streets of Rust.

  From the outside, the door was quite inconspicuous, hidden away behind a pile of refuse around the corner of a grubby-looking eatery. Lucas would have assumed it to be a service door of some kind. Ingenious, he supposed. For all the trouble they had gone through playing dead, hiding in coffins, and coming up through the dungeons of the Grotto, the back door of the Amsel Brothers’ fortress was hiding in plain sight.

  Darren led them to a hover-train station, where they rode an elevator up to wait in line at a small dock. The train hissed in, suspended by powerful magnets. “This would’ve saved some time before,” Adams muttered. “Though I suppose it’s hard to get on without some kind of documentation.”

  “I’m getting the feeling he’s all the documentation we need down here,” Lucas said, nodding at Darren. He was speaking quietly with a guard at the side of the rail. When the train came to a halt, the guard let them board first.

  It was a quiet ride. The train glided soundlessly along its track a couple of dozen meters over the city streets. Darren sat stoically, as always. The rest of them sniffed and fidgeted on the hard plastic benches, but no one said a word. Lucas considered checking in with Tompkins again, but thought better of it. No point in risking the other passengers overhearing the wrong bit of information.

  From the windows that comprised the entire right-hand wall of their cab, he watched as Rust grew once more from a collection of grimy slums to the glittering gallery of clubs, pubs, and casinos. Up here, above all the noise, he had a better view of the cavernous ceiling overhead. It looked blood-red in the dim light. He supposed that’s where the hab had found its namesake.

  The train was bathed in instant darkness as they passed through a tunnel in the wall. They all blinked against the harsh, cold light that bathed them on the other side, where they came to a stop at the Rust docks.

  “Gate 4, Dock A-5.” Lucas stepped forward to take the lead, reading dock numbers from the signs overhead. Darren kept pace beside him.

  “How do you really know Mulligan?” Lucas asked, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. The train had emptied them out on a platform that opened into a long lobby running along the inside of the docks. People scurried about, the sounds of footfalls and indistinct conversations filling the space.

  “We grew up together.”

  “Here on Ceres?”

  Darren nodded.

  When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to volunteer any more information, Lucas turned his attention to his comm and called Tompkins to let him know to fire up the ship. There was no answer.

  They reached the door and, once more, Darren performed some wizardry on the console beside it. The hatch slid open, revealing the most beautiful ship Lucas had ever seen. It was just a touch bigger than the comet-hopper, but still small enough for tight maneuverability, and armed like a tiger. Behind him, Caspar let out a low whistle.

  “That our ride?”

  “I guess so,” Lucas murmured, checking his comm once more. He and Darren split off to either side of the door and checked corners.

  Adams came in, chuckling. “Fine ship those boys have found for me.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Lucas spun around to the new voice. It belonged to a man in a long, black trench-coat. His glittering blue hair was slicked back in a tight bun, and he was flanked by a dozen armed men to either side of himself. One of them held a gun to Tompkins, another to Kwon.

  Chapter 13

  “What is it with you mafia guys and your dyed, gelled hair?” Caspar said.

  The man sneered. “We caught your friends here trying to make off with our ship. Sounds like you were hoping to join them. That makes you conspirators to grand theft.”

  “Well, now.” Lucas spread out his hands. “Who’s to say we actually know them? I mean, does anybody really know anybody?” He grimaced at himself. He was grasping for straws. He caught Adams out of the corner of his eye, the man grunting and panting as he held his wounded arm in his hand. “Hey! Here, look!” He pointed at the engineer. “We’re not here to steal your ship. We’ve got a wounded man, and we’re just here looking for medical aid. You know where we can find that?”

  “I know a way to send you there. Sure.”

  A bevy of blaster rifles trained on Adams.

  “Will you kindly stop getting me shot, Sir?”

  “Don’t shoot!” Lucas help up his hands. “Alright, don’t shoot! Take me.” He swallowed. “I’m in charge here. Take me and let them go.”

  “Hmm.” Trench-coat looked him over. “No. Take them all, for now. Where there’s six, there’s sixty; I smell a bounty. If I’m wrong, we can always kill them later.”

  Lucas looked to his left and right, an apology in his eyes. Something looked odd. Darren, he realized, had disappeared. He supposed he should have known he would. Now he was out of his prison cell, what was keeping him here? An empty promise to find them a core? Worthless.

  The armed men advanced. They pulled Adams’ arms behind him to bind his wrists, and he howled in pain. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see when a man’s been shot?” They bound him nevertheless.

  Two men advanced on Lucas. Only one went to shackle Caspar. A glimmer of hope sparked; they had made a fatal flaw, and Caspar knew it, Lucas saw the hope in her eyes, too. Just as the man reached toward her arms, Lucas saw her muscles tense up. “Down!” he yelled, and threw himself onto the ground. He kicked up against the knees of one of his captors, and the man bent, wincing.

  Caspar, meanwhile, had succeeded in dropping her man with a knee in the groin and an elbow to the face. She dove for his weapon.

  Blasters bore into the ground around them as the other men began to fire. Lucas tried to swallow a lump in his throat, realizing they had been foolish and were all about to die. His other captor grabbed him from behind and pulled him into a choke-hold, his arm tightening.

  But just as abruptly as it had begun, the firing stopped. A dark fog had begun to creep into the edges of Lucas’ vision. Now the man’s grip loosened, and the fog receded. Lucas kicked off from the ground and threw himself back into the man, bringing his elbow into his gut. He heard the air leave him, and the clatter of his weapon on the floor. He whipped around to pick it up, then spun to charge the other mafia men…

  Only to find them already down. A line of bodies rimmed the wall around the door, Darren standing in the middle. He shook out his fist.

  “They have Angie,” he said.

  Lucas looked around. It was true—several of the men had escaped, including their leader, and Mulligan, Adams, Tompkins, and Kwon were nowhere to be seen.

  “They have everyone but us three,” Lucas said, gesturing at himself, Caspar, and Darren.

  Caspar shook her head. “They got Kwon.” She was standing over a body, a shade passing over her face. Lucas approached and saw their security private lying lifeless, a blaster wound in his chest. He cursed.

  “We need to figure out what to do with his body,” he said. “How to get it back to the Fairfax.”

  Darren shook his head, pacing back from the door. “We need to go after th
em before they can set another trap.”

  “I hate to be the heartless one,” Caspar said, “but maybe we should cut our losses. Get a core and get out before they can stop us. I mean, we got the guy we came for.” She flung an arm in Darren’s direction.

  “How can you say that? How can you even think it?” Lucas’ eyebrows knit together. “We aren’t in the business of abandoning each other, Caspar.”

  She sighed through her nose. “I’m not saying it’s a good idea. Or that it’s what I want to do. Would go against Fleet policy, anyway. But I think it needs to be considered that to postpone our mission of retrieving Taurius and bringing him safely to Pluto anymore could jeopardize the entire summit, and risk rekindling system-wide war.”

  She was right, of course. That didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

  But Darren had turned again and was stalking back through the door.

  “Where are you going?” Lucas said.

  “Getting Mulligan.” He disappeared, the doors hissing shut behind him. Lucas looked at Caspar.

  “That’s our core,” he said, and followed. She came after.

  —

  “How do you know where they’ll take them?” Caspar had resigned herself to the rescue mission, and was picking over Darren’s supply of short blades. Barbaric, Lucas thought. But he supposed they might be handy for getting past blaster scans. They had come by hover-train to a little shack on top of one of the ubiquitous pubs on the fringes of the nicer part of town—a safehouse, Darren explained. He had already strapped a number of daggers to his body, and was now covering up with a finely tailored suit, complete with cufflinks and double bowtie. He reached toward the rack of clothes hanging along the wall, took a hanger with a bright neon blue vest and jacket, and tossed it at Lucas.

  “Change,” he said.

  Lucas huffed out a sigh, and began to undress.

  “They’re with the Holubs,” Darren said quietly. “Current headquarters are the Spacegold, a casino just a few blocks from here. I recognized some of the men.”

  Lucas twitched an eyebrow. “I thought you were with the Holubs.”

  Darren scoffed quietly through his nose. “It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated like things with you and Mulligan?” Caspar asked. Lucas frowned, donning the vest.

  Darren handed Caspar a short, glittering red cocktail dress on a hanger. She tilted her head, looking at it skeptically. “I don’t think it’s your shade,” she told him.

  “Put it on.”

  “Are we going gambling?”

  “Best entrance is from the gaming floor,” he said. “We’ll have to figure out how to slip past security after that.”

  “We could always just let them imprison us, too. It worked for finding you.” Caspar began to strip. Lucas turned away, blushing.

  “Hang on a minute.” Lucas shrugged the jacket on. “That might not be as crazy as it sounds. Either of you have any experience playing cards?”

  “No.” Darren found room for yet another knife and strapped it into place.

  “Martian roundup,” Caspar said.

  “That’s perfect.” Lucas fumbled with the jacket buttons, then decided to leave it open. “It’s basically just a variation of blackjack.” He spun around, arms out. “I know how we’ll get to the back of the house!”

  “Button your jacket,” Caspar said. “Open doesn’t suit you.”

  She smoothed out her dress and headed for the door, a blaze of legs. Darren followed. “She’s right,” he said over his shoulder. Lucas sighed, closed the jacket, and followed them out.

  —

  At the door to the Spacegold, Darren pulled them aside. “Follow my lead,” he said. “You, blondie.” He nudged Caspar. “You help me distract.”

  “Blondie?”

  “You.” He nodded at Lucas. “Do your thing at the card table. Get us in the back, and I’ll take care of the rest.” He turned to go.

  “By the way, I’m Odin, and this is Caspar,” Lucas said, apparently to the empty space where Darren had just been standing. He shrugged and followed.

  A bouncer the size of a bear stood at the door, hands held behind his back, chest thrust out. He smirked at Caspar’s legs. Darren pulled her in tightly to his side, and grinned at the bouncer. “Heeeey, Donnie in the house tonight?”

  Lucas’ eyebrows leapt. Darren’s character was beyond convincing; it was someone new entirely.

  “Maybe,” the bear growled. “Who’s asking?”

  “Oh, you know, I don’t wanna go and drop a name on the sidewalk for just anyone to pick up. Let’s just say I know where to find the bodies. And the money. Guess which one I’m plannin’ on droppin’ tonight?” He made a mock-fierce face, a caricature of his own, then burst out laughing. “Aww, man, I’m just givin’ you a hard time. It’s money! I’m droppin’ money. I’m sprayin’ money like a comet tail. Here.” He pulled out a thick wad of the faded blue paper that passed for Empire credits in Rust, and slipped it into the bouncer’s breast-pocket. “See what I mean?”

  “Hmm.” The man felt the bulge appraisingly, and nodded. “Get in. She can get in anytime.” He leered at Caspar. She looked as through she was considering putting one of her heels through his eye-sockets, but she forced a smile back. “What’s this, though?” He stopped Lucas with an outstretched arm.

  “Ahh… that’s my money-man. My numbers guy. You know. Helps me with the accounts. In case I win—or lose—big.”

  The guard chuckled. “That looks about right. Alright, get in there, numbers.”

  Lucas cleared his throat and passed through.

  They stood on a short ledge overlooking the gaming floor, a veritable carnival of slot machines, card tables, bars, and dancers. Everyone seemed to be dressed either formally or as if they had just bought out a sex store. Gelled hair of various bright dyes abounded. Thick, sweet-smelling smoke gathered along the gilded ceiling, gamers puffing long cigars and hookah pipes below.

  “Your performance was inspiring,” Lucas muttered nervously to Darren.

  “Shh.” Darren nodded at a card-table with a few openings. “Let’s play there. Blondie and I will settle in. Numbers, go get us some drinks.” He shoved off, arm still around Caspar. Lucas stood for a moment, his mouth hanging open. Drinks?

  By the time he joined them at the table with a round of pale red liqueur in tumblers, it looked like Darren had already gambled away a fortune. Amateur, Lucas thought. He took a seat beside him.

  “My man is gonna play a few hands for me,” Darren announced to the table. He proceeded to grab one of the tumblers, empty its contents in one swig, and pull Caspar up onto his lap, grinning. Some of the other gamers laughed at this. Lucas fought down an angry blush. Caspar seemed to be holding it together and playing her part well enough. She draped an arm around Darren’s neck and tipped back her own drink. “A round for the table,” Darren called, slapping another wad of blue bills down. A waiter passed by and exchanged the bills for a full bottle and a tray of tumblers, which got another rowdy reaction from the other players. Darren made eye contact with Lucas, just for a moment, and seemed to squint at him.

  Lucas swallowed. He guessed it was his time to shine.

  Happily, counting cards was as easy as brushing teeth for him. He’d whiled away whole weeks perfecting the art back in gradeschool, while other boys had been busy pushing each other around and chasing after balls. He’d never understood their fascination with balls. Nor with spending all your time training your body but neglecting your mind. He much preferred numbers.

  So he counted. The first hand he won, the other games all cheered him and raised their glasses. A fluke, beginner’s luck. The second, some of them scowled. After the third and fourth hands in a row, some of the floor-watchers seemed to take notice. They were men patrolling the tables, empty suits, lots of “congratulations, Sir,” and “would you like to collect your winnings, Sir?” but you could see the pale spectre of death lurking behind their glazed fish-eyes, their plastic smiles. T
hey were sharks. And they smelled blood.

  “Numbers, you’re uppin’ my stock, baby!” Darren laughed bawdily and drained another glass. Lucas smiled nervously. He had to admit, it was a little fun, doing this with real money. Watching the reactions of other men as they lost to him over and over again. He couldn’t help but dread the falling hammer-blow, even though it was crucial to their plan. Once or twice he thought about going easy to lure more money into the pot, but no. They needed to make it obvious that he was counting, so they could get into the back as soon as possible. He grabbed all of Darren’s cash and threw it down.

  “All or nothing, boys,” he said. “I’m all in this time.”

  Greed flashed in some of their eyes. But a few of them paled, and one walked away. Lucas watched him go straight to one of the sharks. That’s right, he thought. Go tell mommy I’m taking your lunch money.

  One more round—a flawless hand—and Lucas collected. There were audible gasps from grown men at the table who had just blown tens of thousands of credits. Lucas reached his arms out to pull in the pile.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” A couple of the sharks appeared, one of either side, and took him by the arms. “We’ll need to speak with you and your associates, Sir. To better collect your winnings, you understand.”

  “Huh?” He tried to play dumb. “Oh, sure. Hey look, I’m just the numbers guy. He’s my boss.” He nodded at Darren.

  “The numbers guy,” one of the sharks repeated.

  “That’s right,” Darren said. “Keeps my ledgers afloat. There a problem, gentlemen?”

  “None that can’t be solved through conversation.” More of them appeared, flanking Darren and Caspar. “You’ll come with us, if you please.”

  A gaggle of suits escorted them across the floor and to the doors in the back. Lucas suppressed a grin of victory.

  Bingo.

  Chapter 14