by J. N. Chaney
10
After another sweep for hidden equipment, Dorian and I only unpacked the necessary items.
“In case we have to leave quickly,” my partner explained. “Then time won’t be wasted looking for shit we can’t leave behind.”
I’d noticed that while performing his duties as a Vetus at the Red Tower, he never cursed or acted unprofessionally. Out here, pretending to be a Renegade, however, he had adopted a gruff personality who swore with the best—or worst—of them.
We spent the next few hours before the scheduled meet time refining our plan.
“Smart idea not to show your face yet,” Dorian remarked.
I had proposed staying in the vehicle and observing while he went in alone. As soon as Evelyn became aware of my presence, if she wasn’t already, she might go on the defensive. It would be better to keep her in the dark as long as possible.
When it was time, we left the hotel and I drove to the meeting location.
“Put it over there,” Dorian instructed, gesturing to a spot outside the south fence of the warehouse. A line of other personal transports clung in a rough circle around the building. Just as we had been out of place ourselves, the luxury vehicles also didn’t mesh with their dingy surroundings.
I shook my head and adjusted the display in front of me, which was connected to a mini holo cam that was disguised as a button on Dorian’s jacket. It was another Union special, designed to avoid all but the most advanced sensors. Unfortunately, this required a lower resolution, so the picture wasn’t very clear.
“I’m ready to go,” I said after a few test runs.
Dorian exited the vehicle and strode toward the warehouse. Once I lost visual on him, I switched to viewing his single camera feed.
He was met immediately by tough looking security who stopped him and ran scanners over every centimeter of his frame.
“You’re clear,” one of them said, waving him in.
Activity within the building was already troublesome. So far, six groups had collected inside the warehouse and I pegged them all as buyers from the looks of anticipation and swanky clothing. One group had what looked like a private bodyguard along. If security was hiding in the rest of the warehouse, they were doing so out of my limited line of sight.
Dorian was dressed in what he called “scrapper chic.” This look consisted of his usual coat, but instead of a jumpsuit, he wore a collared shirt over his light armor. Mostly, he looked uncomfortable, which was the best part of the cover. “Look like you don’t want to be there, and go a step further, like being there is causing you pain. Everyone ignores that guy out of a deep-seated need not to deal with it.” Pearls of wisdom that seemed forced but relevant.
I opened the comms. “Keeping the channel open from here,” I said once he was in a relatively empty area. “Just a heads up, I think at least one of the groups is considering overt action. Check your six for the pair of muscles behind you.”
Dorian turned around nonchalantly so I could get a better look at the two men. While everyone else looked excited, these guys looked aggressive and poised for a fight. They were definitely up to something.
The other buyers stayed segregated into their groups and sipped on drinks supplied by a bar at one end of the room. No sign of Evelyn or any of the men employed by Ferris Velio. I checked the external camera on our transport and didn’t see any new transports or ships. The meeting was scheduled to start in a few minutes.
“Dorian, something doesn’t feel right. Could you take a turn around the room, maybe introduce yourself? I’d like a better look at who’s there.”
He responded by going to the bar and ordering a beer. Probably a good way to open a dialogue.
Drink firmly in hand, my partner set off and approached a male and female pair that I judged to be intimate from their close proximity to one another.
Dorian waved an arm, then addressed the couple. “You two don’t have the rough and tumble look. Let me guess, you want the goods for some middleman purpose.”
The ruse worked. The couple faced Dorian enough for me to grab a proper image.
I cross-checked it with the Constable archives. “You are talking to Ilsten and Laurina,” I informed him. “Former Union engineers from the Province System. They headed up a slipspace research group until their disregard for protocol obliterated a test vessel. They avoided prison by claiming incompetence, but rumors persist they are still doing dangerous slipspace experiments.”
Dorian gave Ilsten a sudden slap on the arm. “Whatever experiments you have, cloaks are likely to make you tenfold the cash. Probably got some deep pocket investors to go with that.”
I saved the image and archived it for others to deal with. We had a mission. He gave Dorian a condescending look. “I think you’re right. We are here with grand plans in mind, but isn’t everyone? Except maybe you, Renegade. Your need to hide cargo is nothing compared to our designs.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I guess we’ll see what happens when the bidding begins.”
The camera jostled slightly, and I guessed that the Constable had shrugged dismissively before he turned and headed toward the other lone man.
All I could see was the back of the man’s head, but the size of the skull gave me a clear impression it was Arturo Hyak, a smuggler whose profile had been on the list of possible buyers. “Can you confirm that the man you are approaching has a scar along his left temple and a pale patch under his bottom lip?”
Dorian strode past the man then jerked to a stop. What was he doing? The camera rotated slightly as if he was turning his head to look back.
Not very subtle, I mused. Then the camera swiveled and I could see the other man’s face clearly.
“Hyak, you cunning bastard. I shoulda known I would see you here.” I could tell from his tone that he was smiling.
It was definitely Hyak. He waved Dorian over in a wide, friendly greeting. “Dorian Tribal! You’re the last person I expected to see here. You hear about this from Oliver?”
Dorian reached him then and the two exchanged a hearty handshake. “Of course. Even a piece of the goods should help me with a few projects. You?”
The large man nodded. “I have some destinations in mind for resale but can always retool the old girl if I need to.”
Dorian leaned in to whisper enigmatically to Hyak. “Maybe we should go in together. Give us a fighting chance against some of these others. Fifty-fifty?”
Hyak shook his head. “A tempting offer, but I hear we’ll all get a piece as long as you can make the minimum. Hush hush.”
This was news. And interesting news at that. If Hyak was telling the truth, it meant Evelyn was up to something, though I didn’t have enough information to guess what that might be.
One of the other buyers must have tried to get Hyak’s attention then because his eyes seemed to focus on something over Dorian’s shoulder.
“Well, Tribal, it was good to see you. I have to cut this short, but let’s meet up for a drink after the meeting, eh? The large man clapped Dorian on the shoulder then moved out of sight again.
Before Dorian could move away, someone called out his name.
“Well well well, if it isn’t the part time Renegade,” purred a female voice.
I didn’t get a chance to see her face before a pair of barely contained breasts pressed into the camera. Caught unprepared and unsure what to do, I raised my gaze to the transport ceiling. I only risked a glance when I heard my partner speak again.
“I didn’t know you were on-world, Dawn. Last I saw, you were trying to unload several thousand Julier devices.”
“Who, me?” the woman’s voice tinkled out in a playful tone.
Dawn was pale with high cheekbones and dark hair in a long braid. She wore a light grey casual suit and deck boots, and she had a kit bag strapped across her left shoulder to her right hip.
I pulled up a matching file for Dawn Mayer. Her profile listed the woman as a trader, with a few infractions for miscounted cargo but nothing else of intere
st. I didn’t bother to say this to Dorian as he already seemed to know her.
“I don’t need to be reminded of the kinds of problems you get yourself into, Dawn. You looking at this cargo for yourself or got a client in the pipe?”
Dawn shook her head and pulled a smoke from her bag. She took a few puffs and offered it to Dorian, who declined. “Now now. Friends only share so much. I can say that the product won’t stay in my hands for long.”
Dorian nodded. “This an on-delivery deal, or do you have an advance?”
She merely smiled and put out the cigarette. “Boy, aren’t we inquisitive tonight? You’ll see my cards when I’m in the game, same as everyone else here. For now, I think you should be more interested in those three.” She pointed to the only group in the room with their own security. “That’s the competition with an agenda.”
Due to the woman’s exceeding height, I couldn’t get an adequate view of her face to see if she was being honest. I saw Dorian’s hand reach out and grasp Dawn’s in a friendly farewell, then they parted ways. It was to my great relief that no hugs were exchanged.
As Dorian went on the prowl again, the pair of plainly dressed but obviously dangerous men I’d pointed out before came into view. They were facing each other, but it was clear they were casing the rest of the room while coming off as disinterested. From their easy movements and outward calm, they had practice with this kind of surveillance. I doubted anyone but me realized they were up to something.
I was able to grab a halfway decent image of the one facing across the camera when Dorian got a little closer. Since he didn’t say anything, I doubted he knew either of the two men.
“Got it,” I said triumphantly. “You also have two splinter pirates in your midst. Brothers. Jamma and Olip Narugg. A lot a pirate groups could do with some unregistered slipspace engines, and I’m confident they have backup somewhere.”
Dorian didn’t approach the men and instead walked by to deposit his now empty beer bottle into one of the waste receptacles. Before he could continue making the rounds, a chime rang. I checked the external feed and saw a new vehicle was now parked right at the northern exposure of the warehouse. A sallow young man exited it and entered through a hidden entrance disguised as a pair of barrels and a crate. We’d missed that.
“Heads up, Dorian, looks like Evelyn’s cutout has arrived.”
The man came into view of the Constable’s hidden cam and walked to the center of the room. I had hoped it would be Evelyn herself, but it made more sense for her to send someone in her stead. Before his arrival the room had buzzed with hushed conversation and whispered plans. When the lights brightened, all talk came to an abrupt halt.
The cutout was hard to see but I didn’t recognize him. The collection of buyers stood waiting for him to speak.
He smiled and spread his hands wide before addressing the room in an engaging voice. It made me think of Quintin Dallas and I wondered if he was an actor or did this as a living.
“As you are aware, the party I represent has been selling a valuable commodity. You have been selected as trustworthy buyers with an interest in this product. You have the means to use it, and most importantly, the credits to afford a seat at the table.”
He paused and added a dramatic flourish, sweeping the room with his left arm. “What you may not know is that the deal is sweeter than what has been offered to others at past sales. The party has a new and even more lucrative use for the commodity. A use that has increased the value to a point where trustworthiness can’t hope to be maintained.”
Dorian had positioned himself at the back of the small crowd. Thankfully they were spread out enough that I could see more than just their backs. The additional light also helped to clear up the picture, and I studied the scene.
There was a pause. To their credit, the collection of professionals and criminals didn’t mumble to each other or show signs of alarm. They simply waited for the next piece of information.
Then, a sudden movement that I barely caught. I knew Dorian must have seen it too because he moved. One of the two brothers had apparently decided this was the time to move and rushed the host.
The pirate grabbed the cutout and pulled him in with one arm around the man’s neck and a gun in his free hand. “Everyone stand down!”
“How the hell did he get that past the guards?” I muttered. I recalled the way the two men had been standing close to one another at the bar. I knew they hadn’t been engaging in actual conversation but had stupidly assumed they were surveilling like Dorian. Now I realized that they had been assembling the gun, likely with seemingly innocuous pieces that made it through security.
Dorian had yet to act and had gone completely still while the brother I’d now identified as Olip dragged the noticeably shaken host off the stage. “Everyone stay where you are. I just need this one. You’re going to lose your prize, but nobody has to lose their lives over this.”
Understanding dawned later than I cared to admit because I’d assumed everyone had seen what I had. The idiot brothers thought taking this man hostage would force Evelyn’s hand, but they didn’t realize she didn’t care if her hired help lived or died.
Hell, she didn’t care if her own brother died, so long as she got what she wanted.
Somewhere out of view a shot rang out. The crowd which had been too stunned to move up until this point now erupted in a frenzy. Dorian’s cam bounced around so much that I couldn’t discern any of what I was seeing. I heard him call out for Dawn, then watched her dress sweep by and out of view. He must have shoved her behind him. The next event consisted of Dorian grunting as he engaged in combat. I assumed it was one of the brothers, but it was impossible to tell from the bad rendering and ensuing chaos.
The feed finally leveled out and I saw that Evelyn’s man Olip lay unmoving on the ground ahead of Dorian’s position.
He surged forward and knelt next to the fallen host. After a few seconds, the Constable let out a watery laugh. “He’s fine. Poor guy just fainted.” Dorian slapped the host a couple of times until the intermediary finally came to, then helped him to his feet. The room hadn’t calmed down yet, even though the threat had been neutralized, and I wondered if something more was going on.
Before I could say anything a series of flash bangs went off inside the building.
“What the hell—”
A sudden knocking on the outside of the transport interrupted me and I glanced at the monitor in time to see a blinding flash. Instinctively, I sent out an SOS to Dorian and put my pad in lockdown mode, then whispered in my comm, “Tribal, I’ve got company.”
No response. My comms were dead.
A groan sounded as the door to the transport was forced open. A set of incredibly strong hands grabbed me and pulled me from the driver’s seat. I started to kick out and flail wildly in an attempt to make the unknown assailant let go, but it was of no use. Everything went dark as a hood of some sort was pulled over my head, then I felt a sting in my arm and the world twisted away into darkness.
11
I awoke disoriented and with a mouthful of what I thought was sand. A self-check told me I had not broken any bones, though the back of my head throbbed as if it had been knocked against something. It hurt to open my eyes because someone was shining a bright light into them. No, wait. That was the sun. A strong wind whipped past my face and I chanced a peek through half closed lids before snapping them shut again.
My stolen glance had shown a desert landscape, four heavily armed men, and most surprising of all, a woman in restraints. Not just any woman. The woman from the hotel lobby. Nobody had appeared to notice that I had come to, so I kept my eyes closed, doing my best to retain my breathing and posture from before. It was a tough trick, to not give away consciousness. Breathing was difficult, a trick of the mind in which the very act of thinking about it caused stutters and gaps. But this could be overcome through diligence, mostly by focusing thoughts elsewhere. The big trick was not jerking as the body reconnected t
he motor functions.
Paradoxically, the best way to prevent this was to focus, at the time of losing consciousness, on not moving. Passing out from asphyxiation, gas, strangulation, and the like were not too difficult. Being jumped and drugged, that tended to leave a knee-jerk fight/flight reaction. So I may have been noticed moving around before I gained my bearings. Still, I left my eyes closed. Might as well not add a photosensitive headache to the mix until I had other bearings.
Luck, such as it was, was on my side as the four men argued among themselves. Until I quickly realized their subject matter.
Me.
“This one’s waking up,” I heard someone say somewhat to my left and above.
Sensible. I was lying down on my right side, arms trussed behind me. I pulled a little on the restraints. Improvised. A zip-tie or rope. Not a full security shackle. The voice brought other clues. It was husky, coming from lungs that had been exposed to heavy particulates over a long period. Miner or refinery worker. There was the outside possibility it was a spacer that had suffered a decompression burn.
“You’re full of it, Logan. Just stand watch and shut up.” This voice came from the right and forward. It had an air of authority but lacked articulation. Someone used to being obeyed by force and action, not protocol.
Again, from the left I heard, “I saw him move. Just give him another shot already.”
A new voice from the right, parallel with the left, said, “And if he’s still under, we put him into ataxia, and he dies, or I have to revive him. Do you want to explain why a hostage died on our watch, Logan?”
Logan, annoyed, said, “Don’t be stupid, Baxter. I’m well aware that killing key hostages negates any deal the boss wants to make with the buyers.”
The voice from in front told them, “Both of you shut up. Yeah, he’s probably awake. I seen this one before.” The voice came closer. “Saw him up on Taurus Station. He’s better in a fight than he looks. He’s not just a hostage either, he’s a Renegade in training. Treat him like an opponent.”
