by Chris Turner
“Meaning, if they catch us creeping about like rats, that’s better? The result seems about the same.”
Cloye had a point. Yul did not want to give her the benefit of a doubt. Neither did he want to give in to her manipulations nor reveal his admiration for her cleverness. More voices echoed down the hall. They looked at each other. “Shit,” they said simultaneously and jumped into an ungrated service duct at ankle level. Still as mice they lay, listening to the footfalls tramp by inches from their breathless bodies.
Inching their way along the cramped, dusty space, Yul stifled the urge to sneeze.
A metallic odour lingered in the air, probably of past cargoes. Almost as if this had been an ore ship a lifetime ago. Silver-Ferro-Umex mix? Used in lightship manufacture? Terraformers were known to bring back copious raw materials on the return trip after dropping off their planetary terraforming payload. The duct widened with Cloye not far ahead. Yul prodded her toward what looked like a forward hatch, his mind a whirl. When they reached a dead end, he forced open the access grate above their heads. They remained crouched there for a few seconds, peering down the hall for signs of danger. Finally they crawled out of the shaft and Yul wondered if Lorde and his brigade had come to chastise Rourke yet or had discovered his limp body.
He suddenly doubled over in pain. Cloye watched in curiosity. “Get a grip, Vrean,” she said. “They’re going to hear you whimpering like a baby.”
“Screw it...you should know, it’s because I turned off their bloody circle-vision that you’re still in the game. Otherwise, you’d have been made. Mathias would have seen how you failed to take me out and bungled your cover and reputation.”
She blinked, licking her lower lip thoughtfully. “Really? You did that for me? Why?”
Yul grunted, suppressing an involuntary groan. He hated to seem like a pushover. “Let’s just say I’m not immune to the wiles of an alluring woman.”
“Humph. So you say. So many would have thrown me to the dogs. But you didn’t. Then again, maybe you had an ulterior motive for some sex later on.” She bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“There’s that, but I wouldn’t have given Mathias the satisfaction of torturing another human being.”
“At least you’re honest.” It seemed to be something she could understand and she let down her guard with a shake of her shiny hair.
Although he sensed a change, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Like why would Hresh need these supplies going out to the Dim Zone? Seemed odd, a weird place to transport them. Easy prey to Zikri pirates. Especially in a rustbucket like this. Definitely an old terraforming ship of the last century. This ship didn’t appear it could defend herself from an attack. Whole fleets of them, he recalled, were made to haul metals, soil, water, liquids, anything useful to seed new worlds.
Yul had smelled the rank, musty odour in the ship’s air: of soil and decay. It still lingered in his olfactory glands. His boots crunched on some old gravel still left from the ages as he made woozy steps forward. Cracked tiled bins arrayed on the corridors’ sides were laden with dust and fine dark loam, a testament to their age and disuse. Hresh, probably on a low budget, had bought the vessel cheap to service his outlets elsewhere. But the Dim Zone? What market was there to be had out there?
Finally they came to a main hatch. Probably one that granted entrance to the heart of the ship. The ship was so big, he doubted if they had made it past the cargo bay section yet. The double-doors to the main were sealed and he did not know how to work the mechanism. “I don’t want to risk failure, or try this key card and be flagged on their security screens. Nowhere else to go. So we head back.”
They made their way back to the cargo bay. Rourke’s body was gone, as he expected. No one else was present. The ship would be landing before long and Yul’s mind was formulating a plan of action, as he stared at a stray crate tucked over by the far wall.
About four feet square. About the right size. He tested it with his knife and pried up the lid.
“What are you doing?” Cloye grunted at him curiously. “You up for another robot arm?”
“Get inside.”
She smirked. “What’s the plan? You going to drop me in the box, do me like a filly?” Her husky laugh echoed in the hall. “I like the idea, though I’m not that kinky, just warning you.”
“Very amusing, Cloye, now get in.”
“No. Why should I? Why don’t you get some other bimbo for your sports?”
“Because I have a fucking uniform and can fake my way through these dimwit shiphands, while you can’t.”
“I could have gotten Rourke’s uniform, for shit’s sake,” she snorted, “but you stopped me from—”
“Right, and have them discover a naked corpse, and put the ship on hold for a red alert. Brilliant plan.”
“That wasn’t what I meant—”
“Get in!” he roared.
Teeth clenched, she drew her long legs over the rim and hunched down, arms wrapped around her sides, fuming.
Yul grunted, somehow liking the look of her in that cramped bin. But he shook off the image and put the corrugated cardboard sheet over her, followed by circuit boards and some robot parts, not too heavy over her head. “Keep still, and don’t say anything. I’ll ensure there are some air holes, so you won’t suffocate.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
“I thought so. Now, shh.”
He resealed the tape. A bit of a hack job, but without tools, he couldn’t do much better.
The ship came out of light drive. Yul felt a backward jar. The faintest echoes of human activity came from the companionway and the clomp of feet. He slid back behind the crate, listening, waiting, churning over loopholes in his plan. A creaking at the hatch alerted him to the opening of the bulkhead. Three crewmen filtered in, bantering.
Yul crouched behind a larger crate, his muscles tensed, poised to attack, if necessary. He waited until a number of them had gathered before he slowly slipped in behind their backs to join the group. Rubbing his temples, he wiped off the rest of the camouflage from his face on his shirtsleeve. The crew started hauling the crates forward toward the exit hatch in preparation for the transfer of goods. The ship’s engines powered down. He assumed they had landed—on Remus.
The landing had been so smooth there had been no need to grasp the hand straps on the wall.
The ship’s cargo bay doors slid open and Yul saw a huge, dimly-lit, high-domed depot illuminated by fluorescent lamps. Massive front-end loaders and hydraulic lifters sprawled off to the sides. Several terraformer ships lay docked at the far end, very similar to the starship he was in. Hresh had certainly been busy in the past two years since he had fled Mathias’s employ.
“Lorde was furious with Rourke,” one of the cargo men was saying. “Didn’t believe the sot’s bogus story about being attacked by some female stowaway. Figures one of us played a number on him, revenge for some past deed.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not implausible. Rourke was a bit of a jerk. If it was anybody, probably was Tonkin, if you ask me. Always had it in for Rourke.”
Yul’s lips quirked in a grin. That’s it, boys, keep the rumours flying...
Lorde, a tall, meaty man with a walrus-style moustache appeared in person to ensure that the operation was going smoothly. He was decked in full uniform with badges and knee-high leather boots. He peered around with officious disapproval, gave some orders, then headed back to the exit.
Yul breathed a sigh. He had kept his face turned away, as unlikely as it was the captain could recognize all his men by sight. No sense in giving the man anything to arouse his suspicion.
Yul took up an electro loader with forks on the end and wheeled Cloye out of range of earshot while nobody was looking. He kept going, his eyes trained ahead, darting around a stack of thick cables beside some parked loaders. Sounds echoed here as in a large cave—the clomp of boots, the clink of tools, the murmur of men’s voices. All merged into a background chatt
er of white noise. The smell of machine oil and refuelling hung in the air. Also an unfamiliar odour not describable—the scent of an alien world. He wondered how inhospitable this planet Remus was. He had no visual of the planet as of yet.
When he was far enough away from the main crew, he accelerated his pace.
Cloye banged on the wood.
“Sh!” he rasped. “Don’t blow your cover.”
She stopped her noise-making. He turned to push her on, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere rolled a monitor, a silver, insect-like, mechanical thing with long neck, beady eyes.
“State your mission,” it bleated. A stalk of a neck extended and twin blue laser eyes glared down imperially at him.
Yul blinked. Was this for real? One of the archaic droids from generations ago, right down to the tinny robotic voice? In fact, he had seen one very much like it in Mathias’s eerie collection on Phallanor. A Brille E3?
“State your mission!” it repeated.
“I request access to—” he gazed at the luminous number over the exitway “—Bay 6.”
The thing beeped in rapid succession. “Request denied. Illegal transfer. All cargoes are to be processed at duty check counter 9-16C. Report there immediately.”
Yul cleared his throat. “It’s a special requisition—for Hresh’s eyes only.” He said it with as much authority as he could. But he doubted such tactics would work. “Have you been informed?”
The thing processed the information, its eyes blinking dizzily. “No such request has crossed my databanks. Duty roster is incomplete. You have cited a case without a file number.”
Databanks? What kind of a cheesy outfit was Hresh running?
“Proceed to security officer Hanson—immediately.”
“Oh, for shit sakes.” He pulled out his blaster and blew the thing’s head off. The smoking head lolled, sparking blue. Yul grabbed it up and stuffed it behind two parked loaders to the side, then snatched glances left and right while dragging the sparking body off into the shadows. Yul grimaced as he moved the electro loader with speed past the burning droid, darting a last quick look over his shoulder, hoping nobody had witnessed his action.
Nobody had.
When he was at the far end of the depot, far enough away from the unloading stations and main activity, he drew a relieved breath. Heavy equipment and giant cranes loomed over him, tractors with lift loaders equipped at their fronts with interchangeable scoops, forks and tool grips on the ends, arching out of the cold fluorescent light, looking like prehistoric stalking insects. There was a bustle of movement behind, as knots of workers moved to and fro. The activity caused Yul’s heart to leap, but he was safe for the moment in his anonymity.
He pulled Cloye’s crate into the shadows of a dim exitway. He was about to remove the tape from the top before he hesitated. A voice in his head debated whether to keep her in the box, let her cool her heels.
She’d just try to break herself out. Make a lot of noise and tip off the workers. He might need her in the near future.
With annoyance he ripped at the tape and pulled her out. She was flustered, hair askew, cheeks and brow bathed with sweat.
“Took your sweet time, didn’t you?” she grumbled.
“I could have waited longer.”
Stumbling out of her hidey-hole, she refused his help, scratching at her left arm. “Damn sawdust must have dripped down. Itches like the devil.”
Yul grunted. “My heart bleeds. Let’s move away from the cargo hold. If our boys are diligent, they’ll be dragging some crates down one of these service corridors any minute.” He looked about, searching for some place to stash the evidence. “First we need to conceal this crate. We can’t leave it in the middle of the hall.”
“Let’s hope they don’t miss it.”
“One measly container, I doubt it.” Yul poked up ahead, looking for a side room. “We’ll sneak back later to jump a ship on one of the terraformers when the heat’s died down. For now, we stay out of harm’s way.”
Cloye roamed with sharp eyes down around the immaculate corridor, both sides granting glimpses through small windows of what looked like laboratories, a combo of med bays and robot assembly research manufacture stations. “A covert research warehouse is my guess. See those macroscopes and state-of-the-art scanners?”
“I do. And heavy tools. Both fine and coarse wares. I’m guessing a lot of intense work is done here. But where is everybody?”
She rubbed her itchy arm. “We’re in Hresh’s base. They could be anywhere. Bonus points if we can glean some information about his research and that Biogron of his. Let’s do a quick recon while we have the chance.” She hurried up the hall, lit with dim fluorescent bulbs, before he could object.
Yul scowled. He had expected another zap from Mathias for neglecting to re-engage the circle-vision and was puzzled by the absence of any shock. As much as he disliked giving Mathias what he wanted, he could see no harm in nosing around a bit until they could get back to the landing bay and hop a ship out of here. After dumping the crate and trolley in one of the empty lab rooms, he took wary steps after her.
A portal of steel showed at the end of a cross-hall. Red bars banded across it, denying access.
“There,” she pointed. “Looks promising.”
Trying to pull the bars up, she grunted, to no avail. The mechanism was jammed. Without warning, she blasted it.
Yul gaped. “What the hell are you doing?”
The bars melted and Cloye kicked it with her foot, scratching at her forearm, as if some shrapnel had rebounded back at her.
“You want to alert everybody?”
“Got to take some risks, Vrean. We’ve living on borrowed time as it is.”
Yul shook his head, questioning her rashness. He pushed through what was left of the smoking door before plunging after her down the corridor.
Chapter 6
In Mathias’s private quarters aboard his N-Juen, he enjoyed the plush luxury of leather divans, rich carpet, imported mahogany, the exotic views of space, easy access to liquor, gourmet food, female company, anything he desired. A signal came up on Vrean’s homing device, one that brought distinct pleasure to Mathias’s face.
Better yet, Vrean had come through faster than expected. The beeper traced an image on the console to a world just within the Dim Zone. If Vrean could lead him to Hresh’s secret headquarters then he could control the Biogron... He called in Goss.
“Set a course for Remus in the Dim Zone.”
Goss hesitated. “Remus? Why Remus? Is that wise, sir?”
Mathias’s fingers hovered over the button that would zap Vrean with more pain. No, let Vrean have his reprieve. There would be other occasions more timely to administer pain whenever the man erred or double-crossed him in any way. For now, he would give him the benefit of doubt, that the man was doing his job.
Mathias frowned. Why no visual? Damn, Vrean was jerking him around. Bastard! A sudden surge of anger had his fingers pressing hard on the control and not releasing for several seconds while a vindictive smirk crawled across his face.
A momentary blip came back on the mercenary’s circlevision 360 receiver as if, in a moment of lucidity, Vrean had turned the device on. An image showed him staggering in the corridor of some space station, or base or starship with the female assassin Cloye beside him, steadying him with her soothing hands.
Mathias’s cheeks crinkled in anger. “There, you see that, you stupid fucking synthetic?”
Goss peered at the visual.
“You recommended her, now you take her out.”
Goss frowned. “She could just be playing him.”
“Right, with her hand practically on his cock. The deal was no contact with the mark. If she was made, then she was off this mission.”
Goss glowered, his face an unreadable mask. “As you wish.” He fingered his weapon, spoke several quiet words into his command set, listened to the response and grew attentive.
Mathias gazed off into space.
Goss turned to Mathias. “Sir?”
“Yes, Goss! Do I need to babysit you through this? Go ahead. Do it. I’m not going to backtrack now.”
Goss gave a curt nod. “Just a reminder of pirates, sir. Zikri abound there. No doubt the Mentera, the bugs, too.”
“Standard security procedure.” Mathias waved a hand. “Get alpha wing team to escort us.”
Goss blinked. “Will that be enough?”
Mathias stared at him, as if he were talking to a brick. “They’re an elite force, cream of the crop.”
Goss flinched, as if hesitating to tell him something. “The armada we saw at Phebis—it was non-trivial, sir.”
Mathias sucked in a draft of air, feeling his temper rising. “We’ll risk it, Goss. We can’t always be padding around like mice in granny’s cupboard. We can always warp out if things go sour.”
“Suit yourself.” Goss jerked his head sideways. “As a matter of routine, I would feel better shuttling aboard the Draxen and briefing Captain Adlis and his team personally about the dangers.”
Mathias shook his head, flourishing a hand. Tedious cyborg. He watched the synthetic’s back as he retreated down to the command bridge. Goss was a useful commodity, logical, practical, truly a clever imitation of a human, but without passion and the instinct to take risks. It was doubtful that even his research lab could ever produce the perfect model. Unless the plant-insectoid-butterfly they hooked up to Hresh’s machine accomplished the impossible. He hoped the alien creature could come through. His obsession for finding a true AI brought out the Hyde in him that would never let him rest. Discovering a true AI that could feel, and was instinctually driven and that operated from raw instinct to execute with passion and precision, was a roboticist’s wet dream. He thought back to the feral butterfly as his security men floundered about the lab, finally managing to trap it in a stoppered flask. There would be increased security surveillance from now on to prevent more ‘accidents’. Dez was working night and day to incorporate the creature into one of these Biogron vats Hresh had sketchily engineered in his last months at the company. Time was of the essence. No telling how far along Hresh was in his research. If Vrean failed...
