by TR Cameron
Chapter Seven
Ethan Kimmel twisted his face up and breathed, “Arrrrrr.” The others at the table laughed, and Cia wiped away tears of mirth.
“You are absolutely the worst pirate ever.”
He scowled. “Okay, let’s hear yours.”
She straightened, lifted her chin, and growled, “You scallywags better get in line, or it’s the plank for ye.”
Jax rolled his eyes. “It figures that you’d be the best at impersonating a dirty, unethical, probably smelly sea thief.”
She pointed at him. “You’re first into the ocean, fancy boy.”
The others laughed again, and he was forced to join in. The Jigsaw had been visited by officials from the planet below and given permission to land, but the busy spaceport had a queue, and they hadn’t paid extra to jump the line. Getting ready for that inspection had involved changing into the clothes and gear that the Academy had packed for them and securing their stuff in a smuggler’s hold cunningly concealed in the cargo bay. Jax wasn’t a particular fan of the outfits and equally disliked and distrusted the pistol strapped to his thigh, which had seen better days.
He hoped their contact would have a more impressive selection of equipment for them, including more appropriate clothes to move about the city, or it would be exceedingly difficult to accomplish their mission. A fact that Maarsen is doubtless aware of, so I’m sure we’ll have what we need. Mostly sure. Okay, pretty sure. One never knew if a given situation was going to turn into some sort of learning opportunity, and it would be like the man to think that they’d gain valuable experience by having to improvise with substandard gear.
Jax cut that train of thought short since it was neither immediately relevant nor something he could do anything about. What will be, will be, and we’ll roll with it, whatever it is. He’d gotten some hours in the right-hand seat on the flight and happily discovered that their separation hadn’t damaged his rapport with the pilot. He liked having colleagues with whom he could pick up after a gap as if it had never happened.
Cia looked sharply down at her wrist and said the words he’d been waiting to hear. “We have our slot. Time to head down.”
The planet the Confederacy had selected for its regional governmental hub was primarily desert. Not the sand-covered deserts of Earth, but rather a huge expanse of cracked brown stuff that made up the surface. The ship’s database had informed them it had a significant amount of clay in it, and also a ton of minerals he’d never heard of before. In his judgment, it qualified as “not a particularly hospitable place.”
The city of Grefta was a literal oasis right in the middle of all that barren scorching aridity. He’d stared at it as they landed, the energy dome glimmering in the suffocating warmth, revealing lush greenery under its transparent canopy. Unfortunately, the spaceport sat outside the sheltered portion, and they had to wait a full five minutes for the dust stirred up by their landing to settle before they left the ship.
The heat hit like a right cross from a heavyweight boxer as soon as he climbed onto the ladder attached to the hatch. His breath stopped, and it felt as if his heart had as well. Both kicked back into gear after only a moment but did so at a significantly increased rate. He muttered, “One more planet I’m so glad not to live on.”
Verrand, a few rungs above him, replied with a grunt and a question. “Seen many of those?”
He chuckled, then coughed as he accidentally swallowed some air thick with dust, or dust loosely encompassed by something that pretended to be oxygen, he wasn’t sure which. “More than I can count.” Most of the planets he’d encountered during his time in the Special Forces met that criteria for one reason or another. To be fair, their mandate didn’t involve visiting resort worlds, generally speaking.
When they all reached the ground, Sirenno commented, “No car to greet us? I thought the life of a pirate is supposed to be all wine, women, and song. Or men,” he added, nodding at Verrand, “or livestock.” He nodded at Jax, and the group managed a weak laugh.
Jax shook his head. “The sun has evidently baked all the talent for humor out of this crowd. I think we can grab a tube into town over there.” He pointed to a building more or less in the center of the landing pads. “Let’s get moving.”
They walked between the bright orange lines demarcating the safe zone until they reached a terminal. Double doors whooshed open in front of them, and they stepped into shade and conditioned air. As one, they all breathed a loud sigh of relief. Jax wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. “Well, that was refreshing, right?”
He got looks ranging from incredulity to a clear concern for his sanity and laughed. “No point in whining. Doesn’t change anything. Hop to it.”
The tube was a half-cylinder that stretched from the spaceport into the city itself. The cars were semiprivate and frequent, and they only had to wait a few minutes before climbing into one. Sirenno scowled at the people who tried to follow him in, and they wound up having the eight-seat vehicle to themselves. The sun had also baked away any real desire for conversation in the others. Despite his long experience functioning in varied climates, Jax found himself fighting to keep his relaxation from turning into sleep during the four-minute, high-velocity ride.
At the end of the line lay another terminal building, this one opulent and cavernous, decorated with greenery and polished stone. Restaurants, bars, and shops filled the concourse, and visitors milled about taking it all in while the city’s residents hurried by, intent on their destinations. His group did a little of the former but mainly stayed on track. They’d reviewed their path to their contact’s location during the long wait to descend to the planet, and the others seemed as eager as he was to get to it.
Or, maybe it was the promise of showers and rest that drove them. Either way, the group headed in a loose line toward the less elegant part of the city referred to by its denizens as Spacers’ Gutter. The name suggested a lack of polish that didn’t exist in reality. As the home to the local Confederacy officials, no serious crime would be permitted for long. The mix of terrestrial authorities in their green outfits and sidearms and the frequently occurring sight of soldiers in full uniforms sporting rifles and grenades were sufficient to keep outrages both big and small in check.
They arrived at their destination after a short walk, a casino with the entirely unoriginal moniker “The Lady’s Luck.” It sat between a restaurant emitting an amazing smell of cooked meat and a crowded bar with noise penetrating through every crack in its worn facade. The gambling hall’s exterior was all glitz and glamour. A red marquee surrounded by winking lights announced the club’s identity, and below it, doors that looked like they might be solid gold were imprinted with images—a high heel, a pair of lips pursed in a kiss, and a sketched hourglass figure. Cia snorted. “Subtle.”
Verrand echoed her. “They’re trying to go for a certain clientele. Kimmel, stop staring.” They all laughed, Ethan Kimmel the hardest, and Jax pulled open the door. Crossing the threshold was like stepping into an alternate dimension where the brutal heat of the planet had never existed. The interior featured constant recurrences of red and black styling with golden accents, in wood, metal, and fabric. Slot machines, one of Earth’s ubiquitous exports, lined the walkway that led deeper into the space.
He sauntered, taking the lead position with Cia beside him, her shorter legs leaving her always a half step behind. When she increased her speed, he matched it to be irritating. It took her a while to notice. Then she slapped his arm hard enough to echo from the nearby machines, drawing surprised looks in their direction. He repeated her earlier observation. “Subtle.”
“Bite me. Do you know where we’re going?”
Jax nodded. “See those two women standing by the elevator up there?”
In his peripheral vision, Cia did a nice job of checking them out without appearing to. She’s learning. Or maybe she’s always been good at that sort of thing, with her trader background. “Guards?”
“Definitel
y. Our contact occupies the top level and works the casino floor in the evening when the high rollers are playing. Of course, they wouldn’t want us to be seen heading up there, so I’m guessing that before we reach the lift—” He was interrupted by the arrival of several muscular people in house security uniforms, three men and a woman. The males were all of a piece and fell under his mental classification of “goon.” The female had sharp eyes, and her lips wore a slight sneering twist. She was nondescript, easily forgettable, which was probably a good thing for a casino security person. Their outfits were black with red trim.
She said, “We’re going to have to ask you to come along.”
“Says who?”
The guard answered, “A friend of yours. A teacher, I believe.”
Jax nodded. “Okay, point the way.” She did and led them through a side door into the backstage part of the gambling den. It looked to be the opposite of the outer portion, sterile white on all sides, cold and businesslike with no sense of comfort to it. Some trepidation accompanied the sight of the security post ahead, likely complete with cells for holding troublemakers, and he let out a breath of relief as they passed it without stopping.
They surrendered their weapons and stepped through a scanning device when they reached the end of the corridor, the surroundings making it clear that they had no choice but to comply. Once through, the elevator was the same clean perfection, with only a palm reader instead of buttons or a control panel. The guard put her hand on it, and they shot upward. Verrand asked, “Not afraid we’ll knock you out and go after the VIP? Or is it that your other guards wouldn’t fit in here?”
The other woman turned and regarded Maria Verrand with a smile. “First, I think the odds of me taking all of you are a little better than fifty-fifty, since you’re weaponless and I’m not. But even if you did, there’s always someone watching, and they’d trap you between floors and fill the car with gas.”
Cia asked, “Knockout? Pepper?”
The woman’s lips stretched into a thin line. “Nerve toxin. You’d be dead in minutes.”
Sirenno replied, “So would you.”
She shrugged. “Obviously. If it came to that, I’m either already dead or seriously messed up. Plus, there’s an antidote, so if the timing worked out, I could probably be saved.”
Jax shook his head. “You people play hard.”
She grinned up at him. “Count on it, bud.”
The doors opened to reveal another set of burly men completely blocking their advance. Their guard said, “We’re good.” The pair locked eyes with each of his team members before moving out of the way, offering an unmistakable promise that any mayhem would be met with immediate and debilitating pain. The sunken living room beyond them echoed the styles they’d seen below. Soft off-white walls wrapped around windows that tinted the sunlight coming in to a gentler shade. Picture frames and lamps were gold, and the furniture was scarlet and black.
Jax walked slowly down the three wide steps onto the plush ivory carpet that covered the area. A trio of couches in a U shape bounded a glass and gold coffee table, pristinely empty. A beautiful woman sat in the center of the sofa that faced the elevators. No, that doesn’t capture her. Glamorous. Stunning. Striking. If asked to describe her, he would have used the words “classic beauty.” Dark hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, offsetting her pale skin. Her makeup was simple and flawless, emphasizing her cheekbones, sculpted eyebrows, and in particular her deep red lips. Her face had a hint of roundness to it, a fullness that made her seem somehow pampered, or luxurious.
She wore a black dress that stretched over her right shoulder but left the other bare, extending down to her thighs where it met black stockings. A gold and ruby pin in the shape of a coiled dragon barely avoided crossing the line from opulent to ostentatious at her right collarbone. Her shoes echoed the color scheme, shining scarlet with ebon whorls and tall, pointed heels.
His gaze made it back to her face to find her wearing a small smile that acknowledged her cognizance of the effect she had on people and her enjoyment of the results. Her voice was strong and direct when she said, “Normally I’d say something clever and flirty like ‘enjoying the view?’ But since you’re here on business, we should probably get right to the fun stuff, Captain Reese.”
Chapter Eight
Despite the flirty, almost seductive way the woman had said “get to the fun stuff,” the actual stuff that they got to wasn’t all that much fun. Their host, Lady Elle, was the owner and proprietor of the casino in her public role. In her private life, she’d explained, she was someone who made things happen for people willing to pay for it.
Cia had frowned and inquired, “What sort of things?”
The woman had obviously been asked before since her purred response was perfectly delivered, throaty and enticing. “Anything you desire, darling.” Her ability to shift in and out of seductress mode was unsettling, and he’d dealt with enough intelligence personnel in the past to be certain it was a deliberate move on her part.
He said, “So, since we made it up here, clearly, the ones who sent us have been in touch with you.”
She nodded and rose from the couch. “Indeed. Professor Maarsen and I have quite the history together. He’s one of the few people who I never say no to.” The idea of Maarsen having a romantic life popped into his mind, and he vigorously kicked it away into a dark corner where it could be safely ignored. Her walk was as calculated as the rest of her, and he saw Ethan Kimmel’s flush creep up his neck. He was about to ask her to knock it off when Verrand beat him to it.
She said, “Lady Elle, if you’d be so kind as to put the routine aside for a while, we’d all appreciate it. We’re not here for titillation.” The growled delivery suggested she’d likely withheld a number of choice synonyms for the good of the team.
Their host threw a pouty glance over her shoulder, then smiled. “Of course. However, if you’ve an urge to fulfill before you go, I have no shortage of willing partners for any of you. On the house.”
Jax shook his head. “We’ll stick to the essentials, thanks. It’s work time. Playtime later. Maybe some of us will be back, assuming we’re not chased off the planet.”
She beckoned for them to follow, and they left the lush living room behind and entered a much more modern area. The walls and ceiling were still white, but brighter. There were paintings in less ornate but no less expensive-looking frames, and the furniture was mostly scarlet and black, but that was where the similarities ended. A large display table took up the middle of the chamber, and cabinets and shelves dotted the periphery. Only a single seat was available, a tall one that would serve the display table well, resting beside a low credenza. On it were four bottles of different colored liquids and an array of tumblers.
She tapped the table as she walked to the far end of it. The rectangular surface lit up with an image of the city as seen from above. Anton Sirenno asked, “Satellite?”
Lady Elle shook her head. “Computer model, updated ten times an hour from satellites. Gives us more control than simply a view from above would.” She opened a small case and slipped two silver rings onto her index fingers, then put her palm parallel to the table and lifted her arm. The picture rose out of the flat surface to become a fully three-dimensional representation of the city.
Kimmel gave a low whistle. “Nice tech.” Cia nodded her agreement.
Their host looked pleased by the compliment. “Sometimes I’m called upon for complex tasks. Laying out the cash for good equipment is a fundamental requirement.”
Jax asked, “More complex than what we’re here for?”
She laughed, and it was a pleasure to hear her do so without the sensuality she’d projected in the living room. Makes her seem much more real and much more trustworthy. Might be an act, too, of course. Working on intelligence-related matters caused a person to become suspicious of everything and carried the risk of throwing them into a loop of conspiracy theories at any moment. He refocused as she said, �
��This is probably in the top twenty percent, given the target.”
She motioned with her hands and the display changed, summoning a view of the building they intended to break into. The perspective was as if they were standing on the street outside it, and the holographic image reached almost to the high ceiling. “The Confederacy Administration Building. Allegedly a bunch of offices for harried workers to keep the government running. Far more interesting to your average individual is the Security Center a block away. It pretends to be simply a base for the terrestrial authorities and the military, but it’s an open secret that intelligence agencies are hiding in there as well.”
Maria Verrand nodded. “A perfect distraction.”
“Exactly. And if you examine the blueprints for the buildings or really any public document at all, you’d find nothing to indicate that appearance is anything other than true. Fortunately, even Confederacy officials have vices.” Elle looked up and grinned, showing flawless teeth and confirming that she was, in fact, the accomplished predator he’d concluded she was. “And from them, we have all sorts of interesting information. It’s amazing what some people will do to protect their families and careers.”
Cia frowned. “So, you deliberately target and exploit them? That doesn’t sound like something the Professor would be okay with.”
The other woman shook her head. “You might be surprised at what goes on inside Maarsen’s elegant skull. But there’s no need to target anyone. I simply take what’s offered and turn it to my advantage. No honey traps, no rigged games. But once they’ve done the damage to themselves, yes, I exploit it when circumstances require and sleep perfectly at night, guilt-free. Wouldn’t you agree that the flaw is in the choices, not the consequences?”
The pilot nodded, but Jax could tell she wasn’t completely convinced. She walks a purer path than some of us. Have to admire her ability not to compromise herself. He’d long ago decided that some ends justified stepping across some lines, although he wouldn’t call himself a universalist about the idea by any means. He asked, “So, what have your little birds told you?”
