by J. N. Chaney
“These represent our smelting fields, one of two for this particular dig site,” said Ino.
“I imagine this isn’t a facility anyone likes to hang out in,” I said.
“The pod is built to sustain the excessive heat, Mr. Landry,” Ino said. “Not to worry.”
“I believe Mr. Landry was referring to your employees,” Rachel said.
“They are all fitted with proper protection, though we have had our share of accidents over the years.”
“Accidents?” I asked.
“A mine is a dangerous place to work, Mr. Landry. And, as I mentioned, our investor’s profits are our primary concern.”
“I like the way you talk, Indigo.”
“It’s Ino, sir.”
“Yeah, it is. What’s next?”
The pod left lava pits and moved into a brightly lit warehouse filled with monstrous machines that stretched to the ceiling. The mag lift rack weaved between them in a series of S-patterns. Molten liquids poured into forms, shooting sparks high into the air. Massive hammers pounded out sheets of metal. Still more machines chewed, ground, cut, and bound all manner of materials into any number of finished forms. It was a lot to take in.
“In here,” Ino said, “we have an example of a formation plant. The refined materials are tooled into usable compositions spanning an endless list of tolerances. New ones can be added weekly, sometimes daily, depending on the needs of our customers. From space stations and starships to city and remote colonies, if people are living in it, it probably came from our facilities.”
“That’s a pretty outrageous claim,” I said, nudging Rachel in my bravado.
“It is not a claim, Mr. Landry. It is a fact.”
“A fact, he says.” I gave Rachel an impressed face. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
“The last stop on our tour is our shipping department,” Ino said as we rocketed into the final warehouse. Row upon row of transport shuttles were lined up, each being loaded with crates of various sizes. “Here, the final products are prepared for transport to all ends of the quadrant.”
“Question, Incipio,” I said, raising my hand like an eager school child. This time, the man didn’t bother correcting me. “With so much to haul, how come we didn’t see any shuttle traffic when we arrived?”
“Because we didn’t want you to, Mr. Landry.”
“I believe he might be referring to cloaking technology,” Lars said in my ear.
“Mmmm,” I replied back as much to Ino as to Lars. “Come now, Mr. Iridio, if you’re talking about cloaking devices, one for every one of these shuttles would cost more than your entire mining operation.”
“Let’s just say that there are certain secrets no one gets to see, Mr. Landry. Not even our most significant benefactors.”
“Everything’s got a price,” I said, folding my arms behind my head and leaning back. “Just gotta find it.”
The hover pod finished its route and brought us back into the station where we started. A small shower of water washed the vehicle down and then massive ducts blasted us with what I could only imagine was warm air. When the glass doors finally opened, Rachel and I stepped out of the pod and followed Ino back into the main vestibule.
I stepped up beside him and took him by the arm. I could feel his body tense. “Say, Ineillio, it feels like you’re about to send us to some sort of waiting room where most would-be investors get the big sales pitch and enjoy more complimentary drinks. And, I get that. It’s your schtick. But”—I looked back at Rachel and then leaned into Ino’s ear—“we were hoping to see another type of mine, if you know what I mean.”
Ino wrested his arm from my grip and smoothed his jacket. “Mr. Landry, I plan on depositing you in Mr. Oppenheimer’s personal lounge, not to worry. You can speak with him on whatever business dealings you have in mind when he’s ready.”
“You see, sugar buns?” I said, clapping my hands once, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous space. “We’re getting the royal treatment. No expense spared.” Back to Ino, I said, “Lead the way, my good man.”
“I am,” Ino replied.
“I’m pretty sure he likes me,” I whispered back to Rachel loud enough for Ino to hear. But the man was a picture of self-control.
We walked around the vestibule and entered a smaller doorway which required a passkey—a thin wristband which Ino wore under his jacket’s sleeve. The panels parted, and the same woman’s voice as before said, “Welcome, Mr. Ino Wadsworth.”
“Ino,” I exclaimed. “That’s it.” The man cast me a sideways look.
We stepped onto a moving floor and passed along windows that looked over the quarry. Suddenly, the tunnel began to rise and—by the look of the angle—we’d be heading up for a minute or more. Rachel and I passed the time flirting while Ino tried to ignore us. But I had a feeling Rachel’s playful sounds were getting to him. They were getting to me, and I thought we were damn cute.
Higher and higher we traveled, until the windows no longer showed a long drop to the quarry but an illuminated passage inside a cave.
“Say, are we inside a mountain now?” I asked.
“Indeed, Mr. Landry. Mr. Oppenheimer prefers wide vistas afforded by great heights as opposed to the confines of the mines.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said, knowing my sarcasm would only be appreciated by Rachel and Lars.
When the moving floor finally leveled out, we stepped off and passed through another secure door. It opened to a long corridor with several more doors on either side. Ino led us to the second door on the right and gestured toward a spacious lounge not unlike the first room we’d entered when getting off the ship. But unlike the first, there were no servants here. Just leather couches, a full wet bar, and wide panoramic windows.
“Please, help yourselves to whatever you’d like to drink. Mr. Oppenheimer will be with you shortly.”
“It’s been great being with you, Mr. Williamswod,” I said, reaching for the man’s hand.
“It’s Wadsworth.” He pulled his hand away and bowed instead.
“Mr. Wadsworth, yes. Thanks for the tour.”
“Indeed,” Ino replied, and then stepped out of the room. The doors closed behind him, leaving Rachel and I alone. We were still being surveilled, I knew. In a facility like this, no space was ever private. But the first part of our sales pitch was over. The next step would not be so easy.
9
The view from the mountain’s summit was breathtaking. Rachel and I looked down at the mining operation, one of several small cities dotting the long ridge. Below them, however, lay a valley floor that stretched halfway to the horizon, eventually giving way to yet another vast mountain chain that disappeared around the planet’s edge. This desolate world truly was a miner’s paradise, full of craggy terrain and buried treasure—if you possessed the equipment to harvest it, that is. And Ozzie did.
The Meldorian Mining Corporation was nothing short of gargantuan. I had never seen such a large operation before. Maybe I needed to get out more—who knew. But just the small segment that Ino had shown us suddenly made me worry that we weren’t offering Ozzie enough for distribution. If the myst mine was as vast as everything else we’d seen, he might not take our offer seriously. I had a rising suspicion that Samuel Landry might have to sweeten the deal on the fly if Ozzie didn’t like the initial numbers.
But that wasn’t my biggest worry. Something was wrong with Rachel. Granted, I hadn’t known the woman long, so who was I to say? But I did know enough about people to know when they’d been spooked, and something had rattled her. At first, I thought it was just nerves. Everyone got them on sting operations, me included. The idea of becoming someone else for the sake of a takedown was a lot harder than the holo movies made it out to be, and it strained the human psyche more than the general public knew. But as I thought about it, I realized that wasn’t what Rachel was suffering from.
This woman, whoever she was, was a professional. While I still hadn’t gotten the
full story, I at least knew that Oragga had hired her, and that meant she was high caliber. My guess was that she was Union trained, probably a covert operative of some sort, then decided she could make more money working in the private sector. Or maybe she had been fired for something stupid like me. Nah, she was better than that. Better than me. I’d never say as much, of course. Which made the fact that she seemed off all the more disconcerting.
It seemed that the closer we got to meeting Ozzie, the more anxious she became. And she’d tensed—almost imperceptibly—when Falco had mentioned his name. So she knows him. That was the only conclusion that made sense to me—to my detective brain. Of course, this was hardly the time to bring it up. We were standing outside the lion’s den, our every move monitored. But if she had previous dealings with the man… it could jeopardize the whole mission. Which made me anxious.
“Godsdammit,” I said, putting my second glass of scotch down.
Rachel snapped her head at me.
“That is one beautiful site,” I continued, gesturing toward the panorama. “Don’t you think?”
“Sure is,” she said, not skipping a beat. “You want it?”
“I want it bad, baby,” I replied, licking my lips. “And I’ll do anything to get it.”
“I like the way you talk, Mr. Landry.”
I looked her in the eyes, wondering if she was about to blow the mission… wondering if I’d made a horrible mistake in not fishing out the root of her past sooner. But we were in too deep. There was no going back.
Just then, the doors to Ozzie’s office parted. Rachel and I turned to see a veritable mountain of a muscled man step into the lounge. He was head and shoulders above me, dressed in beige cargo pants, combat boots, and a t-shirt so tight I thought his pectorals and biceps would tear it apart at any moment. And just like his profile pic, the man had a shaved head, tanned skin, dark eyes, and a beard that touched midway down his chest. As powerful as all that seemed, it was the man’s deep voice which was the most arresting. It sounded like the gears of a mine crane as it winched ore from the deep.
“Mr. Landry,” Ozzie said with an unwavering glare, removing an unlit cigar from the corner of his mouth.
“Mr. Oppenheimer,” I replied with a stare to rival his—at least I hoped it did. This guy was super intense.
“I hope you enjoyed your tour of my facility,” he continued, now moving toward us. For being a giant, he certainly moved lightly on his feet. It was as if I could feel the air move around us before he even got close.
“We did.” I shook his offered hand, which went all the way to my wrist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Oppenheimer.”
“Please, mate,” he said. “Call me Ozzie.”
“Marvelous,” I replied. But the man seemed to ignore my comment, instead eyeing Rachel from head to toe.
“Gods of Cirus, what do we have here?”
“Scarlett Mason,” Rachel replied, holding out her slender hand. Her forearm seemed swallowed by the man’s massive grip. “I am personal assistant to—”
“To me,” Ozzie said.
“She’s not available,” I said.
“Sure she is,” he replied, bending his head down and kissing Rachel on the hand.. “Everything’s for sale… for the right price.” Then he stuck the cigar back in his mouth and smiled at me.
The sick feeling in my stomach was part of undercover work’s cost—the part that I hated most. Everything in me wanted to take this asshole down for that exchange alone, and who knows how many more he’d made exactly like it in his lifetime. But this wasn’t the time. For one thing, there was no way I would win in a fist fight against those giant paws. For another, I wasn’t packing my pistol. But, far above it all, retaliation would blow the whole op. And I wasn’t stupid. But you did punch the police chief on live TV, my inner voice said.
Suddenly, I noticed Rachel’s face was stone cold. Had the man just gotten to her? This is not the time to drop out of character, I thought to myself, hoping my brain would transmit the unspoken message to Rachels brain. Hold it together, Rachel.
My gut turned, however, when I reminded myself that this woman was a veteran grifter. Fooling the likes of Ozzie was something she did in her sleep. So what’s this all about? Is this Scarlett Mason? Or is this Rachel…
My suspicion that she knew Ozzie in some way only became stronger. Something had happened, something that had rattled her. The icy look in her eyes betrayed it, even in the split second that she glared at him while he averted his eyes to kiss her hand. As soon as Ozzie’s head popped back up, she was the sexy, smart, and deadly Scarlett Mason that Ozzie had no doubt seen on the footage from Falco’s club.
“Well then,” Rachel said with a sultry timber, “when do we start negotiating?”
Ozzie’s bearded lips widened into a devilish grin. “Right this way.”
He took her by the arm and turned back toward his office, leaving me to pick up the rear by myself. I took the opportunity to check in with Lars.
“Lars, you in the security system yet?” I whispered, turning my head.
“Not yet, sir. The encryption is quite robust.”
“But not too robust for you, right?”
“Correct, sir. I am making progress. I’ll let you know when I’m in.”
“Copy that.”
I followed Ozzie and his new-found lust interest into his office, which—unsurprisingly—was even more lavishly appointed than anything we’d seen yet. First came the view. The entire back wall was made of glass, with clear doors that opened onto a generous deck. From here, Ozzie could see the entire mountain chain extending to either side, while the valley floor fell away far below.
Next came the office’s interior. The vaulted ceilings were finished in dark-stained wood and expansive skylights. Elaborate light fixtures hung over the polished concrete floor, casting pale light over expensive rugs and low-lying leather furniture. Old fashioned wooden end tables and antique light fixtures echoed the rest of the furniture lining the walls—large cabinets with ornate doors, glass cases with all manner of knives, swords, and spears on display, and more than one table boasting an assortment of distilled beverages and drinking vessels.
The strangest thing, however, were the bronze and marble statues spread throughout the room. Most of them were scantily-clothed women of a particular sort, which—as it so happened—seemed to match Rachel’s body shape precisely. What sculptures did include men, well… let’s just say they seemed to be enjoying themselves with their female counterparts.
“Looks like this guy’s been cooped up for too long,” I whispered over my shoulder, pretending to look around.
“How so?” Lars asked.
“Call it intuition,” I replied. Then, as Samuel Landry, I let out a long whistle. “Quite the digs you have here.”
Ozzie tipped his head toward me and then led Rachel to a wide leather couch that—judging from the wear marks—had seen its share of use. “Can I get you something more to drink?” Ozzie said to Rachel.
“I’d love another scotch,” I said. “Thank you.”
Ozzie glared at me.
“Careful,” Rachel said into her shoulder.
“And for you, Miss Mason?” Ozzie’s charm—if it could be called that—returned as he looked back at Rachel.
“I’m feeling a little tipsy already,” she said. She avoided the couch and chose to sit in a leather chair instead. “Maybe I’d better slow down.”
“Not today,” he said, turning toward the nearest bar stand. He’d apparently taken notes on the surveillance feeds around his operation because he started making her a whiskey sour, complete with an egg white… from a real egg.
“He’s definitely got too much time on his hands,” I said softly as I examined one of the more provocative statues.
Ozzie walked back and handed Rachel her drink. She thanked him and took a sip. “Delicious,” she said.
“And my scotch?” I asked.
“Help yourself, mate,” Ozzi
e said as he took a seat in the chair beside Rachel. The leather couch groaned under his immense weight, squeezing and creaking as he relaxed with a long sigh.
“So,” he said, not taking his eyes off Rachel, “it seems that you’re interested in psychedelics.”
“Did Falco tell you that?” I asked, pouring myself a finger of the malted amber fluid.
“The holo feeds told me. Falco was shot before he had the chance.”
“How convenient,” I stated, thinking back to our meeting with the fence. So Ozzie probably had his eye on Rachel from the beginning. The bright side, of course, was that his desire for Rachel might distract him from our plan, and that could work to our advantage. But there was only so far I’d let Rachel go. Artifacts or not, I wasn’t going to let her get hurt, and certainly not at the hands of this bastard freak of nature.
“Well then…” I took a seat in one of the leather chairs. “Shall we get down to business?”
Ozzie pulled his eyes away from Rachel and stared at me. “Miss Mason here said you’d like to secure exclusive distribution rights on our facility’s myst production for a fifty-year term.”
I inclined my head and opened my mouth to speak when Ozzie continued.
“While it’s certainly a lucrative offer, and it seems, Mr. Landry, you certainly possess the resources to back such an audacious proposal, I’m afraid it simply can’t be accommodated, mate.”
“Oh?” I asked. Both Samuel Landry and Flint Reed were genuinely curious.
“Long before you got here, and even long before I purchased the mine, other wealthy people—other very powerful people—already secured the very types of claims that you would like to purchase. They have, it seems, beaten you to the punch.”
“Well, Mr. Oppenheimer—”
“Again—just Ozzie, mate,” he said, looking back to Rachel.