by J. N. Chaney
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Lars,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “You’re fine just the way you are.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment, I fail to see how your conclusion—”
“Lars,” I said, regaining some of my composure, “your equipment is just fine.”
Rachel snorted, unable to hold back. “All three of them!”
It was at least two minutes before Rachel and I composed ourselves. She actually had to step outside for a few moments because every time she looked at me she started to laugh.
Truthfully, laughing this hard was a nice change up. We’d both been pretty tense ever since we nearly died in Veradia. And laughter truly was good medicine, as the old saying went. Gods’ knew we needed as much of it as we could get.
Humor had a way of easing the pressure of even the most tense situations. I’d experienced it while back on the force. Several times we’d been on stakeouts or planning takedowns where a joke at just the right time pushed away the evil that we knew we were about to encounter. And given how ghoulish Ozzie was, and the dire circumstances of the miners he kept enslaved, we needed a moment of relief right now.
Rachel and I stood over the table with sore abdomens and cheeks—the facial kind—with me feeling slightly tired but refreshed, as though I’d just woken up from a nap.
“I think the first thing we need to do is start to build relationships with the miners,” Rachel said.
I looked at her, surprised. “Relationships?”
She nodded. “Have you ever studied the mental states of humans held in captivity against their will?”
“From the outside of a jail cell, yeah.” I watched Rachel start to shake her head at me, so I stopped her from having to say more. “Maybe not as much as you, but—yeah. I’ve done my share of homework on domestic abuse victims… seen some bad stuff in my day.”
“Then you know we have two hurdles to surmount even before we try to stage a rescue.”
“Two? Right… which are…” Rachel inclined her head, as if waiting for me to continue. But when I didn’t, she said, “Convincing them that we’re not with the enemy—”
“Not with the enemy,” I said, nodding affirmatively.
“…Even though we seem to be.”
“Seem to be, right.”
“And then reassuring them that our attempts to break them out are genuine and not a ruse to get them in trouble—”
“In trouble, yup. I figured as much.”
Rachel folded her arms. “Bastard.”
“What? I totally tracked all that.”
“Moving along…” Rachel said. “I think the best way to begin going about this is to ask Ozzie for a few miners to assist in setting up the scanners. I assume he’ll only be too happy to not use his paid help for the labor, and it gives us a perfect opportunity to build trust with them. With any luck, they may even have intel that helps us.”
“Not bad,” I said. “In addition, if and when the time comes to excavate some artifacts, they’re going to be our best bet at removing them.”
“At which point I’ll amend the security feeds,” Lars added. “Ensuring that Mr. Oppenheimer and his staff won’t have the slightest clue what you’re up to, sir.”
“Sounds like a plan, pal,” I replied. “But it still leaves the biggest question unanswered.”
“Which is—”
“How do we get everyone out?” Rachel and I said at the same time.
“Right,” I replied.
“And I think that one is going to come once we knew more about what we’re up against,” Rachel said. “We’re going to need a sizable evacuation route for that many people or we’ll be here for a month. By the looks of it, the elevator shaft isn’t efficient enough, and”—she examined a close up of the main vertical shaft which cork-screwed the psychedelic mineral to the surface—“the myst conveyor system looks like it will only chew up people.”
“And then there’s the matter of getting them off-planet,” I said, trying to be a pessimist without lowering my hopes too far. I wasn’t without an idea, however. “Lars, can you contact Victor and ask him to head for this system? But for gods’ sakes, don’t let him near the planet yet. In fact, don’t tell him anything other than to stand by. We’ll cover his fuel and throw in some credits on top, even if the job doesn’t come through. Oh, and also ask him if his ship—”
“Deloris,” Rachel said.
“Ask him if Deloris can make atmospheric entry. We need to know exactly what kind of freighter he’s piloting.”
“As you wish, sir,” Lars replied.
A moment of silence passed as Rachel and I looked at each other. Tiny whined, probably sensing the unrest in the room.
“Guess it’s time to call Ozzie,” Rachel said.
“Be my guest.”
12
Ozzie was more than delighted to see Rachel on the holo. While using her as a pawn to manipulate our enemy was not something I enjoyed, I couldn’t dismiss the fact that it was working. The guy gave me the creeps. He probably had a black hole for a soul. But his reckoning would come soon enough, I had no doubt. One way or another, we were going to ruin him or die trying—it was only a matter of when and how.
“Send some of those slaves to help us with our equipment, would you, Ozzie?” Rachel asked, drawing the man’s name out.
“I can have my men—”
“Abandon their posts for menial labor befitting of that scum?” She put her hands on her hips and thrust them to one side. I watched Ozzie’s eyes track the movement. “I don’t think so.”
“But the slaves never see daylight. Bringing them up—”
“What kind of sloppy operation do you run around here that you’d take paid staff to move around sampling machines?”
We’d timed this part of the pitch in advance. I walked on camera right as Ozzie was about to reply. “Is there a problem here? What’s this about moving our equipment?”
“Nothing, Mr. McBride,” Rachel said. “I was just discussing—”
“It’s fine, mate,” Ozzie said, waving her off. “All set. I’m sending a few meaningless miners to give Rachel a hand for you. Meanwhile”—he eyed Rachel up and down—“why don’t you come pay me a little visit?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” I replied. “For two reasons. One, I have not sampled the mine’s output for myself yet, which means there’s still a chance this deal might not go through.”
“Mr. McBride, I can assure you—”
“Assurances mean little to me without substantial collateral, and right now, I’ve only got your word. Therefore, until the deal is sealed, Rachel remains with me. Call her… a reward for your diligence.
“Secondly, I need her in the mines with me. While you may consider her only eye candy, I happen to need her skills with our equipment. Replacing her is going to be a pain in my ass, and you and I both know how hard it is to find good people, don’t we?”
Ozzie nodded, looking downright dejected. Poor guy. “Aye,” he said in a melancholy tone. “You’ll have your slaves in a few minutes.”
“Marvelous,” I said. “Simon?” I asked, turning off camera. “Will you and the stewards prepare the champagne?”
“Talk to you soon,” Rachel said, giving Ozzie a wink, then tapped the channel closed.
“Simon?” she asked me.
“It was the only name I could think of in the moment.”
“The only name?”
“Yeah. I had a friend in school once name Simon. It’s a good name.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow at me.
“Anyway, now he knows we have a crew, so he’ll think twice about sending anyone to investigate our ship while we’re gone.”
“Good thinking, sir,” said Lars. “Your ingenuity is surprising at times.”
I stopped. “You’re surprised that I have some ingenuity?”
“Yes. Rachel, on the other hand, has ingenuity that is quite predictable.”
Rachel se
emed positively proud of this announcement. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked her.
“My lips are sealed,” she said, drawing her thumb and forefinger over her mouth.
“So my ingenuity is not predictable, Lars?”
“And thus why it is so surprising, sir.”
“My lips are sealed,” Rachel repeated, walking off the bridge trying to contain more laughter.
Rachel and I had traded our business attire for ultra thin exosuits that resembled something between high-end work clothes and armored combat gear. We were, after all, gazillionaires here to buy a mine that we needed samples from. I figured the exosuits not only worked in our favor to reinforce our story, but they also would help us stay alive if anything went south. They were flexible enough to let us poke around tight spaces, but robust enough to prevent us from dying unnecessarily, which was always a plus.
As for how Rachel looked in her exosuit, I had to admit that it didn’t matter what she wore—the woman always looked fine. Which, I understood, was why she played so well with her marks. Learning to use your natural assets, as well as your learned ones, was the stock and trade of any good covert operative. Which—once again—exacerbated that nagging question I had of where Rachel had come from.
Just ask her, you idiot, I’d thought numerous times since meeting her. But I knew she wouldn’t give up the information easily. What little I knew of the galaxy’s underworld—and I know more than most—told me that anonymity was a highly prized commodity. When someone was as deep as Rachel had been, or still was… how was I supposed to know? You were placing your life in someone else’s hands when you gave up your true identity. And the more people you told, the more people who could jeopardize your life and those of the ones you loved. So, it was best not to tell anyone.
But she’ll tell you, I thought. Eventually.
Lars had drones move the SPDG scanners into the main cargo bay and ready them for the miners. The scanners remained in their shielded flight cases, making them appear as opaque boxes if Ozzie was to get any bright ideas and scan them. Which, I supposed he should. Who was to say we weren’t a rival faction trying to plant explosives in his mine and blow the whole thing sky high?
Fortunately, these machines were so rare, and so complicated, I figured we could say they were whatever we wanted them to be and no one would doubt us. You’d need a degree in advanced something-or-other mechanics to make heads or tails of these contraptions. And that suited me just fine.
The other thing the crates’ shielding did was keep anyone from discovering the weapons hidden in the secret compartments. Granted, I didn’t want a shootout this early in the game. But if push came to shove, we needed to be prepared for the worst, and that meant having some of Mr. Oragga’s lethal inventions at our disposal. Truth was, I couldn’t wait to get my hands back on the MX090 assault rifle again. We’d stashed some additional goodies in the crates that I wouldn’t mind playing with either.
“How you feeling?” I asked Rachel as we stood facing the cargo bay ramp.
She reached over and punched the Open button with the bottom of her fist. “Ready to find some artifacts, free some slaves, break some heads.”
“You don’t say? Then I think you’ve come to the right planet, Miss Mason.”
The sliver of light grew wider as the ramp dropped, exposing us once again to the planet’s industrial smelling air. Five miners walked toward us, held at gunpoint by two barrel-chested overseers. Judging by the way the miners winced at the direct sunlight, my guess was that they hadn’t been topside in months. Maybe even years.
“Right this way,” I called down the ramp, inviting them up.
“Hold on!” yelled one of the overseers. “Not before I inspect the hold and the cargo.” He stomped into the bay, weapon pointed at me—a posture that Tiny didn’t take kindly to.
“Easy, Tiny,” I said, holding a hand up to keep my fearless canine from lunging at the thing’s throat. Of course, I could have given Tiny the command to lie down and quit growling, but where was the fun in that? Instead, my pup remained on all fours, lips curled back to reveal his long sets of sharp teeth.
“What is that?” the overseer yelled, pointing his weapon at Tiny.
“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said, realizing I had an opportunity to play on this man’s fears. Like the majority of people, this guy had apparently never seen a dog in person before. “Bullets don’t hurt it. Just makes it more pissed. And right now, he’s pretty pissed. So I recommend you keep your head down, do your job, and let us all get back to work.”
The goon returned his attention to the three large flight cases on casters. “Open them up.”
“Please,” I said, nodding back at Tiny.
The man stared at me.
“Ah. I can see you are fairly dimwitted and haven’t been briefed on what you’re involved with, making you even more stupid and foul tempered than usual.” As if talking to a child who spoke a different language, I used big hand motions, and said, “I’m your new boss, and if you don’t mind your manners, I’ll have Tiny eat you for breakfast, right after my auto turrets shoot your knees out.”
Right on cue, Lars activated two of the cargo bay’s micro auto-turrets located in the hold’s corners. Just the whine of the servos made the overseer’s eyes dart around—it was a universal sound of dread. Tiny added to the effect by producing two sharp barks.
“Sorry, boss,” the overseer said, stuttering. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Go ahead,” I said, inviting him closer. “Do what you were told to do. Inspect the crates.”
“No, no. I think—”
“Inspect the crates,” I said through tight lips. Tiny growled behind me.
The man nodded and stepped forward. Rachel popped the latches and opened each lid, letting the grease-laden thug look inside. It was a lot like watching someone who had no idea about hover cars look under the hood and try to prove their competency with meaningless “Mmm”s and “Uh-huh”s.
The man stepped away, clearly not having the faintest idea of what he’d just seen, and said, “They’re clear. You’re good to go.” Then he waved the miners up the ramp and ordered them to begin wheeling the crates across the dock’s platform.
The first miner coming up the ramp was someone we’d seen before. As the crates began their descent, I leaned over to Rachel. “It’s the kid from the security camera.”
“The one who asked for meds for his mother?” she replied.
“Exactly.”
“He’s not afraid of the guards. And he has a cause.” Rachel folded her arms. “Grab some med packs from the infirmary. I think we have our first contact.” Then she raced down the ramp after the kid and walked beside his crate.
“She certainly enjoys taking the initiative,” Lars said over a private comms channel, denoted by a double beep before he spoke.
“That she does, Lars. No one can fault her there.”
“Then where can they fault her?” he asked.
“For not leaving any initiative for anyone else.”
Rachel and I rode in the first elevator trip down with one crate and the kid. The remaining two crates would follow with two miners and one overseer each. The car was cramped, but it was the perfect opportunity to begin the first phase of our plan. Lars would be filtering all video and audio for anything that might give us away, which left us free to do what needed doing.
“My name’s Rachel,” she said, holding her hand out to the kid we’d seen earlier in the camera feed. My eyes-widened at the sound of her real name. She couldn’t have forgotten so easily, could she?
The boy looked up at her and then looked back down, averting his eyes.
“Hey,” she said more tenderly, “it’s okay. You can shake my hand.”
But the boy shook his head and then nodded to the security camera in the elevator car’s corner.
“You have nothing to be afraid of,” Rachel said. “Our ship’s AI has taken care of all those.�
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The boy hesitated, then slowly looked up into Rachel’s eyes.
“Rachel,” she said again.
“Telmont,” he replied, taking her hand. “But everyone just calls me Monty.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Monty.”
The kid searched her face and then pulled his hand away.
“You’re not allowed to speak to guests, are you.”
He shook his head.
“Well, you can speak to me. And Flint here.” She looked at me. Damn, now she was using my name. She had a reason for this, I just didn’t know what it was yet. My best guess? Building trust. Few things undid new friendship faster than finding out everything you’d just forged was built on a shifting foundation. But using real names when there was still so much game left to play was dangerous. One slip was like a crack in a solid piece of granite: give it enough time and leverage, and even the biggest block of stone can be split in two.
I held my hand out. “Flint Reed,” I said. “Nice to meet you, kid.”
Monty shook my hand, but then his eyes darted back to the security camera and he pulled his hand away. “The overlord is… they’re always watching.”
“I promise you,” Rachel insisted, “they’re only seeing what we want them to see now. You’re safe.”
“You’re never safe down here,” Monty replied.
“As long as you’re with us, you are,” she replied.
“Who… who are you?”
“Believe it or not, kid,” I said, “we’re here to help you.”
“Help me?” Again, his eyes darted to the camera.
“Don’t worry, kid. You don’t have to be afraid of the cameras anymore. I promise. Here, watch…” I turned toward the small black bubble in the corner and started making faces at it. Then I flipped it off with my middle finger, and then I yelled an obscenity at it.
“That was quite offensive, sir,” Lars said over comms.
“But extremely necessary,” I replied.
“Huh?” asked Monty.
“Oh, sorry, kid. Talking to Lars.” I pointed to me ear. “Our AI, back on our ship, like Rachel was telling you.”