“And how did she come by it?” she asked.
“Another story for another time.”
“Fair enough. If you give this to me, I will grant all of you Platinum Executive privilege of the Palladium. You must have these cards at all time. They mark you as platinum members, granting you access to special services of the hotel. You will be given palatial rooms as well as access to our executive staff at all hours. Violence inside our establishment is strongly discouraged, however, in the event that someone makes you their business, we will do everything in our power to protect you until the matter can be sorted out. ” She reached into her suit jacket to produce five black cards.
Kel waved his hand to get her attention. “By sorted out you mean...”
“We start shooting at the offending party until they pay us to stop or we completely eliminate the threat. Some parties have paid us not to interfere, but not to worry. That hasn't happened to platinum guests. At least not yet.”
Kat rolled her eyes. “Not yet. Well, that's good.”
Ziella continued, “In the event of an emergency outside the grounds, we will dispatch a car and driver to recover you. If you want a full Valkyrie team, you will have to pay extra for that. The more definitive rules can be sent to your cell-coms. Do we have an accord?”
“She'll need a cell-com,” Lasher said, pointing to Beth.
Ziella put hers on the table. An interface flared to life under it, chiming when it was finished with its task. “Take mine. And young lady, this place is not a playground or personal shopping cart. You conduct yourself as they do or your privileges will be revoked, one finger at a time. Do you understand this?”
The urchin nodded, taking the offered device.
“I recommend the masks for when you are out. TRACO and some of the larger mercenary houses enjoy a good relationship with the marshals, but some of the local talent would jump at a chance for a Cartel Bond with your names on it. Our protection only extends as far as the hotel.”
“That's fair. Thank you for your hospitality, Cayodona Ziella,” Lasher said, adding the proper inflections to the Torviani. “Also, please understand, I know who you work for from my time with the Athalon. My safety and secrets are your bond. You try to sell any of us to your boss, I come for you first and him next.”
“Understood. Enjoy your stay at the Palladium Doseidos North.”
Ziella watched them go, waiting for the door to close behind them. She reached for the table, her touch rippling the flat surface in an electronic flutter. A face appeared in the glass like surface.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Our new guests have executive status. See they are treated as such,” Ziella ordered, watching her newest guests walk through the hotel.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will need a new cell-com.”
“Straight away,” the face complied.
She touched the table again, accessing a menu in a different routine. An angular symbol with three spokes appeared over the table. “Secure both ends,” came the masked voice.
“Already done. Orin Lashra just walked in off the street. I couldn't refuse him. He handed me an ingot of Corodan to pay for his stay. My desire trumped my judgment and I granted him executive privilege.”
The mask remained impassive as it spoke. “That's fine. You made the right call, my friend. If he is in the Palladium at least we know where he is. Is his team with him?”
“We have four of the seven.” Ziella stated. “The ship, the Tyth, and the Local are not with them. He also did not bring the tribes he seems to have collected. Less to deal with when you harvest him.”
“Don't worry, my friend. We won't take him on company grounds. We all have a reputation to uphold after all,” the mask said, regally.
“Thank you, sir. Much appreciated.”
“Ziella, be careful. He's gathered a pack of wolves. He's bleeding the cartel with every hit and closing in on our asset. His connection to the Way is why we need to harvest him but it is also a dangerous prospect for us. His senses could force our hand. Remember what you were taught.”
“Of course, sir. I'll keep you in the loop.”
The interface faded from the table. A swipe of her finger across the interactive surface unlocked the doors. The concierge walked in, unboxing a cell-com to set it on the table beside her.
“Thank you, Brandon,” she said casually, snatching up the clear plastic slate and placing it in her breast pocket. She collected the metal ingot at the other side of the table. “Put this in the vault please.”
“Straightaway, ma'am.”
She waited for him to depart, then her eyes lost focus as overlays appeared in her vision, courtesy of her contact lenses. She watched the door to one of the suites open, Bethayell invading the room with all the enthusiasm of a pre-teen child. She jumped into the standing shower, clothes and all, allowing the multi-directional jets to hose her off as she splashed and played.
“Now, who are you my dear,” Ziella mused, “and what are you doing in my hotel?”
Nine
Yang's two missing teeth set against his elongated face made him look all too similar to a bunny rabbit. The ones on Tythian were powerful with muscled frames and horns. Yang was more the squishy, soon to be snatched by an owl, type. “I'll break your little face you mag-rat!”
Beth was struggling against the man's grip, trying to pull free from his dirt-stained fingers. When straining didn't work, she stomped on his shin, opening enough wiggle room for her to scoop up a mushy ball of mud. The wet dirt projectile landed in his eyes, causing him to reflexively reach for them to clear the muck.
Hearty laughter emanated from the small crowd of Chen workers around her. She was up against a wall with the batch of thugs forming a half circle, closing her off from any escape. She pulled out her half-stone knife, its dark tan blade stark contrast to the wicked edge with an almost silver shine.
“Look out, Yang, the mag-rat has teeth!”
“She gonna bite you if you don't open your eyes!”
Covered hands pressed the shoulders of two of the men, their groans from the weight replacing the laughter. The pair parted ways for a giant hunched figure, covered from top to ground in a robe-like poncho. The sleeves were too long, leaving no hint as to the composition of the creature underneath. A featureless mask covered the opening to the hood, giving the figure a blank expression. “Beg pardon. So sorry. My apologies,” came its voice, like a school marm, pleading for forgiveness from the group.
The poncho stepped in front of the girl, blocking her from view. A tendril parted the poncho, holding a cell-com that flashed green for a scant second, going back to clear after touching the one she was holding. The tendril disappeared under the poncho as the figure spun to address the group. “My most humble apologies. It is my first time as a nanny and I not really as good as I should be. What was the child's crime?”
The hulking poncho moved back a step almost colliding into the back end of the semicircle. The tendril darted out, touching its cell-com to one in a Chen worker's pocket in an arc that swept it back under the poncho.
“She tried to nick the cell phone from my pocket!” said the Chen with the mud encrusted face.
“Oh dear, theft is a most serious accusation...” the marm-voice continued while clumsily trampling into the close circle of men. Each time their attention shifted to its face rather than its lower half, a tendril shot from under one side, another, or both to touch a cell-com to one they were carrying. In one instance, the tentacle managed to distract the person long enough to touch the cell-com in his hand without the group being the wiser.
“Most unfortunate,” the poncho said. The covered hand took the cell-com from her hand, depositing it squarely into mud-face's eager hands. “Now, my tender morsel, what have we learned today?” The poncho pulled the knife, sailing it across the avenue to embed into the carcrete wall on the opposite side. The group backed off a step, looking at the matt sand-colored blade sticking out of the stru
cture.
“Don't wander off and get into trouble,” Beth said, mimicking a scolded child.
“You have your comm,” the marm told the crowd. “You may keep the knife as recompense for the inconvenience. The child has been chastised. I take it the matter is resolved?”
They all looked to the knife then back to the mask. “I suppose.”
“Excellent. Come along, Morsel,” the poncho clucked like a proud mama hen collecting her chicks.
The group began to mutter, trying to get their minds around what had just happened, some disappointed that they didn't get to skin the mag-rat.
“Stupid Hive Honey.”
The poncho halted. The stooped figure turned back to face the group, freeing a foot from under its bulk to push Beth toward the street crowd that was gathering. Some reached for knives. Others snuck their hands into their clothing to field much worse. The street became eerily quiet, passersby not wanting to miss a second of the action.
Fluff's voice under the mask returned its normal gravel-encrusted whisper, as he spoke into one of the Chens’ ear. “It's not nice to call someone names. They might take it personally, then bite out your throat after taking a blowtorch to your genitals.”
The mask slipped, revealing the rows of duradium alloy teeth, a clear gel oozing from one side like drool. The group were dumbstruck, backing away from the murderous face they were staring into. The mask found its way back to the hood, covering Fluff in his disguise once again. This time, no one seemed to argue as he returned to his charge, slipping the knife from the wall to disappear into the folds of his covering.
“Aw man, I had ten on the poncho to eat one of them!” came a cry from the crowd.
“You should at least get five. That one soiled himself,” Fluff's voice returned to its school marm setting, setting off a riot of laughter whooping from the street. The crowd patted him on the back and pumped their fists as he passed. If there was one thing a salvage town liked, it was a second chance.
Tucked under a tarp on one of the buildings, Kat was watching the whole affair through the scope of a long gun. “Nice work, you two. Fluff, did you get them all?”
“I did. I also recovered the child who is moving through the alley back to your position. She was cloning the PDT markers in their cell-coms until that one caught her and decided to make a scene. Judging by the state of affairs south of his belt line, we can assume he won't be any more trouble in the future.”
“Good work, Fluff. Now we can track the regular Chen guys. Still no sign of the security detail. In any case, make sure Beth makes it to the hotel, then link up with Lasher near the Sink. He has a feeling things are going to pop off, soon.”
“Popping off is my favorite,” Fluff cooed. “On the move.”
“Let's go! We're not paying you by the hour!” The massive Chen enforcer patted the blaster on his hip, barely visible under the rotund belly he kept pointing in everyone's direction. He was easily over two meters tall, towering above many of the workers down in the sink hole.
Lasher helped a few along when they stumbled. They weren't used to working in environmental masks. Their plodding movements were in keeping with their labored breathing
“I'm not paying you to babysit, half-breed. Get the load up to the top of the dig! Be quick about it or you can forget about any bonus!”
Lasher nodded, pushing the grav-cart with the unrefined slate brown metal up the incline. They were deep underground, inside the mine the corporation had abandoned. By his calculation, there was much more to the vein than the Chen were taking out. Getting more would require them to dig for it, which would put them way behind schedule. Whatever their timetable was, the enforcer was pushing them hard to keep it.
He pushed the cart over to one of the workstations. It was loaded under a drop box that slammed onto its contents, using suction to drag it into the machine. The colabrium was melted and put into a sonic pressure inducer, removing the excess firmament so the pressing process could render the substance into its most concentrated form. Pure colabrium was highly reactive, used in several facets of industry for its ablative effects on other processes. Hyper-casters with high energy outputs, rendering caustic substances safe, and shipboard fire suppression were hallmark industries where the miracle compound made an appearance.
He nodded to Fluff, who was operating two of the presses. “Saw you step out.”
“Our new pal had a bit of a snag.”
“She OK?” Lasher asked.
“Fine. Mission accomplished. She was quite resourceful.”
“Good.”
Fluff used a talon to tap a bit of the mineral on the press. “How do you know we can trust her?”
“As long as she's doing what we ask her to do, she keeps working. She goes the other way, we put her back where we found her.” Lasher said.
“Sounds fair,” Fluff growled. “Luckily she doesn't know everything.”
“Luckily.”
Fluff continued working the press so as not to draw attention. “Speaking of luck, we were only able to find a gaggle of Chen workers outside the mine. The cell-com chatter we stole suggests they're all managers, supervisors, or techs. No random workers out and about or holed up somewhere. Seems the workers they brought are all here.”
“That's not good. Thanks, Fluff.” Lasher recovered his empty cart on his descent back into the mine. Fluff palmed something into his belt, making it appear he was pushing him back toward the hole. He passed several workers who were struggling to get their grav-cart up the hill. Lasher gave it a push, the workers nodding their thanks for his help. Lasher didn't speak Trade-9 so he couldn't tell them directly that he was happy to help.
The Chen enforcer stepped to him again. “We need the extra hands to get back on schedule. I tell you what to do and when to do it, Red. They are being well paid to sweat. Step away from your work again for them and I will break their hands. Yours move much more rock than theirs.”
“Of course, Big Brother.” Lasher said through the speaker in his mask. He drifted down the passage, remembering the expression on his old master's face when as a young slave boy, he stood beside his adopted mother, running him through. He thought about the faces this current batch of slavers would make when he did the same to them for torturing hard working folk.
A thin Chen man who wore a hard hat and a set of military style blue fatigues walked across the passage to tap Lasher on the arm. “I need you come with me.”
The man began sputtering an exasperated litany of curses into his radio. Lasher waited until he was finished, inclining his head to give the man a sense that he didn't understand.
“I call Big Brother and say I borrow you. It okay. You come.”
Lasher nodded, following the man into a side passage. He activated the light on his mask, illuminating the rough passage they entered. He reached out to grip the foreman's shoulder.
“Yes, I see.,” the foreman said. “This hole needs support columns. I understand. Its okay for now.”
They moved over to a fissure in the rock. Lasher shone his light into the crack. He could see large veins of pure colabrium peeking from the stone. He could also see a small trickle of water coming from the ceiling. Wherever they were, they were close to a water source. This was a sure sign that a cave in was not far behind.
“The Dragomidon must have caused fissures in the rock when it walked through. The water is widening the crack. This is going to cave in. Very dangerous, honorable sir.” Lasher said.
The foreman began another tirade into the radio. His animated gestures flared along with hostile speech back and forth at the tiny device in his grip. He hit the off button for the receiver, pacing the length of the shaft, possibly waiting for a return call from the other side. Fluff finally came through the comms.
“Hey, Big Brother,” came the call through Lasher's comm.
“That's not a title I want right now. You have something for me?” Lasher turned away from the angry tirade so he wouldn't be noticed talking to h
imself.
“The skinny future meatbag with you is talking to the future meatbag near me. They’re talking about an un-mined vein of colabrium. Your meat thinks they should mine it and my meat thinks they don't have enough time. Sounds like things are wrapping up,” Fluff reported.
“Got it,” Lasher said. “I think I found a way to cut this short but things are going to get chaotic.”
“Go on.” Fluff elongated the last part, like a merchant who just learned of a sweet new deal.
“Kel isn't going to like where this is going. He wants that payday from the load.”
“Still plenty to go around. Big Brother is coming back, so if you're going to space voodoo something, now is the time. Besides, I want to have a chat with my guy,” Fluff said menacingly.
“Say hello for me,” Lasher whispered before cutting the comm.
“Hey guys. Um, knee how?” Kel said, pointing to his knee and then holding his hands up in a sign of uncertainty.
“Oh that was smooth,” Kat cooed into his ear through the comm.
The two crewmen for the shuttle were locking down stabo-cans of colabrium. They broke into an amusing rant in Trade-9, finally answering Kel in his own language. “Nice try, slick. What do you want?”
Kel patted the ship's plating. “I was wondering if this shuttle was for sale. I have a ton of credits burning a hole in my pocket and this is just the thing I could spend it on. Does it have a hyper-drive?”
“Not for sale, pal. Get lost.”
“You don't know how much I'm offering,” Kel responded.
“See this?” The angry crewman asked, pointing at her face. “This is my 'I don't care' face. Know what that means? It means I don't care how much money you have, the ship isn't for sale. Now go away or get hurt.”
“You haven't heard my final offer.”
The pilot came from the cockpit, walking past the two crewmen. “What's going on here?”
The crewman gestured to Kel. “Guy won't leave. Says he wants to buy the ship.”
The Revenant: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 2) Page 12