by G J Ogden
“This place is organized,” commented Commander Banks, stepping off the ramp beside Sterling and folding her arms. “For people to stick to the skyways there must be some form of governance here.”
“And also policing,” Sterling added, with a more ominous tone. “People don’t stick to the rules by choice. They do so for fear of reprisal.”
Sterling then spotted Marshal Masterson’s ship on a landing pad a few hundred meters away, though the Marshal himself was nowhere in sight. Then his eyes fell on a grand-looking detached building off the main spaceport. It was built using modern construction materials, but had been made to look like it was timber framed. There was a tall, signboard-like frontage above it that read, “Hotel Grand.”
“Looks like that’s our destination,” said Sterling, nodding in the direction of the building, which he had to admit lived up to its name.
Lieutenant Razor jogged down the ramp. She stopped at the bottom, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
“It’s nice to get a lungful of real air for a change, don’t you think?” said Razor, standing with her hands on her hips. She somehow looked even taller than Sterling remembered her being.
Banks sniffed the air then shrugged. “Air is air,” she said, dismissively.
Razor opened her eyes, turned to Sterling and tapped the computer wrapped around her left wrist. It unraveled itself from around the engineer’s arm and formed a solid rectangular screen.
“These are the items I think we can spare, in exchange for the information you need, sir,” said Razor, showing the list to Sterling.
Sterling skim-read the contents, seeing nothing on it that caused him any concern. “Very well, get it all ready to roll out,” he replied, casting his eyes back to the Hotel Grand. “Hopefully, this will all go smoothly and we’ll be away from here within the hour.”
“If wishes were horses,” said Banks as Razor jogged back up the ramp into the cargo hold of the Invictus.
“If wishes were horses?” replied Sterling, frowning at his first officer.
“We’d all have one,” said Banks, appearing surprised that Sterling didn’t know what she was talking about. However, Sterling merely maintained his bemused frown. “Come on, Lucas! If wishes were horses then we’d all have one.”
Sterling shrugged. “What the hell would I want with a horse?”
Banks rolled her eyes and sighed. “It just means that we rarely get what we wish for, that’s all,” she said, appearing annoyed for needing to explain herself. “Like a smooth trade with a Void Marshal who clearly likes us only barely more than a bout of gonorrhea.”
“Point taken,” replied Sterling, noticing Lieutenant Shade out of the corner of his eyes. She had been scouting the area and placing her commandoes on guard in positions around the ship.
“Everyone here is armed to the teeth, sir,” said Shade, acknowledging Banks with a respectful nod. “There are legitimate traders, but a lot of these ships bear the scars of recent battles, as well as old ones,” she went on, surveying the spaceport. “Half of them are likely pirates, bounty hunters or privateers of some kind.”
Sterling nodded. “We picked up two habitable planets, three habitable moons and four space stations on the way to Sanctum,” he said, now looking at the different vessels on the asphalt with a more wary eye. “That means plenty of work for those sorts of people.”
Shade then stood to attention as if Sterling was about to give her an order. “Permission to accompany you to the meeting with Marshal Masterson, sir,” she said. Her statement was bordering on being a demand instead of a request. “I don’t trust him, Captain.”
“I don’t trust him either, Lieutenant, but we have to show willing,” replied Sterling. “They’re already suspicious of Fleet, so walking into that hotel with armed guards is only going to make them even more defensive.”
Shade’s jaw tightened a fraction and her eyes flickered. It was a sure sign that Sterling’s answer had not been to his weapon’s officer’s liking.
“I know people like these, sir,” Shade added, clearly struggling to maintain a level, courteous tone. “If they’re going to cause trouble, they’ll have made their minds up already. It doesn’t matter if we walk in there with one person or ten, the outcome will be the same.”
Sterling listened carefully to Shade and weighed the options in his head. His weapons officer was probably right, but if there was going to be trouble, he wasn’t going to be the one who started it. The Invictus still had to be able to operate in the Void, and gain the cooperation of the colonists whom Fleet had abandoned decades ago. Running in all guns blazing would not help him in that endeavor.
“I’ve made my decision, Lieutenant, and my order stands,” replied Sterling, calmly.
Sterling could see that Shade was itching to argue back, but she bit her tongue.
“Aye, Captain,” replied Shade, who then stood aside, wearing an expression that was even more surly than usual. However, she had complied and that was all that mattered. Sterling didn’t expect his officers to always agree with or like his orders, but he did expect them to obey without complaint.
“Now, if things do go south quickly, I’m expecting you and your commandoes to get us out of there, is that understood?” Sterling added, now that he was satisfied Shade had fallen in line. Sterling may have been resolute in his plans, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe his meeting with the Marshal would go off without a hitch.
“You can count on it, sir,” replied Shade.
There was an added bite to Shade’s words that Sterling always enjoyed hearing. It meant that his weapons officer was ready and spoiling for a fight. Sterling then glanced across to Banks, who merely flashed her eyes at him.
“Shall we?” said Banks, inviting Sterling to head out first.
Sterling set off toward the Hotel Grand with his first officer at his side. Heads turned and eyes followed them as they progressed toward the hotel, making Sterling feel like he back at F-COP. It seemed that no matter where he went, people viewed the officers of the Omega Taskforce with suspicion and fear.
Stepping onto the veranda of the hotel, Sterling reached for the saloon-style doors, but they swung open before his hand could grasp them. A man wearing dark cargo pants with a khaki shirt and multi-pocket denim waistcoat staggered out onto the veranda. He belched, assaulting Sterling’s face with a musky alcoholic scent, then doffed his trucker-style cap to him.
“Beg pardon,” the man said, his rosy cheeks rising up with a smile. The drunkard then noticed Commander Banks and swiftly removed his cap, pressing it to his chest. “And beg pardon, m’lady,” he added, flashing his eyes at the Invictus’ first officer.
The drunkard bent over in an attempt to kiss Banks’ hand, but she yanked it free of the man’s grasp before his chapped lips could reach it. The drunkard almost fell flat on his face before recovering his balance at the last second. Appearing utterly confused about what had just happened, the man replaced his cap then attempted to bow with a flourish.
“Good morning,” the man said before promptly falling down the stairs and landing in a heap on the road.
“Charming…” said Banks, wafting a hand in front of her face in order to dissipate the lingering stench of the drunkard.
“That doesn’t bode well for the quality of the clientele,” said Sterling. He then pushed through the doors and stepped inside the hotel.
The smell of the drunkard’s alcohol-soaked breath was replaced by a heady mix of tobacco-like smoke, perfume, sweat and even more alcohol. Sterling had barely taken a step into the room before an arm the size of a small tree trunk blocked his path.
“Check your weapons at the door,” a bellowing voice said. Sterling looked up at the man, who was almost as wide as he was tall.
Sterling glanced at the other patrons, noticing that some of them were still armed. “Why don’t they have to check their weapons?” he asked the massive man.
“Because I said so,” the man replied, flatly.
Sterling sighed then slid his plasma pistol out of its holster. “I’m going to want this back,” he said, placing the weapon into a metal cabinet that the large, round man had duly opened for that purpose. The man didn’t answer Sterling and instead turned his attention to Commander Banks.
“Yours too,” he said, the sound of his voice resonating through Sterling’s bones.
Banks stepped up to the cabinet and was about to place her own weapon on the shelf when the man grabbed her wrist. Sterling felt his pulse quicken.
“I put the weapons in. I take them out,” the man said in a calm, unhurried voice while peering down at Banks.
Sterling could see that the man was attempting to pull Banks’ arm away, but he knew that Banks would never concede in a test of strength. Soon, the giant’s arm began to tremble slightly and his round cheeks wobbled, as if he were struggling to lift a heavy weight.
“I suggest you take your hand off me, right now,” said Banks, with more politeness than Sterling had expected considering the circumstances.
The man released his grip and pulled his thick arm back to his chest, staring at Banks as if she had just used some sort of arcane magic against him.
“You’re strong,” the man said, though it was a statement of appreciation rather than merely an account of the facts.
“So are you,” Banks replied, also with a measure of admiration for the giant’s efforts. She then flipped her pistol so that she was holding the barrel and offered it to the man. “I’ll want this back too,” Banks continued, smiling at the giant. “Not that this little trinket box could stop me from taking it again, if I wanted to,” she added, wrapping her knuckles on the metal chest.
The large man took the weapon then placed it delicately inside the chest and closed the lid.
“Welcome to the Hotel Grand,” the man boomed, extending his shovel-size hand toward the foyer.
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” replied Sterling, a little more sarcastically than he’d intended.
Sterling moved inside and took a more detailed look at the hotel that was to play host to their meeting with the Marshal. The foyer opened into a frontier-style saloon; a modern mash-up of old West and twenty-fourth century design. Unlike the buildings on Colony Vega Two and many of the other less developed Void colonies, none of the furniture was made of wood. However, the arrangement of chairs and tables on the ground floor, and on the balcony that ran along the wall opposite the long bar, was ripped straight from the eighteenth-century. And while the response to Sterling and Banks was not as cliched as a piano stopping playing and everyone turning in silence to glare at them, their distinctive uniforms had not gone unnoticed.
“There’s the Marshal, over at that corner table,” said Banks, nodding in the direction of the lawman. “And he’s alone.”
Sterling spotted the Marshal and was surprised to see that Banks was correct. The lawman was sitting at the table by himself.
“Where are his deputies, I wonder?” said Sterling. He viewed the fact that the Marshal was alone to be deeply suspicious, considering their frosty reception at Oasis Colony.
“I have a feeling we’ll meet them at some point soon,” replied Banks, with an air of foreboding, like a storyteller reading a grimdark fairytale.
Sterling sucked in a deep breath then straightened himself to his full height and strutted over to the table. He hadn’t gotten far before the screech of a chair being pushed back filled the room and a man in attire similar to that of the Marshal blocked his path.
“You’re in my way,” said Sterling, dispensing with any pleasantries. Sterling hated people getting all up in his face, especially when they were looking at him in the way the burly, broad-framed drinker was looking at him now.
“And you’re not welcome,” the man hit back. The drinker pointed to the door with a grubby, dirt-blackened hand. “So get out, before I make you.”
Sterling squared up against the man, who was several inches taller and wider than him, and smelled like mud and old leather.
“I’m here at the Marshal’s invitation,” Sterling said, keeping his eyes locked onto the drinker. “So why don’t you just sit down and mind your own business?”
The man smiled. “Why don’t you make me?”
Sterling brushed the man aside then attempted to continue on toward the Marshal, who was observing with interest. The drinker grabbed Sterling’s shoulder and spun him around, his face twisted with rage. A swinging right hand was launched at Sterling face, but the attack was just as clumsy and brutish as he’d expected. Deflecting the strike, Sterling stepped inside and caught the drinker’s arm, twisting it and forcing the man down onto the table. The drinker’s head hit the dimpled surface hard, spilling whisky from a tumbler across the man’s face. It ran down the drinker’s cheeks like amber tears.
“Stay down,” snarled Sterling, releasing his hold and again continuing on toward the Marshal.
The drinker roared and reached for a plasma pistol holstered to his belt, but the man’s hand had barely touched the grip before Banks had caught his wrist. Using her phenomenal natural strength, Sterling’s first officer snapped the drinker’s wrist like it was a candy cane. However, the cries of pain were drowned out by the sound of more chairs screeching back and more weapons being drawn. Half of the pistols were aimed at Banks and half at Sterling, who was now standing directly in front of the Marshal.
“Everyone, relax,” the Marshal called out, raising the palms of his hands to the room in an attempt to calm the flaming tensions. “Captain Sterling is here at my request.”
Slowly and cautiously the other drinkers holstered their weapons and sat down again. Only the man who had blocked Sterling’s path remained standing, though this was not by his own choice. Commander Banks still had him in her vise-like hold.
“Do you mind?” said the Marshal, pointing to the drinker, whose face was now red and lips bloodied. The man was bearing down so hard against the pain that he’d bitten through his tongue.
Sterling nodded to Banks and she released the drinker, who immediately fell to the sticky, steel-tiled floor. The man cradled his wrist and glowered up at her, but did not speak. Banks reached down and grabbed the man by the lapels of his coat. To the astonishment of onlookers, she hauled him up like he weighed nothing more than a toddler and planted him back in his seat. Sliding the now empty whiskey tumbler in front of the injured drinker, Banks grabbed a bottle from an adjacent table and topped up the glass.
“Now stay there, drink that, and shut the hell up,” she said, patting the man on the shoulder.
Still mute from the pain he was suffering, the man simply nodded, though the drinker’s eyes were unable to disguise his murderous thoughts.
“You sure do know how to make an entrance, Captain,” said the Marshal, pouring two measures of whiskey into empty tumblers. The lawman then raised his eyes to look at Commander Banks. “Augments?” he asked.
Banks shook her head. “All natural,” she replied, folding her arms and flexing her hyper-dense muscles.
The Marshal let out an impressed huff of appreciation then offered the drinks to Sterling and Banks in turn. Sterling took one of the tumblers and raised it. The Marshal did the same and they all drank. The liquor felt like fire slipping down his throat, but Sterling managed to stomach the whiskey without displaying his displeasure of it. Banks also placed the tumbler down on the table and maintained her icy, death-stare at the Marshal. If the whiskey had affected her, she wasn’t showing it either.
“So, what is it that you have to trade, Captain?” the Marshal asked, getting straight to business.
Sterling tapped the screen wrapped around his left arm and it solidified. The inventory of items that Lieutenant Razor had collated then appeared and Sterling showed it to the Marshal. The lawman read it with more attentiveness than Sterling had expected, which he took to be a good sign that the man was genuinely interested in the trade. A few seconds later the Marshal nodded then met Sterling’s eyes.
“I believe we can do a deal,” the Marshal said, relaxing back into his chair. “Assuming I can help you with the information you need, of course.”
“All I need to know is the whereabouts of a man called James Colicos,” said Sterling, similarly getting straight to business. “He was a former Fleet scientist who we believe lived here, or in this system somewhere. But we don’t know precisely where or when, or where he is now.”
The Marshal thought for a moment, resting his chin onto his hand. He then waved to a woman who was behind the counter at the bar. She was perhaps a little older than Sterling and displayed the poise of someone who was comfortable being the center of attention. The Marshal finally caught the woman’s eye and she grabbed a bottle of whiskey before making her way toward the table.
“Finished that one already, Marshal?” the woman asked, sliding the new bottle onto the table. “Your friends must be thirsty.” She then met Sterling’s eyes and winked at him.
“We’re not after whiskey, Dana,” said the Marshal. “These folks are lookin’ for something else.”
Dana smiled. “You have to pay for that here too,” she said, before flashing her eyes at Sterling. “Though for a dashing captain like you, I could make an exception.”
The Marshal laughed and Sterling joined in, though only in order to be polite. Banks, however, was now staring at the barkeep with a look that could have frozen the whiskey in the bottle.
“James Colicos, did you know him?” asked Sterling, trying to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. He didn’t want to give Banks a reason to start tearing people's arms out of their sockets.
“Oh, yeah, all the ladies in here knew him,” said Dana with a roll of the eyes. “Though I forgave him his wandering hands on account the amount of booze he drank. My takings went down ten per cent after he left.”
“Do you know where he went?” asked Sterling, ever hopeful that their gamble of meeting the Marshal was going to pay off.