Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

“Was almost good enough,” I said.

  Vingee held out the laser carbine. “Trade for your shotgun. Troh-got shields stop kinetic projectiles. In and out.”

  I pulled my double barrel. “Hope I didn’t rattle its delicate components too much,” I said as we exchanged weapons. The laser carbine slid well enough into the shotgun’s holster along my back. “Here’s a few shells, too.” Picking up my shotgun would be one thing if I was on the run. My whole bandoleer of shells would be another. She gave me a spare laser battery clip. “Didn’t see you pick that up.”

  “It was dark and you were busy.”

  “Those two you took out jumped the gun,” O’Vorley said. “Wanted the reward for themselves.”

  I frowned, knowing it seemed too easy. “So there’s more of them out there.”

  Even though it wasn’t a question, he nodded.

  Vingee offered him the computer clip. “Will this assist you in making more connections?” The offer surprised me.

  O’Vorley shook his head. “We’ll share resources soon enough, I think.”

  I shut down my com-set so that there was no method of tracking it. And, even if Dock Security attempted known frequencies we used, they wouldn’t get anything, even passively. “I’ll give them a merry chase,” I assured Vingee, not knowing how it would end.

  “I have no doubt you will,” she replied. “Just be sure you get away.”

  “If we do this right,” O’Vorley said. “This won’t be a permanent goodbye.”

  “That’s a hint,” I said to Vingee. “Tell the rest of the team to keep my pump shotgun clean and oiled.”

  Even with the dock’s haphazard construction there might be places to hide. I had a few ideas, but they weren’t good ones. I was hoping O’Vorley had better ones.

  “Take care of yourself,” Vingee said. “Make contact when you’re able.” She exited, using a maintenance door. The corridor light shined in and then disappeared with a metallic clunk.

  O’Vorley rested a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Kee—Bleys.” Pulling his hand away, he emptied his jacket’s pockets. “Put this on,” he said, offering me his jacket. “It’ll cover your damaged coveralls.”

  “It’ll kind of clash. I-Tech style mixed with R-Tech.” After removing the holstered carbine, I slid the jacket on. Its sleeves were a little long. He was right. The laser burns marring my coveralls would turn heads. That was the last thing I needed.

  O’Vorley led me through a narrow maintenance corridor. How he’d learned such a route, I wasn’t sure. How long had he been on the orbital dock? In my short time, I’d only made casual friends with two maintenance techs. Not enough that I’d trust either to assist me, especially if it might’ve become common knowledge that there was a bounty on my head.

  I wondered how much the bounty was. How much CGIG could afford—and what back channel ways they’d pay it. My training in security provided the basics of how such transactions took place, but I didn’t have any firsthand experience.

  Those were some of the channels that Guymin and Vingee—and Axin and Dvoracek, and McAllister were attempting to monitor and crack. I figured McAllister was working alone, except for O’Vorley. She was pretty egotistical, and not good at playing with others. O’Vorley was smart and loyal, like me. But easy-going, unlike me.

  We’d made it into a conduit between dock sections. This one was cold, dirty and dimly lit. Pipes lined the low ceiling. Wheel tracks cut through the grimy dust covering the narrow paths indicating automated dolly bots regularly traversed the route we were taking.

  I didn’t like being hunted. This narrow tube-like corridor struck up the image of a hollow log. A fox running through it being chased by hounds. Like any fox, I didn’t like being chased. And wanted to be caught even less. My immediate control over that was limited. This isolated dock, largely unfamiliar to me, harbored few friends, and an apparent host of enemies, or potential enemies.

  I took a relaxing breath to refocus on the situation and move forward. I’d been in more dire situations, most recently on Io.

  There wouldn’t be much security surveillance in this area, if any. I looked around, checking recesses and other likely spots, and confirmed my belief. If there was any, it wouldn’t be hidden. The entrance surveillance camera, which O’Vorley temporarily overrode, was transmitting a video loop of an empty corridor while we passed through.

  “It’s harder to hunt,” I said to O’Vorley as he stopped at a control panel and pulled out his clamshell computer, “if you’re being hunted.”

  “What?” O’Vorley asked.

  “Wait.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Two things—no, three. I need to know more about what you’re doing here, where we’re going, and if you, or really McAllister, can direct me toward who’s organizing this hunt.”

  “Why, Kra?”

  “Why, to which question?”

  “The ‘Can you direct me toward who’s organizing this hunt’ question.”

  My thoughts flashed back to my time spent in the Kalavar’s brig. In between reading several articles on corporate law and the Chicher’s contribution to the Silicate War, I’d read a fantasy novel, part of a series that I’d started while performing warehouse duty on Pluto. A novel by Steven Brust, a contemporary of Zelazny. In it, the main character, relentlessly hunted by a ruthless crime organization, came to the conclusion: Just because you figure that one of them is going to get you eventually is no reason to make it easy for them.

  My plan was far less complex than that of Brust’s Taltos character. I replied to O’Vorley, “Take the fight to who’s organizing the hunt. I probably won’t make it to them, but maybe shake them up. Rattle their cages, and they’ll reveal more to my partners, and to yours.”

  “I can’t shut down dock surveillance like they did,” O’Vorley said. “You go after them, it’ll give the dock’s security a reason to arrest you.”

  “I’ll let them shoot first,” I said, pointing to the Troh-got shield generator attached to my belt. “Then it’ll be self-defense.”

  O’Vorley’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head.

  I could guess what he was thinking. “You just get me close and point me in the right direction, and don’t get involved. Even if there aren’t fewer of them left to hunt me, they’ll be more cautious. It’ll slow them down.”

  “This is a bad move, Kra. Strategically and for your health.”

  He was thinking CGIG and their operatives would get me. They might. “It’s the right move,” I assured him. “For me. And for you.”

  After sucking in a breath between his teeth and releasing it, he said, “Okay, Kra.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “You know, McAllister will love this.”

  “Be sure to tell her, ‘You’re welcome,’ for me.”

  Chapter 16

  We stood in a busy corridor two levels below an apartment wing, more accurately described as mid-upper expense quartering. The newer addition to the orbital colony had chrome trim and fittings that still shined, and the tiles hadn’t been worn away by foot traffic. Or the tile’d been replaced, and the chrome fittings were well cared for.

  Following O’Vorley, I’d come to realize how much he’d matured. We first met on the Mavinrom Colony. He was a green security recruit. Then we crossed paths again on Tallavaster where we fought the Crax. Through desperate actions and experience, he’d become a competent soldier. Together we survived the Crax overrunning our company, before splitting up.

  On the Bonnisbin Orbital Colony he was demonstrating insight and savvy moving about the colony, avoiding Security and those seeking me. Sure, communications with McAllister and her software applications helped, but it was more O’Vorley’s decisions. We stopped and stood along the wall. The corridor was wide enough that we didn’t impede foot traffic or passing dolly bots.

  “This is far different from the time I showed you how to use a public com-system and get your bearings on the Mavinrom Dock.” I shot him a crooked smile. “Our roles are just about reversed here.�
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  He grinned before shaking his head. “Not quite. I never understood why you helped me, got me connected with those Colonial Marines—you didn’t even know me. Especially after Security there thumped you pretty good.” His grin faded. “That was a long time ago. So much…”

  We had to be careful what we said. This corridor contained active security surveillance. Plus, O’Vorley had relayed to me that McAllister said Security was interested in speaking with me.

  I gripped his shoulder. “Thanks for returning the favor.”

  “Do you have brass knuckles?”

  “That, I do.”

  His grin returned. “Well, that means we’re certain to cross paths again,” he said, referring to two rendezvous points in case something went wrong.

  “Keep out of trouble,” I replied.

  “Uh, right. I won’t bother suggesting that to you.”

  “Nemo me impune lacessit,” I replied. Smiling at his questioning look, I offered my hand. “I’ll explain later.”

  After we shook hands he turned and fell in behind a trio of tan-clad maintenance techs. I strode the other way, running scenarios through my head, preparing to shift the odds a little more in my favor. At least that was the plan, if McAllister had successfully ferreted out a location that met my expectations.

  I switched on the Troh-got shield generator before reaching the T intersection and turned left. The corridor was wide and bright with recessed lighting. No floor grating was visible but four-inch conduits ran along the ceiling. Gray walls with slate gray sliding doors staggered every four yards from one side to the other, all closed.

  I managed to blend in with the crowd on the elevator. The fact that everyone had been taller than me allowed me to slip by a posted security specialist. As the crowd split off, entering their quarters, I kept pace ahead of two maintenance managers assigned to the life support recycling system. Their complaints detailing how their day had gone said as much. After a moment there remained only one person behind me. Hopefully he continued straight.

  I slipped on my headset and clicked on my com-set to record only, and kept moving, observing the new hallway. It was narrower than the previous, being a little less than three yards wide. That was still wide by most standards, which made sense since it was a more affluent section. The doors alternated every five yards, meaning larger quarters. There were also three guards in the hallway: two men and one woman. I knew they were auxiliary guards—personal guards—by their pale green uniforms with gray-green armbands, their placement in the hallway, and the fact that they were openly armed.

  The woman, stocky with short-cropped hair and a strong chin, was nearest to me, holding an MP carbine. It had a strap for sling carry but, like the other two guards, she held her weapon in the two-handed carry position. The furthest guard’s main weapon was a laser carbine. Whether a light or medium duty model, I couldn’t tell. The third guard had an MP carbine, like the woman. Each also had a holstered sidearm, probably an MP pistol.

  I put my hand up to my ear, over my com-set’s head gear. It wasn’t necessary, but it’s what I-Techs did to signal others that they were receiving a message via their micro receiver implant.

  The environmental systems manager hadn’t made the turn with me, so the three guards only had me to focus their attention on. I stopped, and spoke into my mic, “Go straight? I already turned like you said.” My eyes shifted to each of the guards, giving me a better look at them while I came to an abrupt stop. I stood twenty yards from the female, stationed to the left of a doorway. A tall, dark-skinned man stood across from it, and a burly, big-eared man with the laser carbine, who could’ve been the woman’s fraternal twin, stood to the right of it.

  The man across from the door spoke into his collar while the woman turned to face me. “Stop!” she ordered, recognition registering in her eyes. That made sense if the information McAllister had relayed to O’Vorley was correct.

  Right, I thought. Not many folks questioned McAllister’s competence. She was always right. Just ask her.

  The truth was, McAllister had only been wrong once—the one time she crossed me and thought she could get away with it.

  I’d already stopped. Instead of remaining so, with wide eyes, I began backing away. I kept my hand away from my revolver. The corridor was certain to have security monitoring—at least until those hunting me interfered with it.

  She levelled her carbine, as did the dark-skinned man, having finished his radio conversation. The burly guard toting the laser carbine glanced the other way down the hall before turning back toward me.

  “I said, HALT.” The woman’s order rippled with threat, tinged with menace.

  “I just made a wrong turn,” I said, slowing a little. “I’ll retrace my steps—”

  She answered my unfinished sentence with a three round burst. The bullets were not quite the size of a .22 caliber round, but travelled at more than twice a .22’s speed. The bullets arrived before the snapping crack from them being fired. One of the intercepted rounds would’ve struck me in my left eye if the shield generator hadn’t stopped it inches from my face. It, like the others, fell harmlessly to the floor. The close impact caused me to flinch, even as I reached over my shoulder for my laser carbine. My revolver would’ve been faster but, for as long as the shield generator lasted, it’d be useless. Firing it would do nothing more than drain the shield. I just hoped the shield energy lasted through this gunfight.

  Both MP carbine-armed guards opened up on me using textbook perfect firing stances. I fired back, less textbook perfect, sending a searing blast that charred the laser-armed guard’s left cheek and ear. He’d moved to the center of the hall to get a clear line of fire. Turning away while crying out in pain, he was out of the fight—at least for the moment. His firearm was the only one that could penetrate the Troh-got shield, while the alien device’s energy lasted. It’d take a couple seconds for my carbine’s capacitor to recharge, so I trotted forward. By closing the distance I was sure a hip shot would be on target.

  My com-set clicked off and the hallway’s recessed lights faded. A large-scale energy damper. It’d affect surveillance too.

  As before when wielded by an attacker, my laser carbine resisted. It had hardened military components, as evidenced by my second blast. It took the female guard in the throat an instant before near darkness cloaked the hallway. Traces of light from further down the hall framed the third guard hurling his MP carbine at me while charging forward. Ambient light from behind probably illuminated me as well.

  The woman was down. The first wounded guard’s cries turned to curses. I couldn’t worry about him. My laser wouldn’t recharge before the closing man reached me, so, ducking the hurled carbine, I dropped my laser and pulled my bayonet.

  The bigger man barreled into me. Even braced for the impact, his bulk knocked me to the floor. I landed on my shoulder, keeping my head from rebounding off the tile. The guard never got to follow up. My long blade pierced deep between his ribs. It took the fight out of him, his life quickly following.

  I grabbed my laser carbine without shoving the dying guard off of me. The clomping of the laser-burned guard’s approach gave warning. We exchanged shots. Half-guided by the shadowy silhouette’s appearance and half on instinct, I took him in the groin. His shot missed, melting the tile floor inches to the left of my head.

  His coverall’s protective properties proved inferior to mine and he fell to the ground, groaning and clutching his crotch.

  I pushed the dead guard off of me and ended the writhing man with a searing headshot.

  Despite the darkness, I knew blood covered O’Vorley’s jacket. I pulled it off and replaced it with the dead guard’s jackets. By feel I also secured two charged laser battery clips from his belt.

  Before departing I stopped in front of the door that the guards had been protecting. Turning off my shield generator, I pulled my revolver and sent the three loaded armor piercing rounds through the door. While doing so my mind fixated on a portio
n of an old-time nursery rhyme: All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought ’twas all in fun. Pop goes the weasel. It didn’t fit the original meaning of the rhyme, but I saw CGIG loyalists as the monkey and me, the weasel. Each shot through the door was a ‘pop.’

  I didn’t think I’d hit anyone, but figured it’d give those directing the hunt a bit of a scare. Plus, the echoing gunshot blasts would deter nearby residents from sticking their noses in the hallway to see what was going on.

  With no more time to spare, I hurried from the area before a dock security team arrived.

  I handed O’Vorley back his jacket. He saw the blood on it and mouthed the word, “Whose?”

  I pointed at myself, shook my head and mouthed, “Not mine.”

  He signaled for me to precede him up a ladder and through a maintenance crawl that offered access to several rectangular ducts. Despite the yellow insulation, humming vibrations caused by the recycled air pumped through caught my ear. My penlight revealed a spot where I could lay stretched out with room enough to stand.

  O’Vorley closed the door and climbed up next to me. Pointing to a fancy black synthetic sack with a shoulder strap, several tan blankets and a plastic canister, he said, “There’s food and water in the bag, and a change of clothes. The blankets should help you keep comfortable, and the can is…well…it’ll seal up tight after using it.”

  “How’d you get to know every unwatched nook and cranny?”

  “I don’t know every one, and McAllister pointed out to me most that I do know.”

  If I managed to stay out of sight for a day or two, Dock Security might figure someone had snatched or killed me. Those hunting me might suspect someone else had taken me for the bounty. Anyway, that was the notion behind the plan.

  “So, hide out here for at least forty-eight hours,” I said. “Then make my way to the Unicorn Palace, and ask for Colossra?”

  O’Vorley nodded, handing me a tattered paperback book and a mini LED lamp to supplement my flashlight. Paper books are pretty rare. “War of the Worlds,” he said. “Alien invaders killing humans. McAllister said you’d find it to be both new and refreshing.”