“Nightmares?” Jasim said, thinking of the headband Leonidas had mentioned. He would have to look for one of those one day.
“Yes.” Leonidas waved the container. “We’ll see if we can get this analyzed somewhere, but I don’t want to delay checking on the address your skip tracer gave us. The longer it takes us to find him, the more likely he’ll be ready and waiting for us. And he has to be stopped. There’s no honor in this.”
“Yes, sir,” Jasim agreed quietly.
Honor wasn’t what he worried about. He just didn’t want to be killed in his sleep. No, he realized, thinking again of those who had died, men he had known. It wasn’t just about him. If it had been, he wouldn’t have called Leonidas to help. He wanted to keep the cyborgs in his old unit from being killed, from being hunted to extinction. He’d never truly felt like he fit into the unit or into the military in general, but he still felt a kinship toward those men. They’d fought and bled together, suffered in both victory and defeat, and against all odds, they had survived the fall of the empire. He didn’t want them to be killed now for nothing. He also did not want to become the last of his kind.
Chapter 9
Wind whistled across the desert, sand pinging off Jasim’s armor. He and Leonidas stood atop a hill, looking down at a single building on the outer edge of the outskirts of Port Thorn. A road sign proclaimed it simply, “The Cantina.” A place, apparently, for those who couldn’t be bothered to travel that last quarter mile to experience a wider variety of options. Or maybe for those who would be shot if they showed up in the city.
Jasim eyed the pitted and cracked stone stairs leading down to the open doors of the partially underground structure. Though one of the suns still burned in the sky, the raucous laughter and shouts coming through those doors, rising over the thumping of thunderous music, hinted of a big crowd. The stone walls had recently been painted white, but the faint outline of dark graffiti was still visible underneath. Hover cars, small aircraft, and thrust bikes were parked on the flat roof of the building, and as Jasim watched, a couple of drunken men struggled to maneuver up the steps to their vehicle. One paused to vomit over the railing.
“An auspicious looking establishment,” Jasim said.
“Your contact said this is where Terrance Dufour gets his mail?” Leonidas said, not deigning to comment on the auspiciousness of the building. “It doesn’t look much like a post office.”
“McCall said it was the only address she could dig up. One does wonder why, if our killer lives nearby, he waited to attack Banding. His shop is only a few miles away. Why would Dufour, or someone he hired, murder cyborgs on other planets first? What would be the significance of going alphabetically down the list?”
“Aside from the fact that we’re both overdue for a visit?”
“I’m trying not to think about that,” Jasim said. “As I’m wearing my full armor, helmet, and snuggly neck piece for more reasons than the sand.”
“Let’s go in and see if anyone knows anything.”
“We don’t even have a description for him.” Jasim had looked up the man’s name after McCall had provided it and this address, but the sys-net hadn’t had anything on him. He either lived off the grid completely, or that was a fake name. Jasim hoped it wasn’t a fake address.
“Maybe we’ll just listen to conversations and hope we hear people making dastardly plans concerning cyborgs.”
“We could hear that in any Alliance-friendly bar. We didn’t have to come all the way to Dustor for it.” Jasim smiled, hoping he wouldn’t sound like he was complaining, even if he was. When he had signed up for the cyborg surgery, he’d thought the idea of being faster and stronger sounded wonderful—nobody would ever pick on him again. He hadn’t thought he’d be treated like the monster in some old fairy tale.
Leonidas’s only response was to grunt and head down the slope toward the cantina.
“Sorry, sir,” Jasim said, jogging to catch up.
Leonidas looked at him.
“For complaining,” Jasim clarified. “I shouldn’t. I should be stoic and just accept what the suns hand me. I always remember that after the complaint comes out.”
Leonidas paused before going down the steps. “You should be stoic, accept the ramifications of your choices, but fight like the three hells for what you want in this universe.” He continued down the stairs without waiting for a response.
It took Jasim a moment to kick his legs back into motion.
“Imperials!” someone cried as soon as Leonidas stepped across the threshold.
“Cyborgs!” someone else blurted.
Neither of those cries rang with joyous enthusiasm, so Jasim hurried up to come in beside Leonidas. Judging by the greeting, they might have to endure a bar fight before finding out any information.
The music halted with a thump and an electronic squeal. Men and women rushed to a back door, knocking over tables and chairs—and each other—as they went. Some of the waitstaff fled in the same direction, the smoky air swirling around them. Footsteps sounded on the roof as people raced to their vehicles. Others sprinted out into the desert without looking back.
“I guess they didn’t see my stickers,” Leonidas said.
“Nobody ever sees anything except the intimidating armor—and the intimidating man underneath. That’s why I couldn’t get a normal job after I finished my degree.” Jasim waved toward the now-empty chairs and the fallen tables. A few indifferent souls remained at their tables in the shadows, not appearing alarmed, but even they watched Leonidas and Jasim warily.
“You went to school after the war?” Leonidas sounded surprised. “What did you get your degree in?”
“Education. With a minor in psychology.”
Leonidas looked at him oddly. Yes, those weren’t natural choices for an imperial cyborg. And this probably wasn’t the time to discuss it further.
“I wanted to teach,” was all Jasim said, and shrugged.
A throat cleared behind the bar where a man and an android had been mixing drinks. The human appeared far more exasperated than the android, who continued to fulfill orders even though it was unlikely those who had placed them would return for them.
“I hope you two are planning to order a lot of drinks,” the man said, his bald head gleaming under the artificial lights, “because you just drove away the majority of my customers.”
“We’re looking for someone,” Jasim said.
“Imagine my shock.”
Roars came from above as hovercraft and aircraft took off. The bartender sighed. Or maybe he was the owner. If so, he might know about Dufour.
Jasim looked at Leonidas, expecting he would take the lead, but he started walking around the bar, looking down hallways and opening doors.
“Are you the owner?” Jasim asked, walking up to the bar.
“Stop that,” the bartender said, swatting the android. “They’re not coming back for those, and you’re wasting good alcohol. If you need something to do, set those tables and chairs upright. And if any cyborgs harass me, get in their way, so I can make an escape.”
“Harass, sir?” the android asked, setting down a bottle of green liquor. “Harass: apply aggressive pressure or intimidation, sometimes in a sexual manner.”
“Especially get in the way if sexual manners are deployed,” the barkeeper grumbled, waving the android toward the furniture. He turned to Jasim. “I better not be who you’re looking for. This place is legitimate, and I never had any trouble with the empire when it was in power, not that it’s in power anymore.” He gave Jasim’s armor a pointed look. “You there, Cyborg Number Two, this isn’t a tourist zone.”
“Two?” Leonidas had stepped through a doorway and was looking at something in a room in the back.
“He’s Cyborg Number One,” Jasim said. “Definitely.”
“I don’t care if you’re twins that were fused together at birth. I’d appreciate it if you’d both leave so my clients will come back. Oh, and if you want to drop a few hund
red tindarks on the bar here, that might cover what I’m losing right now.”
“This looks like a mini post office back here,” Leonidas murmured, the words quiet enough that the barkeeper shouldn’t hear them.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Jasim said to the bartender while wriggling a couple of fingers in Leonidas’s direction. “I’m going to assume you’re not the person we’re looking for, or you would be more nervous right now.”
“I’m positive I’m not the person you’re looking for.”
Jasim debated whether he should mention Dufour. The bartender might have a way to comm him and warn him that cyborgs were looking for him.
“Back here, Jasim,” Leonidas said quietly.
The bartender glared in his direction.
“What’s back there?” Jasim asked, though he doubted he was going to get any information from the man, not without applying force, at which point the android would step in. Then they would end up wrecking the establishment in the fight that ensued. That wouldn’t do anything to improve cyborg-local relations.
“Your ugly buddy.” The man grabbed a towel, pointedly wiped down the bar, and ignored both of them.
Jasim started toward the back room, but Leonidas came out. He set a small stack of Alliance tindarks on the top of the bar in front of the man, the holograms on the paper bills gleaming.
“Terrance Dufour,” Leonidas said, pitching his voice so the patrons wouldn’t hear it. “Are you familiar with him?”
The bartender eyed him suspiciously, but did count the bills the best he could with Leonidas’s hand atop the stack.
“He may rent a box here.” The man waved to the room Leonidas had been in. “A lot of people do. Post office doesn’t deliver out in the Dunes.”
“And that’s where he lives?”
The bartender shrugged. “I don’t ask where people live. It’s ten tindarks a month to rent a box, no questions asked. And no explosives allowed to be delivered. But I trust people on that one. I don’t search their mail. I run an honest business.”
“How often does Dufour come to check his box?” Leonidas asked.
Another shrug. “A couple of times a week, either him, if he wants a drink, or one of his drones.”
“Mail been delivered today?”
“A while ago, yeah.”
“What’s his box number?”
“I don’t know. It’s on the far end, I think. Second row from the top.”
“You think?”
“I’m positive. How many questions do I have to answer before I can pocket your bribe?”
Leonidas stared at the man long enough to make him squirm, then lifted his hand and walked back into the post office room. The bartender slid the money into his pocket, but he turned a disgruntled expression on Jasim.
“You’re not going to set up camp back there, are you?”
“We won’t have to if you tell us where the man lives.” Jasim didn’t know whether it had been a good idea to tell the man who they were looking for, but there might not have been much choice if the names weren’t etched on the boxes back there.
“I said I don’t know,” the bartender growled.
“And you wouldn’t know how to get in contact with him to warn him that a couple of cyborgs are looking for him?”
“Definitely not.”
Jasim didn’t believe him. Maybe he ought to rethink the application of force. He supposed it wouldn’t be polite to brutalize a man they had just bribed, but it wouldn’t be that odd on Dustor.
“Jasim,” Leonidas said from the back room.
After checking to make sure neither the android nor the remaining customers appeared to be planning anything shifty, Jasim joined him.
It was a larger room than he expected, with stairs leading up to some upper level, a short hallway going straight back to the kitchen, and a large open area to the right with lockers lining two long walls. A wide door was closed at the end. Some of the patrons had probably fled that way.
“If the bartender is honest, this is the box,” Leonidas said, touching the indicated one. Judging by the front, it was large enough to accept packages as well as envelopes.
“It wouldn’t be wise of him to be dishonest when we’re here and Dufour isn’t.”
“No.”
“So we just have to loiter here to see if he comes by for his mail in the next couple of days?” Jasim grimaced, knowing Maddy wouldn’t appreciate it if this side trip took numerous days—or more. He also doubted the owner would let them lurk back here indefinitely. He would either have his android try to throw them out, or he would call in someone with more firepower.
“Why don’t you open it and see if there’s mail waiting?” Leonidas said. “If there is, he might have gotten an alert and come sooner rather than later.” He pointed toward the front room. “I’ll watch the owner, make sure he’s not sending any warning messages.”
“I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing,” the bartender said, poking his head through the doorway. “It would be bad for my health. And you’ve already paid me more than he has in a year of renting a box here.” He smiled and strode through the post room and into the kitchen.
“He’s lying,” Jasim said, finding that smile insincere. The rest of him too.
“Yes,” Leonidas said, waving his fingers toward the mailboxes.
Jasim took a spot in front of the right one. A simple physical lock opened by a key held the dented metal door shut. With his strong fingers, it would have been easy enough to break the box open, but he’d brought a lock-picking kit too. The Pulverizer preferred for his workers to repossess people’s belongings without damaging anything. Apparently, that was better for business.
Jasim affixed the magnetic device over the lock and tapped a button to set it to work. Leonidas disappeared up the stairs. Snooping? Jasim was surprised. He would have expected his old commander to tend toward being blunt and straightforward. The bribe also surprised him. Most cyborgs used force to get what they wanted—it was what they were good at. Besides, when they’d been enforcing imperial laws, it had usually been justified.
A click sounded, and the panel popped open. Leonidas came back down the stairs as Jasim peeked into the locker. A single package rested inside in a typical blue CargoExpress mail crate.
“Should we open it?” Jasim asked.
“It could be full of materials for killing more cyborgs,” Leonidas said grimly.
“I’m not sure if that’s a yes or not, sir. Or if it was a yes and that I should be the one to open it.”
“You are the one with the lock-picking device,” Leonidas said, heading over to the kitchen door and monitoring. The bartender hadn’t come out yet.
“That’s not required for opening mail packages,” Jasim said.
He slid the little crate out, pressed his finger onto an indention, and held it until a soft snap-hiss sounded. The lid rose, and Jasim held the box at arm’s length, prepared to stuff it back in the locker and slam the door shut if explosives waited inside. Or worse, poisons.
Nothing blew, flew, or oozed out of the crate.
He peered inside. “Uh, comic books?”
“What?” Leonidas asked, looking from the kitchen toward the box.
Jasim poked through them. “Physical copies of comics. They’re all in the same series. This one’s signed.” He looked into the locker, half-expecting a box of poison components to still be hiding in the shadows. “Maybe our bartender friend lied to us after all.”
“If he did,” Leonidas spoke loudly, looking back into the kitchen, “we’ll have to open all of the boxes. Forcibly.”
“I didn’t lie,” came a weary reply.
Leonidas shrugged at Jasim.
Jasim shook his head and placed the comic books neatly back in the box, an uneasy thought starting to niggle at him. “It’s not possible, is it… I mean, what would happen if the person we’re after is a kid?”
“A kid with money to afford collectors’ items? And poisons? I’
m sure it’s an adult.”
Jasim returned the crate to the locker and closed it, doing his best to ensure it did not look like anyone had broken into it. “What now? We wait to see if he comes to pick up his package today?”
Leonidas nodded. “He’ll come eventually.”
“Unless he’s been warned that we’re here, waiting for him,” Jasim said quietly, aware of glasses clinking in the kitchen.
“I’ll go chat with the owner.”
“Chat? Will his android get involved?”
“Possibly,” Leonidas said. “Though I assure you, a sexual manner won’t be applied.”
“That assurance wasn’t really necessary, sir.”
“Good. Go find a spot outside where we can keep an eye on that door.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 10
Plants were not in great abundance on this part of Dustor, and the sandy landscape outside of the cantina did not offer many hidden places from which to spy upon it. Jasim climbed back up the slope they had originally descended and managed to find the remains of a corner of a centuries-old building, the crumbling wall standing about three feet high. The spot was visible from the crossroads, but he doubted many people would zip over to investigate it. He crouched down behind the wall and took his helmet off so that if he peered back toward the cantina, a bright red blob would not draw anyone’s eye.
Minutes dribbled past as Jasim waited for Leonidas to come outside. Far fewer vehicles were parked on the roof of the cantina now, but the second sun was setting, and Jasim wagered business would pick up again soon. Evening might be the ideal time for someone to come by and pick up mail while grabbing a drink. Or evening three days from now. He grimaced.
If Dufour did show up, how would they know him from other patrons? Would he head straight for that post office entrance instead of going in through the front door? Would he be alone instead of in a crowd? Would he look like the beady-eyed, nefarious sort who murdered innocent cyborgs?
Jasim’s helmet comm beeped, and he winced, knowing who it would be without looking. Who else on Dustor had a reason to talk to him?
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