Starship Grifters (A Rex Nihilo Adventure)

by Robert Kroese

  I leaned out the door and looked down the corridor. To the left was a small contingent of Malarchian marines, crouched together in a tight firing formation. To the right was a flurry of airborne robots that looked like a cross between a giant rat and a dragonfly. A couple of the bots had been winged by lazegun beams and were clattering on the floor, unable to regain flight, but a dozen or more of them still hovered in the corridor, firing lazegun blasts at the marines. There were dozens of holes in the walls and ceiling where the marines’ shots had gone wide. The marine who had been guarding our room lay about three yards away from the door, unmoving. I ducked back inside and slammed the door. Apparently I still had enough expressiveness left in my face that Rex knew what I had seen before I had a chance to say anything.

  “Damn it,” he growled. “How the hell did they find us?”

  “What?” asked Wick. “Who’s out there?”

  “Repo bots,” I replied.

  “What do they want?”

  “Us,” I said.

  “What for?”

  “Rex owes some money. The Galactic Credit Bureau sends updates to the Bounty Hunter Guild. The guild members have repo bots all over the galaxy. Somebody must have uploaded a tip on our location to the Hypernet.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s the real question, isn’t it?” I replied. “Have you been in contact with the Frente since we left?”

  Wick shook his head.

  “Hmm,” I said. “So the rebels don’t know where we are, and Heinous Vlaak would be unlikely to invite a repo bot attack on his own battle station. I suppose one of the marines might have been tempted by the reward for our capture, but—”

  “Damn it, Sasha!” Rex snapped. “Stop thinking before you short-circuit yourself. Make yourself useful and bring up a schematic of this battle station.”

  While the battle raged outside in the corridor, I tapped into the battle station’s public network and found a map of the station’s layout. A lot of tactical details were hidden, but I was able to extrapolate a decent relational schematic. I produced a holographic display in the air in front of me.

  “Any way out of this room other than through that corridor?” asked Rex.

  “No easy way. If we had a lazegun, we could cut through the floor to the deck below us. From there, we could make it back to the hangar deck in a few minutes.”

  “We don’t have a lazegun,” observed Wick helpfully.

  “The guard outside has one,” I said.

  “Somebody will have to get it,” said Rex.

  I sighed. “All right,” I said, moving toward the door. “I was kind of hoping to get the rest of my face blown off anyway.”

  “Wait, Sasha,” said Rex. “It’s not fair for you to be taking all the risks. Wick, you do it.”

  “Me?” Wick squeaked. “Why me?”

  “It’s your fault we’re in this mess. If you hadn’t sold out the rebellion, we’d be in a completely different predicament right now.”

  “Those repo bots aren’t here for me!” protested Wick. “I could probably walk right out of here.”

  “Pick up the lazegun while you’re out,” I said.

  “Look, Vic . . .” Rex started.

  “Wick! It’s Wick! You can at least get my name right before you get me killed!”

  “Look, Wick,” Rex said, undeterred, “the fact is that you betrayed our cause, but fate has now presented you with an opportunity to make things right. Now, do you want to be remembered as a traitor and a coward, or as a hero?”

  There was another explosion in the corridor, just outside the door.

  “What about you?” demanded Wick. “You betrayed the rebels too!”

  “And I’ll have to make my own amends for that,” said Rex.

  “Why don’t you make amends by getting the lazegun?”

  “Ah, Wick,” said Rex, putting his hand on Wick’s shoulder. “I’m afraid my crimes are far too weighty to be absolved through a simple act like walking out into a hail of lazegun fire. Frankly, I envy you. In a few seconds your conscience will be clear, while I must continue to carry my burden until the opportunity for an appropriate act of penance presents itself. Perhaps I will be required to bravely pilot a starship into the heart of an exploding supernova, or throw myself into the jaws of the Bilious Toothworm of Sleem. Who can say what hideous fate awaits me, or how many years—perhaps even decades—I must be tormented by its inevitability? All I can say for certain is that my destiny will be far more horrific than having my face blown quickly and painlessly off while kicking that guard’s lazegun a few meters down the hall.”

  Wick seemed doubtful but uncertain how to reply.

  “Whoever does it,” I said, “better do it quick. It didn’t look like those marines were going to be able to hold out long.”

  “Fine,” said Wick. “But then my slate is clean. Nobody tells the rebels I’m the one who told the Malarchy where the base is.” Wick seemed to have momentarily forgotten that—thanks to him—there soon wouldn’t be any rebels to tell.

  “Good luck!” said Rex, opening the door and taking a step back. Lazegun blasts sizzled past the doorway. The corridor was filled with a cacophony of buzzing, clattering, explosions, and agonized screams.

  Wick took a deep breath and ran into the corridor, disappearing from view. After a few seconds of yelping and cursing, he dove back into the room, bearing the lazegun in his hand. His hair was smoking and his rebel fatigues were torn and charred in several places, but other than a few minor burns he didn’t appear hurt. Rex slammed and locked the door. Behind it we heard one of the marines shouting, “Retreat! We can’t hold the corridor!”

  “Give me that,” said Rex, grabbing the gun from the dazed Wick. He set the gun to torch mode, aimed it at the floor, and started cutting a hole. The bots were now banging loudly against the door, trying to break their way through.

  “Hurry!” cried Wick, patting futilely at his smoking hair.

  “This is as fast as it cuts, you numbskull,” Rex snarled. “If you hadn’t taken so long to get the gun, we’d be long gone by now. If we get captured, it will be all your fault.”

  Wick’s face sank. “You said I was absolved!” he protested. “You said my slate was clean!”

  “You were absolved for betraying the rebellion,” snapped Rex, “but you racked up quite a bit of guilt for dithering about your penance. You’d better hope you get a chance to make it up to us. Aha!”

  A roughly disc-shaped section of floor fell through, landing with a crash on the level below us.

  “You first, Sasha,” urged Rex.

  I nodded and lowered myself through the hole into a nearly empty storeroom. “It’s clear,” I shouted. Rex’s legs appeared in the hole. I caught him as he fell and then did the same for Wick.

  “Let’s go!” cried Rex, charging the door. We exited into a corridor as behind us I heard the repo bots crashing into the room above.

  The repo bots pursued us all the way back to the hangar deck, with Rex pausing occasionally to weld a door shut with the lazegun and the bots breaking through a few seconds later. At last we boarded the Flagrante Delicto and took off, blasting our way through the closed bay doors with the ship’s lazecannons.

  “Space, that was close!” exclaimed Rex. “Sasha, rationalize a course back to the forest moon.”

  “The forest moon is so boring,” said a voice from behind us. “I was thinking we’d take a trip to Gulagatraz.”

  We spun to see a diminutive figure wearing a sleek black bodysuit and a battle helmet. The figure was pointing a lazegun at us.

  CHAPTER SIX

  While holding the lazegun steady on us, the figure pulled off its helmet with its left hand to reveal a seemingly impossible volume of thick black hair framing a pretty freckled face. She shook her head, whipping most of her hair behind her shoulders. Rex and
Wick gasped. Typical human males.

  “Drop your weapon,” she said.

  Rex set down his lazegun.

  “Kick it over to me. Gently.”

  Rex kicked the lazegun across the floor.

  “Who . . . ?” started Wick.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, sport,” said the woman. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. “Name’s Pepper Mélange.” She unzipped her suit to her sternum, revealing cleavage that must have been held up by some sort of scaffolding. Reaching into the cavernous bodice, she produced a glossy business card that she held out to Rex. Wick intercepted it, snatching it from her hand and holding it to his cheek.

  “It’s still warm,” he murmured.

  “Give me that, you idiot,” snapped Rex, grabbing the card. “Ooh,” he said. “It is warm.”

  I snatched the card from Rex. It read:

  PEPPER MÉLANGE

  FUGITIVE RECOVERY AGENT

  REFERENCES AVAILABLE ON REQUEST

  “You’re a bounty hunter?” asked Rex, reading the card over my shoulder. “I thought they were all smelly old men hunched over plastiwood desks in cramped offices on Gulagatraz.”

  Rex’s description was sadly accurate. The idea of interstellar bounty hunters traveling the galaxy apprehending criminals and deadbeats to haul them before a local crime boss on some far-flung world, while exciting and romantic, bears little relation to the way debt collection is actually handled these days. The primary responsibility of thirty-first-century bounty hunters is to allocate repo bots across the galaxy in an optimal distribution pattern designed for maximum return on investment. As repo bots are self-sustaining, self-replicating, and self-directing (within limits), the job of a bounty hunter lies somewhere between taxi dispatcher and sheepherder in terms of romantic appeal.

  When a default on a major debt (say, a debt of 1.6 billion credits) is reported to the Galactic Credit Bureau, they alert the Bounty Hunter Guild via the Galactic Hypernet, and the guild members send bulletins to their respective repo bots with details on the case. Sometimes it’s a simple repossession, in which case the bots will attempt to locate and deliver the property to the bureau. In a case where the collateral can’t be seized or isn’t of sufficient value to cover the outstanding debt (or both, as in our case), the bots will attempt to capture the debtor himself and deliver him to the bureau to “renegotiate” the debt. Debt renegotiations conducted by the Galactic Credit Bureau make Malarchian torture sessions look like a luxury spa treatment.

  “I prefer the old-fashioned approach,” said Pepper. “Repo bots are fine as far as they go, but the high-value targets generally require a personal touch. And you are high value, aren’t you, Rex Nihilo? Ten percent of 1.6 billion credits will set me up for a long time.”

  “Good luck collecting it,” said Rex. “If I’m not mistaken, bounty hunters are paid out of the money collected from the apprehended party. I don’t have anywhere near 1.6 billion credits.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “Fifty million credits. That leaves you with five million.”

  Pepper shrugged. “Better than nothing. I never figured you had 1.6 billion anyway. Nobody does. Except maybe Gavin Larviton.”

  “Don’t talk to me about Gavin Larviton,” Rex growled.

  “Sore spot, eh?” said Pepper.

  “That bastard is the one who got me into this mess. How would you feel about ten million?”

  “Are you trying to bribe me, Mr. Nihilo?” asked Pepper, with a coy smile.

  “I’m merely observing that ten million now is better than five million after a trip to Gulagatraz, not to mention the hours you’d spend doing the paperwork involved with turning me in.”

  “You aren’t really in a position to negotiate, Nihilo. If I were the sort to take bribes, I’d insist on the full fifty million, and you’d give it to me. Of course if the bureau found out, they’d revoke my license and lock me up in Gulagatraz. Not to mention the fact that although you’d be out the fifty million, you’d still be wanted by every repo bot in the galaxy. No, I think I’ll just save us all a lot of trouble and turn you in.” She reached into her bodice again, pulling out a small spool of carbon polymer thread. “Robot, tie up your friends.”

  I looked to Rex and he nodded. There wasn’t much else we could do under the circumstances.

  I bound Rex’s and Wick’s hands and feet and then tied them each to a chair. When I was finished, Pepper did the same to me. She went to the nav computer and began rationalizing a course. Within minutes, we were on our way to the most hated destination in the galaxy: the holding facilities of Gulagatraz, where we would await a debt adjudication hearing with a representative of the Galactic Credit Bureau. Technically Wick and I were not wanted for debt crimes, but bounty hunters are empowered to apprehend anyone in the vicinity of the target in the hopes that friends and associates might be used to apply additional pressure on the debtor.

  The optimal result of the adjudication hearing, from the GCB’s perspective, would be to immediately secure payment for the outstanding debt. Barring that, the bureau might accept partial payment and institute a payment schedule at usurious interest rates. In the case of large debts, the debtor is released under the recognizance of several repo bots, who hound the debtor mercilessly until the debt is paid in full. If it becomes clear to the GCB that the debtor is unable to pay, the debt is “renegotiated.” Renegotiation consists of commuting the unpaid balance into pain and suffering to be doled out to the debtor in the torture chambers far below the surface of Gulagatraz.4

  Pepper landed the Flagrante Delicto at the Gulagatraz spaceport, cut our bonds, and marched us off the ship. As we exited, a sleek little black cruiser settled down nearby. Pepper patted the landing gear as we passed. “Good girl,” she said.

  “Nice ship,” said Rex. “Is it yours?”

  “My kitty follows me wherever I go,” said Pepper, flashing a smile at Rex. I looked up to see the words Bad Little Kitty painted on the ship’s side. Rex and Wick looked at each other and giggled. I rolled my eyes.

  Regaining his composure, Rex started, “Miss Mélange . . .”

  “Please, call me Pepper,” she said, still holding the lazegun on Rex. “And if this is another bribe attempt, save your breath.”

  “Pepper,” said Rex. “I wouldn’t insult your professional dignity by offering you a bribe. However, allow me to paint for you a more complete picture of my current financial situation.”

  “Is this going to take long?” We had entered the spaceport building and Pepper was herding us toward a shuttle to the Galactic Credit Bureau’s offices. “It’s only a five-minute ride to the bail office.”

  “Not at all,” said Rex. “As I mentioned earlier, although I owe 1.6 billion credits, I only have at present about fifty million. However, I’m working on a plan that should net me several billion within the next six months. If you hold off on turning me in until then, you’ll get ten percent of the full debt. That’s a hundred and sixty million instead of five million.”

  “Thanks for doing the math for me,” said Pepper, ushering us onto the shuttle. “Numbers are hard. And thanks for the thoughtful offer, but no. I’ll take the five million now. Bird in the hand and all that, you know.”

  “Your loss,” said Rex.

  We rode the shuttle to the offices of the Galactic Credit Bureau. Gulagatraz was originally only a prison, but a whole city of bail bond agencies, private investigators, lawyers, tattoo parlors, and related interests had grown up around it. The largest of these was the Galactic Credit Bureau. Pepper Mélange marched us inside and unceremoniously dumped us at the bail office. From there we were deposited by a bailiff into a holding cell, which was really a small plateau atop a narrow pillar of rock inside a vast underground cavern. The cavern was dimly lit by phosphorescent lichen on the ceiling far above us. A forest of flat-topped pillars lik
e ours extended as far as we could see in every direction. Some were far taller and some were shorter, but most of them seemed to be about the same height as ours. They all looked to be about five meters across, with ten meters or so between each pillar. The bottoms of the pillars were lost in the darkness hundreds of meters below. I wondered whether I could leap to a pillar roughly even with ours. Probably not. And even if I could, I’d have no way of knowing whether I was any closer to the exit. And I’d have to make at least a dozen more leaps before I had any idea. No, escape wasn’t an option. We’d just have to wait for the GCB to come for us.

  I’d heard of people waiting for months to have their cases adjudicated, but one benefit of owing an almost impossibly large amount of money is that every minute you languish in a cell represents potential lost revenue for the debt holder—in our case, around six hundred credits per minute in interest alone. Fifteen minutes after we arrived, a hoverpod buzzed down from the darkness, parking itself next to our cell long enough for a dozen repo bots to flutter out and cajole us inside. The door slammed shut and we zipped away. Not five minutes later we were deposited in what seemed to be sort of a vast underground foyer. Around us, hoverpods were depositing other unlucky debtors, who were then prodded by armored bailiffs with painsticks toward one of a series of doors that lined the circular wall of the room.

  As I paused a moment to take in the spectacle, one of the bailiffs ran up to us carrying a short pole with a small black globe that crackled inside with lightning: a painstick. Our hoverpod scooted away toward some hidden opening in the cavern, and Wick gave a yelp as the bailiff poked him in the rear with the globe. “Move!” shouted the bailiff. We moved. The bailiff didn’t bother to give us directions; evidently, standard procedure was to jolt captives like cattle and figure that we’d determine the correct course through trial and error. All the other bailiffs behaved similarly; I reasoned that it had to do with language barriers: there were galactic citizens here from a dozen different species and from worlds I had probably never heard of. Apparently, falling behind on one’s payments was a failing common to all races and civilizations. In any case, judging from the yelps, moans, and shrieks arising from our fellow cattle, pain was a universal language.