'Cavalry? Indians?' De-Felke muttered, now completely confused.
'We've got company!' Sandpiper exclaimed from the window. 'It's definitely time to leave!'
Moss quickly strode to the other window and peered carefully past the drawn blinds. The apartment was sited above a shop, alongside a bustling pedestrian market in the heart of the Samarcian city. Down in the street below hawkers sold numerous items from all the corners of the interstellar commonwealth. There were meats and spices from distant worlds, electronic goods produced in orbiting factories and clothing of all shapes and fashions. Buyers and sellers mingled in the thick morning air, the noise of their negotiated transactions filtering through the closed and sealed windows of the apartment.
Despite the hustle and bustle in the street, Sandpiper didn't need to point out the goons to Moss. It was strange, the Terran operant thought to himself, that despite the vast space-time that separated this Samarcian society and his own world, the basic nature of people remained unchanged. Here, as at home, a trained eye could always spot a tail. It was something in the body language, the stance, the supposedly casual glances, which always gave them away. Amidst the almost random chaos that ruled in the city street, more than anything it was the purposeful way in which the goons moved, compared to the mayhem about them, which made them so easy to spot.
Moss counted nine of them strategically sited where they could easily watch the shop front, which led up to the apartment. A couple of them pretended to be street traders, another couple pretended to be shopping, whilst another lay in a supposed drunken stupor by another shop door. Unsurprisingly, they all appeared to have large wrapped packages close to hand. The natives were definitely not friendly.
'I'm sure an intelligent chap like yourself has arranged for an escape route out of this place,' Moss asked the journalist over his shoulder. 'Where is it?'
De-Felke hesitated, for the first time he could ever remember, he was out of his depth. If the Shanoa and her murdered crew had indeed come from the distant future, then so did these strangers. And these people had managed to walk straight into his hide-away and take control of the situation! The question was, could he trust them? Would he be better off in the company of the mad monk's friends, or would his life expectancy improve if Jelde’s Secret Service thugs caught him?
'Go ahead, tell them Slimy,' his assistant Qbec urged. 'These guys are for real, I'm certain of it. You know as well as I do, that Jelde and the Starweb Corporation will stop at nothing to terminate us. None of them can afford live witnesses to what's been happening. Our only chance is to throw in our lot with this crowd.'
The journalist looked at the one called Moss who turned and met his gaze steadily. There was something about the eyes, something that suggested he should trust this alien young man. What it was, De-Felke couldn't figure out; at least not yet. So it was, that despite his years of being a cynical hack, trusting virtually nobody and always looking after number one, he shrugged and said, 'There's a false panel in the corridor. It leads to a ladder and drop shaft.'
'Where does it go?' The tall dark-haired stranger standing next to Dakol asked.
'It goes into a service tunnel that goes under the street and comes out at the back of the shoe shop on the other side of the street,' he answered.
Sandpiper went with Qbec to check-out the hidden panel. Within moments, he turned and nodded to Moss.
'Not perfect, but not bad my friend,' Moss said with an easy grin, stepping away from the window. 'I suggest we all leave now, the baddies are crossing the street. Lead the way, De-Felke.'
Somewhat reluctantly, the News-web hack ushered them all into the hidden tunnel and carefully resealed the panel behind them. The sound of footsteps climbing the ancient creaking stairs told him their departure was only just in time.
The group descended one by one down the ladder. At the bottom, De-Felke took the lead and bent low, they all crawled through the dusty, insect-ridden service tunnel. Moss took the rear and carefully used his sense of perception to search for signs of pursuit—there were none. For the moment at least, their opposition was nonplussed at finding the apartment deserted, and had yet to discover the hidden panel. By the time they did, Moss was confident they would have slipped away.
The tunnel led to another short ladder and within minutes the group of fugitives were leaving the small broom cupboard at the rear of the shoe shop. There was no sign of the shop owner as they cautiously moved to the front of the store. The blinds were pulled down and the door locked. Moss presumed the shopkeeper was in the pay of the news-hack and had sensibly decided to disappear for a while, probably warned by the opening of the hidden panel. Not that it really mattered, their main priority now was to hide themselves in the milling crowds of busy lunchtime shoppers.
He joined Jenson who was cautiously peering past shoe displays at the street outside.
'I figure if we leave the shop quietly in ones and two's, nobody will even glance at us,' the veteran pilot suggested to the younger man. 'There's some scarves and headgear on sale in the corner there we can use to disguise brother Dakol. Wearing hats to keep the sun off your head is virtually de-rigueur here. If we play our cards right there's no reason why he shouldn't just merge into the crowd.'
'Sounds like a sensible plan,' Moss agreed. 'We just need to agree on a rendezvous…'
A tingling in the base of his neck made him turn around suddenly, just in time to see a lithe, sporty woman rise from behind one of the highly polished counters. Her face was scornful and she cradled a large, and very mean looking automatic in her well-muscled arms. Moss only had to look at the way she stood to realise they were facing a consummate professional. The lady was a killer, but something else as well…something he had yet to encounter on Samarcia.
'Really, De-Felke, I am disappointed... I would have thought you could have come up with something more original than this,' she said scornfully, carefully covering the group of them with her weapon. Sandpiper looked to Jenson for a sign to take action, but the veteran noticed the puzzled frown on Moss's face. Something was up, so he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
'How did you know where to find us?' the journalist asked, his face completely crestfallen. He tried to control the shaking, but failed. He'd met a lot of killers in his time, but Jelde was the worst of the bunch. The bitch was totally incapable of feeling compassion for others. She committed murder with a cold, professional precision.
'You're a creature of habit De-Felke. At some time or other, you've used all your safe houses here on Samarcia. You should have known I'd always be able to keep tabs on you,' she told him dispassionately. 'You may be a good hack, but you're fracking useless at subterfuge.'
'So those goons who went in via the front-door were just a ruse to flush us out?' the hack asked looking for some leverage, some point over which they could bargain. 'Or are you freelancing for a particular corporation? Because if you are, then as soon as you kill us, they'll terminate you! You know that don't you?'
'The idiots who went in through the front door are Secret Service agents and not very good ones at that,' the inspector confirmed. 'Officially, I'm currently on leave De-Felke. I've elected to spend some time resolving a personal matter; this one!'
She looked at each of them one by one, taking in their facial features and mentally matching them to the profiles, she had memorised. She felt a particular sense of self-satisfaction at being able to net all her quarry in one haul.
'As you and your new friends will be aware, the stakes have changed considerably since we began this enterprise,' she continued in a cold, calculating manner. 'We need to review the sit…'
Her voice trailed off and her gaze fixed on Moss, her face a picture of total astonishment.
'What are you doing?' Jelde called out in her mind as the Terran operant attempted to scan her thoughts.
Moss was surprised at the strength of the mental barriers drawn up by the Samarcian. He was sure it was an instinctive reaction to meeting his
own mind. The woman's talent was latent, barely used, but she was undoubtedly an operant. The first and only telepath he had encountered on their mission so far.
'Don't you know?' he responded in surprise. 'Are you really so unaware of your own abilities?'
'What abilities?' came the almost panicky response. 'Get out of my head freak!'
'You really don't know you're an operant?' Moss persisted, genuinely puzzled that the Samarcian woman was unaware of her talents. 'Can it really be possible that you've been keeping it suppressed for so long?'
It was obvious from the look on Jelde's face that she was becoming panic-stricken. Although she never uttered a word, her features quickly became contorted in an expression of stark fear. Here was a woman who until this moment had maintained total control of her life. She had faced and conquered numerous opponents in the past through strength of will, and as Moss had just discovered, more than a modicum of talent.
However, directly meeting another more potent mind for the first time in her life, had thrown her completely. The rest of the group didn't know what was going on, although Jenson and Sandpiper had a pretty good idea. They could see the inspector's concentration was wavering. Which was why in an act of desperation, De-Felke lunged at the staggering, unfocused Jelde.
The hack threw himself upon her, desperately reaching for the swaying, heavy automatic. Head bowed he lunged into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her, whilst simultaneously grabbing for the muzzle of the weapon. Seeing what was happening, Moss cursed and tried to jab at the operant Samarcian's mind in an attempt to keep her physically and mentally unbalanced. However, he was unprepared for the strength, possibly spurred on by fear, of the woman's mental barriers. He could blast his way through, but the blow would kill her and that was something he didn't want to happen.
So there was only one thing he could do in that situation; duck. And the rest of the group hit the deck at about the same time. Which was just as well, because despite having to struggle physically with De-Felke and mentally with Moss, the desperate Secret Service Inspector pulled the trigger of her over-sized weapon.
There was a blast of gunfire, which in the closed confines of the shoe shop was deafeningly loud. The flashes of muzzle blast were closely followed by disintegrating shoes and splinters of wood and perspex. As a bizarre shaped stiletto hurtled past Jenson's head it crossed his mind that this was the first, and hopefully last time, his life would be threatened by a woman's slipper.
Braving the mayhem, Sandpiper launched himself at the struggling inspector and journalist. With years of gutter-fighting experience and a squat body made-up of heavy muscle, it took just two single blows to end the conflict. A strike to a neck pressure point put Jelde out cold, whilst a blow to the stomach left De-Felke doubled-up and groaning loudly.
Getting up off the floor and dusting himself down, Jenson looked at the chaos and commented, 'Oh crap…'
Moss dashed to the front of the shop and peered across the street. His worst fears were confirmed when he saw pedestrians gawking and gesticulating at the now ruined shoe shop. Faces appeared at the windows of the apartment they had just vacated. It was obviously only going to be a matter of minutes before the goons steamed their way through the staring crowds.
'Okay gang let's go!' he called out to the others. 'Is anybody hurt?'
'The bitch is out cold and the hack is puking his guts up, but he'll live,' Sandpiper answered flatly. 'Canderal and the brother are a bit shook up, but the gunfire mercifully missed everybody.'
'Get up De-Felke,' Moss grabbed the hack by the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet. 'Serves you right for trying to be a sodding hero, and nearly getting us all killed.'
The journalist swayed on his feet, his face pale and sickly looking. His response was to groan loudly once more.
'What do you want me do to with our friend here?' Sandpiper gesticulated at the unconscious Jelde, jabbing his boot into her ribs. 'Leave her? Kill her?'
Moss shook his head. 'There's no time to explain now, but unfortunately we need the bitch to complete our mission. You're a strong lad Han, can you carry her?'
Sandpiper gave him a curious look, then shrugged and unceremoniously threw the woman over his shoulder. Jenson had already found the rear entrance to the shop and with pocket-blaster drawn, led the fugitives away from the scene of devastation.
With a sigh, Sandpiper adjusted the weight of his load and uttered to his old friend with feeling, 'Why is it we're always on the run? I seem to have spent my whole life running from somebody or other. I'm getting too old for this Moss.'
'Buggered if I know,' the younger Terran answered, shepherding the monk and the teenage girl past piles of smelly refuse. 'Besides, you love it really mate. You'd get bored otherwise.'
'Bored?' came the hissed reply. 'Being bored would be a bloody luxury—duck!'
Moss did as he was told, pulling his escort down with him at the same time, as a projectile just missed his head. Taking cover behind a fire escape, he peered up the narrow back-alley, which was adjacent to the shop. Cursing and admonishing himself for not concentrating and using his fine-tuned sense of perception to track their pursuers, he realised they were being hemmed in. His contact with the woman's raw Samarcian mind had thrown him more than he'd imagined, and now their avenue of escape had been cut.
Hiding behind a low wall, Jenson loosed off a couple of rounds at one of the goons, but aimed slightly high.
'I'm open to suggestions,' he called out to Moss as the firefight intensified. It was obvious the Secret Service agents had been ordered to kill them rather than simply capture them. The presence of Jelde wasn't deterring them either.
'You know how we agreed to try and not kill anybody?' he continued, 'Just in case we upset space-time? Well, I was wondering whether we could adjust that?'
The Terran operant aimed carefully and winged one of the agents, but he could see they were out-gunned and out-manoeuvred. Their options were narrowing rapidly, and the time for drastic action was nearly at hand. He was about to tell Jenson and Sandpiper to take out as many of their opponents as possible, whilst he mentally blasted the remainder, when he perceived some new players entering the game.
For the second time in less than an hour his mind registered the presence of a Samarcian operant. However, unlike the still unconscious Jelde, this mind was at least aware of its talents. The stranger's mind briefly made contact with his own, outlining its intentions and identifying its allegiance.
'Hold your fire Paul,' Moss called out to the Terran pilot. 'The rest of the cavalry are on the way.'
'Cavalry?' Jenson exclaimed. 'What cavalry?'
At which point there was a brief, but intense, exchange of small-arms fire from either end of the narrow back-alley. In less than a minute, it was all over, and a group of scruffy, but efficient looking characters made their way toward the hiding fugitives.
'Nobody fire!' Moss told them all. 'This lot are on our side!'
'On our side?' De-Felke spluttered, still recovering from his earlier violent incident. 'I didn't know anybody was on our side!'
Qbec, the other News-Web journalist narrowed her eyes, peering at the approaching men and women. She concentrated on the taller, bearded figure that led the small group approaching from the left and exclaimed, 'That's Lollo Rosalio, head of the Eco-Terrorist group!'
Sandpiper peered at the man as he stepped up to them. The stranger was taller than most Samarcians, with sandy-blond hair and dark intense eyes. He wore the loose fitting robes that were normal for the occupants of that part of the home world.
The city of Ottawon, despite being built next to a large river estuary, was in an area of Samarcia that had a sub-tropical climate. Although all of the newer buildings—at least those built in the past century or two, were air conditioned, those in the old quarter, where they were now, were virtually devoid of such niceties. Hence the traditional attire of cool, light-coloured and loose fitting apparel.
'It would appear tha
t we have arrived just in time my friends,' the political activist began. 'I believe you would have all been in great difficulty otherwise.'
'Who the hell are you?' Jenson demanded, his blaster still drawn.
'Ah I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself,' the weathered face beamed back at the Terran. 'My name is…'
'Lollo Rosalio, head of the "Eco-Saviours", a renegade organisation which actively seeks to disrupt the expansion of industrialization in the commonwealth,' De-Felke interrupted, repeating verbatim the memorised data file on the notorious outlaw. 'That much we know, what we don't know is why he's here, and why his activists have just killed a whole group of Secret Service Agents!'
Further dialog was halted by the noisy arrival of a large refuse truck, reversing up the narrow back alley. It was gaudily painted in the colours of the municipal council and stank of rotting fruit, vegetables and other foodstuffs. It reversed at a break-neck speed ignoring sacks of rubbish piled high on each side of the alley. With a screech of brakes, it came to a halt scant metres from the cowering fugitives.
'As much as I would like to answer all your questions right now,' Rosalio told them, 'time is not on our side. Your little escapade has upset the local constabulary, who are going to be even more pissed at the loss of so many Secret Service agents. There is a fleet of police ornithopters and patrol cars dashing toward this spot. They'll be here any time now, so I suggest we expedite our departure.'
'In that thing?' Qbec exclaimed with a look of revulsion. 'You've got to be kidding!'
'It's not exactly the kind of luxury limousine you may be used to,' the activist replied. 'But it is safe. What do you think are the chances of a reeking garbage truck being searched?'
'You have a point,' the assistant journalist conceded. 'But I think I'm going to be sick anyhow.'
Jenson and Sandpiper looked at their younger friend. They weren't going anywhere unless Moss agreed to it. Neither of them was sure what was going on, but they trusted the Terran operant implicitly. If it was good enough for him, then it was Okay by them.
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