The Clan Chronicles--Tales from Plexis
Page 9
“Are you decent, sweeties? Can I interrupt?”
“Sure, Rose.”
She bustled in, catching up a bright green shawl from a hook by the viswall before waving at them. “I’m off. Can you lads look after the shop? Myrtle, Paige, and I are having a Business Co-op meeting at the Exalted Goddess Tea Room, and then we’re going clubbing. If you get hungry, there’s a pot of veggie stew in the back kitchen. The one on the right, not the one on the left. That’s patchouli oil for the candles. Share it with any customers hanging around at meal time. The stew, not the oil. Try not to stay open too late, but if you do, please don’t play any of Atomic Planet’s newer songs, okay? It sets off the crystals. Try their earlier, more conceptual work.” She gave them what amounted to a shrewd look for Rose, but it mostly came across as slightly worried. “If you use the comp for anything other than business, take the usual precautions, use the secondary password, that sort of thing. No one’s staying upstairs, so feel free to sleep there. I wish you lads would decide to live in. There’s plenty of room, and I’d feel better knowing you were all safe, but make up your own minds, of course.” She kissed each of them on the cheek. “Warren’s in charge. Ter-rah, lovies.”
She bustled out again.
“Add a bit of Rose to your day for health and happiness,” Jack murmured, his mood gems flashing a warm purple.
“Sonic.” Warren headed for the door. “I’ll take the counter; like I said, I’ve got some thinking to do. You two get busy with the recon. I’ll need it by tonight.”
Daniel and Jack nodded.
* * *
• • •
“There’s gonna be about forty of them, all mid-level execs, arriving the day after tomorrow,” Daniel reported. “They’ve booked a whole luxury package with the station: spas, shopping, banquets, workouts, and seminars, ending with the event. It’s all there.” He handed Warren a plas sheet. “A freighter called the Trident out of Ormagal Prime is bringing the Anisoptera by tripbox, like you figured; stasis to keep ’em dormant. Here’s the dimensions. They’re due to dock beside the yacht two days after Lithe-Lime comes in.”
“Regs, Jack?”
Daniel and Warren hushed expectantly as the other pulled an old, much battered book from his pocket. Jack’s father, a notoriously intractable Port Authority Inspector, had disappeared six years before while fighting the trafficking of sapients by Recruiters. His manual of Trade Pact regulations was all that Jack had of him, and the son knew each and every one of the father’s tenets of behavior, how they were enforced, and how their loopholes were exploited. And the best way to get a punch in the head was to even look like you were going to call his father a Port Jelly. Now he straightened, cupping the book in his hands the way a Turrned Missionary might clasp a theological relic.
“There’s no reg for the symbolic murder of a whole group of innocent creatures,” he said with some heat. “And the Anisoptera don’t fall under any endangered or destructive reg. Because a group on Ladin V still uses ’em in their Adult Initiation feasts, C. M. P.’s legal lackies classed them under the Interspecies Food Transport regs on their Plexis Entry Request docs rather than the Live Product or Live Promotional regs ’cause they’re a lot less strict. The specs on the tripbox they’re using fall within range. We can’t use regs. Even the latest updates won’t help.”
He put the book away and, as if released from a religious rite, Daniel shook himself.
“The tripbox’ll be unloaded first and transported to C. M. P.’s facility. The layout’s here.” He passed over another plas sheet. “It’s a retrofit from Chew-able Luxuries. They have four coolers and two freezers behind the showroom to the left of the offices and viewing rooms. C. M. P. are using the freezers for bodies and the coolers for food and things like keeping the Anisoptera dormant.”
“Security tech?”
“Nothing we can’t bypass with the right pass-cards,” Jack sniffed dismissively. “And they’re easy enough to get.”
Daniel passed over another plas sheet. “C. M. P.’s staff and itinerary. They’re having an open house and then a private party after the opening catered by Claws & Jaws. All in all, about twenty-four beings. They’re on a shifting day/night schedule; station norm for now, but that changes to suit their clientele. Lithe-Lime works on the Camos timeline since that’s where their headquarters are.”
He broke off to head into the back kitchen, reappearing with a huge plate of pastries. “There’s no more stew,” he announced mournfully. “I knew we shouldn’t have let the Random Rocks rep have seconds.”
“Security schedules.” Once Daniel’d taken a seat, Jack dumped an entire pile of plas sheets on the table. Warren glared at him, and he snickered. “Don’t have colon collapse, okay. They’re in order: docking, C. M. P.’s level, and any other security schedules that might be useful for the next week, especially on this level.”
Warren nodded. “Okay,” he said, catching up a pastry. “I’ll need to digest all this, but we can move on to the Supplies stage for now. First, since we can’t hijack the tripbox . . . What?” he asked when the other boys gave him an incredulous look. “How’d you figure we’d get away with that, never mind hide it and then get it on a transport outta here?”
“So how’re we gonna get the Anisoptera away?” Daniel asked.
“I told you; I have an idea about that. It’s not thrashed out fully yet, but trust me, it’ll work. But we need a way to get into the tripbox. Getting the pass-codes would be good, but a way to make it look like the security and temperature controls failed would be best, ’cause we’re probably gonna have to revive them first. If not, we’ll have to go in with a simple smash-grab-and-stash and wait till they wake. For that, we’ll need a specialty tool.”
“Like a biodisruptor, only for metal?” Jack asked, stuffing a pastry into his mouth and spewing crumbs across the table.
Warren brushed them off his plas sheets. “Yeah, like that.”
“Easy-peasy translight-squeezy. Let me know when you need it.”
Warren frowned at him. “Try for the codes first, then the big weapon, okay?” He sat back. “The next thing we need is an alibi, something public. We’re jumping the blast cube on this a bit ’cause I haven’t figured out the best time to liberate the Anisoptera yet, but I’m open to alibi ideas that’ll keep security off our backs, especially after.”
Jack grinned widely, the mood gems flashing a deep, mischievous orange. “I’ve got the perfect one.”
* * *
• • •
Daniel stared down at the three retro-style rectangular concert plas tickets in horror.
“No, no, no, NO!”
“You sound like Faz,” Jack snickered.
“Now I know how he feels. No!”
“It’s a great idea.”
“I hate AfterBRNR! You know I hate AfterBRNR!”
“The whole station knows you hate AfterBRNR,” Warren observed dryly.
“You already have the T-shirts,” Jack continued. “We each wear one. We go in the front, Kibibi sneaks us out the back—she’ll do it; she likes me.”
“You wish,” Warren snorted. “Kibibi likes Fems.”
“Not likes me like that, likes me like she likes me, like she thinks I’m a nice guy.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Daniel muttered.
“Because I am a nice guy, that’s why. Quit interrupting. We do the job, Kibibi sneaks us back in the back, and we waltz out the front when the concert’s over. And what’s even better . . .” He paused for dramatic emphasis. “Constable Hutton’s working the front door; before and after the concert. We make sure she sees us, and we’ve got the best witness we could ask for. Everyone on Plexis knows she can’t be bought. If she says she saw us going in and coming out, no one’ll question it. You could even complain about how much you hate AfterBRNR as we go past her to make sure she notices us. After that, we�
��ll have an entire theater’s worth of witnesses to draw on.”
“Why, are you planning to force us to rush the stage?”
“If that’s what it takes!”
“Forget it!”
“Stop being such a whiny baby!”
“You stop being such a sphincter!”
“Enough!” Warren’s shout spun them both around. “It’s perfect, we’re doing it, get over it.”
Daniel glared at him, then dropped into a chair with a disgusted expression. “I hate Soft Blast music,” he muttered. “It gives me ear hives.”
“So now we have the date for the job,” Warren said, pointedly ignoring him. “We still need to crack the tripbox, though.” He stood. “But tomorrow. It’s late. I’m gonna catch some zees.” He headed for the back door. “You two sleeping here?”
Daniel nodded, but Jack shook his head. “I got things to do.”
“Okay. Don’t forget to reset the pass-code for whatever door you go through, and try not to get arrested if you get into a fight. We don’t want your security contacts ticked off at you this week.”
“Yes, Rose. No, Rose. I’m a big boy, Rose, I know how to keep outta trouble, Rose.”
Warren rolled his eyes. “Dazer’s right,” he noted. “You are a sphincter.”
Jack just blew him a loud kiss before heading out the front.
* * *
• • •
The next day, Daniel was working the counter while Rose explained the use of essential oils to counteract deep space fur-frizz to a group of Turrneds, when Jack slouched in.
“Any luck on the codes?”
“Not yet.”
The afternoon was the same. Warren tidied all his plans away and took the counter while Jack assisted Rose with her ceramics class in the storeroom and Daniel manned the comp. When the shop closed, Warren took over the system, while Rose directed Daniel through a dizzying amount of inventory and Jack stocked shelves.
The second day went no better. Jack spent most of the day running errands for his security contacts and spying on the Lithe-Lime execs swarming the station like a crowd of tall, fit, Turrned Missionaries preaching the benefits of regular exercise. Daniel had to meet with three of Rose’s suppliers, leaving Warren to move between customers, counter, comp, and Rose. When they finally met in the backroom over flatbread and sarlas paste, Warren pushed back from the table with a weary sigh.
“Okay, that’s a crash landing. We go to Plan B.”
Jack grinned, mouth awash with orange and gleeful red flashes. “We bust in?”
“So that it looks like the controls failed,” Warren cautioned. “It can’t look like a bust in. And it’ll have to be done right under C. M. P.’s noses ’cause the tripbox’ll be in the cooler by the night of the concert. So we’ll need you to sign the fastest, safest, and farthest from the repair schedule route between the two sites, Dazer.”
“On it.”
“Do we need to bust into the cooler, too?” Jack’s mood gems flashed even brighter, if possible.
Daniel shook his head. “We’ve got those codes. They never changed ’em from when they were Chew-able Luxuries.”
“Okay. We’ll need something to break into the tripbox while messing up its locking and temperature controls so that it looks like that’s why it popped. I know just the guy to ask.” Jack texted furiously into his wrist com, then nodded in satisfaction at the reply before bounding for the door. “You coming, Dazer?”
Daniel blinked at him for a moment, then nodded his understanding. “We’re not meeting at the restaurant.”
It wasn’t a question, but Jack shook his head anyway.
“At a table on the concourse.”
“Yeah, I’m coming. He’ll bring food.”
“Wark?”
“No. I’ve got a few more details to work out, and I’ve gotta talk to Rose. Bring me some back.”
“No promises,” Jack warned.
Warren gave him a baleful look. “You’d better promise, little Hom, or you’ll find yourself bounced out an air lock.”
Jack just laughed.
* * *
• • •
The main doors of the Claws & Jaws: Complete Interspecies Cuisine could be seen from the cluster of tables in the main concourse. Jack dropped bonelessly into a chair where he could watch for its proprietor while Daniel pressed his back against a nearby pillar. Swiping irritably at an ad that hovered just out of reach, its tinny voice replaying its message of the upcoming AfterBRNR concert over and over, he tried to keep his chest from tightening. Huido Maarmatoo’kk was big, even for a Carasian, but he was not the biggest Daniel’d ever seen.
His mother had died of a ysa-smoke overdose when he’d been nine. His father, a ysa-smoke addict himself, had somehow managed to stumble into a restricted docking area and pick a grief-induced fight with the first being he’d met. It turned out to be one of Huido’s newly arrived nonsentient wives, hungry and out-of-sorts from her journey. Sent to find him by the med unit, Daniel’d arrived just in time to see the towering Carasian female take his father’s head in one massive claw, squeeze, then start to eat.
He had no memory of running forward, of being snatched into the air by Constable Hutton in the nick of time, of being carried away, screaming and struggling, and of being sedated in the same med room where his mother’s body still lay. He had no idea if there’d been an investigation or even a funeral. His parents had been station dregs, barely able to pay their air tax. When he’d finally come to, it was as if they’d never existed. It was years before he learned that Huido had paid Plexis his med bills.
The Carasian himself had always been very kind to him, taking an interest in his welfare, finding him work among the restaurant owners and merchants of his acquaintance and ensuring he had food and shelter when needed. He’d introduced him to Jack who’d introduced him to Rose. He’d never made a threatening gesture in his direction, or even raised his voice, but the sight of his huge carapace and great, snapping claws still made Daniel’s breathing come in short, rasping gasps.
Now, he rejoined Jack as the crowds instinctively parted before the large, armor-plated Carasian striding through their midst, his ever-present Human servant, Ansel, carrying a large takeaway box, following behind.
The other rose at their approach, his expression and his posture formal. Jack both liked and respected Huido, but had never, and would never, set foot in the Claws & Jaws, even though Huido had explained to him, with a rare display of patience, that all species had to eat to survive, and many had to eat live food; it was nature’s way. Jack accepted this but remained adamant, and Huido, in another rare display of patience, had agreed to rendezvous outside his establishment whenever the two needed to meet.
Settling his great bulk so that his lower claws hit the floor with an audible click, Huido gestured at Ansel with one upper claw, a full third of his eyes watching with obvious amusement as Jack tried to ignore the box placed in front of him. Another third watched Daniel, while the remainder kept an eye on the concourse, the nearby rival restaurants, and his own front doors.
“Russell, Kekoa,” he said, his voice reverberating through the two plates that held his eyes and mouth. “I hope you’re both keeping out of trouble and this sudden gathering is not because you need my protection against the Hard Core Iglies.”
Jack raised his upper lip in a dignified sneer.
“That vermin knows better than to even look our way,” he replied. “Ever since we put their last leader in a med unit.”
“Glad to hear it. And where is Mwangi today?”
“Covering for Rose. She’s teaching a Meditation during Translight class.”
“Has he heard from his parents recently?”
“Yeah, they’ll be on that paleobotany assignment on Ettler’s Planet for another year.”
“Is his uncle still work
ing on his dissertation?”
Jack shrugged. “Dunno. He hasn’t seen him for two years. They have a tactful agreement.”
Ansel frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means they hate each other, but they both love his folks, so they tactfully pretend he’s still living with him. That for us?” Unable to wait any longer, Jack jerked his chin at the box.
Huido chuckled; a deep rumble that caused the tabletop to vibrate under his upper claws. “A little something my new chef Pearleau is working on: inner nekis bark garnished with elosia flowers. I thought you might give me an opinion.”
Daniel smiled despite his nervousness. Huido had been asking for Jack’s opinion since his mother, a waitress at Claws & Jaws, had run off to the Bonanza Belt with a Kimmcle mine foreman the year before his father had disappeared. It was Huido’s way of ensuring they all had enough to eat without actually offering them charity.
“Pearleau says it comes in a pya reduction,” Huido continued as Jack threw the lid open. “So you won’t need to add any Feenstra’s Patented Hot Sauce. And since Pearleau is probably watching us as we speak, and since she has a tendency to throw things when her cooking is insulted, I suggest you resist the urge to add it just to annoy her.”
Jack laughed, then dug in with gusto, gesturing for Daniel to do the same. The two boys gave the food the attention it deserved until, with obvious reluctance, Jack closed the lid again.
“Tell her it was nebular,” he said.
Three of Huido’s eyestalks stretched toward him in a parody of adult confusion. “I’m not sure she’ll have any idea if that’s a good review or a poor one,” he rumbled.
“A good one, a great one.”
“Well, then, she’ll be pleased. So now that we’ve finished with the culinary portion of your visit—I assume you’ve left enough for Mwangi to partake of later—what is it that you need from me?”
Daniel leaned back, keeping an eye out for approaching Jellies or shoppers who might stray too close to them, while Jack explained their request.