by Terry Mixon
If so, taking the helm controller was overkill. It probably hadn’t kept anything detailed enough to trace the pirates’ movement. That kind of information was kept in the computer core. Flight data was one of the things he hadn’t managed to crack the encryption on.
Brad stepped over to the communications console. “Do you mind?”
“That depends on what you want to do,” the mercenary said without moving. His partner at the hatch grinned at the exchange.
“I want to check the computer to make sure it wasn’t tampered with.”
The man seemed to consider that for a moment before he shrugged. “Keep it simple. I want to be able to track what you’re doing.”
Brad nodded and brought the computer interface up. Rather, he tried to. The console remained stubbornly blank.
“I’m no expert, but isn’t that supposed to do something?” the man asked.
“Yeah. It’s not connecting to the core. I need to open the room and take a look.”
The mercenary gestured for him to proceed.
Brad headed out of the bridge with them at his heels. The computer room was adjacent to the engineering compartment. He saw a problem as soon as he got into the appropriate corridor. The hatch was slightly ajar and the access panel was smashed.
“That doesn’t look promising,” he muttered under his breath.
“Stand clear,” the lead mercenary said, pulling his pistol and angling toward the hatch. His companion settled for putting a hand on his own weapon and watching Brad closely.
The man opened the hatch and went in. He returned a moment later, already holstering his weapon. “All clear, but it looks as if the bastards wanted to trash more than that one console.”
That’s what Brad had been afraid of. He stepped up to the hatch and peered inside.
The computer compartment was a wreck. Someone had smashed everything and stolen the core for good measure. The destruction was total.
It took him another two hours to go over every section of the ship. The intruders hadn’t wrecked anything else, it seemed.
Which hardly trivialized what they’d ruined. He really didn’t want to know how much a new computer core was going to set him back.
Technicians from the Arbiter Guild had arrived in the middle of everything to document the damage, but they hadn’t interfered with his examination. Brad was more than a bit surprised that Arbiter Blaze hadn’t accompanied them.
A bedraggled Marshal finally showed up. Brad had left a message for him to come as soon as he’d reported the damage. It had taken another hour for his pilot to return the call.
Brad was in the captain’s cabin when one of the mercenaries delivered the pilot. He fixed his man with a less-than-happy stare, letting almost all of his anger leak through for once.
“Glad you could make it,” he said flatly.
“Sorry. Late night.” At least Marshal had the decency to look sheepish.
“Uh-huh. I suppose it doesn’t matter this time.” He subtly emphasized the last two words and was pleased to see some recognition in the man’s eyes.
“I’ll do better, boss. Promise. What all did he trash and why?”
“The computer core and the helm console. I’m not sure it was Breen, though. I think it might’ve been the pirates.”
Marshal frowned when he explained his line of reasoning. “That seems awfully convoluted. Did they go after the other ships? If it was just ours, I don’t get it.”
It took Brad a moment to get what Marshal meant. The two smaller ships the Rain’s crew had captured.
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “Let’s find out.”
He made a call to the number Arbiter Blaze had given him. She answered a few moments later.
“Mr. Madrid. I hope you aren’t calling to add to the already-impressive list of damages to the ship.”
“Not this time,” Brad told her. “I had a question about the other ships taken in the raid on the Louisiana Rain. Were any of them broken into?”
She shrugged slightly. “I’m not sure. Since there were no competing claims, Astro Transport has possession of them. I suppose you could call Mr. Breen and inquire.”
That got a smile out of him. “I’ll ask him at the hearing.”
“That might be for the best. For what it’s worth, I haven’t heard anything from Ganymede Security about other break-ins. Might I ask why you want to know?”
“I was exploring the idea that Mr. Breen might not have been responsible for the damage. Maybe it was someone that wanted to make certain no one knew precisely where this ship had been. If so, the other pirate ships might have had something similar done to them.”
She considered that for a long moment and nodded slowly. “It’s an interesting idea. I’ll ask in my official capacity during the hearing. Which is in less than two hours, I remind you.”
“I’ll be on time. We’re done here, anyway. I’ll grab something to eat and be at your office in an hour.”
“Very good. I’ll see you then.” She cut the channel.
Marshal frowned. “Are you telling me that I rushed all the way over here for nothing?”
Brad bit back his immediate reaction to snap the man’s head off. Barely. He took a deep breath and counted to five in his head.
“No,” he said calmly once he had done so. “I called you over when I needed you. It’s not my fault I finished before you arrived.”
The pilot opened his mouth to say something but seemed to decide against it. That was probably for the best.
Brad shook his head and started for the exit.
Their mercenary babysitter followed the duo back to the airlock. He stopped when they were clear, and joined his companions.
Deciding to make a fresh start, Brad raised an eyebrow at Marshal. “Do you happen to know a place to get something for lunch? We have a little bit of time.”
“I saw a café not too far from here. Look, I’m sorry. I was up late, but that’s no excuse. I’ll be better once we eat.”
Brad certainly hoped so.
They went a few corridors in from the docks and Marshal gestured toward the place he’d remembered. Café might have been too formal a word for the place, but it had a bustling lunch crowd. Brad saw dock workers, mercenaries, and regular civilians bustling in and out.
He also just happened to catch a glimpse of someone looking in their direction from past the place. The only reason he was sure the man was looking at them was his reaction when noted Brad staring at him.
The man raised his wrist-comp to his lips and said something as he started forward. He slid his hand under his jacket.
Oh, crap.
Brad planted his back to the nearest wall and looked for other hostiles.
He immediately spotted two men trailing them from the docks, and a third angling in from a side corridor. There might have been more in the mass of people swirling around Marshal and him, but Brad had seen more than enough to know they were in deep trouble.
Chapter Nine
Brad charged the man coming from the corridor off to the side. The assailant was behind a large group of tourists. His view of Brad and Marshall couldn’t be good.
If he could, Brad would stick to fists. He really didn’t want to start a gunfight in a crowd. No way that would turn out well. Much less a blade fight. The very thought made him shudder.
Marshal backed his play, cutting in front of the tourists and making enough noise to draw every eye around them.
That turned out to be just enough of a distraction. The man Brad was looking for had turned partway toward the pilot and was heading for him, his hand in his coat, too.
That meant the thug only had a second’s warning when Brad dodged between two women with armfuls of bags and smashed his fist into the man’s face.
The guy was tough. He only staggered back, bringing his hands up to defend himself.
Instead of a gun or blade, the man held a truncheon of some kind. So, this was likely a beating rather than plain murder
. That made things a bit simpler.
Even without a blade in his hand, Brad counted himself as a decent fighter. One more than capable of using terrain to his advantage.
He snatched the steaming coffee from a passerby’s hand and tossed it into his attacker’s face. The scalding liquid completely disrupted any coordinated action on the other man’s part. He screamed and grabbed at his face with both hands.
Brad snatched the truncheon out of his nerveless fingers and gave him a good jab to the gut. That took any thought of fight out of the man.
From the sound behind him, the other attackers were closing in. That got the crowd upset, which only added to the chaos. He hoped that no one got trampled.
Marshal dodged between a couple of gawking dockworkers and slammed his elbow into the side of the attacker’s head. The man went down hard.
“Let’s go!” Brad shouted, taking off into the corridor ahead of them. It seemed clear of potential threats.
The pilot pounded after him. “There’s a bazaar around the next corner, to the right. Head into it and we can get back onto the docks before they know which way we went.”
The best fight was the one you didn’t have to have. Brad hoped they could escape. Otherwise, things would likely escalate and cause him more grief.
Killing pirates was one thing. Ganymede Security had barely questioned Brad once the details of the attack on Louisiana Rain had been established. A fight here was a completely different thing. They’d grill him if anyone got hurt, much less killed.
The bazaar turned out to be more significant than Brad had imagined. It sat in an open compartment big enough to hold thousands of people. Vendors filled hundreds of booths and were selling every imaginable product.
It was astonishing how bright and colorful everything was. A booth at the very entrance was covered in scarves of every imaginable hue. Other people sold a vast array of products all seemingly designed to catch the eye.
The smells of the place were something outside his experience too. Those clashed more than the visual element but less than the noise. Everyone was shouting over everyone else, trying to attract potential buyers and hawk their wares. They probably hadn’t even heard the fight in there.
Marshal had obviously been there yesterday, because he led Brad down one of the wide spaces between booths. In moments, they were part of the crowd.
“Slow down,” Brad said, grabbing the pilot’s arm as he stuffed the truncheon into his belt.
“We have to get out of here before they catch up with us,” Marshal said as he tried to cut between a group of shoppers discussing the benefits of some homeopathic remedies a spindly man in a white robe was pushing on them.
“That’s just going to make us stand out. Slow down and let the crowd mask us. Be one of the shoppers.”
Brad stopped at a booth selling hats and grabbed two at random. He barely heard the amount the woman wanted for them as he presented his wrist-comp. It wasn’t much.
The purchase completed, he handed one to Marshal and put the other one on. It would change his appearance some, but he needed to do more.
A vendor half a dozen stalls down sold clothing, including jackets of various types. Brad was just going to grab two at random, but a rack of midnight blue ones with faint gold piping caught his eye. They were subdued but looked sharp. They might make for decent uniform jackets.
He knew his size and made an educated guess at Marshal’s. Moments later, he was slipping the jacket over his tunic. It fit pretty well. A glance told him that he’d made the right call on the pilot’s jacket, too.
Brad leaned forward. “Can I get this style in bulk? Maybe a dozen or two?”
He had no idea how many crewmen and mercenaries he might end up commanding when this was all settled, but they’d need uniforms. One more expense to his already-impressive list.
“Sure,” the man said as a ruckus broke out at the entrance to the bazaar, drawing the vendor’s eye for a moment. “Whatever you need. I have six dozen back at my shop in various sizes. I’m just rolling the style out, so no one is using them yet.”
Marshal kept glancing back toward the noises in the crowd, so Brad tugged him closer. “Look closely at the detail work, Marshal. Focus on it. Tell me what you really think.”
“That you have ice water in your veins,” the pilot muttered. “It’s a jacket. It looks fine.”
Brad’s “ice water” was fueled by anger at the situation. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
The vendor had a mirror so potential buyers could try things on. Brad used it to watch for their pursuers while simultaneously admiring the cut of the cloth. He saw two of the men rush past the booth without a second glance. The change in appearance had thrown them off.
That ruse might work for a little while, but once they realized they’d lost their targets, they’d circle back around. He and Marshal needed to get a move on.
“I’d like to reserve what you have and hold the design. I’m forming a mercenary company.”
The man grinned. “I can do that, but exclusivity costs a bit more.”
Brad winced at the amount, but if he wanted to have a distinctive look like this, it wouldn’t come cheaply. Sure, others could duplicate it, but he’d be first. They’d be the copycats.
He paid for the jackets and design exclusivity, snagged one of the vendor’s cards, and smiled as he told his comp to also give the man his Guild ID. “Mark them down for Brad Madrid. I’ll be in touch shortly. Thanks.”
Rather than following the two men, Brad led Marshal back the way they’d come. The men would assume they were headed for the docks. Instead, the two of them would make their way deeper into the city.
Marshal obviously thought this was a rash choice, but he limited himself to glancing around nervously.
Brad half-expected one of their pursuers to spot them, but they slipped out of the area with hardly a peep. Once he was relatively certain they weren’t going to be attacked again, he dropped the truncheon into a handy bin.
He glanced at his wrist-comp and did a double take. The hearing started in less than half an hour. So much for getting something to eat.
“We need to get to the Arbiter Guild,” he told the pilot. “If I’m not there when the hearing starts, Breen can move to have my claim dismissed.”
“I’ll bet he sent those guys to delay you.”
“Probably. Let’s hope he doesn’t have anyone else lurking around to ambush us.”
The trip to Blaze’s office took another ten minutes. It turned out there were more men lounging around the Arbiter Guild, but Brad had no idea if they were hostile or not. Rather than take chances, he selected a cluster of mercenaries walking past the building and attached himself and Marshal to them.
The dark jackets and hats weren’t really close what the other men were wearing, but they did the trick long enough to get close to the entrance.
Brad saw one of the watchers straighten abruptly and point at him with a shout. Thankfully, Brad was close enough to the door to get there just ahead of the rushing thugs. Marshal slammed the glass door in the men’s faces.
A young man with bright red hair and a slender face sat behind the long counter. He smiled at the two of them. “Mr. Madrid?”
“That’s me,” Brad said as he waved cockily at the impotently raging men outside. “I’m here for the hearing.” He glanced backwards. “And we’re being chased.”
“That won’t be a problem,” the young man said calmly. “If you and your associate would care to take a seat in the waiting room, Arbiter Blaze should be ready shortly. If you’d like coffee or tea, we have a service in there. Please help yourselves.”
Brad knew there was nothing stopping the thugs from coming in after them, regardless of the receptionist’s calm confidence. For a moment, he thought the leader of the men might do exactly that. Then the man snarled something to his companions and stalked off.
That had been close.
He had no doubt that Breen was behind this, ev
en though he might be innocent of breaching the ship. Well, the man would put in an appearance shortly or Brad would be the only one at the hearing. He’d know soon enough.
The two of them had barely settled to their seats when the man himself came in. Brad listened with growing anticipation to the receptionist confirming his identity. This wasn’t going to be boring, no matter how it played out.
Breen appeared at the door to the waiting room and glowered at Brad. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” Brad agreed dryly, biting his tongue on a more direct response. “I met some friends of yours. Isn’t that kind of thing a little beneath a company like Astro Transport?”
“I hear Ganymede Security is looking for a man matching your appearance that assaulted some dockworkers. I should call them.”
“Please do. I’ll be happy to explain what happened in excruciating detail.”
Someone cleared their throat and Brad saw Arbiter Blaze standing behind the executive. “Since everyone is here, why don’t we get things started. Please step into my office.”
Brad climbed to his feet and looked at Marshal. “Why don’t you stay out here and keep an eye on things while I make my statement?”
The pilot nodded. “I’ll make sure and let you know if our new friends come looking for us.”
“Excellent.”
Breen was already gone, so Brad walked through the door Blaze was holding open for him behind the counter. She led the two men down a short corridor and through a wide door.
Her office was more sedate than Sara Kernsky’s but might have cost as much to outfit. The paneling was some kind of pale wood that went from floor to ceiling. The carpet under their feet was plush and bright white. A wide screen—currently turned off—dominated one wall.
Several stands placed around the room held stone busts. He had no idea who the people were, but the work seemed quite lifelike.
The chairs set before her desk were heavily stuffed dark leather. His was quite comfortable he discovered when he took his seat.
She took them both in with a single glance. “Now, before we get started, this hearing will be recorded and you will both be under oath. Is that understood?”