"Aleator just looks like a bunch of outposts orbiting a planet," said Shen. "What makes it so different?"
Miles' reply was almost a shout. "It's anything goes! No laws. You can do whatever you want as long as you follow one rule, don't piss off the Roscos."
"I've spent some time across the Polarian border a few years back, but even there everything was patrolled and civilized," said Summers.
"You'd especially hate this place," said Calvin and he turned back to Sarah. "Open up a channel to the sentry ship and set up rendezvous coordinates. Let the captain know we're bringing the werewolf aboard his ship and none of his personnel will be allowed to step even one inch onto the Nighthawk once we dock."
"Can do."
Calvin tapped the intercom. "Okay, Major, we'll be docking shortly. Get the package ready to go and make sure your men don't leave him until the Aleator crew has him well in hand."
"You got it, and frankly, I'll be glad to be rid of him"
"You and me both," he let go of the comm just as Sarah waved for his attention.
"Slowing to match approach vector and docking in... just over two minutes.”
As the ship docked and the seconds ticked away, Calvin tried to mask his anxiety. A part of him wanted to see to the werewolf's eviction personally, but this kind of operation was the Major's purview, and if the werewolf did break free somehow, and saw Calvin there... things could get ugly. He waited on the bridge, letting the slow minutes disappear in silence until the Major's voice came back over the intercom.
"It's done. The werewolf is in Aleator custody now and all hands are safely back aboard."
"I trust you had no problems," said Calvin.
"None, he didn't even try to fight back. In fact, he claimed he knew this was going to happen."
Calvin chuckled nervously. "I bet he did. Very well, Major, good work," he turned off the comm.
"That was too easy, you know... I'm kind of disappointed, in a weird way," said Miles.
Calvin smirked. "That's usually a good thing."
"The uh... sentry ship has disengaged and is pulling away," said Sarah.
"Very good, Sarah, set course for Aleator One. And, Shen, project the image."
The primary station appeared in orbit around the planet. Calvin would have described it as more of a conglomerate of containers and retired spaceships than any kind of platform. But apparently it did the job, despite looking like garbage.
"Wow, what a piece of sh—"
"Miles," Calvin interrupted him. "Come with me, we're going aboard so it's time to suit up."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Go get your mission clothes from the quartermaster and meet me outside my quarters. The rest of you will be staying on board. The minute we're ashore, have the Nighthawk withdraw from the station and engage the stealth system. Then sweep the sector for even the slightest trace of the Harbinger, but do not approach Aleator One until I contact you and say otherwise, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," said Summers.
"Good. And Shen, tap into the local databases and mine whatever information you can. I want to know if the Harbinger ever arrived, if it docked, if it took on or let off any passengers, I want to know everything. And flag every name on the manifest, see if anyone had any history here—coordinate your efforts with the deck two analysts."
"On it," said Shen.
"Good. Summers, you have the deck."
Chapter 12
"I'm not gonna lie, I'm not too excited about this," said Miles as their elevator zoomed for the deck two airlock. "I mean, in the Empire if you get behind a few q and can't pay your debts they garnish your wages or lock you up or something, but here, I hear, they blow your head off in a public place."
Calvin laughed. "You really haven't been to Aleator before have you?"
"No, but I've heard my share of stories."
"And they're all just ridiculous stories, don't believe them."
"Oh good," Miles smiled.
"The Roscos would never be so careless as to blow your head off in public, they'd much rather torture you first then blow your head off in private."
His friend’s smile faded and Calvin couldn't resist continuing. "Drag you off in your sleep, take you to some warehouse basement and light you on fire, or maybe run a nail through your head nice and slow."
"Really, that's very comforting."
"I'm only half joking, you know. So be careful." Calvin had heard of even worse punishments inflicted by the Roscos to their enemies, but he also knew they claimed to have a sort of code and would never hurt someone who hadn't crossed them first. And if they saw someone abusing a woman, child, or the handicapped, they might kill him on the spot. If you were an outsider, who didn't piss them off, you'd get very little attention. Unless you had a lot of money. Then you'd be treated like a king, but you'd pay more than full price for everything. And if you were a traitor to the family, an insider gone bad, you'd get the worst of all punishments—which Calvin didn't even want to imagine.
The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. "Here we are," said Calvin, stepping out with Miles in tow.
"I still think someone else should go instead, maybe Summers or Sarah."
Calvin spun around. "Are you scared?"
"No, no, no. It's just... we're too valuable, me and you, for such a risky mission."
Calvin laughed. "And I suppose Summers and Sarah are expendable? As much as I'd love to see our delicate XO try to blend in with the thugs and keep their hands off of her, the mission would be a disaster. She could never pass for an outcast. She's too uptight, too disciplined, too unable to improvise, and she's got no street-sense. As for Sarah, without her no one is flying anywhere. There's not a better pilot in the whole Empire and when the missiles start flying, evasion and escape can be more important than even your sharp shooting, Miles."
"What about some of the junior officers?"
"Relax, you're staked. You have 1200q to drop a little at a time and no credit to go any deeper. All your accounts are frozen and your cards are staying here. Your fake ID is convincing enough it would fool Customs at Capital World. Besides, you look great—like the perfect Imperial reject. We both do." Calvin sported a worn jacket over a casual shirt and loose-fitting jeans. Miles' attire was similar in theme. "And if that's not enough, here comes the rest of our party."
Two soldiers from Special Forces met them at the main hatch. Instead of uniforms they too wore casual clothes with handguns and radios well hidden.
Miles looked both pleased and irritated. "Why didn't you tell me we have backup?"
"What, you thought it'd be just us, two disguised Imperial agents setting foot aboard Aleator One by themselves?" Calvin laughed. "That's crazy talk."
The lead soldier spoke up before Miles could reply. "Uzbeck and Jackson reporting as ordered, sir."
"Okay, Uzbeck and Jackson, once we step through that hatch you're no longer Uzbeck and Jackson. Remember your fake ID's and use street lingo. Stick to your mission and act like fugitives. Anything less will compromise everything. Keep your distance but don't lose sight of us. And whatever you do, don't exit the set without us."
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Miles, Uzbeck is going to be your ghost. Once we go aboard we're going to split ways and Jackson will tail me, from a distance. You take the Crystal Mist Casino and whatever is above it. Scope out shops, restaurants, whatever you find. Be thorough but don't ask too many questions. I'll take the Rodeo Den and make my way down the lower decks. We'll meet up at the Crystal in four hours, got it?"
"Yeah."
"And at least try to be inconspicuous."
"I know the drill, I trained for Intel Wing too you know."
"Good," said Calvin. "Then you have nothing to worry about."
"What if I lose my ghost and accidentally piss off a Rosco?"
Calvin grinned. "Then you do what they teach at the academy."
"And what is that?"
"Close your eyes and kiss your ass goodb
ye."
The hatch opened and Calvin motioned toward the jetway. "After you."
***
The Rodeo Den Casino was everything it claimed to be. Bright lights, lots of noise, smoke everywhere—all kinds of explicit drug use—and crowds of people representing every culture and kind of alien. Calvin heard so many different languages he couldn't tell them apart, picking up bits and pieces from a few but not enough to get by on. Fortunately, most everyone spoke human since the Roscos did their business transactions exclusively in human.
He didn't draw much attention as he strolled past the tavern and around some of the game tables. Several of the games were electronically projected but most weren't. For some reason physical dice and cards seemed, to most gamblers, harder to rig than software, and since most of the players here were swindlers anyway they demanded nothing less.
Calvin hoped to pick up gossip about the Harbinger’s visit. He hung around groups of people long enough to catch the drift of their conversations, but not long enough to be noticed. If their topics were uninteresting or he felt he'd overstayed his welcome, he'd slip away and get lost in the crowd.
He liked the bars and lounges most because they were natural gathering points and no one would raise an eyebrow if he stayed for long periods. But, unfortunately, not much gossip was going around. Mostly these areas were trolled by liars who spent their time arguing over bets, complaining about losses, or bragging their supposed conquests. Many of the details, if believed, were sickening.
He rarely spoke unless spoken to and when people realized he was alone they'd sometimes come over and badger him for money, either by begging or trying to intimidate him. It reminded him of the backstreets of Capital World back home. He knew how to look a thug squarely in the eyes and seem deadly; they mostly left him alone. He relied on body language and cold expressions to avoid drawing attention rather than arguing back or making threats of his own. Once in a while he'd reach into his jacket pocket—as if about to draw a weapon. This seemed to work, even though he had no gun. Firearms and knives were banned on Aleator One by the Roscos, and if caught with one the perpetrator would be beaten and locked up. But since the environment was so dangerous anyway, it was no secret that many people here—if not most—had a weapon stashed somewhere on their person, like his two ghosts did. The Roscos and their soldiers didn't do pat-downs or searches, so smuggling was easy.
Calvin was about ready to leave for the lower decks when he spotted someone in an Imperial uniform enter and take a seat at a card table. The blue coat and black sash were ripped in places and severely dirty, and it hung too loosely on the man's wiry body to have been fitted for him. But it may have come from the Harbinger, Calvin thought.
The uniformed man bought his way into the game and waited for the hand to finish. Calvin approached cautiously and scrutinized him. He seemed very chatty with the player to his right who didn't hesitate to reply. They knew each other and made no effort to mask that fact but they were passing information in code. Calvin wondered if they really were just rag-tag criminals who'd happened to find an old uniform. Doubtful. He approached the table and took the only available seat.
"What's the buy in?" asked Calvin.
"200q with a max of 1,000."
"Put me down for two hundred," Calvin took the bills from his wallet, which he'd kept in his front pocket on a chain—otherwise it would've run off by now.
"Two hundred it is." The hand finished and the dealer passed out new cards. Calvin kept his cards face down, aside from a quick peek. They were terrible. Good thing he wasn't here to make a profit.
From his position, he had some trouble listening in on the conversation because of the casino's noise. But he caught bits and pieces.
"They said it would be all day," the uniformed man said.
"I told them it wouldn’t," the player on his right replied.
The dealer spoke up "Jacobi, it's to you." The uniformed man nodded and passed in his chips, calling the bet.
So his name is Jacobi...
Everyone called after the initial raise—keeping the bet relatively low, at 9q to call. Calvin decided to stay in even though his odds of winning the pot were less than one in a thousand. He didn't want to draw attention by being the guy who folded early. Overly cautious gamblers didn't fit in at joints like this.
The next set of cards was passed out and Calvin's odds of winning decreased even further. But that wasn't what disturbed him; it was the fact that Jacobi and his friend hadn't resumed their conversation. Calvin stayed calm, perfectly placid on the surface, but inside his head spun circles trying to figure out whether or not he had some kind of tell, like he seemed too interested in them or that he didn't belong. Maybe he was trying too hard to avoid eye contact.
"Fifty to call," the dealer said. The player just ahead of Calvin had raised the stakes dramatically.
"I'm out," Calvin pushed his cards toward the dealer. Folding right after a huge raise wasn't unusual, the other player had done him a favor.
Jacobi looked up from the table and turned to Calvin. "You," he said. "I know you."
Calvin's stomach turned over. "I doubt it," he replied, smoothly as ice.
"What's your name?"
"Depends who's asking?"
"Don't you know who I am?"
Calvin hesitated; it was hard to see Jacobi's expression behind his mat of long, greasy blond hair. But he doubted he was a Rosco. "Should I? It's not like you're a Rosco." Every Rosco he'd ever met dressed sharp, wore expensive clothes, and kept a clean appearance. If a member of the family dressed and looked like Jacobi it would be an embarrassment to them, and they'd handle it.
"You still haven't told me your name," said Jacobi.
Calvin raised an eyebrow and sat back. "Why should I? I don't owe you anything."
The dealer raised his arms. "You girls take this outside. I'm cashing you both out, you're interrupting the game."
"Fine," said Jacobi. Calvin just nodded as his cash was passed back to him. Jacobi shot him a look of death as they both stood up.
"Look, man," said Calvin. "I don't exactly go around telling Imperials my name," he pointed to the uniform, even though it clearly didn't belong to him. "Bad for business." Calvin shrugged and turned away, not wanting to draw any more attention. Jacobi might be his best lead but he couldn't blow his cover. Especially if a real Rosco spotted him—that was the last thing he needed.
"Hey wait," Jacobi called from behind. "You're Rex Malone, aren't you?"
Calvin stopped dead in his tracks. That was his undercover name, which he hadn't told anyone since he'd boarded the station. Maybe Jacobi had seen his fake ID somehow... maybe when I opened my wallet to pay the buy-in? But that seemed unlikely.
Calvin turned around slowly and spoke cautiously. "That's right. And if you think you're going to take me in, you've got another thing coming." For authenticity, Calvin had his staff fabricate several crimes on Rex Malone's record, since he was a fictitious person anyway, might as well make him look like a crook in a crook's nest.
"No, no, easy, easy." Jacobi said, walking closer. Calvin slipped a hand into his jacket, again pretending he had a pistol. "I know you're just reaching for a lighter, aren't you, Rex?"
"Something like that." He didn't like where this was heading.
"Let's just keep it civil okay?"
"Who are you?"
"My name's Jacobi. And I think I have something of yours."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. Why don't you come with us and we'll take you to it." Jacobi motioned and three other men approached Calvin from all sides, keeping their distance. His heart quickened but he forced himself to look calm.
"Maybe another time, Jacobi. I have some money to make."
"I'm afraid we must insist," Jacobi said and the men closed in. One put a hand on Calvin's shoulder.
"Why don't we go for a walk, what do ‘ya say?"
Calvin glanced to the side and spotted his ghost, who was now standing up but keeping hi
s distance in the throng of people who were looking on.
"Okay, let's go," said Calvin.
"That's more like it." Jacobi led the five of them across the casino floor, through a back door, and down a few narrow hallways. Eventually they came to a stop.
"What's this about? I know you guys aren't Roscos, not even close."
Before they could answer, gunfire sounded from around the corner. As Calvin turned to see, Jacobi grabbed him and threw him against the wall. He tensed, throwing his arms out defensively as he tried to wrestle his way free from the other men. But their hold was too strong and they quickly pinned him against the wall with such pressure he could hardly breathe. Jacobi faced him down.
"I know you're military," Jacobi said. "And I know why you're here. Let's just say you never should have come." He pulled out a pistol and Calvin struggled more, wondering how he’d been compromised.
"Don't you want to make a deal?” asked Calvin, his mind racing.
"No chance," said Jacobi as he screwed on a silencer. "I'll see you in hell."
So this was the end... cold sweet death... something Calvin had tried to ignore his whole life. He closed his eyes and waited, thinking at least now he'd be able to solve mankind's greatest mystery.
Three shots whistled but he felt nothing. The arms around him slackened and released. He opened to see the three thugs dead on the ground; Jacobi stood opposite him with a smoking pistol.
"Hurry up, let's go, Calvin," he said. "We don't have much time." He grabbed Calvin by the shoulder and ushered him back the way they’d come. Calvin followed instinctively, and their jog became a sprint.
"What the hell just happened?" Calvin's mind went into shock.
"Those men were working with CERKO. They want you dead." As they turned the corner and bolted down another hallway, Calvin caught sight of three more men on the ground, dead by all appearances... one was his ghost, who'd apparently managed to kill the other two. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
"Come on," Jacobi urged.
Calvin bent down and scooped up his ghost's pistol. "Looks like six shots left."
The Phoenix Conspiracy Page 12