“Does Bertle know that?”
“These were never his. They’re mine.”
A switchblade shot out from its base and hummed to life. A vibroblade.
“Ah,” I said. I just needed to carry on the bullshit conversation a bit longer, catch her off guard. “So I can’t help but notice that you haven’t stabbed me, yet.”
“I’ve got time,” she snarled. “We both know you don’t have the courage to hit a wom—”
I swung the vibroknuckles full into her face. Connected. She flew back into a metallic container. Her skull slammed into it with a satisfyingly “ping” before she crumpled into a pile. The clippers fell on the floor in front of her—into the floor, rather. The blade must have been aiming down when it landed.
I walked past Silo the Master Assassin and worked my way down a ten-foot-wide corridor between high stacks of giant metal containers. Unlike on the Pigeon, there were no arrows or words sprayed on them directing passengers to the mess hall. This megacrate wasn’t set up with stowaways in mind. The only words on these boxes served to identify their contents.
Every box looked exactly the same. I selected one to scrutinize at random. “Gyora-3...” I read aloud. And the same with the next one... And the one after that... And holy shit.
The pirates had already confiscated a shipment of arc conductors from the Herculean Parrot. The Pigeon was packed with neutron conduits. And the Orion Express was loaded with Gyora-3.
They would have all the prime components for a subgate.
15
Conniving Jerkwads
Everything finally clicked into place. I realized what was going on now. Who was who. My brain had finally caught up to my gut. That’s how it always worked, for me: One final clue would fill in a blank I didn’t even know needed filling, then the entire picture would reveal itself.
While I was looking at the container labels and thinking about the repercussions of what was soon to commence, someone walked out from the shadows and into an intersection among the stacks. “Figure it out yet, Blades?”
I spun around. “Mannigan.”
Four of the five missing jetpacks lay on the ground behind him. He proffered a smug smile. “You recognize the isotope? You know what Gyora-3’s for?”
I nodded. “It’s a subgate component.”
“Very good.” He laughed. “Of course, you probably assume I’m handing it over to the pirates. For goola, or some such nonsense. I assume you still haven’t put all the pieces of the puzzle together. You’re really quite dense. Such a shame, too. Once you claimed to be a detective, I expected more from you.”
“I’ve learned over the years to set my expectations low,” I said. “If something even remotely mediocre comes along, I can’t help but consider it damn fucking wonderful.”
Mannigan laughed again. “Such a philosopher. Of course, we all know how useless philosophy is. Real deduction’s the result of empirical evidence and making connections.”
“Like the one I made about you,” I challenged. “Being the sole survivor of the Titanic IV.”
The smug expression dropped from his face. “But how could you—”
“The Titanic was in route from New Gaia to Fillion when it disappeared. Same course as this, but in the opposite direction. Most likely captured by pirates. Same pirates were heading for now.”
“Hmph.” He looked even less pleased. “Do go on.”
“An escape pod had jettisoned from that ship. Just one. Continued on to Fillion in real space. Took it, what, two years to get back? About the same period of time any data on you was suspiciously absent from the Archive. Hard to imagine spending that long in a container the size of a pup tent. Authorities assumed the occupant went space mad and ejected himself before the thing landed. But they also theorized that it was indeed possible to have survived. Thanks to the hydro-recycler, and the number of nutrition bars tucked into its storage compartment, with the absolute strictest of rationing, a person could have survived. The thought was sad, really. Everyone believing the person had given up.” I gestured toward him. “And yet, here you are.”
Mannigan sighed. “I haven’t been able to stomach a Mighty Mike’s Super Dense Nutrition Bar ever since.”
“You’re not simply handing these materials over to the pirates. They’d have no need for a subgate. Cluster-hopping isn’t their style. In fact, they stay as far away from subgates and clusters as possible.” I scratched my chin. “No, you’re not in this to give them something. You’re in it to claim something. Something you noticed when the Titanic IV was captured. Something you’re trying to get back to.”
Mannigan laughed again, but this time it was nervous rather than cocky. “Well, what, then? What the hell do you think I’d be going back for? Go ahead, ‘detective.’ Say it. Prove how smart you are. It won’t get you anywhere. It won’t keep my plan from coming to fruition.”
“First things first,” I said. “This has been a long time coming, Denreiker.”
Mannigan let his shoulders relax. “Oh, but I’m not Denreiker.” He laughed again, regaining some of his asinine self-assuredness. “I knew you weren’t that capable. You had me going, for a moment. Thinking you had it all figured out.”
“I know you’re not Denreiker,” I said. “I was talking to him.”
I backhanded Bertle with my right hand as soon as he’d gotten within two feet of me. I’d caught him sneaking up from the corner of my eye. He was holding a pipe in the air and hoping to bring it crashing down on my head. The vibroknuckles on my left hand would have been a more effective rebuttal, but using them would have required a shift in my position, causing me to lose the element of surprise. The backhand with my right was enough to kill his progress.
Someone jumped down from the top of the nearest stack of metal boxes and grabbed Bertle’s pipe on the way down.
“What the—” Bertle said.
Gina landed and followed through with a forward somersault, then flung the pipe to the side like a complete badass. It clanked on the ground and rolled into a crate with a resounding echo. She stood up and turned to face us.
It only took me a moment to realize that Gina wouldn’t have needed a jetpack to hurl herself from the pier to this megacrate. Not in zero-g, and not with jumping skills like that. I gave her a look that implied I was concerned about Alice’s whereabouts. She gave me one back that told me Alice could take care of herself. Then she focused her stare on Bertle.
“Bertle?” she asked incredulously. “It’s you? You’re fucking Denreiker?”
Bertle laughed. “I’m not fucking Denreiker. I am Denreiker.” And then, with the pompous flourish of an arch nemesis, he added, “And you’re the one who’s getting fucked.”
Gina and I groaned. “That was really bad,” she said. “Wasn’t that really bad?”
“Awful,” I replied. “Needs to work on his villain phrases.”
“What gave me away, Blades?” he asked. His face cyber-morphed into a more menacing aspect. “Might as well humor me. Curious minds, and all that.”
His demeanor had completely changed. Gone was the nervous, flamboyant persona of a stage actor. His accent changed. His mannerisms. His expressions. Then again, that’s what clued me in—the fact that he could change so dramatically. That he could manipulate his face with those implants.
A second ago, he was Bertle. But I’d seen him even twice before that particular iteration.
On Fillion, he was the guy with long white hair pulled back into a ponytail, making the transaction with Dejah’s husband’s boss. It was the transaction that involved those cargo manifests—the cargo manifests that must have tipped him off about the arc conductors on the Parrot.
On New Gaia, he was the gala event doorman with the imposing jawline. I’d assumed the facial reconstruction was a permanent enhancement. Turned out, it was simply the face he’d chosen for that
gig.
Looking at him now, in what I assumed was his most natural state, I could see all the versions of him as the same person. Because there was one thing about him that never changed.
“What gave you away?” I echoed. “Your eyes.”
He scoffed at this. “Well, no matter. I have to admit, it took me a while to piece together who you were. I guess I’m not as good with faces as you are. Wasn’t until you mentioned you were a detective back in Mannigan’s room that I realized you were the same Alan I’d dealt with back on New Gaia. Alan Blades. Would have taken you out then and there, but decided you were as harmless as ever. You’re a real loser, you know, Blades.”
“Why the charade in the first place?” I asked.
“Well, not everything goes according to plan, now, does it? There’s a one out of five chance the net amplifier won’t do its job, and we’ll pass right through. If we end up in New Gaia, they’ll be a lot of explaining to do, what, with the dead bodies, and all. I hadn’t planned on killing Dave, or the pilots, for that matter. But I’d learned that Dave was going to double cross us, which pissed me off, so that’s what he gets. If the pirates miss us, I’ll figure something out. Just have to tie up the loose ends, now.” He looked past me toward Gina and a raised his voice. “What took you so long? You were supposed to guard the entrance with Silo.”
I turned to see Ken approaching Gina from behind. “Sorry, boss. Had to catch a Squirtle.”
“A what?” Denreiker replied.
“A Squirtle,” he said sheepishly. “It’s this thing. A Pokemon. The game I’ve been playing on the egoPad.”
“That’s what you’ve been doing since we boarded? I leave you in charge of the beta net amplifier, and you hole yourself up playing some retro video game on it?” Denreiker looked around to each of us in a desperate plea to understand.
“The thing’s way more than a net amplifier, boss. There are over five billion apps you can download on it.” Ken explained. “There’s an app for everything. It even seems to know what you want. All you need to do is hold the device next to your head, and it personalizes itself to your lifestyle. There’s an app that taught me how to bend a butter knife into a pretzel using only three clothespins and pair of needle-nose pliers. Now I’m playing a game called Pokemon Super-Duper Go-Go. It’s incredibly addicti—”
“Shut up!” Denreiker yelled. “I paid you good goola to confiscate that device from your organization. It’s not a plaything! Not to mention, I paid you to be my bodyguard. Where the hell have you been all this time? You realize the reason I couldn’t get Alan out of the way earlier was because this cyberbitch has been at his side?”
“Sorry, boss.”
“Take her down.”
Ken gave a thin smile. “My pleasure.”
Gina turned sideways so that she could see both of them at once. “Wait... You’re the traitor?” she directed at Ken. “The ex-CyberOps agent? How come I don’t recognize you from any of the office parties?”
“I’m antisocial.”
“Your print didn’t show up on my cyberscan. How is there no file on you in our database?”
“One of the perks of working intel for CyberOps,” he said, “is you can delete the intel.”
He threw off his trenchcoat to reveal a state of the art cyborg body—not the kind that was made to look human, but the kind that said I’m going to kick your ass. Metal armor plates overlapped thick steal muscle cables. Rather than searchlights, a couple of rapid-fire micro-flechette cannons sprung out of his shoulder blades and trained themselves on Gina.
I knew it. The guy was a creep.
“Crap,” Gina said, lunging out of the way. Bullets hurled themselves into one of the Gyora-3 boxes, tearing off a corner. Bright yellow light poured out of the puncture. Probably not a good thing.
“Not with your guns, you idiot!” Denreiker yelled. “You’ll blow the whole ship up! Find another way to eliminate her.”
While Ken was getting his reprimand, Gina took advantage of his hesitation by leaping up and drop kicking him in the face. Clang.
“I’ve got this covered, Alan. Take down Denreiker.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “Take him down. For both of us.” Ken sprang back up like a ninja, grabbed her arm, and flung her a hundred feet down a cross-section of the makeshift hallway, out of sight. He retracted his shoulder cannons and tore after her.
I looked back at the box of Gyora-3 that Ken had shot up. The light had gradually dimmed to a dull glow, but glowed, all the same.
“Well then,” Mannigan said over the fray. “Time for my exit.” He backpedaled quickly as Alice appeared from out of nowhere and tripped him from behind.
Great. So much for staying back on the pier.
Alice had managed to trip Mannigan thanks to the element of surprise, but I couldn’t imagine her following through with any positive results once he stood up and started hitting back. I glanced at the vibroknuckles on my hand, then glanced over at Denreiker, who appeared otherwise unarmed and a bit hesitant when he noticed my advantage. Mannigan stood up and Alice took a step back, suddenly fearful. I took my knuckles off and tossed them to her.
“Hey, Alice! Catch!”
She grabbed them and nodded. Mannigan bit his tongue and took a step back as she put them on. “And to think,” she said, taking a boxing stance. “I’d almost wasted my vote on you.” She charged forward and decked him, the knuckles compounding her blow with eighty percent interest. He flailed backwards, out of sight down a perpendicular cross-corridor. Alice ran after him to pour salt in the wound.
I reached in my pocket, grabbed Listic, tossed her up.
“I get it!” She exclaimed as flickered on. “Premature evacuation!”
“There’s a bipedal forklift near the entrance to this crate. Interface with it.”
“What the hell’s a bipedal forklift?”
“You know. Like a dolly?” She shook her eye left and right. “A hand truck. The kind a person can climb into. It’s got hydraulic arms.”
“Hydro-whatzit, now?”
“It’s like the thing Ripley uses at the end of Alien!” I said, exasperated.
“Oh!” she lit up. “Kickin’! I’ll be right back.” She zipped up and away.
In the wrong direction.
Denreiker tapped me on the shoulder. “Hello, there. Looks like it’s just you and me, now.” He popped a pill, smiled, and bowed. “Care to dance?”
∙ • ∙
Denreiker punched me in the nose. Quick as a rabbit.
“Alan Blades,” he said. “The GalactiCop who almost nabbed me. You know something, Blades?” He danced about while I checked my nose. “This whole game’s been cat and mouse, and you’re the fucking rodent.”
He nailed me again, this time in the left shoulder. It felt stronger than it should have. The pill he popped must have been an instaroid. I fell back against the far wall of Gyora-3 crates. His girth was expanding right before my eyes, morphing him into a much more intimidating figure. Suddenly he matched the blurred image of the person Listic had snagged from Dave’s orb. The person who killed Dave. While I tried to shake myself back into a fighting stance, he took the opportunity to monologue the hell out of me.
“I may not’ve recognized you right away. But I knew you were somewhere on Fillion. Planned on offing you, when the urge struck. Gotta be in the right mood, you know? Oh, well. No time like the present.”
He began frothing at the mouth, like the time I’d seen him fretting in the aisle after the “argument” he’d had with “Donna.” Aside from the froth, the instaroids were apparently engaging another common side-effect: making the user into an amphetamine-fueled blabbermouth. He paused to wipe the spit from his lips before going on.
“Know who tipped me off about you back on New Gaia? None other than your undercover GalactiCop. Not the one I killed on the Pigeon, of course
. Loche. No, this was the other guy. The one with the family. What was his name, again?”
He lunged forward and punched me in the right shoulder. It hurt, but I took it, stood my ground. I’d use his frenzy to my advantage, wait for my opening.
“Perry,” I replied.
To say I was getting angry would have been an understatement on par with saying the meat at Dan’s Genetically Modified Steakhouse wasn’t healthy for you. I’d been angry. I’d been angry for years. Fuck the glowing box of Gyora-3. I was the agent in this box on the verge of exploding.
Denreiker’s eyes lit up. “Perry! That’s right, it was Perry. What an honest cop, he was. True to the badge. But even truer to his family. So true, in fact, that when I threatened to have his wife killed, he shaped right up and did whatever I asked of him. Even let me have a few nights with her.” He hit me again, this time a right hook to the chin.
I took it. Balled my fists. Stayed focused. Waited for my moment.
“Too bad I had to kill her, anyway,” he went on. “One bastard kid was enough in my life, you know what I’m saying? I’m not really the father type.” He hit me again, this time a left jab to the cheek.
I took it. Clenched my fists tighter than metal vices.
He danced around some more—only now, with some difficulty. I could tell the instaroids were catching up with him, causing him to be short of breath while he hopped around like a boxing kangaroo. A common side effect of the drug—what it added in strength, it subtracted in stamina.
“In case you’re wondering, I’m beating the shit out of you right now with neokwondo. Relies more on the hands, less on the feet.” His eyes began to lose focus, but he shook his head and kept flapping his lips. “How do you like it?”
He brought his arms away to shove his face into mine for that last question. A careless move. With the desperation of a wounded man backed into a corner, the frustration of a divorced man getting his mojo back, and the determination of a lost man rediscovering purpose, I struck.
I jabbed the fucker right in the throat and crunched his windpipe, then reversed like a piston and cracked him straight in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, dry heaving, convulsing. He was nearly out of breath anyway, and this particular injury didn’t help him catch it by a long shot. He stared up at me wide-eyed, holding his throat while I crouched over him.
Murder on the Orion Express Page 15