Fires of Prometheus

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Let me stop you there,” said an irritable Anderson. “We’ve been here before and we’re well aware of the undesirable nature of this place. That isn’t why we are here now. What do you know about us and are there anomalies?”

  Angelo nodded with a slight smile coming to his face.

  “Good, I heard you were a man of action, not words.”

  He reached down and pulled out a small device about the size of his hand. Laying it out in front of him it flickered several times before showing a holographic model of the station.

  “First of all I know you are here to find someone, the trouble is so is everybody else. In the last three weeks the amount of external traffic has increased by two hundred per cent. That isn’t the real deal though, what interests me is that most of the new traffic is coming right through the storms.”

  “I thought the storms were dangerous?” asked Bishop, trying to sound innocent. Commander Anderson threw him a look that told him to keep his mouth shut.

  “Quite. The current reports show over a dozen ships have been lost in the last five days alone. Somebody it seems really wants to move something back and forth and they aren’t worried about the risks. All that to change the flight time to weeks instead of months. Would you know anything about that?”

  Commander Anderson shrugged, saying nothing.

  “I see. Well, as far as what you wanted done here I have a number of people on retainer that can be assembled within the hour.”

  “What kind of people?”

  “Engineers, technicians, security specialists, pilots...useful people. I’ve been instructed by Ganymede to make my full dossiers available for your perusal,” he said with a look of interest in his face.

  “Good, for now we have an operation on this station to attend to. The matter of the arms fair.”

  “Ah, yes, I have secured access for the three of you to visit in the next thirty minutes. Your details are already logged under the name of your trade ship Tamarisk.”

  “They know our ship?” demanded Teresa.

  “Of course, all vessels docking or landing at stations will be logged. It is always easier to hide something in plain sight.”

  “How about you? Are you coming?” she asked him.

  “No, I’m already known to several of the buyers that might be there. I will be on standby at this frequency. Use the access codes I attached with the communication earlier. When do you plan on attending the fair?”

  “Immediately, we can’t afford to lose any time,” said Anderson as he made to move.

  “Before you go it’s important that you understand the people you will be dealing with. From my sources I already know two of them are selling weapons to the drug Cartels on the Rim and one is a known cop killer from Kerberos. Don’t kid around with them, they play tough and they act tougher,” he said seriously.

  “Don’t worry, we can handle ourselves,” replied Teresa as she stood up.

  The man in the suit beckoned for them to wait a little longer.

  “This particular arms fair is specifically personal firearms, especially those of a more unusual and specialist nature.”

  “Unusual, you mean illegal?” asked Teresa.

  “Of course, you won’t find much in the way of legal civilian weapons there. So don’t make a fuss when you spot gear that has been taken from Confed stores. There’s a lot of cachet to making use of stolen military gear. The Black Blades Gang on this station was famous for all using Confed Army issue pistols and blades.”

  “Yeah, made it easy to track them though,” Angelo interrupted.

  “To get there taken the elevator to the fifteenth level, you will exit from the service shaft into the back section of the main foyer. It is always very busy, watch for pickpockets and head to the main desks. Above the desks are the screens for conferences, meetings, demonstrations and the like. You are looking for the Tactical Gear and Supplies Fair.”

  Bishop and Teresa looked at each other in confusion.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just a simple cover for the main event. When you arrive you will need to ask for the ‘specials’. That will get you into the more exotic line-up of kit. After that you’re on your own. Remember, there are no police out here. The Trading Station has its own security personnel and they always, and I mean always, come down on the side of those with the biggest wallet.”

  Commander Anderson stood up and headed to the door. Teresa and Bishop were close behind him. Angelo stood up and watched them leaving the room.

  “My associate will be here if you need us, you have my details, just be cool. I’ll make sure the team is ready for your inspection. Good luck.”

  As they left the door shut behind them leaving the three out in the quiet, slightly damp corridor. There were only two directions they could take, either left to where they had landed or right that led further inside the station.

  “Ready?” asked the Commander.

  Bishop nodded as Teresa checked her pistol was in position before confirming.

  “You only brought the synthetic, right?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, and she’s loaded with plastics only.”

  “It’s time for you to hide it somewhere discreet.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll have to get real friendly to find it,” she said with a smile.

  Anderson grinned and then turned to check their route. “It’s time then, let’s go.”

  They moved off at a fast walk along the corridor, the Commander at the front and Teresa at the rear. Though they moved quickly they didn’t want to arouse suspicion if anybody was watching. It took less than a minute for them to reach the end where they met three doors. Two were locked and presumably store or control rooms. The third door was wider than the others and fitted out with a keypad and display. As Bishop moved closer it must have detected his position as the display altered to a rough outline of a face.

  “Please enter your destination,” it asked in an artificial and less than friendly voice.

  “Charming,” said Teresa as she glanced at Bishop.

  “Let me,” said Commander Anderson as he leaned in and pressed the one and the five. As soon as he moved his hand away the door slipped to the side to reveal a small metal elevator. Teresa went in without a thought, quickly followed by Anderson. As they turned Teresa noticed Bishop was still outside.

  “What?”

  Bishop took a breath and then stepped in. As the door shut the display starting counting the floors as they were whisked to their destination.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I had an, well, a problem in one of them years ago, Sir. It was stuck for over a day and started to drop. I’ve never trusted them since.”

  “Don’t worry, if it really breaks you’ll be a dead man anyway!” laughed Teresa.

  “You ever been here, Teresa?”

  “No, Sir, this place was always a bit too upmarket back in my day.”

  “Upmarket? You kidding me?” asked a less than sympathetic Bishop.

  The elevator made a curious whistling noise as it travelled through its tight fitting tube. After a few more seconds it started to slow and with a slight jolt stopped.

  “Floor 15, Main Foyer,” said the computer as the door opened.

  Directly in front was the massive entrance to the trading station and it was already clear the entrance was designed to impress. Apart from a vast circular floor there were three spiral staircases winding around what appeared to be a statue of a man planting a tool of some kind into the ground. Scores of large displays, many over five metres high, pushed up from the ground and around them hundreds of people moved about. Many rushing about their business, the rest gazed intently at the information being provided.

  “Wow, nice digs,” said Bishop.

  “Yeah, wonderful,” said Teresa as she scanned from left to right. “There, the desks, we need the route to the place.”

  They made their way across the crowded foyer. As they walked Bishop was amazed at the variety of people.
Some were just workers but there were also mercenaries walking about in full army issue carapace armour. As two walked past he tapped Teresa on the shoulder. She tilted her head slightly, watching them.

  “I know, remember what Angelo said about the weapons and security.”

  They continued on past the people until they were close enough to the desks to see the screens above them. There were eight desks and each one carried two displays overhead. Anderson waved for Bishop to take the ones to his left. Teresa did the same to the right and she spotted the fair almost immediately.

  “Look, we take the route past the stairs, through the doors and then follow the red line till we reach the convention reception.”

  Anderson nodded in satisfaction and pointed in the direction they needed to go.

  “Shall we?” he asked rhetorically.

  They left the desks and moved past the staircase. It was less busy along this part of the foyer but there were still a lot of people milling about. As they reached the doors a man in an armoured suit and carrying a box on his shoulder walked towards them. As they went to go through the doorway he turned and glanced at them.

  “Arms Fair?” he asked.

  Teresa looked to Anderson who simply nodded.

  “Don’t bother, you’re too late now. Something’s going on down there and they’re kicking customers out,” he said and then continued on his way.

  “What the hell?” called Bishop before turning and running down the corridor. Commander Anderson tried to grab his attention but he was already around the corner. Teresa looked to him before he gave her the nod. They ran the short distance to find Bishop and about a dozen irritable people milling about outside the entrance to the convention centre. Bishop stood there shaking his head as Anderson walked up to the two mercenaries who were guarding the doorway. He was about to speak when two men and a woman in white overalls, and the symbols of the Prometheus Emergency Clinic, emerged pulling a wheeled stretcher out of the room. On top was a covered object, presumably a body.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” said Teresa quietly to herself.

  Anderson stepped aside to let the medical personnel pass him, before moving closer to the guards. As he approached he noticed one of them moving his hand down to a weapon on his belt. Anderson made sure he kept his hands in plain sight, directly in front of him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Who knows, we opened for viewings ten minutes ago and that’s when we found him.”

  “Are you going to re-open?”

  “No, the fair is shut till tomorrow, the investigators will need time with this one. Why, who are you after?”

  “Maximilian Hex, we have an appointment,” replied Commander Anderson.

  “Had, I think you’ll find is the correct syntax. He’s the guy under the sheet,” said the guard with what appeared to be a leering grin.

  Teresa moved up to the Commander and Bishop moved discreetly over to the stretcher to try and get a look.

  “Hey, what do you want?” said one of the startled medics.

  “Uh, nothing,” said a dumbfounded Bishop.

  Anderson shook his head and then indicated for the other two to follow him. As they walked from the entrance Teresa spoke first.

  “So he’s dead, minutes before we arrive. Is it me or does that seen a little bit convenient?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s time we paid our friend Angelo a little visit!” said an angry looking Anderson.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hundreds of years after the bayonet appeared irrelevant marines and soldiers throughout the Confederacy are still using it. Why still use them when modern body armour and weapons makes their use unnecessary? To quote a marine Captain, “What a thing guarding prisoners. The look on their faces when you have a 12 gauge shotgun with 17" of gleaming steel fixed to it----Priceless for compliance. There were Occasions when we fixed Bayonets during Cordon and Raids for the psychological fear they instilled…”

  The Military Bayonet

  Commander Anderson was first through the door and into the foyer. As he pushed through the crowd a concerned looking Teresa checked layout plans on her datapad. She’d already contacted Kowalski on the Tamarisk and a quick search had found the location of Maximilian Hex’s apartment. Anderson had sent for Angelo and three of his best mercs to meet them there. As she finished checking the route she called out to the Commander.

  “Are we sure we can trust them? What if they were behind this?”

  “Who knows? Right now we need information and fast. The data I have on Angelo tells me he is unlikely to turn so easily. Either way, we’ll know based on how he and his team responds at the room,” he said as he stopped for a moment. He looked to the left and then back at the staircases. “Up the stairs, three floors and then past the security desk, right?”

  “That’s what Kowalski said,” replied Teresa.

  Bishop moved ahead and started climbing the wide, marble effect staircase. As they went up they were granted a perfect view of the elaborate foyer with its many people and large glass windows. As they reached higher it was possible to make out the glowing red feature of the burning planet of Prometheus below.

  “You said you worked on that place?” asked a surprised looking Bishop.

  “For a time, we moved around a lot. You can make a lot of money if you’re in the right place and the right time down there,” she explained.

  “Yeah, I heard that. Unregulated private sector work with a high mortality rate. Sounds a bit like what we all do now!” he grinned as they reached the exit point on the third floor. “This is us.”

  Anderson moved towards the small security desk where a bored looking man sat watching a screen. He wore a grey suit and had no obvious weapons or armour. Behind him was a smart looking corridor with reflective metal surfaces and flushed door fittings spaced equally apart. It was undoubtedly one of the more expensive parts of the station.

  “Can I help you?” asked the man.

  Anderson was about to speak when a group of four men, all in smart suits approached. Teresa instantly recognised the face of Angelo leading them. Each of the men was tall and well built. To her they had the look of military or at least had been military in the past. Angelo moved closer and stopped next to the security man.

  “Excellent, these are my guests from the trading floor, please buzz them in,” he asked politely.

  The guard tapped a few buttons and with a bored look waved them on. The three needed no reminder and moved quickly past the desk, following Angelo and his companions along the corridor.

  “What was that all about?” asked Teresa.

  “In this place it pays to have a cover. I’ve been working as a fixer for sometime now.”

  “A fixer?” asked Bishop.

  “Yes. Someone who finds things or people then puts them together with others for deal and contracts. You can find a bit of everything in this place, but you need to be able to open certain doors or to make contact with the right people. That is how I was able to get you access to the arms fair.”

  “Yeah, big help that was,” snarled Bishop.

  “I only heard about that a few moments after you left. It would appear contact was made from a source outside of this System that was acted on immediately. I have people investigating but I’m not hopeful. Someone didn’t want you to find him and it looks like they made it with minutes to spare. Did you hear how he died?”

  “Let me guess, an accident?” suggested Commander Anderson.

  “Not quite, he was shot in the head with a military issue L48 carbine. Normally that wouldn’t be so unusual, but there are now rumours spreading that Confed forces are moving onto the stations here. One thing they don’t like out here is anybody telling them how to run things.”

  They continued in silence before coming to the end of the corridor that split off to the left and right. The route looked identical in either direction. Angelo indicated for them to turn left but before they could move one of his men flew back
a metre and slumped to the ground dead. There was a hole the size of a tennis ball in his forehead.

  “Back!” shouted the Commander as they all jumped for cover. With the corridor clear the only safety they had was to not move around the corner.

  Teresa and Bishop both pulled out their concealed synthetic pistols. The weapons were small, snub-nosed affairs with small, low velocity disintegrating projectiles. They were useless for military operations but perfect for covert action, assassination or for getting through security clearance. They were also extremely expensive. A volley of almost silenced gunshots blasted down the corridor forcing the six of them to stay where they were.

  “Somebody doesn’t want us getting there!” shouted Bishop before leaning around the corner and firing three quick shots. The gun sounded like a hammer striking wood, the sound dull and unlike any other firearm. He ducked back.

  “I can see three guys, they have a cabinet or something overturned and are hunkered down behind it. No way to hit them.”

  Angelo signalled to his two remaining men who pulled off their suit jackets to reveal body fitting ammunition belts and concealed fully automatic machine pistols. They pulled out the weapons and slammed in the long stick magazines. One leaned around the corner and fired a long burst as the second pulled a small hockey puck shaped grenade and hurled it along the corridor. The flash was followed by a concussive blast that shook the floor.

  “Go!” shouted Angelo.

  The two men with machine pistols pushed forward, each of them firing bursts of two or three shots as they rushed the enemy position. Teresa followed, the rest were right behind her. In seconds they were over the cabinet and amongst the bullet-ridden corpses of their attackers. Three metres behind the men was the damaged doorway leading into Maximilian Hex’s apartment.