Takedown on Titan (Stark Raven Voyages Book 2)

by Jake Elwood

  "Give over," Chan interrupted. "Look. I don't know what you're up to, and I don't much care." He looked over his shoulder, checking that the corridor was clear. "I won't report you. Not if you're honest with me."

  The robot looked at him, metal face blank.

  "Our chats are some of the strangest conversations I've ever had," Chan said, "and I ship with a lunatic and a compulsive liar."

  The robot didn't reply.

  "Look. Robot." He paused. "If we're going to keep hanging out, I can't just call you 'Robot.' Do you have a name?"

  After a pause the robot said, "Some people have called me Jeeves."

  Chan shook his head. "Jeeves" was the default name for several popular lines of butler robots. It was barely more personal than calling it "Robot." He sighed. "Do you mind if I call you Rhett?"

  "If it pleases you," the robot replied.

  "Rhett it is, then." Chan moved over to stand beside the robot, turning so he could see the corridor. He didn't want the next part of the conversation to be overheard. "Okay, Rhett, here's the situation. I'm trying to find a man who's been kidnapped. The details don't matter, but I've heard a rumor of strange things going on outside of Dome Eight. You've been hanging out here. You see all the traffic in and out, right?"

  Rhett didn't reply.

  "Have you seen anything strange?"

  "Define strange," Rhett replied.

  Chan sighed. "Never mind. Listen, are you busy right now?"

  "I have a great many duties."

  "And yet you were skulking in the corner until I spotted you."

  "Robots don't skulk. I need to—"

  "Cut the crap, Rhett." Chan gave the robot a thoughtful look. "I bet you don't even work for the station. I bet someone brought you out from Earth as a personal domestic 'bot. Then they got recalled to Earth, and it wasn't worth the cost of shipping you home. Back on Earth, robots are a dime a dozen. It'd be cheaper to buy another Jeeves than to fly you all the way back. So they abandoned you."

  Rhett stared at him, silent.

  "Well, that's your business. I'll tell you what. Help me for the next half an hour or so and I'll get Liz to take a look at your voice box. I can't guarantee she can fix it, but I bet she can do something. What do you say?"

  For a long time Rhett regarded him with glowing red eyes. At last the robot said, "What do you require of me?"

  "I'm about to do something dangerous," Chan said. "You could alleviate the danger somewhat. Are you wired to make phone calls directly?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "All right. I'm going to send Liz a message telling her what I'm doing. Then I'm going up into Dome Eight. You're going to come with me, and if anyone attacks me, you're going to send messages to the Crius Police and to Liz."

  "Very well, sir."

  "Also, don't call me sir."

  "Sorry, sir."

  Chan stared at Rhett for a long moment, wondering if the robot was deliberately mocking him. Robots didn't mock people, but they didn't skulk around lift shafts telling fibs, either. At last he decided that it didn't matter. He took out his phone, keyed a quick message to Liz, and put the phone away. "Okay. Let's go."

  Chapter 7

  Liz walked up to the entrance to Dome Four, smiling as the corridor deteriorated. This looked like exactly the sort of rat-hole she was looking for. Kwan might have told the truth. She eyed the two punks on guard duty, and they eyed her back. Whatever they saw, they had the good sense to keep quiet as she walked in.

  She found the door she was looking for and paused, listening. Bad e-synth music pulsed through the walls, making her grit her teeth. She took out the laser pistol and used the butt to pound on the door. When no one answered, she kept pounding.

  The door slid open at last, and a wave of acrid rock smoke washed out into the hall. The smell would be on her clothes now, and Liz scowled. It was all right, though. For a change she was going to be able to express her frustration instead of bottling it up.

  The man in the doorway was fat and bleary-eyed, with three days of stubble on his sallow, sagging cheeks. He did his best to look mean, glaring at her with eyes too dulled by drugs to be fierce. There was a length of pipe in his right hand, but he never had a chance to use it. Liz stepped into him, driving her shoulder into his chest, rocking him back a step and reaching down to pluck the pipe from his hand. She stepped into a filthy living room with a couch and gray carpet barely visible through a jumble of soiled clothing and dirty dishes. The door slid shut.

  An entertainment unit glowed on one wall, with half-naked girls gyrating to the atrocious music. Liz drew the laser pistol and snapped a quick shot at the dancing tarts. Sparks showered the litter on the carpet and the music went silent. Burned plastic joined the general miasma of rock smoke, sweat, and spoiled food.

  "Hey!" The man looked confused more than angry, but anger was quickly catching up.

  "Are you Clark?"

  "Who wants to know?" His eyes dropped to the gun in her hand, and he blinked. "Who are you?"

  "I'll take that as a 'yes'. Here." Liz tossed him the laser pistol. He caught it awkwardly with both hands, the barrel between his palms, and stared at her, incredulous.

  "It's yours," she said. "Recognize it?"

  His eyes went to the gun, then to the pipe in her hands, then to her face. There was disbelief in his eyes. His gaze went back to the gun.

  "Go for it," Liz said cheerfully. "I dare you."

  He lifted his gaze to her face. "Who are you?"

  "Enough small talk. Tell me about Riverson."

  "Huh?" Clark looked genuinely baffled.

  "Riverson," she snapped. "Old rich guy? Kidnapped yesterday?"

  The expression on his face grew more blank with every word. "Huh?"

  "Oh, for…" She decided that beating him with the pipe, although it would make her feel better, likely wouldn't help. "See the gun in your hands?"

  He looked down at it, then looked up and nodded.

  "I took it from a guy in a pressure suit during a kidnapping yesterday. Was that you?"

  He gaped at her.

  She sighed. "Did you wear a pressure suit yesterday, Clark? Did you kidnap anyone?"

  "Huh? No!" He looked down at the gun. For a moment his mouth firmed, his hands tightened, and she thought he was going to make a play. Then he looked at her face again, and his fingers went slack.

  "I sold this gun," he said. "Weeks ago. To some guy."

  "You'll have to do better than that, Clark." She tightened her grip on the pipe.

  "I don't know! It was some guy. I thought he wanted rock. He said he needed a gun. I was a little short that week, so I sold him this." He gestured with his arms, waggling the pistol at her.

  "Well, what did he look like?"

  Clark shrugged, almost dropping the pistol. "I don't know. A guy?"

  She thought about working him over with the pipe, but the truth was, he hardly seemed sharp enough to be one of the kidnappers, and if his drug-addled brain actually held any useful information she'd eat the pipe. Her shoulders slumped.

  It changed the dynamic between them, and the fear left Clark all at once. His eyes narrowed and he closed one hand on the barrel of the pistol, using the other hand to take the gun by the butt. Just as quickly, Liz reached out and took the pistol from his hands. She handed him the pipe, and he gaped at her as she palmed the door open and stepped out.

  She paused in a quiet alcove in the hallway to think. The gun was a dead end. She checked that it didn't show in the pocket of her jumpsuit and wrinkled her nose. She stank of rock smoke. She decided to head back to the Raven for a shower and a change of clothes. It would be a good idea to get moving. Clark might work up enough courage to come after her, or he might call someone with a little more nerve. It was time to get out of Dome Eight, and stay out. She strode down the corridor, turned the next corner, and swore.

  Too late.

  There were two men waiting for her, hard-eyed professionals in dirty coveralls with pistols in their h
ands. They stayed back out of reach, and the one on the left smiled as he levelled a compact rail gun at her. "Thought you'd never get here," he said. "Hands up, please."

  Joss left Dome Nine and headed down the corridor toward Dome Four, taking in the change in ambience and letting her wide-eyed tourist persona fall away. She hated to let go of it. She liked the person she became when she played that role. Dome Four, though, looked like the underbelly of the city, the kind of place that would chew up a pretty girl and spit her out.

  She slouched, rolling her shoulders forward, letting her head hang so that her hair partially obscured her face. The biggest change, though, was internal. She ran through a list of all the betrayals and indignities she'd ever suffered, real and imagined. She was powerless, despised, distrusted. Not just by Liz and Chan. By everyone. She was a blight on society, doing what she had to do to get by.

  A couple of men slouched at the entrance to Dome Four. The one with the tattoos straightened up, giving her an appraising look. When he smiled she knew she wasn't deep enough in her role yet. Too much prettiness remained.

  She stared through him, weighing him, wondering what she might get if she gutted him and went through his pockets. His boots were nice. Could she sell them for enough to get a fix? She didn't say a word, didn't do anything overtly threatening, but the smile fell away from his face and he watched her with wary distaste as she shuffled past him and into the dome.

  A derelict in a staircase, seeing a fellow addict, gave her directions to Bay Twelve. When the door slid open she let confidence come flowing back in. She was still an addict, but her years as an outcast were behind her. She was an accomplished criminal now, a woman with a moderate amount of power and plenty of money. She was a bigger fish than the surly man with the cigarette who opened the door. He saw it in her eyes and straightened up a bit. "Whaddaya want?"

  "A word," she said, and pushed past him into his filthy room. The only chairs were piled with vid sticks, so she put her back to the wall and crossed her arms. The door closed and he turned to face her, his face a mix of curiosity, belligerence, and caution. He raised an eyebrow in query.

  "My ship just came in," she said. "I got two kilos. I need to unload it. You interested?" Two kilos of what, she had no idea. His imagination would fill in the blanks.

  He stared at her, his gaze speculative. Then he reached behind him and found a fat, white plastic tube as long as his thumb. He tossed it to her. "Is it as good as this?"

  Joss examined the tube. She'd seem them on vids, but never in real life. A button on the side would ignite the contents. She couldn't tell which end a person was supposed to suck on to get the smoke.

  "It's good stuff," she said, and brought her arm up to toss the smoker back to him. He held up a hand.

  "Try it."

  She glanced at the smoker, wondered how many lips had touched it, and let the revulsion show on her face.

  His face hardened. "I insist."

  For a moment fear flooded her. Then she remembered who she was. She tossed the smoker to him, curled her lip, and said, "Go fuck yourself." She started toward the door. "You think I'm a cop? Screw you, buddy. I got things to do."

  Her hand was an inch from the door button when his fingers closed over her arm. She yanked her arm free and glared into his face, bringing her fist up, imagining she was Liz. I can kill you seven different ways before you even have time to wet yourself. I just haven't decided if you're worth the effort.

  He backed away, hands up in a placatory gesture. "Hold on. No need to get in a huff. A man's got to be careful, you know what I mean?"

  She didn't answer, just glared at him, lowering her fist.

  "You got it with you?" he said.

  Joss snorted in derision. "What do you take me for?"

  He nodded his understanding. "Well, how much you want for it?"

  Having no idea what drugs cost, she crossed her arms, ran her eyes over him from head to toe, and said, "Make me an offer."

  "I can give you ten," he said, "if it's good stuff."

  Ten? Ten what? It didn't matter. "Twenty. It's high quality. Your customers will be pleased."

  That earned her a suspicious glance. Watch your diction, Joss. Not so many complete sentences.

  "I'll have to try a sample," he said. "I won't go above sixteen, though."

  She nodded impatiently. "Fine. But how's your security?"

  "Huh?" His eyebrows rose. "How do you mean?"

  "The whole city's buzzing with this kidnapping thing," she said. "They're searching every dome. It's a good thing I only brought in a couple of kilos, because they've searched my ship twice."

  "Oh, that." He scowled. "Pain in the ass, that. Nothing to do with me, though."

  "Really?" She lifted an eyebrow. "What if they've got that old man stashed next door? I come by with your product, the cops swoop in…"

  He waved a dismissive hand. "He ain't here. I know everyone in the dome. There's no one here smart enough to plan a kidnap job."

  Damn. "Well, do you have any idea who might have done it?"

  There was open suspicion in his face now. "Who gave you my name?"

  She waved that away. "There's people on Mars who know about you. You're practically famous." The meeting was falling apart, so she decided to push her luck. "How about the kidnapping? I don’t want to blunder into the middle of something. You know anything about it?" When he stared at her in silence she said, "Come on. You must have heard something."

  The silence drew out. She never knew what his answer would have been, because a chime sounded from his wrist. He scowled and pushed his sleeve up, revealing a wrist com. "What? I'm in a meeting!"

  A man's voice spoke, staticky and garbled by the tiny speaker. "You wanna come upstairs a minute? There's something I think you need to see."

  "Arright." He lowered his arm and looked at Joss. "I think I'm done talking to you. You come back with some product, maybe we'll talk. Until then …"

  She gave him a curt nod, turned, and opened the door. He followed her out, thumbed the lock, and stalked away. Joss watched his retreating back, weighing her options. Getting out of Dome Eight would be prudent. These were petty drug dealers, not kidnappers. They could undoubtedly be dangerous, but they didn't know anything. Whatever was happening upstairs probably had nothing to do with the kidnapping.

  Probably.

  She looked down the corridor toward the exit to the dome. Then she shrugged, took a deep breath, and started after the drug dealer.

  Liz lay on her side on the floor of a dank chamber in Dome Four, fuming. Her hands were bound behind her with wire, and a man stood over her with a rail gun in his hand, but what really irritated her was the way they discussed her as if she wasn't even there. They were going to kill her. Of that much she was nearly certain. She was afraid, but by nursing her anger she was able to keep fear at bay. And there was plenty of anger to nurse.

  There were four people in the room besides her, three men and a woman, all of them hardened criminals. They ran some sort of drug operation. She hadn't worked out the details, and she didn't much care. What mattered was that they had a hatch in the floor for ditching their drugs in the event of a police raid. The hatch was big enough for a body, and it was open, letting in faint whiffs of methane. In a few minutes Liz would be going through the hatch.

  Hank was the name of the man who seemed to be in charge. He was past middle age, a paunchy, dissipated man with the dead eyes of a fish. The two younger men who'd taken her in the hall deferred to him and ignored the woman. She was fat and blonde and talked constantly, a steady stream of curses, complaints and advice that the men ignored.

  The door slid open and the blonde stopped in mid-sentence. A greasy-looking slob came in, a cigarette wobbling in the corner of his mouth. He stared down at Liz and said, "What the hell?"

  "Put that thing out, you pig!" The blonde reached out and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. "You know I hate the stink." She stubbed the cigarette out on the wall behind her
, then coughed as it gave a final curl of smoke.

  "She's been hassling Clark," Hank said. "You seen her before?"

  "Nope."

  "Well, give me a hand putting her out the hatch."

  The slob raised his hands. "Whoa! Count me out." He gestured around the room. "You got all the help you need." He shook his head. "All the witnesses you need, too. I'm outta here." He palmed the door switch and turned, then froze with his back to the room. "You," he said.

  Liz had no idea who was in the hall, but it was a cinch that the more people who knew about her, the longer she was likely to live. "Untie me," she bellowed. "You're not dumping my body out some hatch!"

  The slob backed into the room and moved to one side. By the respectful way he moved, Liz was expecting to see either a high-ranking drug kingpin or a squad of cops. To her surprise it was Joss who stepped into the doorway. It was the same diminutive girl Liz had flown with, but she seemed to loom, to fill the doorway and dominate the entire room. The five criminals went silent, staring at her, and Liz felt a perverse stab of annoyance. She's a phony, can't you see it? Why does everybody keep taking her at face value?

  Joss swept the room with eyes so cold that Liz felt herself shiver. Was this really the same meek girl? Or was this cold-blooded killer the real Joss, the sinister identity she'd been keeping hidden behind layers of BS?

  Hank took control of himself with obvious effort. "Who are you?"

  Joss gave him a single unimpressed glance, then lifted her sleeve to her mouth. "Stand by," she said. "I have to explain a few things to the locals." Liz knew perfectly well that Joss was bluffing. There was no com unit in her cuff. But Joss played her role with such authority that in spite of herself, Liz found herself doubting.

  Joss put her hands on her hips, eyed Hank up and down, and sniffed. "You're small fish," she said. "You don't have to go down today." She gestured at Liz. "I just need my witness. The rest of you aren't worth the paperwork."

  "Now, hang on," said Hank. He was trying to sound tough, but Liz could hear the doubt in his voice. "Who the devil are you?"