by Tripp Ellis
“Don't underestimate me."
“I’ll have them picked up,” Calhoun said. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have them in custody.” She ambled for the door, and Dylan saw her out.
Max lay on the couch nursing her wounds. She opened and closed her palm, trying to work on her range of motion. The swelling had already gone down considerably. But she was far from normal.
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving. You want some room service?" Dylan asked.
"Sure. You got a menu?"
Dylan found one on the desk, and brought it over to Max.
She glanced through the offerings and made a selection without much hesitation. "Cheeseburger, sweet potato fries."
Dylan took the menu from her, looked over the selections, then called down to room service.
Max set the glass of ice down on the coffee table, exposing her black eye. "How does it look?"
"Like you got your ass kicked."
"I didn't get my ass kicked." She sneered at him.
"It's better than it was. I still think you should let me take you down to medical."
"I've had worse. Believe me."
There was a moment of silence between them.
"You never really did say what it was like to die?"
"To tell you the truth, I don't remember much. It was like taking a dreamless nap. I was only gone for a few minutes before they revived me. So, probably not long enough to make the journey to the other side. At least, that's what I keep telling myself."
"Why?"
"Because the thought of going to sleep and never waking up terrifies me.”
"I think it terrifies us all."
"Yeah, but you weren’t born in a test tube."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Max shrugged. "I don't know. When does a person get a soul? Are they handed out at birth? What if you were never born?"
“I don't know. If you're conscious and self-aware, you have a soul."
"What about robots?"
"No. They’re machines." Dylan didn't even hesitate with his response.
"What about synthetic people?"
"That's different."
"How?"
Dylan didn't have an answer.
"I'm a biosynthetic organism created in a lab. How is that any different from a robot?"
Dylan shrugged. "I don't know. It's just different."
Max had a sullen look on her face. Contemplating the nature of her own existence was getting to be a routine occurrence for her. Wondering what was beyond, or if there was a beyond, entered her mind more often than she cared to think about. “Sorry. Didn't mean to get all philosophical."
“I don't mind getting philosophical.” Dylan smiled.
Max flashed a grim smile back at him.
“What if there is a way to reverse the termination date?"
“If there is, it probably died with Doctor Tor,” Max said.
“Then why the urgency to find Silas Rage? He's going to die anyway.”
“Because I want the personal satisfaction of killing him myself." Max's eyes had a wicked glint.
“Fair enough."
Room service delivered the food, and they gobbled down their meals. Max leaned back on the couch, stuffed. “You mind if I crash here. I'll regenerate faster if I get some sleep.”
“Why don't you take the bedroom? I'll take the couch.”
“Really, the couch is fine.”
“Take the bedroom. You can lock the door if it makes you feel better. Hell, I'll spring for another suite if you want.”
“I'm not worried about you. I can handle you.”
“I have no doubt about that."
Max pulled herself off the couch and staggered into the bedroom. "Wake me up when you hear from Calhoun."
Dylan nodded.
Max closed the door behind her and moved into the master bathroom. It was first time she had taken a look at herself since the beating. The swelling was starting to go down, but her face was a train wreck.
On the counter there were complementary packages of soap, shampoo, conditioner, and several sticks of cleansing gum. She popped a stick into her mouth and chewed it for a few moments. The gum lathered up and coated her teeth with nanites that scoured the enamel. It left her teeth clean and minty fresh. She spit the gum in the trashcan, then rinsed her mouth.
Her luggage was probably halfway across the galaxy by now—still aboard the original transport. She was going to have to live on the single serving toiletries until she could either track down her luggage, or buy new stuff. It wasn't that big of a deal—Max liked to travel light anyway.
She peeled out of her clothes and hopped into the shower. Steam filled the room, and the warm water danced on her skin, soothing her sore muscles. She took a Hollywood shower, staying in long enough to drain the entire station of hot water.
She toweled off, grabbed a plush robe and slipped into bed. Now this was pillowy soft luxury! A far cry from the prison pod. With any luck, she might actually get some sleep.
Her body melted into the cushiony mattress, her muscles relaxed, and her mind began to let go. The speckled stars of the cosmos flickered through the window—a million pinpoints of light. She was drifting off to somewhere far away when Dylan knocked on the door. The wrapping sounded like thunder, startling her. Max’s eyes snapped wide open and her face tensed. “What is it?” She asked, clearly annoyed.
“Sorry to bother you, but I've got a little bit of bad news.”
19
“Are these the men that attacked you?" Calhoun asked.
Max nodded as she surveyed the corpses of the four men. They were all in cryogenic body bags that had yet to be zipped up and cooled. The men were laid out on hover-gurneys in the incinerator compartment. The massive amount of trash generated by Orion Station was burned to ash, then jettisoned into space. It was part of the new Federation regulations to combat the space junk epidemic. There was nothing worse than hitting heavy space junk at sub-light speed. Hull ruptures from debris impacts used to be unheard of—now they were an accepted risk of high-speed space travel.
Sweat beaded on Max's cheeks from the massive heat generated by the incinerators. The sweltering air reminded her of the unforgiving desert on Thantos 6. The compartment was grimy and soot covered. Rows of trash bins awaited destruction. The pungent smell of rotten waste in the heated environment was enough to make your nose hairs curl and your stomach rumble.
An officer was interviewing the incinerator tech. His face and uniform was smudged black, like he’d been working in a coal mine. Max wondered how he tolerated this horrid environment day in and day out. It was a job that robots could have easily done, but the Intergalactic Sanitation Workers Union had kept them out.
“The bodies were dumped in a bin that was headed for the trash incinerator,” Calhoun said. “A sanitation employee found them. Each had multiple plasma wounds.”
Dylan's face was bathed in concern.
“Any idea who killed them?" Calhoun asked the question pointedly to Max.
Max's eyes narrowed, displeased with Calhoun's accusatory tone. “You’re not considering me as a suspect, are you?"
”I can certainly vouch for her whereabouts,” Dylan said.
Calhoun arched a curious eyebrow at him. Dylan didn't mean to imply any intimacy with his response, but Calhoun inferred as much. Or, at least, she suspected.
Dylan could almost see the thoughts racing through Calhoun's mind and felt he needed to clarify. “I slept on the couch. Max took the bedroom."
“You're both adults,” Calhoun muttered. “What you do is your business.”
Max cleared her throat. "There's been no… doing.”
It was clear the two found each other attractive. Dylan's eyes would casually linger on Max's seductive form at every opportunity. He'd have to be blind not to look. Max had a certain gravity about her that drew men in. And Max would be lying if she said she didn't find Dylan easy on the eyes.
; Calhoun shrugged, amused by their protests. "Like I said, that's none of my business.”
Detective Reese stormed toward them. He didn't look pleased. “What the hell is she doing here?"
“Identifying bodies," Calhoun said.
“As far as I’m concerned, this is still an active crime scene,” Reese barked. “I don't want these two anywhere near here."
Calhoun scowled at him. “I don’t see you drumming up any new leads on the case.”
Reese’s eyes narrowed at her.
“We could use the extra resources," Calhoun said. "All four of these perps have connections to Joe Duke. Chace had been investigating Duke for the last few months. All we need is probable cause to bring him in. These men were our only connection."
Reese sighed. “Do you really think there's something there?"
“It's the best we've got to go on right now,” Calhoun said.
Reese was silent a moment as he contemplated the situation. His eyes flicked from Calhoun to Dylan, then to Max, then back to Calhoun. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her aside, then whispered in her ear. “Alright. If I recall correctly, one of the perps was still alive when you arrived…”
“No," Calhoun said. "They were all dead. They'd been dead for hours.”
Reese cleared his throat. "As I was saying, one of the perps was still alive when you arrived, and he confessed to you his involvement in a weapons trafficking scheme with Joe Duke. Is that correct?"
Calhoun stammered. “Uh, yes. I recall something to that effect."
“Excellent. That gives me reasonable suspicion to believe there's a crime in progress on Joe Duke’s property. I'll have Judge Abernathy approve a warrant based on your suspicion. We might not be able to get him for murder, but let's see if we can get something to stick on him.”
Calhoun nodded.
Reese glanced back over to Max and Dylan. "And those two are your responsibility. They screw anything up, it's your ass.”
“Yes, sir."
Max’s sensitive hearing allowed her to hear their entire conversation. "So, that's how it's done around here?”
“Do you want to bring Joe Duke in or not?" Calhoun asked.
Max glanced to Dylan. This wasn't exactly by the book. But Dylan was going to let this one slide. "I want to get the man responsible for my brother's murder.”
“So do I,” Calhoun said.
The coroner sealed the body bags and activated the cryo-systems. He and his assistants pushed them out of the incinerator room and down the corridor, heading to the morgue.
It didn’t take long for the warrant to get issued. A tactical team prepared to raid Duke's warehouse. He ran a shipping company as a front, and had built a small empire from his legitimate earnings. His drug trafficking and other illicit activities had boosted his wealth into the stratosphere. Almost everything that was imported into the station touched Joe Duke's hands at one point or another. Either they were coming in on his ships, unloaded by his dockworkers, or stored in his warehouses. It made him almost impossible to catch. If drugs or illicit contraband were found on one of his transport ships, the cargo containers were always registered to a third party. Duke Shipping was merely transporting client goods. Contraband housed in one of his warehouses and registered to a client couldn't ever be connected to Duke himself. Though, no one ever seemed to be able to find these mysterious clients.
Several OPD officers in black battle armor positioned themselves in the corridor outside the main entrance to Duke's warehouse. It was located in the industrial section of the station. The corridors were wider to accommodate lift equipment and other heavy machinery. There was an entry hatch to the warehouse, along with several large bays.
Max and Dylan positioned themselves near Calhoun and Reese.
“You two, stay outside until the area is secured,” Reese said. “The last thing I need is for a Federation agent to get killed, or a civilian to shoot someone.”
Max's face tensed. She didn't like sitting on the sidelines.
With the officers in position, Reese tapped his earbud. “Prepare to breach on my command."
20
Amber sparks showered as the plasma torch cut through the hatch. The crackling beam cut the thick steel like cake, dripping beads of molten slag. Once the large rectangular cutout was complete, a battering ram hammered into it, severing the remaining connections, slamming the thunderous plate of steel to the deck.
The tactical squad stormed the compartment with force and precision.
"OPD. We have a warrant. Nobody move!" The squad leader yelled.
It didn't take long before shots were fired. Plasma bolts streaked through the air in all directions. The compartment filled with smoke, and the air had the sharp smell of ionized plasma particles.
The warehouse was a cavernous storage compartment with rows upon rows of shipping containers stacked high atop one another. There were lift-bots moving and stacking containers. Dozens of Duke’s men were scattered about the warehouse armed with high-powered plasma rifles. And they weren't afraid to use them.
The sound of impact blasts and body hits filtered into the corridor. Screams of agony wafted through the hatch—it was clear several officers had been hit.
Max grew impatient as a furious battle raged inside the warehouse. It seemed Joe Duke didn't like his privacy invaded. "Sounds like they could use a few extra hands."
"You two are not to get involved in this,” Reese said. “Calhoun, come with me."
Reese advanced to the hatch, taking cover behind the remains of the entryway. Calhoun was right behind him. Reese swung the barrel of his plasma pistol around the corner and peered into the warehouse. His eyes widened at the chaos. There were several officers down. The rest of the squad had taken cover behind large cargo containers, exchanging fire with Duke’s men at the far end of the warehouse. They were getting pelted from all angles. Some of Duke’s men were atop a 2nd level platform, firing down at the officers. Others were situated on catwalks near the roof, sniping at the tactical squad.
The low ground was not the place to be.
Calhoun positioned herself opposite Reese on the other side of the hatch. The two fired off several shots at various targets.
Officer McPherson was writhing on the deck, screeching in pain. He had taken a hit to the abdomen, but was still alive. Plasma blasts impacted the deck around him, sending showers of metal and debris into the air. Plumes of smoke wafted from the blast craters. He was a sitting duck in that position. It was only a matter of time before the sniper on the catwalk scored a direct hit.
Dylan and Max advanced to the entryway.
"I told you to stay put," Reese grumbled.
"You need backup," Max said. "This thing is going south quick."
Several blasts impacted the portal frame. Reese recoiled, then angled his weapon back around and fired several shots at the attacker.
McPherson’s screams filled the air.
Reese had a scowl on his face. Enough of this bullshit. He was going to get McPherson out of there. Reese lurched to his feet and raced across the clearing. Plasma bolts zipped in front and behind of him, narrowly missing.
Max laid down a steady stream of suppressive fire at the sniper in the rafters, trying to take some of the focus off Reese as he made his gallant journey.
He reached down, grabbed McPherson's collar and dragged him to safety behind a cargo container. McPherson might not survive the wound, but out of the line of fire, he had a fighting chance.
It was a surprisingly selfless act for a guy like Reese, Max thought. He hadn't impressed her as much of a hero.
The goon on the catwalk plummeted down, tumbling end over end—the result of one of Max’s precise plasma bolts. His upper torso caught the edge of a shipping container that was stacked 30 feet in the air, causing the body to spiral like a rag-doll. The impact instantly snapped his spine, and the crack echoed throughout the warehouse like a cannon. His body smacked the deck with a wet slap. Blood oozed from his ca
rcass. So much for staying out of it. It was official now, Max had killed someone on Orion Station. But there was no doubt this guy deserved it. Reese owed Max his life, but she was sure he wouldn’t acknowledge the fact.
A flurry of plasma bolts impacted around Max's position. She ducked behind the bulkhead for cover.
Most people couldn't hit the broad side of a star destroyer with a plasma pistol at a distance beyond 50 yards. But Max was dead on accurate. She angled her weapon around the entryway and fired several shots down the narrow corridor between the shipping containers, eviscerating one of Duke’s goons. He was barely poking his head out from behind a container when Max's plasma projectile vaporized his skull.
Max pushed into the fray, sprinting for cover behind a cargo container. Plasma bolts erupted at her feet. She scavenged a rifle and a few smoke grenades from the body of a fallen officer. She holstered her pistol and press checked the rifle. She grabbed an extra magazine, then sprang to her feet and raced through the aisles to the port-side bulkhead.
She cautiously advanced forward, toward the far bulkhead, attempting to flank Duke’s men. She paused at each aisle, making sure it was clear before she sprinted across to the next.
Plasma bolts from atop one of the containers rained down on her. Max dodged the blazing projectiles and sprinted to the next aisle. She angled her weapon high, firing two rounds. The glowing projectiles clipped the thug, knocking him from atop the container. He crashed to the deck. His elbow shattered on impact.
The goon cried out in agony, writhing on the deck. He fumbled for his weapon and took aim at Max. But a few well-placed shots put a nice hole in his chest. He wasn't in pain any longer.
Max continued down the narrow corridor, reaching the far bulkhead. She held up at the last row of containers. A staircase led to a second floor loft that housed the office. There was a goon atop the landing with a high-powered plasma rifle, sniping at the OPD officers.
Max lined him up in her sights, and her fingers squeezed the trigger. A bolt rocketed across the compartment. The thug dropped his weapon and fell forward, tumbling over the railing, smacking the deck below.