Learning the Hard Way 3

by H. P. Caledon

  “Tell me, can you turn anything into a sexual analogy?” Mike asked, gaping at Danny, who almost looked proud from the comment.

  “On moral and ethical grounds, my answer would have to be almost, yes. Almost anything. But all your practice and logic that backup plans are better than good plans seems to come into good use now. So find yourself some awesome costumes, and let the hair grow out more, Mike, because you’re going in.”

  “Without shoulder straps,” Mike groused, and worked at ripping Misery’s weapon off his jacket.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The stench of jail oozed from his clothes, and Keelan grimaced. He looked in the mirror. It had been a while since he’d worn them, and a plethora of memories forced their way into his mind. He just needed to wait for the prison mentality to take hold.

  Someone knocked on the door, and he breathed in deeply, regretting he’d done so through his nose, and checked his weapon.

  Misery stood outside the door in her street clothes. Keelan bent forward to sniff her.

  “You’re the one who told me not to shower for two days,” she snapped.

  “Exactly, you have to be able to fit in with the street crowd—bums everywhere, and they’re usually overlooked.”

  “Yeah, okay. You don’t smell new anymore, either.”

  Keelan snorted and pulled her in for a hug. “This is how Irgang smells.”

  Mike sat in the common area and put things out on the table. He looked dreadful. In Danny’s prison clothes, hair not having touched a comb or water for two days, no shaving for a week, he looked and smelled like a homeless person.

  Mike looked up, and the sight of Keelan back in his prison getup seemed to push unwanted memories at him. The sudden intensity in Mike’s eyes contradicted his outfit.

  Misery couldn’t lie about her gender anymore, but her confidence and belief in her own skills had her looking more and more like her mom. Same man-eating attitude, and Keelan felt proud of her.

  “Fake ID for you, one for you, and one for you,” Danny said, handing them over. “They fit the retinas you had in the drawer.”

  “You can make these?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah. Well, I didn’t code them, I just pressed the manufacture button.”

  “Simone Weismann—” Misery read out loud.

  “Bad idea!” Keelan exclaimed.

  “There are six hundred and twelve people on Reeds with the surname Weismann, and none of them are related to Alice within the past seventeen generations, or twelve with each other outside their small family ties here,” Danny said. “Misery is right now related to a freighter in North Port who actually has a daughter her age. I made retinas to fit her along with a different Weismann. If you split up, call me with the name for the nearest portal, and I’ll hack the server and rewrite your card when you stick it in. Then change your retinas.” Danny handed her a small box with new lenses. “Same goes for you two.” He handed both Mike and Keelan a box.

  Keelan just nodded and took the box, not sure he’d need it, but he couldn’t tell Danny why, so he let it slide.

  Mike looked at his card and nodded, looking impressed. “You’re very handy on a skip.”

  “Yeah, and I get no sex for my trouble!” Danny grunted and turned with his nose in the clouds.

  “From reviewing the plan, it seems like all possible fuckups are countered, but are you sure you can keep up if we split up?” Mike asked.

  “Right now, a whole group of Chiromancers are ready to assist me. You each have at least five Chiromancers on your tail at all times plus backups, so there’s time for toilet breaks. You’ll run tired before we do. But remember, we can only follow you digitally.”

  “Fantastic,” Mike said.

  “I checked on the inbound merc ship an hour ago. They’re two days out. We need to be gone before that. Tonog is picking you up as cargo, so you need to get into the crate and make noises like synthetic milk powder.” Danny’s watch beeped.

  “Now?” Keelan asked.

  “Yes, now.”

  Keelan stared at the crate they’d chosen for the job. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but with Misery in the box, too, it caused a lack of faith in his abilities to protect her. Especially since the box couldn’t be opened from the inside. They’d be trapped if something went wrong, and he wouldn’t be able to help her if he was stuck in there with her. Since Danny had aired that part of the plan, Keelan had worked on a backup. Since Mike seemed to like those so much, Keelan didn’t expect him to put up much more of a fight.

  “I can’t climb in there,” Keelan said and stepped back. Misery and Danny stared at him while Mike just slowed his work with filling the crate with oxygen tanks.

  Mike sighed. A sigh much like the one he’d drawn the night before when Keelan had aired his aversions toward the crate plan when they were alone.

  “What? Why? It’s just a ten-minute ride into town,” Danny said.

  Keelan didn’t want to tell Danny that he didn’t trust Tonog, so he swallowed a lump and decided to reveal a weakness. Because, hell yeah, he was claustrophobic when his daughter was locked in an airtight crate that he couldn’t hit or kick his way out of to save her. There were just too many trust variables to put him at ease.

  “Do any of you know how small the isolation cells are in Delta Zeich?” Keelan looked into the crate.

  Mike gaped, and Keelan understood why. He hadn’t aired that the day before when he complained about the plan in private.

  “Same size. Oxygen was so bad I couldn’t focus. Keep conscious. The smell meant I could barely breathe. I dreamed that I, in sheer panic of not being able to stretch my legs, gnawed them off at the knee just to make more room.”

  “Yeah, okay, I wouldn’t want to be in the same box as you if you fry the mainframe while in there,” Danny said quietly.

  “What do we do?” Misery asked.

  Danny slumped. “Everybody’s logged when passing the bridge by the towers. You could have mentioned claustrophobia when we reviewed the plan.”

  “Didn’t know for sure if it would stop me.”

  “Okay. You go alone and meet up with us at the destination.” Mike handed Misery two more oxygen tanks.

  “How?” Danny exclaimed.

  “Because my dad is awesome,” Misery said, leaned closer to Danny, and shushed at him theatrically. She then commenced stuffing the padding into the crate as Mike handed it to her.

  “You do know that the fewer variables a program get in the programming phase, the bigger the risk for the program to fail, right?” Danny asked.

  “Hey, an analogy without sex,” Mike said, grinning.

  “You want one? Okay, if the ass that—”

  “Save it!” Keelan said.

  Danny looked irritated and planted his fists on his hips, shaking his head. “Keelan, you’re too easy to recognize.” Danny either didn’t try to hide his worry, or he failed miserably.

  “Yet,” Keelan said, and he saw Mike shake his head vigorously out the corner of his eye.

  Danny was too busy grousing to notice.

  Keelan pulled him in for an awkward hug. “My earpiece will be active all the time, but I have to go ahead. Tonog will be here in half an hour, and I have to find... something first.”

  “Preferably without killing anyone,” Mike added.

  “That’s the plan,” Keelan agreed. “Danny, I’ll send you a retina scanning, because I need some information about the profile. In particular, anything pertaining to problems with the law and the likes.”

  “Would you at least share some of the plan with me?”

  “I’m gonna go find someone to hide behind, but he can’t be wanted or someone the lawmen have an interest in.”

  “Wh—” Danny drew a sigh. “Yeah, okay. We’ll hack the local server.”

  “Have Tonog stay with the crate at all times until I get there. I’ll call in once I’m out of the spaceport.”

  “Okay. You have more experience with being on the skip than I do.”
<
br />   Keelan tightened the hold on Danny for a second before rearranging his clothes to make it faster to change form.

  “Danny, you better go up for a few minutes. I’ll call you in a bit,” Mike said.

  “Why?”

  Keelan looked at Danny and winked. The young man finally did as Mike was asked.

  “See you later, sweetheart,” Keelan said and received a smile. He glanced at the stairs, and as soon as Danny was gone, Keelan changed into the one he’d picked up Danny as, but he kept the retina lenses on, since that person was supposed to be dead along with Danny.

  Mike let him out of the ship. “It’s not just the crate, is it?” Mike asked before letting him leave.

  “No, but Danny wasn’t supposed to know that.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  Keelan left the ship and hid under the landing frame until he saw his opening to join the mottled population moving around on the spaceport.

  * * * *

  Mike and Misery sat somewhat comfortable in the crate even when it was moved around and shoved into the back of Tonog’s transporter. The ten minutes passed, so they had to be there, soon.

  “How do you think dad does it?” Misery asked.

  Mike put a finger to his lips and pointed to his earpiece.

  “Your dad is pretty good at hiding. He once walked right past Ratkins on the street, and even though Ratkins knew Keelan could be there, he didn’t see him. I didn’t even see through the disguise that day,” Mike said, remembering how he and Ratkins had been there for Cecil Hallett when Keelan had stood on the opposite side of the street and watched them. And that was without having changed form.

  Cecil Hallett. It had been more than a week since he’d done a search on the name, but it hadn’t been fruitful.

  “Danny, would you do a search on Cecil Hallett’s position?” Mike asked, but there was no answer. “Danny?” Still no answer. Mike checked his earpiece. “Shit, air and signal tight crate.”

  “Is it soundproof, too?”“

  Mike glanced her way, and she gaped. “Danny trusts him,” Mike said, searching for a high level of trust in Danny.

  “Yeah, a finance guy!” Misery exclaimed. “Someone who lives for money. There might even be grounds for the contraband suspicions.”

  “Man, am I glad Keelan’s not in the box right now.”

  “Is the box marked?”

  “Hey, hey, no panicking,” Mike said calmly while a burning sensation arose in his knees—a purely psychological pain at not being able to stretch his legs and the memory of Keelan’s dreams of gnawing off his own legs.

  The box jerked when the transporter stopped. It then jerked harder when the transporter suddenly sped up, and if Mike’s legs hadn’t been long enough to hold himself against the side of the crate, he would have ended on top of Misery who just slammed the back of her head into the side.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Panic time?” she asked.

  “Hold-on time.” Mike pushed at the sides to keep himself from being tossed around inside the crate. Misery had less luck doing the same and ended up curling herself into a ball around Mike’s leg. One last bump, and everything stopped.

  They stayed quiet as they waited, and Mike contemplated getting to his weapons. But they were difficult to reach for in that position and from lack of room to move.

  Someone fumbled with the lid of the crate, and it opened, bathing them in a dusty light. A man’s face popped up in the opening, and he looked surprised at what he found.

  “There’s something here!” he shouted. Before Mike managed to get up enough to look out, three men pointed their weapons at them.

  “No contraband, huh? Looks like you’re smuggling humans!”

  “Damn varanuides, he’s a collector.”

  Mike heard a varanuide growl, and there was no doubt Tonog was pissed off. With the weapons Mike was looking at, he hoped the varanuide didn’t attack, because even as thick-skinned as he was, the ammunition in these would cause trouble.

  “Help!” Mike tried and winked at Misery. She nodded and began sobbing.

  The men pulled them from the crate without much care, and the hope that the men would help them escape disappeared gradually.

  One of them grabbed Misery’s face and turned it up. “A pretty one.”

  “Quit it!” an unarmed man yelled. He stood with a pad in his hand and scrolled through the information on it. “Check their id.”

  The man holding Misery looked only too happy about the order, and he checked her breast pockets first.

  “Here. I have ID on her!” Mike shouted in an attempt to get the man’s paws off of Misery and make sure the guy didn’t find any weapons on her either.

  The man let go, and Mike held out his ID while Misery pulled out her own. The guy looked irritated that he didn’t have a reason to paw at her again.

  “Who are you?” Mike asked.

  “Shut up.”

  “Who are you?” Mike repeated demandingly.

  “The freight committee’s inspection agents!” the man holding Mike bellowed.

  “Check retinas just to be sure,” the guy with the pad said. Tonog curled his huge torso forward, and Mike knew enough about the species to know that he was getting ready to attack. Mike managed eye contact with Tonog and discreetly shook his head. Tonog straightened a bit, apparently heeding Mike’s wish.

  A man stepped up to Mike and scanned his eyes. “Tobin Glenn, a freight bum who got laid off a few weeks ago for turning up at work under the influence of crystals,” the man announced and continued onward to scan Misery’s eyes. “Simone Weismann, she’s from North Port.”

  “What are you doing in this crate?” the guy with the pad asked. “Do you know him?”

  “Yes,” Misery sobbed. Mike glanced her way, wondering and waiting. “I wanted to run away from home, and Tobin said he knew how we could get on a freighter. I paid the varanuide to secure us transport and be repacked in my dad’s warehouse.”

  “You’re a stupid girl, you know that?” the man holding her said.

  “Please don’t tell my dad,” she pleaded, while Mike tried to turn her lie into a useful cover story for a way out.

  “Tadaa! Oh, no, this wrong... wrong number... ” someone drunkenly murmured. Everybody turned around and watched a short and compact man stagger into the warehouse while fighting a long scarf.

  “Who are you?” the man with the pad demanded.

  The man stopped, but swayed as he tried to focus on them.

  “Hanson. I’m Hanson, and I have an appoint—” hiccup “—pointment with a man—” hiccup “—sixteen.” The wind blew in, and the scarf took on a life on its own, wrapping around the man’s face, and he wobbled around, trying to free himself.

  Holy shit, this dude’s a godsend.

  “This isn’t sixteen!” The man looked around. “Middle Street and... ” The man turned to leave, stepped on his scarf, and fell over.

  “Middle Street and one forty-four?” the man with the pad asked.

  “Yes!” the drunkard said, getting himself halfway up before he lost his balance and sat flat on his ass. “And here I thought the driver couldn’t find his way to the freight center. You the man to talk to?” Hiccup.

  The man with the pad looked around in amusement before he glanced at Tonog. “Yeah, that’s me.” The man walked to the drunkard, who apparently had given up all attempts to stand on his own two legs, because he stayed on the floor, his legs sprawling for balance.

  “Deal was four boxed,” the drunk said and held up three fingers, then added a fourth.

  “We have them in the back of the transporter out here. I’ll get them for you.”

  “No, no, no, no, mister, the agreement was with delivery! Do I look like someone who’s in any state to—” hiccup “—state to carry four boxes of booze to the Starlings Bodega?”

  Mike and Misery exchanged a glance, and Mike really hoped the guy could make the men lose interest in the fact that Tonog’s com
petition was selling booze out the back door.

  The man with the pad finally tossed his head for the others to follow.

  The man holding Misery let go of her and slapped her in the face before pointing at her. “Stupid girl!”

  He turned to leave fast enough to not see Misery’s very convincing killer gaze.

  “Come on. Better help you find the right warehouse,” a man said, and started helped to pull the drunk up.

  “Get your grubby hands off me!” the drunk said, then looked at Mike, who gasped as the drunk’s eyes turned black.

  “Fuck, that’s Keelan,” Mike whispered.

  All doors closed, trapping them all inside.

  “What the hell? Open that gate!” The man with the pad turned to look at a confused Tonog.

  “I didn’t close them.”

  “I did,” Danny said in Mike’s earpiece.

  “Any plans up your sleeve, maestro, they’re armed with more than close combat weapons.”

  “Just a sec.”

  The man with the pad fumbled to get a moVID out his pocket. “What the hell? It’s SWIS... Hello?”

  “You are mucking up a SWIS mission! Fixate Tobin Glenn!”

  “Grab him!” the man exclaimed and pointed at Mike. Two of the men carried out the order immediately and with little thought to Mike’s well-being, while Misery stood shaking, still holding her stinging cheek.

  “The Freight Center manager Tonog is assisting us in getting this man into custody, and you’re destroying our only evidence. Get your asses out of here and leave the drunkard, you will not be messing up our mission any more than you have already managed!”

  “Yes sir,” the man said, and did another head-toss as the gate started opening again. The men followed him empty handed, leaving Mike in an uncomfortable position on his stomach.

  Keelan, if it was him, made it to his feet. “Where’s my booze?”

  “Shut the fuck up, you wet-eyed bastard,” the guy who had hit Misery sneered and shoved the drunk hard enough to knock him over, so he got lost in his scarf again.

  The gate closed after the men, leaving the warehouse silent.