by EJ Fisch
Kade returned presently, bearing a small holographic advertisement. “The bartender at the club next door has an old car he’s been trying to sell. I told him we were interested – his shift ends in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks Shevin,” Ziva said, checking her pistol before tucking it back into her pants. Her fingers brushed over one end of her kytara where it dangled from its special harness under her jacket. “You stay here, hold down the fort, and we’ll go get the car and find Aroska’s contact. We’ll keep you updated.”
“Got it,” Kade said with a respectful nod. “What if someone comes?”
“If anyone walks through that door?” Ziva gestured toward the pistol resting on the sofa beside his bag. “Shoot them in the head.”
-64-
Bosco’s Parts and Repair
Chaiavis
The car was a rusty red thing that had to be over twenty years old. The exterior had seen better days, but after a brief inspection under the hood, Ziva had deemed the machine stable. The bartender had charged them a fair price, too, and he’d seemed just as excited to be paid in cash as he had to get rid of the thing. The repulsion system needed repair so gaining altitude had been a bit tricky, but Aroska was confident his friend could help with that.
They left the aircar parked on the small landing pad outside and walked across to the shop, which was nestled between the rest of Chaiavis’s towering structures high above the level of the street. It seemed to be a fairly large store, judging by its outward appearance, and it looked well-kept, making Ziva wonder if Aroska knew what he was doing after all.
“You don’t strike me as the type of person who would have resources like this,” she said, turning in a slow circle as she followed him inside. The rest of the landing pad was clear and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
A motion detector emitted a friendly chime as they entered. “I’ve had my uses for this sort of place,” Aroska replied. “Besides, Bosco is an old friend. He always seems to have exactly what I need – for a good price, too.”
The interior of the shop was warm and could maybe even be described as homey. Several antique weapons and parts were on display in the foyer, on sale to any collectors fanatical enough to fork over the credits. The walls and floor were well maintained and free of clutter except for the occasional deactivated bot and an old engine someone had left for Bosco to take a look at. A long counter separated them from a warehouse-style back room lined with massive shelves that stretched to the ceiling. These contained various parts and boxes of equipment, all neatly organized by brand and purpose, it appeared. If not for the fact that there was work to be done, Ziva would have liked to spend more time looking around.
“Coming, coming,” bellowed a deep voice from back among the shelves. An older Haphezian man appeared, wiping the grease from his hands on a thick apron he wore around his waist. He was one of the Defectives who had been sent to the Haphezian embassy there on Chaiavis as a child, having one blue eye, one green eye, and no hair streaks that Ziva could see. His face was void of any gesh punti – he’d no doubt been exiled before he was old enough to receive them. He was a bit scruffy and had styled his close-cropped hair into short spikes that ran down the center of his head. Both ears and one eyebrow were pierced and his forearms were enveloped in tattoos, but his eyes were kind and he beamed when he spotted Aroska.
“Aroska Tarbic!” he roared heartily, giving his own bulging belly a solid pat. “Now there’s a face I haven’t seen in far too long!” He waddled toward them, arms open wide, with a rich laugh that reminded Ziva of her father. She noticed he was walking on two prosthetic legs.
Bosco and Aroska embraced and the older man clapped Tarbic hard on the back. “How’ve you been, boy? You still working for those scumbags at HSP?”
“Might I remind you that if it weren’t for those ‘scumbags,’ you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me right now.”
Bosco chuckled again and waved a finger. “Aye, isn’t that the truth.” He turned to Ziva, who had been watching the situation unfold from a couple of meters away, and grinned wide. “And who’s your pretty friend here?”
The smile on Aroska’s face dissolved and he looked to her, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across his eyes. “Oh, this is—”
“Ziva,” she said. She crossed her arms but managed a slight dip of her head.
“Welcome, Ziva. I’m Bosco Jagger.” He bowed deeply and swung his thumb back toward Aroska. “Takes a certain kind of girl to be letting this guy drag you around.”
“Believe it or not, I think she’s the one dragging me around,” Aroska said. “I finally found one I can’t handle.”
By “one” Ziva assumed he meant a woman, and she immediately thought of several snide remarks that would make sufficient comebacks. She remained silent however and followed him to the counter, where the two of them took a seat on some tall stools.
“So what can I do for you, son?” Bosco asked, scooting back around to the other side of the bar. “You in need of equipment?”
Aroska nodded. “I’m looking for an anti-grav stabilizer that would fit the repulsion system on an old Cording VX-2 aircar,” he replied. “I can take care of any modifications myself.”
“What’s a hot rod like you doing flying around in a twenty-year-old hunk of junk like that?” Bosco chuckled. “Anti-grav stabilizer, huh? Sounds like you’re trying to get somewhere high and get there fast. Am I right?”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up for you. Anything for the lady?”
His tone made it sound like a joke. Ziva drummed her fingers on the surface of the counter, suddenly aware of an opportunity that needed to be taken advantage of. “What have you got in the way of projectile rifles?”
Bosco blinked and the friendly glimmer vanished from his eyes. He stroked his chin in an attempt to mask the change and hummed to himself. “I believe I’ve got an old Korberos rifle somewhere in the back. Been there for a while, though.”
“That’ll work. I’ll also need a twelve-round mag and a barrel extension and suppressor. If you have a spare hair trigger lying around, I’ll take that too. And an empty plasma cell.”
“Empty, huh?” Bosco’s eyes shifted briefly toward Aroska. “What kind of ammunition?”
“I won’t be needing ammunition.”
“No ammunition?”
“No ammo.”
The old man snorted and slapped the counter. “Who would have thought? Let me see what I can find.”
He disappeared among the shelves again, whistling to himself as he went. Ziva swiveled on her stool to maintain a partial view of the front door and continued to tap her fingers on the counter. Aroska watched her with furrowed eyebrows.
“Real subtle,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What do you think you’re going to do with an antique rifle?”
“Probably shoot something with it.”
His only response was a scoff.
“HSP confiscated all my weapons, Aroska. I need something more than a plasma pistol. Long distance is my forte; they should know better than to separate a sniper and her rifle. Besides, the gravity here is comparable to that at home. If – galaxy forbid – I actually have to use it here, it won’t be a problem.”
Aroska shook his head again. “It just seems counterproductive.”
“I’ll tell you what’s counterproductive: you handling the car repairs.”
“What makes you think I can’t handle them myself?”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. We just need this thing running properly in a matter of hours, not days.”
Aroska looked in the direction Bosco had gone then leaned a little closer. “Can you at least try to be civil for the next few minutes?”
Ziva held her hands up in surrender and looked away. The two of them sat there in silence for a while, listening to the faint music that carried through the shop’s comm system with a gentle beat. Ziva could hear Bosco rummaging around among the shelves; his
casual whistling had ceased. Now that she had a rifle, there were a couple of other items she would need to get her hands on, but she doubted he carried what she was looking for. Despite his pleasant demeanor and the way Aroska had spoken of him, Ziva couldn’t bring herself to trust the older man. Even if he didn’t betray them voluntarily, it was possible that HSP could eventually track them to this shop, and she didn’t need anyone knowing any more than they had to.
Bosco returned presently, toting the stabilizer in an old pack and carrying a long rifle case. He set both on the counter, his multi-colored eyes fixed on Ziva. “The other things you asked for are in here,” he said, tapping the case. He spoke as if something were lodged in his throat.
Ziva placed a stack of credits on the counter and flipped the latches on the rifle case. After a brief examination, it appeared its contents were in order and she looked up to meet Bosco’s questioning gaze.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he growled, though his eyes were filled with fear. “I don’t spend much time at the embassy, but there are a couple of things I know – you’re the one HSP was looking for, and you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Look Bosco,” Aroska said. “Ziva’s innocent and we’re doing our best to stay off the radar, okay? We didn’t come here to give you any trouble, but we don’t need you to give us any either.”
The old man nodded and folded his brawny arms. “I’d rather not get involved. I’ll erase my surveillance feeds, but I’m going to have to ask you two to go ahead and get on out of here.”
Aroska’s eyebrows dropped into a scowl. “So that’s it then? You’re not even going to hear us out?”
“Son, I’ve got a business to run and other customers to take care of.” Bosco held his hand out to the items on the counter. “I think I’ve already done my part to help you. There is someone else you could be talking to though.”
“Who?” Ziva asked, pulling the rifle case toward her before Bosco could change his mind.
“Name’s Kat Reilly. She’s one of us, a freelancer who frequents this place to buy weapons. Pretty young thing, clever as hell. You should be able to find her around the clubs in the eastern part of the Underground.”
Ziva glanced to Aroska, who was already looking at her. Their pitiful little hotel, the docks where they’d landed – both were located in the heart of the district of Chaiavis known as the Underground. The area was considered a safe haven of sorts, a place where any species could make themselves at home without affecting the city’s more dignified areas. The eastern edge of the Underground bordered another upper-class entertainment district – there were literally hundreds of bars and clubs to choose from.
“Care to be any more specific?” Ziva said, somewhat annoyed. Finding people was her job, but such a vague description still left a pool of thousands to comb through.
“She’s what you might call a ‘private’ person – she won’t want you asking around for her,” Bosco replied. He gave a brief physical description, informing them that she might bolt or even retaliate if she got spooked. “Just tell her I sent you and she should be okay.”
Ziva still wasn’t thrilled with what a time-consuming process it was going to be, but if it meant acquiring a new ally and gaining any sort of edge over Dasaro, she was willing to at least try.
The door alarm chimed again and another customer walked in, acknowledging them with a friendly nod as he entered. Ziva took that as their cue to leave and gathered up the rifle case. Aroska grabbed the bag with the stabilizer.
“Good luck, for what it’s worth,” Bosco said.
-65-
Niobi Processing Center
Argall, Haphez
The number of niobi crystals drifting by on the conveyor belt was indeed impressive. Granted, the mercenaries were digging deeper than ever before and, as a result, had destroyed a good portion of the landscape in order to get them. The worst part was that the majority of them were nothing more than weak white crystals, some nearly clear. Bent on achieving the maximum financial gain – or maybe just showcasing his dominance – Loric had ordered their harvest anyway, despite the fact that they were barely mature enough to generate any power.
Mag stood there at the conveyor, data pad in hand, absentmindedly reaching in to remove the occasional rock that floated by. There weren’t many at this point in the processing, but all the recent blasting had resulted in more dirt and debris than normal. The mercs had doubled the number of workers in place at the belt, thereby helping with the problem, but now it seemed as though there were too many of them. There was Mag, essentially just standing there, feeling as though he were accomplishing nothing. The sight of the crystals themselves had taken some getting used to. Most of Argall’s population was somehow involved with the mining industry, whether they be farmers or factory workers, but Mag’s time had been spent in an office away from the actual processing centers. Roles like that, anything involving money or number crunching, had been assumed by Loric’s men so as to prevent citizens from trying to contact the outside world.
Another rock came along and Mag scooped it up and tossed it into the bin behind him. It was such a fluid movement, the reaching and tossing, that it had almost become a reflex over the past several months. A sudden vision of himself snatching up not a rock but a crystal entered his mind. Startled, Mag lowered his hand to his side and wiped it off on his grimy green jumpsuit, identical to the ones everyone else was wearing. He was known for his sleight of hand – so was the rest of his family, for that matter – and he had often thought about how easy it would be to swipe up a couple of crystals without being caught. There was, however, a big difference between thinking about it and actually considering it.
“Take care of yourself,” his mother had instructed him just prior to being shot before his eyes. Stealing crystals – crystals that were nigh on worthless at that – didn’t seem like the best way to respect her final wishes. What did he expect to accomplish by taking them, anyway? The mercenaries had made it abundantly clear that stealing crystals meant a plasma bolt between the eyes. They’d even rigged up some scanners to detect the chemical composition in the crystals and all workers had to be inspected before leaving the factory each day. If Mag were to be caught with them, Loric wouldn’t hesitate to kill him then and there, map or no map.
The map. Mag had managed to shut it from his mind for the majority of the day, a relief after spending the past few days with it plaguing him constantly. He had finally concluded that finding it would be the best move, regardless of whether he kept it or handed it over to the mercenaries. Even if he was killed or managed to hide it, he knew Loric would continue to execute people and tear up the mountains until he found that room of crystals.
Was there somewhere he could send the map when he found it? Getting it out of the city would mean somehow avoiding the net the mercs had cast over it, something that had already been proven impossible many times by people who were now dead. He dared not trust anyone else to take it for safekeeping, and he was suddenly stricken with the realization that his father wouldn’t have either.
Preoccupied with this new idea, it took Mag a moment to notice the cluster of rocks passing by him on the conveyor. He shook his head and began picking them out, wracking his brain trying to think of anyone his father had ever confided in, someone elsewhere on the planet or elsewhere in the galaxy. No one came to mind immediately, at least anyone who would be familiar with Argall and the mining system. Maybe that was the key – wherever the map was, it was somewhere far enough away that it was meaningless to anyone who saw it. Unfortunately, if that were the case, there was a good chance it was no longer in existence.
If it was still intact, retrieving it would mean leaving the city. He was sure the mercenaries wouldn’t allow him to just walk out, and if he told them where he was going, they would more than likely want to accompany him. That left escaping undetected as his only real option, but the mercs were keeping such close tabs on him that it wouldn’t take them long to realize he
was gone. Once they did, Loric would gladly start killing, and all that blood would be on Mag’s hands.
Three full days had passed in the week Loric had given him to find the data pad. That left him with a little over three days to somehow contact the outside world. Figuring out who his father had been in contact with three years earlier would be tricky, albeit easier than reestablishing that contact now. Then there was the question of whether his time would be better spent doing that or trying to send for help. Either way, there wasn’t a lot of time to waste.
Mag paused a moment, startled by the texture of one of the rocks he picked up. Turning it over in his hand, he scratched at it with a fingernail, watching as the dirt crumbled from it and drifted to the floor. The rock was, in fact, a niobi crystal, roughly two centimeters long and equally wide. How easy it would be to simply throw it into the bin with the other debris! The crystal might even be worth something; it was mostly white but the center was just starting to ripen.
A commotion behind him startled Mag out of his thoughts. He turned, crystal still in hand, to find a group of mercenaries converging on a worker who was attempting to exit through one of the scanners. All of them were yelling at once, drawing the attention of everyone else nearby. The thugs had their weapons drawn and had forced the man to his knees where they had begun searching him. One of them recovered a handful of small crystals from his pocket, and before the man could say a word, he was silenced by a sizzling plasma bolt. Sighing, Mag shook his head and placed the crystal back on the conveyor.
-66-
Underground District
Chaiavis
“Where do we even start?” Aroska muttered.
From the beginning were the first words that came to Ziva’s mind, though she remained silent. After four hours of looking around the Underground they had come up short, so they’d ventured further into the heart of the city. With the number of people around, going on foot had proved to be more efficient than flying, though not having a quick means of escape if they needed one made her nervous.