Red Noise

by John P. Murphy

  “I’ve got a recent link for the old man’s account,” the Miner said. “We could arrange for him to get a suspicious transfer of cash.”

  “Christ, you’re as dumb as you look,” Sparks retorted. “You do that, the bank investigators will fucking swarm. They’re worse than the navy.”

  Raj laughed again. “It’s not so dumb. Just as long as we wait until you’re done.”

  “Which will be fucking never if you don’t get out of my hair.”

  He held up his palms in surrender. “OK, OK. I get it. Listen, I just want Jane to give this place a once-over, and let me know what she thinks from a security standpoint. Then we’ll leave you in peace.”

  Sparks chewed her lower lip, studying the Miner. It seemed like all the little antennas were pointed at her while she stared, gimlet-eyed skeptical. “Not sure I’m keen on her wandering around here.”

  With some negotiating, Raj got her to grudgingly agree to let the Miner take a tour of the outside of the bay, to inspect the three hatches and the guard details around them. He whistled for one of the goons outside, and tasked the bodybuilder-type who poked her head in with playing guide. She and the Miner scowled at each other, then the Miner stripped off the magnet shoes and let herself be led around. The corridors were sheathed in yellow-stained white plastic cladding, a bit different from the other decks. The rush of water and air through pipes, and the chugging of nearby pumps, came to her ears through the seams.

  “Well?” came Raj’s voice, faintly, in her ear.

  “She’s loaded,” Sparks said. “I couldn’t scan that well from so far, but my guess is about three hundred thousand credits’ worth of military grade implants.”

  Raj whistled. “Someone made a serious fucking investment in her, just to let her run loose.”

  “Losing side, is my guess. Funny what goes missing when they’re trashing the records. She’s got the works, too. Joints, nerves, liver. That fake eye is functional, I’ll bet, probably has low-light vision and a basic visual interface for her ship. I can’t tell what all else is going on in that skull of hers, not without a closer scan, but it’s probably a lot of fun.”

  The Miner, reminded, checked her ship’s telemetry. Seemed to still be OK. She’d have to check on the plants later.

  Raj’s voice was indistinct, but Sparks laughed in response to whatever he said.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “You get it, and I’ll sell it, how’s that for a division of labor?”

  The Miner nodded and smiled. Her minder gave her a funny look, but shrugged and they kept walking to the next guard station.

  “After we take down Feeney,” Raj was saying. “Sis needs her help, if I’m being honest, but she doesn’t feel like setting up a new rival just when she’s ready to finally take down the old one.”

  “Suits me. Something about that chick I don’t like.”

  “She’s taller than you.”

  “Fuck you.” She quickly added, “That’s not an offer.”

  “Now, now, my sister only says I’d screw anything on two legs.”

  Sparks laughed. “Glad I left them in the office.”

  The Miner missed Raj’s response to static that just got worse as she and her minder walked. It was just as well – Raj appeared in front of them and waved the minder off. The Miner filled the walk back to the casino with plausible bullshit, and considered her plans.

  SCREWBALL LISTS THE OPTIONS

  Screwball waited until Mary left. She’d gotten fed up with the admittedly kinda nutty schemes they were dreaming up, read her grandfather the riot act over their finances, and then left in a huff, leaving them both behind, neither the wiser for having had their “thinking caps” on. With the old man in his cups, sunk into the big chair behind his desk like he wanted to be swallowed up, Screwball figured now was as good a time as any to come up with something brilliant. Or fake it.

  “It seems to me,” he tried again, “that time’s against us here. You’ve got a lot of money, but it sounds like maybe not a lot of income. Does Angelica have much from the casino, though?”

  Feeney snorted. “She’s run the damn place into the ground, she has. But she’s got the chop shop, too, remember. Makes some decent cash off that, a chunk at a time.”

  Screwball considered that, and a dim little light lit in the back of his head. “If she had something big down there, she wouldn’t want McMasters sniffing around, would she?”

  Feeney shook his head in a loose motion, the exaggerated gesture of a drunk man. “No. We always paid the law pretty damned well to push off. Officially the mechanic’s bay is...” He snapped his fingers a couple times.

  “Out of service?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth, boy. Out of service.”

  “So, if Ditz shot some of her people near the mechanic’s bay, she might just sit on it?”

  Feeney’s eyes focused on him hard, and for a moment he thought the old man’s drunkenness had just been a put-on. “That’s what I’d have done. Unfortunate, but cost of doing business.”

  Screwball frowned. “So... if she’s got something big, she’s going to want to hold out until she can make some money on it. How long’s that take?”

  “Depends,” Feeney said, and shrugged. “If she knew she was coming into some treasure – and I usually didn’t, back in my day – she would have arranged a scrap trader well ahead of time. Wouldn’t make it a rush job, though. Getting through that,” and here he stumbled a few times to get out the words, “ablative plating – God – that takes a while.”

  “What if we got word to McMasters?”

  The white eyebrows went up. “Are you seriously asking me, what if we told Tom McMasters that one of the sides he’s been soaking for cash is about to come into a lot more money than the other? Good God, boy, are you trying to get me run out of here? Don’t think of him as the law, son. He’s not. I’ve dealt with the law all my life, mostly crooked, some honest. He’s neither. He’s just a craven son of a bitch with a borrowed badge, and his job’s to keep a lid on things.”

  “What about the real law, then?”

  Feeney waved a hand dismissively. “The real law doesn’t give a splattering shit what goes on in this station, not unless it makes them look bad.”

  “What if we can fix it so it makes them look bad, though?” Screwball leaned in. “Look, this is basically piracy, right?”

  “That’s debatable...”

  “Angelica’s doing it, not you.”

  “Oh. Yes, good old-fashioned piracy and no mistake.”

  “What if we got proof and sent it off? If it’s juicy enough, they’ll come, right?”

  “Surely, but they won’t limit themselves to just her. Once they’re here, they’ll burrow in like a tick. They’ll be on my case, too.”

  Screwball shrugged, smiling. “You’ve dealt with the law all your life. And you’ll know they’re coming.”

  The old man leaned back in his chair, elbows on the arms, fingers laced. He stared at his knobby knuckles. “There’s something to that, my boy. You’d have to get in there, though, and you’d have to make sure Angelica never knew. If she thinks the jig is up, she’ll have plans to hide the loot.”

  “I can get in there. Ditz knows that place like the back of his hand. Him and Nuke used to go down and smoke up with Sparks.”

  “Him and Wilfred, eh?” His eyes went unfocused for a moment, and took on an odd look. It lasted only a moment, and he shook his head. “A more dimwitted, dangerous pair, I’ve never known. Their pal Raj went with them, you know. Good boy, Raj. Shame he was loyal to his sister after all. Only really loyal man in the whole goddamned station, I think.”

  Screwball was surprised when the old man came out of his chair fast. He walked across the office, steadying himself against the furniture and muttering that he’d had more to drink than he thought, good stuff, and first he locked the door. Then he strode to the side wall, and at his touch a wood-grain panel at chest height slid open. The dull gray box inside looked
like an old-fashioned safe, and even had an old-fashioned dial.

  “I don’t mind you seeing my little toy box,” he said absently. “But you ought to know that I’ve made damned sure that anyone who tries to force this open will have one hell of a bad day.”

  It came open with a click, and he started to reach for something near him, then stopped. He got a sly smile on his face, then reached his forearms all the way into the cavity in the wall. He stepped back and cradled in both hands a small metal box. Slowly, he carried it to his desk and made a great show of setting it down with a surprising thump despite the care he showed.

  “If Mary knew I had this, she’d pitch it into space.” He chuckled. “Maybe me with it.”

  Screwball started to chuckle along with him, but Feeney silenced him with a glare. He struggled a little with the four mechanical catches, but persistence won out and the top half of the box came open like a clamshell.

  Inside a soft gray lining that fit it exactly lay a conical metal object. Feeney stood and stared at it, almost in awe. Screwball could smell the strong alcohol on his breath still.

  “What is it?”

  The old man didn’t look at him. “It’s the black box from a police deep space cruiser. Very sensitive, and it can defend itself, I’m led to believe. I’ve hung onto this for a very long time, yes.”

  Screwball just gazed at it. It didn’t look like much, but it seemed like he ought to be impressed.

  “When they say that one is bringing out the big guns, this is what they mean,” Feeney said in a low, almost reverent voice. “Do you know what wasps are? They’re stinging insects, little flying things, a great deal like police, really. Nasty enough little things on their own, but if you crush one, they swarm. Police are like that, too, only armed a lot better, and meaner. Once you activate this, they’ll come flying, and only a copper can deactivate it.”

  “Won’t McMasters do that?”

  “If he’s stupid. They watch for these signals in their big telescopes. If he turns it off, he’ll have some explaining to do.”

  Screwball started to feel excited, but he tried to tamp it down. Something about the whole thing felt off. “Aren’t they like indestructible?”

  “I don’t care about destroying it, boy, I care about setting it off. The minute it goes off, it starts scanning and broadcasting. I couldn’t get rid of it fast enough if that happened – literally. I don’t know what it would find out about me, and I don’t want to know. But if this were to find its way into the chop shop... Well, the mechanic’s bay is well away from anything else. I made sure the surrounding areas were rented up. Angelica’s cleared them out even more. Nowhere else the signal could have come from, understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Now, it’s easy to activate manually. A good thump might do it if you have to throw it and run, but otherwise if you, ah… hmm… if you pinch these two plates at the top, I’m told that will put it on a countdown timer. If thirty minutes go by and nobody pinches it again, off it goes. Got it?” He flipped the lid back down with a snap, and Screwball jumped.

  “Yes, sir.” He frowned. He was pretty drunk, but he didn’t understand why a police black box would need a countdown timer.

  “I don’t think I need to tell you that you want to be very far away from that thing when it activates. God knows what it’ll, ah, scan.”

  “What are its defensive measures?”

  “Eh? Oh. No idea. Don’t stick around and find out, though.”

  “No, sir.”

  A look of brief annoyance flashed across Feeney’s face, until he realized that Screwball was agreeing not to stick around. Feeney put his hand on the box and looked Screwball in the eye.

  “Do not let Mary see this, under any circumstances.”

  “Right, sir.” He swelled with slightly alcohol-enhanced pride at the trust he was being given.

  “Go alone. If you get caught with this, we’re all in a heap of shit. That means especially,” and he pointed with a swaying finger when he said: “Don’t bring Ditz.”

  MEDICAL ASSISTANCE

  Dr Mills answered the door against his better judgment. Late-night wakeups were rarely good news, but thanks to a glance at the camera he was prepared to give his former junior partner the best unamused look in his arsenal.

  “Hello, Joff. You sick?”

  “Hi, Arun,” said his visitor, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “Can I come in?”

  “Are you sick?”

  As the only two doctors on the station, when they’d parted company after the Wilfred Feeney incident they’d agreed to treat each other. Each privately thought he was getting the raw end of that deal. Either way, they had agreed emphatically not to socialize.

  “I brought a peace offering.” Joff Philippe hoisted a bottle. Glass, full of something amber that might not have been distilled in a repurposed fuel tank. He looked haggard; probably wasted.

  “I’m not going to get drunk with you. Or high. What do you want?”

  He felt bad when the man winced, but he’d gotten enough trouble out of sparing Joff’s feelings.

  “We have to talk, Arun. It’s getting bad. They’re killing each other.”

  “They’ve been killing each other for months. They can stop whenever they want.”

  Joff shook his head. “It’s serious now. It’s all-out war, Arun, a shooting war. It’s an all-hands-on-deck situation up there.”

  “And you’ve come to me for help.”

  Joff swore under his breath, half making it a laugh. “You think I want to? I’ve barely slept; I’m living on modafinil and amphetamines. I’ve had to pressgang a couple of those damn gangsters as the worst nurses you’ve ever imagined.”

  Mills folded his arms. “I suppose you’re still taking payment in women and drugs.”

  Joff laughed bitterly. “I’m taking payment in keeping my teeth.”

  “Well hell, how do I get in on a deal like that?”

  “I don’t blame you for being angry with me,” Joff said quietly, leaning in so far that Mills felt the sudden urge to try to catch him. “And I don’t blame you for focusing your practice on whatever decent folk are left. I’m not one of them and I know it. But the only reason I’m not even busier than I am is that half of these poor berks are just being left to bleed out where they fall. It’s a nightmare. Please.”

  “I’m no trauma surgeon, Joff.”

  “Me neither, but I’ve learned. God, I’ve learned. Just do what you can.”

  Mills gritted his teeth as he caught himself mentally pushing appointments back and planning what would have to go into his bag that he wouldn’t mind being stolen. He’d already basically agreed, damn it.

  “How bad are these nurses?”

  “I caught Skeeve doing what he thought was cocaine off a bedpan.”

  Mills struggled with that sentence and landed on, “Skeeve?”

  “Technically ‘Other Skeeve’ but nobody’s seen Original Skeeve in a while, and if he’s dead, then Other Skeeve feels he inherits because ‘a man has rights’.” Joff’s expression grew haunted. “That is a sentence that has come out of my mouth. I can’t take it back, Arun.”

  Cursing himself for a soft fool, Mills got his bag. He did take the whiskey, though, and figured he’d need it.

  SCREWBALL TAKES A SHORTCUT

  “Where you going, man?”

  Screwball almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Ditz’s voice. He thought he’d got out the back entrance without sticking out too much, just nodding to the guys on guard. “Oh, uh, hey. Just out.”

  “Cool, cool.” Ditz strolled up and fell in beside him. “Not smart to go wandering on your own. Angelica’s people are around.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just, I’ve got a thing to do.” Ditz kept walking, nodding amiably. “I mean, like, by myself.”

  “Oh, it’s OK, I’ll keep you company.”

  Screwball sighed. They were at the stairs now, and it took him a while to pick through
the barricade of upended tables and broken hotel furniture. A mattress in the corner, and two chairs near it, were supposed to be for the guards, but nobody wanted to hang out that far from the hotel anymore. A single camera was glued to the wall up high, and it might have worked.

  “I mean, I’m not supposed to take you with me.”

  Ditz grinned, and Screwball realized with a start that he wasn’t actually high. “Sure, I get it. But, like, did anybody say you’re not supposed to let me be coincidentally but consistently, like, adjacent to you?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what Feeney meant by not taking you with me.”

  “Sure, sure. Only, here’s the thing. This seems secret.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Right. And... I just don’t trust me not to talk about it. It just slips out, you know?”

  Screwball sighed again. “Goddamn it, Ditz.”

  “Goddamn it, Ditz, indeed.” He nodded sagely, and got over the barricade in one hop. “Listen, you’ve been pretty strung out lately, and believe me, I know.”

  Ditz pushed the door to the stairs open, and Screwball followed.

  “There’s been a lot of fighting. The old man seems to really trust me.”

  “Yeah...” Ditz’s dippy grin faded, and Screwball was reminded that his friend was a lot older than him. Like, late thirties? Forties? Guy did a lot of drugs, made it hard to tell. “So, Feeney’s all right. I’d rather work for him than Angelica, who was always kind of an ice queen. But ‘all right’ isn’t always that great. He’s kind of a bastard sometimes.”

  “You’re thinking about Nuke.”

  “Yeah. I mean, no. OK, it was shitty what he did to Nuke. Like, his own grandson, man. I get it, they made him. Still. No, man, it’s more... Feeney only cares about people named Feeney. You want to work for him, and that’s not your name, you need to be careful.”

  They took the stairs in silence. “Where are we going?”

  Screwball sighed. “I’m supposed to plant this thing in the chop shop. It’s a police black box, like from their ships? If I set it off it calls for help, and then they’ll come and bust Angelica.”