Renegades (The Progenitor Trilogy, Book Two)

by Dan Worth

  Isaacs stepped out of the ship and looked about, noting the oddly angular design of the alien docking bay. The walls, ceiling and floor were entirely composed of slabs of dull green material that reflected the internal lighting in their curiously textured surfaces. Just another alien port, mused Isaacs. He’d visited odder places in his time, though admittedly the Nahabe themselves were a good deal weirder than most. What he was really looking for was a terminal of some kind, so that he could call up a local map and try to locate Anna’s apartment. He wandered over to the tug and asked one of the salvagers, who directed him to a recessed panel on the wall behind their own ship. Isaacs went and investigated.

  It took a few moments for him to persuade the terminal to accept his language. The machine was surprisingly sophisticated, more so than current Commonwealth models. Isaacs had heard that about the Nahabe; that in actual fact they were, in many ways, more technologically advanced than the human race. Quite why the Nahabe had not spread themselves further across this part of space was something of a mystery, though many had put it down to different societal and racial prerogatives, not to mention the Nahabes’ mistrust of outsiders and the wider galaxy in general.

  After a few moments of searching through various nested menus Isaacs succeeded in calling up a map of the station and initiated a search for Anna by name in the hope that it would direct him to her address. The Labyrinth was well named, he noted. The three dimensional model displayed in front of him resembled the digestive system of an alien creature far more than it did a space station. He scanned down the sequence of directions that the terminal had provided for him with a weary sigh as he compared it to the tortuously winding path it had also helpfully highlighted on the map for him.

  Unable to link his datapad to the alien computer system, he printed out a hard copy of the information displayed on its screen. With the piece of thin, waxy paper in hand, he set off for the nearest transport tube.

  After almost an hour of travelling via various transport tubes, internal railways, lifts, automated shuttle craft and seemingly endless walks down twisting narrow gangways, Isaacs eventually arrived outside the door of his wife’s apartment. Her quarters were located on the far side of the station from the docking bay he had arrived at, in a human configured accommodation module that had been shipped in by the Commonwealth and bolted onto a vast reef of gantries and other modules that lay on the sunward side of one of the outermost asteroids. The module was positively antiquated. It had no gravity generators of its own. Instead, the cylindrical structure rotated along its axis to provide gravity, driven by a series of linear motors that lined the creaking collar joining it to the rest of the station.

  Isaacs stood in the wan, flickering light in the grimy corridor and listened to the unearthly groaning that emanated from somewhere in the module’s depths. It reminded him of the one time he had travelled on a sea ship and had heard the hull of the rusty craft creak and groan as it flexed and twisted with the rolling swell. A snatch of drunken singing wandered down the dull, plate steel corridors, accompanied by the distant repetitive thud of music being played too loudly in a confined space.

  He rapped on the door with his knuckles. There was no answer. He had considered the possibility that the apartment might no longer be occupied, but he needed to start somewhere. He began to study the door locking mechanism. Maybe he could force it open? Something this old shouldn’t be too hard to bypass, if he could just get this front panel off…

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Isaacs jumped with alarm at the strangely musical, artificial tones that had suddenly murmured from a point directly behind him. Instinctively he whirled around to face the new arrival and was confronted with the angular prow of a Nahabe casket floating no more than two feet in front of him. It was decorated with rococo pattern of whorls that seemed to form into two eyes in the front of the vehicle.

  ‘I said can I help you?’ the Nahabe repeated with an air of menace.

  ‘Ah, I’m… looking for someone,’ Isaacs replied, wincing at the level of guilt evident in his own voice.

  ‘Is that so? Breaking into their apartment seems a little extreme doesn’t it?’

  The Nahabe edged a little closer. Isaacs saw now that a gun had emerged from a panel on the side of the casket. Its narrow muzzle was lazily wandering over his body.

  ‘I wasn’t…’

  The casket seemed to shift a little to one side, as if to peer at the security panel he had been investigating.

  ‘I see,’ said the Nahabe. ‘Well, I’m sure you can tell station security all about it when they arrive. Or maybe I’ll just deal with you. Always the same with you humans. Nasty, grasping creatures that you are.’

  ‘I was looking for a woman, her name is Anna Isaacs. Black collar length hair, pale complexion, about so high.’ He raised his right hand just above his shoulder to illustrate.

  ‘All humans look alike to me, how do I know that you aren’t lying?’

  ‘This is her apartment, or was. Look, I’m her husband, alright?’

  ‘There was a woman of that description and name living here, but she did not have a mate, as I recall. She did have a number of visitors, but I don’t remember seeing you before. I thought humans mated for life?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. We had a… a disagreement. She ran out on me.’

  ‘How touching.’ Isaacs thought he detected a note of amusement in the synthesised voice. ‘So, do you have any form of identification? I’m the owner of this apartment section. The people living here are all tenants of mine. I saw you snooping around on the security monitors so I thought I’d come and investigate. It pays to be suspicious around here. I’m sure you can appreciate my point of view. I have to protect my tenants.’ As if to emphasise it jabbed the gun into his midriff.

  ‘Uh, sure,’ Isaacs fumbled for his pilot’s license and held it up for the Nahabe to see. A skeletal manipulator arm extended from the front of the casket and plucked the license from his hand. It held it up the plastic card and turned it over as if inspecting it, before stroking it with electronic cilia and handing it back to him.

  ‘Well, Mr Isaacs, you do at least appear to be who you claim.’

  ‘Uh, thanks.’

  ‘Though I’m not sure about your story. The human woman who rents this apartment: her name is not Isaacs, it’s Favreaux.’

  ‘That’s her maiden name.’

  ‘Her what?’

  ‘The name she had before we got married.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Forgive me. I am rather unfamiliar with the customs of… foreigners.’ There was a note of distaste in the Nahabe’s synthetic voice.

  ‘You said she still rents this apartment. Where can I find her?’

  ‘That,’ said the Nahabe. ‘Is something of a mystery. I haven’t seen her for some time. I’d say it would be almost half a year by our reckoning since I last laid eyes on her, yet the rent is still deposited in my account on time so I suppose I can’t complain.’

  ‘You have no idea where she might be? I need to talk to her.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said the Nahabe. ‘But you might try one of the bars near here in the asteroid beneath us. It caters to humans and a few other out-worlders who wish to pollute themselves.’

  ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘Our religion forbids such pollution of the body, rather wisely I’ve always thought. In any case, your wife used to frequent this particular bar rather often as I recall. Apparently it is rather popular with the human contingent here on this station. I’m sure someone there would remember her.’

  ‘What’s the name of this place?’

  ‘The Watering Hole. You can search for it on one of the terminals if you want to find it. You may want to ‘watch your step’ as I believe the saying goes. From what I gather, the Hole isn’t the sort of place you’d want to make yourself unwelcome in. It has rather a reputation even among those who deem drunkenness to be socially acceptable.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Isaacs, making a
mental note not to invite any Nahabe to any parties in the future. ‘I’d…’ But the creature was already drifting silently away in its casket.

  Isaacs found The Watering Hole with little trouble. It lay on one of the main thoroughfares of the nameless town that girdled the waist of the habitation chamber of the nearest asteroid, Merenik. Merenik – name meant ‘marketplace’ in the Nahabe language - had been hollowed out and spun to generate approximately one standard gravity and the tubular chamber within was now home to several hundred thousand people, not to mention a large transient population of traders, travellers, business-folk and tourists.

  Isaacs took an automated shuttle from the habitation module to the axial docking port. From there he entered the complex train network whose tunnels wormed their way throughout the asteroid like veins around a body. After several changes of route he finally emerged from a station exit a few minutes’ walk away from the Hole.

  The interior of Merenik was currently in the midst of its night-time cycle. The tubular landscape arching overhead was picked out in a constellation of lights and bathed dimly in the faint blue glow of the central plasma tube. The street he found himself in was more garishly lit. A number of bars, nightclubs and casinos spilled multicoloured light onto the street, illuminating the groups of drunken figures from various species who lurched from one to another. Music both familiar and wholly alien filled the air, as did the scent of cheap, greasy food.

  The Watering Hole was a large, sprawling establishment that had steadily expanded into several surrounding buildings as well as into a number of chambers hollowed from the rock upon which it sat. Isaacs stepped up to the entrance, nodded to the door security staff and then moved on into the crowded interior, where he was swallowed by the crowd of revellers. He squeezed his way through the knots of drinkers and succeeded in elbowing his way to the bar, where a number of harassed looking, over worked bar staff struggled to meet the demands of the customers.

  Isaacs eventually managed to get served then withdrew from the crowded bar with his drink. He decided to mingle and get a feel for the place. Luckily, his scruffy attire seemed to fit right in here. The Hole seemed to cater to a more relaxed clientele, most of whom seemed to be here to get seriously drunk at the end of busy week, rather than make any sort of fashion statement. This was just the sort of place he’d have expected to find Anna. With her laid back demeanour she never was one for glamour, it was one of the reasons why he’d fallen for her in the first place.

  He scanned the crowd, taking occasional mouthfuls of his drink. Groups of humans and aliens stood or sat in groups or swayed drunkenly to the thudding music. A gaggle of Vreeth tumbled wildly up by the ceiling. Couples groped one another in corners. Large, augmented security staff stood like guard dogs at strategic locations where they could watch the customers.

  He wandered from room to room, negotiating his way around the other customers with care, through back rooms, basements, game rooms and relaxation areas, through eight kinds of music from four different civilisations. He inhaled the second hand drug fumes of a dozen illegal substances, saw the drunken dancing of numerous cultures and almost slipped on a swarm of large iridescent beetles that had spilled from a jar on a side table and were now being greedily scooped up by the whooping group of Hyrdians who had bought them in the first place.

  There was no sign of Anna, though that was hardly a surprise. He could always pick her out in a crowd, she had that kind of effect on people, but of her slightly tangled, collar-length, black head of hair there was no sign amongst the tightly packed drinkers. If she was a regular here, he wondered if any of the staff might remember her. He made his way back to the main bar and wandered up to one of the bar security standing guard by the door. The man’s genetically augmented form loomed large over Isaacs, a sheen of sweat on the dark brown, shaved dome of his forehead.

  ‘I’m looking for someone,’ said Isaacs over the music.

  ‘You have been in space a long time. Sorry, you’re not really my type,’ growled the security man, without breaking his dead pan expression.

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Hey, I try to enjoy my work,’ said the man with a smirk.

  ‘I’m looking for a woman, one of your regulars.’

  ‘What are you, a cop?’ the security man eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘No, it’s not like that. She’s my wife. Well, separated actually. About so high, dark hair, name’s Anna.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and have a word with the landlord, I reckon he’d remember her if she was regular,’ said the security man, nodding at the fat, bearded man working one end of the bar. ‘Shigs seems to have a decent memory for that sort of thing. Me, I just remember the prettier ones and the trouble causers.’

  ‘What about the pretty trouble causers?’

  ‘I remember them most of all.’

  ‘You would definitely remember my wife.’

  The security man laughed, a throaty sound like someone cracking boulders. ‘Like I said, have a word with Shigs.’

  Isaacs turned to cross the busy bar. Whilst squeezing his way between two rowdy groups of drunks he noticed the security man speaking into a collar mic out of the corner of his mouth. The device itself was invisible, but Isaacs recognised the mannerism. He pressed on.

  As he got closer to the bar he realised that he recognised the landlord. Once he stripped away a few pounds and the straggly beard, he saw the face of an old business associate behind the bar. The security man had referred to him as ‘Shigs’. Of course! Shigeru Toyama was an old business acquaintance of his and his wife’s, back when they had run a ship together. He had been a mister fix-it, a man who could get you anything for the right price and the source of much needed work for both of them. Rumour had it; he had plenty of dodgy connections which he made extensive use of to ply his trade in illegal substances, rare artefacts, alien tech and counterfeit goods. What was he doing all the way out here, running a bar?

  Isaacs leaned over the bar and patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Hey, just wait your turn I’m serving this guy here first,’ came the gruff response.

  ‘Shigs, hey Shigs it’s me, Cal Isaacs. Remember?’

  Shigs looked at him for a second without recognition, then suddenly his face broke into a broad grin.

  ‘Fucking hell, it’s been a long time.’

  ‘Certainly has.’

  ‘I wondered when you’d come slouching in here with all the other lowlifes.’

  ‘You sound like you’ve been expecting me. It’s a big galaxy you know, what were the odds of me coming in here?’

  ‘Well… tell you what, why don’t you come around back and we can talk?’

  ‘Alright, sure.’

  ‘Hey Frank, take over from me for a bit, I have some business to attend to!’ Shigs yelled into a dim passage that led from the back of the bar into store rooms and cellars. He wiped his hands with a bar towel, lifted the folding bar hatch up and let Isaacs through, then motioned him down the same narrow corridor.

  ‘So, what happened, Shigs? You’ve gone respectable.’

  ‘Hey, I was always respected.’

  ‘Yeah, but respected by who; that was the trouble.’

  The two men sat on the stacks of food and drink crates in one of the back rooms of the Hole. Music thudded dully through the concrete walls. Shigs gulped from his can of beer and stared thoughtfully at the floor.

  ‘Yeah well, things had gotten a little hot for me. A lot of the smuggling gangs in the border systems got stomped on real hard just before the war, then when all hell broke loose it got too hard to do business. There were too many Navy ships and security types sniffing around looking for insurgents or spies or whatever. A lot of people got busted. You remember Faizal, guy I used to get all that weird alien art off?’

  ‘Had all those tattoos round his left eye?’

  ‘That’s him. Fucking Navy boarded his ship. Guy got ten years. Scared me to death. Thought they’d trace the shipment he had back to me. A
nyway, I decided to invest my hard earned money. I always kinda fancied owning a bar, y’know? I saw this place was on the market when I was stopping off here, so I thought, ‘fuck it, why not?’’

  ‘You seem to be doing pretty well. There was quite a crowd in tonight. I gotta say: most of the customers seemed like our kind of people. But what are you doing all the way our here?’

  ‘Yeah, well. I figured if I appealed to ‘our kind of people’ I could keep an ear to the ground, y’know, in case the situation changes and I feel like I need a piece at any time. You’d amazed some of the shit you hear in this place, all sorts of people come in here. This place may be way out on the edge of Commonwealth space, but it’s on the edge of lots of other places too. I’m telling you, some of things that walk in here sometimes; I don’t know what the fuck they are.’

  ‘Fucking hell, this place is a front isn’t it? A base for your shady dealings.’ Isaacs laughed. ‘I knew it!’

  ‘No, no. Well… I do a few deals here and there, but nothing major. Hell, this place is doing so well I don’t need to that sort of thing no more. Guess I just like to keep my hand in. So what’s with you, that you decided to get back with Anna all of a sudden?’

  ‘I didn’t decide that. She dropped me in the shit this time Shigs. She owes money to the fucking Sirius Syndicate. They can’t find her, so guess who got leaned on.’

  ‘No shit. How much?’

  ‘Four hundred thousand.’

  ‘Fuck. Man, I knew you guys had your differences but…’ Shigs shook his head ruefully.

  ‘Yeah, I can’t fucking believe her. I got the shit kicked out of me too by a guy even bigger than that doorman of yours. You know, I’d just finished the job of a lifetime? I’d just earned three hundred big ones from the Navy by almost getting my balls shot off by K’Soth loyalists. If I can’t track her down I’m gonna have to pay those fuckers off with it to stop them killing me.’