Hostile Territory

by T. L. Knighton

  ** ** **

  Cody was the last to return to the ship with his shiny new, and completely illegal, ID. Harley had gone first and smoothed the way for the rest, each taking just enough money to buy their own IDs. Only Dianne had been left behind.

  “Man’s fast,” Cody said. “Guy I was in lockup with said he could bust out a fake in a day, but old boy? Whew!”

  Tommy couldn’t help but smile at his engineer’s description. “Yeah, I expected to have to pick them up in a couple of days.”

  Michelle shrugged, thoroughly unimpressed. “It is not difficult. The templet he uses is easy and designed to mimic the originals down to the smallest detail, but once it is set up it essentially becomes a fill-in-the-black, no?”

  “Pretty much,” Harley interjected. The big man hadn’t said too much since his return, but Harley wasn’t a sterling conversationalist as a general rule.

  “So,” the computer tech continued, “not that big of a deal.”

  Cody chuckled ruefully. “Leave it to you to be unimpressed with fine craftsmanship.”

  “No,” she replied, wagging a finger in warning. “I am French. We appreciate fine things in every avenue. I simply refuse to recognize something as ‘fine craftsmanship’ when it is essentially a mass-produced item.”

  “Okay,” Tommy interjected, hoping to stem the tide on a brewing argument. “You have Marceaux’s address?”

  Michelle nodded.

  “Alright,” he continued. “Michelle and Harley will go to his place and look for the data chip. Once Michelle identifies the chip, you get back here. Cody will go with you and wait on the street as backup.”

  Each member indicated their acknowledgement and prepared for the trip. For Harley, that meant changing out of the suit he wore as Dianne’s “bodyguard.” It was fine for the dock district, but not so much the style on Armstead.

  As the team departed, Tommy looked at Adele. “Get everything prepped for dust-off. Armstead doesn’t require the captain to sign off on a million things, probably because they’re so invasive in everything else, so as soon as their feet hit the ramp with the chip, I want us to start firing up to get the hell out of here.”

  “Agreed, Captain. I understand these people are not particularly fond of women such as myself.”

  Tommy took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m afraid not, but that’s not why you’re staying behind.”

  The pilot smiled. “I know. I am the getaway driver. That means I need to stay on the boat.”

  He returned her grin. “Glad you understand.”

  ** ** **

  Harley and company followed the dock district for about a half a kilometer before deciding they’d put enough distance between them and Sabercat so as to not be noticed. They’d spent a few moments stealing glances at the procedures at other gates to both make sure they were the same—which they were—and to familiarize themselves with those procedures. After all, as longtime residents of Armstead (allegedly), they would have followed these procedures before and not be completely lost during the process. Harley knew from his Marine days that someone looking uncomfortable with what should be routine was a sure way to be pegged as someone who didn’t belong.

  As they approached the gate, Harley swiped his ID in front of the reader, mentally telling himself that he’d done this a thousand times before.

  The red light on the reader switched to green and buzzed, which brought the attention of the guard working the gate. Harley flashed the card to the man with a half-bored, half-annoyed expression, the look one gave when they were sick and tired of the routine.

  The guard studied the face on the card, then Harley’s face—an inspection Harley and company knew they’d pass since the photo was taken of them just hours earlier—and finally waved him through.

  The gate itself was a turnstile-type gate designed to only allow one person at a time through, but was an ancient design common on Earth for centuries. All that had changed in those years was the materials used to make them.

  Now safely on the other side of the gate, Harley waited for the rest of the team. One by one, they passed the screening and stepped out into Armstead itself.

  The city was designed to be a beacon for humanity, regardless of where it was in the universe. Large skyscrapers reached toward the heavens with the largest being the galactic headquarters of The Church of Eternal Vigilance. It was obvious by the logo of a large eye staring out over Armstead with a sword point down behind it. It was kind of terrifying, in a way…which did not help the church’s public relations people too much back on Earth.

  Here, however, they had no such worries.

  Harley looked at Michelle. “Directions?”

  She nodded and pulled out her pad. The city was certainly large enough that they shouldn’t look too out of place looking at a pad for directions, but Harley didn’t want to risk it. Few assumed the people who knew where they were going weren’t supposed to be there. Those who didn’t know what was where, however, could be a different story.

  Michelle lead them straight for about a kilometer or so before hanging a right. About three blocks away, she took a left, followed by another left, then straight for another half kilometer until they stood outside a squalid, crumbling building designed to be reminiscent of some of the more dilapidated buildings of New York City—where the church had been headquartered back on Earth—for some ridiculous reason.

  “Fourth floor,” Michelle said, her voice short and clipped, making her thick accent even harder to understand.

  Harley nodded, not really needing to know where the apartment was since Michelle did and she wasn’t leaving his side.

  The door was also reminiscent of and older Earth style, besides being mostly glass. In particular, it required visitors to be “buzzed” up by a resident. It was an old but still effective enough security procedure, but it had one flaw and always had.

  As someone left the building—kind of like the woman exiting Marceaux’s building at that precise moment—someone could grab the door and hold it open, which is what Harley did. He even took pains to smile at the woman, as if he was trying to hold the door open for her.

  She returned his smile with a sincere one of her own, and went about her way as Michelle swept in.

  Cody took a seat on the stoop, a position he’d already seen several people take on their trip here. He pulled out his own data pad and began scanning the news, though his pad’s presence had more to do with the com device in his ear than his interest in the local sports.

  Harley followed Michelle through the door and into the building.

  A sign on the lift said it was out of order, which meant stairs. Once they’d found the stairway, the two crewmates bounded up each step as quickly as possible until they reached the fourth floor.

  It took them a few minutes to parse out the numbering sequence in the building, but once they did, finding Marceaux’s apartment was a simple matter.

  What wasn’t such a simple matter happened to be how the door was standing slightly ajar.

  “Well now, what do we have here?” Harley muttered.

  Chapter 5

  Harley gently pushed the door open. Carefully. Slowly. Someone was inside. The sounds of chaos emanated from within as whoever it was ransacking the man’s place. He looked at Michelle and brought a single finger up to his mouth to indicate silence.

  She nodded her understanding.

  From inside, Harley made out two distinct voices, though they were deeper within the apartment than just inside the living room. One male, one female.

  Utilizing every bit of stealth he’d picked up during his Marine tenure, he crept into the room until he could get some kind of visual on the two intruders. At least, the intruders other than Michelle and him.

  The man was as nondescript as they come. Average in almost every way, with a round face and thin hair that looked like it was receding. He wasn’t exactly small, though Harley easily had him for bulk in almost every way. That didn’t mean the guy couldn’
t handle himself, however. His British accent held a bit less of the upper crust, a bit more street urchin.

  The woman stood half a head taller, with blonde hair and Eurasian features and a lean frame. As Harley watched, the woman’s eyes widened as she dug through a drawer. “Found it!” she exclaimed, her accent was reminiscent of Australian, but not quite, marking her as being from one of the Aussie colony planets.

  “You sure it’s the one?” the man asked.

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t bloody well see any other data chips in this mess, do you?”

  He shook his head. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

  The mission wasn’t to get in a fight. It wasn’t anything except retrieval. It was supposed to be a simple thing, which is why Harley should have known it wouldn’t go smooth. The simpler you think it is, the more likely it is you’ll find out it’s not as easy as you expected.

  He gestured for Michelle to stay back—she wasn’t a fighter and never had expressed any interest in it—and stepped where the intruders could see him.

  “You’ve got something that belongs to me,” Harley said, using everything his experience taught him about intimidation. One factor in particular was the willingness to hurt the people in front of him, it was something that couldn’t truly be faked, and it wasn’t being faked at this moment either.

  “My, you’re a big one,” the man said, a mischievous grin on his lips.

  Harley gave a quick cock of his head and flashed an answering grin, but said nothing.

  “What do you say, love?” the man quipped. Harley hoped he was talking to the woman with him. He really did.

  The woman studied Harley for a brief moment, then turned her attention to the man. “I don’t know. I think this bloke can take you.”

  His grin broadening, the man stepped forward. “Let’s see, then.”

  The first punch was so telegraphed that Harley had no trouble blocking it. The one that followed it a split second later, however, wasn’t and it slammed hard into the former Marine’s stomach.

  Harley ramped up his concentration and tried to ignore the pain in his gut. Instead, he went for the smaller man’s jaw, landing a solid blow the snapped the man’s head to the side hard.

  The smaller man stepped back, working his jaw with his hand.

  “I’d heard you had a good punch, Dane. Good to see your rep wasn’t all smoke,” he quipped with a wry grin.

  The mention of his name threw Harley for a moment. How did this guy know him? More importantly, perhaps, what else did he know about him and the crew? He couldn’t imagine any answer that would make for happy-fun time.

  None of that mattered, not right now. He was in the midst of a fight and pondering where a burglar got his knowledge from could have lethal consequences.

  Instead, Harley tried to use it.

  “You’ve heard of me, huh? Funny, I can’t say the same about you. Must be a reason for that,” he fired back. Ego was the weakness of many a man.

  Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those men.

  “That’s to be expected. If I do my job right, no one does.”

  Harley chuckled. “Guess that track record just went out the window.”

  The other man’s grin was so feral, Harley found himself forced to suppress a shiver. “We’re not done here, my lad. When I am…”

  With that, he pulled out a folded knife. A push of the button and the blade clicked into place.

  And this is why I chafing hate not carrying a pistol, he thought for a moment before pushing that out of his mind. It wouldn’t do him any good, but it did remind him that he needed a good knife for moments like this.

  Harley looked back and gestured for the smaller man to come forward.

  For most people, a weapon was a gamechanger. While a gun tended to be one in most cases, even a club or knife tipped the balance significantly for even those with no real training in their use.

  The man approaching Harley, however, wasn’t one of those. Clearly, he knew what he was doing in a scrape and the way he held the knife said he knew how to use one of these too.

  Of course, Harley wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who didn’t know what he was doing in this situation either.

  A couple of feints from the other man came, each designed to get Harley to overplay his hand, but the Sabercat’s first officer was having none of it.

  Instead, Harley wanted until the man came in for a real strike, in this case, a slashing attack.

  Harley stepped in and blocked it, his forearm catching the other man’s wrist, and delivered another blow to the man’s chin.

  It didn’t matter. Now, the adrenaline was firing and he barely noticed the hit. Instead, he came in again with a thrust.

  The strike came in so fast that all Harley could do was jump back, but it was sufficient. This time.

  Again and again, strike after strike came, each lightening quick, each barely giving Harley enough time to block, much less counter.

  Finally, another slash came in, the opening Harley was waiting for.

  Coming from his upper left and slashing toward the lower right, Harley reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist. He then spun and slammed his opponent’s forearm against his shoulder bone so hard it felt like an earthquake throughout his body.

  The man cried out and dropped the blade.

  Harley didn’t let up. Instead, he threw a quick elbow to the man’s jaw.

  The man staggered back. It was all the opening Harley needed.

  Blow after blow rained down on the smaller man. Some to the jaw, some to the gut, some to the temple, the blows hit everywhere Harley could think of, each sending him another half step or so backward.

  His opponent’s partner apparently decided discretion was the better part of valor and ran, squirting past the fight and toward the door. Harley couldn’t let up enough to stop her, though. The guy was tough, anyone else would have been sprawled on the floor by now. That meant letting up would let the guy get back into the fight.

  Not that he needed the opportunity.

  As Harley heard the sounds of a scuffle behind him—Michelle had apparently jumped this one’s partner—the man got a shot through to Harley’s jaw. Then another. Then another to the stomach.

  They were soon trading blows like they were in the ring somewhere, two gladiators battling it out for the entertainment of the masses.

  Up until the web of the other man’s hand caught Harley in the throat.

  Gasping for air, Harley dropped to his knee. It hurt, taking every ounce of strength he possessed to remain upright, but he knew he was done. He and Michelle both, most likely.

  Only, they weren’t. Instead, the man ran over to his cohort who was still brawling with Michelle—their fight the antithesis of what the two men had put on. While Harley and the man were both students of violence, neither of the women were. As a result, their fight may have appeared less violent, but it wasn’t.

  Instead, the two women threw everything they could at one another, going after the eyes, trying to choke, whatever would work. What they lacked in skill, they made up for in brutality.

  The other man didn’t pause to study them, however. Instead, he landed a kick to Michelle’s ribs, sending the tiny woman flying into the nearby wall.

  Without missing a beat, he scooped his friend and half carried, half dragged her through the door and down the steps.

  A few minutes later, Cody bounded into the room. “What the…?”

  Harley tried to speak, his voice escaping him. Instead he pantomimed a punch, then pointed to his Adam’s apple.

  It took the moment before Cody’s eyes widened in recognition. “You got throat-punched?”

  Harley nodded.

  Cody groaned in sympathy as he helped Michelle up.

  “I am fine,” the diminutive hacker said as she rose to her feet, grasping her ribs.

  The engineer then helped Harley to his feet.

  “The captain isn’t going to believe this one,” Cody muttered
as they started out of the apartment.

  ** ** **

  Tommy watched the device sitting on Harley’s neck as it showed a red display, indicating it was still at work trying to repair the damage on the first officer’s throat as he lay in Sabercat’s medical bay. They’d been at it for half an hour, which indicated the trauma was fairly significant. Usually, this was a ten-minute job.

  The fact that they not only had a special medical devise for treating throat trauma but also knew just how long this should take told Tommy far more about his and Harley’s life choices in the last year or so than he cared to consider. Such is life in the black. Or so he liked to tell himself.

  Finally, the display blinked green, meaning it was finished with whatever repairs were necessary and he should be good to go.

  Tommy removed the device and helped his friend sit upright.

  Cody and Michelle, who had been peeking through the hatch audible sighed in relief seeing the big man up and breathing normally. Getting him back to the ship had been harry. On one hand, they couldn’t ask for help until they were safely back in the dock district. On the other, Harley couldn’t breathe well enough to make the trip in any reasonable amount of time for a healthy man. After all, he wasn’t particularly healthy at that moment.

  “Alright,” Tommy started. “What the hell happened?”

  Harley recounted the events of a couple hours earlier, with Cody adding how he’d seen two people leave in a hurry and entered the building on instinct.

  “Sorry, boss. I could have tried to stop them or something,” he finished.

  Tommy shook his head. “How were you supposed to know? They could have been two people late for work or something. Then what?”

  Cody shrugged. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “I hate that they got away,” Harley said. “The guy was good, though. Trained.”

  Michelle, who had seemed to have retreated into herself during the story suddenly chuckled.

  The three men turned to look at the Frenchwoman in utter disbelief. This was bad. They’d come this way and didn’t have what they came for. Further, it was in someone else’s hands, and chances were good that this person didn’t exactly have the purest of intentions regarding the data. If they were lucky, he wanted to blackmail Sowards. If they weren’t—and nothing on this trip gave them reason to belief luck was with them—then he’d destroy the chip.