by G J Ogden
He recalled how Ericka had explained that the lining of the pocket acted as a shield against the alien radiation signature. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fit much inside the compartment, alongside the mysterious crystal. However, if he selected only the highest value items, it still might be enough to pay off Ericka’s brother’s debts.
Checking the time again and noting how little he had left, he moved through the vault, rummaging through drawers and shelving racks. He needed just three or four relics that would fetch a good price at auction. Then he saw what he needed; a collection of high-grade CPU shards. These were small enough to fit in the hidden compartment, but rare enough to fetch a high price at auction.
Along with other alien computer tech, these were amongst the best scores on any relic hunt. Small, light and highly valuable, the high-grade shards were prized by the military for their intelligent processing capabilities. It had taken a decade for the scientists on Earth to figure out the technology used in the shards. The secrets gleaned from them had been responsible for the rapid development of more sophisticated spaceships and installations. Yet, the exotic alien materials and processes used meant that it had still been impossible to recreate the high-grade shards fully. As such, the MP and CET militaries paid top dollar for intact high-grade components.
He slipped the alien computing devices into the pocket alongside the crystal and then ran back to the vault door. He’d almost forgotten that Griff was still lying in front of it. Except he was no longer out cold, but beginning to stir.
Hudson spotted Griff’s sidearm, next to the wall of the vault and picked it up. For a split second he considered aiming the pistol at Griff and pulling the trigger. He has it coming… Hudson thought. It’s natural justice! Griff was more than just a loathsome individual; he was a cold-blooded murderer, who would come for Hudson again, if left alive. Then he remembered what he’d said to Tory Bellona, inside the alien wreck. If he shot Griff, he’d be no better than he was.
Griff groaned and groggily sat upright, before he spotted Hudson, weapon in hand and froze. However, the shock was only short-lived, and soon Griff’s pained grimace morphed into a condescending, smug smirk.
“You won’t do it, rook,” he said, rubbing his neck and wincing. “You don’t have the guts.”
Hudson raised the weapon and aimed it at Griff’s head, finger on the trigger. “It’s nothing more than you deserve. Why should I let you live, after what you’ve done?”
“You shouldn’t,” said Griff, without delay. “If you were smart, you’d have already pulled that trigger, but you won’t. You’re weak, and you know it.”
Hudson shook his head, and slid his finger off the trigger. “You’re wrong,” he snarled back at him. “You have no idea how much strength is needed for me not to end your sorry existence right now.”
“See, I told you,” Griff laughed, “So long as you’re too gutless to do what needs to be done, I’ll always beat you, rook.”
“Death is too good for you, Griff,” said Hudson, easing off and stepping back over the threshold of the vault door. “You can stay here and wait for the CET instead. A decade in a max security prison station should suit you nicely; plenty of other vermin to mix with.”
Griff tried to stand, but he grimaced and groaned in pain, before collapsing to his knees. “You might walk away this time,” Griff said, panting from the pain and exertion, “but I’ll find you. I’m going to make you my special project, Hudson Powell. There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you out there,” said Hudson. “Enjoy your time in jail.”
Hudson stepped outside the vault and closed the heavy metal door. He then plucked the skelly off the lock and shoved it into the pocket of his new leather jacket. There was a resonant thud as the bolts slammed into place, sealing the door shut, with Griff still inside. Hudson knew that the CET shift change would happen before the oxygen in the vault ran out; another mercy that Griff didn’t deserve. As much as he wanted rid of Griff, he wouldn’t sink to his level. He might not have had a book to go by anymore, but he still had a code. And he still had his honor.
Hudson crept out of the vault room and carefully made his way back through the corridors of the presidio. It was still as empty and deathly quiet as when he’d first entered. Yet, in less than two hours, the base would be humming with activity. He wondered what explanation Griff would give to the guards when they found him, and whether Chief Inspector Wash would once again come to his aid and back him up. This time, Hudson didn’t think so. With any luck, Wash would throw Griff to the wolves, and he’d end up in a dark cell, in a dark part of the galaxy.
Even if Griff did manage to slime and wheedle his way out of a long stint in prison, Hudson wasn’t afraid. Griff’s threat of making him his ‘special project’ didn’t faze him in the slightest. He wasn’t going to live in fear. He’d show Griff that he was the better man, and frustrate the asshole’s every attempt to beat him. Griff’s punishment would be to see Hudson succeed.
Hudson slipped outside into the CET compound. It was already getting lighter; first sunrise would be soon and he had to get out fast. Moving swiftly and silently, he used his assortment of keyfobs to open a side-access gate and slipped out into the scavenger town unseen. The space port was about ten minutes away, at a fast jog. He smiled and patted the alien relics, secured inside his new leather jacket. He still had time. He was going to make it…
CHAPTER 23
Logan Griff launched a furious volley of curses at the vault door as he hammered his fists against the meter-thick metal slab. However, the bolts had already thudded shut, sealing him inside.
The debilitating physical effects of whatever Hudson had zapped him with were wearing off, though his neck still burned like hell. His throbbing head was also a storm cloud of bitterness and anger, the bulk of which was directed towards Hudson Powell. Somehow, the ‘dumb rook’ had gotten the better of him. However, a heavy portion was also leveled at himself. He’d been sloppy; maybe even a little cocky, he admitted to himself. He should have shot Hudson the moment he set foot inside the vault, but he had wanted to lord his victory over him. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again, assuming he could get himself out of the hot mess he now found himself in. Few things motivated Griff as much as money and his finely-honed instinct for self-preservation, but his newfound desire for vengeance came pretty close.
“There’s no way you’re getting the better of me, you traitorous bastard!” he yelled at the door. He knew that his voice wouldn’t penetrate the thick metal, but it still felt good to shout. “This is not how I go down!” he added, defiantly.
He shuffled over to where his rucksack had landed after Hudson had thrown it at him. It had been a desperate move, and Griff felt impossibly foolish for having fallen for it. He unzipped the side pocket and smiled as he removed a black case about the size of an old-fashioned paperback book. “If you really were as smart as you think, you would have taken my bag, or at least checked it first,” Griff commented, still pretending that Hudson could hear him. He placed the case on the floor, unclipped the fastenings and lifted the lid to check the contents. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw they were undamaged. Glancing at his wristpad, he noted that the new day-duty shift would arrive in just over thirty minutes. He’d have to work fast.
From the case he removed a short spool of dull-colored wire that resembled thick solder, and a blob of gray putty. Next, he grabbed a pair of dark-tinted goggles and slipped them over his head. Finally, he removed a device that looked like a small pistol and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Scurrying over to the vault door, he applied the putty to the three lock points and pressed the wire into it in a single, long run. Pulling the goggles over his eyes, he then removed the pistol, held it an inch in front of the wire and squeezed the trigger. A searing, bright white flame that was tinted violet in the center erupted from the pistol, and seconds later the wire ignited. It burned brighter than magnesium, and despite wear
ing the goggles, Griff was still forced to look away and close his eyes. A few seconds later the light was gone. Griff opened his eyes and pushed the goggles up onto his forehead to inspect the effect of his work. Where the wire and putty had been there was now a glowing furrow, melted into the metal. As planned, the three bolts that held the vault door shut were now exposed.
“Damn, this alien shit really does the trick,” Griff said out loud. He then quickly adjusted a dial on the pistol-like device, turning it up to the maximum setting. Dragging the goggles back over his eyes, he aimed the device at the first bolt and squeezed the trigger. The pistol released a tight cutting beam that began to slowly melt through the metal. Come on, damn it… Griff urged, as he moved on to the second bolt, followed by the third, each one taking a solid minute to cut through. Finally, the last bolt melted and Griff managed to pull the vault door open. Immediately, alarms rang out inside the vault room and Griff heard relays thumping. Then a cascade of lights blinked on throughout the CET presidio.
“Shit!” Griff cried out. He looked longingly at the rucksack that Hudson had filled with relics, but he knew he had to leave it behind. Its bulk and weight would only slow him down, and it would also make him more conspicuous. His sole priority now was to escape. Griff cursed again, though his words were drowned out by the blaring alarm in the vault, and ran into the corridor outside. The wail of the alarm diminished as the door to the vault room clicked shut. In its place, he heard the approaching clamor of urgent voices and the dull thud of military boots echoing down intersecting corridors. He knew the layout of the CET presidio well, and set off at a sprint towards the laundry room. If he was lucky, he’d find a uniform in there that would allow him to blend in with the rest of the grunts, like a poisonous adder hiding in the sand. He’d then slip away into the scavenger town before anyone knew what had happened.
The clatter of boots grew louder as Griff skidded inside the laundry room. Despite his height and lanky limbs, Griff moved with the swiftness and delicacy of an accomplished cat burglar. The laundry room was empty, as he’d expected it to be at this early hour. Frantically, he began to rummage through the baskets of clothes, pulling out a pair of pants and a shirt that looked like they would fit. The commotion in the corridor outside was intensifying, and he wasted no time in getting changed, leaving his other clothes buried deep in the dirty laundry pile. He’d been smart enough not to wear RGF gear, but not smart enough to have stolen a CET uniform as Hudson had done. Like his former partner’s use of a skelly – a device that didn’t trip the vault’s alarms – Hudson’s intelligent preparations for the job still grated on him. For all his taunts about Hudson being a dumb rook, he had to admit that he’d been outplayed this time.
Griff finished fastening the buttons of the CET shirt and then moved back to the door. As his bony fingers reached for the handle, the door suddenly swung open and a CET officer wearing Lieutenant’s rank tabs filled the frame. Griff froze and backed away, before standing to attention, as any good CET grunt would have done. His quick thinking saved him.
“Do you not hear the alarms, Private?” the Lieutenant blurted out.
“Yes, sir,” replied Griff, stiffly. He knew the less he said the better.
“Then what are you still doing in here? Get to your post!”
Griff acknowledged the order and was about to rush out, when he saw that the officer’s eyes seemed to drift past him. Griff glanced back, spotting the loose bundles of clothing that lay scattered on the floor following his frantic search for a uniform that fit. It only took the Lieutenant a second to work out what had happened, but that was all the time Griff needed to crush a knee into the officer’s groin. The soldier fell and Griff landed on top of him, forcing one of the loose shirts into the officer’s gaping mouth. Griff then wrapped a bedsheet around the man’s neck and pulled back hard. It was as if he was trying to stop a horse and cart from running out of control. The soldier struggled, legs and arms flailing around under the mass of fabric, until eventually his movements slowed and he became still and silent.
Muscles burning and gasping for air, Griff flipped over the body and quickly searched it, finding a bundle of security keyfobs attached to his belt. He unclipped the carabiner holding them in place and then removed the officer’s rank tabs, attaching them to his own collar instead.
Wasting no time, Griff staggered to the rear of the laundry room. If the presidio followed a standard layout, there would be a shutter door to allow trucks to back up and collect or deliver loads. He found it exactly where it was supposed to be and cycled through the keyfobs until he hit upon one that unlocked it. Inching the shutters upwards, the sound of alarms flooded in, riding on the musky, hot air. Griff lay down and peered through the open crack. The first sun was creeping close to the horizon, but the rear courtyard was still practically deserted. Pushing the shutter up just high enough that he could roll underneath, Griff then stood and straightened his new uniform. Taking several calming breaths, he then strode confidently towards a gate in the fence at the far end. It was guarded by a single CET private.
“Morning, Sir,” the private said, throwing up a salute, before unlocking the gate.
“Morning, Private,” replied Griff as stiffly as the salute he returned. He then pushed through the gate and into the scavenger town, hearing the gate click shut behind him. Once he was out of sight of the guard, he scurried into an alcove and watched as the CET presidio began to buzz with activity. Soon the compound was teeming with soldiers, all armed, all looking for the intruder that had broken into the vault and killed the lieutenant. Griff smiled, knowing their search would now be in vain. If this had been a CET presidio on a more developed inner portal world, there would have been little chance of escape. Thankfully, the caliber of soldier that was assigned to a backwater planet like Brahms Three was significantly lower. Unfortunately, Hudson had also got away, but Griff was determined to have the last laugh, no matter how long it took him.
Griff rested back against the wall and raised his wristpad, swiping across to the comms section. He highlighted a single name – Cutler Wendel – and hit ‘call’. The tone whirred twice before a deep, monotone voice answered.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Are you still on Brahms Three?” asked Griff, cutting to the chase.
“Yes. What’s this about?”
Griff smiled and then answered, “I have a job for you.”
CHAPTER 24
Hudson scuffed the soles of his boots on the tarmac of the spaceport while he anxiously waited to board the passenger transport to Earth. He’d already made it over the first hurdle, which was to pass through the RGF checkpoint scanner. The scanner’s Shaak detectors had failed to pick up on the illicit haul tucked into the shielded compartment of Ericka’s leather jacket. The five seconds he’d spent beneath the scanner’s probing beams had been the most nerve-wracking of his entire life. Likewise, the relief he’d experienced when the scanner returned a negative was more blissful than a Swedish massage.
The next challenge was to actually get on board the fully-booked transport. This relied on Ma having been true to her word about punting him a ticket to Earth. However, while Earth was safer than Brahms Three, it was no more his home than the sweaty little planet he was on now. Hudson shuffled forward another couple of paces in the queue, glumly pondering his life choices. He’d never been one to put down roots, always moving from one rat-infested hostel on a portal world to another. His RGF flat in Bayview had been the closest thing he’d had to a home, even if had only been his for a few months. Now, he had nothing at all. No home, no job, and no idea what the hell he was going to do once he’d fulfilled Ericka’s dying wish.
“Place your right hand on the pad and look into the ID scanner, please,” said the check-in clerk. Hudson did as he was instructed, noticing that the captain and first officer were also standing behind the desk. The captain smiled vacantly at the passengers as they got on-board, as if it was some kind of Club 18-30 pleasure cruise.<
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“I’m very sorry, but we’re already over-booked for this flight,” said the clerk, apologetically. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the next transport in a few days, Mr. Powell.”
The mention of Hudson’s surname seemed to jolt the captain into action, as if someone had just shot a dart into his backside. “It’s okay, Mr. Powell is a personal guest,” said the captain, scuttling forward to stand next to the clerk. “He can have the jump seat in the cockpit.”
“Of course, Captain Renner,” replied the clerk, dutifully. He then tapped away on his console to amend the record, before printing a fresh boarding card. “Enjoy your flight, Mr. Powell,” the clerk added, handing over the card, and then waving the next person forward.
“Please, come this way, Mr. Powell,” said Captain Renner, ushering Hudson up the ramp and joining him by his side. “Any friend of Martina is a friend of mine.” Then with a slight but perceptible raising of the eyebrow, he added, “How is she, by the way?”
“Fierce, as usual,” said Hudson, smiling, “but she’s saved my ass with this flight.” Then he realized he should probably thank the captain too. “As have you, Captain, so you have my gratitude.”
“Oh, no need to thank me,” said Captain Renner, waving his hand nonchalantly as they entered the central lounge area of the transport. “Getting back into Martina’s good books is reward enough for me.” Then he let out an apologetic, but also clearly faked cough. “Well, almost enough.”