by G J Ogden
“I’d argue that his partner, Liberty Devan, likely did the figuring out,” Wash cut in, “but yes. This crystal is the key that unlocks the new portals. I am sure of it.”
“And whoever has the crystal has exclusive access to all the undiscovered alien wrecks,” added Griff, now finally understanding why Wash had dragged him to Mars. “You want to claim the first-finder rights for the RGF?”
Wash shook her head, “Stop thinking small… No, I want much more than that,” she said, in a darkly sinister way that made even Griff’s thick skin crawl. “I’m sick of pandering to the CET, the MP and the OPW. I’m sick of just taking a small slice, in return for making them richer. It’s time the RGF branched out.”
“You want to claim these worlds for the RGF?” said Griff, smiling and showing his yellow teeth underneath his wiry black mustache. He didn’t especially like Wash, but he admired her ruthlessness, and he couldn’t deny that she had balls. Creating a separate RGF faction was a gutsy ambition, and one that would not only make her immensely rich, but throw the current economic system into disarray. However, like Wash, he didn’t give a shit about the CET or any other controlling authority, so long as it lined his pockets too.
“You get me that crystal, and you won’t just be taking a small slice of the profits,” Wash continued, moving more quickly now that Griff seemed to be on-board. “I’ll make you governor of one of the new planets we discover.” Griff’s eyes lit up as she said this. “One of the new RGF worlds. Our worlds. Then you can take a slice of everything. You’ll live like a king; how does that sound, Corporal Griff?”
Griff rubbed his neck and peered back at the image of Hudson Powell in the antiques shop. This was the perfect way to get his revenge. He’d rob him of his famous discovery, ruin him and then kill him. However, Powell wouldn’t die before Griff made sure that the asshole knew who it was that had gotten the better of him.
“I’ll get you this alien crystal,” Griff said, determinedly. “But I’ll need to be released from regular duties. I’ll need to be able to pursue this, wherever it leads, with broad authority.”
Wash moved back to her desk and slid open a drawer in the anemic looking piece of polymer furniture. She removed an ID card and a shield badge and placed them on the desk in front of where Griff had been sitting. He moved over to the desk and picked up the ID card first. It read, ‘Inspector Logan Griff, special investigations branch, Relic Guardian Force.’ He smiled and picked up the shield, rubbing his nicotine-stained thumb lovingly over the metal. “What’s the special investigations branch?” he asked, before looking up at Wash. “I’ve never heard of them before.”
Wash smiled, “It’s a department of one. You.” Then she slammed the drawer shut, sat back down in her red leather chair and pointed to the door. “Now, go and get me that crystal, Inspector Griff.”
Griff stood up and turned to leave, eager to test the limits of his new authority. However, before he’d reached the door, Wash then called out again.
“And, Inspector, don’t let this petty squabble with the traitor, Powell, cloud your judgement,” she said. “If you can get rid of him in the process then fine, but the crystal is what matters, not your pride. Are we clear?”
“Crystal clear, ma’am,” said Griff, smiling at his own joke, before opening the door and stepping through. However, he had no intention of letting Powell off the hook, no matter what Wash said. The thought of his own planet and the riches that came with it was intoxicating, but so long as Powell still breathed, he’d never be content.
CHAPTER 3
Liberty had complained non-stop since they had both left The Winchester. Her primary grievance had been leveled at Hudson, for insisting she hand over some of her poker winnings to pay for the damages to the bar. Liberty’s argument had been that she hadn’t started the brawl in the first place, and so shouldn’t be saddled with the cost of making reparations. However, Hudson’s reasoned response had been along the lines of, ‘it takes two (or in the case of that particular brawl, four) to tango’. In other words, she’d played her part. And besides, it was always helpful to stay on the good side of barkeeps in the more dangerous portal worlds and stations. He’d then cited Martina from the Landing Strip on Brahms Three as the prime example.
Her other complaint had been that she’d been forced to wait while Hudson and Tory Bellona enjoyed an intimate tête-à-tête over a glass of whiskey. Hudson couldn’t easily begrudge her this grumble, especially since the two of them had exchanged very few words in the short time they’d spent together. Even so, it had felt like a breakthrough. He knew Tory was dangerous, and that she’d done things that would trouble him deeply, but he could feel in his bones that she wasn’t a bad person. The problem was that Cutler Wendell had some kind of hold over her. Until he could find out what this was, and how he could break it, she would never be free to tread her own path.
“Come on, you must still have about four grand tucked inside that jacket,” Hudson said, after Liberty had complained about paying for the bar damages for the third time. “I don’t even know how you managed to fit it all in there.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it,” said Liberty, still refusing to let it go.
Hudson kept quiet. He knew the true reason for her continued bad mood was that it had been Tory who’d casually broken up the fight. She’d made her dislike of the mercenary clear, and still regularly warned Hudson not to trust her.
“What did you two talk about, anyway?” Liberty added, as if she’d read Hudson’s thoughts. “Over your cosy little drink, I mean.”
“Nothing much,” Hudson shrugged. “I asked her what brought her to Deimos, and she just said, ‘work’.”
Liberty laughed, “You realize that ‘work’ likely means helping Cutler to kill us, right?”
Hudson shushed her and continued, “And then I said something like, ‘it’s good to see you’, and then we drank, and that was that.”
“With small-talk like that, I can see why you’re such a hit with the ladies…” replied Liberty.
“Don’t be so hard on her,” Hudson hit back. “I have a feeling about Tory, that’s all. You of all people should be able to empathize with that. You took a chance on me, without knowing anything about who I was. Besides, I like that she’s more a woman of action than words.”
“I think the action you have in mind is different to the murderous thoughts that are rattling around her empty skull.”
Hudson nudged Liberty, knocking her off balance, “Don’t be so filthy.” Then he stopped and looked around, “Where the hell are we, anyway? These Martian stations all look the same.”
Liberty took the lead, shoulder-barging Hudson as she passed. “Our docking section is just up here on the left,” she said, smiling back at him.
“What would I do without you, co-captain?” said Hudson, returning the smile.
“Well, for starters, you’d probably get lost,” said Liberty, and then they both turned the corner, laughing. However, their amusement was short-lived, as standing in front of the Orion was the bald stocky man from the bar fight, flanked by two others. His companions shared the bald man’s round face, stub nose, and thick-set frame, and all three were holding short metal bars. They looked like a trio of hired henchmen from a bad spy thriller movie.
“Your friend broke Dillard’s elbow,” the bald man said. “You owe me for that, and for the hardbucks you cheated out of me in the game.”
“She’s not our friend, and I don’t owe you a damn thing,” Liberty hit back. “So, unless you want me to kick your ass again, I suggest you ‘scoot’.” Liberty again did the little walking gesture with two fingers.
Hudson winced and took a step towards the trio, holding up his hands. If he’d had a white flag, he would have been waving it. Unlike Liberty, he was far less keen to get into another brawl, especially with three men who all looked like proverbial brick shithouses. “Look, guys, there’s no need for violence, I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement
.” He couldn’t see Liberty, but he was sure she was scowling at him at that moment, wondering if this ‘arrangement’ would involve her handing over more hardbucks.
The bald man aimed the metal pipe at Liberty, “She had the chance to make ‘an arrangement’ back in the bar,” he spat. “So now I’m making demands instead. You’re going to tell me and my brothers here how you detected that new portal. Or else we take a look inside your ship and find out for ourselves.”
Hudson lowered his hands and rested his thumbs through his belt loops. “Guys, I’m trying to be reasonable, here, but honestly you’re starting to piss me off.” This wasn’t just his ‘tough guy’ relic hunter persona talking; he was genuinely getting annoyed. “You’re not getting on our ship. And because you’ve pissed me off, you’re not getting anything else either. Besides, perhaps, another ass whooping.”
The bald man sighed and shook his head. “Alright, if that’s how you want to play this,” he said, sounding almost glad that Hudson had given him the verbal middle finger. Then he casually handed his metal bar to one of his brothers behind him, and pulled a handgun out from behind his back.
Shit, he must have had it tucked into the back of his waistband, thought Hudson. Then he felt for his own pistol in the shoulder holster, before remembering that he’d left it on the ship, as per the station’s rules.
“Not so cocky now, are we?” said the bald man, clicking off the safety on the handgun. Then he aimed the weapon at Liberty, causing Hudson’s heart to leap in his chest. “Now, the Karate Kid over there is going to give me all of the hardbucks she cheated out of us.” Hudson heard Liberty snort loudly in disgust. Though, he wasn’t sure whether it was disgust at having to hand over the cash, or disgust at being accused of cheating, or both. Then the man aimed the weapon at Hudson, “And you, laughing boy, are going to show me how to find these undiscovered portals.”
As tense situations went, this one ranked pretty highly. And given what Hudson had experienced over the last few weeks and months, that was saying something. He tried to think of a smart or even daringly stupid way out of the mess, but this time they were cornered. He glanced over to Liberty, and though she still gave off her usual defiant air, he could see that she was similarly at a loss for what to do.
“I’ll give you until the count of three,” the bald man said. “I don’t have a problem with taking your ship’s ID fob off your dead body, and searching the vessel myself.”
Liberty stepped beside Hudson, seemingly in solidarity. “You’re bluffing,” she challenged him. “If you fire that in here, this hangar will be crawling with MP security before you can get within ten meters of our ship.”
Hudson smiled – Liberty had a point. “She’s right,” he said, with matching tenacity, “you won’t shoot.”
“No, he won’t.”
Hudson and Liberty spun around to see Tory Bellona in the corridor outside the hangar. His eyes flashed back to the bald man, whose round face now looked as shocked as if someone had just whipped down his pants.
“But I will,” Tory continued, before quick-drawing her antique Colt Frontier six-shooter, cocking it and firing in a single swift action that ‘Wild Bill’ Hickok would have been proud of. The shout of pain reached Hudson before he’d managed to turn to face the trio of brothers. This time, the bald man was on his back, cradling his shoulder, while being frantically attended to by the other men.
Hudson turned back to thank Tory, but she’d already gone. Instead, he looked at Liberty, who seemed just as astonished as he felt. Alarms then started to ring out inside the hangar and Hudson saw a squad of MP security guards rush inside, looking for the source of the commotion.
“Still think she’s out to get us?” said Hudson, unable to withhold a grin.
“Yes,” replied Liberty, without a moment’s hesitation. “More than ever.” Then she slapped him on the shoulder and they ran towards the Orion, eager to get out of sight before the security guards arrived. “Come on, I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”
CHAPTER 4
Logan Griff stubbed out his cigarette in the silver ash tray, which was the only item on the table, besides his steaming cup of black coffee. He then plucked a squashed cigarette packet from his shirt pocket, and slid out another smoke, while scanning his keen eyes around the room. The RGF officers' mess on Deimos Station was a small and generally depressing place. It conformed to the sort of bleak, minimalist Martian design that Griff hated. On the plus side, it was also quiet and off-grid, and perfect for the sort of clandestine meeting that Griff had planned. Besides the mess manager and two other officers in the far corner, it was also, importantly, private. And privacy was what Griff sought most of all at that moment.
Griff heard the door swing open and Cutler Wendell stepped inside, followed a second later by Tory Bellona. Griff’s eyes immediately traced the curves of Tory’s body, from the top of her chestnut hair to the tip of her reinforced boots, before he forced himself to look away. He’d witnessed first-hand how Tory handled people who stared at her the way he had just done. The urge to eyeball her again was still hard to resist, despite him knowing the likely consequences. Griff tapped the cigarette on the table, popped it into his mouth and lit it, while Cutler pulled up a chair and sat down. Tory also grabbed a chair, but instead of sitting down, she dragged it across the floor. It was a slow, deliberate action that generated a painful screeching sound, like a frightened pig. She then spun the chair around so that the back was facing the table and straddled it, all the while paying careful attention to where Griff was looking. Griff knew she was trying to goad him into gawping at her, to give her an excuse for a confrontation, but even so he nearly took the bait.
“Nice place,” said Cutler, though because of his characteristically dry delivery, Griff couldn’t tell if he was serious or being sarcastic.
Griff then saw the mess manager hurriedly approach the table. He walked up to Griff, but cast an anxious eye at Cutler and Tory too.
“This mess is for RGF officers only,” the mess manager said, keeping his voice low and respectful. “I’m afraid that your guests will have to leave.”
Griff blew out a thick plume of smoke, which Tory angrily wafted away, and then shifted sideways to look up at the mess manager. He casually removed his shield and ID from his belt and flopped the wallet open on the table.
“It’s okay, they’re on special investigations branch business,” said Griff, though the mess manager’s confused expression suggested that this meant nothing to him. The man bowed lower to read the ID, and then straightened up again. “Of course, Inspector Griff,” he said, apologetically, though he still looked slightly bemused. Then he turned to Cutler and Tory and added, “May I get you anything?”
“Just a water,” said Cutler, the tone of his voice as featureless as his expression.
“Whiskey,” said Tory, and then she met the mess manager’s nervous eyes. “And make it a large one.” The mess manager nodded and hurried away.
“It seems that someone is going up in the world,” said Cutler, tapping the shield on the table.
Griff smiled, showing the top row of his yellow teeth, and then reattached his ID and shield to his belt. “My good fortune is yours also,” he said, as the mess manager returned, placing a tall glass of water on the table in front of Cutler. Then, with a less steady hand, he placed an obnoxiously large tumbler of whiskey in front of Tory, spilling some in the process.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, quickly grabbing a cloth from his pocket to mop up the spillage.
Tory spun her chair around then picked up the glass, watching the man frantically dry the table. “If that had spilled onto me, you would have been,” she said, before relaxing back in the chair and taking a sip of the liquor.
Griff let out a short chuckle as the mess manager quickly departed, and blew out another plume of smoke. “That’s what I love about you, Tory,” he said, sloping towards her and resting his hand, smoldering cigarette pressed between two fingers, next to hi
s coffee cup. “Always direct, and to the point.”
Tory placed her glass back on the table and then leaned in towards Griff. He froze, not wanting to recoil for fear of looking weak, but also not wanting to get jabbed in the mouth, either. However, instead of punching him, Tory then casually plucked the cigarette out of his hand. Griff scowled as she dropped it, lit end first, into his half-drunk cup of coffee, before reclining again and picking up her drink. She sipped it idly, looking bored.
“Why are we here, Griff?” asked Cutler, while Griff watched the cigarette stub float around in his coffee. “Hudson Powell and the girl are on this station right now. Every moment we delay here allows them time to escape.”
Out of habit, Griff reached for his cigarette packet, but then caught Tory staring at him, like he was an ant she was about to stomp. He lowered his hand and pressed it together with his other on the table, before responding to Cutler. “There’s been a slight change of plan,” he began, careful to keep his attention focused on Cutler, given Tory’s stormy mood. “Powell is in possession of an object that is of great interest to RGF command. You are to retrieve this object. All other considerations are secondary.”
Cutler frowned, “What object?”
“It’s a crystal. That’s all you need to know.”
The mention of a crystal seemed to stir Tory’s interest. She was now watching Griff intently, hanging off his every word.
“I will need to know more than that, Inspector,” Cutler replied, curtly. “I care more about seeing Hudson Powell dead than I do about retrieving some random object. If an act of mere petty thievery is what you’re looking for then you’ve come to the wrong man.”
Griff considered this for a moment, chancing a look at Tory, who was still absorbed in the discussion, before meeting Cutler’s eyes again. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” he said, but then was quick to add, “but you have to swear on whatever code you mercenaries abide by to keep this between us.”