by G J Ogden
Hudson laughed, “No guts, no glory, right?”
Tory took the ID fob from his hand, and pressed it to the lock. “Hopefully, at least no guts,” she said, with the faintest hint of a smile.
“Didn’t we agree that you’d avoid telling jokes, and just stick to intimidating and shooting people?” Hudson replied, as the lock clicked open.
“Who’s joking?” replied Tory, darkly, before she pushed the door ever so slightly ajar. With the attentiveness of an archeologist, she then surveyed the frame, looking for any indication that Yaeger had set a trap. A few seconds later, Tory smiled and met Hudson’s eyes. “Round one to us,” she said, reaching up and clicking a button, before pushing the door open fully.
Hudson moved closer and saw a switch built into the door frame on the inside. He nodded in appreciation of Tory’s eagle-eyed spot. “Good catch,” he said, before stepping inside.
“Boom!” yelled Tory, and Hudson nearly jumped out of his skin for the second time that hour.
“Shit, Tory, that wasn’t funny!” Hudson snarled, trying to keep his voice low.
But Tory just shrugged, strolled in beside Hudson and closed the door behind them. “Yeah, yeah, stick to intimidating and shooting people, I get it.”
Hudson shook his head, finally managing to see the funny side. “Yaeger said the crystal was in her desk drawer, by the stairwell,” he said. He quickly surveyed the garage space and saw a steep metal stairway leading up to a high mezzanine level, but there was no sign of a desk near it. “My guess is that her office must be up on that mezzanine,” he said, pointing towards the top of the staircase. Tory didn’t answer, and was instead seemingly staring off into space.
“Hey, Tory, are you still with me?” asked Hudson, before following the line of her gaze. Then he saw what had captured Tory’s attention; it was Cutler Wendell’s FS-31 Patrol Craft. Hudson turned back to Tory, guessing at what she was probably thinking. “Hey, keep your head in the game. We’re here for the crystal, nothing else.”
Tory met his eyes, then her stony expression softened slightly. “I know, you’re right,” she said, before casting her intense eyes back at the FS-31. “But I’d still love to take a sledgehammer to that damn ship.” Then she again turned to Hudson, and added, “Come on, and watch your step. The device in the door won’t be the only trap in this garage.”
Tory led them across the garage, creeping as carefully as a cat burglar, with Hudson matching her step for step. They eventually reached the foot of the metal stairwell, without being blown up, caught in a net, or otherwise snared or maimed, before Tory indicated for Hudson to stop.
“It looks like she also uses this mezzanine level as some kind of living space,” said Tory, pointing to a couch against the railings. “If that’s the case, she’ll have definitely protected the route up. So, let me check it out first.”
“Okay, but be careful,” Hudson replied, “you might be tough, but you’re not invulnerable.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve survived worse than Yaeger,” replied Tory, but it wasn’t spoken as a boast, and so offered Hudson some reassurance.
Tory began to slowly ascend the stairs, one step at a time. Each time, she checked the next step up, scouting for pressure plates or other sensors. Her progress was slow and laborious, and Hudson found his attention wandering to other items in the garage. Then, on the wall underneath the stairs, Hudson saw what looked like scrape marks. He checked again on Tory’s progress, but she still had about a fifth of the stairway to traverse, so he decided to check it out.
Running his hand along the groove, it felt like they had been gouged out by something sharp and heavy. The marks also progressed in a shallow arc, as if they had been made using a giant protractor. Hudson scowled, unable to piece it all together, but then he looked up at the underside of the stairwell, and saw a sturdy metal hinge. His heart began to race as he checked underneath the stairwell next to it and saw that there was a clean break. The stairwell was split in two distinct sections, and Hudson instantly guessed the terrible reason why.
“Shit! Tory, don’t move any further!” Hudson called out, realizing what had carved out the grooves. Yaeger had rigged the stairway to collapse. “The stairs themselves are the trap!” he shouted.
It was too late. There was a sharp click as Tory triggered the mechanism and the entire upper half of the heavy metal staircase swung down directly towards Hudson. He dove out of the way at the last second, narrowly avoiding being smashed in the face, but then he saw Tory, dangling by one hand from the floor of the mezzanine. Somehow, she had managed to catch the edge, saving herself from a near seven-meter sheer drop that would either have killed or seriously injured her. However, Hudson could see that her grip was failing.
Pushing himself up, he ran toward her, just as Tory’s fingers slipped from the edge. She yelled as she accelerated downward, and Hudson reached out to catch her, but, far from the fairytale image of Tory falling neatly into his arms, the momentum flattened him like a pancake.
Tory rolled off the top of Hudson, and he groaned. He’d succeeded in breaking Tory’s fall, but it felt like he’d just been power-slammed by Andre the Giant.
“You’re heavier than you look,” Hudson whimpered, feeling his ribs. He was sure that he’d heard at least one of them crack.
“Well, I’m just glad that you’re nice and soft,” Tory hit back, lying flat on her back beside him.
“Hey, I’m in great shape!” complained Hudson.
Tory leaned across him, and patted his chest. Each thump of her hand felt like an anvil dropping on his sternum. “I know…” said Tory, before kissing him. “Thanks for the catch.”
Hudson smiled, “I’d say, ‘any time’, but honestly I’d rather not do that again.” Then he noticed a crack of light coming through the wall, close to the baseboard. It hadn’t been visible when he was standing up. “Hey, I think there’s a room hidden back there.”
Tory turned over and shuffled up to the wall, running her hand along it. “You’re right, there’s a seam here, and an air current.” She continued to work her hands along the wall, then Hudson heard a click, before a section of the wall swung inwards. They both got up and cautiously checked the newly-revealed doorway, but there didn’t appear to be any sign of more booby traps.
“I told you she was a wily old fox,” said Tory, stepping inside.
The room was perhaps no bigger than a large walk-in closet, but it contained a desk with a computer console, and some storage cabinets along the walls. Hudson walked around the other side of the desk and saw two drawers built into it.
“What are the chances that Yaeger has booby-trapped these drawers?” he wondered, glancing at Tory.
“Pretty high, I’d say,” Tory replied, “and based on the collapsing staircase, which was slickly done, I’d say they won’t be easy to get past.”
Hudson examined the desk more closely. It was old and not particularly sturdy. Walking back around the rear side, he tapped the back a few times and then rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.
“Admiring the décor?” said Tory, with more than a whiff of sarcasm.
“In a sense,” answered Hudson, before holding out a hand to Tory. “Can I borrow your knife?”
Tory frowned, but removed her blade from its scabbard, flipped it over and slapped the handle into Hudson’s waiting hand. “So long as you’re not going to stab me with it,” she said, before folding her arms to see what Hudson had in mind.
Hudson then pressed the blade through a gap in the panel behind the desk drawer, and began to lever it away. The desk was in such poor condition that Hudson was quickly able to prise the wood away. Tory moved in to help, and together they pulled the back off it completely.
“See, not just a pretty face,” said Hudson, handing Tory back her knife.
Tory took it and slid the blade back into its sheath. “Pretty impressive,” she admitted, though she had a curious air of smug superiority about her. Tory then rested her hand next to a switch on t
he wall. “Or you could have just disabled all the devices with the master off-switch,” she added, tapping the switch panel with her forefinger.
Hudson laughed, “Did you switch that off before or after I levered open the desk?” he wondered, but Tory just flashed her eyes mysteriously at him.
Leaving Tory to her gloating, Hudson leaned inside the desk and began to rummage through the contents of the drawers. “Bingo,” he said, cautiously pulling out a cigar box from the clutter and holding it in front of him.
“Careful, Hudson, the traps in the garage are off, but she could still have rigged something in that box,” warned Tory.
However, Hudson had not come this far only to be stopped by a dusty, old cigar box. He took a deep breath, held it, and then committed himself, cautiously prising open the lid of the box. He then squinted his eyes mostly shut, in case something nasty exploded from inside it, but to his relief there was nothing, except the creak of the rusted metal hinge. Lifting the lid fully, he found what he was looking for, but straight away, he knew something was wrong.
“Shit, this is only part of it.” Hudson said, lifting the crystal fragment out of the box. “It looks like it has been broken in half somehow.”
Tory looked at the crystal and seemed to have an epiphany. “Griff and I had what you might call a strong disagreement while heading to Chrome One,” she said, cagily. “That device Cutler stole from your ship got shot up. It must have split the crystal in the process.”
“If that’s the case then where the hell is the other half?” Hudson said, throwing the box onto the desk.
Tory shrugged, “Best guess is that Cutler or Griff still has it,” she suggested. “It makes sense. Even half a crystal could sell for a lot of credits, to someone who doesn’t know any different.”
Hudson nodded, “Right, but that just puts us back at square one, needing to find those slippery bastards again.”
Tory thought for a moment. “If they did go back to Earth, there are a few bolt holes Cutler might use,” she said, “but I’ll need to do some digging first.”
Hudson slipped the crystal fragment into the secret compartment in his leather jacket, then turned the computer console on the desk to face him. “We have to assume he’s either sold it, or lost it,” he said, switching the computer on. “Which means it’s back to plan B.”
Tory watched as Hudson brought up a jump map of the nearby portals. “And plan B is?...”
Hudson quickly marked a sequence of jumps from Mars to one of the more distant CET portal worlds. “We go relic hunting, and find some more crystal fragments, so that Morphus can recombine a complete crystal.”
Tory peered at the screen and frowned as she noted the planet that Hudson had selected. “Why Brahms Three? There are at least a dozen less shittier shitholes we could go to.”
“Sure, but they’re getting fewer by the hour,” cautioned Hudson, wondering how many more planets the great ship had destroyed during their time on Mars. “Goliath is working its way closer to the solar system, which puts Brahms Three in its path. And there’s someone still on that sweaty little world that I owe a debt to.”
“Your bartender friend, right?” said Tory, and Hudson nodded. Tory raised her eyebrows and sighed, “Fine, Brahms Three it is. But you’ll have to remind your friend not to shoot me on sight. We didn’t part on the best of terms, if I remember rightly.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Hudson, smiling. Then he went to turn off the computer console, before noticing there was an emergency news alert. He switched to it, and the screen displayed a bulletin detailing Goliath’s latest incursion.
“The OPW planets have all been destroyed, or the populations wiped out by the seed ships,” said Hudson, his mouth going dry as he spoke. He looked at Tory. “Goliath has already turned towards the solar system, and is attacking the outer CET portal worlds en route.”
“Then it looks like we’d better go relic hunting, pretty damn quickly,” said Tory.
Hudson shut down the computer and headed out of Yaeger’s hidden office room. He remained vigilant for signs of the Council as he moved back to the door of the garage, but when he got there, he noticed that Tory wasn’t behind him. He peered around the garage space and spotted her, dragging a fuel barrel underneath Cutler’s FS-31. With the traps now disabled, Tory was free to roam the garage without fear of a gruesome surprise.
“Tory, what are you doing?” Hudson called out to her, “We don’t have time for this.”
Tory tipped some of the fuel on to the floor underneath the FS-31, then dragged a second barrel alongside the first. “I don’t care if Goliath is in orbit above Mars right now,” Tory said, moving to a cabinet and searching through it. “I’m still going to blow this ship to hell.”
Tory continued to rummage until she found what she was looking for. Walking back over towards Hudson, he finally managed to see what the object was. “You’re serious?” he said, looking at the welding torch in Tory’s hand.
Tory lit the torch and threw it at the fuel barrels. It hit the metal deck and skidded squarely into the middle of them. She turned back to Hudson, who was standing in front of the door, and threw her arms out wide. “Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Run!”
Hudson scrambled out of the door and set off at a sprint away from the garage. Tory caught up with him a few seconds later, as the fuel ignited and the tanks exploded. The detonation blew out the front of the building, throwing them both to the ground.
Hudson groaned again, and rolled onto his back, before sitting up. Tory grabbed his shoulder and hauled herself up alongside him. Through the now blown-open front of the garage, they could see the FS-31, collapsed in a burning heap on the deck.
“That felt really good,” said Tory, smiling.
Hudson rubbed his aching head, “Speak for yourself,” he said, as the garage’s fire suppression systems kicked in. “But I’m glad you found it cathartic.” Hudson noted that it certainly seemed to have lifted Tory’s spirits, but he wished she’d chosen a less destructive way to iron out her frustrations. “From now on, though, how about you just stick to intimidating and shooting people, and not blowing things up?”
CHAPTER 8
Logan Griff cautiously opened the door of the pre-fab office building, below which was the bolt hole he and Wash were hiding in. He pushed the door open a touch wider, and peered outside onto Swinsler’s lot. It was the early evening in San Francisco, and the warm autumn air was clear of fog.
“Are you going outside or not?” asked Jane Wash, tapping her foot impatiently. “If Cutler was waiting for us out there, he’d have emptied a magazine through the door by now.”
Griff glared back at Wash. As his commanding officer, he’d grown accustomed to her spiky and cantankerous moods, but usually his time spent with her was mercifully short. Forced to endure hours alone with Wash in the confines of the bolt hole, he’d felt like strangling her.
“Best to be cautious where Cutler is concerned,” he replied, but Wash just tutted and barged past him, flinging the door open in the process, and stepping outside.
“See, no Cutler,” crowed Wash, indicating to the empty shipyard lot. “He knows he has something we need, so when he’s ready, he’ll make himself known.”
Griff also now stepped outside, satisfied that if Cutler was waiting around to kill them, Wash would already be dead. Part of him wished that Cutler had gunned her down then and there, but he knew he still needed Wash to escape. He plucked a cigarette out of the black packet in his shirt pocket, and lit it. “You’re assuming he hasn’t already sold or traded the crystal,” he said, blowing out a plume of dark smoke. “He’s pretty desperate now.”
Wash walked up to Griff and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, before placing it into her own. “Then you’d better find out if he has or not,” she said, before drawing deeply on the stick.
Griff glowered at her, and slid out another smoke from the packet. “Well, that’s where we’re going now, isn’t it?” he said, th
ough it came off sounding a little more petulant than he’d intended.
“Right now, all I’m hearing is your jaw flapping,” replied Wash, continuing in her ill-tempered mood. “So, lead the way, Inspector Griff…”
Griff brushed past Wash and headed out towards the rusted iron gates of the shipyard lot. He then saw Swinsler waving at him from inside his own office pre-fab, his round face offering a fake smile, but he ignored him. Swinsler was only slightly less irritating than Wash was, and Griff’s mood was already stormy enough. Then he heard the door of the pre-fab open, and rolled his eyes as the round little man ran out to greet him.
“Good evening, Inspector Griff,” said Swinsler, sounding as if he was gearing up to sell him a ship. “I trust all is well with the accommodations?”
“Yeah, they’re fine,” replied Griff, before glancing back at Wash, “Apart from the company, anyway.”
Swinsler turned his round spectacles towards Wash, who was following a few meters behind Griff, but she was also seemingly trying to ignore the dealer. “Well, if you need anything, be sure to let me know!” Swinsler intoned.
Griff noticed the dealer was holding an epaper in this right hand. He stopped, reached down and plucked the device from Swinsler’s chubby fingers. “I need to borrow this, if you don’t mind,” said Griff, though he hadn’t phrased it as a question, and didn’t wait for Swinsler to provide an answer, either. Then he clicked his fingers, remembering something else he needed. “Oh, and if you can lend me some hardbucks, that would be great,” he added. It was a thirty-minute walk into Bayview from the lot, and he didn’t want to spend that amount of time forced to endure Wash’s idle chit-chat and insults. He also didn’t want to pay for a transport with credits, which would risk leaving a digital fingerprint for the Council to trace.
Swinsler hesitated, then reluctantly pulled out a small bundle of notes. “Well, I suppose I could…” he said, reticent to hand them over.