"Vic, what the hell are you doing?" Frank said.
"Shut up, or I'll snap your neck," Vic snarled. He clutched Frank firmly around the throat to hold his face up to Slavish's and said, "Do you know this man?"
Slavish's eyes darted back and forth from Vic to Frank and he said, "Y-yeah. He's the one who trapped us in here. Listen to me, if you call for help, I will personally see to it that you get to work up here in the offices−"
Vic flew a left fist straight into Slavish's face, cracking his nasal bone and bending it sideways. Slavish squealed in pain, and Vic said, "What is this man's name?"
"I don't know!" Slavish cried.
Vic relaxed his grip on Frank then, and headed for the door. Frank hurried along behind him, rubbing his neck and saying, "What the hell was that all about, you psychopath?"
"I've been funneling you intel for the past few months through him. He told me he'd made contact with you and you told me to just kill myself. He said you went fishing."
"He never…Jesus, Vic…I never saw that guy before today."
"I know," Vic said. "That's why you're not dead."
"Dead? I don't even like going fishing! You know I hate fishing."
"Shut up about fishing and stop bothering me about nonsense, Lieutenant," Vic said, suddenly in command again. He looked at Bob, "Will the elevator get us up to the roof?"
"It should," Bob said. "But what's waiting up there for us is anyone's guess. We lost comms with the General."
"Forget the General," Vic said.
"Hang on, he's the only reason we were able to get this far," Frank said. "I understand you are out of the loop, but he's working with us right now. Things have changed, Vic."
The circular lift arrived and the four of them stepped onto the platform, looking up at the space in the roof that was just beginning to open, just beginning to allow in the slightest fraction of sky. It was night by then. The stars were out, twinkling in all their glory in a majestic symphony of silent light. They were just as Vic had imagined them.
A red alarm sounded inside the Warden's office and Warden Drexel's feet shot off the desk in fright, but just as he was about to leap up to summon the guards, General Milner produced a small pistol in the palm of his hand and aimed it directly at the Warden's forehead. "Your men should have searched me better," General Milner said. "But based on your atrocious records, I suspect they are more used to sneaking things out of the prison than catching people bringing things into it."
"You traitorous son of a bitch," Warden Drexel hissed. "You'll hang for this!"
"It's possible," Milner said. He looked up at one of the monitors and saw several shadows racing across the rooftop for the ship.
"You'll never get out of this office alive," Warden Drexel said. "That ship will be blown to pieces the moment you try and leave on it."
"How?"
"Because if you shoot me, every alarm in this structure will sound and the auto-targeting cannons will come on line. And if you do not shoot me, I will blow you out of the sky myself the second you reach the roof."
Milner grunted as he reached for the comms console on the warden's desk and said, "General Milner to Grendel Unit, do you read me?"
There was a brief silence, then a voice came over the radio, saying, "This is Captain Victor Cojo, go ahead, General."
Milner smiled with relief and said, "You are to extricate from this location immediately. I say again, do not wait for further rendezvous. Commence liftoff and get the hell out of here."
Bob Buehl's voice broke in over the radio, saying, "General, I can outfly these auto-cannons with my eyes closed. Don't do this."
The General's eyes hardened on the Warden's as he gripped the microphone and said, "Gentlemen, this is the final command I am giving you as the supervisor of Grendel Unit. You are to leave now. Confirm."
Inside the ship, Vic took the microphone back from Bob Buehl and said, "Roger that, sir. Commencing lift off." He pointed at the controls and told Bob, "Punch it. Let's go." He cleared his throat and toggled the microphone back on, "General? For what it's worth, I just want to say I appreciate it and I won't forget."
The radio on the ship crackled over the rising whine of the engines, with the General's voice saying, "You boys go and make me proud. It's been an honor. A real honor. Milner out."
Vic set the microphone down and looked around the ship. There were pitifully few weapons systems and none of the fancy modifications they'd made to the Samsara to get it mission-ready. They were going to need something else. "Lieutenant Kelly," Vic called out.
"What?" Frank shouted back. He was already seated in the cabin, trying to convince himself it was real. That they were all back together again.
"I want full specs on everything we have aboard this ship. Gear. Weapons. Medical supplies. Money. Get it to me right away."
"I can get it to you right now," Frank said. "We don't have anything."
"What do you mean we don't have anything?"
"I mean all that stuff you asked for? That's all stuff we don't have."
Vic's eyes widened, "Do you mean to tell me you came to get me in a ship that has absolutely zero mission capability? What the hell were you people doing while I was away?"
Frank sat up and said, "Uh, in case you haven't noticed, Vic, we're not exactly going to be taking on any new missions. We're fugitives. Once the government finds out you both escaped and we helped you, we'll be running for the rest of our lives. The best thing we can do right now is find someplace to hide until the heat dies down, and then figure out how the hell we can get Bob and Monster's families to them so we can all spend the rest of our lives on the run from the government. This was the last hoorah, Vic. We're finished."
Vic looked around at the crew, seeing Monster's confused stare and Bob Buehl shifting uncomfortably in the pilot's chair. "What about you, Sergeant? You finished too?" Vic said.
"Well, even if I'm not, Unification is done with me, sir. Like Frank said, we're on our own now. No missions, no unit, right?"
"We do have a mission," Vic said. "One we never finished. One we swore we'd see through to the end, no matter what. You know what they say about Grendel Unit? That when this team takes on a target, that target is Tango Down no matter what, and unless I missed something, that child murdering son of a bitch Yultorot is still out there." He glanced at Frank and said, "He is still out there, right?"
"Yeah, he's still out there," Frank sighed. "But we don't have any clue where he is. And even if we did, we don't have any weapons or gear to go after him with."
"He's in the Pentak System," Vic said simply.
The other crew members gaped at him, not speaking. Frank thrust his hand in the air and said, "Uh, excuse me, but am I missing something here? How in the hell do you know that?"
"An informant inside the prison told me. While you knuckleheads were out here gallivanting around the galaxy with Unification Administration, I was deep in the jungle gathering intelligence and planning our next move."
"One hour ago you were a catatonic invalid who couldn't even move!" Frank said. "Monster had to carry you out of your cell!"
"So?" Vic said, shrugging. "At least I never told you to kill yourself."
"I never told you to kill yourself either!"
"Maybe not, but someone very believable told me you did, and it was extremely hurtful. You should apologize."
"For the thing I never said?" Frank said.
"Right."
Frank threw up his hands and said, "I give up. Forget it. Let's go to the Pentak System, Bob. I guess we're going to go kill the galaxy's most wanted terrorist. Oh, by the way, we'll need to figure out a way to finance and gear the entire mission on our own."
Vic snapped his fingers at Monster and said, "I need you to find us a new ship, Big Man. Preferably one carrying a lot of weapons or money. Find something in the area, whether it's a merchant vessel or an armored courier service, I don't care. It's time for a little on-site acquisition, gentlemen. Now if you'll ex
cuse me, I need to go find something to drink. It's been a really long day."
Frank watched Vic vanish into the captain's quarters and turned in his seat toward Monster and Bob and said, "Can you believe this guy? Doesn't miss a beat. He's not out of prison twenty minutes and it's right back at it. Unbelievable."
Bob shrugged and said, "Well, at least we're not all rotting in prison." Bob looked across the way at Monster and saw that the mantipor was smiling as he peered down at the computer screen in front of him, searching for the ships he'd been instructed to find. "What are you smiling about? You that glad to see me again?"
Monster shrugged and said, "He called me Big Man. It's been a while. I missed it."
Frank unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, shaking his head. "All of you are nuts. I really mean that. Absolutely, certifiably crazy."
"Yeah," Bob said, "but we're the crazies you know and love."
Frank let out a short laugh and then went to Vic's door to help him look for a bottle of something to drink. They could work later. Maybe they'd even find a place to go fishing.
V. ANY MEANS NECESSARY
24. Immigrant Song
The karjarra den filled with light orange smoke, its fragrance a blend of clove and citrus. Bender leaned back in his chair at the far end of the room and scowled. He was tired of his hair and clothes smelling like burnt oranges. He was tired of karjarra junkies.
A dozen of them writhed on the floor in front of him, lost in the throes of the narcotic's initial onset. Men and women both, stripped naked, covered in sheets of rank sweat. You could tell how far along they were in their addiction by how skinny they were. The ones still smiling as the drug cycled through its phases were new. They still enjoyed it. They hadn't developed the lost, desperate craving of the more experienced junkies yet. Those wide-eyed bastards were so shriveled it looked like their skin was constricted around their limbs.
The baby junkies were easy to identify. They still had a little meat on their bones because even though they'd given up eating for karjarra, their bodies hadn't begun turning against them yet. It would only be a few weeks before their hair started falling out in clumps. They'd start itching their armpits and backsides endlessly, trying to scrape away imaginary bugs.
You can't scratch away those bugs, Bender thought. He'd seen junkies tear their own flesh off trying to do it, too. Those bugs are in your mind.
There's only one solution for that.
In fact, he thought he saw that solution presenting itself momentarily. One of the skinniest junkies had curled up in a fetal position in the far corner and stopped moving. Bender wrapped his fingers around the barrel of his assault rifle and leaned forward, watching carefully. When the junkie didn't move, he nodded to one of his guards to get rid of the body.
He'd learned about junkies the hard way during his first week. A little old lady collapsed in front of him and laid flat on the floor. She wasn't even half his size. He got up and walked over to her, giving her a little kick with the toe of his boot to see if she was dead. She snapped to like somebody zapped her with an electrified wire. The old bat leapt up and clawed his face, trying to get past him and reach the stash. The crew chief handled her though. While Bender was bent forward, clutching his face, that old lady was getting stomped to death in the middle of the floor.
They left her body there all night as a warning to the others to never, ever try and take off the stash. It was funny, because the junkies didn't even look at her. They just wanted their karjarra and when they got it, they flopped down on the floor right next to her corpse and went into their cycle.
After a few hours, Bender got tired of looking at the body and went to drag her outside. The chief clamped down on his shoulder and said, "I told you I wanted her here as a reminder."
"I'm sick of looking at her. She's leaking all over the place. These junkies don't care, anyway. They just want to get high."
"She's not a reminder for them," the chief said. "She's a reminder for you. Now get back to your position."
He'd done what he was told. He'd done it well. So well that within a year he was considered one of the most efficient guards on the crew, and six months later, he was promoted to captain of the overnight shift. Now, the entire facility was his, and he intended to keep it that way. At least, for now.
For some, a big rectangular box at the far end of a mining shantytown wasn't living the dream. But for Bender, it was a key piece of his bigger plan.
The mines of Fulgen 2 had run dry decades ago, leaving its inhabitants with no jobs and no money to evacuate. Eventually, relief services kicked in and they set up food banks, medical clinics, and training centers, trying to help people find new trades. They were too late. The drug dealers had always been active in the settlements, offering miners a temporary chemical escape from the horrors of their work, and often the miners' wives a temporary chemical escape from the horrors of being married to such miserable bastards.
He ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back. His mother had always called him her blonde haired pretty boy, encouraging him to grow it long. Now, there were tattoos etched all the way up his neck to his jaw, and a set of gleaming fangs in his mouth. He wasn't pretty anymore.
A few crews had tried to take over after the mines closed. Modders, Sapienists, and even a few alien species, but when all the smoke settled, the Fulgen City Fanglords were the only ones standing. Hell, even social services were too scared to land on the planet's surface now. They just airdropped supplies in big crates and people scavenged for what they needed.
But the money was what mattered. Once a month, Unification re-upped the funds for all those people living on the dole. Over a hundred million creds being spread across the whole planet, and it was Bender's job to make sure as much of it as possible ended up at his facility.
To keep the operation safe, he had two guards, armed with assault rifles, inside with him. They corralled the junkies into the Get High Zone. It was a large orange square on the floor, directly under the exhaust fans on the ceiling, and if you stood on any part of that square, you were going to ride the karjarra wave.
There was a sniper positioned on the roof, and two men at either entrance outside the facility. One group guarded the side where the junkies lined up, waiting to get in. The one group stood at the other end where they got kicked out into the dirt, no matter how much they begged and pleaded.
The stash stayed locked up behind a gate, and Bender sat in front of that gate. Just in case anybody had the wrong idea about Bender, or his men, or their ability to keep what was inside that gate inside that gate, he had a key around his neck to a weapons cache on the wall. It had Unification-grade military armament, and not just rifles and explosives, either. Anybody trying to take off the stash was going to have their hands full, that much was sure, Bender thought. He grinned slightly, kind of wishing someone would.
There were move ups to be had, anyway. He was ready for a promotion, to get the hell out of the facility and get a bigger piece of the action. As chief, he got a one percent cut of their profit. The money was good, but it wasn't serious. His boss, the regional manager, got a two percent cut from each of the four warehouses in his territory. Now that, Bender reasoned, was serious.
He checked the time on his handheld and called out, "All right. Time's up!" He keyed in a sequence on the screen hovering above his wrist and the exhaust fans in the ceiling kicked on, sucking up all the orange smoke instantaneously.
Free from the mist, naked under the bald lights of the warehouse, the junkies looked even more putrid and horrifying. All grey skin and weepy hollow eyes. A few of them whimpered impotently, pleading for Bender to give them more, but his guards fell in behind them, using the sides of their rifles to herd all the junkies out.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned as the lift gate at the back of the building cranked up toward the roof. It looked like a crisp, clear night outside. He wouldn't have minded going for a ride on his bike through the canyons, just to breathe in something
besides the damned smell of burnt oranges.
The warehouse's rear gate closed again and Bender raised his handheld and said, "We ready for the next customers?"
"Yeah, we're ready," the guard on the other end replied. Dimmel was his second in command, hand-picked for the position out of all the other, better candidates, for two very specific reasons. He was mean as a snake and dumb as a burned out fuse box. The andro infusions had only made him twitchier and less predictable, which was a perfect reason to keep him outside. There was nothing wrong with having a testosterone-deranged gorilla on your side, as long as they remembered their place.
Bender had learned a powerful lesson during his time as second-in-command of the facility, and that was never trust your second-in-command. By the time his previous chief realized he was getting flushed down the latrine, it was too late. Bender had already secured all the connections he needed to take over. And that was right, he thought. The old captain hadn't been nearly as smart or ambitious as he was. He hadn't realized the goldmine they were sitting on, and that with just a few extra tweaks they could double, or even triple, profits.
The district manager had listened to Bender's plan, though, and before long they were taking the old chief out for one last ride through the canyon. The buzzards had long since picked his bones clean. Serves him right, Bender thought.
Dimmel's voice crackled, "Boss, we got some new arrivals what just showed up."
Bender shook his head wearily, "I told you, we only got enough K for twelve at a time. Tell them to wait for the next batch."
"They ain't junkies. They're official, like."
The word sounded like a curse coming from Dimmel's lips. On that planet it might as well have been. Bender's head tilted, "What kind of officials?"
"Unification Administrative Services. Two of 'em. We scanned 'em and their ship. They check out."
Bender scratched the side of his stubbled face. "We're paid up for the month. What do they want?"
Grendel Unit Page 27