Fixer

by Ryan Vermont

  Oh, that would figure. Korth screws up, and I get to carry out his dirty work to clean up the mess.

  “And we’re told you brought something back everyone wants,” Macchio added. “Problem is, no one seems to know what it is.” His hand was still moving toward his weapon.

  “It was a starship,” I announced. “If you were so interested, why didn’t you ask around some more?”

  The Travelers stopped and turned to each other. I couldn’t read their thoughts with much clarity, but they weren’t happy. It wasn’t what they wanted at all.

  “So, what makes this starship so special?” Macchio asked as the wrinkles around his face crinkled.

  “How should I know?” I replied. “It’s not my job to find out. My interest in it was over when I brought it back. You’ll need to ask Boss Korth if you want to find out.”

  “Whatever,” one of the other Travelers spoke up. “He’s here. We’ve got him. Take smartass to Korth and get paid. I don’t see any downside to dumping him off at Korth’s place.”

  We were at a standoff. The Travelers wanted me for the bounty that Korth might give them, and I wanted to find out why I was so important to Korth. The bounty was larger than any he’d ever put out before, including for the three Malathusian women who tried to explode a bomb in his casino. There was more involved than Korth losing face in front of his goons, substantial as that might be to his operation. No, this was about something else.

  I cracked my knuckles and thought about how this could go down. Pops had any number of counter-measures in this place, and they could prevent a single weapon from being fired. He’d never once been robbed. Impressive enough, even if he was inside the legation. Most hold-up men knew better than to try any funny stuff on the inside.

  Every so often, someone would get the bright idea that they could scale the wall around the Irunian legation and sneak into it. You knew when this happened because the Irunians would leave the remains on display in a hanging cage outside for a week. I don’t know what they used to guard the walls, but it didn’t leave much of an intruder.

  The Irunians had a bum reputation for how they treated their enemies. I won’t get into it, but I’ve heard you never want to be on their bad side. The Irunian society is heavily militarized. Every one of them is expected to put their time into active duty when they turn 18. Hitches can be 10 years, so most of them don’t start to settle down well into their 30s. Active duty Irunian military aren’t allowed to have kids or marry until they cashier out of the services, so parents tend to be bit older than what you’ll find on Old Earth. It’s not a way of life most people could endure, but there are the rare Terrans, such as myself, who never knew anything else. I came of age learning how to tear down an impact gun.

  The Sultanate didn’t run into the Irunian Empire until its final years, by which time it was more concerned about the threat from everyone else ganging up on it. All I remember about the Irunians was a packed troop formation moving over a hill in our direction. It was my only engagement against them. And then, we were shipped off to deal with some crazy rebellion on a colony planet nobody remembered.

  “So, what is it going to be, gentlemen?” I asked them, my gun still snuggled in my waistline. “We going to do this thing, or you going to stare?” They all spoke Galactic Standard and knew what I meant.

  “Ixlid is pissed,” one of the Travelers spoke up.

  “Yeah, that fuggin goblin,” another one of them mentioned, not in Galactic. He was ready to spit on the floor.

  The Traveler didn’t say “goblin,” but the term he used created the image that appeared in his mind. He’d spoken in the Traveler dialect, a mixture of the languages gathered from their sojourns across the galaxy. A side effect of my esper ability lets me see what’s inside the head of a ghee, even if I can’t understand his language.

  Ixlid was someone I did not want to tangle with if I could avoid it. He was an illicit arms dealer who was famous for supplying weapons to each side in any given conflict.

  There wasn’t a lot known about him. He showed up right before I came to Nyx Station and set up an import-export company. It was the above ground part of his operations. No one knew where he came from and, like Korth, he was the only representative of his kind. We never saw another one. He had plenty of money and didn’t hesitate to spend it if it meant getting a good contract with some local syndicate.

  I’d met him only once, when Korth hired me as backup for a negotiation. He was less than six feet tall, green in tone, and possessed a narrow face that with two eyes constantly scanning the room for anything that might be out of place. I watched him rearrange his office over the course of a three-hour negotiation. He would sit on one side with his people, all Terrans, and then, pop up without warning to move a lamp across the room or adjust the tone of light from the ceiling. It took three hours to finish a contract that shouldn’t have needed more than a half hour to complete.

  I will say the look on Korth’s face during that negotiation was priceless. He left that meeting with steam coming out of his horns.

  “Yeah," Macchio agreed. He turned to look at me “They aren’t making that shit up, Terry. Ixlid has an interest in this too, and we all know he won’t let the Irunian MPs stand in his way.” They gave me what passed for a grin.

  Terry. It was one of the worst remarks you could say against someone from Old Earth. The slur was first used by slavers from Denlb, who raided the outer colonies when various governments were trying to establish footholds on other planets. The slavers would land under the cover of night, grab the healthiest of the colonists, and depart before anyone knew what happened. They tried not to kill anyone who resisted, as it meant more stock the next time.

  After a while, the colonists on those worlds learned to fortify their settlements against the raiders. It worked for the most part, at least until the Sultanate expanded into the former free cities that dotted the worlds.

  The absolute worst members of those settlements were those who helped the slavers. Sometimes, they even kidnapped their own people and held them for the money. These became known as the “Terrys” from some obnoxious cartoon character. Which is why it was still the worst thing you could call someone from Old Earth. It was equivalent to calling someone a traitor and psycho killer at the same time. I’ve seen massive fights in barrooms break out over people using that term.

  So, I let his comment stew inside me. Want to call me that word, Macchio? Fine; do that and see where it gets you.

  I remembered the first time I’d heard it. I was all of eight and in a new barrack with the other Janissary cadets. I heard some locals on the planet we occupied call me that and thought it was supposed to be funny. I went back to the barracks and yelled it out, expecting laughter from the other kids and the older guides. It was almost mess hall time, and there were a lot of them sitting around.

  I remember what happened afterward. That was the day one of the senior bashir’s caught my cohort out back kicking someone on the ground. It was also the last time anyone ever cornered me.

  I heard the glass break a second later.

  I’m still not sure if it was all timed, but it’s still the only explanation I can come up with. You want to believe things happen as a coincidence, that there’s some mysterious force in the universe that guides everything you do. Simply find the secret sauce that holds it all together. Then, you figure out there’s no secret sauce, just a universe of ghee’s with the right connections or who arrived at the right place at the right time. But then, something like this happens that suddenly makes you go back and wonder if there really is an invisible source that guides it all.

  I had that feeling when the glass in Pop’s little outside window blew apart. Before any of us could react, I watched as a silver hand reached in and unlatched the door from the other side.

  I had the gun leveled at the door. Right behind me, Zilpha flew through the entrance from the back warehouse with her naginata ready to slash any hostiles apart.

  Th
e Travelers already had their guns out. The second the glass broke, they all brought out high caliber Karba 27s. I heard about those guns years ago, but this was the first time I’d ever seen one of them up close. They were super-machine pistols outfitted with ammunition drums. Although not much on accuracy, the guns were brutal when used in a near-range fight. Up close, any one of those things could clear out a room. Whoever tossed that door open had no idea what kind of death squad was on this side.

  Already close to the ground, the Travelers dropped to one knee and trained their guns on the door.

  “None of you fuckers fire!” I heard the clan leader yell to his men. “Not until I give the order. We don’t know what’s on the other side!”

  We found out five seconds later when one silver exosuit after another filed into the room, guns of their own held high. It only took them a good 30 seconds to enter the shop.

  We faced off against 10 silver exosuits. I couldn’t see the face of whatever was inside them.

  Chapter Nine

  As we stood there, I watched the tension simmer. All of us were ready to use the mean of violence we had in our hands. But I didn’t like to rely on a gun. I wanted to drop this fancy shooter, grab a blunt object, and rearrange the heads of whoever had walked into the shop. And then, I would go to work on the Travelers. Call me a Terry, that fat bastard? I’d show him what a real Terran could do.

  When the last silver-suited figure entered the room, the final two separated and let someone come in behind them. I watched as a huffy figure in a double-breasted brown suite walked into the shop.

  He had a shaved head. And Ixlid was faster than he looked. One time I’d watched him grab a medicine ball from the air and toss it back to someone. Wherever the creep came from, they made them strong.

  He stopped and looked us over. While everyone faced off, the arms merchant walked over to the counter in front of Pops, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and polished a small section of the glass.

  “Missed a spot,” he explained when the handkerchief was back in his pocket.

  Then, I noticed something odd about those exosuits. First, the helmets were tightened on each one. This didn’t make sense, as you didn’t need to use them inside an atmosphere. The second thing I noted was the movements of the people who wore them. They weren’t normal motions at all.

  I leaned over at the nearest suit and took a better look. The helmet wasn’t detachable. It was part of the overall exosuit. I saw the gleam of metal and realized there were no people inside the exosuits.

  The silver warriors who’d entered ahead of Ixlid were mechanicals. He’d come here with a squad of robots.

  Somehow, this didn’t surprise me. They didn’t appear to be of one of the higher-end models. Ixlid had apparently paid someone to modify a standard production run of mechanicals and turn them into an armed squad.

  This was supposed to be against the Julian Conventions. Using mechanicals for war was outlawed. As with AIs, there was always the fear they could turn on their creators. Every AI had a kill switch built into it that could be activated if it refused to obey its masters. Likewise for mechanicals. Most of them were run by remote AIs, but a lot of them had their own basic operating systems.

  I looked closer and saw the blank expression of the mannequin head inside the helmet. Ixlid wanted us to think these were real humans, just in case the question was ever raised.

  “So, what brings you and your friends here to my establishment, Ixlid?” Pops broke the silence. “You didn’t have to break the window to get inside. I’d have let you in.” He stood there next to the cash register with both hands on the glass counter.

  “Decided to do a bit of shopping today,” he responded, a big shark grin on his face. “Thought my boys should come along, maybe see some of the sights in this part of the station. You like them?”

  “I won’t ask how you got them past the MPs,” Pops mentioned. “I’m sure you paid someone handsomely. Can’t say I’d want to be in your shoes if anyone found out what you had built.”

  “Not designed for war,” Ixlid responded, “if that’s what you meant. I got a great deal on some discontinued models meant for culinary work and decided to see if they could be used as security guards. You like them? I could give you a good price on the entire set.”

  “Don’t hang noodles on my ears,” Pops snapped back at him. “I’d have 12 systems on my ass if I tried to sell these things on the open market. It’s the same stunt that got Sleinc vaporized. The Combine sent two armies into that place in case anyone tried to get away.”

  “Nerveless, “Ixlid continued. “The real reason I’m here is because I understand our mutual friend over there-” he pointed in my direction- “recently returned from deep space with quite a prize. Too bad that his padroni can’t use it the way he wanted to. Now, you must wonder why that might be, especially if Korth’s paid so much money to get it back intact. What might the connection be between Fixer and that ship?”

  “I don’t know what the big deal is here,” I said. “I have nothing to do with that thing. Look, Zilpha’s brother and I were paid to bring it back. We did our job, and people found out. Happens all the time. Now, I understand the militia is all over it. Not really my problem any longer.”

  Even the Travelers seemed perplexed by what I said.

  “Perhaps," the arms dealer mentioned. “But there is a lot of money involved here. I’m more interested in that starship. Once the militia is done, the Fathers will put it up on auction. By then, anything of value will be stripped from the hull. Especially if they can’t get it to work. And I hear from some well-placed sources that the thing won’t even power up. Now, why is that?”

  “I really don’t like your line of questioning,” I snapped at Ixlid. Nor did I care for the pocket-handkerchief that didn’t match his suit. Ditto for the badly tied bowtie. Always thought those things looked comical.

  Then, it hit me. Everyone thought I had the key to operate the starship! Damn, they thought I had the quantum key that Zilpha’s brother Drez used to get it back here. Of course, that’s why it wouldn’t respond. The AI wouldn’t acknowledge anyone who didn’t have the key.

  But I didn’t have the damn thing on me.

  There was more dead air as everyone continued to face off. I still couldn’t believe Ixlid had marched those things down here without attracting the MPs’ attention. He could’ve bribed a few of the MPs, but the more people he paid, the more who might talk. When the Irunians found out what was running amok in their part of the station, they wouldn’t care if the silver-suited mechanicals were test models for security or not. All they would hear was that someone had killer robots loose in the legation. They’d roll in with every kind of heat imaginable and rip those silver suits to pieces. If they captured Ixlid alive, he’d be sent to an interrogation squad, who’d take their time until all the useful information was extracted. And then, they’d do it again just to compare notes with each other.

  “Did you blow your roof?” I asked both the Travelers and Ixlid. “Do you think I’d come down here to see Pops if I had the key to operate that thing? Hell, I’d be on my way to the outer rim by now. No way would I stick around here and put up with this.”

  “Maybe," the Traveler clan leader spoke. “And maybe you’d sell it to the highest bidder. That ship is a lot more valuable than what your padroni will pay for you. We could make you show how to operate it. Or you could hand that key over, and we’ll all be happy.”

  “Why would I be happy?” Ixlid inquired.

  “We would cut you in on the deal,” he explained. “You’ll still get a lot more money out of it than Korth will give you.”

  There was a sudden crash, and we all turned in the direction of Pops. While we’d been in parley, he’d managed to bring something up on the counter.

  It was a Sungy 7800. The first time I’d ever seen one. From the other side of the counter, I could tell he had a weapon few people knew about.

  A few years ago, the Irunian mil
itary played with a sonic destructor that was supposed to fry the insides of every enemy combatant on the field. It wasn’t even limited by most barriers. They’d built it in such a way that the weapon could rattle steel plate and concrete blocks into component atoms. Useful on planets with an atmosphere, it was powerful enough to take out entire divisions with one pulse. They never put it into production, though, because the weapon tended to kill the operator along with the target. A few were made for testing, but they were never mass produced.

  And Pops had managed to get his hands on one of those few test models. I could see the lights of it twinkle off the surface of the counter. The weapon was powered up and ready to fire. One pull of that trigger would sizzle everything in front of it.

  “I want you all to go!” he yelled. "Especially those clockwork dummies. I don’t want anyone to think I sell such pieces of shit.”

  What surprised me was how fast he’d hauled it up on the counter. The weapon had to weigh a good hundred pounds, and Pops wasn’t some young sprig. It appeared there was a lot I didn’t know about Pops.

  The Travelers glanced at the weapon and began to back up in the direction of the silver warriors. It didn’t matter how much firepower they carried. All Pops needed to do was tug, and everyone on the other side would fry. None of them wanted to become a steak on a summer party grill. I could see by the look on Pop’s grizzled face that he was ready to do it too.

  “You want to think really long and hard about what you might do in the next few minutes,” he spoke again.

  I heard a snap behind me and knew what it had to be. Zilpha had her naginata ready. She could bring that thing into action in short time. If nothing else, her actions back in the apartment reinforced how deadly she was with it. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Zilpha move slightly to on my left and angle herself facing the combined group of Travelers and mechanicals.

  This had the potential to turn into a bloodbath, and everyone knew it. Pops had that weapon of his out and ready with one finger on the trigger. If he turned it on, the entire front of the store would become the inside of an oven. No one wanted that to happen, least of all Pops. If the gun wasn’t calibrated, and blew out the front, the entire building would come down on us in a rain of stone and cement. No one would survive.