by Eric Thomson
“Right,” Korden nodded. “That's why you came to me. I can pull anything out of the Pacifica net, including stuff the Families, the military and anybody else thinks is secure.”
Net-freak, Decker decided, after running a critical eye over the man, one of the people who spend their lives hooked up to computers and knew how to navigate the data streams. It was like a drug. They forgot to feed or care for themselves properly, and their nerves became brittle. Until they finally died. Or their consciousness merged with the net. No one had ever been able to tell.
“My price depends on how hard it is to obtain the information you want. I can only tell you that once I'm done.” He blinked nervously, eyes still fixed on the Arkanna.
“Fair enough,” Raisa gave him a predatory smile. His Adam's apple bobbed a few times beneath his stubbly chin.
“C'mon to the back.” The net-freak led them into a room even more cluttered with electronic junk. A debris and tool covered workbench occupied one wall while an unmade bed was pushed against another. The aroma of unwashed socks and stale food seemed almost like a physical presence.
Korden dropped into a chair facing a terminal and placed a metallic band over his head. Small connected with metal ports set in his skull, hard-wiring his brain to the computer. Contact with the machine seemed to infuse him with renewed energy, and his voice was steadier when he asked, “What's the name of the planet?”
“Ventos Prime.”
The man nodded once, then his face muscles went slack and his eyes lost focus as his mind merged with the net. Data began to stream across the screen at high speed
Feeling edgy, Zack wandered around Korden's place, poking into dark corners and examining the technological debris the net-freak had accumulated. The sounds of the casbah filtered through the curtain and created a backdrop of white noise that grated on the gunner's nerves.
He didn't enjoy playing spook. Some Marines entered that line of work and transferred to Fleet Intelligence, from where they never returned to a line unit. Not Zack Decker. He preferred the direct way of doing business, with a gun in each hand, and a troop of armored Pathfinders behind him.
Zack's peripheral vision caught a movement on the other side of the grimy window. But when he turned to look, the face was gone. He couldn't be sure of what he'd seen because there was simply too much activity in the alley. Yet he couldn't shake the idea that someone had been watching him.
“Zack!” Raisa's call shifted his attention back to the net-freak in the back room. He joined her behind Korden.
“He’s broken into Amali's classified systems and discovered a dense data pack on Ventos Prime. Look.” She pointed at the screen.
As they read the scrolling words, Zack's heart sank into his stomach and bile rose in his throat. What he saw on the screen just couldn't be real, but his own sensor had shown him the evidence in Shokoten's cargo hold. It all fit. And it imperiled the very survival of the Commonwealth.
“My God, Raisa,” Decker sounded hoarse as he whispered. “What have we done?”
“We could not know. When smuggling becomes second nature, we forget to think about the consequences of our actions. The important question is, what do we do now?”
“Damn if I know. Who the hell will believe this crap? And more to the point, how the hell will we find someone to tell it to?”
A sound behind them made Zack turn and drop into a crouch, hand reaching again for the non-existent blaster.
“I believe I can solve that dilemma for you,” a very familiar voice said from the shadows of the doorway.
“Aw, shit!” Zack swore as Nihao Kiani stepped into the room, a large bore blaster pointed at them. She wore a simple black outfit of trousers and high-collared jacket that blended so well with the background, Zack knew it had to be stealth cloth. In the low light of Korden's back room, her cruel smile and narrowed almond eyes twisted her features.
“Please move to the side.” Kiani motioned them over with the gun's thick, heat-blackened barrel. The net-freak, still plugged into the data stream, was oblivious to the sudden drama in his shop. His slack face still stared through unfocused eyes at the glowing screen.
When Kiani had a clear bead on Korden, she pulled the trigger twice. The first shot took off the top of the hacker's head, plasma vaporizing his skull along with the headband. Grayish-pink matter splashed against the wall with a sickening sound in a wide fan of droplets. Before his body had time to slump, the second shot burned through the terminal and fried its electronic innards, producing nothing more spectacular than a few sparks.
“Why the gratuitous murder?” Raisa Darhad hissed, talons and fangs bared.
“Oh, not gratuitous, my dear first officer,” Nihao's smile was mockingly cruel. “And neither will your deaths be. Not that anyone would care down here. Pacifica, and in particular Hadley, has one of the highest murder rates in the Commonwealth. Three more corpses in the morning will disturb no one. Nor will the police care much. They're of the opinion that anyone who risks the casbah and dies there got what he or she deserved.”
Kiani seemed to relish the situation, the awful odor of charred human flesh and voided bowels, and the anticipation of more death. Her dark eyes glinted with a madness Zack had seen before, in Pathfinders who took too much pleasure in killing. Men and women like that had always given him the creeps, but no one as much as her. The change from when he last saw Kiani was too radical. He shuddered.
“You will understand that my superiors cannot afford to let anyone who knows about Ventos Prime live,” she continued, “to tell the Navy.”
“Why are we a danger to you and your masters?” Decker asked sharply. Anger flared within him and his fight-or-flight reflex took over, leaning heavily towards the fight option. Marines never ran from a confrontation.
She laughed with delight.
“So naïve, Zack, yet such a good agent. The Fleet chose well in you. So much better than Lokis.”
“Hah,” Zack snorted, “that's where you have your wires crossed. I haven't worked for the Fleet since they pensioned me off.”
She stopped laughing abruptly.
“Then why are you pursuing this?”
Decker shrugged. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Raisa move slowly away from him, preparing to rush Kiani.
“Since you’ll shoot me anyway, why not tell me what this is all about,” he suggested, more to distract her and give Raisa an opening, than to satisfy his curiosity.
“The villain telling his victims all about the plan before attempting to kill them works only in cheap spy novels, Zack.” Kiani seemed amused. “Where you're headed, the knowledge will be of little use. So why waste my breath?” Her eyes snapped over to Raisa, and she smiled again.
“Ah, I see. Sorry, but it won't work.”
“If you intend to kill us, then do it,” Raisa growled back at her.
“Soon, you alien bitch. But I wish to enjoy myself a bit first. Incidentally, you may be pleased to know that I will miss Zack as much as you will. He is quite a lover though I believe he prefers human women to alien animals.”
“I beg to disagree. He has a weakness for females, but his acts with you were only normal physical reactions from a healthy, heterosexual male.”
“So our gallant gunner has told you.” Kiani's smile grew in size and cruelty. “But you're wrong about his motivation where I'm concerned.”
“No,” Decker replied, voice low and menacing. Pure rage was building within him. He could no longer stand her attempt to hurt Raisa by rubbing his betrayal in her face.
“I may be a dummy, but I've figured out you have one hell of a talent for manipulation, Nihao. You thought I was a Fleet agent, so you needed a way to ensnare me. It didn't take a fucking genius to see that Zack Decker is a horny bastard with an eye for the ladies. You wave it in my face long enough, and I'll bite. But that's all. And since I'm not a Fleet Intelligence type, your bedding me was wasted. It was sex, mediocre sex at that, nothing more.”
He glanced
at Raisa and saw a profoundly moving look in her eyes. Something soft, adoring, brushed his mind. It was the other half of Raisa's talent, something he felt for the first time. The sensation filled his eyes with tears because of the intensity of her love for him and because he knew they would not consummate that love ever again.
Kiani smirked.
“How touching. The tough Marine and the murderous Arkanna going soft over each other. Perhaps you'll meet in Hell if the demons have a tender spot for lovers.”
Something else brushed Zack's mind, an idea of coiled power, of animal rage, and he understood Raisa was preparing to pounce before Kiani shot them. She wanted him to keep the purser distracted for just a few seconds more.
The combat veteran in Decker wanted to obey. A slim chance was better than no chance at all, and someone had to tell the Navy. But the part of him that had become joined to Raisa knew she would die in the attempt, die trying to save his life. Kiani was too tightly wound to be caught unprepared. And at this range, she couldn't miss.
“Tell me one thing before I die, Nihao. Who do you work for? The Amalis? This seems a bit too big even for them.”
Kiani frowned, apparently expecting another maneuver from either or both of them. Then she shrugged.
“All right, because you were such a good little boy in bed and pleasured me so well, I'll tell you. I work for the Sécurité Spéciale.”
Decker opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was when Raisa Darhad pounced like a wild beast, like a female protecting her mate. The gunner saw a flash of black silk and gleaming talons, then the bright flash of a plasma shot illuminated the room. Raisa's momentum brought her down on Kiani, and both women fell to the floor. By the time Zack put his brain and limbs in gear, she had sunk her fangs into the purser's throat and buried her talons in her face.
Kiani let out an anguished, burbling howl of pain, arms and legs thrashing about, but she couldn't shake Raisa off. Zack saw a clear opening and kicked the purser in the side of the head with his steel-toed boots, caving in her skull and ending her suffering. The stench of blood and death became overwhelming.
Decker dropped to his knees and gently took Raisa by the shoulders.
“You got her good, you crazy she-wolf,” he whispered. Blood from Kiani's torn throat flowed into a dark pool beneath her head as her lifeless eyes stared up at the grimy ceiling.
He turned Raisa over and cradled her in his arms. The front of her skirt was stained russet with blood where Kiani's shot had pierced her pelvis. Zack knew it was a fatal shot, had seen it even as she took down the purser. A fully equipped starship sickbay could have saved her, but down here...
Her impossibly blue eyes focused on him and he sensed her gentle mind brush again. This time, he cried openly.
“Tell them...,” she whispered, the life force oozing out of her with every breath.
“Yeah,” he sobbed, “I'll tell the Fleet and stop the bastards. I swear it!”
A smile briefly appeared on her lips. “I... am... pleased... my mate.”
Then her body relaxed as her eyes rolled up. She was dead.
Zack screamed with a rage and a sense of loss he had never experienced before, holding her head against his chest as he rocked on his knees.
*
He lost track of time as he knelt by her body, tears running down his cheeks, oblivious to the life teeming just a few meters away in the casbah. The only woman who had genuinely loved him, and who he had truly loved since his wife left him so long ago, had died saving his life. No, not only saving his life, Zack realized as shock set in, but also giving him the chance to warn the Fleet.
He turned numb as his mind shut those mental functions that kept him from moving fast and staying alive. It was something that happened every time death surrounded him. Emotions locked away behind the need to survive, Zack rose and took stock after gently depositing Raisa on the floor.
No one had heard the brief fight, or if they had, they'd wisely ignored it. He was alone with three corpses in a shabby shop, in one of Hadley's underground casbahs, an illegal playground for every crook, pervert, and hopeless slum dweller in the city.
He picked-up Kiani's blaster, popped the magazine to check its load, worked the receiver to make sure there was a round in the chamber, and then stuffed it into his jacket's inner pocket, after making sure the safety was on. Then, he rifled through the dead purser's pockets, ignoring the bloody shreds of her torn throat, but careful not to stain his boots or pants with the blood thickening on the floor. His search yielded a packet of chips containing almost a thousand creds, two spare magazines for the blaster, a pocket knife of good steel and little else of use.
He crouched by Raisa's body. She looked peaceful in death, and a twinge of pain tugged at his heart, but his sharp survival instincts crushed the resurgent anguish of loss. Still, he couldn't just leave her there, to be found and used in who knew what fashion. Zack took the money she carried in a skirt pocket, and the combat knife hidden in a slit on the outside of her left boot.
By the time he was done, he had figured out a way to dispose not only of her body but of the others as well. Face set in granite, he left the shop and waded through the packed alley to a small shop he'd noticed earlier, thrusting aside the merry-makers with his powerful elbows. Those who looked at his eyes and the set of his jaw moved aside to let him pass without protest.
A shifty-looking man with a receding chin, greasy hair and a twisted nose looked up at his imposing bulk with calculating eyes when he walked into the gun shop. He was alone in a room empty except for a counter built from scrap plas sheets.
“I need a molecular disruptor,” Zack stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Those things are illegal on Pacifica, buddy,” the weapons merchant replied, eyes looking everywhere but at Zack. “What makes you think I'd be dumb enough to sell any?”
The gunner leaned over the counter and grabbed the little man by a grimy shirt collar, lifting him off his feet and away from whatever weapon he was about to use. Face a few centimeters away from the merchant's weasel-like features, Zack stared him straight in the eyes.
“Listen, fuckhead. If you can't get molecular disruptors, you aren't worth shit as a dealer and the people running this place wouldn't let you set up shop. Now show me a fucking disruptor. I'll pay a fair price for it.” Eyes promising death, Decker's hold tightened.
“Okay, buddy,” he finally replied in a half-choked voice. “I'll go look in my stockroom if I have any.” The man's breath was as foul as his appearance, and probably his morals.
Zack shook him.
“If you have a stockroom, I'm the fucking grand admiral. You have a list of your inventory in that piece of crap you call a brain. Now do you want to make money, or not?”
Something in the dealer's eyes told Decker he'd rather make the money by killing him than selling him a disruptor, but he nodded anyway. Without gentleness, the gunner let him drop to the floor. Weasel Face picked himself up and vanished behind a grimy curtain. He was back a few moments later with a dented and scarred metal box. Depositing the box in front of Zack he smirked.
“That'll be two thousand creds, plus another hundred creds for each power pack you want.”
“You're selling me this,” he opened the box and pulled out, as he had expected, a battered, ancient and probably broken Shrehari disruptor, “piece of shit for two thousand, without power packs?”
“Hey,” he licked his lips nervously as he glanced over Zack's shoulder, “disruptors are hard to get, bud. Take it or leave it. You won't find anyone else selling.”
The dealer's eyes widened slightly, and his lips parted as he stared behind Decker. With a smooth, practiced movement, the gunner pulled out his purloined blaster and whirled around, falling into a crouch.
The leather-clad tough guy, a local enforcer for whatever mob controlled this casbah, brought up his gun as he stepped into the room and squinted at Zack. He never finished his motion. Decker's blaster coughed once, drilling
a large hole through the bravo's forehead and flash-boiling his brain. With a thump, he fell to the floor, face down, the back of his skull gone. A dark stain appeared on the bravo's trousers as he voided his bowels and bladder in death, filling the shop with a nauseating stench.
Weasel Face made a retching sound and spilled his dinner on the floor, adding to the poisonous reek. Ignoring both the dead enforcer and the gun seller, Zack holstered his blaster and picked-up the disruptor. He'd handled this type before and stripped it with ease, examining each part. It was clapped-out, as he'd figured, but there were still a few shots left in it.
“Hey asshole,” he snapped at the merchant, still on his knees, retching, “I need a power pack for this piece of junk and I need it now.”
Weasel Face looked at him in terror. When the words sunk in, he nodded and climbed his feet, wobbling.
“Don't go calling any more tough guys, shithead,” Decker warned, “or I'll blow your fucking brains out too.” The dealer took one look at the corpse by the door and retched again before doing Zack's bidding.
Within seconds, he was back, an old, but fully charged power pack in his trembling hand. Zack took the palm-sized rectangle and slapped it into the disruptor's pistol grip. A red light on the receiver winked. The gunner raised the weapon and pointed it at Weasel Face.
“I figure I need to test this baby first, don't you think, considering you've already tried to screw me.”
“N-not m-my f-fault,” he stuttered, looking like he was about to die of sheer fright. “B-boss m-man wants to know 'b-bout people wanting illegal g-guns. 'S-specially o-off worlders.”
“Sure,” Zack smiled cruelly, the shadows transforming his face into a grinning skull.
Weasel Face fell to the floor with a loud thump, face first in his own vomit. He had fainted.
Decker pointed the disruptor at the enforcer's body and pulled the trigger. A short, dull blue beam of energy lanced out and struck the body near the waist. Flesh and bones dissolved under his eyes as the disruptor charge broke the complex molecules composing a human body into their constituent atoms. It was as if someone with a giant, invisible eraser was rubbing out the corpse. An eraser with a crackling blue edge of energy. A few seconds later, all that remained was a small pile of dust gently settling on the dirty floor.