Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  Zack pulled out his wallet and dropped five hundred creds on the counter. It was a fair price for a gun that had only a few more shots left, even if Weasel Face had called the mob on him. The gunner grinned again. Now he'd have two organizations after him: Kiani's bunch, and the local mafia, who were sure to check out whatever happened to their man. No doubt they already had a summary description of him. When Zack Decker got himself into trouble, he did it right.

  No one had entered Korden's shop while he was gone, and the three bodies were still in their individual poses of death, slowly stiffening. Zack pointed the gun at the Net-Freak and pulled the trigger. He might have been a computer addict who had probably helped many crooked people, but he didn't deserve to die like this.

  When Korden's body had vanished, he shot Nihao Kiani and watched her disappear too, blood pool and all. Kiani would have earned whatever fate the casbah's scum reserved for the newly deceased, but Decker couldn't bring himself to leave her body to the vultures.

  Only Raisa remained as beautiful in death as she'd been in life. Surprising himself, Zack offered a prayer to the God he had long ago abandoned, asking him to make sure her soul joined those of her kind, in whatever heaven collected Arkanna when they passed on. Then, with a death howl, he pulled the trigger and watched his mate's body vanish forever, leaving him alone. When it was gone, his iron control reasserted itself.

  The computer was destroyed, the information found by Korden irretrievable. But Decker had it memorized. Not that it mattered. Those at Navy HQ, who would want his information, knew all about Ventos Prime. What mattered was the data encrypted on a much-used data chip, hidden away in his tool box on board the merchant starship Shokoten.

  He glanced around the room, making sure he left nothing incriminating behind and shoved the disruptor in another of his jacket's roomy cargo pockets. If the Hadley fuzz caught him with it, he was fried.

  Heck, he was fried on Pacifica, anyway. Kiani had said she belonged to a secret organization that worked for the likes of Amali. Which meant, unless she was a lone wolf, that this Sécurité Spéciale not only knew of her suspicions about Zack Decker but also knew where she was tonight, stalking him in Hadley's slums. She may have a backup agent somewhere.

  First order of business, return to the ship and grab his stuff. Second order of business, find a way off Pacifica. Overriding consideration: stay alive until he could talk to someone at Fleet Intel. Zack nodded to himself, it was a plan, even though it was pretty damn sketchy. He'd have to do a lot of improvising. Good thing Pathfinders were trained to think on their feet.

  As he stepped out of Korden's shop, he let his eyes roam in a one hundred and eighty-degree arc, searching for anybody who seemed to pay him too much, or too little attention, anybody who didn't look like a drunk, drugged, or fucked-out reveler. Someone who looked like he, or she, worked with Nihao Kiani.

  Nobody. Which meant nothing, since Decker wasn't a spook, with spook training.

  Head rearing above the throng, the gunner made his way to the stairs leading back to the real world. His eyes never rested, and his body remained tense, ready for action, ready to kill. Something within him had snapped with Raisa's murder, and he had turned into one of those Pathfinders with the dead eyes and the casual love of death, the ones who had frightened the hell out of him because they had lost their souls.

  *

  Decker walked out into the night, unmolested, and took a deep breath of fetid air. His mind’s eye saw the way back to the spaceport and set off, ears and eyes alert. He turned into a garbage-strewn alley smelling of rotting fish a few blocks down and saw a gang of six youths smoking a stinking weed. As he passed them, they whispered among themselves and followed him.

  “Hey, man,” one of them said in an arrogant drawl, “you gotta nice jacket there, dude. I think you’d like to give it to me, because I'm a nice guy.”

  The other youths, three boys, and two girls tittered at their leader's words.

  “Yeah, hey,” one of the girls chimed in, her high-pitched voice echoing between the walls. “Fedor'd look great in that jacket, and you don't. If you make him a nice present, I won't rip off your balls.”

  Without stopping, or changing pace, Zack replied over his shoulder, “Why don't you piss off and go to bed like good little kiddies. Maybe then, I'll leave you alive, even though you shitheads are a fucking insult to the gene pool.”

  “This man's not nice.” The leader of the gang, the one called Fedor, sounded sorrowful. “I figure we’re gonna hafta kill him for insulting' us.” He closed the distance with Zack.

  This time, Zack stopped and turned around, drawing his blaster in the same movement, pointing it at Fedor's forehead. The youth stopped, mouth hanging open.

  “One more step, fuck-face, and I’ll put a nice hole right between your eyes. I'll be doing humanity a favor by making sure you don't pass your shitty genes to another generation of dickheads. It's up to you: do you want to die tonight?” Decker's face and voice were frighteningly cold.

  “Hey, take it easy, man,” the girl made to step closer, fear dancing in her reddened eyes, “we were just joking' like, you know.”

  “Yeah right,” Zack didn't take his eyes or his aim off the Fedor. “Stay where you are, little girl and no one gets hurt.”

  “Do it, Gabbi,” Fedor’s choked voice was barely audible. The acrid stench of urine suddenly banished all other odors as the gang leader pissed himself.

  “Sure, man,” she backed off, hands held chest high, palms outwards.

  Decker, moving faster than the kids could follow, switched the gun to his left hand and belted the leader on the mouth with his right fist. The youth's feet lifted off the pavement as he sailed backwards and landed on his butt, blood spurting out of his smashed mouth. He screamed in pain at his broken jaw, shattered teeth and ruined pride. The others, in fear of the big, black-clad maniac with the gun, ran away into the night, abandoning their leader.

  Zack holstered his gun and grinned at the gang banger.

  “Next time, pick on someone your own size, kid. You're damn lucky to be alive. Usually, I kill shitheads like you. Ask the two I killed less than an hour ago.”

  Without a backwards glance, Decker continued on his way, wiping the incident from his mind. They'd had youth gangs on his native planet. But those didn't go around offering to kill strangers for a leather jacket. At worst, they'd help an old lady across the street.

  Fucking Pacifica shit!

  *

  The main thoroughfares near the spaceport were just as empty and abandoned at two o'clock in the morning as the slum streets. A few hovercars sped by, late night revelers returning home, cops on the prowl or high class escorts heading off to work. The sky had vanished behind a thick layer of clouds, and a suffocating blanket of humidity weighed down on the city, making Zack sweat.

  The horizon lit up as an electric storm rippled through the night south of Hadley. Then, as he turned a corner, rain pelted down, soaking his hair, streaming off his jacket and washing off the grime of the city. But Hadley would never be clean, no matter how many rainstorms poured down. Not while Walker Amali and his like controlled Pacifica.

  He was dripping with water by the time he reached the deserted freight terminal, slick and shiny under the rain and the intense arc lights. The dusty lobby was deserted. An arrivals and departures screen flickered forlornly in one corner, ignored by the dying rubber plant whose roots poked out of the parched earth of its pot. Food wrappers littered the floor, as did discarded, onetime porno vid chips. The blue screen gave Zack an idea, and he went over to read the words scrolling by.

  He disregarded the scheduled passenger flights. Emigration controls were too tight on those to slip through. Pacifica's government had a nearly paranoid aversion to letting any of its less fortunate citizens off the planet. They preferred deporting their undesirables to one of their less healthy colonies. Those who could work but couldn’t afford the bribes for an exit visa had to stay.

  As th
e list of freighters scrolled by, one name caught Zack's attention: Demetria, a free trader with a one-woman crew. He remembered the sleek ship from a dozen spaceports along the distant border, even though he had never spoken to her dour captain.

  She was due to leave at daybreak for Santa Theresa, a Pacifica colony on the outer rim of the Commonwealth. It wasn't great, but it would get him off the planet.

  All that remained was to convince her skipper, Captain Avril Ducote, to take him on board. The beauty of Demetria was that with only her as crew, he could easily hijack the ship, should she prove less than cooperative. The screen listed her berth as only two down from Shokoten.

  He crossed the rain-swept tarmac and strode up Shokoten's gangway, the metal ramp vibrating beneath his feet. When he reached the top, he touched the controls, and the outer airlock door hissed open. Stepping in, Decker shook the water off his head and clothes.

  “Evening Gunner,” a cheerful voice greeted him with affectionate respect. “Wet night for it, eh?”

  “Oh, hello Veelan,” Zack forced a smile. “On duty again?”

  “Drew the short straw.” He shrugged. “Is the first officer also on her way?”

  Decker shook his head. “No. She remained in town. I've come to pick up a few things before going back.”

  If Veelan noticed the gunner's change of mood or unusual explanation, he gave no sign. Zack patted him on the shoulder before stepping through the inner airlock. The bare passageways were empty and cold at this time of night, matching Zack's mood. He met no one on his way to his cabin.

  Once there, he ripped open his locker, pulled out his duffel bag and stuffed his belongings into it. He exchanged Nihao's blaster for his own and dropped the newly acquired weapons in with his clothes. Then, he opened his toolbox and recovered his souped-up sensor. No use leaving it to a bunch of crooks.

  He dug inside the parts bin, looking for the data chip and felt a tendril of panic grown in his gut. It wasn't there. Impatient, he pulled the tray out of its housing and spilled in out on his desk. Nothing. He repeated the same procedure with the rest of the toolbox. Still nothing. An ugly thought wormed its way through his mind. Had Kiani searched the toolbox and found the chip? Was that why she came after Raisa and him? There seemed to be no other reasonable explanation.

  Swearing, he searched the late purser's desk, locker and bed, ripping everything open and tossing her belongings on the deck without care. He found money, which he kept, and some specialized miniature tools, which he also kept. But no data chip. It was gone.

  Zack looked at his timepiece. Demetria lifted in two hours that meant her captain would be coming back from her obligatory face-to-face with the port duty officer soon. A final check of both cabin and bathroom proved he had all his stuff. He left what had been his home and locked the door behind him. It would be at least twelve hours before someone missed him, enough time for Demetria to take him to the nearest jump point and into hyperspace.

  As he passed the main corridor junction on his way to the airlock, a door opened on his right, and a tousle-haired head poked out of the opening. If Zack's memory served, that was bosun Kader's cabin. Then why was he looking straight into the face of Third Officer Sonoda?

  The woman smiled maliciously as she took in Decker's waterlogged appearance, his duffel bag, and his quick pace.

  “Jumping ship, Gunner? I thought you enjoyed life here, what with being the captain's pet and the first officer's toy boy.”

  Zack shrugged, feeling no anger at the cruel jibe.

  “And what if I am? It's no skin off your butt, which,” he stopped and poked his head inside the cabin, chuckling, before she could react, “is flabbier than I thought. A bit more exercise would do you good. Bye, bos'n Kader. Was nice serving with you. But I deplore your choice of lovers.”

  The woman shrugged.

  “You take what you can. Have a good one, gunner.” She stood up still sweaty from their lovemaking and wrapped her arms around the robed third officer's waist. It was more to make sure the infuriated engineer didn't go after Zack than a gesture of affection.

  She pulled a protesting Sonoda back into her cabin and closed the door. Zack knew he could count on a good hour before Kader let her warn anyone, which was more than enough. If that is, the third officer even bothered to tell anybody Decker had deserted. She'd be only too glad to see him go.

  Veelan gave him a cheery 'see you tomorrow,' as he signed Decker out again. Standing in the rain, the gunner had a last stab of regret at leaving the ship. He'd been at home in Shokoten, had respect and a purpose in life, even if he was involved in smuggling. If truth be told, he had been involved in smuggling in one way or another ever since he discovered Shrehari ale long ago.

  Dismissing nostalgia and regret as senseless, Zack headed for the service bays, where a covered walkway would lead him to Demetria's berth. Within minutes, he reached the security gate protecting the free trader and rang the ship. When he received no answer, he nodded with satisfaction. The captain wasn't aboard yet. That meant he had a better chance of convincing her. It was always harder to turn someone down face-to-face than over a vidscreen, especially if the convincing required a gun. He hid in the shadows near the gate and waited, ears alert to the sound of footsteps.

  The wait was short. A few moments after his arrival, a cloaked female shape came down the walkway and stopped in front of the gate, unlocking it. The moment it opened, Zack sprang out and gave the woman a slight shove, pushing her into the secure area. The gate snapped shut behind them.

  Captain Ducote's reflexes were good. She whirled around, cloak flying about her shoulders, arm outstretched and fist clenched to strike her attacker. Zack blocked the blow by grabbing her right forearm and twisting it down. She was a strong woman, stronger than the gunner expected, and tried to dance out of his grasp. It took all of Zack's might to hold on as she slammed him into the security gate, using the gunner's own weight to unbalance him. Zack's head rang as it connected with the cold steel tubing.

  She raised her left fist and drove it towards Decker's face. Without letting her go, he shifted to one side, and she struck his shoulder instead. He grunted at the force of the blow. Had Ducote landed it on his jaw, Zack would have enjoyed a taste of the pain he'd given the youth a few hours earlier. While the captain gathered herself for another strike, breathing heavily, Zack stuck his blaster in her face. She stopped struggling at once.

  “Please, Captain Ducote. I mean you no harm. Let's stop this and talk.”

  “At gunpoint?” She snarled. “Fuck you.” But her body relaxed and Zack let her go.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Okay. You have the gun. So tell me, what the hell do you want?” She asked, pale cheeks flushed, eyes blazing. Her left hand rubbed her right wrist where Zack had held her in his steel grip

  “A berth off Pacifica, Captain Ducote.”

  She laughed without humor. “You have a funny way of asking, mister...”

  “Decker, Zachary T. Decker. Formerly gunner on the freighter Shokoten, before that, command sergeant in the 902nd Pathfinder Squadron.” He sketched a little bow, but his gun never wavered.

  “And why, pray tell, would I accept? You obviously are on the run from something. The law perhaps?” Her voice dripped with contempt. She was a proud woman, unused to this sort of treatment and robust enough to take care of herself. Zack wondered whether he'd made a mistake.

  “I could say,” he replied, “that my gun is reason enough, but I have it out only to make sure you listen.” She snorted in disbelief. “If I don't leave Pacifica, I will die. I have very dangerous people on my tail. I shook 'em off for now, but they'll find me if I stay here. And then, it's goodnight Zack.”

  “Assuming I even believe you, who are these people, and why do they want to kill you?” Her expression made it clear she wasn't prepared to take his word.

  “Ever heard of the Amali family?” She nodded. “They own my last ship, and they're up to something evil, something I foun
d out on the last trip. I must get somewhere away from here and contact Fleet Intelligence. The bad guys know it’s what I intend, and they don't want me to talk. They've already tried to kill me once tonight. But my mate stopped the killer.”

  Something in his tone and face gave her pause, and she looked at him with a curious expression, her smooth forehead crinkled into a frown.

  “Your mate?”

  “Yeah. Her name was Raisa. She jumped the bitch who wanted to kill us before she could shoot me and took one in the belly. Died in my arms.”

  Zack's voice wavered just for a fraction of a second as his guard slipped, but it was enough for Avril Ducote to take a fresh look at her assailant. Something about him rang true.

  “She must have been quite a woman.”

  “Yeah. That she was.” Again, a glimpse of pain that vanished almost before it appeared. No one could fake that.

  “What is this thing you have discovered?”

  “You probably won't believe me, Captain. I'm still not sure I believe myself and they even took the only concrete proof I had, but someone's willing to kill to keep the information secret.” He held her eyes, willing her to believe him. “It's not like I want a free ride. I'll pay you what you ask and do whatever work you want on board. I’m pretty good with weapons, shields and can turn my hand to most engineering jobs.”

  Her face hardened again. “What proves you’ll not rape me in my sleep, or hijack my ship?”

  Decker shrugged and flipped the blaster in his hands so that he held it by the barrel. He offered the gun to Ducote.

  “You can do what you want with me, Captain.” He had no more arguments to offer, and this was his last gamble. “If you want to turn a Mykonos Colony boy over to Pacifica scum, go ahead. There are two more guns in my bag and two knives in my pockets.”