by Eric Thomson
“We get off at the next port,” Talyn climbed into her bunk fully dressed, blaster close at hand, “and find alternate transportation to Nabhka.”
“Or we find whoever’s behind Grint’s disappearance and do unto them.”
“Don’t you think several passengers vanishing while the ship’s in hyperspace will attract some attention from law enforcement when we dock? The first officer seems to believe that we’re potential suspects already, and he will radio ahead when we drop out of FTL.”
“We make him disappear as well?” Decker asked facetiously.
“Grow up, Zack.” With that, she wrapped herself in a blanket and turned her face to towards the bulkhead.
Whistling under his breath, he quickly stripped his blaster, checked every part and then put it back together again. Anyone coming through the cabin door uninvited would sport a charred, smoking hole in the middle of the chest before he could take more than one step.
*
“He fell down an access shaft?” Decker didn’t bother hiding his incredulity. “That’s the oldest trick in the book, older even than stashing a body in a Townson tube.”
The rumors of Inspector Grint’s demise were bouncing around the lounge two days later. The crew hadn’t bothered to confirm anything beyond regretfully informing the passengers that an unfortunate accident had occurred.
“Considering non-crew aren’t allowed anywhere near the mechanical areas, you’d think they’d have had a camera or two detecting our detective leaving these hallowed decks.” Talyn took a bite of her bland breakfast sandwich and grimaced.
“Or someone carrying his dead body to the head of the shaft.”
“Whatever.” She shook her head. “Let’s not get any ideas about snooping around, okay Ser Wenn. Otherwise, people will be wondering why two spacers with, as Grint said, a military aroma to them, are playing investigator.”
“Sure. We’ll just let whoever killed him come after us at their leisure, Sera Venzi.”
“At this point, if they haven’t made a move yet, I’m pretty sure they’ll wait until we’re off the ship. Killing Grint was probably a way to stampede us onto the next station instead of staying until Nabhka.”
“So why not keep riding Xenophon?”
“Because we’ll never make down to the planet’s surface alive. They’ll have buddies ready to greet us on the orbital and flush us into the station’s garbage compactor.”
“I wish Grint had told us who he suspected,” he grumbled.
“We would have had to collaborate with him, you know that. Plus there’s the little matter that telling a Constabulary Inspector we’re merrily on our way to excise a cancerous pustule called Harmon Amali would have caused him to arrest us on the spot.”
“Or help us on our way.”
“No. The one thing the Constabulary has going for it is scrupulous honesty. While the Fleet might think it a splendid idea to turn Amali into an example for the rest of the Coalition and thereby teach them that you don’t sell naval personnel into slavery, Grint and his people would call it first-degree murder, not justice.”
“You know, Hera,” he said after a moment’s silence, “I think we haven’t been touched yet because Grint’s unknown killers are waiting for confirmation. I look different enough as Ser Wenn, and you’re not even supposed to be traveling with me.”
“That would mean they’re top drawer pros, the kind that makes completely sure they have the right target before pulling the trigger.”
“And it also means that the moment we dock at Merseaux, confirmation will likely be waiting for them. My altered appearance and cover identity will only go so far with that level of scrutiny. Unless, by a fluke, they make you, you’re likely to be either knocked around enough to make it look like a robbery or simply become collateral damage.”
“You’re so cheerful in the morning, Ser Wenn.”
“Hey,” his face took on a wounded expression, “I’ve explained how you can put a smile on my face. If you don’t want to do it, then it’s no longer my problem.”
*
“To all passengers, this is the bridge. We have docked at Merseaux Station, and the gangway is now open to those wishing to disembark. For passengers continuing on Xenophon until Cimmeria, please be back aboard ship by sixteen-hundred hours, station time. If Merseaux is your final destination, thank you for sailing with us. We hope to see you again someday.”
Decker made a rude gesture at the loudspeaker as he dropped his duffel bag on the table to compact its contents. He tightened the straps to the point where it took no more space than a small day pack.
“Primed and loaded, Zack?” Hera Talyn shouldered her bag easily, making sure she had unimpeded access to her shoulder holster.
“Let’s get off this tub and find a place that understands the difference between whiskey and battery acid.”
“You sound a tad miffed.”
“It’s probably related to the fact that the cousin of the morally bankrupt idiot I killed is trying to kill me and paying big money to hire prime shooters. I suppose it beats getting eaten by two-meter tall bugs but whatever, if you’ve never lived it, you can’t quite get how deeply I feel the nuances of suckage inherent in our current situation.”
“You’d be surprised. I didn’t get to become a commander in the intelligence branch without living through some major suckage myself.”
“I guess.” He slung his pack over his left shoulder. “Time to keep our eyes and ears open because someone will be watching us leave Xenophon ahead of schedule.”
*
It seemed like everyone who’d booked passage on the tramp was trying to go ashore at the same time. Zack and Hera found themselves hemmed in by the crowd that flowed through the airlock and down the gangway tube.
Merseaux Station was no different from any other civilian orbital with its scuffed decks, harsh lighting and the metallic tang flavoring the air. Prominent signs in several languages pointed visitors towards the commercial levels, transit lounges and the shuttle service to the surface.
They went with the crowd down to the promenade where their nostrils were attacked by the competing aromas of a dozen different eateries offering food from two dozen different cultures. Though they tried to see if anyone had anything other than a passing interest in them, it was to no avail.
Talyn walked over to a public computer console and, while Decker stood guard, eyes roving over the crowd, she looked for a berthed ship about to leave in the general direction of Nabhka.
“Nothing doing on the station,” she said after a few minutes of fruitless searching. “I’ll try and see if I can get data on ships sitting dirtside.”
“Don’t look up,” he murmured in response. “Pink hair and bolo necklace have come ashore, and while they’re pretending not to notice each other, I can see them signaling.”
“How’s that?” She kept moving her hand over the screen, surfing the local data net.
“Sideways glances that always seem to involve twitching fingers. Either they both have the shakes from that rotgut I was drinking or they’re talking in code.”
“They seem interested in us?”
“In everything but us, yet they’re slowly moving around to make sure we can’t get off the promenade without being seen. Very slick, very professional.”
“So they got confirmation that Ser Wenn is really Zack Decker?”
“Could be. As long as we’re in a crowd like this, we ought to be okay. If they can cut us out of the herd, though, it’ll get ugly.”
“Want to try a turn-around?”
“What if I'm just paranoid, and they’re perfectly harmless people?”
“Then we’ll have two first degree murders on our hands.”
“Now who’s being the cheerful one?” He smirked at her reflection in the screen. “Any luck?”
“One ship headed in the right direction is sitting on the ground at Mishka spaceport. She’s not due to leave for another sixty hours.” Hera tapped the screen
a few times. “We’re lucky: she’s advertising available cabin space. There – I’ve booked us. Now we just have to get to the surface. How are the supposed pros doing?”
“They stopped signaling. I figure they’ve got us covered no matter where we go.”
“We’ve got to get to the shuttle service dock, two decks down. The next run dirtside is in an hour, but it heads to Ushan, which is pretty much at the opposite end of the main continent from Mishka. The next direct to Mishka is in twelve hours, but I don’t think we can afford to wait that long.”
“Can we charter or rent one?”
“Probably, but it wouldn’t do our covers much good if we flashed that kind of money around.” She turned, eyes scanning the crowded promenade, passing lightly over pink hair and bolo necklace. “How about we split up? You take the stairs on the left – the ones past the food court – and I’ll go right. If they both go after you, we’ll know for sure. If they split up and follow each of us, then we’ll have to think some more.”
He glanced down at her, face expressionless.
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll head for the stairs while you go grab a coffee over there. If they both follow me, come on down. If one of them stays to keep an eye on you, maybe I’ll see if I can get some answers from the other.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped into the flow of people, merging with the midday crowd as if he didn’t have a care in the universe. Talyn cut her way across the promenade to the nearest restaurant the moment she spied bolo necklace abandoning her window shopping to head in the same direction as Zack. When she slowly scanned the crowd to see what pink hair was up to, her heart nearly stopped. The tall, plain-faced woman was gone.
Talyn quickly made her way to the encased stairs Zack had taken moments earlier. Designed as emergency airlocks in case a particular deck suffered decompression, the shafts were isolated by heavy doors that could be locked and sealed in an instant. They slid aside at her approach and shut behind her just as smoothly, cutting off the noise from the promenade. She heard voices below and cautiously made her way down, keeping to the outside wall, weapon drawn and ready.
To her surprise, Decker was discussing something with bolo necklace, who now looked nothing like the soft business traveler she’d seemed aboard Xenophon. They stopped talking and looked up at her approach.
“This is Superintendent Rowan of the Constabulary’s Professional Compliance Bureau.” Decker’s eyes met Talyn’s. “The person with the pink hair is Inspector Crava.”
“What happened?”
“Mister Wenn ambushed me as I came down the stairs,” the woman replied in a deep alto, “and demanded to know why my partner and I were following you. I assume that you work for one of the Services?”
“She’s genuine?” Talyn asked Decker, jerking her head towards Rowan.
“As genuine as our friend Inspector Grint used to be before someone broke his neck. Superintendent Rowan was about to explain to me why she was interested in speaking with us.”
“Do you know what the Professional Compliance Bureau is?” The constabulary officer’s eyes darted from one to the other.
“Cops who investigate other cops.”
“Right, Sera Venzi. Hence, our motto quis custodiet ipsos custodies – who will guard the guards themselves. As I was just explaining to Ser Wenn, after I convinced him not to fillet me with that sweet Pathfinder dagger, we were trailing Inspector Grint. We found his interest in you both unusual and after his death, worthy of further scrutiny.”
“What did Grint do to attract the attention of the firing squad?”
Rowan chuckled grimly.
“You’ve heard of our nickname, Ser Wenn. Grint was suspected of acting on the orders of a secretive government organization answerable to the SecGen directly.”
“The Sécurité Spéciale.” Decker’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, though his eyes spoke of a deep, abiding hatred. “We’ve met them before. They’re not friendly people.”
“Just so.” Rowan nodded, taken aback at Zack’s intensity.
“Did you and your partner kill him?”
“No, Sera Venzi. We wanted to uncover his reason for traveling on Xenophon and possibly find out more about his handlers. His death is a setback for us since I’m sure others within the Constabulary have been turned. I would ask you the same question.”
“No. We had no reason to. After the brief conversation in our cabin, we didn’t see him again.”
“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that the Sécurité Spéciale had an operative on board who figured out that Inspector Crava and I were from the PCB. Killing Grint would be the most efficient way of ending our investigation.”
The door to the lower level opened, admitting the pink haired woman.
“Everything okay, Ange?” She asked.
“Yes. I’ve explained to Ser Wenn and Sera Venzi that we only wanted to have a quiet chat where no one else would notice, such as whoever did Grint.”
“Well, we’re all here and about as isolated as we’ll get on this station,” the inspector replied. “Folks seem to prefer the lift to a little exercise.”
She pulled out a small device.
“This will distort our sound waves. So tell us, what did Grint want with you?”
“He claimed that we’d been followed by a professional hit team and wanted to know why a pair of ordinary spacers attracted that kind of attention.” Talyn related the entire conversation almost verbatim.
“Grint was sure the supposed pros if they existed, were after you two?” Rowan sounded skeptical.
“Seemed that way. Are you now trying to tell us the Sécurité Spéciale is in play?”
“Probably.”
Decker and Talyn glanced briefly at each other, sharing a single thought. Grint had been the one on their tail, either alone or with an as yet unknown partner. His ploy in their cabin had been to gain some certainty about Zack’s identity and to find out who she was. Of course, they couldn’t tell the PCB officers because then the inevitable questions would start. Cops sent to investigate other cops tended to be extraordinarily good at it.
“I’m guessing you know more than you’re willing to tell.” Crava’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Just as I guess that you’re from our black-legged cousins. You made us too quickly.”
Decker locked eyes with her.
“You may well think so, but we certainly couldn’t comment.”
“So you’re not going to tell us why naval intelligence operatives have the Sécurité Spéciale on their ass?” Rowan was gratified to see a flicker of emotion in the big man’s eyes.
“Can’t tell you something I don’t know about, seeing as I don’t know any naval intelligence spooks.”
“But you are ex-Fleet?” Crava wasn’t about to let it go.
“Sure. Staff Sergeant Tom Wenn, Commonwealth Marine Corps, retired. I was in the infantry.”
“And you?” She turned to Talyn.
“I’m just a sucker for uniforms.” She smiled. “And what’s underneath them. I used to be a Guild-certified merchant spacer, inspector.”
The cop didn’t bother hiding her disbelief.
“I suppose you’ve got all the necessary proof too. Maybe we should run them in, Ange.”
“On what grounds?” Decker cocked his head to the side and looked at her with undisguised amusement. “We’ve told you all we know. The only other thing I’d say is don’t sneak up on people like that – you almost got pig stuck for your troubles. Sera Venzi, I suggest we get going. The milk run won’t wait for our sweet little fannies.”
Just then the lower door opened and from the corner of his eyes, Decker saw the barrel of a scatter gun poke through.
“DOWN!”
His shout echoed through the shaft, followed moments later by a dull cough and the clatter of pellets on metal walls.
Talyn, her reactions as finely honed as Zack’s had followed him to the deck with split-second timing. The two PCB investigators we
ren’t so lucky. Decker, operating purely on instinct, had pulled out his blaster as he dropped down and was returning fire. He thought he heard a scream, but with Crava howling in pain at her half-shredded arm, he couldn’t be certain.
Talyn scuttled over to the cops and began applying first aid.
“What the fuck was that?” She snarled. “Pros doing the old spray and pray?”
“No,” Decker shook his head, adrenaline surging through his veins as he rose to his feet. “They’re still trying to stampede us. Getting our friends here was just a bonus. How are they?”
“Losing a lot of blood. We’ll need medevac for Crava pretty soon.”
Zack nodded, went to a public comm panel by the door and touched the red emergency circle.
“Put a tourniquet on her arm and leave them. We’re about to have company of the lawful kind and can’t afford to stay on the station at this rate. Security will want to question us at length, and that’ll do no one any good.”
She worked quickly and then they hurried down one more level, escaping the shaft just as the first responders showed up. Stepping into an almost empty corridor, he came face to face with a blandly dressed but muscular man who stuck a gun into his midriff. Without breaking stride, Decker grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted him around in a smooth movement, causing intense pain to shoot through the would-be assassin’s arm.
Another man, similarly clad in dull gray, stepped out of an alcove and aimed a scatter gun. Zack turned to place his captive between them and the second man just as he pulled the trigger. The shot tore a deep hole into the first man’s chest. Before the assassin could recover from his mistake, Decker threw his partner’s body at him. In the ensuing confusion, he tore the scatter gun from the killer’s hands, flipped it end for end then stuck the barrel into the man’s face and fired.
“If those were pros,” he commented, tossing the weapon aside, “then their technique needs some work. Like I said, they’re trying to stampede us.”
“Why?”
She led the way down the deserted passage to the next stair shaft.
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Where are we going?”
“Back to the ship. Hopefully by the time they’ve sorted out this mess, she’ll have sailed. If we stay at Merseaux, they’ll eventually track us down, even dirtside.”