...And
Back Again by Jules
PART ONE Prologue Nathan Fuller pulled the thin computer case from under his arm and hugged it to his chest. It was a company piece, sure, but it contained all the files that had earned him this trip to the twenty-first floor: home of the executive washroom; the V.I.P. restaurant; the offices with views. The upstairs lobby was like a temple. The floor was smooth marble set in a simple, elegant pattern of geometric shapes that led the eye to the center of the room. There four flowering trees rose from an island of soil and moss to reach toward a skylight in the high, domed ceiling. Beneath the trees at a wide, stainless steel and glass altar of a desk sat Maya McCandless, who the boys down in Records hailed as the Goddess of the Executive Floor. Her hair was wound up into a tight, braided column on the back of her head, giving an uninterrupted view of her slender, rounded face with its coffee and cream complexion. Her eyes were wide and dark with thick, heavy lashes. She gazed up at Nathan through them as he stepped up to the desk. “He’ll be with you in few moments, Mr. Fuller.” It was the first time she’d said a word to him in person. On the phone her voice had been beautiful. Standing there in front of her, it sounded like music. “Thank you.” She didn’t smile at him but he pretended she did and smiled back, anyway. There was always the chance she had a thing for twenty-three year old geeks who earned the company minimum. He strode across to the first door on his left. It bore a brass nameplate that told him it belonged to the company’s vice president. Downstairs the names were on digital displays because the farther down you got the more likely they were to change from time to time. Nathan hadn’t moved, up or down, in his four years with Astral Insurance. With any luck, and the contents of his portable, that was going to change.
One “Ill-Freaky-Nana, this is the Vagabond Queen. We have received your ad beacon and wish to respond.” Reggie looked over the Captain’s shoulder at the vessel floating a few hundred yards to port. It was loud. Not as in making noise but as in truly riotous to look upon. Flashing lights lined the hull and glowing pink and blue letters proclaimed the ship as the home of “Madame Needa’s Pleasure Palace”. “Ain’t she a beautiful sight?” “It’s a flying whorehouse.” The man at the helm beamed out the window at the approaching ship and Reggie shook her head. “They can’t see you, Herry.” A husky female voice purred back through the receiver. “We read you, Captain Blake. Go ahead.” Reggie gave him a quizzical look and dropped into the co-pilot’s seat. “Or maybe they can.” “I’m a regular,” he grinned. “Got a gold card.” “I don’t think I can really express in words how surprised that doesn’t make me.“ The door at the back of the cabin slid open and Marty stepped through. His hair was still wet from the shower and it stuck to his face in dark strands. He brushed it back and smiled at her as he dried his hand on the leg of his pants. She needed to talk to him. Maybe she would wait until there was no one around to see them argue. Jack followed him in, skipping. She grabbed Marty from behind and hugged him hard. “Fresh,” he muttered. She let go and went to stand behind the captain’s chair, peering out into space. The waist of her worn, leather pants dipped way below her navel and the bottom of her shirt didn’t come anywhere near it. The front said WORSHIP ME in bold, white letters. She wore a pair of black combat boots, short laces pulled tight and left untied. “Request permission to dock,” said the captain. Then he saw Jack and whistled. “You applying for a job?” She gave him the finger. “Jack!” Reggie laughed. “I’d pay for it,” Herry shrugged. “Starboard docking clamp number two is ready and waiting,” said the sultry, disembodied voice. “Be gentle.” “C’mon, Herry,” Jack smirked. “Slip it in. Bet she won’t even feel it.” “Ouch.” Marty limped to Reggie’s seat and leaned over it to kiss the top of her head. “You docking?” he asked. She shook her head. “I think the captain’s got his heart set on it.” “Gotta be extra careful,” said Herry, patting the console. “If we scratch the Ill-Freaky I might not get the complimentary blow-job with dessert.” Jack laughed out loud. “Herry, I swear to God...” grumbled Reggie. Behind her, Marty chuckled softly and she turned to purse her lips at him. He wasn’t looking. His gaze was pinned on the other ship, scanning her surface, pausing at each occupied lock. “Loud and clear, Ill-Freaky-Nana. On approach.” They slowed to a near-stop and the bright lights loomed in the window. “She’s a big girl,” said Marty. “I like big girls,” Herry replied. Jack leaned over Herry’s seat, her mouth next to his ear. As they neared the docking clamp her breath grew loud and ragged. “Oh yeah,” she whispered. “Come closer and touch me, baby.” The Vagabond Queen sidled up to the larger ship. “Mmmm. Your extension is soooo huge.” Herry smiled. “And I know how to use it, too.” The port maneuvering thrusters fired twice, easing them into position. “Yeah, just like that,” Jack breathed. “Thrust harder, baby. Oh yeah...” There was a short pause as the clamps adjusted to fit one another. “Don’t tease me,” Jack moaned. “Just stick it in. Oh God, yes! Yes! Harder, baby!” The ship bumped slightly as the clamps came together and locked. “Whoo yeah!” shouted Jack. She licked Herry’s cheek and straightened. “That was so good.” “You’re damn right.” Herry grinned and stood. He adjusted his collar and smoothed his shirt. “Eh? How do I look?” “Horny and desperate,” said Marty. “Perfect,” nodded Herry. “She’s all yours, Mr. Bender.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair to no effect and headed out the door, whistling. Marty slid into the captain’s chair and flipped down a row of switches. The constant, faint rumble of the ship began to quiet as systems powered down. “You guys coming?” asked Jack. She drifted toward the door as she spoke. A hand reached in and took hold of the back of her pants, tugging impatiently. Jack giggled and slapped at it. “You’re going?” Reggie blinked. She wondered how long she would have to be among these people before she could stop dropping her jaw. “Yeah. According to the man here, the strippers are super nice to guys who bring dates. That and I think he wants to watch some other girls rub all over me.” She shrugged. “Men. Who can figure ‘em?” Riddick stepped in and wrapped himself around her from behind. Jack wiggled against him and Reggie felt herself redden. “Cap,” nodded Riddick. Marty returned the nod. “Come with me, Reg,” said Jack. She waggled her eyebrows. “There are guys working, too, ya know.” Reggie shook her head, cheeks blazing. “That’s okay,” she said. “You guys have fun.” “Uh huh. That’s honeymooner talk if I’ve ever heard it,” Jack grinned. “Don’t do anything I would do.” Jack winked and let Riddick lead her out, her boots clomping on the deck. Reggie sighed and let the quiet sink in. Peaceful moments had been rare on this trip and she suspected that soon they would be even harder to come by. “I can finish this,” she said. He shrugged. “No hurry.” “You’re not going?” Marty shook his head. “Wife wouldn’t approve.” Reggie smiled. “Rather spend the time with you,” he continued. “After this stop we’re only a day or two out from Faro Station.” “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” “Shit.” So far, so good. “I should be going with you,” she said. “No,” he said. “You really shouldn’t.” He turned to the console and continued to lock things down. Reggie had spent hours in the cockpit, watching and learning. She could take the ship in and out of dock and knew what systems didn’t need to run when she was parked. She counted them off as Marty saw to each one. “We talked about this,” he said evenly. He wasn’t angry, yet. At least she didn’t think he was. She was sure she’d never seen him angry. She was more than sure she never wanted to. “You’re going to need a doctor on board.” “Hope not.” “Just because you haven’t had a seizure in a couple of months doesn’t mean you won’t have one.” “I know.” “But you don’t want me to stay,” she said. “Never said that.” “So you do want me to stay? “No.” “Martin...” She gave herself a swift, mental kick in the ass for letting him frustrate her. He would take it as a sign of weakness. She might have blown her shot just by letting him get to her. Marty leaned back in the seat and folded his arms across his chest. “I thought you wanted to finish school.” “I can go back later. I took a temporary leave of absence to come see you. I can just extend it. Besides...” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to go back to Haversham.” “You might’ve mentioned that earlier.” “It wouldn’t have done me any good, earlier,” she said. “You would have just left me at your mother’s.” “So you waited until now because you figured I wouldn’t have a choice?” She opened her mouth to argue, but he was right. “Don’t make it sound so underhanded.” “It was.” Reggie sighed. It was difficult to argue with Marty when he lapsed into monosyllabic calm. “Okay, it was,” she agreed. “But that’s not the point.” “What is the point, then?” He unlocked the seat and swiveled it to face her. “I told you why coming along was a bad idea.” “I know.” “Hasn’t changed.” “I know it hasn’t, Martin.” He sat back in the chair and just looked at her. She had to say something good soon or it would be over in a hurry. Marty was the only person she knew who could argue without saying a word. “I’m worried about you.” “I’m fine.” “You had a fever last night.” He looked hurt. She suddenly felt like a royal bitch. But she hadn’t really broken the rules. “I sleep next to you, Martin. I didn’t need to poke and prod you when you weren’t looking to know you were running hot.” “You were naked. Of course I was running hot.” “Don’t change the subject.” He shrugged. “It’s what I do when I don’t like the subject, Reggie.” That kind of bluntness was something she was learning to live with. She wondered if she would ever be able to swing it with the same authority. “I want to stay,” she said. “That’s what married people do, Martin, they stay together.” “I was waiting for you to pull that one out.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know there are all kinds of reasons for me not to go--” “And you’re going to meet a few of them when Riddick gets back,” he said. He watched her for a moment with the Captain’s gaze. It made her uneasy. “Honey,” he went on. “When I’m done fooling around here, I’ll move to Haversham, or you can transfer wherever you want and I’ll just... go there,” he said. “You can finish school and find yourself a hospital or a research center as you like and we can settle down and live like normal people. Of a sort.” “Are you bargaining with me?” “The offer stands if you stay,” he sighed. “Just trying to soften you up a little. Is it working?” “No,” she said flatly. “Dammit.” “You’re being cute,” said Reggie. “I can be charming, too, if it’ll help.” She shook her head and tried not to smile. If he sensed that she was weakening he’d go straight for the kill. “These are not the kind of people I want around you,” he said. “I thought they were your friends.” “Not really.” She frowned. “They’re not?” “I couldn’t be their friend because I was their commanding officer. We might give it a try now that we’re all retired but I don’t know how well we’d get along.” “You said you would have died for them.” “Very nearly did once or twice.” Reggie paused to let that sink in. “What about Jack?” Dammit. It came out before she could stop herself. The “but sheeee’s going!” defense seemed more than a little childish. “Tried to talk her out of it,” said Marty. “Did you try this hard?” Reggie scowled at him. “I’m not married to her, Reg,” he said. “I still don’t like it but we’re here on her dime. Shit hits the fan, though, she’s going to listen. Like it or not. She can handle herself. Up to a point.” “And I can’t?” “Can you?” She flushed suddenly, prepared to let him have it. Then she stopped and thought about it. Growing up in Shackleton had never been tough. She lived in a quiet neighborhood with overprotective parents who had saved every penny to send her to a good school. When their business failed and the money dried up she’d taken a job on the Death Maiden. No one had bothered her, there. Reggie had never been challenged. She’d never been in real danger, never had to prove herself. A ‘no’ would settle things. It would override Marty’s desire to do what made her happy and he would put her butt straight on the boat at Faro Station. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t really a lie. Marty looked at her silently for a long time. He had that inward, thoughtful expression that made him seem much older than he was, like the weight of worlds was settled on his shoulders. “You stay on the ship,” he said. “Somebody gets hurt, we’ll bring them to you.” “Wh--” “Even if it’s me,” he interrupted. “My head flakes on the way, you do whatever it takes to keep me up and running. These guys smell blood and I can’t guarantee their gentlemanly behavior.” “What if it happens while you’re away?” “Hopefully it’ll coincide with some sort of blunt trauma to the head.” Her mouth fell open. “Martin!” He smiled, finally. His eyes flashed as he reached over and pressed a button, plunging the cockpit into near-darkness. Reggie could still see him as the smile faded and he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “I can’t see in the dark,” she said. “You don’t need to see.” He leaned further over to kiss her, then pulled back and met her eyes. “Is this my reward for winning? she smiled. “You didn’t win.” His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her closer. He lifted her hair and laid soft kisses along her neck. “Got what I wanted, didn’t I?” “We reached an accord,” he said. “It’s not the same thing.” “Do I get to have terms?” He smiled against her skin and she shivered. “You want something in writing?” She set her hands on his knees and ran them up his thighs, squeezing gently. He made a small, pleased sound and pulled her onto his lap. Reggie straddled his legs and slipped her arms over his shoulders, then leaned close to whisper. “I love you.” “Cheap shot.” She glanced out the window at the bright, blinking monstrosity. “Can they see us?” she asked. “I doubt it.” “Mmmm. Alone time. Unexpected, happy side-effect.” She scooted up enough to tell he was happy, too. “What should we do?” “Play checkers.” He planted a kiss at the base of her throat, then leaned back and smiled broadly. “Naked checkers.” * * * There were six raised stages in the main room of the Pleasure Palace. They were two meters across, with mirrored floors and their own set of multi-colored spotlights. A narrow counter surrounded each one and patrons crowded into seats around them. On stage one, closest to the bar, a silver pole stretched from the center to the ceiling, twenty feet above the deck. A pale woman with long, blonde hair was hanging near the top, gripping the pole with her legs. She leaned back until her head was pointed at the floor, then slid down quickly, spiraling down the pole. She stopped just short of the mirrored tile and laid her hands flat on it. Letting go with her legs she sprung away from the pole, landing on the soles of her platform heels with a sound like a thunderclap. Men crowded around the stage, shoving for a space and waving handfuls of money. She paused at each one, pulling the strap of her luminescent g-string away from her hips so they could slip money underneath without touching her skin. When she’d made a single pass around the stage, she pulled the money from beneath the strap and dropped it on a pile at the base of the pole. Riddick pulled three bills from the stack in front of him and slid them onto the padded bumper at the edge of the stage. The woman backed toward him, then arched back until her hands touched the floor. She took the money in her mouth and effortlessly straightened again. “I can do that,” said Jack. Riddick raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. “Promise?” “Velocity on stage one,” said the announcer. “Let’s give her a big hand now for giving you the need to give yourself a big hand, later. If you’d like somebody else to do it for you, just head on upstairs to Madame Needa and she’ll set you up with just the right set of hands.” Riddick glanced around. "Where the hell did Herry go?” “Don’t know. When we walked in he just yelled ‘look at the titties!’ and ran off.” Riddick nodded as though that was perfectly reasonable. Jack shrugged and supposed it was. “Shoulda brought his own skin,” smirked Jack. “Like me.” Riddick drained his beer and smiled up at the new girl on stage. “That’s all I am to you,” he sighed. “Just a piece of ass.” Jack watched him watching the stripper and she grinned. “I like some other parts, too,” she said. “You can point your favorites out to me, later.” He slipped a small stack of bills in front of her. “What are you doing?” Riddick just smiled. Jack turned back to the stage to find the dancer two inches from her face. The woman nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear. “You game, honey?” Jack felt an odd twinge of excitement. Before entering the club she’d never even seen another grown woman naked. It didn’t bother her. They didn’t have anything she didn’t have. Some of them just had more, that was all. The stripper’s perfume hung lightly in the air around her. She smelled good. She was pretty. And the hand that Jack had on the inside of Riddick’s thigh told her he was already enjoying their interaction. Better not make any plans for tomorrow that involved running. Walking. Leaving her room. “Sure ‘nuf.” The muscles in Riddick’s leg tensed under her hand. She turned to watch him as the dancer leaned far over the stage to rub her cheek against Jack’s bare stomach. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips before he began to chew on them, dark eyes glistening mischievously. Rising carefully so as not to take the shirt up with her, the woman kissed her way up between Jack’s breasts and finally planted a soft kiss on her lips. Flushed and grinning, Jack snatched the money from the stage and slipped it under the waistband that was held out for her. The dancer moved on to Riddick, rubbing her breasts in his face and laughing while he kept his hands flat on the counter. Jack smirked as he slipped the money under the strap. “So if we go over to where the men are dancing...?” “Not a fucking chance.” “Gotcha.” She glanced over his shoulder to see a broad-shouldered man striding toward them across the room. She wondered briefly if he was too muscle-bound to wipe his own ass. “Is one of the guys we’re supposed to meet a big, bald, black man about as wide as I am tall?” Riddick followed her gaze and shouted. “Snowball!” Jack blinked. “Excuse me?” The man scowled and continued toward them, big arms barely swinging as he strode across the floor. Points of light burned at the center of his dark eyes. “Did you just call that very large, very dark, very angry man ‘Snowball?’” Riddick stood as the man approached. They stood just a few feet apart and eyed one another before the larger man spoke. “Motherfucker,” he growled. “I oughta space your sorry ass.” Riddick waited a few beats and then blew him a kiss. Jack’s mouth fell open but the big guy just laughed. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Two Two long, silver cars pulled up in front of the Castor building and Mackey sat up. He stretched and winced as his neck popped loudly. Most of his joints, folded into the car for hours, made some kind of protest. He wasn’t the only one assigned to watch Castor. The local authorities were still keeping round-the-clock tabs on the man and his family on Mackey’s recommendation. He’d revived a lot of friendships since his return to Terra-luna. It felt good to work with cops again. Regulations and schedules and sense of camaraderie. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them. “Lusci, does Mr. Castor have any big meetings planned for today?” Despite the help from the locals, Mackey watched Castor as often as he could. He was on retainer, paid a hefty sum monthly straight from Jackie Weller’s suddenly deep pockets. It wasn’t just the money that kept him on. She was a nice girl, with a good head on her shoulders and he couldn’t help liking her. She had a gift for wrapping strong men around her finger. That gift had saved him a lot of trouble. Chiefly a beating at the hands of her ‘bodyguards’. His former contract with Castor had called for him to snatch her away from them. The contract had been made under false pretenses, of course. Castor wasn’t interested in his potential granddaughter’s well-being. Far from it. He had probably intended to kill her. Mackey cringed inwardly when he considered that he’d almost been a part of that. His emphatic warning would have gotten Martin Bender killed if his conscience hadn’t forced him to intervene. “Nothing on the schedule, Garvin.” “Huh.” Jackie Weller had settled things at the top of Weller M&D and then taken off downside. She’d taken her friends with her and left Mackey in charge of Keeping Mr. Castor Out of Trouble. Castor had been carefully on-the-level since Malcolm Stroh’s trial. Though he’d avoided legal entanglement, the incident had landed him in a king-sized pile of crap that would cave in on him if he made on wrong move. Charity dinners, ground-breakings, ribbon-cuttings. It was all good, clean and wholesome for the last several months. Now his new employer and her entourage were off to parts unknown in search of something to bust him with for real. If they were going to yank the rug out from under Donald Castor for good they would have to keep their trip quiet, so Mackey was promoted to Executive in Charge of Keeping Anyone From Finding Out. Monitor Castor’s meetings. Watch for unusual activity. So far, no surprises. Then the passenger door opened and Fenster slid into the car beside him. Mackey blinked at him. “What are you doing here?” “You told me to watch Weller.” Fenster popped open the cap on a metal cup and sniffed the cloud of steam that wafted out. Mackey watched the cars clear security and pass out of sight into the subterranean parking garage. “Son of a bitch.” Fenster made a short, surprised sound. “You said ‘bitch’. I don’t believe it. I’m writing this down.” “Why didn’t you contact me earlier?” “He packed up and bolted in a hurry,” shrugged Fenster. “Had to run to keep up.” He pulled a small plastic case out of his coat pocket and set it on the seat. “This is everything I’ve collected since we talked last.” “Give me the abbreviated version.” Mackey picked the case up and turned it over in his hands for a moment before he stopped himself. This new wrinkle made him nervous. He hated being nervous. “Ever wonder why ‘abbreviated’ is such a long goddamned word?” “Fenster.” Fenster took a sip from the cup as he leaned the seat back and propped his feet up on the dash. “You taking care of my car?” “It’s in a long-term garage. They wash it once a month and I take it for a spin. Look, Fenster...” “Garve, I been up for the last forty-eight hours, living on shitty coffee and stale crackers. I spent the first part of the day delayed at the port in Berlin, hiding behind a fucking newspaper so our man Virge wouldn’t see me and the second half crammed into one of those narrow-assed seats in the coach compartment of a Lunar Liner boat. My back is killing me--” “Fenster...” “Not done yet. Sat next to some thick-necked asshole who snored like a freight train. When he wasn’t snoring he was bitching and whining about his girl, who, incidentally left him for a guy whose description sounds suspiciously like yours so if it was you, please give her the fuck back.” Mackey snorted a laugh. Fenster went on with a gesture after the departed vehicles. “I’ve been watching this dipshit spend money like he’s got it and shmooze everything with tits and a heartbeat, which naturally reminds me of the fact that I haven’t had any wicky-wicky in months. Might as well join a fucking convent.” “Convents are for women.” “Lonely, repressed women in dire need of a good lay,” he explained. “All for Fenster.” “So what you’re saying is that all you’ve got to show for months of tailing Virgil Weller is a lurid fantasy about an orgy with a bunch of nuns?” “It’s that whole untouchable thing,” shrugged Fenster. “And the fact that those things they wear are called ‘habits’. That’s just asking for it.” Stretching, Mackey leaned his hands on the steering wheel and cracked his knuckles. “Mostly it was the usual stuff,” he went on. “He mooched off his old lady and spent all his time in Berlin, drinking expensive booze and dancing the night away. Then he gets this phone call.” “From who?” Fenster scowled and shushed him. “My story. So, he slacks off for months and then he gets this phone call and he’s off like a shot. The call was short and sweet and didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. Made sense to him, though. He put on a suit, got all slicked up and drove out to a storage house on the east side of Hanover.” “Hanover?” “Stop interrupting Daddy. He met a guy in the parking lot. Izzy Marsters. You may know him from such illegal activities as ‘embezzling funds from Microdyne’ and ‘hacking the Bank of Jerusalem’. They made an exchange and Virgil went inside. Now, the place takes pride in being secure. Not a problem for Izzy, that fuck, but it fuzzed out my trace on Weller so I don’t know which cell he accessed.” “Great,” Mackey sighed. “Faith, my man. Faith,” grinned Fenster. He took another sip from his cup and made a face. “Ever notice how many adjectives you’ve got to use just to order a cup of coffee these days?” “Fenster, what did you do?” “I beat the shit out of Izzy til he talked,” Fenster said flatly. Mackey stared and shook his head. “Okay, I only threatened to beat the shit out of him. But dammit, I would have done it if he wasn’t such a girl. I paid him off. By the way, you owe me eight thousand deutschemarks.” “Oh for...” “Turns out the Virge-man gave him a little white card, blank. No markings. No obvious strip. Nothing. Turns out it was a key card to a space at Die Aufbewahrung storage house. They had security completely refitted about ten years ago and the card was part of the old system. Weller gave Izzy the card, Izzy found out what it belonged to, and then our buddy Virge went in and found himself something that made him scoot off like his ass was on fire.” “So what was it?” Fenster shook his head. “Guys inside didn’t know. But get this: Izzy said the account belonged to one Weller, Jackson G.” “Son of a--” “Language, Garve. Shit. He opened it years ago and only accessed it once, himself. Never came back here in person again. Every six months a representative comes to check on the storage space, make sure the room is sealed, all that.” “Who?” “You sure ask a lot of questions,” Fenster scowled. “That’s the point, Fenster.” “Right. Yeah. I don’t know. They didn’t know and they got a little nervous when I asked if I could see some tape on the guy. Didn’t even want more of your money.” “So I owe you more than eight thousand deutschemarks?” “Yuh-huh. Garve, I don’t know what the hell was in there but I do know that he came upside with it in a hurry, whatever it was.” “And now he’s meeting with Castor,” sighed Mackey. “I don’t like this at all.” “Me, neither. They cheaped on the sugar.” Mackey turned to see Fenster squinting through the hole in his cup. He chuckled softly and pulled a keycard out of his pocket. “Go to my place. Get cleaned up. Get some rest. I’ll meet you there, later.” “Yah,” said Fenster, snatching the key. He opened the door and hauled himself to his feet. “Watch your ass, Garve.” “I will.” Fenster shut the door and headed down the street, falling in with a crowd of suits before he turned a corner. A little white card. Virgil had swiped it from Jack and Marlene had swiped it from Virgil. According to each of them, no one knew what it was for except poor, old, dead Jackson Weller. It had been Jack’s sole material request when they had handed over Marlene but Castor hadn’t brought it. Either he didn’t want to part with it or he didn’t know where it was. It occurred to Mackey that Marlene might have kept it to herself, which put her back in the “loose cannon” category of his good guys/bad guys list. Maybe Virgil had taken the card. Maybe someone had given it to him. What mattered most was finding out what had sent him running to Castor. He would give the guys at Die Aufbewahrung another try. But he had to be careful. Too many inquiries and they were going to draw attention to themselves and whatever was in that storage cell. Assuming that it hadn’t happened already. “Son of a bitch.” Fenster would be so proud.
Three The glass walls of the private room muted the music but left the dancers in plain view. Red leather couches surrounded a low table on three sides. A nude woman reclined on the table beside a tray set with neat rows of colorful sushi. Nearest the door was a broad armchair that could have held two if Riddick had been at all interested in sharing. He wasn’t. He sat down and spread himself out, trying to look more comfortable than he felt. They were set up for a couple hours worth of beers and naked sushi girls and “so there we were” stories. It wouldn’t have been a bad time at all if the tension hadn’t been enough to make his asshole pucker. Riddick watched as the woman plucked a small green roll from the tray and tossed in it a slow arc toward the couch. The big man sprawled there caught it in his mouth. “Used to have a dog could do that,” smirked Kelly. Snowball kept chewing and scratched his nose with his middle finger. Four had arrived so far. Wilkins, Kelly and “Snowball” James, Riddick had worked with before. The other was Ty Solomon, an old-timer who had come up through Fort Benchley with Marty. All four were decorated, all were retired, and all owed Martin Bender their asses. They did not, however, owe Riddick a goddamn thing. These men had joined up, most of them in their teens. They were By-God Marines, bound by a long tradition of honor and bravery and discipline. He was just the dumb son of a bitch who had been thrown among them in a last-ditch effort to pull his own dick out of the fire. Slam-bait. Mary. Punk. It had never affected the job. Oh, hell no. Fuck up just because you didn’t like a guy and the captain’s size twelves would be halfway up your colon in a heartbeat. He’d done the job; learned to pull his weight and fight like a soldier. But he would never be one and that’s what stuck him. Sitting here, fielding suspicious glances, it had never bothered him more. Oh boo-fucking hoo. Suck it up, bedwetter. Wilkins regarded him with mild curiosity, absently stirring the drink he hadn’t touched. James lit up a cigar and leaned back, stretching his arms out along the top of the couch. The seams of his shirt strained. It wasn’t a show, he was just a big man. “Had you pegged for a lifer, Wilco,” he said. “Was,” Kelly nodded. “Then he had a ‘piphany.” Wilkins stopped stirring and lifted his glass, draining it in three long swallows. “Probably the same one I had,” James rumbled. “If the bad Mad can get himself killed, what kind of chance have I got?” “He’s not dead,” muttered Wilkins. “By the grace of God alone, man.” Riddick snorted. “You seen him, Dickey,” said Kelly. “He good?” “He’s good.” They nodded understanding and Riddick hoped that would settle the subject. This sort of talk made him uncomfortable. You didn’t talk personal about The Captain unless you were Admiring His Brilliance or Extoling His Virtues. You didn’t mention that sometimes he spent days puking and shaking and forgetting where he was. And you sure as shit did not mention that the last time he got in a fight he’d nearly been strangled to death. “You two stop at the same coffee shop one day, or what?” asked James. “Something like that, yeah,” Riddick replied. “Lucky you run into him before you run into me,” said Kelly. Riddick raised an eyebrow. “Cause you ain’t the only one what things was fucked up for, you arse. You buggered off and the brass came down on Mad. And brother, shit rolls downhill.” “Thought about taking up a collection to raise the bounty on your ass,” James added. Kelly cracked a smile. “But if Mad can put up with your fugly mug, I suppose I can, too.” “Too kind,” said Riddick. “He is too kind,” said Wilkins. “I still think you’re an asshole.” “Feel the love,” chuckled James. Kelly nodded toward the door and flexed his fingers in the air. “Will be when we get out of here, yeah?” “That’ll be a wild thirty seconds, man.” “Eat shit, wouldya?” Kelly grinned. “Cap’s missing out.” “He’s honeymooning,” said Riddick. “Get the fuck back!” James shouted. They were talking about the captain again. But Christ, anything to get the topic off how Riddick was a big lump of shit. Ty didn’t look surprised and he didn’t look happy. He didn’t look anything. Riddick guessed that Marty had told his old barracks-mate more than he’d told the others. Crap. Riddick glanced out over the crowded floor and spotted Jack, looking expectantly back at him. His hand twitched as he considered calling her in. No punches had been thrown, no furniture broken. Might be a good time to reveal to the assembled that the boss was a teenaged girl. There was a brief rush of air and sound as the door behind him opened and closed. Riddick felt eyes on him, and the kind of itch between the shoulder blades that came of being in someone’s crosshairs. Security on the Ill-Freaky meant there was no gun but he imagined the new arrival wished there was. They were only missing one. Riddick had half-hoped he wouldn’t show. “Who let this guy out of his fucking cage?” “Well, fuck me swinging!” grinned Kelly. He rose and Wilkins followed. “You’re too hairy, man.” “Hey,” chuckled James. “It’s the man who wasn’t there.” “Howya, brother?” Riddick didn’t turn at the sound of their enthusiastic greeting. He glanced instead at Ty Solomon, who was taking them all in with a look of casual interest. He was almost as much an outsider as Riddick, though he lacked the stigma attached to being plucked from prison to serve. Two years ago he’d been a giant in the field of intelligence. Slouched on the red leather, it looked as though he’d settled well into civilian life. He wore a blue t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans that were white at the knees and starting to fray. His eyes were dark and shining, like everyone’s were. They hadn’t paid for theirs with cigarettes, though. They hadn’t paid for theirs at all, the government had. It would have paid for his, too, but he hadn’t stayed long enough. If he’d done his time and stuck around he wouldn’t have to cover his eyes from the light like something that lived in a hole. But he had lived in a hole, with no hope of seeing daylight again. Come off it. Jeezus. Was it funny that the training he’d received with the Marines had helped him escape from prison? About as funny as the fact that that washout motherfucker Johns had been able to catch him in spite of it. Mercer passed in front if him and shook hands with Solomon before taking a seat. “You designed the Omniscient spy satellite,” said Mercer. “I did,” Ty said simply. “You’re bloody brilliant.” “Kiss ass!” laughed Kelly. Wilkins tapped Mercer with his foot. “So where the hell you been? We thought you finally vanished into the ether.” “Close enough,” he replied. “New Vilniaus.” “Christ on a crutch, Mercy. What the hell were you doing out there?” Mercer flashed a lopsided grin. “Freelance law enforcement sniper.” “No shit?” Wilco dropped back into his seat. “No shit.” “Pay good?” “Not really,” Mercer replied. “But I still get to shoot people who deserve it.” His eyes fixed on Riddick and the grin faded. “Why isn’t there a leash on this convict?” Riddick gave a short laugh. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t take the bait. “He’s free and clear,” said Wilco. “Mad set him loose on polite society.” Mercer winked at the girl on the table as he snatched a piece of sushi from the tray. “Must be on account of that shot he took to the head.” He popped the roll into his mouth and chewed slowly. Riddick didn’t like the way the man was looking at him. It was the same calm, predatory gaze he wore when he sized up a target. From two thousand yards, his victims never got to see it. From right here, it was starting to piss him off. The booze hadn’t taken the edge off his anger the way he’d hoped it would. Now he was faced with a decision -- drink more or deal with the bastard sober. “Did my stint,” said Riddick. “You bailed before it was done.” “Been through this, already. If you’da been here earlier you wouldn’t have missed it.” Arguing further would only sound like he was making excuses. Keeping his mouth shut would make it look like Mercer was right. Never mind that he was. Riddick could tell the truth; that Marty had somehow deemed him worth saving and that made it the truth. But if he spent the whole time hiding behind the captain it was going to be a long fucking trip. “I made up for it.” Mercer gave a noncommittal grunt and turned to look through the glass wall. He nodded at something over Riddick’s shoulder and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. “She’s a nice piece,” he said. Riddick followed Mercer’s gaze and saw Jack. His face darkened before he could stop it. “She is,” he nodded. “She’s also signing your paycheck for this joint, so try not to spend too much time staring at her ass.” That had everyone suddenly craning for a view. Everyone but Ty, who finally cracked a smile. “Whoo,” whistled Kelly. “Cap said we was working for a girl, but he didn’t say we was working for a girl.” Wilkins scowled at him. “She older than she looks?” “No.” “So--” “Taken,” Riddick said flatly. Too fast. Dammit. He started to cross his arms over his chest and stopped himself. Too defensive. Son of a bitch. Mercer met his glare with a smirk. Riddick wondered how long the smug bastard had been watching them. Had he seen them kiss? Watched Jack with the stripper? Gotten off on it? His fists clenched and unclenched until the bones in his hands creaked. “You’re screwing the money and you still got stuck with this shit job?” Heads turned. Riddick’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t reply. He didn’t have to play. He could just sit here and keep his mouth shut and look bored. Mercer would realize it wasn’t getting to him and give up. But apparently not anytime soon. “You get neutered in the House of Many Sliding Doors?” Riddick was aware of the others, watching them. If violence erupted, who would they step in to defend? Point was, he didn’t want to cause a scene. Didn’t even want to be a part of one. He hadn’t promised himself, or Jack. He’d just sort of come in here hoping. “They cut your balls off so you wouldn’t fight with the other dogs, right? No, wait, I know.” Mercer’s mouth curved into a sly grin. “You’ve been in prison so long you forgot what to do with a pussy.” “Oh shit,” said James. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. “C’mon, Mercy.” “I’m sure one of those fine young ladies out there will be happy to show you how to work one,” he continued. “Hell, most of them don’t even care /which/ hole you put it in.” Still hoping. “You about done?” Riddick rumbled. Mercer just looked smug and snatched another piece of sushi from the tray. “Thought maybe they took your tongue out with your balls there for a minute,” he said. Mercer popped the sushi in his mouth as he glanced back out toward Jack. He swallowed almost without chewing and added, “Think if I give her a go I can do better? She’s young. Bet she can go on. Looks kind of limber. She a wild ride?” Riddick was suddenly on his feet. Mercer rose to meet him, standing face-first into a quick left-handed jab. He dropped back onto the couch, blinking and wincing but gathering himself to move. Riddick cursed himself once inwardly for letting Mercer get to him and once more because he was about to let it happen again. He lunged forward but a wall of muscle stepped between them. The lunge became a duck and dodge but hands grabbed him and pulled him back. Snowball put an arm like a band of iron across his chest and held him in place. Mercer heaved himself off the couch and was quickly shoved back down. “Knock this shit off!” the big man boomed. “You don’t fucking look at her,” Riddick hissed. “Understand, asshole?” “Fuck you, convict!” “HEY!” Jack’s voice powered over the shouting. Riddick stopped struggling and felt the others relax around him as well. “Let’s put the dicks down and step back, please, gentlemen.” She stood with her arms at her sides, the way he’d taught her. She didn’t fidget and she didn’t turn away when they looked her in the eye. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “My name is Jackie Weller. I’m paying for this little shindig so have a good time. Get your ya-ya’s out, here, gentlemen, because I’m not going to put up with any of this dick-waving bullshit once we shove off. “The ship is docked at Clamp Two, the Vagabond Queen. She’s leaving in four hours, be on her.” Her words were followed by a long, tense pause. The only sound was the muted music filtering in from outside until Kelly gave a loud “whoo!” and headed for the door. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, bowing slightly in her direction. “Looks like a princess and talks like a pirate,” said James, following. “Dayum.” Wilco smoothed out his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. He smiled politely at Jack and offered his hand. “Pleasure, ma’am.” “Quit kissing ass, mate,” Kelly yelled over his shoulder. Solomon gave Mercer a hand up and shepherded him out, keeping himself between his charge and Riddick. The door slid shut behind them, leaving Riddick with Jack and the sushi girl, who began cleaning up. “I leave you alone for one minute...” Jack began. “Things were going alright.” She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to try not to hit anybody.” “Tried.” “Uh huh. So how did I do?” “Not bad,” said Riddick. “Maybe they read the shirt.” She looked down, laughed. “Quit staring at my chest,” she said. “Do you think they bought it? Was I bossly enough?” “Relax, Jack.” He repressed an urge to pull her closer and instead shoved his hands in his pockets. “You did good.” “They’re not so bad.” She leaned against the back of the couch and crossed her arms. “Decided that in forty-five seconds?” “So you’re saying I should only hang around them for really, really short periods of time?” Riddick nodded. “That would be a good idea, yeah. Best thing to do is let Marty handle them as often as possible.” “Why?” “Because he can,” Riddick shrugged. “He’s put in the time to earn their respect and loyalty. Plus he’s got that other thing.” “Thing?” “That thing where he kicks the shit out of people when they don’t do what he asks.” “Oh yeah. Well, you’ve got that, too.” “My advice? Don’t try to impress them, don’t try to manipulate them, and don’t try to compete with Marty. It’ll only complicate things.” Jack sighed and nodded. He didn’t know if that meant she agreed but at least she hadn’t argued. “So what do I do?” “Sit back and enjoy the ride,” he said. “It’s my experience that the less you appear to be doing, the more important people will think you are.” “Herry must be God.” They both laughed. “Now what?” He jerked his head toward the door and waggled his eyebrows. Jack smiled and licked her lips. “Back to the ship?” “Do you want to walk in on Marty and the missus playing doctor?” “Thanks so much for that visual,” she said. She scanned the room outside the glass partitions. “What’s in the cowgirl room?” “Cowgirls and the horny men who love them,” he grinned. “They’ve got a mechanical bull.” “Let me guess, watching me slide around on a big, jerking piece of machinery gets you off, too?” “You got ESP?”
Four Tyler Solomon had been awake for the last twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling. It was more like toward the ceiling because it was too dark to see. His bunk was a cot of the one-size-fits-all sort. Small as it was, it barely fit into the space he’d been issued. Worse, he was the only one in it. He rolled off the bunk and his feet hit the cold floor too hard. Cursing softly, he felt for the switch and turned the lights on low. The wall opposite the bed was close enough for him to plant a kiss on his fingers and touch it to the picture of his wife taped there. Surprised by the camera, she pursed her lips and gave him a mildly disapproving look. He’d brought this one along because he knew that look would keep him from getting into trouble. Standing and stretching, he pushed his feet into a pair of ratty, blue slippers and slid the door aside. The narrow passage outside was empty, the lights dim. The ship was quiet. It was drifting through space on auto pilot, he guessed. Given the condition of Heironymous Blake when he’d staggered through the airlock from Madame Needa’s, he wasn’t surprised that the ship was still in charge of itself. Ty shuffled past doors made of little more than light metal frames and paper panels. Enough for privacy but not proof against the snoring that overflowed the tiny rooms. The passage opened into a large, round central area. Wooden cabinets and colorful tile counters encircled the room and a table and six chairs took up the center. There was a stainless steel sink with blue porcelain handles and something that looked like an old gas stove refit with flat, round burners. A worn sign on the refrigerator read “You Kill It, You Fill It”. It was held up with three magnets, each shaped like a different part of a woman’s anatomy. “This is right homey.” Ty stepped up and leaned on the back of a chair. “Particularly like the boobie magnets.” Martin sat at one end of the table with a computer in front of him. He raised his eyes and peered at Ty through the yellow lenses of the glasses perched on his nose. “Owner’s a bit of a character,” he said. He nodded toward the foundry plate on the wall behind him. “She’s one of the first light fast-tracks made available for public purchase. She’s pushing sixty but she’s well put-together.” He paused, then, “Not a word out of you.” “She looks good.” Ty pulled out the chair and dropped into it. “And you, you don’t look nearly so much like shit as I thought you would.” “Sweet-talker,” Martin said flatly. He took the glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Curse of the sober,” nodded Ty. “Listening to the drunks snore.” Martin set his hands on the table and heaved himself out of the chair. He limped across the room to the refrigerated cabinet and opened it, leaning on the door as he inspected the contents. Ty watched him, frowning. Martin had always been solid as a brick wall. Now he looked almost lean, at least six or seven kilos lighter than Ty had ever seen him. The lines of his face were deeper and the gray at his temple had spread to pepper the rest of his head. He stopped himself. There would be no feeling sorry for Martin. One felt sorry for people that were weak or unfortunate and the man was neither. Besides, acknowledging that Martin was getting old meant that he was, too, and Ty wasn’t ready for that. “Least they could have done was shot you in the other leg and evened that out.” “Asshole. Drink?” “Surely.” Martin took a white bottle from the top shelf and opened the door wide enough for Ty to see what was inside. “Whatever you’re having.” He grabbed another and let the door fall shut as he crossed to the table and eased himself into a chair. He popped the top on one bottle and slid the other across the table. “Sure you don’t want something stronger?” “I’ll keep my wits about me, thank you. Promised the wife I’d be the mature one.” “Got me for that.” “Right.” He raised his drink. “Cheers, mate.” “Cheers,” said Martin, grinning. Ty took a sip and set the bottle down. “Lily asked about you.” The grin turned into a half-assed smile and he shook his head. “That didn’t take long.” “Figured I’d bring it up sooner rather than later.” “You didn’t have to bring it up at all.” Martin took another swig of milk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Ty took a deep breath and pressed on. “She said to tell you ‘congratulations’.” “I’ll bet she did.” “She’s glad you found someone, man. She really is.” “Of course she is, what with that guilt off her conscience and all,” Martin shot back. He fiddled with the bottle and frowned at it as though it had said something upsetting. “She happy?” he said suddenly. The question wasn’t entirely unexpected. Ty nodded. “She is,” he said. He left out the details. Husband, kids, promotion. Things were awkward enough as it was. For a while after Lily’s break-up with Martin, the fact that he still saw her made Ty uncomfortable. It didn’t help that he was married to one of her close friends. Both were nurses at the hospital where Martin had spent time recovering. Ty had visited often. Two pretty nurses and their two soldiers, married on the same day in the hospital’s chapel with a small group of friends as witnesses. One night Ty answered the door at two in morning and found Martin on the front porch with a rucksack over his shoulder. In it was everything he’d owned when he entered the hospital, which wasn’t much. Far more loaded than the pack was Martin, himself, insisting the booze wasn’t going to cause problems because he hadn’t taken his pills all day. There hadn’t been a fight. Not even an argument. Lily had asked him to leave and he’d gone. Ty had ideas. Martin as a soldier had been an incredibly intense individual. As a civilian with nowhere to direct his energies he must have been damned near impossible to live with. Martin nodded wordlessly as though in agreement. “What about you, mate? You’re not setting yourself up again, are you?” He regretted asking even before Martin scowled at him. Then Martin’s look softened, turned pensive. Ty wasn’t sure which he liked less. “She takes care of me because she loves me, not the other way around,” said Martin. “I know she worries that I might leave her a young widow but she’s convinced that if she takes good enough care of me it won’t happen.” “I’m guessing you don’t think the same.” Martin shrugged. “I think I’m either fucked or I’m not and not much I do is going to change that one way or the other.” “That’s gloomy.” “Isn’t it, though?” Martin gave a short burst of laughter. “You remember Doctor Hargrove?” Ty nodded. “The shrink.” “You know, he came to see me while I was still stuck in bed. Hell, it was only a few days after I talked them out of pulling the fucking plug...” “I think it was the talking part that convinced them,” chuckled Ty. “Particularly the bit where you asked if they had a burning desire to see their livers.” “I’ve got your word for that is all,” Martin smirked. “So, I’m barely there, right? I’m really concentrating hard to keep my eyes from crossing. And what does the son of a bitch ask me?” Ty shook his head. “Was I having thoughts of suicide? Of giving up because I was no longer able to perform my soldierly duties?” He snorted. “I never once thought about it except when the prick brought it up. Or unless that poor fucker in the next bed asked me to smother him with his pillow, he was so damned miserable.” “Jesus.” “Never considered doing myself in. Not once. No matter how godawful I felt or how many times they warned me chances were I’d have a frigging aneurysm and fall face-first into my soup. Anyhow, point is that no, I don’t want to die but it’s really not up to me.” “It’s up to you whether or not you keep throwing yourself in front of bullets, mate,” said Ty. “I hear librarians are rarely fired upon.” “Shit.” “I’m serious.” “Man, I was a mechanic for five years. I wasn’t exactly scouring the universe for danger.” “You worked security for awhile.” “As a consultant,” Martin countered. “And why did you quit that?” “It was boring.” Ty cut off his initial response. Martin hadn’t tried to go out a hero in the days when the option constantly presented itself. But time changed people and so did the sort of trauma that had been visited upon the man across the table from him. Ty wasn’t going along on the physical part of the mission, himself. Too many years out of practice had made him exactly what he’d set out to become when he retired from the Corps -- a soft civilian who had no need to beat the hell out of people. He went home every night to a wife and a home and dinner in a room with a china cabinet instead of a weapons locker. But other people were going to follow Martin, without question as they always had. Better to find out now, before someone got hurt. “You’re not looking to go out in a blaze of glory, are you? Martin blinked at him, then let out a snort of humorless laughter. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Tyler.” “I think it’s a perfectly legitimate question.” It sounded stupid, even to Ty. But it was already out there. “You lost your career, nearly your life, in the space of minutes.” “Seconds, really, if you're picking nits.” “I saw you in the hospital, Martin. I know how bad it was. But you were more like a kid who broke his arm falling out of a tree than a man who had his life jerked out from under him. I heard more from the bastard down the hall with his bloody stupid hernia. For the love of God, Martin, when Lily divorced you, you picked up and moved on with hardly more than a handshake and a ‘good luck, then’. You’ve been through shit that would have had most guys in restraints and the rest on the ledges of very tall buildings and as far as anyone can tell it’s all rolled off.” “You’ve been saving that for a while,” said Martin. He frowned thoughtfully. “So, let me get this straight. It bothers you that I haven’t snapped?” Ty considered. “No, that’s not it, exactly.” “What exactly the fuck is it, then?” Martin’s voice was a whisper, far worse a sound than if he’d shouted. He leaned forward, fixing Ty with eyes that glowed like an animal’s. “You want to know if I feel it? Yes, Ty, I fucking feel it. Since I got shot up there hasn’t been a moment in my life when I wasn’t in some kind of pain. That despite the fact that I take medication so strong it needs other medication to counteract the side-effects, which it doesn’t always do. I get headaches so bad I can’t see and when they stop I’m lucky if I can remember my own name. I spend twenty-four hours sleeping next to the toilet because I can’t make it to bed without throwing up and passing out. “And yeah, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t paused too long with my finger on the trigger, or if I’d tried harder to give Lily what she wanted. I even think about the fact that I was an invincible badass that got taken out by a ten-year-old. I get my guts in a fucking twist over it all. But there isn’t a goddamned thing I can do to change any of it, Tyler. I understand that and I accept it. If you can’t, then that’s your fucking problem.” “Feel better?” Ty certainly did. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious. “No, I’m pissed off,” replied Martin. “I hate explaining myself, goddamit and I shouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t be doing this if I couldn’t handle it and I sure as shit wouldn’t endanger anyone else to feed my fucking ego. You should know that.” He planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “If you’re through dragging out my personal baggage and beating me with it, I’d like to talk some shop.” That was the end of that and Ty let it drop in a hurry. Martin wasn’t the sort to throw a punch over an argument. Not first, anyway. But Ty decided to take him at his word and leave it alone. Maybe the man was right. Maybe it was just the way he was put together. Some people were predisposed to having good eyesight or disliking carrots. It was possible that Martin Bender just wasn’t wired for despair. “Alright,” said Ty. “What exactly are we about, here, then?” “Industrial espionage, sort of.” Ty’s heart skipped. “You’re serious?” “Yuh-huh. It’s a purely civilian affair, which makes me somewhat less inclined to shoot board members--” “Heart of gold, you,” Ty muttered. “It has resulted in civilian casualties, however. That doesn’t sit well and, conversely, does inspire me to shoot people.” “So what are we about, then?” asked Ty. “We’re going to gather evidence of wrongdoing and present it to the proper authorities. And if necessary, shoot people.” “You’re really hung up, aren’t you?” “I owe the world a lot of lead,” Martin chuckled. He slouched in his seat and scratched his stomach under the shirt. What little guard he’d held up with Ty seemed to have vaporized. They were done with the hard part, obviously. “Your connections find anything on Castor?” he asked. “A little suspicious behavior is all,” Ty shrugged. “Except the one incident. A project he was supervising violated the Gilverson-Menassi Act. But that was years ago, paid for, and certainly not enough to get him in trouble, now. People associated with him, that’s a little different.” “Yeah?” “Don’t get all perky over it, now,” he said. “A few fellas who have at one time or another worked for the man have been busted for trafficking in extra-terrestrial collectables. That is, to say, the remains of indigenous life on unapproved planets, as well as some of the indigenous life, still up and kicking. As you know, smuggling foreign life forms between planets without quarantine periods is a big no-no.” Martin shook his head. “Even if he is involved in that sort of thing I don’t think it’s enough to make him take these kinds of risks. We figured that the one set of guys that tried to kill us belonged to our other culprit, now out of the picture. But the others, the fucks that came for me, they worked for Castor.” He sighed. “I wish to hell I knew whatever it was they think I know. Might have made all this a damn sight easier. We need to find out what it is they’re mining down there.” “No idea?” “Planet’s makeup points toward if having been at least partially covered with water at one time,” said Martin. “There are large animal skeletons grouped in the lower elevations. Must have been crammed into the last pockets of water when things started drying up. The natives I saw are blind, use sonar to locate objects like deep sea creatures.” “Time on your hands, mate?” “Somebody tried to kill me over this. Been doing my best to figure out what the hell ‘this’ might be.” “What’s left behind when seas evaporate?” asked Ty. “Dead fish,” Martin said flatly. “Evaporite rock... there are gypsum deposits and yeah, the stuff is useful, but it sure as hell ain’t rare. They must have found something good. And a shitload of it, ‘cause they’ve been at it for over twenty years.” Martin was quiet and thoughtful for a long moment and Ty just let him be. “So, what did you bring me?” he said finally. “You told me to bring the good stuff,” he said. “So I did. I opened the crates already, you know, to check them over after that cargo fella dropped them off. Won’t be too hard to pop them open again.” “Trusting common folk with your gear?” he said. “Unclenched a bit, have you?” “I have,” Ty agreed. “And you could take some pointers from me, you surly bastard.” A smile tugged at Martin’s lips and then caught, spreading to his eyes. The awkwardness vanished as he burst out laughing. “Fuck you! I am not surly,” he chuckled. “Or tense, dammit. I’m just... right, surly and tense but that’s beside the point and I’ll thank you for ignoring it.” “Do my best.” “Don’t strain yourself.” Martin polished off his milk and tossed the bottle into the sink. “So, high altitude captures. You got the stuff I asked for?” “You’ll be able to count the hairs on a rat’s ass from orbit, which, as I recall, is precisely what you asked for.” “Beautiful,” said Martin. “What else?” “Cameras, hand-held and mountable. Most of them are small enough that they won’t get in the way regardless of what you’re about. Recording devices, bugs, tracking equipment.” Ty began to smile as he talked. He hadn’t been this close to the fun in years. “I brought a present for Wilco, too. Miniature field scanner, completely shock-proof. Also scope-mountable.” “He’s going to kiss you, man.” “I’ll just have you give it to him, then,” Ty smirked. “Brought some things that haven’t been field-tested, yet. I thought if anyone could tell me if it’s going to stand up it would be you. Brought a couple NightLight cameras, too. No flash, but the pictures are good as daylight. And--” “You’re getting excited about this, aren’t you?” “Maybe just a little,” he lied. “You’re so full of shit.” “Hey, I’ve been getting my share of vicarious thrills in the private sector,” said Ty. “None so dramatic as the ones you provided, I’ll admit.” “Well, naturally,” said Martin. “I am a fucking wonder to behold.” He turned off the computer and shut the top. “There’s something else.” “No fighting,” Ty said quickly. “No fighting,” Martin repeated. “But something happens to me, I want you to wrap these people up and get them out of here.” “So long as they understand that that’s the plan.” “They will.” He was quiet again, but not for long. “Meet me back here in three hours.” “For what?” Marty flashed Ty a crooked smile and stood. “Revelie.”
Five Mackey frowned at the screen. He scratched his jaw thoughtfully and reminded himself that he needed a shave. For what it was worth, the clock said it was early morning. Almost time to let the locals take over. The tiny, colored lights in front of him didn’t seem follow any sensible pattern. But there had to be one. White-red-red. White-white. A short line of red on the left and a big block of white underneath it. He squinted. No help. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “D-one.” Fenster’s voice burst through the earpiece. “Son of a bitch! You sank my aircraft carrier!” Mackey smirked, glad that Fenster couldn’t see how much he was enjoying this. “G-two.” “Miss.” “Dammit,” said Fenster. “Go.” “Give me a minute.” Fenster made a small, frustrated sound. “Just guess, for crying out loud. That’s what I do.” “Probably why you haven’t hit much.” “Right.” “B-three,” said Mackey. “So what’s he doing?” “Miss. Eating lunch, alone.” Fenster sighed out loud. “And keeping a constant eye on his surroundings. Our boy Virge has been very nervous since he came back upstairs.” “He has a lot to be nervous about,” said Mackey absently. “I’ve spent a lot of time with the man, Mack,” Fenster said thoughtfully. “And while he does appear to be by nature an extremely anxious individual, he wasn’t nearly this twitchy downside. He got out, he partied, he picked up a different babe every night. He’s almost as smooth as I am.” Fenster paused and Mackey could hear him swallow over the head set. He never seemed to run out of coffee. Mackey wondered briefly if Fenster’s bladder were three times the size of a normal man’s. “But since he’s been here he hasn’t made calls and he hasn’t seen people,” Fenster continued. “He eats lunch at a different time and place every day and he’s changed hotels three times in the last three weeks. All of which begs the question... D-four.” “Hit.” “Yes!” “Grow up, Fenster. Begs the question..?” “What the hell did the greasy sucker do?” asked Fenster. “Good question. C-three.” “Miss. I’ve got better ones.” Mackey smiled. “Want to be an investigator?” “No way,” Fenster shot back. “I wouldn’t get to beat the shit out of as many people. D-five.” “Hit.” “I had a thought, you know, about how to find out what got him off and running like his balls were on fire and the only water’s a hundred kilometers away.” “Colorful.” “See, I’ve been making a list.” “Of disgusting analogies?” chuckled Mackey. Either Fenster didn’t hear the comment or chose to ignore it. “Need a scorecard to keep track of all these dysfunctional rich folk,” he snorted. “And what I’ve got is a boatload of confusing, unrelated shit without anything to hold it together. That makes for some runny shit. How do you deal with it?” “Mostly I concentrate on the paycheck. We’ve been around this block already, you know.” “Exactly my point.” “There was a point?” “Har dee har har. Look, it’s simple. We don’t know what he’s doing and we’re not coming up with anything new watching the fucker eat.” “And? C-four.” “Hit, dammit,” grumbled Fenster. “Who do we know that could fill us in? Two people at least, right? We can’t do much more about Big Don than we are already...D-six.” “And?” Mackey said again. “Hit. You sank my submarine.” “Whoo-hoo!” Mackey rolled his eyes. “And?” “Annnnd...” Fenster drew out the word and beat out a drum roll. Mackey was reminded suddenly of the over-enthusiastic host of Smart-Ass!. “Why don’t we just ask him? A-eight.” Smart ass, indeed. “Ask him. Miss.” Mackey hoped the obvious distaste in his tone would keep Fenster from explaining. “Yes, Mack, ask him.” Fenster huffed and went on. “I have lunch with him every day. I can sit down, order the porterhouse and ask him what the hell he’s up to.” Mackey snorted. “And if that doesn’t work,” added Fenster. “We throw him in the trunk again..” A blinking yellow dot appeared in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. Mackey touched a key and the game moved to one side as a woman’s face filled the other. “Mr. Mackey,” she smiled. Her hair was straight and dark, falling past her shoulders and out of the camera’s view. She regarded him with dark, almond-shaped eyes lined in black. She was too beautiful to be real and he knew for a fact that she wasn’t. Somewhere in the back of his mind Garvin began to wonder what it said about him that most of the women he knew weren’t really there. “Hello, Kim-Lien,” he said. “Our man’s done with lunch,” said Fenster through the earpiece. “Heading out to the curb to hail a cab.” “Will you excuse me for one moment, Kim-Lien?” She nodded and resumed her pleasant smiling, waiting patiently as only a machine could honestly do. “Look, I’m on another call,” said Mackey. “Get the number and try not to lose him.” “Yes, Mom.” He paused. “Shit again.” Mackey squinted as though he could see across town to Fenster’s position. The other man was silent for long enough to make Mackey wonder if he’d been made. “We’ve got a limo,” muttered Fenster. “The rental?” he sat up and shifted in his seat. “No, sir. It is not.” Mackey’s brain started to run off without him and he forced himself to be rational. It was probably nothing. If someone were going to drive by and blow Virgil Weller away on the sidewalk they wouldn’t do it in something as unwieldy as a limousine. Not on the tight Terra-luna streets. “Fenster?” “Looks like he’s talking to someone sitting in back.” “Find out who it is,” Mackey said quickly. “And don’t get seen.” “Yes sir, boss, sir. On my way.” He heard the brief bing! as Fenster opened the door to his car. Mackey turned down the volume and brought his attention back to the simulation on the screen. “Apologies,” he said. “Not necessary, Mr. Mackey. I have the information you requested. Enter the password I’ve provided and you will be authorized to download the files from the law enforcement mainframe.” “Thank you, Kim-Lien,” said Mackey. “And please thank Chief Paul.” “I certainly will,” she said. “Have a pleasant day.” Her serene face faded and Lusci’s replaced it. “Who was /she?/” she asked sharply. Lusci pursed her lips and her pretty brow creased. “Are you cheating on me, Garvin?” Mackey blinked at her. “What?” She threw back her head and laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face.” “Serves me right for wanting you to develop a sense of humor,” he muttered. “Download the file, please, Lusci.” “In progress.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder as though she’d been tapped. “One of the files is red-flagged. Shall I read it over for you?” “Yes, please.” She blinked and he knew she was done. He sighed. Just what every man wants, a woman who thinks two-hundred times as fast as he does. “Summary?” “Please,” he nodded. “It’s in regards to a high-velocity burst message. It was sent twenty days ago by one of Donald Castor’s executive assistants from a secured terminal off of company grounds.” It must have taken something to get a hold of that record. Mackey considered the possibility that the authorities might have something more on Castor than they had shared with him. “Destination?” “It was received in Port Safi, New Tangiers, then re-routed to an unidentified target in the Romer Corridor. Intended recipient -- Suicide Jack.” His chest tightened. “Suicide Jack” was the nickname John Saeger had earned flying fighters for the Air Force in his younger days. “Content, Lusci?” “‘Might have company. Tell the kids to clean up their room.’” The words gave him a sudden, not-good feeling. “There was a response, Garvin. ‘In the neighborhood, will check in on them’.” “Oh Jesus,” whispered Mackey. He leaned back in his seat and tried to concentrate. Twenty days ago would place the message just hours after Virgil Weller’s meeting with Castor. It seemed logical to assume that the one had prompted the other. This confirmed the fact that Captain Saeger was working for Castor and that he was aware of the illegal mining operation. The good news was that that made him an accessory to the crime and a valuable witness when they made it to court. The bad news was that if the expedition hadn’t already been discovered there was now an increased chance that it would be when the chartered ship reached orbit. It could mean that the evidence-gathering mission might have to be aborted, or given their last experience with Castor, it could mean worse. “Lusci, I need the nearest location of a high velocity terminal.” “There’s a PostNet at 810 Dry Creek Road,” she replied. “Is there anything else in the priority file?” “Yes, sir,” said Lusci. “I have confirmation of a funds transfer from an account at First Lunar to an account downside in the name of Virgil Weller.” “Who owns the paying account?” Mackey was sure he already knew, he just wanted to hear that he was wrong. “It’s registered to Selma Torrance. The address is a PO Box, the phone number is an answering service and--” “That’s alright,” he said, though it was far from it. “I know who she is. How much was transferred?” “Fifty thousand dollars.” She said it the same way a person would say “fifty cents”. It wasn’t that she was unaware that it was great deal of money, it was just that she had little reason to be impressed. Programs had no use for money, though Mackey wondered if more intelligent ones like Lusci ever wished for things that money could buy. Sure could do with a brand new case or a bigger block of memory. Regardless, he bought her things all the time. He needed a woman. Bad. That aside, it was a lot of money, but not A Lot of Money. For Marlene Castor it didn’t represent much more than a weekend shopping spree. It was, however, the limit for transactions that wouldn’t automatically be marked for a double check. More would have had some keyboard jockey at the bank confirming and remarking and contacting both parties. If Virgil Weller was borrowing money from Marlene it was an amount she could move through her private, mostly-off-the-record account without drawing attention. That would have made more sense if she didn’t have so many reasons to not give him money. Virgil talked to Castor. Talking to Castor made him nervous. He talked to Castor and all of a sudden Marlene was giving him money. “Lusci, when did the transfer take place?” “March fifteenth, downside time,” she replied. He did the math. Two days after Virgil had met with Donald Castor; less than three days after he’d opened Graham Weller’s old storage cell. “She paid him off,“ he said. His voice sounded strange, incredulous. Once again things were going on of which he was neither certain nor fond. “I believe Mr. Fenster is trying to get your attention.” Mackey had almost forgotten he was there. He turned the volume back up. “Go ahead, Lonnie.” “We’ve got a spot of bad here, Mack.” Fenster sounded out of breath. “Yes we do.” “Have a peep.” Lusci glanced over her shoulder again. “Displaying image.” Mackey scowled. The picture taking up half the screen was of a sleek, shining limousine. Virgil Weller stood on the sidewalk, well out of arms’ reach of the pretty redhead in the rearmost window. “You got it?” asked Fenster. “That is bad.” “Guess you did, then.” His heart hammered and Mackey was beginning to sweat despite the cool air blowing on him from the vents in the dashboard. He had a bad feeling. As a cop it had never been his way to rely on hunches, but experience had taught him. If it feels bad, it probably is. “Fenster, do not let him get in that car.” “Maybe she wants to make up.” Fenster made loud kissing noises in his ear. “She’s the enemy, Lawrence,” said Mackey. “If he gets in that car we might lose our one and only chance at solving this.” Mackey bounced a little in his seat as he started the car. “Two bruisers getting out of the limo. Looks like they’re going to grab him, Mack.” “Get to him first, Lonnie.” Countless hours of subtle observation had suddenly turned to this. This was not subtle and this was not good. “He’s rabbiting.” “Where are you?” “32nd and Limbaugh, moving toward the center of town.” “I’m on the way.” He pulled into traffic and made a quick u-turn, heading out from the center of town. Over the headset, tires squealed and Mackey winced. The speed limits on Terra-luna were very specific and very well enforced for a reason. Narrow streets and tight turns made even the sparse traffic in the satellite city prone to collision. “Shit, he ran between buildings.” “Can you fit?” Mackey could hear the smirk in his voice as he replied. “That’s what she said.” He was ten minutes away at the very best and praying that Fenster would reach Virgil Weller first and somehow manage to talk the man into the car before Marlene Castor’s muscle caught up with them. “Virge! Buddy!” Fenster hollered. “Get your ass in the car!” That sort of tact was hard to hire these days. The sound of squealing tires and impact came so fast that Fenster didn’t even have time to curse. Mackey swerved around the cab in front of him and floored it. “Fenster!” he shouted into the microphone. “What the hell just happened?” The line was silent for a long time before Fenster let out a low moan followed by a muttered “goatfucker”. “Fenster?” “Sorry, Mack,” Fenster replied weakly. “They sank our battleship.”
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