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The Enterprise Gate Station welcomed Exit Wound with little fanfare. A flash of light, a burst of gamma rays and Hawking radiation served as the only announcement. Undaunted by the lack of notice, the ship nestled into the local holding pattern exactly like a dozen others did every fifteen minutes. The arrival of a warship wearing the obvious scars of a recent battle raised a few curious eyebrows, though not much else occurred to mark the event as interesting.
Roland Tankowicz and his team wasted no time in disembarking. Lucia Ribiero kept to his right, sharp eyes dancing from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face while millions of nanomachines in her brain parsed the infinite details of their surroundings into discreet categories. Roland trusted her to spot trouble long before he did. Her bionic brain excelled at these tasks, and he had learned to sit back and let it work. She had dressed for work, wearing snug pants and a fitted shirt suitable for combat. He did not bother pretending not to notice how the outfit accentuated her athletic curves. Roland might have taken a clandestine moment to enjoy the view if the pistol on her hip were not there to shatter the mood. To his left, a tiny blond woman of ludicrous proportions moved with a tense bounce in her step. A pistol and a long dagger rode on either side of her belt, and despite her obvious good looks, the pretty face wore an expression of pure feral focus that Roland had learned to take seriously. In an instant, that voluptuous frame, proudly displayed by her tight blue armored jumpsuit, could explode into a living tornado of violence and death. Having the galaxy’s premier assassin on the team was often convenient, though Roland found Mindy’s personality to be grating at best and infuriating at worst. To the rear, a young man kept pace with the group. His own mask of wary tension stayed firmly in place, a tight-lipped frown to match the others. With his long dark long hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and his casual clothes, Manuel Richardson might have been any other tired traveler making his way through Enterprise Station. Roland could feel the young man’s intensity, though. Manny had been down this road many times as a scout for Venusian separatists. Moving valuable contraband through a hostile urban environment was the sort of thing he had trained for long before most other boys learned to ride a bicycle. Roland realized that Manny might be the only member of the group who had practical experience in this kind of operation, and he kicked himself for not giving the young man point for this piece of the operation. As it stood, Manny had the unenviable task of keeping their VIP from wandering off or getting killed.
To call Dr. Connor Freeman a fish out of water strained the very concept of metaphor to the breaking point. Until recently he had enjoyed a peaceful existence as a senior scientist for the Prospectors. Because he grew up in that selfsame enclave of fanatical pacifist scientists, the shuffling academic possessed no experience or context for the greater universe of violence and excess he now found himself a part of. His expression oscillated between complete wonder and unfettered horror at a frequency that risked spraining his facial muscles. A man who had never even seen a weapon just one week prior marveled at the garrison soldiers and the arrayed ordinance strapped to their hips or slung across their backs. The cold ill humor of massed humanity, punctuated with brisk shoves and rude glares made him shrink, even as his naked gawking irritated those around him. Manny kept a hand on his shoulder, guiding Freeman through the crowd in the wide wake left by Roland’s girth. Every so often, Manny would tug at the jacket when Freeman’s pace slowed so he could take in some new wonder or assess a fresh horror. Freeman started each time, shaking his head like a surprised cat, and then continue his shuffling walk with eyes glued to the expansive back of Roland Tankowicz.
Mercifully, the trek to receiving was a quick one. Flanked by a contingent of Privateers known as “The Rejects,” all obstacles dissolved into empty air before the intimidating quartet. The four rough-looking mercenaries formed a glowering wedge around their charges, knifing from the airlock to the receiving and customs areas with no courtesy wasted on the needs of other travelers. The entire journey passed with little more drama than the occasional perfunctory shove and an air of poorly restrained menace. Those haughty passengers taking umbrage at the rude treatment wisely chose to log their complaints via InfoNet and not with the soldiers themselves. At the VIP receiving station, they found two uniformed soldiers seated behind a screened panel. Despite their looks of boredom, each wore a sidearm and sat within easy reach of a rack containing conspicuously clean mag rifles. The Privateer manning the kiosk scowled up at the group and barked, “Orders?”
Their squad leader, a strikingly handsome man, smiled back at the bored sergeant. “Lieutenant Will Patton on VIP escort, Sarge. The boss is still on board, so we got stuck with the babysitting detail. Moving a hot asset that needs prime priority and maximum discretion.”
“Authorization?”
“Varsity Prime, zero-zero-zero.”
The sergeant looked up, no longer bored and no longer laconic. “I’ll need that verified, Lieutenant.”
“Open the screen, then,” Patton said.
The sergeant made a show of releasing the retention arm on his holstered sidearm before keying the clear panel open. He rested his hand on the butt of his pistol without taking his eyes off Patton. Roland approved. Even Pike’s desk jockeys kept themselves squared away.
Patton extended his hand. Between two fingers he held out a thin black cylinder no longer than three inches. He smiled. “Encoded to Pike’s personal identicator, Sarge.” The sergeant reached out with a tentative hand, as if afraid to even touch the device. When his fingers closed over the data stick, Patton held on for second, preventing the man from taking it. Their eyes met, and Patton’s voice went cold and flat. “I’ll need that back promptly, Sergeant. Copy?”
“Of course, sir,” the man said. He did not stammer, though his voice wobbled just enough to be noticeable. Patton released the data stick, and his grin returned. A quick swipe of the stick across a terminal sent the sergeant’s eyebrows upward. He looked up to Patton, then over to another soldier directly to his right. “Swanson, you have the desk. I’ll get this group stowed; you scrub the logs while I’m gone. Copy?”
“Copy,” said the man. “Will you need escort?”
The sergeant handed the data stick back to Patton. “Negative. Lieutenant Patton here has the escort detail, and more uniforms won’t be any help. Run covert overwatch, though. All the way to Section Eleven.”
“Copy that,” said Swanson. His fingers danced across his terminal. “Running silent and deep to eleven.” Swanson looked at Patton and gave a curt nod. “We’ll scrub the decks clean, sir. Just get to eleven.”
“Copy that,” Patton said. “What’s in deck eleven?”
“Secure quarters, comms blackout, and asset storage.”
“Good,” replied Patton. “That’s what we’ll need. Lead on, Sarge.”
The sergeant rose and gestured for the group to follow. As one, they resumed their formation and fell in line behind him. “Is that the asset?” the sergeant said, gesturing to Roland and the black box he carried. The seven-and-a-half-foot cyborg clutched the case containing the memory core of the late Captain John Chapman under one arm. Even beneath the sleeve of his jacket, the thick muscles bulged, betraying a tension he could not conceal behind his impassive scowl.
“It’s part of it. The scientist is the other part.”
“Copy,” said the sergeant. “Is it ordnance? Any special storage considerations I need to know about?”
“No.” The single syllable rumbled from deep in Roland’s chest. There would be no further questions.
“Copy,” the sergeant repeated with a perfunctory nod. “Let’s go.”
They walked. After several tense seconds, Lucia could take no more. “Relax,” she whispered to Roland. She blew the magenta stripe of hair off her forehead and patted Roland on the arm. “We are well ahead of them. Even if they relayed messages ahead of us, we are surrounded by mercenaries and on Pike’s home turf. Stop squeezing that thing like it’s going to disappear.”
“This is the most dangerous part, Lucy,” he replied. The space seemed to close in around them once they left the vaulted ceilings and open areas of receiving and customs. Moving to the tighter confines of the transit tunnels should have made them all feel better, but the close quarters of the access corridors reminded Roland of livestock being marched to the slaughterhouse. “OmniCorp will have every operative on their payroll looking to steal this from us.” His jaw flexed with certainty. “We’re going to get hit. I feel it.”
“Then we’ll just need to hit back,” said Mindy to his right. Though her chipper tone and thick country drawl made the declaration uncomfortably cheery, anyone who knew her understood the effect was artificial.
From the rear, Manny shook his head at her comment. “Please, Mindy. This is not a running gunfight anymore. We are well into the realm of espionage now. Rules are different, tactics are different. Roland is right to be nervous.”
“Manny gets it,” Roland rumbled. “I’ll fight anyone you care to put in front of me, but...” He looked left and right, seeing ghosts and assassins in every alcove and around every intersection. His frown deepened. “This isn’t a fight anymore. Goddammit, I’m not built for this shit.”
“I am,” said Manny. “Feels a little too familiar, if I’m being honest.”
Lucia nodded. “Then you’re on point, Manny. What do we need to look for?”
“Every shadow, every unfamiliar face, every out-of-place element. OmniCorp will be using freelancers and deep-cover assets to track us. When they think we’re ripe, they’ll move on the football.”
“The what?” said Mindy.
“It’s an old term,” Roland answered. “It means any important item that more than one side in a conflict wants to possess.”
“These references make no sense.” The remark appeared rhetorical, and Roland wisely declined to explain the origin of the term. Lucia shook her head as if to clear it. “But whatever. Is the ‘football’ the memory core or Dr. Freeman?”
“The core,” Manny replied without hesitation. “Freeman is merely a target of opportunity.”
“What?” stammered the scientist.
“Sorry, Doc,” chirped Mindy with a bright smile. “They’re not gonna want you back. They just need you quiet.”
“You mean...?”
“What the fuck did you think was going to happen?” Roland grunted. “The only thing they are worried about is you blabbing on the record to DECO or some other agency. Can’t do that if you’re dead.”
“They wouldn’t!”
Roland turned his head to look down on Freeman with a single glowering eye. Whether it was the tension of the unfamiliar situation or his frustration with Freeman’s obtuseness that put the snarl in his voice, no one could say. Nevertheless, his anger at so stupid a statement coated his reply with derision. “They murdered an eighty-year-old woman, Freeman. Wise up.”
“Oh my...” Freeman whispered. “But I’ve already been debriefed by DECO, why would killing me matter now?”
“DECO is going to want you to testify before the Planetary Council,” Lucia said. “Prospector autonomy has always annoyed the integrated systems, and if that memory core has any evidence of Prospector wrongdoing, they’re going to use it and you to build a case for creating a multi-system coalition to bring them all to heel. How much bad acting have the Prospectors been up to, Dr. Freeman? How much will be in those stolen memories?”
“Oh my,” Freeman repeated. “Oh, dear.”
“Exactly,” Lucia said. “This runs much deeper than new Gate tech or the murder of an old woman.” The group slowed to listen to Lucia. Her voice took on the faraway distracted tone of someone thinking and talking at the same time. “OmniCorp is playing too hard, and Gateways is rising to the bait too easily. I don’t buy it. I’m trying to find the right threads, but...” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I just can’t get there from here.”
“Are we getting jerked around, boss?” Mindy asked.
“Aren’t we always?” was Lucia’s cryptic answer. “My little friends up here,” she pointed to her head, “won’t let it lie. Everyone is acting strange, and I need to know why.”
“Then we’ll have to find out, then,” Roland said. “Step one is getting the data from this memory core before OmniCorp steals it back.”
Their path took the group deep into the garrison area of the station. The further from the reception deck they traveled, the quieter the halls became. Soon the constant stream of travelers thinned to a trickle. Once they were beyond customs and the main concourse, the group descended into the bowels of the station where few travelers ever ventured. The motley array of humanity in transit fizzled to nothing in short order. Roland’s team soon found the oppressive crush of travelers replaced with the gruff bustle of soldiers and guards at their leisure. Pike’s Privateers were the contracted security detail for the station and had been since it’s construction. The familiar uniforms and military comportment of the people they passed calmed Roland’s nerves, though Freeman’s agitation took on a noticeable air of panic.
The largest of the Rejects, a hulking man named Barton “Bubba” Riley snickered. “Don’t worry, Doc. We won’t let no one hurt ya.”
“Thank you?” It was clear Freeman did not know if Riley joked or not.
The big mercenary shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Fucking pansy.”
“Stow it, Bubba,” Lucia barked. “Not the time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bubba replied with an even bigger eye roll.
“Through here,” said their guide, gesturing to a double sliding door marked “SECURE QUARTERS” in glowing green letters. “There will be VIP accommodations in here, as well as hardened storage for material assets.” He pointed to a flat black panel. “Palm scan here. It will only open for you and select personnel once you’ve done so.”
The sergeant waited while each member of the group scanned their palm. Roland noticed that Manny scanned his left palm. The smooth white of his prosthetic looked strange against the black of the scanner. Roland’s brow furrowed, but Lucia poked him with an elbow before he could say anything. Confused, Roland said nothing. When it was his turn to scan, Roland shrugged and waved an enormous palm before the sergeant’s face. “No DNA to codelock, Sarge.” He wiggled his fingers. “Skin is armor mesh.”
The sergeant blew a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you special?” he said with admiration. “You got retinas?”
“Yeah.”
“Not as secure, but it’ll have to do, I guess. Look into the screen.” Roland peered into the screen and waited. A green light flashed twice; then a chime indicated the scan was complete. “Okay, big guy. That’ll be the only way for you to open that door, so if you find yourself in a hurry, you might be out of luck.”
“If I find myself in a hurry,” Roland replied, “you can bet your ass the lock won’t be an issue.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” the sergeant mumbled. “I took the desk job here to avoid this kind of bullshit too.” The door slid open, revealing an open area with tables and terminals. “This is the rec area for you guys. It’s not much, but it has food, showers, beds, and InfoNet. I’ll go confirm with the commandant the protocol for the rest of your stay, but my orders are to keep you here pretty much no matter what.” His gaze went to Roland, towering over even the largest Reject. “I’m going to just ask you politely to do that, all right Mr. Armored Skin?”
“I’m happy to sit here,” Roland said with a shrug. He pointed to Mindy. “It’s her you gotta convince.”
“I don’t see why I have to hide here,” Mindy said. “I figured I’d check in with the Lodge and scan the boards to see if we’re up on them yet.”
“You can check the boards from in here, Mindy,” Lucia said, her tone brooking no arguments. “I doubt they require your physical presence.”
“They don’t,” Manny said, earning himself a glare from Mindy. He feigned innocence. “What? Did you forget I have a Lodge card too?”
Mindy breezed through the doorway with an irritated huff. “It’s kinda easy to forget considering how pitiful your numbers are.”
“Inside, kids,” Lucia sighed. Manny and Mindy swept inside, Manny dragging Freeman like an afterthought while still bickering with Mindy. Roland waited for Lucia, who turned back to Patton. “Will, I assume you are heading back to the garrison?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Patton. “We’ve been assigned to your group for the duration, but you’re safe enough here that we have time to check in with the quartermaster for resupply and refit. When we are done there, we’ll be taking shifts guarding the door.”
“Fucking guard duty,” groused Bubba. “Shit.”
“Stow it, Riley,” barked Patton.
“They don’t even need no guarding! The LT can handle whatever, plus they got that assassin, the tech kid, and the big ugly one already.” He gestured to each in turn. Roland did not even have the energy to bristle at being called “the big ugly one.” He simply stared at Bubba, who whined, “It’s not like we add much. It’s a waste of manpower.”
Tom Winston shook his head. “Bubba’s just mad that we aren’t going to get any rec time on-station. He says Enterprise has the best strip clubs in all of space.”
“’Cuz it does. And don’t act like you don’t wanna go, neither.” The conviction in Bubba’s voice made Roland suspect that the big mercenary had made a thorough study of the topic.
Patton confirmed this suspicion with a throaty laugh. “You two creeps would be the experts, I suppose. Come on, Bubba. Mary and I will take the evening rotation so you and Winner can go spend all your pay on women who would never otherwise give you the time of day. Just don’t get drunk, arrested, or engaged, okay? And for the love of God, no fighting with the locals.”
Bubba’s face brightened. “Shit? Really! Thanks, Will!” He slapped Winston on the shoulder with a meaty paw, and the two turned to stalk down the corridor with what could only be described as childlike glee.
Lucia raised an eyebrow at their retreating backs. “That’s mighty nice of you, Will. But now what about your evening?” To Roland’s practiced ear, it sounded like Lucia had some suspicions of her own about Patton’s motives.
Patton smiled his most devastating schoolboy grin. Roland was unaffected, but he had seen that kind of grin shred the inhibitions of women across multiple star systems. Patton stepped close to Lucia, putting Roland’s girth between himself and Mary, still disassembling her rifle in a corner. Satisfied that Mary could not see him, Patton jerked his chin in her direction and whispered. “Well, LT, now that Bubba and Winner are going to be out killing time with women they have no chance with...” His eyebrows waggled.
“You cad!” Lucia said, her eyes sparkling. “I guess you’ll be stuck here all alone with Mary all night, huh?” Roland felt that Lucia was speaking a touch too loud for secrecy, and he figured this was intentional.
Sure enough, the sniper looked up at the sound of her name. “What’s up, ma’am?”
“Just sorry to hear you got stuck with the night shift.”
Mary sniffed and slung her rifle with a shrug of one shoulder. “I don’t mind. Off-shifts pay extra, and I get to look at Pretty Boy’s ass all night.”
Patton winked at Lucia, then stepped around Roland. He fixed Mary with his best attempt at stern disapproval. “That’s hardly appropriate, Sergeant.”
“Neither is that ass, Lieutenant.”