Latest installment is completed in a new post because of word limits in threads.
steve
Chapter Eighteen: In and Out
The hours passed in a blur of writhing flesh and steins of the robust local ale. Max kept half an ear on the protean mood of the crowd as waves of new, sober arrivals off-shift, jostled into the drunken mix. The atmosphere was equal parts alcohol fumes and frustration leavened by the lingering sweetness of baby-oil. Max balanced carefully on the edge of sobriety, with a constant supply of snack protein and a stim Jackson produced between sets fighting the alcohol flooding his blood.
“Power for your probe!” Jack winked, equally aware of the shifting mood, but unconcerned.
“It’s the Frontier, Max, and a three to one guy/chick ratio. What did you expect? Relax and enjoy it.”
Max switched to imported whisky and tried.
A man’s roar, a woman’s sharp scream, a muffled crack. He stared dumbly at the shattered stem of his glass before his instincts kicked in. Both dived and rolled to their knees simultaneously, weapons held in a two fisted grip, covering the bar in wide, sweeping arcs that seemed to repel the fringe of the crush like a physical force.
Baby-Face rose from a tangled mass of bodies holding a lightly built man by the scruff as he pounded a huge, meaty fist into a face bloodily crumpling. Crack, snap crack. A firearm slipped from his hand and was quickly lost to panicked, kicking feet.
Those nearby swirled away in panic, tangling with the eddying crowd, two fronts colliding in a tornado of upturned tables and shattered glass. More screams and the guttural counter-roar of men who finally had what they really came for.
Not the drink, not the women, just an excuse.
Within seconds Max and Jack stood forgotten in their own swept circle as fists flew and furniture shattered over bodies collapsing pole-axed. Jackson’s gun vanished in an ostentatious whirl. Max followed suit as their erstwhile assassin sailed over their heads to crash motionless against the stage.
Jackson took one quick glance to assure himself the man was going nowhere, jerked his head at the mass brawl engulfing the bar and asked with sparkling eyes and a wolfish grin.
“Shall we?”
Max nodded, his own smile, feral, as the wrangle extended a roiling tongue towards them. With an exuberant yell they hurled themselves into the morass, fists flailing.
A klaxon cut through the melee, a discordant shriek that for a fraction of second froze the free-flowing brawl into a static diorama of cocked fists and brandished, improvised weaponry. Max froze too, taking a hit to the face before felling the bearded drunk with a solar plexus jab followed by a right hook.
“The Feds, Max!” Jackson shouted above the chaos, discarding the shattered remnants of a chair. “Got a pick-up!!” He gestured towards the stage. Max fought through the tide of bodies now sweeping towards the two exits, where he glimpsed white helmets and the first flash of a stun-stick, then another.
Someone set of a gas grenade in the middle of the bar, a distinctive crack and a renewed, inchoate panic, every man for himself in the rush to escape both the law and the choking white cloud. Jackson’s minder stumbled through the haze, club fists flailing blindly.
“Come on Max, get with the program!” Jackson yelled, grabbing an arm of the would-be assassin. Slinging the unconscious man between them they hurried towards the serving bar, Jackson clearing the way with broad sweeps of his sidearm.
They bundled the body over the bar and vaulted after it. Jackson rapped a staccato code on a back panel as tendrils of gas wisped around them. It swung inwards and they stumbled through into a brightly lit corridor, rendered prismatic by stinging, streaming eyes. Jackson slammed the door shut and leaned wearily against it, slipping slowly to the floor. Max joined him, trying to blink clear his vision.
As Jackson did not react, he ignored the blurred figure approaching.
“Relax guys.” A low female voice said. “This will hurt, a lot.”
A hiss and a gritted teeth curse from Jackson. Warm fingers lifted his chin and a spray jetted his eyes, burning away the contaminant. Max choked down the brief moment of pain and blinking away the tears, levered himself to his feet using Jackson’s proffered arm.
“You’re welcome.” The woman snapped, forestalling delay.
She was short, with jet-black hair, cut into geometric sharp frame for a face in the very last bloom of what once must have been a spectacular beauty. Dark, almond eyes, even more distinctive than the Argon norm, glinted with urgency.
“Grab that guy, you know the way Jack.”
Max grabbed pair of ankles and followed Jackson’s lead down the curving panelled corridor.
“And Inspector Herveaux is here.” She finished.
They exchanged small, knowing smiles as they bundled the unconscious man through a door into a large private lounge, an incongruous blend of ersatz Frontier, all dark wood-reconstitute and heavy, scarlet-liveried furnishings, and modern technology in the form of the latest multi-media display, dominating one wall.
It showed a squad of white helmets following a short, shabby man down the corridor behind them. All wore small, clear filter masks over their eyes and nose.
A pair of men Max recognised as bar staff grabbed the dead-weight from them and hustled the body out the far exit.
“Max Force, Natima Kinshaya, Nat, Max.” Jack snapped, throwing himself onto the couch.
Following his cue Max took a chair and grabbed a large snifter of a dark spirit as the woman changed the display view.
Seconds later the riot squad burst into a scene of urbane tranquillity, Max delicately savouring the fumes of his gently swirled drink as his companions idly channel hopped, playfully countermanding each other’s voice commands.
“Ah, Chief Inspector Herveaux!” Jackson stood up as the man removed his mask. He grinned wickedly as his eyes went straight to the rank pips studding the lapels of the long, grubby rain-coat of the rotund little man blocking the entrance. Behind him four white-helmeted, uniformed officers milled uncertainly, stun-sticks at the ready and faces bright for a fight, behind the clear visors.
“Oh, I see it’s just plain old Inspector now.” One of the white helms did a poor job of suppressing a snigger. “You see, you shouldn’t go making allegations without the evidence to back it up.” Jackson finished, dead-pan.
“I had plenty of evidence, Jackson.” Herveaux appeared to swell as his face turned a faint shade of red, an irate blimp of a man. “Before you had it stol..” He stopped himself with visible effort. “Before it went missing.”
“Alleged evidence.” Jackson observed pedantically. “Now..”
“Boys, boys, let bygones be bygones.” The woman stood up and waved Herveaux into the room. “Come in boys. My, what big clubs you have, can I get you anything?”
“We are on duty Miss Kinshaya, another day another riot at the Big Easy. As you well know.” He indicated the big display screen, now showing some sort of cookery programme.
“I’m afraid I leave the quelling of minor high spirits to my staff.” Natima replied loftily. “Is there anything in particular I can do for you, perhaps a trip upstairs with one of my girls?”
She looked at him closely. “You do look a little tense! Perhaps showing me your warrant will alleviate some of the stress? These are my private quarters, not part of the licensed premises.”
“Warrants are not needed when in hot pursuit of suspects.” Herveaux snapped back. “These two, Jackson and Force were seen by eye witnesses coming through here.”
Natima cut short Jackson’s retort with a chop of her hand.
“These two.” She quoted icily, “Have been my guests here for some time, as I and many others can vouch. Perhaps your alleged eye-witnesses were confused by the riot gas your storm-troopers let off, in an enclosed space, in contravention of guidelines, I might add.”
“That was nothing to do we us, as you damn well know.” Herveaux said with quiet fury. “Jackson, Force. I am arresting you on suspicion of causing an affray, your rights will be outlined for you and representation provided by the processing officer. In the meanti..”
Jackson snorted with derision.
“You just ain’t going to rest until your old lady, say ‘Hi’ for me by the way, is fixing those there sergeants stripes on your arm are you? This is just a fishing expedition and you know it. Just like I know it was a police issue canister that caused all that chaos.”
He paused for a moment to allow Herveaux to catch up.
“And oh what trouble there would be if, say, the serial number traced back anywhere embarrassing, Sergeant - I mean – Inspector.”
Jackson let the implication sink in. Max watched the Inspector turn a deeper shade of purple.
“I’m watching you Jackson.” He managed finally to answer, with an effort mirrored in the mesmerising throb of a vein in his temple.
“And you, Force. I’ve got your number from the company you keep.”
Max smiled insouciantly.
“Just hanging out, Sergeant. With this charming lady and her companions.”
Natima mock curtsied.
“And I’m the Emperor of All the Split.” He spat the retort. “Got that bruise on your cheek from an errant canapé did we?”
Max touched the swollen lump on his cheek, noticing it for the first time.
“Girls play rough.” He shrugged. “What can I say?”
“Nothing big-shot, nothing at all. But I’m watching you and don’t you forget it!”
He held Max with a challenging stare.
“I don’t forget anything.” Max replied, with a quiet chill that instantly pervaded the room. “Something you would do well to remember.”
He put on his shades and stared back at Herveaux until he broke eye contact and withdrew with as much dignity as he could muster in the face of Natima’s mocking, tinkling, laugh.
“Don’t sweat it, Max.” Jackson said when he’d gone. “He’s just an asshole looking to make a big name for himself, just watch your back for tails.”
“If you say so Jack.” Max replied.
“Now, now boys.” Natima interrupted. “I don’t want to hear anything I don’t need to. What do you want me to do with the goon you dragged in, Jack?”
“Put him on ice for awhile, I’ll have some boys pick him up when the heat dies down a bit. Recognise him?”
She shook her head.
“No, he’s new, I think he’s been hanging around for a few days. Why the interest?”
“He took a shot at us, you’d better do a sweep for the weapon, I can run a few checks. Credits get you cahoona’s the stink goes back to Law. Max here has been royally pissing him off.”
“So I’ve heard.” Natima said with a dimpled smile as she extended a hand.
“Commander Force, it’s a pleasure.” She looked him up and down appraisingly. “I’m sure.”
Turning to Jackson she laughed.
“Oh Jack, I’ve made him blush! He’s just SO cute, can I keep him?”
“We’re just visiting Nat.” Jackson answered jocularly. “A quick in and out, you wouldn’t really enjoy it! We could do with a couple of rooms though, adjacent in case of trouble, and a wake-up call in, say, six hours?”
“Sure, Jack. You want company?”
Jack shook his head.
“Nah, I’ve got plans.” He threw Max a wink.
“And Max here has a big day ahead of him, or he would if this place had proper days and nights. That right Max?”
The room was dark, cool and comfortable, if somewhat lacking in sound-retardant.
Eventually he slept and dreamed the same, unquiet dreams.
------------
The wake-up call, delivered by Natima herself, bearing a fried breakfast of local mushrooms and thin, streaky slices of unweaned chelt, came too early for Max.
The hang-over was nothing but the images lingered, grinning corpses, spread-eagled on the cockpit, accusatory eyes, soundless, twitching lips. It took two refills of the coarse local java, bitter and harsh with a lingering after-taste that swooped between the metallic and the organic, before he felt well enough to endure Xela’s inevitable jibes.
He let her run on without comment until she lapsed into silence.
“Ready to do the business now?” He asked.
“I’ve been ready for hours.” She retorted. “All the details were on the chip. The antique is in a private storage facility on the other side of town, already loaded on a grav-sled. All you have to do is take it to the Data-Hub. You might want to clear it with them in advance. There’s a comm. in the corner I think.”
There was. Like a lot of frontier technology, it was an obsolescent cast-off, lacking even basic encryption or a direct link to universal networks. It did the job though and his name and fame proved to be wings that carried him soaring up the hierarchy of the Data-Hub planetary bureaucracy straight to an Assistant Director of Security, a young, lean-faced man whom it transpired, would be “honoured” to facilitate business with Force Securities.
“At your convenience Sir.”
Max consulted with Xela and said they’d be there in two hours.
“Argon hours, not local.”
“Of course, Commander. Please deliver the item to Entrance Twelve for security evaluation and processing. I will meet you there and take you through the procedures personally, and if I may say Sir, it’s a shame you aren’t doing any more gate runs, I won 6 months salary off my less adventurous colleagues!”
“Always great to meet a fan.” Max murmured as he cut the connection. “What is it with these people Zee, I’ve founded the first inter-stellar business empire for decades and waged a brutal and public war on one of the most feared clans in the universe, and what do they remember me for? Killing Xenon in a banned sport on prime time.”
Xela agreed.
“But when did you last have to pay for a drink or wonder where the next bimbo is coming from?” She added with, Max thought, unnecessary venom.
Without bothering to wake Jackson, Max loaded up a city map on Xela’s padd and set out to walk. The side-walk was broad and uncrowded and the route lined with what seemed a random mixture of residential, business and utility buildings. He guessed, from the flow of people in and out of buildings, that it was the middle of a work cycle.
Both suns were in the sky and it was hot. Hot and bright enough to make Max thankful for the Shades despite having to stop too often to wipe away a veneer of the fine white dust blowing in the warm breeze.
“We’re being followed. Zee.” He remarked after the third such stop. He turned and stooped to adjust a shoe, palming his gun and running a casual glance over the thick set man preternaturally absorbed with his data-padd.
“As a former professional, I’m insulted.” Xela snorted. “And look at that suit!”
“Perhaps they were clean out of ‘Undercover Cop At Work’ T shirts?” Max replied. “This place must be the dumping ground for every government screw-up in Argon space.”
Throwing the tail was simplicity itself.
Capital City had no private vehicles, or personal vehicles for hire, just the regular public transportation, small buses prowling the spokes and hubs of the city on anti-grav units that hummed in protest every time they traversed one of the badly repaired breaches in the route-way, left over from the irregular but damaging quakes that struck even the most stable zones of the gravity-ripped planet.
Max flagged down the first one that passed, got on and waited for his tail to jog breathlessly up before hitting the manual door over-ride. Grinning, he stated his destination co-ordinates and took a seat at the rear, taking care to politely wave goodbye to his shadow as the bus pulled away.
“Now that’s just rude.” Xela observed as the obscenely gesticulating figure dwindled into the distance.
The vehicle automatically adjusted it’s route, indicating on the Destination Display and projected an estimated time of arrival. There were only two other passengers, both men, both too hung-over, to judge by the all-pervading smell of sour alcohol, to pay him any attention. Max relaxed, keeping a careful eye on each new arrival. They were all either clean, or incomparably more skilled at surveillance than he expected anyone in this backwater to be.
Ten minutes later, the mixed use zoning of the city centre having given way to a conglomeration of low-rise manufacturing and mixed utility structures, mostly of local materials, the vehicle stopped and reminded him to disembark. With wishes for his long life and repeated custom ringing in his ears Max scanned the area.
A few colonists, going about normal business, a couple of Grav-sleds hauling sealed pods from grey, slab-like construction facilities, a pair of small creatures with way too many legs for his comfort, scavenging through unkempt waste-pens, nothing to trigger suspicion, if you discounted the mis-matched odour of hops and fungi pervading the area.
He followed Xela’s direction down a small through-way and entered the prescribed code on the keypad attached to the entrance she indicated. It was a small building, but part of a much larger complex that appeared to be the source of the smell.
The single large door, running the length of the street facing, slid grinding upwards and out of sight. The antique resequencer sat on an inactive Grav-sled, covered tight with a semi-opaque spray-wrap.
Two men, pointed guns at him from the rear shadows.
“Aw, relax, it’s that Force guy, I recognise him from the vid.” The smaller of the two shadows said. Both guns vanished and they stepped out from concealment.
“Max Force, it’s great to meet ya buddy!” The larger man, middle-aged with a waistline that suggested he and exercise of any description had long since ceased to be on speaking terms, stepped forward and hastily wiped his meaty hands down the front of a grease stained cover-all before sticking one out.
“Put it there guy! I saw you..”
“Yea.” Max cut in as he shook the extended paw. “You saw me gate-run in Black-Hole Sun, right.”
“Uhh, no.” the man replied, nonplussed. “You’re in the Financial Movers Special Report, ‘The Ten Most Likely Beings to Start a War.’ Only ranked third though.”
“I’ll try and do better.” Max replied dryly as Xela cackled in his ear. “Mr..?”
“No names, no pack-drill.” The second man interjected, his young pointed rodent face narrow with habitual suspicion as he scrutinised an image on his data-padd.
“Hired Goon One and Hired Goon Two.” Xela whispered, designating each in turn with a HUD target indicator.
“It’s him alright, at bloody last, now let’s get paid and laid. It’s all yours pal.”
Max reflexively caught the tossed control key.
He paused at the entrance and turned.
“You coming, Harvey?”
The big man wiped sweat from his brow.
“Coming Rizzo. You watch that thing Mr Force.” He indicated the grav-sled. “It pulls to the left and don’t take no bumps good.”
With that the pair disappeared into the street.
“You know Max.” Xela said finally. “Your friend Jackson really should get some better help. Present company excepted of course.”
Max nodded rueful agreement.
By the time Max piloted the Grav-sled through the stress fractured road network into the shadow of the brooding hulk of the Data-Hub, the bucket seat had gone from being uncomfortable to a being a literal pain in the ass.
It had also begun to rain, big, oily drops that left iridescent trails down his leather coat and left him wondering what mark-up the market for bottled water would stomach.
The Data-Hub was a style unto itself, a large block structure, obsidian and smooth, making no concessions to local sensibilities, designs or materials. Set at the heart of the small city, it was a brooding, alien presence linking it and the planet to the universe of information that weaved the disparate sectors into a single, economic whole.
It looked as impregnable as it was. A proven design, immune from assault and impervious to guile.
“You sure this is going to work, Zee?” Max asked nervously.
“My readings show the shadow-skin is functioning as required.” She answered. “But my sensors are blind compared to the security systems this pig has but all my simulations say you’ll be fine. I’m switching off now to avoid triggering anything loud and cacophonous, let me know how things go! ”
Swallowing nervously Max removed the shades and followed the directions of one of the bored but heavily armed guards at the Main Entrance, to Entrance Twelve.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was huge, two sliding panels, almost six metres high and almost as pitch as the obsidian walls, the vertical split almost invisible in the weather-faded light. Four people waited, two of them security guards, sexless in their body armour and mirror visored helms.
“Commander Force, so pleased to meet you! Mr Moru, ADS, we spoke earlier. Call me Cal.”
Max shook the outstretched hand of the Assistant Director, Moru’s grip was forced, an assertion of self-doubted manhood. Max smiled to himself and then extended it to embrace Moru.
“You seem a little young to be an AD, Cal. High flier, I bet? Can we get out of the rain?”
“Sure. Here, let us take over.” Moru clicked fingers at a suited functionary hovering, dwarfed in the shadow of the entrance. Max ceded the Grav-sled to the young woman as Moru continued.
“Yes Sir, soaring! A couple of years in this back-water and then who knows?”
“Who knows indeed?” Max agreed. “But I’m counting on you to keep my baby safe.”
He patted the spray-wrapped resequencer affectionately.
“There’s nothing to worry about Commander, these places are all but impregnable. And I’m working on the ‘all but’ bit!” Moru answered confidently as they approached the locked down entrance.
“I like that can-do attitude Cal. When you’ve finished your contract here, you look me up and see how many noughts I can add to the salary of the right people.”
Moru stood a little taller and almost preened.
“I may well take you up on that sir.” He nodded as one of the two body-armoured security guards stepped forward, a holstered blaster slapping ostentatiously on his thigh. His companion remained by the entrance controls, watching observantly.
“Outer perimeter, Commander. Security begins here if you don’t mind.”
The guard produced a scanning wand as Max remembered, with a gut-wrenching realisation, the small firearm in his boot. The scanner beeped alarmingly before his stomach had finished it’s fall.
The second guard dropped into a marksman crouch, covering him with a double-gripped sidearm as the first drew his own. The woman piloting the sled froze.
‘So much for undetectable, thanks Jack.’ He thought as he stepped back with his hands in the air and what he hoped was a disarming smile on his face.
“Relax guys, a little self-protection oversight, it’s in my right boot here.”
The guards showed no sign of relaxing and Moru had his own weapon out now, a small silver derringer, expensively ostentatious. Max remained still as he inched forward in a crouch and nervously fumbled the concealed weapon from his boot.
He stood back and examined the small blaster closely, hefting it gently to assess the mass, breathing a little wildly.
“Hmmn, a custom job Commander. You’ve been dabbling in the black market here, I’ve seen these before and realigned our defences to catch them.”
Unsmiling now he raised a querulous brow.
“Someone shot at me last night, I needed protection.” Max offered, attempting to assess escape options using only his peripheral vision as he held Moru with a steady, innocent, gaze.
The Assistant Director slipped the weapon into a jacket pocket.
“Yes, I read a report on that this morning. Inspector Herveaux doesn’t like you Commander. He considers people of your colourful background and connections a permanent threat to public order.”
Moru thought for a second and sheathed his own gun in a small, under-arm holster.
“It’s the big trees that attract the axe. Who do you suspect, Law?”
From the corner of his eye Max saw the closest guard catch the shifting mood and relax slightly.
“You’re well-informed Cal. There’s a lot of spilt blood between us, so who else?”
Moru grimaced and rubbed his chin in thought, nodding his head slightly, as if in conversation with himself.
“Okay Commander.” He said finally. “Possession of an illegal firearm is a serious offence.”
Max measured the distances to the two guards, his combat training kicking in as his body slipped into a relaxed, poised, readiness. One step left and a round-house kick to the temple then three strides and a wrist kick to the weapon hand.
“However, until a test case goes through, legally speaking these things aren’t necessarily classified as firearms and only a fool would attempt to penetrate a Hub with a glorified pea-shooter. We’ll put this down to an honest mistake as you’re new around here, stand down men.”
Max cautiously lowered his hands as the two guards reluctantly holstered their weapons.
“But I’ll have to keep this you understand.”
He arced Max’s gun towards a guard, who plucked it from the air without breaking his mirror stare.
“Yea, sure, I’m so used to packing it just slipped my mind.” Max answered, dry mouthed.
“You owe me one, Commander.” He said quietly, the phrase, pointed. “Open up boys.”
In turn, the two guards inserted key-cards into the control panel, neither flinching as a red laser scanned retina patterns and the door split open, sliding into the castle-thick walls with a silence that belied their bulk.
“Wait here.” Moru ordered, “Security Ring Two. Nothing gets through without a full spectral scan, we upgraded the sensors only last week.”
Max crossed his fingers in a coat pocket, hoping that the shadow-tech would fool the new security scanners. He drifted casually behind the sergeant operating the scan, gauging how quickly he could seize his weapon if things went awry.
When the alarm went off, a low but imperative buzz, accompanying a small flashing yellow light on the scanner control panel, Max stiffened and straightened a hand into a rigid, chopping blade, visualising the swift, disabling blow.
He need not have worried. Moru brusquely usurped the security station post, took in the readings and terminated the alarm.
“Barely a micro-volt sergeant, these old things have something called ‘circuit pathways’, they degrade without a trickle charge. Is that not right Sir?”
Max shrugged. “Don’t know much about them Cal, it’s just an investment. You seem pretty well informed about antiques. A collector?”
“No Sir, ASD’s aren’t THAT well paid, I just took the liberty of informing myself on the topic. You’ll find the storage bay temperature and humidity settings are optimal.”
Pride under-pinned his tone. Max clapped him on the shoulder as the resequencer was transferred to a Hub grav-sled.
“Attention to detail, Cal. I like that in my employees, I’m going to keep an eye on you. What does an ASD pull down? Ball-park?”
Max chuckled supportively at the answer.
Moru put his own data-padd through a scanner and asked Max to do the same. He complied, confident Xela’s security routines could mask it’s more specialised features from the scanner.
“Just one more thing Commander, retina and DNA scans. Your vault lock is keyed to your biometrics and the place is littered with roving sniffers. Your DNA doesn’t fit and you’re in a whole heap of trouble.”
“So once I’m on file the sensors will ignore me?” Max asked.
Moru laughed. “No Commander, that wouldn’t be very secure would it? I’ve set validity for one hour, Argon standard. That should be plenty of time to get your baby bedded down.”
Moru produced a small medical scanner and Max nodded permission.
With the results uploaded into the security system they followed the resequencer on it’s pre-programmed journey through a succession of identical, tall, slab-grey corridors and down an elevator into the bowels of the Data-Hub. He didn’t even try to memorize the turns, suspecting that the disorienting path was part of the security protocols
At intervals, slab-like hexagonal doors, watched over by attentive guards and even more alert sensors blocked the way.
“No-one gets in, no-one gets out.” Moru said smugly as the passed through the fifth such checkpoint. “Last one.”
From that point the corridor broadened and wound it’s way down like a cork-screw past an irregular succession of vaults distinguished only by the three digit code emblazoned on the exterior plating. At the bottom would be the Data-Core, the conduit for a flood of information, a torrent of massively encrypted data-bits that was the lifeblood of the Argon Federation and a river binding it to the universe economy.
They were almost there, in sight of the massive Core blast doors bisecting the corridor, when the grav-sled pivoted smartly and settled into a hover outside Vault B126.
“No guards?” Max asked, nodding down the long final stretch of corridor to the Core entrance chamber. He knew the answer from Xela’s detailed briefing but it didn’t hurt to check.
“No sentients in the vaults Commander, they’re just living, breathing, potential security risks. If the sensors detect unauthorised access security floaters will be on the scene in seconds. Your antique will be completely secure.”
“Seems so.” Max said, trying to sound pleased.
Moru guided Max through the security activation protocols, keying the lock to his code, voice and retina scan.
“Now, no-one except you can gain access.” Moru stated as Max keyed in his security code and unlocked. “Except for the senior management and then only with a court order. We understand that some clients have, shall we say, privacy needs.”
“They do.” Max agreed, standing aside to let the grav-sled slip into the vault.
“It’s the same locking mechanism both sides so don’t forget your codes.” Moru added.
The vault ceiling was lower than the outside corridor, under two metres high and the contrast was enough to uncomfortably remind Max he was on an earthquake ridden planet with un-numbered tons of rock and metal above and around him. The sled deposited the wrapped resequencer in the centre of the vault and withdrew.
The silence, after the thick vault door rolled back into place, sealing them into the stark metal-lined tomb, was acute enough for every stressed pulse of blood to hiss in his ears, loud and irritating.
“Restful isn’t it?” Moru observed. “I come down here sometimes, just to get away from the sounds of machinery. Do you have any questions before we sign off the deal, Commander?”
Max quizzed him closely on internal security measures. There were none, just half metre thick duranium walls. It simply was impossible for the unauthorised to penetrate this deep, evade the internal sensors or get past the locking mechanisms.
Max nodded approval at the answers, encouraging Moru to preen and he did not demur when Max requested privacy to inspect his prize investment.
Alone, he ran his finger down the seam of the opaque wrapping and it folded down to an encircling hoop. He took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship, both of the original artist, whose landscapes decorated the fascia, and Xela’s almost invisible modifications.
Abracadabra Zee.” He said as he scanned his vault with her padd.
“What is your wish O Wise Master?”
“There’s been some security upgrades, you might want to double-check things.”
“Good thinking Max, do a quick close-up of each wall, there should be data conduits built in that I’ll need to tap.”
Max complied, snapping off the scan abruptly as Moru returned.
“A beautiful piece.” He observed as Max resealed the antique. “Everything in order?”
“Everything seems fine.” Max answered. “You know where to send the account?”
Moru smiled. “Max’s Place, Scale Plate Green. I might deliver it in person.”
“You do that Cal.” Max agreed. “It’s quite a place, if you bring your credit chip and leave the partner behind!”
There were a few more formalities to complete but in ten minutes Max was on his way back to the Big Easy to discuss the list of extra requirements Xela had drawn up following her scan.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
“You’re kidding us, right Zee?” Max muttered angrily, glaring around the Big Easy private lounge as if looking for someone to punch out his frustration on.
“If I was kidding you Max, I’d trigger a neuro-toxin alert and watch you both soil yourselves. Saying I can’t get a handle on the data stream because the suppressor fields on the conduits in the vault plating have been upgraded is way too lame for me. Now I’ve had a chance to re-run my simulations with the updated scans it’s obvious my padd sensors just aren’t sensitive enough, even if you can fill my shopping list. That’s the problem boys, what’s the solution?”
“My people will have me a new-model Fractal Spectrum Analyser in a couple of hours they say, whatever that is. Apparently one was shipped to a Quake Monitoring Station a few weeks ago.” Jackson said.
“It extrapolates patterns of information from partial data based on n-space, field force equations derived from the Harant-Lorenz variant of the Unified Field Speculation.”
“Say what?”
“It’s magic, Jack, okay.” Xela answered, her tone ascerbic. “Just get it in case Mr Maverick Profile here has a flash of genius.”
“What about me? I might have a flash of genius too, if you explained things clearly!”
Something resembling a snort came from Xela’s data-padd.
Max grimaced in exasperation and swallowed another deep draught of beer, almost emptying the stein. Jackson refilled it as an uneasy silence settled on the lounge.
“Could you manage it if you were closer to the Core?” Max asked finally.
“I don’t believe so. The conduit shielding extends into the core itself. Get me in there and it will be no problem.”
“No problem?” Jackson’s scepticism was undisguised.
“Okay Jack, less of a problem, I was trying to fan the flames of optimism here!”
Jackson smiled, leaned back deep into the armchair and swirled his whisky chaser snifter before taking a small sip.
“Well that’s it then!” Max barely managed to stop himself from hurling his glass against the wall in exasperation. “Game, bloody over. You know the security, the instant I set foot outside the vault all hell will break loose, security floaters, armed and trigger happy guards and who knows what else shit!”
He chugged half the stein and then heaved it against the opposite wall in a comet tail of beer that missed splattering Jackson and Xela’s padd by inches. It hit with an unsatisfying, dull thump and fell to the floor unbroken.
“I bet you feel real better now, don’t you Max?” Xela said sarcastically. “Is this some new approach to problem-solving they’ve added to the Academy curriculum? We have to solve this Max, we need the ships those credits will buy and you throwing tantrums is not going to help!”
“Help? Help? Help like spending enough to buy a fully maxxed Piranha on a piece of old junk? You said..”
“I said, I said!” Xela cut in shouting, the polyphonic speaker crackling on the edge of feedback. “If you…”
“I know how you can get into the Core.” Jackson interjected softly.
There was an instance of complete silence before both protagonists turned on him.
“What?” Xela and Max cried simultaneously.
“I said I know how you can get inside the Core.” He repeated. “But you really are not going to like it!”
------------------------------------------------------------------
“I don’t like this!” Max screamed as they hit an air pocket that again left his stomach hundreds of feet above. “This is completely ****** insane!”
“You’re repeating yourself buddy!” Jackson shouted above the thud of rotors and the roar of the wind. “Relax, it’s me at the stick.”
He turned his head to flash a quick, confident grin that contrasted strongly with the tension in his eyes. Max’s retort was stillborn as the copter lurched sickeningly, the turbine whine increased to a deafening pitch as the machine attempted to claw back the lost altitude.
Another lightning flash illumined the darkness, filling the cockpit with an electric blue flash that freeze-framed Jackson’s struggle with the collective column. Max could feel the hairs on his arms stand up. A second later the copter rolled nearly 90 degrees and plummeted again, buffeted mercilessly by cross-winds.
Again Jackson forced it back on course, his feet pumping the rudders furiously while he wrestled with the throttle and collective.
“Sorry about that Max.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, no grin, just sweat beading along his hairline. “This baby wasn’t made to fly in these conditions!”
“It wasn’t made to fly in this bloody century!” Max had to shout to make himself heard above the roar of the storm and the overloading turbines. “Is there any damn piece of technology on this crap planet that doesn’t belong in a museum?”
“I bought it from one Max! She’s a beauty, I’ll tell ya!”
“The Universe preserve us, or more particularly, me, from boys and their bloody toys.” Xela spat in Max’s earpiece. “I can’t believe a little thought wouldn’t have uncovered a better way to penetrate a maintenance facility and steal a security floater!”
“Me and my stomach are still open to suggestions.” Max answered, unnecessarily loudly considering the throat mike.
“Say what?” Jackson shouted back.
“Nothing.” Max screamed above the cockpit filling roar. “Zee was just dissing your flying!”
“Was not.”
“Was too!”
“Will you both cut that out, we’re almost on target and on time.”
On cue the copter broke through into the storm’s eye and a welcomed silence as Jackson eased back on the power. Below them Max could make out the city lights, scattered like dim stars against the blackness of one of the planets short periods of total darkness.
“See those blue arc-lights?” Jackson called back over his shoulder. “There on the western edge.”
Max steadied himself behind the vacant co-pilot seat and peered into the darkness. The target compound burned like a small star ahead, he could just make out the security towers in silhouette.
“You sure your people can do their bit Jack?”
“As soon as I give the signal partner.” Jackson answered confidently. “It’s not as if I thought this plan up on the spur of the moment. Every clan and their cousin has a plan for doing a Hub, the teleport and the shadow-tech are the missing pieces. It’ll take about 30 seconds for the on-site back-ups to cut in. Nervous?”
Max swallowed and nodded, then added with a forced smile.
“Jumping out of a perfectly good airplane and trusting a glorified sheet to keep me in one piece? You bet! Tell me again why I can’t use a grav-pack?”
“Because the self-powered mini-guns will detect the power readings and cut you to ribbons. I’m betting they’ll ignore a plummeting body. Time to target 30 seconds Max, leap to it.”
“YOU’RE betting?” Max retorted as he made his way back to the egress hatch. He did another quick check of the equipment pack strapped to his stomach and the parachute, an obsolete vehicular escape technology that used wind resistance to slow decent.
He’d used one once, at the behest of a daredevil friend in his training days. That was once too often and his ankle still twinged in cold, damp weather. He felt it now, as he opened the hatch and sat on the rim, his feet dangling in the freezing air stream.
“On five Max. Remember what I said, steer using your balance, pull at one hundred metres and keep those knees bent on impact.” Jackson’s voice was tense. “Good luck.”
On three Max forced himself to lean forward, balanced on the edge of a fall, his heart pounding loud and fast. On one he screwed his courage to the sticking point. On Go he pitched forward and fell away.
----------------------------------------------
Rain. Damn, she’d never seen anything like it before this posting to Garleth Prime. It came roiling in the massive storm fronts that billowed down from the distant arc of the Olympian Mountain Range and smashed together to form short-lived tempests that swept across the plains to the distant sea.
Mini-hurricanes, as a morose meteorologist she’d dated briefly called them, before explaining in vastly unnecessary detail how this was impossible, even with the energy of two suns driving the weather system.
It had stopped now, briefly, as the still centre swept over the facility and she pulled back the hood of her oilskins to scan the blackness for the lone aircraft somewhere high to the west, above the worst of the winds.
It had to be some crazy son of a bitch to be up there in this weather but everyone on this planet seemed a bit crazy to her, too much daylight and too many dubious alkaloids in the water most people no longer bothered to filter.
She could see nothing and stopped to irritatedly push straggles of rain-lank hair back under her poncho hood. Six bloody hours a day, rain or shine in an open topped security tower, guarding a bunch of broken machines in a civilian facility, it was emphatically not what she’d signed on for and she’d begun counting down to her rotation off on Day Two, a burgeoning forest of crosses underscoring each Sporting Hunk of the Month.
Turning up the light gain on her scopes she resumed her scan. It was probably just a late flyer running for the airbase and none of her concern but there was something unfamiliar in the stroking beat, a rhythmic thud that suggested mechanical problems.
Still nothing and she scanned towards the horizon, now brightening with the first hint of the Little Dawn. There was something, something small.
“You see that Liu?” She lowered her binoculars briefly to point towards the western horizon. Her companion abandoned his own search for the faint engine beat, peered intently and performed a quick 360 sweep of the sky, and repeated it for the compound perimeter.
Nothing, as usual, just the two guys on the single gate, the only break in the slice-wire topped wall enclosing the straggling group of single story prefab workshops, clustered around a central watch-tower. Four smaller towers, housing the point defences, sat in the corners. Close beyond lay the city outskirts, warehouses that in another couple of years would engulf the facility entirely.
“Can’t see anything sergeant, what was did it look like?”
Anis pursed her lips and peered into the gloom.
“I’m not sure, could have been a bird, maybe a plane…”
A winking flash, like a short-lived meteorite, higher above the horizon, cut her off. A faint explosion followed, almost lost against the whistling backdrop of the rising wind.
“Aircraft in distress.” She spoke into her throat mike. “Heads up people.”
Liu was already pivoting the single flood, lancing a blue, questing finger into the night, dragging all eyes.
------------------------
The copter lurched upwards in response to the sudden weight reduction and Jackson pushed the collective forward, watching the mechanical chronometer digits roll up as the altimeter plunged.
Swinging around the facility to approach from the southern perimeter he levelled off at two thousand metres.
“Sorry about this girl, the greater good and all that.” He muttered regretfully.
Jackson flicked the hydraulic pump and coolant flows switches to ‘off’ and slammed the throttle full forward.
The turbines screeched momentarily in protest and failed with an explosion that rocked the copter. Jackson bottomed the throttle and disengaged the main rotors, shorn of lift it stomach lurched into freefall and he pushed the nose forward and the rotors built up speed, storing up lift as the copter fell towards the compound perimeter.
His helmet visor darkened in response to a sudden flood of light from the compound and as the machine plummeted Jackson fixed on the main gate, nudging the nose to keep on course with gentle kicks of the rudder pedals, aiming for the main entrance. Right on time, carefully sequenced with the engine failure, the compound was plunged into darkness and the searchlight cut out.
Seconds from calamity and with a maniacal cry of adrenaline glee Jackson re-engaged the free-spinning rotor, converting the energy stored to one last burst of lift that was enough to bring the copter in for a perfect emergency touch-down on the road, yards from the opening gate.
Shutting down everything he leapt from the cockpit, rolling away as if fearful of an explosion caused by the flaming turbines. Getting to his feet he grinned into the two gun barrels that greeted him and raised his hands.
“Less screaming more flying Max!” Xela forced feedback screeching through the helmet link to reiterate her point. It worked, Max’s free-fall training snapped back in and he arched his back, making a shuttlecock shape, turning torso into the wind.
In an arrow glide he aimed for the shadowed rear of the target workshops.
“Pull on my call Max, one-fifty metres. Check?”
“Check.” Max confirmed, swallowing hard and trying to remember everything his instructors had taught him as the wind ripped past him. Tuck and roll, the impact velocity would be a lot faster than with a grav-pack insertion but the principle was the same.
Then, all at once the compound lights failed, leaving an electric blue after-image superimposed on his retina. As he swept over the perimeter, the ground rushing towards him at dizzying speed, Xela yelled ‘pull’ and Max tore on the rip-cord.
The night black chute blossomed with a violent jerk that hammered the harness buckles into him with a bruising punch to his adrenaline charged body he hardly felt.
He caught a glimpse of flames in the sky before hitting the ground hard, the barely deployed canopy collapsing around him as he rolled. Scant seconds passed in a blur of wrestled, bundled fabric.
He barely made the cover of some tall waste barrels before the power came back up.
Crouching in deep shadow he quickly scoped the central watch-tower, two figures, one pointing excitedly towards the main gate, the other wrestling to focus the floodlight.
“Nice one, Jack.” He murmured, removing the harness and crudely stuffing it and the chute into a micro-fabric carry-all, along with his helmet.
Xela displayed a map of the compound on his shades, highlighting the correct building and he swiftly glided from shadow to shadow to the rear entrance. The electronic lock was no match for Xela and he went through the sealed door almost without breaking step.
The corridor was in total darkness but brightened to a green twilight as his shades light intensifiers cut in.
“Okay Max, good work. The building should be unoccupied but scan for a data conduit and I’ll confirm.”
Max crouched, listening intently above the sound of his pounding heart and scanned the length of the corridor.
“There.” Xela said, highlighting a spot on the wire-frame representation. “You got the tap?”
“No Zee, I just plain forgot it because I wasn’t paying attention during the briefing, which, by the way, specified deploying at 100 metres, not 150.”
“Those were Jackson’s numbers, Max and the acceleration and terminal velocity constants are not valid for this gravity well. If you’d pulled on 100 you’d be a concertina by now.”
Max attached the tiny sensor to the location Xela specified.
“So why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m hoping Jackson is planning a spot of sky-diving.” Xela answered shortly.
“Right, I’m in. Accessing internal security grid, if you can call it that.”
She paused for a couple of seconds.
“Okay Max, here’s the layout.” She flashed a schematic on her padd screen. “And here is where we want to be.” Xela highlighted a large room off the far end of the corridor.
“No guards, no internal sensors. Someone should tell these people, walls do not a secure facility make. Not when Super-Zee and her trusty side-kick are in town!”
“Hey, don’t trusty sidekicks get cool names too? Or at least a cape.”
“Your wish is my command. Let’s shake it then Boy Blunder, before someone remembers what they are paid for.”
Max left the sensor in place and padded swiftly to the end of the corridor, only slightly encumbered by the bulky carry-all. Xela had already unlocked the door.
He had expected a laboratory, delicate machines arrayed on clinically clean workstations. What he found was practically a small junkyard, disassembled machines, piles of discarded junk, cluttered benches surrounded by what appeared to be jury-rigged diagnostic displays. The air tasted of lubricants and ozone.
“Score another for the lowest bidder.” Max muttered scornfully as he scanned for the distinctive signature of a security floater. He found one, beneath a bench at the far end of the workshop, a two foot cylinder sealed in foam wrap.
“This will do Max.” Xela said. “It’s command protocols are scrambled, nothing you can’t fix, with my expert advice and assistance. Grab it while I mark it as repaired and returned in the database.”
Max forced the cylinder into the carry-all, it was heavier than it’s size suggested, making the bulging bag awkward to carry.
“Done.” Xela announced. “These people really have no clue. Let’s go before Jackson talks himself into trouble. And dress for the occasion.”
“I was at the briefing.” Max reiterated. “And I have done this sort of thing before remember?”
It took him only a few seconds to find a mechanics cover-all, in a heap with other lubricant soaked discards. He picked one of the cleaner specimens, put it on and hefted the bag onto his left shoulder.
Max retrieved the sensor on the way and listened at the exit before cracking the door slightly. Part of him doubted that he could just walk out of the compound with the stolen floater but as he knew, from training and experience, that medium security facilities like these, placed way too much faith in preventing unauthorised break-ins to concern themselves with monitoring egress.
He palmed the replacement weapon Jackson had given him but it was not needed. Nobody gave him a second glance as he strolled out through the furore surrounding the droop-bladed copter, it’s blackened turbines still smoking gently, by the main gate.
A loudly gesticulating Jackson was surrounded by guards and the obsolete museum piece by a mob of curious on-lookers. He thought he caught a glimpse of Inspector Hervaux.
Max strolled casually down the road, hunched against the renewed storm, following Xela’s circuitous, tail-losing route through the skirt of warehouses fringing the town until he reached the northern route-way in. He quickly found a transportation pick-up point, punched in his destination and waited. Twenty minutes later, trying hard to stifle a broad grin, he was back in the Big Easy, enjoying the buzz of the local ale and the gyrations of the woman on stage.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was three hours before Jackson showed up in Max’s room in the Big Easy, fists clenched around the handles of four large steins of the local beer.
“Score another for Team Jackson!” he grinned, shoving two glasses in Max’s unresisting hands. “You did it, right?”
Max nodded towards the table where the gutted carapace of the security floater lay, surrounded by half of it’s electronics.
“No problem Jack, we’ve bypassed the command protocols and routed all functions through the diagnostics port. Once I attach this sensor probe extension on loan from Xela’s padd and figure out how to get the damn thing back together without enough bits left over to make a second, we’re in business. What took you so long?”
Jackson grinned and shrugged.
“Herveaux. Apparently crash-landing an aerial vehicle onto a route-way is technically jay-walking. And it took awhile to get my baby into a repair facility. Guess where?”
“The universe is an ironic place Jack, I take it the charges were dropped?”
“Like they were radioactive.” Jackson took a deep slug of beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with a theatrical flourish. “He sends his regards by the way. Apparently you are unable to fart without his knowledge, to paraphrase slightly. Be afraid, be very afraid.”
“I’m all a-tremble.” Max retorted, dead-pan. “Another hour or so and I’m finished here. Is everything set at your end?”
“Up and running Max. There’s a maintenance tunnel back of the Easy, which’ll bring you out close. The electric chick has the details. Ain’t that right girl?”
“Confirmed.” Xela replied curtly from the data-padd hooked into the floater. “Let’s get this out of the way soon. Snap to it Max, we need those new ships.”
Max nodded dutifully and re-addressed himself to the mechanical puzzle laid out before him.
Xela did her best to ignore Max as he grumbled his way through the tunnel, burdened by the carry-all containing the security floater and other tools they would be needing, allocating a small fraction of her capacity to him as she systematically integrated the functions of the floater into her own matrix through the diagnostics port where her chip was attached.
As soon as Jackson had mooted the security floater option she’d begun working on a program to adapt and extend her senses to fit a mobile physical presence. She adapted a backup of her auto-pilot neural net to the different mechatronic set-up and integrated it into the program. It was just a matter now of replacing one adaptive neural skill-net with another more suited to both the task and the tool.
Within the confines of the carry-all she was unable to physically test all the program but even with the sensor extension adapted from her data-padd sensor interface, the floater was a simple enough device not to have to discard the pilot metaphor under-pinning the control net that integrated her intelligence to a ship.
She stored the completed program for activation.
“Yes Max, I did hear him say ‘maintenance’ not ‘sewerage’. Jackson’s just a regular mine of accurate information isn’t he. And no, I can’t ‘smell that.’ I’m crammed in a carry sack and locked into a primitive machine. Even Jackson’s cronies must shower sometime, clean up when we get there. Try and look on the bright side.”
“And what might that be?” Max asked, between short open-mouth breaths that did little to mitigate the impact of the assorted stenches on his now empty stomach.
“That floaters lack olfactory sensors. Bright enough to be dazzling I’d say, now shut up moaning, we’re nearly there, according to Jackson’s schematic anyway. Look out for a ladder up, somewhere on the left. And remember, don’t mention the teleport to Jackson’s men.”
“Remembered.” Max confirmed between breaths.
A couple of minutes later the floater gyro’s registered a slow ascent and she reminded Max of the code. He rapped it out with what sounded like the stock of a weapon onto the heavy cover. Dimly, she heard two familiar sounding voices conferring before it was dragged open with a screech of metal on stone.
Max soon activated the shades, restoring her vision and what she saw by the early morning light of the Little Day filtering down into the side alley, confirmed her fears.
“You ain’t smellin’ so good Max.” The larger of the two men boomed. “You should have worn coveralls and a decent pair of boots.”
“No-one said anything about sewers Harvey, or I would have.” Max answered with tight-clipped impatience.
“Hey, wait up there, who mentioned names? How’d you know Harvey’s Harvey?”
His smaller companion stepped from behind him, beady eyes narrowing with suspicion, his hand sliding towards a bulging chest pocket.
“You did Rizzo, so stop jerking me around and get us inside.” Max snapped back, in a deceptively even tone Xela recognised.
“Easy Max.” She whispered. “Don’t take it out on the quality hired help, not until we’ve finished anyway.”
Max sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
“You probably didn’t want to do that Max.” Harvey observed helpfully.
“Language Max.” Xela admonished. “They’re allegedly on our side and what their mothers got up to shouldn’t be held against them!”
“Okay, sorry guys. It’s been a bad day and it could get even worse for you if you don’t get me to a shower. There is a shower where we’re going I hope?”
“YOU hope?” Rizzo answered with a trace of sarcasm. “Probably.”
It was a very short walk down the alley to a small rear entrance to a two-storey building that looked residential. A military level key code security seal incongruously barred the stained plasteel door.
Max waited impatiently for Rizzo to unlock the door. He looked at Max and shrugged.
“They don’t have the code Max.” Xela said. “I have. Need to know and if these goons are capable of knowing anything they don’t need to know about this.”
Max typed in the code, carefully shielding it from Harvey and Rizzo, who had in any case moved downwind.
“What were your orders boys?” he asked when the lock disengaged.
“Breath in breath out, don’t try and chew gum and walk at the same time?” Xela whispered unhelpfully in his ear.
“To wait for you, let you in, let you out and then report to the Colonel.” Rizzo replied.
“Who?” Max asked, surprised.
“Colonel Jackson.” Harvey interjected. “Our lead - oof!”
“No names remember, dolt!”
Rizzo jabbed his elbow into Harvey’s stomach again in emphasis.
Xela metaphorically put her head in her hands and sighed deeply.
Rizzo looked at Max uncertainly. “You didn’t hear nuthin’ right?”
It was half a question, half a plea.
“I didn’t hear nothing.” Max confirmed.
Rizzo’s habitual look of suspicion deepened with a dim awareness that there was something he was not understanding, then he said.
“Good, keep it that way.”
Max managed not to chuckle until he’d locked the door from the inside.
It was a small, single-family dwelling, two floors built around the hub of a first generation colony prefab, which as far as Max was concerned was good news; there would be a basic hygiene unit on the ground floor. He headed straight to it, through the small living room and kitchen area, both looking as if the occupiers had just stepped out.
After showering he washed down his boots and cleaned down the rest of his clothes as best he could, rubbing the coarse locally produced soap into the stains. Fortunately the leather coat had borne the brunt and it sponged clean easily.
The teleporter was set up in the shelter, a small, heavily reinforced cellar designed to provide protection against catastrophe level storms or quakes. Such redoubts, Xela stated, were normally found only under the more substantial dwellings of the more affluent or important colonists.
“I see tunnels behind the walls.” Xela reported as Max looked around. “And traces of spaceweed in the dust. A good, old-fashioned smuggler’s hole, Jackson could have let us in through those and saved all that unnecessary sewer-diving. Just thought I’d point that out.”
“Sometimes I get the impression you haven’t warmed to Jack’s roguish charms.” Max observed as he lifted the floater from the carryall.
“You’ve noticed have you?” Xela snorted rhetorically. “I don’t trust him either. The question is, given his track record, why do you? He’s one of the people we both – Marteene and Hela – spent careers fighting. Conceded, he is not a monster like Law or a sociopath like Skull but his hands are not exactly clean.”
“Whose are?” Max asked quietly. “I trust him because we’re on the same side. We win, he wins.”
“Wins what?” Xela asked acerbically as she activated the floater’s anti-grav unit. It lurched ungainly into the air, settling into a hover as she took over the autonomic functions.
“Whatever he needs to, to keep him onside. His ships protect our stations in Scale Plate Green, his money is going to expand our fleet and when the time comes he’ll provide troops.”
“And if he simply takes over from Law? That would make him a pretty powerful operator. Activate the shield grid before you power-up, bottom left of the main panel, cloaking sub menu.”
Max tapped through the selection options, bringing the dampening field online to mask the teleport standing wave function from orbital or aerial detection.
“Then we ride his coat-tails into the heart of the Shadow-Conspiracy. Once we blow that he’s someone else’s problem.”
“There’s an old Boron saying Max. If you have a K’shint by the tail you’d better hold on tight.”
“I take it a K’shint is something with big teeth and a bad disposition?”
“It would be a poor saying if it wasn’t Max. Okay, you can power up now.”
The arched cube thrummed into life, the single transport pad pulsating with a faint blue light.
“And I’ll set the co-ordinates, if you don’t mind.”
Xela glided to Max’s side, nudging his shoulder to prompt him to move and interfaced directly with the teleport interface through the floater’s enhanced single sensor arm, telescoping from the body.
It took a few seconds to refine the focus and link carrier waves with the vault teleport and power it up from stand-by mode.
“Ready when you are Max.” She announced. “And hold me close.”
Max stepped through an arch onto the transport pad, the floater drifted in behind him. As instructed he hugged Xela to his chest with one arm, activating the teleport process with the other.
The cellar faded away.
It took several awkward moments to unseal the resequencer wrapping in the almost complete darkness of the cramped interior, broken barely by the glimmer of back-lit teleport controls. The vault itself was midnight dark, with not even a temperature gradient for the image intensifier function of the shades to work on. For a moment Max felt weightless, disorientated in the featureless void, then he felt blinded.
“Dammit Zee, a little warning!” he snapped as Xela activated the floater shoulder spot.
The intensifiers swiftly adjusted, allowing Max to see the floater hovering though a swarm of coloured spots before his eyes, to the sealed exit.
“Sorry about that Max.” Xela replied in a tone that suggested the opposite. “No, don’t do that!” She exclaimed as Max reached towards the door key-pad. “Just give me the code and wait while I figure out how to circumvent the security record. You’re not officially here so if you start opening doors someone is going to notice.”
Max stepped back gingerly from the door as the floater drifted in. He recited the code as Xela extended the floater sensor arm, it’s systems probe enhanced with her own unique modifications.
“We have no idea how long this could take and once I’m out of here I’ll be out of touch.”
“That’s not my favourite part of this plan Zee. What if something goes wrong and you get into trouble?”
“You know there’s no Plan B. Sit and wait and bug out if you hear alarming ringing noises. You did bring a good book?”
“Jack didn’t have any. And don’t say a word!”
“I’m too stunned with surprise to utter a single syllable Max, check out my padd, there’s a great 4D chess program.”
“Four dimensional? Where’d that new one come from?”
“I get bored so I added time travel, be a unique individual and read the readme file before trying to figure it out for yourself.”
“Time travel huh? How about Space Bomber?”
“I really don’t think so Max. Game on.” She replied evenly and activated her new program, experiencing long milliseconds of disorientation as her intelligence assimilated the new, yet familiar body metaphor.
Xela reached out and with delicate, sensitive fingers, probed and manipulated energy and data flows, catching the status-check data stream and looping it through the security sensor sub-routines.
She listened intensely to the background chatter of the Data-Hub internal systems. It was faint, barely an echo through the shielding but she could sense no change in it’s tenor or flow so she entered the door code.
She held her breath; aware Max was unconsciously doing the same.
No change.
She triggered the lock, disconnected from it and slipped out into the corridor. The vault entrance rolled shut behind her. The way was clear, up towards the complex entrance and down towards the nearby Data-Core and she hurried towards the covering sensor node.
It took her just a short time work back past the security sub-routines into the main system but one very long, gruelling hour, to wade through data-streams, from sub system to sub system, stealing access codes, encoding sensor loops and noting encryption keys as she crept from level to level.
(See new post for the rest of chapter)
Rogues Resurgence Ch 18.
Moderators: TheElf, Moderators for English X Forum
Rogues Resurgence Ch 18.
Last edited by SteveMill on Wed, 9. Apr 03, 17:19, edited 16 times in total.
-
Gandalf The White
- Posts: 2185
- Joined: Sat, 9. Nov 02, 12:21
Good one Steve. Although, prefer fighter combat. Even so, good chapter and it does ad something to have X planet side.
some who deserve life receive death. Others who deserve death receive life. Can you give it to them? Don't be eager to deal out death in judgement, for not even the wise can see all ends.
Excellent read. Very funny, too, particularly the finish 
Interesting character development is going on there on Max' behalf
Also interesting to notice how well you managed to leave the main plot without losing the readers interest (mine anyway)! Well done.
For a while I thought you had gone for holidays
Now bring it on
is there a word missing?
- modern technology in the form the latest multi-media display
Interesting character development is going on there on Max' behalf
Also interesting to notice how well you managed to leave the main plot without losing the readers interest (mine anyway)! Well done.
For a while I thought you had gone for holidays
Now bring it on is there a word missing?
- modern technology in the form the latest multi-media display
It hasn't beeen that long has it? Thought it was only last week I finished the last chapter. I blame the Freelancer demo, it's obviously distorted everyone's sense of time except mineKiwiNZ wrote:Excellent read. Very funny, too, particularly the finish
Interesting character development is going on there on Max' behalf
Also interesting to notice how well you managed to leave the main plot without losing the readers interest (mine anyway)! Well done.
For a while I thought you had gone for holidays
is there a word missing?
- modern technology in the form the latest multi-media display
Hope I haven't lost people's interest with the slight diversion but it's probably the only time things will go planet-side so i'm taking the opportunity to practice. And we can't have a bar without a bar fight or a La Miserables reference.
good call on the missing word.
No, not an error, just bad spoken grammar, but I've changed it anyway.Mercenary wrote:Good read and it does seem like quite sometime since the previous one!
Just one possible error
Natima replied loftily. “Is there anything particular..."
Should that say, “Is there anything in particular..."
Merc.
Hopefully more of the chapter in the next few days.
Very nice addition to the previous part! One thing that made me wonder though, do they really ship valuable gear to the Data Hub without an escort?
Anyway, looking forward to the next installment!
two things to moan about
"pain in the ass" - now where is you sense for English? we all know that an ass has got four legs and long ears
"It had also began to rain" - begun?
Anyway, looking forward to the next installment!
two things to moan about
"pain in the ass" - now where is you sense for English?
we all know that an ass has got four legs and long ears "It had also began to rain" - begun?
Jackson knows the way to break in but only Xela is able to actually pull it off. Also Xela has noted that this is likely to be a temporary measure. It will be found out and Max knows that in doing so his legitimate empire would face serious criminal charges. How will this affect his actions and intentions?Moss wrote:Nice addition Steve, if this data hub idea works, I do wonder what Jackson will do if he is able to use it personaly, likely every criminal in the universe would be queing for his services, what need of Max then?
Keep it coming, cheers.