I had trouble focusing on anything but those squirming tattoos.
They moved, crawling around and across each-other like so many pointy ended, occasionally bifurcating caterpillars. It took me a minute to realize that wasn't just the pop to the head I'd taken; the tattoos were actually moving.
I blinked and things came into better focus. The face behind the caterpillars was young: late teens or early twenties, and a smile of nervous relief hung like a ghost of innocence on those lips. A Blooder smiling in relief is like an expression of vicious blood-lust on your grandmother: a bit off-putting. She spoke, brisk and businesslike, over the slightly worried tone, "Good, you're awake."
She gestured and I noticed track marks on her forearm. Old and still fading, like footprints in sand. Must'a quit before joining up - I'd heard that Dun didn't like his troops sampling the product, and they had a real short recovery program. 1 step, in fact.
I was lowered to the ground by a bulky guy with a nose like a cargo hook and a permanent sneer. He had a few less of the Rak' cavorting across his face, and a scar pulling down the corner of his left eye. He wasn't really the chatty type, I could tell right away.
He cut off my restraints and lifted me to my feet like a sack of beans with legs. Maybe I was still a little wobbly, but I was coming to my senses quick - waking up surrounded by blooders'll do that to you.
They escorted me through the small room's only door. It opened onto a wave of thick, fragrant smoke from dozens of hookahs. Low tables were scattered around, most of them crowded with people. I recognized the place, its quasi-Amarr trappings and its mix of Empire and Kingdom ex-pats and local-born Intaki: Kalorr's Delight. It was a bar and lounge with a good reputation among those who enjoyed a pipe, a drink, and ignorance about who the powers on the station were. For the rest of us, it was blooder central, and the back rooms enjoyed their own reputation.
Trackmarks and Hooknose hustled me through the mixed, sweet haze, conversation dipping as we went by and picking back up behind us, a wave of interrupted susurration tracking our progress. Maybe the normal clientele knew more than I credited them with. Then we were through one of those notorious doors to the back, down a short hallway, through another door, and there was the man himself.
Dun was somewhere in his fifties, Minmatar, mixed tribe. I've heard it said he is just a little more of everything than anyone should be, and that's maybe true. When he was put together, they added a bit of extra everywhere. He's huge, powerfully built, a good half meter taller than me, and I'm not a short guy. He's also ugly as the morning after a bender and charismatic as a - well, as a cult leader. The Rak were swimming across his face, atop the faded remains of gang and tribal tattoos.
The Rak'esme, the fearsome reputation for fanaticism, even the garishly ornate tent Dun wore as a robe - it was all just branding. The man leaning back in a throne-like chair across a wide, design-inlaid desk from me had seen the Blooders and he had seen potential. For money, for power. So, he threw on the robes, rose in the ranks, and made up some scary tattoos. Before Dun, Blooders were non-existent on the station as movers and shakers. Strictly small time. Now even the local Cartel is wary of them.
No doubt he had wielded the knife himself, any number of times, and splashed around in rivers of blood, but Dun was an ambitious businessman, not a fanatic. At least, that's what my gut told me, and I hoped I was right. My life depended on it.
Dun dismissed his lackeys and gestured to a chair, "Rordon, I have a problem."
His voice, his manner, invited confidence - even trust. Like a dear old friend just rediscovered, or a well liked boss. Maybe there's a reason I'm self-employed. I took a seat as he went on, "I understand that you've been asking questions about the followers of the Faith. That someone told you we stole something. Even that one of my people might have attacked you. I thought if we could sit down, we could clear up this little misunderstanding."
"Whacking a guy over the head and stringing him up doesn't say 'let's have a chat' to me, Dun."
"Regrettably, when I made it known that I would like to see you some of my people took it upon themselves to actually capture you. I will make sure that they understand their mistake. Something to drink?"
"Sure."
He might have been telling the truth about how I ended up hanging up-side down in his club, or the whole thing might have been an exercise in pointing out how I could have ended up. I don't think I'll ever know. The important thing was he didn't want me dead.
Unless he just hadn't decided yet.
He pressed a button and spiced wine was brought in, piping hot - and blood red, of course. Hell, it did do wonders for my headache.
After a minute or two, he went on, "I can tell you categorically that none of my people were involved in this. In fact, I'm more than a little unhappy with whoever it is that is sullying our reputation, and I would consider it a personal favor if you would let me know anything you find out." Tempting. In Syndicate, a personal favor meant a debt that would be paid. He smiled, looking like some huge, Gothic, late-Doule-era gargoyle dressed in a brocaded, silk robe, "If I want podder corpses, I can buy them. Again: sorry about the rough handling."
An obvious dismissal. As I stood, the door was opened by the girl with track marks who indicated I should follow her. Before I left, I turned back to the Blooder high priest, "Just a question, Dun. The Rak, they always move?"
Trackmarks looked bit shocked anyone would speak after being dismissed, but her boss took it in stride, "Yes. They represent the power that rests in our blood. If your blood is still, you're dead, aren't you?"
You sure are. It might be bullshit, but he managed to make it sound good. I headed back to the office.
I checked behind the door first thing. No one waiting to clobber me.
Friday
Thursday
Syndicate Files: The Box - Part 3
The next morning, my coffee was interrupted by Sergeant Eniver. He cruised into my office like a Dominix on afterburner: not quickly, but with a certain sense of implacability.
That wasn't where his similarity to a Dominix ended. Eniver was on the short side, but built big, with a face I'm not sure even a mother could love. Maybe he had more hair when he was younger, but these days the scattered survivors clung to the edges of his head; cut to short, gray bristles. Theoretically there was a neck to be found between his wide jaw and wide shoulders, but evidence was scant.
The Sergeant was also that rarest of creatures: a semi-competent, mostly honest cop. Easy to spot, because after 25 years on the force, he was still only a sergeant, and that's as high as he would ever go.
His eyes glittered, suspicious, "Wanna tell me where you were between 1000 and 1100 yesterday, Tarva?"
"In a hangar, one of the podder ones. There're visitor logs and witnesses, if you can get the podder to cough them up. Kaitane Ihonoka."
He chewed on that for a minute, "Client? And can you explain why you were in the compartment of one Henri Gellique?"
I faced away from him, pouring him a coffee, so he couldn't see my face as I answered, "Confidential, and I'm afraid I don't know anyone by that name." Never got the chance to know him, after all. I could tell Eniver didn't believe me, but you never admit anything. He was fishing. If he actually had evidence I was in that apartment, I'd have been in cuffs already.
"So it's just coincidence that we can place you near the scene on the day of the murder, and you're working for his employer?"
I tried on a surprised expression as I set a paper cup of coffee in front of him, "Murder? What happened?"
"He was killed, heart removed. You're tangled up in this, and the sooner you help me, the better I can help you." I wished he could help, as I sipped my coffee and he went on, "You remember anything, you give me a buzz. And don't be trying to leave the station, Tarva. I might want to chat more."
He drained his coffee and stumped out. I hoped he wouldn't be a problem. Worst came to worst, I could get his superiors to divert him somewhere else, Kaita could afford it. I would feel real bad about it though. Eniver was an alright guy, in his way.
I finished my coffee and caught up on message traffic: Bills, bills, a reminder about my rent, and mail from Auvy: No reports of large groups of cultists running around the station, according to her sources. About what I expected, but confirmation didn't hurt. Pieces of this case just didn't quite match up. Blooders, at least our blooders, weren't usually sloppy. Hell, no evidence they had been sloppy, except that half-assed attack on me. I felt like I was walking near a badly calibrated grav generator: off balance and annoyed. Well, something would come loose. It always did if you grabbed it by the collar and shook it long enough.
First stop was Kaita's hangar. It was that or find some blooders to hassle, and I wasn't ready to be an altar-jockey in a real short, real high stakes race just yet.
A couple hours later I had found out the following: Henri Gellique was a nice, average guy. Kept to himself, decent to have a couple rounds with after the shift, supported a sick mother back in the Fed. Couldn't seem to find anyone close to him though. Too average, like a ghost, hollow even before someone cored him like an apple. Did he belong to someone, maybe? One of Kaita's rivals or one of the criminal organizations? I made a note to have Auvy look into the financial records for me, see if there really was a mother in the Fed, or anything else and headed out of the hangar.
I nearly ran into my podder employer as I was leaving. She had traded a form fitting flight suit for a only slightly less form fitting mechanics jumpsuit, which was unzipped just to there. The artful smudge of grease on her cheek completed the picture, but I noticed the hangar staff nearby were still wary of her. So, a show for my benefit. Podders who got their hands dirty - out of the pod - remained a myth in my experience. I was touched that she cared what I thought of her. I think I might have ruined it with my first question, "Kaita. I was hoping to run into you. So, who's in the box?"
Her welcoming smile went cold as winter on Caldari Prime, "That isn't important. Just find it. I trust you are making progress Mr. Tarva? I'm afraid that corporate business will be taking me away from the station indefinitely soon, I can't delay over this."
I managed to keep the surprise off my face, "You're leaving? The hangar staff know that?"
She looked confused as to why I would even ask, anger disappearing as quickly as it had arrived, "My crew, of course, and the local hires... I would assume so. They would have been notified their last pay was coming. Does it matter?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Thanks for the chat. I'll let you know once some leads I've got firm up." There was something about Kaita that made me nervous, and not in a good-looking piece of work way. Well, not entirely. I made a dash for the exit before she could take back the initiative.
I finished up sending Auvy the new info I'd gotten, to see if she could make anything of it, right as I got back to my office.
I stepped through my door, something hit me in the back of the head, and I went out like someone flipped a switch.
When I woke up, my head felt like someone was having a neo-tribal concert in it, I was hanging upside-down, and a face dark with Rak'esme was floating in front of me. Smiling.
That wasn't where his similarity to a Dominix ended. Eniver was on the short side, but built big, with a face I'm not sure even a mother could love. Maybe he had more hair when he was younger, but these days the scattered survivors clung to the edges of his head; cut to short, gray bristles. Theoretically there was a neck to be found between his wide jaw and wide shoulders, but evidence was scant.
The Sergeant was also that rarest of creatures: a semi-competent, mostly honest cop. Easy to spot, because after 25 years on the force, he was still only a sergeant, and that's as high as he would ever go.
His eyes glittered, suspicious, "Wanna tell me where you were between 1000 and 1100 yesterday, Tarva?"
"In a hangar, one of the podder ones. There're visitor logs and witnesses, if you can get the podder to cough them up. Kaitane Ihonoka."
He chewed on that for a minute, "Client? And can you explain why you were in the compartment of one Henri Gellique?"
I faced away from him, pouring him a coffee, so he couldn't see my face as I answered, "Confidential, and I'm afraid I don't know anyone by that name." Never got the chance to know him, after all. I could tell Eniver didn't believe me, but you never admit anything. He was fishing. If he actually had evidence I was in that apartment, I'd have been in cuffs already.
"So it's just coincidence that we can place you near the scene on the day of the murder, and you're working for his employer?"
I tried on a surprised expression as I set a paper cup of coffee in front of him, "Murder? What happened?"
"He was killed, heart removed. You're tangled up in this, and the sooner you help me, the better I can help you." I wished he could help, as I sipped my coffee and he went on, "You remember anything, you give me a buzz. And don't be trying to leave the station, Tarva. I might want to chat more."
He drained his coffee and stumped out. I hoped he wouldn't be a problem. Worst came to worst, I could get his superiors to divert him somewhere else, Kaita could afford it. I would feel real bad about it though. Eniver was an alright guy, in his way.
I finished my coffee and caught up on message traffic: Bills, bills, a reminder about my rent, and mail from Auvy: No reports of large groups of cultists running around the station, according to her sources. About what I expected, but confirmation didn't hurt. Pieces of this case just didn't quite match up. Blooders, at least our blooders, weren't usually sloppy. Hell, no evidence they had been sloppy, except that half-assed attack on me. I felt like I was walking near a badly calibrated grav generator: off balance and annoyed. Well, something would come loose. It always did if you grabbed it by the collar and shook it long enough.
First stop was Kaita's hangar. It was that or find some blooders to hassle, and I wasn't ready to be an altar-jockey in a real short, real high stakes race just yet.
A couple hours later I had found out the following: Henri Gellique was a nice, average guy. Kept to himself, decent to have a couple rounds with after the shift, supported a sick mother back in the Fed. Couldn't seem to find anyone close to him though. Too average, like a ghost, hollow even before someone cored him like an apple. Did he belong to someone, maybe? One of Kaita's rivals or one of the criminal organizations? I made a note to have Auvy look into the financial records for me, see if there really was a mother in the Fed, or anything else and headed out of the hangar.
I nearly ran into my podder employer as I was leaving. She had traded a form fitting flight suit for a only slightly less form fitting mechanics jumpsuit, which was unzipped just to there. The artful smudge of grease on her cheek completed the picture, but I noticed the hangar staff nearby were still wary of her. So, a show for my benefit. Podders who got their hands dirty - out of the pod - remained a myth in my experience. I was touched that she cared what I thought of her. I think I might have ruined it with my first question, "Kaita. I was hoping to run into you. So, who's in the box?"
Her welcoming smile went cold as winter on Caldari Prime, "That isn't important. Just find it. I trust you are making progress Mr. Tarva? I'm afraid that corporate business will be taking me away from the station indefinitely soon, I can't delay over this."
I managed to keep the surprise off my face, "You're leaving? The hangar staff know that?"
She looked confused as to why I would even ask, anger disappearing as quickly as it had arrived, "My crew, of course, and the local hires... I would assume so. They would have been notified their last pay was coming. Does it matter?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Thanks for the chat. I'll let you know once some leads I've got firm up." There was something about Kaita that made me nervous, and not in a good-looking piece of work way. Well, not entirely. I made a dash for the exit before she could take back the initiative.
I finished up sending Auvy the new info I'd gotten, to see if she could make anything of it, right as I got back to my office.
I stepped through my door, something hit me in the back of the head, and I went out like someone flipped a switch.
When I woke up, my head felt like someone was having a neo-tribal concert in it, I was hanging upside-down, and a face dark with Rak'esme was floating in front of me. Smiling.
Monday
Syndicate Files: The Box - Part 2
((Part 1 Here, Co-authored by Ciarente))
As I showed my back to Kaita's hangar, my neocom buzzed. My government contact had some info for me and wanted a face-to-face. We arranged for a meet, later. First, I needed to have a talk with Bruve Ashte, 'CEO' of Ashte Security and Consulting.
I've heard on some planets they have big predatory fish - twenty, thirty, a hundred meters long, to hear some tell it. They are the biggest, baddest, meanest things where they live, and not an animal alive in those oceans would screw with them.
Swimming along behind those big fish, you've got little fish. They eat the scraps and enjoy the shade. Scavengers and hangers-on that live at the pleasure of creatures larger than they are. Maybe they even begin to believe the lie, that they are really under the protection of the monsters.
For the big fishes' part, I suspect the only time they notice the little fish is when they casually snap one up.
Bruve Ashte was, on his best day, one of those little fish. He was a small-time thug with pretensions toward grandeur. I didn't know the man well, but I knew the type. Slippery as a lawyer but not as bright. He hinted darkly at connections, sometimes in Venal, sometimes in Curse, but if he ever met a real Angel or 'Rista he'd probably need a clean pair of pants. The cleverest he ever got was bribing a few people to recommend his merry little band to incoming pilots for security.
Ashte ran his operation out of a low-rent office in a warehouse that had been illegally converted. 'Hiving' they called it. Just stacks of hexagonal containers linked with jury-rigged walkways, like a huge, dark, unusually fragrant beehive. I risked the climb - his office was well up the stack - and a sullen looking Sebbie kid buzzed me in.
The CEO himself was pacing nervously in the back room, drink in hand, when I walked in. He was powerfully built and blandly good looking, like a DED recruitment poster, a comforting stereotype for a security company. He stopped abruptly when he saw me and started babbling before I could even open my mouth, "Look, Tarva, you've gotta know, I didn't have a choice man. I mean, what could I have done? Guy like that shows up, offers to pay, you take it and go blind, right? You know me man, I can't mess with that kinda crowd."
I was expecting bluster and denials. I felt like I'd ordered the steak and gotten the vegetarian quiche instead. I held up my hands, "Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Guy like what? Just take it from the top."
He took a deep breath and a sip of booze, "Me and my boys were keeping an eye on that podder's hangar, like we was supposed to. Some guy with a face fulla' Rak' shows up with like, thirty hitters. Serious types. He offers me a tenth-kilo of crash, pure, if we find somewhere else to be for fifteen minutes. I took it and ran, man. Those freaks give me the creeps."
Rak'esme were facial tattoos favored by Blooders on-station. Their leadership claimed it was an ancient tradition, I suspected it was just a local affectation. They probably even made the name up, but Rak' were great for intimidation. Course, Ashte would have sold his mother to Blooders for a tenth-kilo of crash. I'd like to think if there were thirty Reds running around the station in a crowd, I'd hear about it. The rest might not be all bullshit though. Cult involvement would explain why he looked like he'd just seen the Void and she'd flipped him the bird.
Assuming there was a reason for Blooders to want the crate in the first place.
I worked on Ashte until it was past time for me to meet my government contact, and he didn't give me anything else. More like the Ashte I remembered, slippery as soap in a bath full of oil. I headed out, climbing back down past pimps' stables, black market pharmacies, and all the other Syndicate cottage industries. Hurrying by all that usual background noise. I was late for my meeting.
They hit me as I passed through the rat's warren of lean-tos and shanties that came about knee-high on the Hive. Two from behind, and one in front of me with black scrawls thick across his face and a curved knife in hand.
They showed their hand a little early though. I dashed toward the guy in front of me. He slashed wildly, and I grabbed his wrist while he was off-balance and used my momentum to smack him into a bulkhead face-first with a crunch like a walnut being cracked underwater, then I was off running again.
I managed to stumble out of the labyrinth of do-it-yourself shacks fifteen minutes later, and I headed for a section of the station I knew better. I kept an eye out, but there was no sign I was being tailed. I was now really late to my meeting, but I took the long way round, just in case.
My contact was named Auvergne Zarafa. You might wonder: how do you end up with a name like Auvergne Zarafa?
Couldn't tell it by looking at her, but she was Amarr, blood so pure that slavers would lick the ground she walked on. Her family fled the Empire before she was born for reasons they'd never wanted to talk about, and settled here. Her father wanted a 'Gallente sounding' name for her, so he picked one he had heard in a holo. I was a friend of the family after my folks and her folks helped each-other out, which is a whole other story, before I left to find my fortune and all that garbage. Auvy had been a gangling, cute-as-a-button ten year old when I left. By the time I got back she was all grown up, and had a job in the station's admin section.
I skidded to a stop and straightened my coat, taking a couple deep breaths (to make it clear I had not been sprinting to get to the meeting) before walking around the corner and approaching a certain cafe situated at the edge of a huge, open marketplace.
Auvy had already arrived, and was watching the swirling human tide of the market. She smiled and waved when she saw me, all in shades of yellow and cream and white. Hair so blonde it was almost silver brushing the shoulders of her pale yellow jacket, all of it in the latest Crystal Boulevard style, although if I knew Auvy, at nowhere near Crystal Boulevard prices. She looked as sparkling and fresh as a glass of the Guaranteed 100% Planetary Pure water they served in the kind of fancy restaurant I couldn't afford to take her to.
Or, if you knew her, as clear and sharp as a tumbler of Pator vodka.
The designer knock-off jacket might be buttoned over what I'd been surprised to notice, when I came back home to Syndicate, were curves that had a certain graceful economy, and she might have only missed being 'pretty' by a knife's edge, but it was the edge of the kind of knife made for carrying up a sleeve and slipping in between somebody's ribs.
The kind of knife you see in certain shops all around the cluster, guaranteed sharp for a life-time, stamped on the handle: "Caution: Product of Syndicate."
Just like Auvy was.
I saw there were already two cups of coffee on the table, and she nibbled on what looked to be a candied scorpion-on-a-stick as I made my way over through the crowd and sat. "Hey kiddo, what've you got for me?"
She sniffed, "Hardly even say hello? And here I am bringing you gifts."
"Don't count as gifts if I have to pay for them, and I sure pay." I put on a martyred expression.
Auvy threatened me with the candied scorpion, but couldn't keep a straight face, "Molok's balls Rory, you are full of it. Pretending you don't get off light."
I smiled and sipped my coffee, dark but sweet, "Well, maybe I do. I do appreciate it. This deal goes well, I'll buy you dinner, somewhere nice. Now, I need your help so I can afford it."
She raised an eyebrow but slid a folder across the table, "You didn't give me much to work with. Any idea how many 'Gelliques' there are on this station? Think I narrowed it down though, Henri Gellique, longshoreman, his address is in the folder. As for your body bin, no-can-do. If the station does have systems that could detect it, it's nothing I can get access too."
"Wait, what?"
"I said I can't get access, I'm an administrator, not a miracle worker."
I shook my head, "No, the other thing, body bin?"
She smiled, "Oh, you didn't know?" As if she didn't know damn well I didn't, "The box, I ran the stuff you sent me by a friend in the engineering section, he said it's a self-contained, cryogenic stasis unit. They call them 'body bins' because podders use them to store trophies."
This whole thing was beginning to make a nasty kinda sense. Podders are even worth something dead, after all. Particularly to Blooders.
I thanked Auvy and told her to say hello to her folks. And left a fifty on the table after she gave me a look. Like I said, Syndicate born and raised - I was lucky I got a discount. I left the market and headed for Gellique's address.
It was in a nicer, quiet part of the station, one of the blemishes in the otherwise familiar expanse of corruption; remarkable only for unusually clean corridors and a near lack of transients slumped in the alcoves and against the walls. No-one answered when I knocked at the door, so I entered the override code that Auvy had thoughtfully provided for me and slid into the place with a telescoping stun-baton at the ready - firearms costing more than my usual means in bribes. The smell hit as soon as I was inside. It smelled like blood and fear and worse things. A smell I recognized: violent death.
It was a single room and the place had been trashed. It looked like there'd been a cage match between exile addicts. Brownish splotches of dried blood were spattered here and there, among a mess of broken furniture and the detritus of Henri Gellique's life. The blood led to the closet sized bathroom, so I skirted the worst of the debris and carefully slid the door open with my stun-stick.
I recognized Henri Gellique from the picture in Auvy's file, even though he was hanging upside-down. He looked a little bit surprised, and very dead.
Someone had hung him by his feet from the light fixture with wire. He was shirtless, and there was a hole where his heart should have been. I got out a light and checked the floor. There was a ring underneath him, probably where there had been some kind of bucket to catch the blood. Quite a bit had gotten on the floor anyway, and the ring was smeared, as if the bucket had been pushed further into the room at some point. I took some pictures and left, making sure not to touch anything, trying to maintain good habits. Probably a wasted effort, since if the local cops had any forensics equipment that hadn't been hawked, it'd be able to detect I'd been there. Having to answer a few questions, or pay a couple of bribes, wasn't the foremost problem in my mind. I didn't like where this was pointing, not at all, even for podder money.
Dead men don't need cash, after all.
I made it back home - which happened to be the room behind my office - without any incident, and spent a long time in the scrubber before collapsing.
I dared Fortune and hoped tomorrow would be a better day.
That's me. Rordon Tarva: optimist.
As I showed my back to Kaita's hangar, my neocom buzzed. My government contact had some info for me and wanted a face-to-face. We arranged for a meet, later. First, I needed to have a talk with Bruve Ashte, 'CEO' of Ashte Security and Consulting.
I've heard on some planets they have big predatory fish - twenty, thirty, a hundred meters long, to hear some tell it. They are the biggest, baddest, meanest things where they live, and not an animal alive in those oceans would screw with them.
Swimming along behind those big fish, you've got little fish. They eat the scraps and enjoy the shade. Scavengers and hangers-on that live at the pleasure of creatures larger than they are. Maybe they even begin to believe the lie, that they are really under the protection of the monsters.
For the big fishes' part, I suspect the only time they notice the little fish is when they casually snap one up.
Bruve Ashte was, on his best day, one of those little fish. He was a small-time thug with pretensions toward grandeur. I didn't know the man well, but I knew the type. Slippery as a lawyer but not as bright. He hinted darkly at connections, sometimes in Venal, sometimes in Curse, but if he ever met a real Angel or 'Rista he'd probably need a clean pair of pants. The cleverest he ever got was bribing a few people to recommend his merry little band to incoming pilots for security.
Ashte ran his operation out of a low-rent office in a warehouse that had been illegally converted. 'Hiving' they called it. Just stacks of hexagonal containers linked with jury-rigged walkways, like a huge, dark, unusually fragrant beehive. I risked the climb - his office was well up the stack - and a sullen looking Sebbie kid buzzed me in.
The CEO himself was pacing nervously in the back room, drink in hand, when I walked in. He was powerfully built and blandly good looking, like a DED recruitment poster, a comforting stereotype for a security company. He stopped abruptly when he saw me and started babbling before I could even open my mouth, "Look, Tarva, you've gotta know, I didn't have a choice man. I mean, what could I have done? Guy like that shows up, offers to pay, you take it and go blind, right? You know me man, I can't mess with that kinda crowd."
I was expecting bluster and denials. I felt like I'd ordered the steak and gotten the vegetarian quiche instead. I held up my hands, "Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Guy like what? Just take it from the top."
He took a deep breath and a sip of booze, "Me and my boys were keeping an eye on that podder's hangar, like we was supposed to. Some guy with a face fulla' Rak' shows up with like, thirty hitters. Serious types. He offers me a tenth-kilo of crash, pure, if we find somewhere else to be for fifteen minutes. I took it and ran, man. Those freaks give me the creeps."
Rak'esme were facial tattoos favored by Blooders on-station. Their leadership claimed it was an ancient tradition, I suspected it was just a local affectation. They probably even made the name up, but Rak' were great for intimidation. Course, Ashte would have sold his mother to Blooders for a tenth-kilo of crash. I'd like to think if there were thirty Reds running around the station in a crowd, I'd hear about it. The rest might not be all bullshit though. Cult involvement would explain why he looked like he'd just seen the Void and she'd flipped him the bird.
Assuming there was a reason for Blooders to want the crate in the first place.
I worked on Ashte until it was past time for me to meet my government contact, and he didn't give me anything else. More like the Ashte I remembered, slippery as soap in a bath full of oil. I headed out, climbing back down past pimps' stables, black market pharmacies, and all the other Syndicate cottage industries. Hurrying by all that usual background noise. I was late for my meeting.
They hit me as I passed through the rat's warren of lean-tos and shanties that came about knee-high on the Hive. Two from behind, and one in front of me with black scrawls thick across his face and a curved knife in hand.
They showed their hand a little early though. I dashed toward the guy in front of me. He slashed wildly, and I grabbed his wrist while he was off-balance and used my momentum to smack him into a bulkhead face-first with a crunch like a walnut being cracked underwater, then I was off running again.
I managed to stumble out of the labyrinth of do-it-yourself shacks fifteen minutes later, and I headed for a section of the station I knew better. I kept an eye out, but there was no sign I was being tailed. I was now really late to my meeting, but I took the long way round, just in case.
My contact was named Auvergne Zarafa. You might wonder: how do you end up with a name like Auvergne Zarafa?
Couldn't tell it by looking at her, but she was Amarr, blood so pure that slavers would lick the ground she walked on. Her family fled the Empire before she was born for reasons they'd never wanted to talk about, and settled here. Her father wanted a 'Gallente sounding' name for her, so he picked one he had heard in a holo. I was a friend of the family after my folks and her folks helped each-other out, which is a whole other story, before I left to find my fortune and all that garbage. Auvy had been a gangling, cute-as-a-button ten year old when I left. By the time I got back she was all grown up, and had a job in the station's admin section.
I skidded to a stop and straightened my coat, taking a couple deep breaths (to make it clear I had not been sprinting to get to the meeting) before walking around the corner and approaching a certain cafe situated at the edge of a huge, open marketplace.
Auvy had already arrived, and was watching the swirling human tide of the market. She smiled and waved when she saw me, all in shades of yellow and cream and white. Hair so blonde it was almost silver brushing the shoulders of her pale yellow jacket, all of it in the latest Crystal Boulevard style, although if I knew Auvy, at nowhere near Crystal Boulevard prices. She looked as sparkling and fresh as a glass of the Guaranteed 100% Planetary Pure water they served in the kind of fancy restaurant I couldn't afford to take her to.
Or, if you knew her, as clear and sharp as a tumbler of Pator vodka.
The designer knock-off jacket might be buttoned over what I'd been surprised to notice, when I came back home to Syndicate, were curves that had a certain graceful economy, and she might have only missed being 'pretty' by a knife's edge, but it was the edge of the kind of knife made for carrying up a sleeve and slipping in between somebody's ribs.
The kind of knife you see in certain shops all around the cluster, guaranteed sharp for a life-time, stamped on the handle: "Caution: Product of Syndicate."
Just like Auvy was.
I saw there were already two cups of coffee on the table, and she nibbled on what looked to be a candied scorpion-on-a-stick as I made my way over through the crowd and sat. "Hey kiddo, what've you got for me?"
She sniffed, "Hardly even say hello? And here I am bringing you gifts."
"Don't count as gifts if I have to pay for them, and I sure pay." I put on a martyred expression.
Auvy threatened me with the candied scorpion, but couldn't keep a straight face, "Molok's balls Rory, you are full of it. Pretending you don't get off light."
I smiled and sipped my coffee, dark but sweet, "Well, maybe I do. I do appreciate it. This deal goes well, I'll buy you dinner, somewhere nice. Now, I need your help so I can afford it."
She raised an eyebrow but slid a folder across the table, "You didn't give me much to work with. Any idea how many 'Gelliques' there are on this station? Think I narrowed it down though, Henri Gellique, longshoreman, his address is in the folder. As for your body bin, no-can-do. If the station does have systems that could detect it, it's nothing I can get access too."
"Wait, what?"
"I said I can't get access, I'm an administrator, not a miracle worker."
I shook my head, "No, the other thing, body bin?"
She smiled, "Oh, you didn't know?" As if she didn't know damn well I didn't, "The box, I ran the stuff you sent me by a friend in the engineering section, he said it's a self-contained, cryogenic stasis unit. They call them 'body bins' because podders use them to store trophies."
This whole thing was beginning to make a nasty kinda sense. Podders are even worth something dead, after all. Particularly to Blooders.
I thanked Auvy and told her to say hello to her folks. And left a fifty on the table after she gave me a look. Like I said, Syndicate born and raised - I was lucky I got a discount. I left the market and headed for Gellique's address.
It was in a nicer, quiet part of the station, one of the blemishes in the otherwise familiar expanse of corruption; remarkable only for unusually clean corridors and a near lack of transients slumped in the alcoves and against the walls. No-one answered when I knocked at the door, so I entered the override code that Auvy had thoughtfully provided for me and slid into the place with a telescoping stun-baton at the ready - firearms costing more than my usual means in bribes. The smell hit as soon as I was inside. It smelled like blood and fear and worse things. A smell I recognized: violent death.
It was a single room and the place had been trashed. It looked like there'd been a cage match between exile addicts. Brownish splotches of dried blood were spattered here and there, among a mess of broken furniture and the detritus of Henri Gellique's life. The blood led to the closet sized bathroom, so I skirted the worst of the debris and carefully slid the door open with my stun-stick.
I recognized Henri Gellique from the picture in Auvy's file, even though he was hanging upside-down. He looked a little bit surprised, and very dead.
Someone had hung him by his feet from the light fixture with wire. He was shirtless, and there was a hole where his heart should have been. I got out a light and checked the floor. There was a ring underneath him, probably where there had been some kind of bucket to catch the blood. Quite a bit had gotten on the floor anyway, and the ring was smeared, as if the bucket had been pushed further into the room at some point. I took some pictures and left, making sure not to touch anything, trying to maintain good habits. Probably a wasted effort, since if the local cops had any forensics equipment that hadn't been hawked, it'd be able to detect I'd been there. Having to answer a few questions, or pay a couple of bribes, wasn't the foremost problem in my mind. I didn't like where this was pointing, not at all, even for podder money.
Dead men don't need cash, after all.
I made it back home - which happened to be the room behind my office - without any incident, and spent a long time in the scrubber before collapsing.
I dared Fortune and hoped tomorrow would be a better day.
That's me. Rordon Tarva: optimist.
Syndicate Files: The Box - Part 1
I was just minding my own business, leafing through a case file in my office, when trouble walked in and asked in a breathy voice, "You're Rordon Tarva? The detective?"
I knew she would be trouble. Maybe it was the curve of her lips, maybe it was the flight suit that fit a little too well. Who am I kidding, it was the podder implants. I stood and waved to a seat. Podder or not, a client's a client, and rent was due, "Call me Rory, Ms...?"
"Kaitane Ihonoka. You can call me Kaita." She sat with a nervous smile and a flip of her short, black hair. There wasn't any smile in those pretty gray eyes though, and I'd bet dirt against Exile that I'd never see nerves in them. Gray as a Raven's soul and dangerous, so much so I near missed what she said next, "I've been told you find things. Something of mine has disappeared."
I flipped open a notepad, "Can you describe the item?"
"A metal crate. Two meters tall, by one, by one. It has an on-board power source. It disappeared from my hangar floor. I have some diagrams."
She passed them over. Hardcopy, and there was pages of stuff. And lots of pages missing: The ones that showed the insides. For the rest, well, it was a metal box. I'm a simple guy, so I asked the obvious, "What's in it?"
"Nothing illegal." She laid it on thick, wide eyed, and even a little tremble around the mouth, "And I want it back badly Rory."
I wasn't falling for it. Not much, anyway. This is Syndicate, where "not illegal" means your bribes are all up to date. Still, a podder, she should be able to pay, "I'll look for the box for you. Now, I charge five hundred a day, plus expenses. Two days in advance is your deposit. That's whether I find it or not."
"The money is in your account." I thought she had been laying it on before, until she smiled. Cut through a man like a laser, that smile. "And if there is anything else I can do for you..."
I have rules, about relationships with clients and with people who give a bulk discount on massacres. Those kinda relationships get messy. So I got a few answers about dates, times, who might have access, things like that, scheduled a talk with her Hangar Chief and shooed her outta the office quick as I could.
The whole thing had gone colder than a priest's soul before she'd even got into my office, the box had been gone two days before she was desperate enough to bring in an outsider. I needed to get moving, but first thing's first. I brought out my neocom and checked my account balance. And nearly choked. She'd paid in isk, not syns - Syndicate Credits. I did a quick bit of math: With current exchange rate I could live like one of Quafe's pet senators for a year on that. Maybe even afford to hire a secretary.
Money like that, normally I'd say it stunk like three weeks on a shuttle full of cattle, but podders, right? She probably didn't even notice. That's what I told myself anyway. Money has a blinding charm all its own.
I squared things at the office and caught a ride down to Dockland. The bar nearest Kaita's hangar was a run down affair wedged into what was supposed to be the clear space between two internal bulkheads. If it had any kind of operating license, it was the cash-in-an-envelope sort, and the place didn't even have a name. Longshoremen who looked like they hardly needed help from a loader to move a few tons of ore around were lounging at rickety tables outside. I sidestepped as a man and a woman rolled out of the dimly lit interior. I'm not positive what they were doing, but the man spit out two teeth. I took the opportunity to slip inside.
The interior was crowded with a restless, shadowy mass of shapes. I pulled my coat a bit closer and tried to blend in, but I felt like the furrier in the slaver pen as I moved to the bar. The bar tender had a Caldari look to her, and seemed hard enough to do her own bouncing. I motioned her over and flashed fifty syns, "Anyone been showing a lotta credits round here lately? Last week or so? And a brew for me."
She pulled me a beer and gave me the usual: a hard look, a sneer, and a "Maybe."
I held out three fifties, "Got a name for me sweetheart?"
"For these, yeah, Gellique." She jerked her head at someone behind me, "And for calling me 'sweetheart,' this. You come back sometime honeycheeks."
I was grabbed from behind, and I got a look at the bouncer as I flew out the door. He looked like he might be a cargo loader. At least I didn't have to try the beer.
I dusted myself off to the laughter of the patrons at the tables outside, rallied my dignity like the Amarr at Atioth, and headed out. I sent a query to a friend in what passes as the station's government about the name 'Gellique' and whether the station's internals had a chance of detecting the power plant attached to the box.
It'd take a while for her to get back to me, so I set my sights on Kaita's hangar. I gave my authentication to her security there and got passed through. The guys manning the checkpoint looked tougher than the top shelf body armor they were wearing, and had a look I remembered from the days when I was drawing a corporate salary. Not amateurs, so how did someone sneak a man-sized box past them?
Well, that's why I was getting paid. I met Kaita's hangar chief, Oiman Mastako, in his office adjoining the main hangar. He had a face like a Veld 'roid: Lumpy, grayish, and begging for a laser hole. He radiated smugness like an antimatter charge radiated hurt. I wondered how well he knew someone named Gellique.
I took a seat without being asked and started right in. "Just got a couple questions for you. Tell me what happened."
He twisted his mouth like I walked in with a fedo conga line, but I knew my authorization from his boss was there flashing at him, "It was Tuesday, when myself and most of the rest of the regular hangar staff have the day off. We came back Wednesday, and the box was gone. There are no cameras or sensors on the hangar floor, for obvious reasons."
'Obvious' because a little run of the mill pilferage by hangar staff was nothing compared to creating a record of the things that transpire in your average podder's hangar, "What about security? The checkpoint on the way in didn't seem half-assed."
Mastako had the grace to look embarrassed at least, "Those are new, ex-Home Guard, mostly. At the time of the, um, incident we had contracted out to a local company. Ashte Security and Consulting. They came very highly recommended by the local contacts."
I'll bet they did. I knew of them. "And the box, you know what was in it?"
He hemmed and hawed and all I could get out of him was, "It's a bio-preservation unit, so something biological I guess."
Something 'biological.' Great. I pressed for a bit longer but didn't get anything useful until I was half out the door, "Last question, I wanted to talk to one of your guys..." I pretended to flip through my notes, "Gellique?"
His answer wasn't much of a surprise, "Henri Gellique hasn't shown up for work since Tuesday. You see him, tell him he's fired."
I knew she would be trouble. Maybe it was the curve of her lips, maybe it was the flight suit that fit a little too well. Who am I kidding, it was the podder implants. I stood and waved to a seat. Podder or not, a client's a client, and rent was due, "Call me Rory, Ms...?"
"Kaitane Ihonoka. You can call me Kaita." She sat with a nervous smile and a flip of her short, black hair. There wasn't any smile in those pretty gray eyes though, and I'd bet dirt against Exile that I'd never see nerves in them. Gray as a Raven's soul and dangerous, so much so I near missed what she said next, "I've been told you find things. Something of mine has disappeared."
I flipped open a notepad, "Can you describe the item?"
"A metal crate. Two meters tall, by one, by one. It has an on-board power source. It disappeared from my hangar floor. I have some diagrams."
She passed them over. Hardcopy, and there was pages of stuff. And lots of pages missing: The ones that showed the insides. For the rest, well, it was a metal box. I'm a simple guy, so I asked the obvious, "What's in it?"
"Nothing illegal." She laid it on thick, wide eyed, and even a little tremble around the mouth, "And I want it back badly Rory."
I wasn't falling for it. Not much, anyway. This is Syndicate, where "not illegal" means your bribes are all up to date. Still, a podder, she should be able to pay, "I'll look for the box for you. Now, I charge five hundred a day, plus expenses. Two days in advance is your deposit. That's whether I find it or not."
"The money is in your account." I thought she had been laying it on before, until she smiled. Cut through a man like a laser, that smile. "And if there is anything else I can do for you..."
I have rules, about relationships with clients and with people who give a bulk discount on massacres. Those kinda relationships get messy. So I got a few answers about dates, times, who might have access, things like that, scheduled a talk with her Hangar Chief and shooed her outta the office quick as I could.
The whole thing had gone colder than a priest's soul before she'd even got into my office, the box had been gone two days before she was desperate enough to bring in an outsider. I needed to get moving, but first thing's first. I brought out my neocom and checked my account balance. And nearly choked. She'd paid in isk, not syns - Syndicate Credits. I did a quick bit of math: With current exchange rate I could live like one of Quafe's pet senators for a year on that. Maybe even afford to hire a secretary.
Money like that, normally I'd say it stunk like three weeks on a shuttle full of cattle, but podders, right? She probably didn't even notice. That's what I told myself anyway. Money has a blinding charm all its own.
I squared things at the office and caught a ride down to Dockland. The bar nearest Kaita's hangar was a run down affair wedged into what was supposed to be the clear space between two internal bulkheads. If it had any kind of operating license, it was the cash-in-an-envelope sort, and the place didn't even have a name. Longshoremen who looked like they hardly needed help from a loader to move a few tons of ore around were lounging at rickety tables outside. I sidestepped as a man and a woman rolled out of the dimly lit interior. I'm not positive what they were doing, but the man spit out two teeth. I took the opportunity to slip inside.
The interior was crowded with a restless, shadowy mass of shapes. I pulled my coat a bit closer and tried to blend in, but I felt like the furrier in the slaver pen as I moved to the bar. The bar tender had a Caldari look to her, and seemed hard enough to do her own bouncing. I motioned her over and flashed fifty syns, "Anyone been showing a lotta credits round here lately? Last week or so? And a brew for me."
She pulled me a beer and gave me the usual: a hard look, a sneer, and a "Maybe."
I held out three fifties, "Got a name for me sweetheart?"
"For these, yeah, Gellique." She jerked her head at someone behind me, "And for calling me 'sweetheart,' this. You come back sometime honeycheeks."
I was grabbed from behind, and I got a look at the bouncer as I flew out the door. He looked like he might be a cargo loader. At least I didn't have to try the beer.
I dusted myself off to the laughter of the patrons at the tables outside, rallied my dignity like the Amarr at Atioth, and headed out. I sent a query to a friend in what passes as the station's government about the name 'Gellique' and whether the station's internals had a chance of detecting the power plant attached to the box.
It'd take a while for her to get back to me, so I set my sights on Kaita's hangar. I gave my authentication to her security there and got passed through. The guys manning the checkpoint looked tougher than the top shelf body armor they were wearing, and had a look I remembered from the days when I was drawing a corporate salary. Not amateurs, so how did someone sneak a man-sized box past them?
Well, that's why I was getting paid. I met Kaita's hangar chief, Oiman Mastako, in his office adjoining the main hangar. He had a face like a Veld 'roid: Lumpy, grayish, and begging for a laser hole. He radiated smugness like an antimatter charge radiated hurt. I wondered how well he knew someone named Gellique.
I took a seat without being asked and started right in. "Just got a couple questions for you. Tell me what happened."
He twisted his mouth like I walked in with a fedo conga line, but I knew my authorization from his boss was there flashing at him, "It was Tuesday, when myself and most of the rest of the regular hangar staff have the day off. We came back Wednesday, and the box was gone. There are no cameras or sensors on the hangar floor, for obvious reasons."
'Obvious' because a little run of the mill pilferage by hangar staff was nothing compared to creating a record of the things that transpire in your average podder's hangar, "What about security? The checkpoint on the way in didn't seem half-assed."
Mastako had the grace to look embarrassed at least, "Those are new, ex-Home Guard, mostly. At the time of the, um, incident we had contracted out to a local company. Ashte Security and Consulting. They came very highly recommended by the local contacts."
I'll bet they did. I knew of them. "And the box, you know what was in it?"
He hemmed and hawed and all I could get out of him was, "It's a bio-preservation unit, so something biological I guess."
Something 'biological.' Great. I pressed for a bit longer but didn't get anything useful until I was half out the door, "Last question, I wanted to talk to one of your guys..." I pretended to flip through my notes, "Gellique?"
His answer wasn't much of a surprise, "Henri Gellique hasn't shown up for work since Tuesday. You see him, tell him he's fired."
Wednesday
Jungle
Where the hell did that come from? Amieta risked a quick glance at the clearing. Her last squadmate lay just a couple meters away, red still glistening on his chest. He had hardly made it a single step. The leaves and shadows opposite her seemed to rustle and laugh despite the lack of wind, that jumble of foliage taking on a sinister feel in the splotches of late morning light. Amieta restrained herself from firing into it wildly.
The battle had started off well, most of the enemy eliminated in the first few ferocious minutes of fighting, just their commander remaining unaccounted for. Then Amieta's people started getting picked off, one by one. Adazai, Tukaya, Mitohnen, until it was just her and Sidreke left. And now he's lying there in the clearing.
She leaned her head back against the tree she was using for cover. I'm not going to lose this thing. She half crouched and began moving, tree to tree, circling around the clearing. The open space was a half-oval, transected by a sheer cliff face, gray stone sweating in the humidity. Only one way for her opponent to go. No way was she getting dropped from behind.
The rain forest was new growth, the trees only ghosts of future majesty, the spaces between them full of brush, ferns, saplings, low branches and tangled vines. Amieta slipped through it all quietly, the stock of her weapon tight to her shoulder, scanning for any movement in the dappled jungle all around.
She heard a sound or felt a disturbance in the air on some primitive level, and instinct had her moving, twisting to aim upward. It was already too late. The sharp crack of impact, red droplets falling across her helmet's visor, and she was falling to her knees. She toppled backward, felt her helmet tumble away. The sun peeked at her from cracks in the canopy overhead, more yellow than the light she was used to.
There was a thump nearby, and her victorious enemy walked into view, the sunlight turning the woman's short, feathered hair into a halo as she stood over Amieta. Well below average height, female, Caldari, face solemn. Rifle, with a too-fat barrel, slung over one shoulder, her helmet under her arm. She spoke, "That fall was really dramatic. How'd you get your helmet to bounce away like that?"
"Didn't have it buckled. Too damn hot out here, I don't know how you aren't pouring with sweat, like a normal person." Amieta adopted an expression of mock outrage as she squinted up, "Can't believe I let you get the drop on me, and at your age too, Sara. I should just resign."
"Well, pick your disgraced ass up. Your team will be buying at the cantina, as I recall." The woman - Sarakai - offered her hand, pulling Amieta easily to her feet, "You should have checked the trees, you know I don't get that many chances to look down at the world. After most of my guys went down so fast, I was a little worried. They are mostly desk jockeys, but I had hoped they would take a couple of yours with them. You had Sidreke too, thought even just the two of you might have me."
"Yeah, I kinda thought we might have you too." Amieta shrugged as they walked back to where the hovercraft waited to return them to the resort, "Well, make sure you tell your people what a good job they did, taking all those paint rounds for you. Team building, remember? Can't get good toadies these days, you know you're supposed to lose to your superiors Sarakai."
Sarakai snorted, "Never been near good enough at that game."
Amieta chuckled with a shake of her head and spoke into her com, "Attention, fun's over. Everyone back to the pickup site, I'll be buying the booze when we get back. If you've got bruises, bother CMO Nari about it at your own risk. Everyone remember, water polo at 1600 in the large pool. That's all. Invelen out."
The battle had started off well, most of the enemy eliminated in the first few ferocious minutes of fighting, just their commander remaining unaccounted for. Then Amieta's people started getting picked off, one by one. Adazai, Tukaya, Mitohnen, until it was just her and Sidreke left. And now he's lying there in the clearing.
She leaned her head back against the tree she was using for cover. I'm not going to lose this thing. She half crouched and began moving, tree to tree, circling around the clearing. The open space was a half-oval, transected by a sheer cliff face, gray stone sweating in the humidity. Only one way for her opponent to go. No way was she getting dropped from behind.
The rain forest was new growth, the trees only ghosts of future majesty, the spaces between them full of brush, ferns, saplings, low branches and tangled vines. Amieta slipped through it all quietly, the stock of her weapon tight to her shoulder, scanning for any movement in the dappled jungle all around.
She heard a sound or felt a disturbance in the air on some primitive level, and instinct had her moving, twisting to aim upward. It was already too late. The sharp crack of impact, red droplets falling across her helmet's visor, and she was falling to her knees. She toppled backward, felt her helmet tumble away. The sun peeked at her from cracks in the canopy overhead, more yellow than the light she was used to.
There was a thump nearby, and her victorious enemy walked into view, the sunlight turning the woman's short, feathered hair into a halo as she stood over Amieta. Well below average height, female, Caldari, face solemn. Rifle, with a too-fat barrel, slung over one shoulder, her helmet under her arm. She spoke, "That fall was really dramatic. How'd you get your helmet to bounce away like that?"
"Didn't have it buckled. Too damn hot out here, I don't know how you aren't pouring with sweat, like a normal person." Amieta adopted an expression of mock outrage as she squinted up, "Can't believe I let you get the drop on me, and at your age too, Sara. I should just resign."
"Well, pick your disgraced ass up. Your team will be buying at the cantina, as I recall." The woman - Sarakai - offered her hand, pulling Amieta easily to her feet, "You should have checked the trees, you know I don't get that many chances to look down at the world. After most of my guys went down so fast, I was a little worried. They are mostly desk jockeys, but I had hoped they would take a couple of yours with them. You had Sidreke too, thought even just the two of you might have me."
"Yeah, I kinda thought we might have you too." Amieta shrugged as they walked back to where the hovercraft waited to return them to the resort, "Well, make sure you tell your people what a good job they did, taking all those paint rounds for you. Team building, remember? Can't get good toadies these days, you know you're supposed to lose to your superiors Sarakai."
Sarakai snorted, "Never been near good enough at that game."
Amieta chuckled with a shake of her head and spoke into her com, "Attention, fun's over. Everyone back to the pickup site, I'll be buying the booze when we get back. If you've got bruises, bother CMO Nari about it at your own risk. Everyone remember, water polo at 1600 in the large pool. That's all. Invelen out."
Tuesday
Mr. Popular
Co-authored by Ciarente and Silver Night
"All right," Amieta said grimly. "You know what to do. Let's hope this time we'll see the last of him."
Colonel Sarakai Voutelen nodded, and spoke into her com. “That’s a go on Operation safeguard. Repeat, safeguard is go.”
**********
1
Detective Rudaert Carlan surveyed the body. Male, average height, fair hair. Might have been Intaki looking, when he was alive. The detective sipped his coffee and released an annoyed sigh, "This is just what I need with a turf war going on. What have we got, Brere?"
The forensics tech looked up from where she was squatting next to the corpse. "Well, we're almost done here. Minor injuries, signs of a struggle. Then this," she indicated a jagged wound starting near the waist and stopping only slightly below the diaphragm. "Which would have been fatal, though it missed the major blood vessels. Very deep, a good sized combat knife, I think. Whoever did it was strong too. Strong enough they could probably bench press you."
Rudaert snorted, his impressive girth was a running joke in the force, "You said 'would have' been fatal? That didn't kill him?"
"That's the weird part. " Brere wrinkled her nose, "Seems like someone must have gotten impatient." She pressed down on the dead man's chest. "See that froth? He drowned. It gets better too, Rude."
She carefully turned the body until the back of the neck was visible. "How about that?"
The detective grunted, "Shit. A podder? Does Fortune hate me? Do we have an ID?"
"Yeah, it just came through, positive match. Jorion Roth. He was FIO."
"FIO?" Rudaert considered for a moment, then smiled, "Good, it's their problem. I'll give them a call and let them know about the steaming pile they are about to get handed. I love inter-agency cooperation."
**********
Sarakai stopped respectfully just inside the hatch to Amieta's private quarters, "Drop-off was successful. The authorities found the body a short time ago."
Amieta looked up from where she was adjusting one of her prosthetics, the fingers of that hand twitching rhythmically among a scattering of tools, "Good. That information should hit the cloning bank any minute now.” She frowned down at the twitching fingers, tightened a screw. “Just make sure that he isn't killed after they wake him up - Spirits know he isn't exactly Mr Popular. We may not get another chance, if he gets wise to it."
**********
2
Jorion Roth walked through the sparsely populated corridors, headed to the transportation terminal. Running a hand over his bald, new clone scalp, he brought up the time and date.
A month out of date. A month in which I died twice. And anyone who could tell me what happened ... He shivered slightly at the recollection of the holonews feed, the flattened buildings where the FIO office had been, the desperate efforts to contain the lethal virus ...
Roth kept a wary eye on his surroundings. He hadn't just died twice in the last month, after all. Someone killed him twice. Still, he wasn't excessively worried when he came to the police checkpoint. Four officers in full unpowered armor, mirrored face plates covering their expressions. The sergeant in charge, no helmet, looked bored, "Identification please."
He dug his ID out and handed it over, "Things with the State have gotten worse? I was just cloned, and..."
The officer smiled and handed back the ID as he interrupted Jorion, "I know."
'Police' grabbed him on either side, and he felt a cold pinch on his neck.
**********
Amieta leaned on the railing, looking down at the hanger, cigarette dangling from one matte metal hand. Sarakai cleared her throat politely, although she had no doubt her CO had heard her footsteps on the catwalk as she approached. "Everything is going smoothly, sir."
Amieta nodded and drew on the cigarette. "Time to give our pet Angel a call then."
**********
3
Two marine privates dropped Jorion none too gently, unconscious, in a heap at Commander Amieta Invelen's feet. She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, then shrugged, "Alright, get him down to Sanik for surgery."
She turned to her other guest as the marines dragged Jorion away again, "They will remove the podder implants and install a TCMC. I think you are familiar with those Ms Rask?"
Ollada Rask nodded, "So, he is the package I will deliver?"
"Yes. He will be very... docile, after the surgery. In fact, I imagine he will do anything you ask him to. Those are the specifications. I trust your contact in Curse can deliver what we require?"
Rask snorted, "Eagerly. Normally they would have to pay, and here you - we are paying them. He will have adequate medical care, and his 'correspondence' will be allowed out. He will not ask for help?"
Invelen smiled, nearly the same smile she had worn when she had explained to Rask not so long ago that Rask, and Rask's organization were hers now, "The part of him - and the doctors assure me that it will still be there, able to see and hear and feel everything - that you would think of as him will not be able to affect the outside world at all. The personality that will be in control is rudimentary," Invelen laughed, "but it's not as if the work he will be doing is complicated. The messages will be simple too. 'I'm making progress.' That sort of thing. Let people know he's alive a couple times a year."
Rask gathered her courage, "There's the matter of my pay? There are expenses, travel documents, transportation..."
"Ballsy, I like that Ms Rask." Invelen eyed her, "Your compensation will be that you will be a step closer to being my friend. Isn't that nice?"
Rask chose not to make an issue of it.
**********
"It's confirmed she left the system with the package?" Amieta lifted a report from the pile on her desk, studied it, and put it back.
Sarakai nodded. "You sure she'll be able to deliver?"
"She doesn't have much choice, Sara.” Amieta found the file she was looking for and flipped it open. “She'll do what needs to be done."
**********
4
Rask looked at the man seated behind the desk with something like distaste. Oil from his slicked back hair stained the collar of his too-loud shirt. A gold tooth glittered under eyes that always grinned, the way a slaver hound always grinned - devoid of anything human. Acts like he is just another pimp because that hides something worse, something the rest of us would run the hell away from. Makes my skin crawl. Perfect. That Sansha bitch won't have a thing to complain about.
His name was Kuhol Airail. He was studying Jorion Roth, or what had been Jorion Roth. The Intaki was standing in a corner, his eyes empty too, though not in the same way as Airail's, "You want me to buy him? What makes you think I can afford another in the stable right now, Rask? There is the initial costs, then drugs to keep him under control and usable. Medical costs. My clientele's... particular tastes make each addition a substantial investment."
"Your tastes, excuse me, your clients' tastes, are why I picked you, Airail. I'll be picking up the tab, including medical costs. Think of him as a gift with a few strings attached."
"Gift?" Arail raised an eyebrow, "What strings though? You can't try and..."
"I'm not trying to muscle in Arail. I've got my own thing going back in the Heath, you know that." Rask lit a cigarette, as much to mask the man’s cologne as because she wanted it. "Just simple rules. I don't care what you do with him, but he needs to stay alive, understand? You'll be paid to get him top notch medical care, and he better get it. We'll be keeping an eye. No drugs, that's another one. He's to stay sober. You won't need them anyway, he does whatever anyone tells him to do, pretty much." She grinned. "He'll be Mr Popular. And he'll want to send communications sometimes, let him. Ain't no-one going to come and save him."
"You're sure about the drugs? Some of my clients have very unusual habits, and..."
Rask cut him off, "No drugs, I told you it wouldn't be a problem, and it won't be. You try to screw with me on this though Arail, and you end up like him, understand? He dies, it will go poorly. I have some... new friends. Friends who do things like this," she jerked a thumb toward Jorion, "to people who piss them off. Myself, I wouldn't want to be one of those people." She drew on her cigarette. “And I’d advise you not to be, either.”
**********
5
"Are you sure?" Ciarente asked, turning her glass between her hands. "That he ... that it's over?'
"I'm sure, Cia," Amieta said. She sipped her own drink, felt the welcome burn of the rum for the few seconds before her Spirits-cursed Zainou liver got to work scrubbing the alcohol out of her bloodstream.
"Is he ..." Ciarente hesitated. "He's still my father, Ami. I ... "
Amieta leaned forward and put her hand over Ciarente's. "He'll lead a long and healthy life, Cia. You don't need to worry about him." She smiled. "Not ever again."
*****************
"All right," Amieta said grimly. "You know what to do. Let's hope this time we'll see the last of him."
Colonel Sarakai Voutelen nodded, and spoke into her com. “That’s a go on Operation safeguard. Repeat, safeguard is go.”
1
Detective Rudaert Carlan surveyed the body. Male, average height, fair hair. Might have been Intaki looking, when he was alive. The detective sipped his coffee and released an annoyed sigh, "This is just what I need with a turf war going on. What have we got, Brere?"
The forensics tech looked up from where she was squatting next to the corpse. "Well, we're almost done here. Minor injuries, signs of a struggle. Then this," she indicated a jagged wound starting near the waist and stopping only slightly below the diaphragm. "Which would have been fatal, though it missed the major blood vessels. Very deep, a good sized combat knife, I think. Whoever did it was strong too. Strong enough they could probably bench press you."
Rudaert snorted, his impressive girth was a running joke in the force, "You said 'would have' been fatal? That didn't kill him?"
"That's the weird part. " Brere wrinkled her nose, "Seems like someone must have gotten impatient." She pressed down on the dead man's chest. "See that froth? He drowned. It gets better too, Rude."
She carefully turned the body until the back of the neck was visible. "How about that?"
The detective grunted, "Shit. A podder? Does Fortune hate me? Do we have an ID?"
"Yeah, it just came through, positive match. Jorion Roth. He was FIO."
"FIO?" Rudaert considered for a moment, then smiled, "Good, it's their problem. I'll give them a call and let them know about the steaming pile they are about to get handed. I love inter-agency cooperation."
Sarakai stopped respectfully just inside the hatch to Amieta's private quarters, "Drop-off was successful. The authorities found the body a short time ago."
Amieta looked up from where she was adjusting one of her prosthetics, the fingers of that hand twitching rhythmically among a scattering of tools, "Good. That information should hit the cloning bank any minute now.” She frowned down at the twitching fingers, tightened a screw. “Just make sure that he isn't killed after they wake him up - Spirits know he isn't exactly Mr Popular. We may not get another chance, if he gets wise to it."
2
Jorion Roth walked through the sparsely populated corridors, headed to the transportation terminal. Running a hand over his bald, new clone scalp, he brought up the time and date.
A month out of date. A month in which I died twice. And anyone who could tell me what happened ... He shivered slightly at the recollection of the holonews feed, the flattened buildings where the FIO office had been, the desperate efforts to contain the lethal virus ...
Roth kept a wary eye on his surroundings. He hadn't just died twice in the last month, after all. Someone killed him twice. Still, he wasn't excessively worried when he came to the police checkpoint. Four officers in full unpowered armor, mirrored face plates covering their expressions. The sergeant in charge, no helmet, looked bored, "Identification please."
He dug his ID out and handed it over, "Things with the State have gotten worse? I was just cloned, and..."
The officer smiled and handed back the ID as he interrupted Jorion, "I know."
'Police' grabbed him on either side, and he felt a cold pinch on his neck.
Amieta leaned on the railing, looking down at the hanger, cigarette dangling from one matte metal hand. Sarakai cleared her throat politely, although she had no doubt her CO had heard her footsteps on the catwalk as she approached. "Everything is going smoothly, sir."
Amieta nodded and drew on the cigarette. "Time to give our pet Angel a call then."
3
Two marine privates dropped Jorion none too gently, unconscious, in a heap at Commander Amieta Invelen's feet. She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, then shrugged, "Alright, get him down to Sanik for surgery."
She turned to her other guest as the marines dragged Jorion away again, "They will remove the podder implants and install a TCMC. I think you are familiar with those Ms Rask?"
Ollada Rask nodded, "So, he is the package I will deliver?"
"Yes. He will be very... docile, after the surgery. In fact, I imagine he will do anything you ask him to. Those are the specifications. I trust your contact in Curse can deliver what we require?"
Rask snorted, "Eagerly. Normally they would have to pay, and here you - we are paying them. He will have adequate medical care, and his 'correspondence' will be allowed out. He will not ask for help?"
Invelen smiled, nearly the same smile she had worn when she had explained to Rask not so long ago that Rask, and Rask's organization were hers now, "The part of him - and the doctors assure me that it will still be there, able to see and hear and feel everything - that you would think of as him will not be able to affect the outside world at all. The personality that will be in control is rudimentary," Invelen laughed, "but it's not as if the work he will be doing is complicated. The messages will be simple too. 'I'm making progress.' That sort of thing. Let people know he's alive a couple times a year."
Rask gathered her courage, "There's the matter of my pay? There are expenses, travel documents, transportation..."
"Ballsy, I like that Ms Rask." Invelen eyed her, "Your compensation will be that you will be a step closer to being my friend. Isn't that nice?"
Rask chose not to make an issue of it.
"It's confirmed she left the system with the package?" Amieta lifted a report from the pile on her desk, studied it, and put it back.
Sarakai nodded. "You sure she'll be able to deliver?"
"She doesn't have much choice, Sara.” Amieta found the file she was looking for and flipped it open. “She'll do what needs to be done."
4
Rask looked at the man seated behind the desk with something like distaste. Oil from his slicked back hair stained the collar of his too-loud shirt. A gold tooth glittered under eyes that always grinned, the way a slaver hound always grinned - devoid of anything human. Acts like he is just another pimp because that hides something worse, something the rest of us would run the hell away from. Makes my skin crawl. Perfect. That Sansha bitch won't have a thing to complain about.
His name was Kuhol Airail. He was studying Jorion Roth, or what had been Jorion Roth. The Intaki was standing in a corner, his eyes empty too, though not in the same way as Airail's, "You want me to buy him? What makes you think I can afford another in the stable right now, Rask? There is the initial costs, then drugs to keep him under control and usable. Medical costs. My clientele's... particular tastes make each addition a substantial investment."
"Your tastes, excuse me, your clients' tastes, are why I picked you, Airail. I'll be picking up the tab, including medical costs. Think of him as a gift with a few strings attached."
"Gift?" Arail raised an eyebrow, "What strings though? You can't try and..."
"I'm not trying to muscle in Arail. I've got my own thing going back in the Heath, you know that." Rask lit a cigarette, as much to mask the man’s cologne as because she wanted it. "Just simple rules. I don't care what you do with him, but he needs to stay alive, understand? You'll be paid to get him top notch medical care, and he better get it. We'll be keeping an eye. No drugs, that's another one. He's to stay sober. You won't need them anyway, he does whatever anyone tells him to do, pretty much." She grinned. "He'll be Mr Popular. And he'll want to send communications sometimes, let him. Ain't no-one going to come and save him."
"You're sure about the drugs? Some of my clients have very unusual habits, and..."
Rask cut him off, "No drugs, I told you it wouldn't be a problem, and it won't be. You try to screw with me on this though Arail, and you end up like him, understand? He dies, it will go poorly. I have some... new friends. Friends who do things like this," she jerked a thumb toward Jorion, "to people who piss them off. Myself, I wouldn't want to be one of those people." She drew on her cigarette. “And I’d advise you not to be, either.”
5
"Are you sure?" Ciarente asked, turning her glass between her hands. "That he ... that it's over?'
"I'm sure, Cia," Amieta said. She sipped her own drink, felt the welcome burn of the rum for the few seconds before her Spirits-cursed Zainou liver got to work scrubbing the alcohol out of her bloodstream.
"Is he ..." Ciarente hesitated. "He's still my father, Ami. I ... "
Amieta leaned forward and put her hand over Ciarente's. "He'll lead a long and healthy life, Cia. You don't need to worry about him." She smiled. "Not ever again."
Monday
Into the Dark: Fourteen
Co-authored by Ciarente and Silver Night
The stone of the bridge flashed past, so close Medic Atad Rorkulo could have reached out and touched it. If we so much as clip a wing at this speed ... She shuddered, remembering burnt and broken bodies pulled from shuttle wrecks, and looked back to the two women clinging to the end of the rope ladder, distracting herself from just how close Captain Night was cutting it by concentrating on her job. Even at this distance she could see injuries that would need medical attention. That graze on Commander Invelen's face looks deep .. better check for concussion ... the Intaki girl, Ciarente Roth, doesn't seem to be able to move her right arm ... a break? Dislocation?
Then they were in clear air, the shuttle lifting and slowing. Atad had an instant to see empty space below them, water cascading over the lip of the weir and crashing down a hundred feet to a wide lake, before the rope ladder snapped taut and the two women went over the edge.
Two screams, one shrill and terrified, the other sounding suspiciously like exhilaration. The shuttle climbed further, slowing to the edge of a stall, minimising the swing. Atad saw Ciarente Roth look up, face white, then down. Her voice drifted up, barely audible over the engines. "Oh no, oh no, oh no ..."
The shuttle banked gently, heading for the shore of the lake, and shedding altitude. As they dipped toward solid ground Commander Invelen released her grip on the ladder, stumbled backward one step and fell over. Ms Roth clung to the ladder until Captain Night lowered the shuttle enough for her feet to touch the ground, then she let go and thumped to the ground, as if her legs couldn't support her weight.
Captain Night brought the shuttle in to land a safe distance away.
He was out of the cockpit and brushing past her before Atad had grabbed her kit. She followed him as he nearly jogged down the ramp.
Commander Invelen was sitting up, arms wrapped around her knees, looking up at the open sky above them. Smiling. Colour's good, Atad noted. Grazes ... superficial head injury... that ankle's swollen...non-priority.
"Ami, Ms Roth, are you alright?" Captain Night asked, looking concerned.
"Not ... sure..." Ciarente Roth murmured faintly. She rolled over and sat up, wincing and clutching her right arm, then looked up at Captain Night. "Silver. How nice .. to see you?"
"Your arm okay?" Commander Invelen asked, her expression becoming one of concern.
"It ... hurts?" Pilot Roth said, sounding puzzled.
Captain Night waved Atad forward. She knelt beside the Intaki woman. Shoulder definitely dislocated. Shocky, too. Those medications Commander Invelen queried us on ... and Void knows what's been done to her head. "Do you know where you are, Pilot Roth?" she asked, tugging a silvery emergency blanket from her kit and wrapping it gently around the girl's shoulders. Colour's bad, need to get her fluids up.
A hovercraft landed nearby as Pilot Roth murmured a vague affirmative. Atad glanced away from her patient long enough to see Colonel Voutelen climbing out, turning to help a little girl down after her. The girl pointed towards them, and then hurried forward, breaking into a stumbling jog and then dropping back to a walk, the Colonel following.
"Cia! Ami!" the girl said, coming to a stop beside Captain Night.
Atad took a re-hydration kit from her bag and snapped the warming seal. "I'm just going to hook you up to this, Ms Roth," she said. "It'll make you feel a bit better. Then we're going to get you to a hospital, okay?"
Behind her, she could hear the others talking. "Hey, Cami, how was your flight?" Commander Invelen asked. "Make sure the medic takes a look at her and Sara too, Silver."
"Is Cia okay, Ami? Are you okay?" the little girl asked.
"I'm fine, Cami," the Commander reassured her. "Cia's going to be fine too. Little banged up is all. How about you?"
Pilot Roth pulled away as Atad flicked the hypodermic open. "No .. I ... no ..."
"You need some fluids, Ms Roth," Atad said, taking her arm.
"No, no needles ..." Pilot Roth jerked her arm away, harder, and Atad looked around for help, as Camille said fretfully:
"I want to go home. My head hurts."
She leaned forward and vomited on Captain Night's shoes. Void take me, rumor is he doesn't even like being touched Atad thought with fascinated horror, but the Captain's expression showed nothing but concern.
"Sorry," Camille said sadly, looking up at him. "I didn't know that was going to happen."
Captain Night frowned, and squatted down in front of her, scrutinizing her face. "Medic, can you take a look at Miss Roth here?"
"One moment, sir," Atad said. Get Pilot Roth stabilised first ... I don't like that pulse rate, not at all ...
"I want to go home," Camille said. "I'm tired!" She retched again.
"Now, I think," Captain Night said, and the note in his voice made Atad move.
A glance showed her what had alarmed him. The girl had a swollen lump on the right side of her head, mark of a serious impact, but far worse, her right pupil was three times the size of her left.
Atad looked over at Commander Invelen. "How long ago did she get this injury?"
The commander paused. "Ninety-seven minutes," she said, "Pistol-whipped. And she has been ... quiet. Not herself. With what she's been through .. I thought she was just worn out."
Intracranial hemorrhage - likely subdural, then, with that time gap. Atad pulled a neck-brace from her kit and fitted it to Camille. "We need to get her to a hospital fast, sir," she said to Captain Night.
Camille closed her eyes and mumbled "Can you wake me up when we get there?"
Not good. Atad squeezed her shoulder. "Wake up, dear. Come on."
"I don't know," Captain Night said, "That there is time. The intercranial pressure is clearly dangerously high. It needs immediate decompression."
Atad glanced at the Captain. I hope he knows what he is doing, he's a research scientist, not a field medic. Brains though, he does know brains better than most.
Camille opened her eyes drowsily, then closed them again, going limp. Atad caught her.
Captain Night touched the girl's head, above her right ear. "Prep here for surgery as best you can."
"For surgery? I don't have - " Her voice died away. Captain Night was already running back to the shuttle.
Commander Invelen put her hand on Atad's arm. "Give her to me. I'll hold her steady." She sat cross-legged and gently lowered Camille so the girl's head rested in her lap.
"Ami?" Pilot Roth asked from behind Atad. "What's wrong with her?"
"Silver said pressure. There must be bleeding," Commander Invelen said with a glance at Atad. Atad nodded confirmation, opening her kit. She spread out a sheet of sterile gauze, and Commander Invelen lifted Camille a little to let Atad spread the gauze beneath her head. Not the best sterile field I've ever managed, Atad thought. Not the worst, either. And infection's the least of the kid's worries right now.
She wiped the spot Captain Night had indicated with a disinfectant wipe and unrolled the field kit's portable instrument tray.
"Oh, fortune," Pilot Roth said, trying to get up and then crawling toward Camille.
Colonel Voutelen stopped her. "Give them room, Ms Roth."
Atad looked up as Captain Night returned, holding ... That's from the maintenance locker, she thought. That's a gods damned tie-down drill.
Commander Invelen carefully fitted her hands around Camille's head, her metal fingers gentle but immovable.
"Are you sure there isn't time?" Pilot Roth asked shakily. "To get her to a hospital?"
"Yes," Captain Night said. He handed Atad a squeeze bottle of sterile saline, wiped the drill bit with a disinfectant wipe and carefully laid it on the instrument tray, then picked up a scalpel.
"Don't - don't cut her - no - " Pilot Roth said, her voice rising. "No knives, no - "
"It'll be all right, Ms Roth," Colonel Voutelen said. I wish I were as confident of that as she sounds, Atad thought.
Captain Night ignored Pilot Roth's incoherent protests and made a quick, precise incision above Camille's ear, exposing the bone.
"Sir," Atad murmured. "Have you done this before?"
"Yes," Captain Night said. "Although under slightly more controlled conditions."
He set the scalpel aside, picked up the drill, and positioned it against the girl's skull without hesitation.
The drill whirred to life. Atad watched as it bit through the bone. The Captain stopped and backed the drill out carefully, she irrigated with the squeeze bottle, and he resumed. I guess that means it is going well?
Captain Night stopped the drill a second time. Carefully lifted it away. A trickle of blood followed it, more, Atad thought, than could be accounted for by the incision. She washed away the new blood, the flecks of bone. All the way through.
She craned to see the child's face as Captain Night set the drill down on the instrument tray with a clatter, hands starting to shake.
"Cami?" Pilot Roth said tremulously. "Cami?”
The little girl’s eyelids fluttered.
“Now,” Captain Night said, his voice tired, “We need to get to a hospital.”
Camille opened her eyes. “Ami? What happened?”
“Oh, thank fortune,” Pilot Roth said, and began to cry.
He just.. Loki! and it actually worked.
“You hit your head, honey,” Commander Invelen said. “It made you go to sleep, but Silver fixed it.”
“Oh,” Camille said. “How?”
“There was pressure in your head making you sleepy," Invelen said, her voice matter-of-fact, "So he made a little hole.”
“A hole? Cool!" Camille said. "I wish I hadn’t been asleep. Can he do it again now I’m awake?”
“I don’t think that would be wise, Miss Roth,” Captain Night said with a questioning glance at his XO. Commander Invelen shrugged.
“ We are going to take you to hospital now, okay?” she said to Camille. “You get to fly there in an assault shuttle even.”
Camille, who had been looking disappointed, cheered up immediately at the mention of an assault shuttle. "Can I fly it?"
"Perhaps not today, honey," Commander Invelen said as Atad fetched the stretcher.
She and Colonel Sarakai lifted Camille onto it. Commander Invelen got to her feet and took one end of the stretcher with a nod to Colonel Sarakai, who picked up the other end.
As Sarakai and Invelen started towards the shuttle, Atad turned back to Pilot Roth, who still sat on the ground, sobbing helplessly. Past her limit, she thought. Well and truly.
She knelt down.
"We're headed to the hospital, Ms Roth," she said gently. "That shoulder needs to be looked at, it's dislocated, and all the other... you'll need a check up too. Routine."
Pilot Roth nodded, and tried to get to her feet. Commander Invelen gave Captain Night what the crew called a Look and he hurried over, awkwardly assisting Pilot Roth to her feet on her left as Atad steadied her on the right, careful to stabilise her right arm.
They ushered her toward the lowered ramp of the LAS.
“I’m sorry,” Pilot Roth wept as they helped her into the shuttle. “I - can’t – stop!”
“It’s okay, Cia,” Commander Invelen said. “Been through a lot. Everything will be okay now.”
Captain Night glanced toward the cockpit. “I have to – ”
Commander Invelen nodded, and said with what almost sounded to Atad to be permission, “Sir.”
Captain Night hurried forward, and a moment later the engines began to hum.
Atad steered Pilot Roth to sit beside the stretcher. The Intaki woman looked down at her sister. “I can’t – believe – he just ... He saved - her life!”
Commander Invelen snorted. “Well, he is supposed to be a doctor. Still, it is nice he’s good for something.”
The trip to the hospital was short, and far less eventful than their earlier flight. Medical staff were waiting, and Atad saw on their shocked faces her own earlier reaction to the sight of the bedraggled four.
As they clambered off, Captain Night yelled from the cockpit, "I have to clear the pad. I'll be back soon as I can, alright Ami?!"
Commander Invelen nodded, and a moment later the shuttle was disappearing into the distance again.
Atad hesitated as the medtechs surrounded them.
“Go with Camille,” Commander Invelen ordered, and Atad nodded.
As she turned away she heard Ciarente sob: “Can - we - never - ever do that - again? Please?”
“I sure as hell hope not, hun,” the XO said.
“I – do you think – she saw?”
The doors closed behind Atad, cutting off Commander Invelen’s reply.
She gathered her thoughts and gave a medical history as Camille was wheeled down the hall, watched the girl whisked away to be scanned and stabilised.
Atad scrubbed in, sticking to the XO's order, and watched as the surgical team stopped the hemorrhaging and patched the hole in Camille's skull. Scans confirmed that the child was out of danger, 'good as new' as one of the doctors put it.
When Camille was resting comfortably, Atad went back out into the hall. She saw Commander Invelen talking a group of ten or twelve doctors. As she approached she heard one of them say something about TCMC, another use the word barbaric. The XO looked up and spotted Atad, a warning shake of her head telling Atad to keep her distance. Brief snatches of the following conversation were audible: something about damage, burns and implants.
With an order to Colonel Voutelen about ‘clean-up’, Commander Invelen disappeared into a nearby room. Curious, Atad drifted closer, but all she could make out through the closed door was the occasional word, Pilot Roth's voice rising shrilly as she talked about Papa and about needles and knives and questions. Commander Invelen telling her It’s okay, Cia, you’re safe now. Stick with me here. It’s okay now. Silver and some people are going to take a look, and we need to figure out what to do.
Atad stepped back to a more discreet distance as the door opened.
“Rorkulo,” the XO said. “The docs have been convinced to let us out of here. Make sure the medical records are transmitted to our people aboard – scans, tests, the lot.”
Atad nodded. “Sir,” she said.
Invelen turned to Pilot Roth. “Look, Cia, there’s Sara and Cami.”
Colonel Voutelen was waiting by the exit with the little girl, who was in a wheelchair, swinging her feet. As Commander Invelen and Pilot Roth neared them, the Commander limping slightly, Camille bounced excitedly in her seat.
“Cia! Ami! They said we can go home! And see Pierre and Mathilde and I bet Mathilde made pear cake, it’s not as good as yours of course Cia but Mathilde’s pear cake is still pretty good! Ami, you’ll love it!”
“I’m sure I will,” Commander Invelen said with a grin. “I’m starved!”
“They said I had to stay in the chair but I don’t know how it’ll go up the stairs and it’s boring anyhow!”
“How about I carry you, Cami?” the XO said. “That better?”
Camille nodded and held up her arms. Commander Invelen picked her up easily. "There we go," she said, her arms tightening around the little girl. "I've got you now."
“ Can we go now?” Camille asked, wrapping her own arms around the Commander's neck. “Can we?”
“Yes, Cami,” Pilot Roth said, her voice breaking a little. “We can go home.”
Atad watched as the four of them made their way to the exit.
The doors hissed back, opening on the glorious summer’s day, the sounds of the local festival drifting in on a warm, fresh breeze. For a moment the four of them were silhouetted, Camille cradled in Commander Invelen's arms, Pilot Roth beside them with her hand resting half on Camille's back, half on the Commander's arm, and Colonel Sarakai flanking the Commander on the other side, a step ahead. The little girl said something that made Pilot Roth and Commander Invelen laugh, and even won a smile from Colonel Sarakai, and then as Atad watched, they were through the door and the figures dissolved into the light.
*****************
The stone of the bridge flashed past, so close Medic Atad Rorkulo could have reached out and touched it. If we so much as clip a wing at this speed ... She shuddered, remembering burnt and broken bodies pulled from shuttle wrecks, and looked back to the two women clinging to the end of the rope ladder, distracting herself from just how close Captain Night was cutting it by concentrating on her job. Even at this distance she could see injuries that would need medical attention. That graze on Commander Invelen's face looks deep .. better check for concussion ... the Intaki girl, Ciarente Roth, doesn't seem to be able to move her right arm ... a break? Dislocation?
Then they were in clear air, the shuttle lifting and slowing. Atad had an instant to see empty space below them, water cascading over the lip of the weir and crashing down a hundred feet to a wide lake, before the rope ladder snapped taut and the two women went over the edge.
Two screams, one shrill and terrified, the other sounding suspiciously like exhilaration. The shuttle climbed further, slowing to the edge of a stall, minimising the swing. Atad saw Ciarente Roth look up, face white, then down. Her voice drifted up, barely audible over the engines. "Oh no, oh no, oh no ..."
The shuttle banked gently, heading for the shore of the lake, and shedding altitude. As they dipped toward solid ground Commander Invelen released her grip on the ladder, stumbled backward one step and fell over. Ms Roth clung to the ladder until Captain Night lowered the shuttle enough for her feet to touch the ground, then she let go and thumped to the ground, as if her legs couldn't support her weight.
Captain Night brought the shuttle in to land a safe distance away.
He was out of the cockpit and brushing past her before Atad had grabbed her kit. She followed him as he nearly jogged down the ramp.
Commander Invelen was sitting up, arms wrapped around her knees, looking up at the open sky above them. Smiling. Colour's good, Atad noted. Grazes ... superficial head injury... that ankle's swollen...non-priority.
"Ami, Ms Roth, are you alright?" Captain Night asked, looking concerned.
"Not ... sure..." Ciarente Roth murmured faintly. She rolled over and sat up, wincing and clutching her right arm, then looked up at Captain Night. "Silver. How nice .. to see you?"
"Your arm okay?" Commander Invelen asked, her expression becoming one of concern.
"It ... hurts?" Pilot Roth said, sounding puzzled.
Captain Night waved Atad forward. She knelt beside the Intaki woman. Shoulder definitely dislocated. Shocky, too. Those medications Commander Invelen queried us on ... and Void knows what's been done to her head. "Do you know where you are, Pilot Roth?" she asked, tugging a silvery emergency blanket from her kit and wrapping it gently around the girl's shoulders. Colour's bad, need to get her fluids up.
A hovercraft landed nearby as Pilot Roth murmured a vague affirmative. Atad glanced away from her patient long enough to see Colonel Voutelen climbing out, turning to help a little girl down after her. The girl pointed towards them, and then hurried forward, breaking into a stumbling jog and then dropping back to a walk, the Colonel following.
"Cia! Ami!" the girl said, coming to a stop beside Captain Night.
Atad took a re-hydration kit from her bag and snapped the warming seal. "I'm just going to hook you up to this, Ms Roth," she said. "It'll make you feel a bit better. Then we're going to get you to a hospital, okay?"
Behind her, she could hear the others talking. "Hey, Cami, how was your flight?" Commander Invelen asked. "Make sure the medic takes a look at her and Sara too, Silver."
"Is Cia okay, Ami? Are you okay?" the little girl asked.
"I'm fine, Cami," the Commander reassured her. "Cia's going to be fine too. Little banged up is all. How about you?"
Pilot Roth pulled away as Atad flicked the hypodermic open. "No .. I ... no ..."
"You need some fluids, Ms Roth," Atad said, taking her arm.
"No, no needles ..." Pilot Roth jerked her arm away, harder, and Atad looked around for help, as Camille said fretfully:
"I want to go home. My head hurts."
She leaned forward and vomited on Captain Night's shoes. Void take me, rumor is he doesn't even like being touched Atad thought with fascinated horror, but the Captain's expression showed nothing but concern.
"Sorry," Camille said sadly, looking up at him. "I didn't know that was going to happen."
Captain Night frowned, and squatted down in front of her, scrutinizing her face. "Medic, can you take a look at Miss Roth here?"
"One moment, sir," Atad said. Get Pilot Roth stabilised first ... I don't like that pulse rate, not at all ...
"I want to go home," Camille said. "I'm tired!" She retched again.
"Now, I think," Captain Night said, and the note in his voice made Atad move.
A glance showed her what had alarmed him. The girl had a swollen lump on the right side of her head, mark of a serious impact, but far worse, her right pupil was three times the size of her left.
Atad looked over at Commander Invelen. "How long ago did she get this injury?"
The commander paused. "Ninety-seven minutes," she said, "Pistol-whipped. And she has been ... quiet. Not herself. With what she's been through .. I thought she was just worn out."
Intracranial hemorrhage - likely subdural, then, with that time gap. Atad pulled a neck-brace from her kit and fitted it to Camille. "We need to get her to a hospital fast, sir," she said to Captain Night.
Camille closed her eyes and mumbled "Can you wake me up when we get there?"
Not good. Atad squeezed her shoulder. "Wake up, dear. Come on."
"I don't know," Captain Night said, "That there is time. The intercranial pressure is clearly dangerously high. It needs immediate decompression."
Atad glanced at the Captain. I hope he knows what he is doing, he's a research scientist, not a field medic. Brains though, he does know brains better than most.
Camille opened her eyes drowsily, then closed them again, going limp. Atad caught her.
Captain Night touched the girl's head, above her right ear. "Prep here for surgery as best you can."
"For surgery? I don't have - " Her voice died away. Captain Night was already running back to the shuttle.
Commander Invelen put her hand on Atad's arm. "Give her to me. I'll hold her steady." She sat cross-legged and gently lowered Camille so the girl's head rested in her lap.
"Ami?" Pilot Roth asked from behind Atad. "What's wrong with her?"
"Silver said pressure. There must be bleeding," Commander Invelen said with a glance at Atad. Atad nodded confirmation, opening her kit. She spread out a sheet of sterile gauze, and Commander Invelen lifted Camille a little to let Atad spread the gauze beneath her head. Not the best sterile field I've ever managed, Atad thought. Not the worst, either. And infection's the least of the kid's worries right now.
She wiped the spot Captain Night had indicated with a disinfectant wipe and unrolled the field kit's portable instrument tray.
"Oh, fortune," Pilot Roth said, trying to get up and then crawling toward Camille.
Colonel Voutelen stopped her. "Give them room, Ms Roth."
Atad looked up as Captain Night returned, holding ... That's from the maintenance locker, she thought. That's a gods damned tie-down drill.
Commander Invelen carefully fitted her hands around Camille's head, her metal fingers gentle but immovable.
"Are you sure there isn't time?" Pilot Roth asked shakily. "To get her to a hospital?"
"Yes," Captain Night said. He handed Atad a squeeze bottle of sterile saline, wiped the drill bit with a disinfectant wipe and carefully laid it on the instrument tray, then picked up a scalpel.
"Don't - don't cut her - no - " Pilot Roth said, her voice rising. "No knives, no - "
"It'll be all right, Ms Roth," Colonel Voutelen said. I wish I were as confident of that as she sounds, Atad thought.
Captain Night ignored Pilot Roth's incoherent protests and made a quick, precise incision above Camille's ear, exposing the bone.
"Sir," Atad murmured. "Have you done this before?"
"Yes," Captain Night said. "Although under slightly more controlled conditions."
He set the scalpel aside, picked up the drill, and positioned it against the girl's skull without hesitation.
The drill whirred to life. Atad watched as it bit through the bone. The Captain stopped and backed the drill out carefully, she irrigated with the squeeze bottle, and he resumed. I guess that means it is going well?
Captain Night stopped the drill a second time. Carefully lifted it away. A trickle of blood followed it, more, Atad thought, than could be accounted for by the incision. She washed away the new blood, the flecks of bone. All the way through.
She craned to see the child's face as Captain Night set the drill down on the instrument tray with a clatter, hands starting to shake.
"Cami?" Pilot Roth said tremulously. "Cami?”
The little girl’s eyelids fluttered.
“Now,” Captain Night said, his voice tired, “We need to get to a hospital.”
Camille opened her eyes. “Ami? What happened?”
“Oh, thank fortune,” Pilot Roth said, and began to cry.
He just.. Loki! and it actually worked.
“You hit your head, honey,” Commander Invelen said. “It made you go to sleep, but Silver fixed it.”
“Oh,” Camille said. “How?”
“There was pressure in your head making you sleepy," Invelen said, her voice matter-of-fact, "So he made a little hole.”
“A hole? Cool!" Camille said. "I wish I hadn’t been asleep. Can he do it again now I’m awake?”
“I don’t think that would be wise, Miss Roth,” Captain Night said with a questioning glance at his XO. Commander Invelen shrugged.
“ We are going to take you to hospital now, okay?” she said to Camille. “You get to fly there in an assault shuttle even.”
Camille, who had been looking disappointed, cheered up immediately at the mention of an assault shuttle. "Can I fly it?"
"Perhaps not today, honey," Commander Invelen said as Atad fetched the stretcher.
She and Colonel Sarakai lifted Camille onto it. Commander Invelen got to her feet and took one end of the stretcher with a nod to Colonel Sarakai, who picked up the other end.
As Sarakai and Invelen started towards the shuttle, Atad turned back to Pilot Roth, who still sat on the ground, sobbing helplessly. Past her limit, she thought. Well and truly.
She knelt down.
"We're headed to the hospital, Ms Roth," she said gently. "That shoulder needs to be looked at, it's dislocated, and all the other... you'll need a check up too. Routine."
Pilot Roth nodded, and tried to get to her feet. Commander Invelen gave Captain Night what the crew called a Look and he hurried over, awkwardly assisting Pilot Roth to her feet on her left as Atad steadied her on the right, careful to stabilise her right arm.
They ushered her toward the lowered ramp of the LAS.
“I’m sorry,” Pilot Roth wept as they helped her into the shuttle. “I - can’t – stop!”
“It’s okay, Cia,” Commander Invelen said. “Been through a lot. Everything will be okay now.”
Captain Night glanced toward the cockpit. “I have to – ”
Commander Invelen nodded, and said with what almost sounded to Atad to be permission, “Sir.”
Captain Night hurried forward, and a moment later the engines began to hum.
Atad steered Pilot Roth to sit beside the stretcher. The Intaki woman looked down at her sister. “I can’t – believe – he just ... He saved - her life!”
Commander Invelen snorted. “Well, he is supposed to be a doctor. Still, it is nice he’s good for something.”
The trip to the hospital was short, and far less eventful than their earlier flight. Medical staff were waiting, and Atad saw on their shocked faces her own earlier reaction to the sight of the bedraggled four.
As they clambered off, Captain Night yelled from the cockpit, "I have to clear the pad. I'll be back soon as I can, alright Ami?!"
Commander Invelen nodded, and a moment later the shuttle was disappearing into the distance again.
Atad hesitated as the medtechs surrounded them.
“Go with Camille,” Commander Invelen ordered, and Atad nodded.
As she turned away she heard Ciarente sob: “Can - we - never - ever do that - again? Please?”
“I sure as hell hope not, hun,” the XO said.
“I – do you think – she saw?”
The doors closed behind Atad, cutting off Commander Invelen’s reply.
She gathered her thoughts and gave a medical history as Camille was wheeled down the hall, watched the girl whisked away to be scanned and stabilised.
Atad scrubbed in, sticking to the XO's order, and watched as the surgical team stopped the hemorrhaging and patched the hole in Camille's skull. Scans confirmed that the child was out of danger, 'good as new' as one of the doctors put it.
When Camille was resting comfortably, Atad went back out into the hall. She saw Commander Invelen talking a group of ten or twelve doctors. As she approached she heard one of them say something about TCMC, another use the word barbaric. The XO looked up and spotted Atad, a warning shake of her head telling Atad to keep her distance. Brief snatches of the following conversation were audible: something about damage, burns and implants.
With an order to Colonel Voutelen about ‘clean-up’, Commander Invelen disappeared into a nearby room. Curious, Atad drifted closer, but all she could make out through the closed door was the occasional word, Pilot Roth's voice rising shrilly as she talked about Papa and about needles and knives and questions. Commander Invelen telling her It’s okay, Cia, you’re safe now. Stick with me here. It’s okay now. Silver and some people are going to take a look, and we need to figure out what to do.
Atad stepped back to a more discreet distance as the door opened.
“Rorkulo,” the XO said. “The docs have been convinced to let us out of here. Make sure the medical records are transmitted to our people aboard – scans, tests, the lot.”
Atad nodded. “Sir,” she said.
Invelen turned to Pilot Roth. “Look, Cia, there’s Sara and Cami.”
Colonel Voutelen was waiting by the exit with the little girl, who was in a wheelchair, swinging her feet. As Commander Invelen and Pilot Roth neared them, the Commander limping slightly, Camille bounced excitedly in her seat.
“Cia! Ami! They said we can go home! And see Pierre and Mathilde and I bet Mathilde made pear cake, it’s not as good as yours of course Cia but Mathilde’s pear cake is still pretty good! Ami, you’ll love it!”
“I’m sure I will,” Commander Invelen said with a grin. “I’m starved!”
“They said I had to stay in the chair but I don’t know how it’ll go up the stairs and it’s boring anyhow!”
“How about I carry you, Cami?” the XO said. “That better?”
Camille nodded and held up her arms. Commander Invelen picked her up easily. "There we go," she said, her arms tightening around the little girl. "I've got you now."
“ Can we go now?” Camille asked, wrapping her own arms around the Commander's neck. “Can we?”
“Yes, Cami,” Pilot Roth said, her voice breaking a little. “We can go home.”
Atad watched as the four of them made their way to the exit.
The doors hissed back, opening on the glorious summer’s day, the sounds of the local festival drifting in on a warm, fresh breeze. For a moment the four of them were silhouetted, Camille cradled in Commander Invelen's arms, Pilot Roth beside them with her hand resting half on Camille's back, half on the Commander's arm, and Colonel Sarakai flanking the Commander on the other side, a step ahead. The little girl said something that made Pilot Roth and Commander Invelen laugh, and even won a smile from Colonel Sarakai, and then as Atad watched, they were through the door and the figures dissolved into the light.
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