Tag Archives: Hazard Pay

Episode 127: Where Loyalties Lie

Alsafi’s energy blaster built its charge, taking only moments but feeling much longer to Captain Ortega. Just before the discharge, he heard a clack, as if from two blunt objects colliding. The ominous hum stopped, Alsafi shouted “Hey!” and Ortega heard the distinctive sound of an energy blaster hitting the floor. He opened his eyes, already moving to stand.

Ensign Trell swung a steel pipe at Alsafi, who was stumbling back over her own feet. She tripped and hit the ground, reaching for the blaster that was well out of reach. Trell jumped toward her fallen enemy. She pulled the pipe over her head and brought it down, only for Alsafi to vanish an instant before impact. Trell’s pipe hit the ground and she instantly entered a defensive stance, slowly turning in a circle to look around.

“She has some sort of short-range teleportation technology,” said Ortega, stepping out from behind the power generator.

“I can see that,” said Trell, still looking. “If she didn’t, she’d be dead right now. I hate it when people run from a fight.”

“Trell, I don’t think you had to try to kill her.”

“No, YOU don’t have to try to kill her,” said Trell, stopping and looking directly at Ortega. “You’re a statistical outlier. Anyone else with your ideals would have been killed dozens of times by now. I’m not going to rely on your methods when they increase our risk of recapture. Right now, someone knows we’re out of our cells and we have to stop her before it complicates things.”

A high pitched-tone sounded, receded, and sounded again. In the distance, voices could be heard responding to the sound.

“I think we’re too late for that,” said Ortega. “She must’ve transported to some place where she could raise the alarm.”

“We’ll need to move fast, then,” she said.

Ortega nodded and ran to the hall as Trell ran to the power generator. Ortega ran back.

“Trell? We’ll have Dyson conscripts heading this way soon, and we need to save Captain Calen.”

“No time,” she said. “But there’s still time to destroy this ship.”

“What? How?”

“I’ll create a feedback loop through this generator.”

“That generator doesn’t have the power to do that,” said Ortega. “Believe me, I’ve seen my fair share of ship sabotages. I’ve CAUSED my fair share of ship sabotages. This generator has neither the output nor the lack of safeguards to-”

“Put all generators like this together, though, and?”

“It… still wouldn’t be enough, would it? At best you’d disable most ship systems, and likely none of the ones meant for core operations.”

“Yes, but then you wind up with excess power,” said Trell, ripping off a hatch on the side of the generator. “It all has to be shunted somewhere. These generators can help to mitigate such problems when working together, but if someone knows what they’re doing and spends some time operating on them…”

“That’s why you took so long getting here!” said Ortega. “I thought you were caught or lost. But… you still couldn’t have gotten to them all.”

“I should only need the five I’ve been able to get to,” she said. “With any luck, this ship and everyone on it will be dead in less than three minutes.”

“Trell, we can’t do that. Most of these conscripts aren’t themselves right now.”

Trell continued to cross wires and move circuitry. She looked over her shoulder, only slowing her work rather than stopping it.

“And who’s going to stop me?”

Much earlier, on another world…

Zack entered the Azar’s suite, and saw his client staring out the window, staring at Ravelar’s sunset. The blue and orange glow of Ravelar’s late afternoon sun made Azar’s tan more noticeable than it might have been on a world with a Sun that humans thought of as more “traditional.” Zack’s tan would have been visible anywhere without needing unconventional light sources, but he was naturally quiet enough that Azar hadn’t heard him enter.

Zack reopened the door and closed it again, louder, and Azar turned around.

“Zack!” he said. “Good to see you. Sorry for interrupting your dinner.”

“No problem,” said Zack. “The live show isn’t great tonight.”

“Really? The fire juggler? I saw the show last night, and thought it was good.”

“Juggling’s not my style,” said Zack. “How can I help you?”

“I received some information from Harry today. He informed me that there might have been an oversight in our operations. A conflict of interest.”

“Did he now?” said Zack. He tossed his hat onto a cushion on one of the two sofas in Azar’s room and sat next to it. “Well, I’m sure whatever he’s done is fine if we just clear it up. Unless you’re talking about me, of course.”

“Oh, you’re aware, then?”

“No, but I assume Zamona wouldn’t care about it if he’d found dirt on himself, and I know he didn’t find anything on Barris. I looked. I’m the only one left.”

“Zack, your work for me has been… amazing. I don’t know if I’d still be alive if not for you.”

Zack shrugged.

“I do what I can. BristleCorp might’ve settled for putting you in the poorhouse, though.”

“And they still might. Zack, were you aware that the Desperate Measures Agency is a subsidiary of BristleCorp?”

Zack leaned back in the sofa and narrowed his eyes, giving the question a lot of thought.

“Yes,” he finally said. “I knew it was relevant, but I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I see,” said Azar. “Zack, finding out about it from Harry wasn’t exactly calming.”

“Sorry. The Desperate Measures Agency is good about keeping agents from interfering with cases. I felt the conflict of interest would actually help you. The DMA wouldn’t hire any assassins or detectives to look for you since I was on the case.”

“And it’s certainly worked out that way. Zack, I would have liked to know this sooner. There won’t be any more surprises like this, will there?”

“I doubt it,” said Zack. “I’m always gonna have secrets though, Azar. I can’t think of any that’d matter to you, but secrets keep me working.”

“That makes sense. Still… if the Desperate Measures Agency takes too close of a look at you here on Ravelar, it may tip my location to them. Even with me as an unlisted client.”

“I doubt anyone’d pay that much attention to me, but it’s always possible.”

“Have you considered taking on any other assignments here on Ravelar?”

Zack smiled and nodded.

“Azar, I do believe that I’ve been a bad influence on you. That’s borderline devious.”

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Episode 100: Jungle Jaunt

The village was designed like a fort, with an outer wall made of sharp, interlocking trees and massive boulders. Zack assumed they were the remains of trees, at least; they looked less like the tree he’d used as a bridge and more like the trees he’d hidden inside to escape the Haktorash with Chala, but they were much larger and darker. The distant sounds of chirps, hisses and trills from Sthenites grew nearer as they approached the city, but Zack was sure that they were deceptive. He might have imagined the motionless guards in the bushes, but he doubted it. Chala didn’t wait long enough for him to take second looks, though, so he couldn’t be sure.

“I need to come back out here for a casual walk,” he said. “Figure out where everything is.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Chala said, stepping out of the tree line and approaching the wall, moving quickly over the red soil. Zack saw the fastest flicker of a serpentine head peaking over the wall as they left the jungle. He took a quick look back at the foliage.

“Need more yellow in my trench coat,” he said.

“What’s that?”

Zack started to repeat himself, but two massive boulders began to roll to the side. Giant sthenites, with orange scales and scarlet feathers, coiled into view, creating a titanic gate. Zack stopped walking and watched the massive snakes, each easily half as tall as the wall itself. Chala looked over her shoulder.

“Tourist.”

***

Captain Ortega watched the three researchers carefully. Two of them pushed a small trolley that carried a crate, a crate from Captain Calen’s Scuttler. Ortega clenched his jaw at the sight of it. He didn’t know what was happening to Calen and Trell yet, but knew that he wouldn’t want to be the person telling them that the Dyson Empire had plundered their ship.

He also prayed that no one ever found the frozen goblet she kept hidden away.

“Thanks for helping us out today,” said one of the researchers, a blond-haired man in a white contamination suit. “It’s amazing to have someone with your experience helping us out.”

“I didn’t have many options,” said Ortega. “My primary mission is to keep Doctor Rogers contained while I take him back to the Astroguard. Your would-be Emperor may not permit the second part of that mission, but I’ll definitely help with the first, Doctor…?”

“Williams, Gregor Williams. These are Doctor Amelia Degnan and Doctor Clarence Carnegie.”

“We’ve looked over all of your recommendations for waking Doctor Rogers,” said Doctor Carnegie. “We have everything prepared to reactivate his systems.”

“If you have any other recommendations during the procedure, feel free to let us know,” said Doctor Degnan. “We understand that a rigid set of guidelines would have potential for manipulation by someone with this degree of intelligence, so if any potential for danger exists as the situation unfolds, please inform us and we’ll adjust the procedure.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Ortega. “It’s a relief to not have someone being unreasonable about this kind of thing.”

“We work to understand new or alien technologies, and Doctor Rogers’ robotic body counts,” said Doctor Degnan. “Your expertise with his criminal activities, while not technological, is comprehensive and makes you the leading expert in the dangers that he represents. Shall we begin?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” said Ortega. His adrenaline had been slowly rising since they entered the room. All he needed was an opening after Doctor Rogers came back to life, an open door to the lab after Rogers was aware of what was happening. The researchers appeared willing to follow his instructions… could he push his luck far enough to make them take Rogers’ helmet out of the room?

Doctor Carnegie went to a hydromill installed on the far side of the room. Ortega assumed that it wasn’t connected to this vessel’s primary water supplies, and if he hadn’t been hoping for some easy way for Doctor Rogers to escape he would make sure it was the case before the experiment started.

Doctor Degnan moved to a control panel, one that would allow her to manipulate the flow of water from the hydromill and collect any unexpected data. She also activated a view screen, and Harold Zamona’s towering figure appeared on the wall, overseeing the situation. Ortega knew that it didn’t actually change his situation, but Zamona’s presence did make the room more tense.

“When you’re ready, Doctor Williams,” said Doctor Degnan.

Doctor Williams nodded and approached the storage crate on the research platform in the center of the room. He carefully broke the crate’s vacuum seal and removed the lid. Gently, almost reverently, he reached into the crate and pulled out the large, oblong dome that rested within.

“Preparing the hydromill transfer,” said Williams, reaching for a hose at his platform.

“Wait,” said Ortega. “That’s not-”

“Hydromill active,” said Doctor Carnegie.

“Begin the hydration.”

“Wait!” said Ortega.

The three researchers froze, each watching Captain Ortega carefully.

“You really don’t…” he started, words failing him.

“Captain Ortega, what’s wrong?” asked Doctor Carnegie. “Is there any danger?”

“Is… no. No, there’s no danger.”

“Then can we get back to the experiment?” asked Doctor Degnan.

“No point,” said Captain Ortega. “That’s not Rogers’ head.”

The three researchers all slowly turned to look at the glass dome in Doctor Williams’ hand. In his view screen, Zamona cradled his head for a moment before reaching for the screen controls, deactivating his end of the feed.

“Are you sure?” asked Doctor Williams.

“Well, look at it,” he said. “It looks like the top of a fancy water cooler.”

“I… suppose it might…” said Doctor Degnan.

“It looks like the one attached to the hydromill.”

Doctor Carnegie looked to his left at the hydromill’s beverage dispenser and took a surprised step back. Captain Ortega looked between the three researchers.

“So… if by some chance all those crates at your feet have spare hydromill parts in them instead of pieces of Doctor Rogers… where is he?”

***

Pilot Tan finished the modifications to his vessel’s Hydromill, connecting the “water cooler” more directly to the ship’s primary functions as per the instructions that had been echoing in the back of his head since landing at Xol’s ship. The Soul Survivor’s Plan A had been thwarted by Captain Ortega, and the restorative properties of Ortega’s helmet had muted the instructions long enough for Tan to miss the window on Plan B, brilliant though that plan would have been. Plan C had been perfect to implement when the echoes of the Soul Survivor’s manipulated Cypulchral Signal came back to his mind.

Tan had almost failed in his duties as a sleeper agent after he reawakened, too. The plan had suggested taking use of the ‘Tight Schedule’ trouble phrase, but had also been based on the belief that Tan wouldn’t have the chance or need to enact that protocol until later. Tan should have known to use the different phrase… but in the end, everything worked out.

The hydromill kicked into overdrive and bubbles began to surge furiously inside the dome that represented the Soul Survivor’s head, now attached to the machinery in Tan’s ship. After a few moments, the room’s communication channels kicked in.

“Excellent work, Tan,” said the familiar, sonorous tenor. “I didn’t know if my posthypnotic commands would survive beyond the purging that Ortega’s helmet would provide.”

“They did,” said Tan. “I can’t say that I liked selling him up the river like that, and technically this action makes me a traitor to the Dyson Empire, but it’s the least I could do to help you out.”

“Of course,” said The Soul Survivor. “Oh, these ship readings are delightful. We made it to the Veskid System this quickly? Amazing… Tan, you and I have much to discuss.”

Much earlier, on another world…

“My recommendation is Ravelar,” said Harold Zamona, looking over the screen built into the glass of the table. “We’ll be hard to track once we’re there, and we’re already difficult to track so we might be gone entirely, especially if the trip is financed in my name.”

“Ugh, there?” said Zack.

“Don’t want to go to Ravelar?”

“It’ll be so humid,” said Zack. “Horrible for my usual wardrobe. I decided a long time ago that I’d never be caught dead in a jungle on jobs like these, but I suppose just once wouldn’t kill me.”

“Most of the jungles are all underground, though,” said Sister Barris, tapping the table to read more information on the world. “There’s no real BristleCorp presence, too, and that could help us.”

“It’s got no DMA either, and police who look the other way a little too easily,” said Zack. “Don’t get me wrong, a pinch of corruption in a police force can do a lot of good, especially for jobs like this, but get too much and we’ll be sold to the highest bidder minutes after we land with no DMA there to protect us.”

“You really think it’ll be that bad?” asked Azar, trying to look around the three people on his payroll.

“I think it’s a risk,” said Zack.

“Zack is just letting us know about the worst case scenario,” said Harold.

“And letting you know that the worst case scenario isn’t unlikely,” said Zack. “There’s a lot of crime there. Most of the planet’s run by a Pyrhian mob boss named Murk. He causes a lot of problems for the DMA on Veskid, and that’s where we’re strongest. Not sure I want to see him running unchecked.”

“He’ll be checked by me,” said Harold.

“Raw strength might not be what we want in a place like this,” said Barris. “Subtlety is essential here, and the tourism industry, sketchy though it is, is designed for rich people who don’t want questions asked.”

“The hotels do look nice,” said Azar. “I think I could enjoy it there. For a while at least.”

“All right,” said Zack. “Let’s assume you go there. Harold, you’d be along for security?”

“Naturally.”

“And I’d stay here to work on legal action against BristleCorp,” said Barris. “They’ve clearly put an assassination order onto you, Azar, and while a case against them will be hard, laying the early groundwork without them catching on shouldn’t present an overabundance of difficulties.”

“Assuming they don’t already plan on us doing something like that,” said Zack. “This is a new situation, but they’re not stupid. And it’s not like there’s a single person you can trick or bump off to make this work. You can’t shoot a corporation.”

“Is that Faulkner?” asked Harold.

“What? No, it’s reality,” said Zack. “Barris, you can probably get the preliminaries set up, but they’ve likely already taken steps to cut any paper trails to link them to the assassination attempts.”

“Isn’t that what you’re for?” asked Harold. “Find the dirt on them. Reconnect the paper trails, find evidence that proves that only they would have the resources to coordinate this kind of attack on an individual, and prove that they’re the only one with the motive.”

“Motive’s the hard part, actually,” said Zack. “Pettiness is hard to prove for a corporation since they’re usually more concerned with making money than getting revenge for lost money, the actions of individuals within a company notwithstanding. But yes, I’ll be doing a bit of that. It’ll just be tricky to arrange that kind of investigation from Ravelar.”

“Why’re you going to be in Ravelar?” asked Harold. “I’ll be there. Don’t think I can handle anything that comes our way?”

Zack tapped the table and stared at Harold.

“I just… assumed I’d be there as well,” said Zack. “But I suppose you and Azar can be there by yourselves. Taking the resort vacation spots all for yourself.”

“Just how it turned out with our skill sets,” said Harold, smiling.

“Right,” said Zack. “Barris stays here, Harold and Azar can live it up in Ravelar, and I’ll go between both places while researching.”

“Do we need that kind of attention drawn to you, Zack?” asked Barris. “Traveling is noticeable, and Harold already tracked you down once. Someone else might do it again.”

“Maybe,” said Zack, watching the former wrestler carefully. “But I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on the situation from both sides. Just in case.”

Episode 82: Fire and Iceberg

Another trill chimed through the fighter ship, an incessant tone that suggested something important was about to happen. Captain Ortega turned away from the computer screen, growing nervous as the noise refused to stop.

“Is that you?” he shouted. A few moments later he heard the aggravated sound of tools being set to the side.

“No,” shouted Ensign Trell.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“There’s nothing on my readouts,” he yelled, stepping away from the room to walk closer to Trell’s workspace.

“There wouldn’t be,” she said as he neared the hole in the walkway where she’d removed a portion of the floor to get a closer look at the Phoenix Circuitry. She stopped crouching and turned off the light she’d affixed to her shoulder.

“Right, I know,” said Ortega. “If the Phoenix Circuitry is completely separate from the rest of the ship’s systems-”

“It is.”

“Assuming it is,” said Ortega, “then there wouldn’t be a readout from anything I could see on a computer related to the ship’s primary terminals.”

“Then why check the readouts?”

Ortega felt a strange sensation related to the usual falling feeling he lived through whenever he spoke to a technologist aboard a ship, a sensation suggesting he was missing something. Usually any technologists he spoke to didn’t have the capacity to kill him, however, and while he was sure Trell wouldn’t impatiently resort to violence he was also sure that she had considered it at least twice since they started searching through the systems.

“I checked them just to be sure,” he said, carefully. “And when I saw nothing, that’s why I thought it might be related to something you were doing.”

“It’s not me.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. Now, we need to figure out-”

“It’s the phoenix circuitry itself,” she said. “Its own hardware is set up to make that noise.”

“Good,” Ortega said. “Progress! Sorry, I should’ve asked if you knew what it was instead of assuming.”

“I just figured it out,” said Trell. “It’s gotten a little easier now that I’m working with the assumption that all of the hardware not connected to the main systems is related to the Phoenix Circuitry, but it still throws me for a loop every once in a while. No way to tell what it means, though. We should contact the Captain, and ask her to interrogate our guest further.”

***

“There’s a horrible hum on your ship, Tan,” said Captain Calen. Pilot Tan was secured in the medical bay, tethered to the gurney with a lengthy restraint. Tan had felt uncertain about the arrangement when he first awoke to it, but had gradually started to feel like his location was one of the few things that, for whatever reason, was keeping the Captain from slipping into her own brand of cruelty.

“Oh?” he said.

“Yes, yes there is,” said Calen, sitting in a chair and leaning back. “I can’t fathom what it is, but we know it involves that Phoenix Circuitry of yours.”

“Oh!” he said, his face filling with recognition for a moment before speedily clearing.

“Oh,” he repeated. “That. I don’t know much about that.”

Calen raised an eyebrow.

“Why don’t I believe you and that wonderful poker face of yours?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m really not… okay, I know that I shouldn’t tell you anything, Emperor’s Orders and all that, and while I’ve got no real love for this whole Dyson Empire thing I’ve also got nothing against it. But I’m also a prisoner here, and you’re being really nice under the circumstances and I know that you’ve already thought about killing me today, so I’d like to give you something, I would, but… I really, really don’t know what to do or say here.”

“Say that which will keep me from giving in to that temptation, the temptation that you just mentioned.”

“Killing me?”

“Let’s not dwell on the delicious specifics right now. Know this, Tan: I want to be the one to kill you, I really do, but I can be persuaded to kill others instead. Don’t tax me, and just tell me about the alarm.”

Tan held up his hands in a strange combination of fear and exasperation.

“But I don’t know!” he said. “I can’t help you! If I knew more, I probably would, but I can’t! You’ve already got my name, rank and serial number, so can we move on?”

“You have a serial number?”

“Yes,” he said, defensively. He thought for a moment. “Did I not already tell y… Three Twenty-Two?”

“Is that your serial number?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think. It’s… it’s on a card back at my ship, you can have Captain Ortega or Trell-”

“Ensign Trell.”

“-Ortega or Ensign Trell pick it up if you want. But if you want information on that… noise, or the Phoenix Circuitry or the Emperor’s Eye, I can’t tell you much. They’re all connected, I know that much, but I’ve barely heard anything. I only heard the noise you’re talking about twice before.”

“Before what?”

“Before now.”

“No,” said Calen. “Tell me what event the noise preceded. That sound sets off something or readies something, and I need to know what procedure you followed. Where were you when it happened?”

“Piloting my ship,” said Tan. “Just before leaving my home system, and then once more before getting to your system.”

“So it lets you know to launch?”

Tan closed his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s… hazy. I can’t remember much.”

Calen narrowed her eyes. She stood, walked to the gurney, and entered the commands to unlock his manacles. She grabbed him by the shoulder and began pushing him to the door.

“Wait!” he said. “Wait, no, don’t kill me!”

“I’m not killing you, coward!” said Calen. “That’s too good for you. I’m getting to the bottom of this noise once and for all.”

Much earlier, on another world…

Harold Zamona touched the brick wall of the laundromat, feeling it. It would break easily if he wanted it, but so might the gauntlets.

Since the horrible day of the abduction, he’d been growing stronger. It was wonderful at first, but he quickly reached the point where it was incapacitating. He couldn’t touch anything without breaking it, and his entire record in the wrestling ring was called into question. After destroying his apartment building one night in a series of accidents that started when his dinner was delivered, he was found legally not guilty of endangerment but was required to wear the gauntlets.

They worked marvelously, and his strength dropped to manageable levels. He couldn’t go back to being a full time wrestler again, of course… even if his weakness wasn’t artificially generated his mental stability had been in question since his claims about the abduction… but he could function in normal society. No one doubted that he’d met aliens… humans had been on the Galactic scene for quite some time, after all… but the ethereal, dream-like details of incomprehensible experimentation, coupled with a total lack of evidence (apart from his incredible strength) made it sound like a bad conspiracy theory. Only the sorts of people who believed in sightings of the Void Pilgrim gave much credence to his story.

The Iceberg did eventually reenter the ring on one amazing night, however. The influence of the gauntlets was reduced so that he could compete against four of the other hardest hitters of the day. As amazing as “The Night Where The Gloves Come Off” had been, he realized two weeks later just how fragile the gauntlets were; his strength was still increasing, and the gauntlets could break through use.

Four years and three pairs of gauntlets later, it was harder and harder to use them carefully. He didn’t like having to file for new gauntlets, and the required week of gingerly touching everything in the fragile world around him. As such, while he knew in his head that he could break the laundromat’s wall, he’d also noticed the telltale sparks and signs of wear and tear. He didn’t even know if the next model of gauntlets had been designed for him yet, and breaking them now could put him out of commission for months if he was unlucky.

Harold gritted his teeth and hoped that the worst wouldn’t happen before pushing forward. The wall buckled, the gauntlets sparked, and the bricks tumbled in.

Someone screamed, a woman’s voice. Possibly someone who worked in the laundromat? The smoke and dust kicked up by the collapsing wall cleared, but the scent of the crumbling dust remained. He scanned the comfortable sitting room, a sure sign that he was on the right track. After a moment, he saw the determined face of Zack Gamma, leveling a pair of Purcellian Strikers at him. Harold watched the DMA Agent sizing him up… before a look of surprise and confusion overtook the dedicated focus on his face. Zack’s pistols drooped.

It was only a moment’s hesitation, but it had served Harold well since he started this job. No one expected a minor celebrity to be their adversary.

Gamma was recovering, but Harold was already moving. Just before the pistols could point at Zamona, he swiped his arm to the side, knocking away the weapons.

“Where-” started Harold, just before Sister Barris fired the neural scrambler ray from the kitchen.

Harold felt nauseous, and the room started spinning.

“Shoot him again!”

“Zack, that’s not-”

“Look at the size of him, he’ll recover faster! Higher setting, shoot!”

Another beam of neuralizing energy collided with him and the world went dark.

***

Azar waited for the noise to settle down before opening the door to the bathroom, looking back into the rest of Zack’s safehouse.

“What happened out there?”

“Hi, Azar!” said Gamma, strangely chipper amid a scene of fallen bricks, settling dust, and sparking electricity. Sister Barris was dragging a dark, titanic man with massive gauntlets, moving him to a wall and a sitting position while Gamma was looking out of a hole in the wall into the alley. Zack gestured to the body with one of his pistols.

“You had some company. Same thing happens to me; right when I hop into the shower, that’s when someone knocks on my door. Fortunately, my plan of freezing like a midnight snowman distracted, uh… The Iceberg?… well enough that Barris could take him out.”

“You didn’t freeze, you were surprised,” said Barris, eyeing the sparking gauntlets on the attacker’s hands warily. “I’m also not convinced it’s The Iceberg.”

“It’s totally The Iceberg,” said Zack. “Look at him! Just imagine him with shorter hair and sunglasses.”

“Everyone who looks like him would look like The Iceberg with shorter hair and sunglasses.”

“Yes, but not everyone with a face like that would also have biceps the size of a grizzly bear on steroids.”

“Who is The Iceberg?” asked Azar. Zack pointed at the body, and Barris rolled her eyes.

“He was a wrestler, a champion,” she said.

“Yeah, until he went crazy a few years back,” said Zack. “He started talking about some sort of alien abduction story, saying these skinny gray folks with big eyes and weird ships stole him away one night and did experiments on him. Naturally, he was delirious the whole time and didn’t have many strong details.”

“Doesn’t sound that crazy,” said Azar. “Why would someone kidnap a wrestler, though?”

“No reason,” said Zack. “And there was no evidence, so odds are good that whatever he remembered isn’t what happened. A few months later, though, and his strength goes out of control. So strong that he was kicked out of his job, and couldn’t wrestle again. Who he is isn’t important right now, though,” said Zack. “What’s important is that we get you moving, Azar. If The Iceberg found you, then other people can’t be far behind.”

Episode 55: Go

“It’s a beautiful day for a race, folks,” said Mark Matthews, his voice channeling through every speaker set to cover the race’s progress. “The amazing constellations around Veskid are always a sight to behold when the asteroid racers converge for the Nebula Cup.

Carmen stood on top of her rock, the asteroid known to fact hunters as Kinetic Kuiper. She inhaled and felt the rough edges, jagged corners, and unyielding density of the stone that she’d felt when she first located it. It was the fourth asteroid she’d raced on that she could truly call her own, but it had lasted longer than any of the others. Her petrakinetic connection to it told her more than just the asteroid’s size, shape, and weight, though: she could feel her own weight standing on top of it, and the metal of the platform that it rested upon. She was dimly aware of Zack inside the asteroid, sitting in place and probably listening to Mark’s pre-game spiel She felt the atmosphere pushing down against the asteroid, the easily-forgotten weight of air pushing against it, a weight she would need to maintain.

“Over the next month we’ll be bringing you eleven races related to the Nebula, folks, as these eager competitors square off against each other,” said Mark. “Two regular races every week, with the first of those just two days from now. Those eight races naturally lead up to the championship race on the twenty-ninth, and the traditional Challenge of Atlas, while not weighed against the official score of the race will be happening roughly midway through the series. We couldn’t keep the racers from an Atlas Run if we tried, I think. That’s neither here nor there, though, as we’ve got the first of the races coming up in just moments, the qualifying match that will separate this season’s racers from the hopefuls! Scores of promising petrakinetics from around the Angelor Republic have proven themselves in one way or another, and this is the race that tells us which of them will be in, and which need to head back to their home courses for another season of training!”

Carmen focused on the weight of the atmosphere. She could feel the strange ripples in the air current as the other racers around her did the same. Each had slightly different ways of handling it, ranging from those who could psychically spin the wind to those lucky anaerobic aliens who simply didn’t breathe oxygen. Carmen focused on her own mind, and used her secondary gift to make sure that her atmosphere would stay in place beyond the force field.

Zack huddled in the cave of the asteroid, listening to Matthews over his headset and watching a video screen that cycled between different views of the course, starting line, and the stands of cheering audience members. He noted three locations for audiences, one at the starting and finishing line, one at a small, ring-shaped space station through which the racers would soar, and a final set of stands on a massive asteroid itself, though one with a technological force field keeping its atmosphere in place rather than through any petrakinetic means. Those would be the tickets that sold for the most as the location allowed the spectators to get a taste of what it might actually be like to stand on an asteroid in the races.

“Carmen, what do you think the odds are of the Phantom Matador showing up for this race?”

Carmen winced at the question when it came over her headset. She fumbled with the control at her ear and cleared her throat.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” said Zack. “I’m keeping my eye on the final set of seats, the bleachers on the asteroid.”

“That’s pretty close to the end of the race,” she said. “If everything goes according to plan, you’ll be off the asteroid before we get there. Aren’t we here to worry about your problems today?”

“Look, I’ve got a hunch but might not be on time to ring the bells. You’ll need to be my eyes.”

“What?”

“Hugo. Never mind, just… just keep your eyes open. If the Phantom Matador shows up, keep a close eye on his flight path, especially in relation to those bleachers.”

“You think he’s sneaking in with the audience and… keeping the asteroid he’ll ride on there somehow?”

“If I wanted to pull a stunt like that on this particular course, that’s how I’d do it. That doesn’t mean anything, though, since I’m sure the police have also tried-”

“Hate to cut you off, Zack, but we’ve got less than forty-five seconds. Let me focus. Can’t mess up my atmo, you know.”

Zack turned off his headset. After a second, he turned it back on.

“How do you maintain the atmosphere?”

“What?”

“You’re petrakinetic, that’s not got anything to do with air currents. How-”

“You’re asking me this now?!”

“Sorry, you talked about maintaining atmosphere, and it reminded me of-”

Carmen turned off her headset and inhaled. She didn’t need to be distracted by Zack’s technical questions, or by his talk about the Phantom Matador. Right now, all that mattered was her atmosphere, her rock, and her speed, and for that she needed to keep her attention on what was happening right now.

“There’s the race conductor, folks,” said Mark Matthews, his voice reaching all of the audience members and racers. “He’s approaching the top of the Talonite Trilithon that arcs over the starting line, the same Trilithon seen in the Nebula Circuit’s logo. He’s observing the racers, reaching for his hilt, and drawing the customary Angelor Light Blade. He’s raising it over his head… the racers are all watching for the ceremonial swing that will signal the start… and they’re off!”

Much earlier, on another world…

Sister Barris put down the newspaper at the sequence of raps on the door. She grabbed the Decryption Napkin that she’d hastily written yesterday. Three staccato knocks followed by two longer hollow ones meant that it was safe. She crossed to the door, knocked twice, and heard the first four knocks of a standard Shave And A Haircut sequence. She opened the door an inch and saw Zack Gamma’s hat, sitting on his head.

“Everything’s good?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you use the Napkin?”

“Yes…”

“All right, let me in.”

Barris opened the door the rest of the way and Zack stepped through. He looked at the table by the door and saw the Neuralization Ray sitting out in the open and, worse, not in Barris’ possession. He closed the door and looked at Barris who held her hands up defensively.

“I don’t want to use that,” said Barris.

“Barris, your track record suggests that you’re more dangerous in a tough spot than I am.”

“Neuralization Rays can cause brain damage.”

“That’s never been proven. How’s everyone’s favorite rich guy?”

“Stressed. He’s in the sitting room.”

“Great.”

Zack crossed the entryway and reached the sitting room. Azar sat in his chair, watching a film on a screen that was generated inside an artistic frame. Azar looked up when Zack entered, and snapped his fingers. The movie paused. Zack flipped his hat off his head, tossed it onto the sofa adjacent to the chair, and took a seat next to it while pointing at the screen.

“Handy feature. How long did it take to program?”

“Not long at all. What did you find out?”

“Good news, bad news,” said Zack. “The good news is that Bristlecorp is no longer holding people on retainer for the case against you, at least no one who wouldn’t be on retainer anyway. There’s no more big legal action being readied, which confirms our suspicion that it’s just saber rattling on their part. Their case was flimsier than a kite made out of paper airplanes.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Azar. “Am I safe, then?”

“That brings me to the bad news. There’s some… talk… in certain circles that began almost immediately after they stopped the legal prep. Someone with lots of money to throw around, or lots of money on the line, is looking to hire the sorts of people who break legs. You get me?”

“I think so,” said Azar. Zack nodded expectantly, waiting for his client to continue, but Azar just stared at the floor, looking worried and weary. After a few tense moments passed, Zack cleared his throat and continued.

“I still don’t like how Bristlecorp set up their legal action. It was sloppy. Rushed. These are people who make Faberges acting like they want to make an omelet.”

“Barris says that they’re acting like a dying animal in its death throes.”

“They are. And that’d make a lot of sense if you were being chased by a wounded orangutan or space tiger that no one had noticed roaming around town before, but major interplanetary corporations can usually keep themselves together a little better than this.”

“Can I trust you?”

“Of course,” said Zack, smiling. “Why couldn’t you?”

“Sister Barris has told me that the people in your line of business aren’t just about protecting people. She’s told me that some of you are hired to track down people like me. Sometimes, the Desperate Measures Agency winds up eliminating targets for the right price. She says she trusts you… but she’s also said some terrible things about the kinds of people who work with you.”

Zack narrowed his eyes and looked out the door into the entry hall. Sister Barris was reading the newspaper at the little table she’d set up for herself, but suddenly looked like she was trying very hard not to listen in. Zack turned back to Azar.

“All the cards on the table,” said Zack. “The Desperate Measures Agency has assassins. It does. I’m not proud of that. Keeps me up at night sometimes. The DMA’s one of the shadiest rackets in the shadiest city of a shady planet. The city’s name used to be Desperation, and renaming itself after the planet hasn’t done much to improve it yet. But I’ve never taken that kind of job from them, and I never will.”

“I’m supposed to trust that?”

“You’re supposed to trust Barris. She’s the cagiest, craftiest, and most aggravatingly thorough lawyer I’ve ever met, and she needed a quick friend in a low place. She and I’ve done a little work together before, even if it was different from this, so she knew a little about me before this all started, but trust me when I tell you that if I hadn’t been trustable then you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

“What if no one is trustworthy?”

“If no one was trustworthy, you wouldn’t have gotten your money in the first place,” said Zack. “If the society had gotten that hopelessly corrupt, you wouldn’t be in so much danger. Now, as to my company… the DMA won’t offer its employees a job to work against you since Barris already hired me, but that won’t stop some of the people there from getting the job elsewhere. Ultimately, the problem’s still the same: any assassin, bounty hunter, or hitman for hire might be approached about this job, and if the DMA’s not offering their employees the bounty then people will start taking a look at the agents who’re protecting people. It’s going to be a little riskier for me to come talk to you directly, at least for a while, so part of what I need to set up is a system for contacting you that won’t be noticed. It might even help if you and I aren’t on the same planet, but I don’t want to rush into that. Rushing leads to mistakes. My guess is that you won’t have to wait long before this starts to blow over, but in either case we can get through this by going slow and steady. Sound good?”

***

Maul hid behind the dumpster, watching the far end of the alley. He patted down the tufts of fur around his head, worried that they might stick out too far and give away his position, but so far no one had looked between the two buildings or even walked in front of them. He might be in the clear.

He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm his nerves. He’d been hiding for three minutes. He’d give it another two.

The brick wall behind him burst apart and a massive, manacled hand shot through the flying bricks and debris. Maul screamed as the bricks and mortar spiraled, moving with a precision and calculated grace, somehow falling around him without immediately crushing him. The hand, bearing the legally mandated gauntlet that was known to thousands of irate fans across a dozen worlds, clamped onto Maul’s shoulder.

Soon, it was silent. The clattering of bricks had stopped, and the only sound was Maul’s panicked breathing as he stared into the stern face that he’d seen so often when he was just a cub. The human… if he was a human… appraised Maul with an appropriately glacial speed before speaking.

“You used to work for Azar.”

“N…”

The faintest twitch of a finger on the gauntlet and spasms of pain shot through Maul’s shoulder. The news reports hadn’t been exaggerated.

“Yes!” he said. “Yes, he hired me! Me and my friends!”

“I’ve spoken to your friends. Where is Azar now?”

“I don’t know,” wailed Maul. “I don’t know. He left a chip for each of us. There was over a year’s pay on mine with a note saying that he probably wouldn’t be able to rehire us. Said some scary people were looking for him.”

“Good,” said the man. “Your friends said the same thing… either you got your stories straight in advance, or you’re all telling the truth.”

“Just don’t hurt me, okay? I don’t… I don’t know where Azar is, and I don’t want to die.”

“I’m not going to kill you. I just need a little help.”

“Okay. But… look, that job’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Azar’s a good guy. I don’t want to hurt him, okay Iceberg?”

There was a moment of silence before a pained sigh. The man’s gauntlet released Maul’s shoulder, and the lion-like alien dropped to the ground, clutching his upper arm.

“I’m not The Iceberg anymore. It’s just Harold now.”

Episode 46: Service Entrance

Zack rounded the corner with Hobbar close behind. Chip trailed sluggishly, not used to keeping up with as much activity as the other two.

“We’ve not seen anyone in minutes,” Chip panted. “There’s no one after us! Let’s… let’s take a break here.”

“Not a chance,” said Zack, nearing the next door in the hallway. “Based on the kinds of rooms we’re seeing, this is a standard service floor. Now, the architecture here’s the sort that might send a city planner to the funny farm, but layouts like this tend to have extra exits for service staff, even if we’ll have to climb stairs to find them. Chefs, janitors, maintenance crew, and all the people who’ve got the jobs that keep things running smoothly. And while Murk’s definitely repurposed this building, the whole place is too clean. There’s another way in down here, and we’re getting close to it.”

Zack reached for the door, but it opened before he touched it, pulled inward by someone on the other side. Vox Cul-Dar, looking as if he’d strangled so many guards that his heart simply wasn’t in it anymore, appeared behind the door and froze at the sight of Zack Gamma.

“You?” said Vox.

“Vox!” said Zack.

“Vox?” said Hobbar.

“You!” shouted Vox, seeing Hobbar. The Crinlian took a step back, as Vox’s normally highly ordered mind spun into overdrive. When he’d first come to Murk’s headquarters, his priority had been tracking down a lead on the Phantom Matador. But after a slow and, frankly, aggravating trek through the service entrance’s security team, seeing the bounty he wanted to catch the most and the child he wanted vengeance on the most at the same time caused his mind to experience something not unlike whiplash.

He jumped at Zack, but had wasted just enough time in the shock to see the investigator draw and aim one of his Purcellian striker pistols. Vox slowed and entered a defensive stance, but Chip ran, shoulder first, into Zack, sending them both onto the ground. The gun that Zack had been carrying launched itself from his hands and slid across the floor, coming to a rest at Vox’s feet. Vox looked at the weapon, then at the man who was struggling to keep Zack pinned to the floor.

“Thank you for the assistance,” said Vox. “I don’t plan on sharing the bounty, though.”

“Don’t turn him in to the DMA,” said Chip. “Turn him in to Murk.”

“Now why would I do that?” asked Vox. Hobbar managed to inch away for a moment before Vox spotted him, glared, and willed the Crinlian to halt.

“Murk’s favors are valuable,” said Chip. “Think of what having him as an ally might bring. He’s eager to see Zack dead at his hands rather than someone else’s.”

“I doubt that Murk’s favor would be as valuable as what I’ll collect with my original plan,” said Vox. “I also don’t know why Zack is wanted by the DMA. If a higher-up has wrath equal to Murk’s but the resources of the entire agency, then I think I know who I’m working for. Now… get off my quarry.”

Zack looked up into the eyes of Vox Cul-Dar. He wasn’t in a position to run, fight, or bargain. It was the end of the line.

***

Much earlier, on another world…

Sister Barris waved Azar into the small room, and motioned for him to sit at the table. Azar sat, feeling wary and trapped. The Order of Fierce Mercy had safehouses, an assumption built from the knowledge that their clients might not be able to find legal counsel because their position was too dangerous for their location to be known to the public. Azar had grudgingly agreed to the process but had resented it.

“It’s not right,” he said. “I’m supposed to be getting a new home and retiring comfortably, not on the run in back alleys and secret buildings.”

“I know,” said Sister Barris. “It’s just until the trial, though. Once you’re passed the trial, and once the verdict comes down in your favor, this will all be over.”

“They’re looking for me,” said Azar. “I can feel it.”

“We all can,” said Barris. “They’re afraid that they’ll be losing it all. And while they don’t know where you are yet, they’re looking. That’s why we’re here.”

“Do you think we can trust anyone else in this situation?”

“Yes,” said Barris. “It may be true that everyone in this line of work has a history… just as it’s true that everyone has a history… but I think he’s the best bet you’ve got. Bristlecorp may find our safehouses, but they’ll never find the ones he’s set up.”

The door on the opposite side of the room swung open, and the agency representative entered, tossing a clipboard onto the table before sitting across from Azar. The man looked haggard, spindly, and confident, even if overworked. It was the look of a man who did exhausting work, but made sure it was done right. Azar recognized the look from his own mirror. The man doffed his hat and tossed it into the chair next to the one he’d selected for himself.

“Azar?” said the man. “Good to meet you. I’m Gamma, Zachary Gamma. Sister Barris tells me that you’ve hit some desperate times, and that’s exactly when our company can step in to help people like you.”

“Thank you,” said Azar. “I’m still not sure what you can do that isn’t already being done, though.”

“Let me worry about that,” said Zack. “I’ll be honest, I’ve never had a client in quite your position… I don’t think anyone in history’s been in exactly what you’re experiencing… but my job’s going to be all about finding exactly what it’ll take to see you get to your trial date in one piece. Nothing’s gonna take you out of the picture while I’m around, and I expect to be around for a long, long time.”

Episode 37: Search Pattern

Captain Calen turned to tell Trell to begin finding the coordinates, but the Ensign was already working quickly on loading the transmission. Calen turned back to the loudspeaker and addressed the voice again as her Scuttler fully drifted into the Cypulchral Cloud, obscuring the windows with a purple haze.

“What do you mean? What’s the signal, and how does it find us?”

“Keeping transmissions open gives it a door to you!” said the voice on the other end of the line. “I’ve note had long to try to figure it out, but I’d swear that it actively targets the most sensitive parts of computers. It transmits itself, and it comes so fast and frequently that it can overwhelm a system. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“How did it attack your systems?” asked Calen. “What happened first?”

No voice responded.

“Hello?” said Calen.

“I cut the transmission,” said Trell. “I’m sorry, Captain. I had the coordinates.”

Calen clenched her fist for a moment before shaking her head.

“No need to apologize,” said Calen. “It was… tactically sound.”

“I’d say this confirms the old stories about the Cypulchral Cloud uploading data onto ship computers,” said Captain Ortega. “Sounds safe enough now that we know what we’re looking for, though. If we just keep the signals down…”

“Don’t try to make this out to be easier than it is,” said Calen. “Just because we can fill in some missing portions on the map doesn’t mean there won’t still be dragons here. And don’t forget that we’ve still got the Soul Survivor to find. If you have any good suggestions for searching a dust cloud the size of a small moon for a robot the size of a person without using any sensors, I expect to hear them as soon as we rescue the poor soul lost in this infernal haze.”

“I’ve got a few thoughts on that matter,” said Ortega. “The Astroguard has some search patterns for regions like this. It won’t be easy, but they’re meant for times that the sensors have been disabled instead of times that we’re just choosing not to use them. We should have a bit of an advantage there.”

Calen nodded and walked to her chair at the center of the bridge.

“Glad to hear the Astroguard is good for something,” she said. “Trell, input those coordinates. I won’t be much good refining your directions without sensors, so feel free to take initiative on course corrections as needed. Ortega, make yourself useful and go stand by a window, see if you can get a visual on anything.”

Ortega nodded and approached one of the smaller windows. The view was significantly less useful than the viewscreen would have been in most other situations, but it gave him enough of a forward view that he could at least make sure that they wouldn’t be crashing into anything. As long as it didn’t come from the starboard side of the ship.

He was glad that Captain Calen hadn’t asked him for more details about the Astroguard’s nebula-searching patterns, as they weren’t any more advanced than most other organizations that had similar search and rescue operations. Someone familiar with even rudimentary military protocol… someone like Doctor Silas Rogers… would know how the patterns unfolded and could come up with a good plan for avoiding detection if they didn’t want to be found.

Ultimately, his plan for finding Rogers was based more on personal familiarity with his quarry. If Doctor Rogers had a specific plan for the Cypulchral Cloud that went beyond escape and evasion, it meant one of two things. Either Rogers would soon contact the nearest vessels to gloat and add to his personal legend once the plan was finished, or the plan would activate in some spectacularly visible way.

Unfortunately, tracking Rogers in that fashion meant that it would require waiting until he was done or nearly done with the scheme. Rogers was predictable, but capable. He didn’t think that Captain Calen would appreciate a plan that involved sitting and waiting… especially not in a place that Morcalans seemed to fear… but he knew that if he could count on anyone to help him act quickly once Rogers revealed himself, Calen and Trell would be not only willing but enthusiastic to leap into action.

Or, he might get incredibly lucky and locate Doctor Rogers using the search patterns. Luck would help him win the day one way or another. Or a lack of luck would help Rogers to win it.

“We’re approaching the coordinates, Captain,” said Trell. “He’s not very deep into the Cloud. Assuming that his calculations were right, we should be nearing him soon.”

“Good to hear,” said Trell. “We may all be claimed by the Cloud in the end, but we’ll make sure that whoever’s lost out here won’t die alone.”

Ortega kept looking through the window, peering ahead. He couldn’t make out much at all. He shook his head and started to turn from the window but glanced down.

“Wait, there’s something,” he said. “We might be here already. Something’s…. under us. Not sure how far.”

“Full stop, Trell,” said Calen. “Captain Ortega, you’re dressed for a spacewalk with that fancy Astroguard flight armor of yours. Head to the airlock and try to get a better visual.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” he said, erring for a casual acknowledgement since he wasn’t familiar with the Morcalan military policies for addressing fellow Captains on their own ship. Calen didn’t react, so he decided that it would do for now.

He walked toward Airlock Two, the same airlock that he and Doctor Rogers had used to first enter the ship. He stepped inside and let the door close, activating his suit’s helmet. The familiar visor and protective plating slid into place around his head as the air began to cycle. He double checked that the sensors in his space suit were off just in case his own suit would be susceptible to whatever “the signal” was, and prepared to step directly into the cloud.

The airlock’s outer door opened. He saw a strange, ambient light illuminating the purple mist of the Cypulchral Cloud, making him wonder if elements of the cloud might be dangerously radioactive deeper in. He stepped through the airlock’s threshhold and started to fly.

He zipped down and slowed when the object became clearer. It wasn’t a full ship. Instead, it was a long piece of metal, almost half as long as Calen’s scuttler. A transparent tube ran along the center of the metal, with a coiling filament faintly glowing within. Ortega turned back to the scuttler, prepared to report that it wasn’t more than garbage, either a remnant of the fabled superweapon or of some other ship that became lost inside the cloud after the war.

Before reaching the scuttler, he realized that the ship’s stationary position at full stop made it a reliable point of reference. Spacial drift would occur, of course, but for short periods of time he should be able to perform short range scouting.

Ortega changed direction, and launched himself forward along the ship’s hull. He resisted the urge to check to see if he could see the window he had been looking through before since he wanted to keep his eyes firmly on the vision-obscuring mist. After moving ahead of the scuttler, though, he routinely glanced back to make sure that he could still see it behind him, knowing that he’d have to turn back if it became too hard to see.

The swirling vapor within the cloud parted as he moved through it. He made sure to look over and under his flight path periodically, just in case the ship wasn’t lying on his expected path, but the clouds seemed just as thick in that direction as any other.

Just as he was beginning to think that he should head back to the scuttler, he saw a dim shadow. He looked back and ensured that Calen’s ship wasn’t too poorly obscured before he pushed on and got his first clear view of the distressed vessel, a view that made him excited and pleased moments before making him uncertain.

The vessel was a one-man fighter ship of a standard, almost generic design. Only one of its engines was active, and then only if sparking violently could be considered “active.” But the thing that drew his attention the most was the symbol on the vessel’s hull that identified it as a vessel of the Dyson Empire.

***

Much earlier, on another world…

Sister Barris scrolled through the digital palimpsest, keeping fresh on all of the data regarding her client. Azar had little in the way of a public record, and much of it had been stored as hard copies instead of digitally. While the virtual record of Azar wasn’t nonexistent, he was one of the few true cases where Barris needed to find a literal paper trail. Which, unfortunately, meant waiting for the baristerbots to run their errands and scan the data. She wasn’t expecting to find any surprises that could hurt Azar’s case, but she knew that BristleCorp’s lawyers would be doing at least this much.

She was taking care of this particular batch of data sifting over a light lunch at a cafe that made the overcast day feel cozy. She traced her finger over the information on the flimsy screen, allowing the data to move past. She saw nothing upsetting, but there was less actual information than she wanted.

A man in a suit entered the cafe and scanned the room until he saw her at the table. The man approached her table and sat in the opposite chair. Barris looked up from her work.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe,” he said. “You’re Sister Barris, yes? Representing Azar?”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, I am. I was wondering if someone would be talking to me about that, actually. I didn’t expect to hear about it here. If you’d like to talk officially, my office would probably be more convenient.”

He shook his head.

“No, I don’t think we need anything so formal. In fact I’d like this kept quiet.”

“All right,” said Barris. “Maybe you can help me, then. My information on BristleCorp’s involvement is… strangely absent. Why can’t I find any official documentation for Azar’s project?”

“It was irrelevant information, so the records weren’t kept,” he said. Barris smiled.

“Seriously? That’s honestly the story you’re using? No one gets rid of data, not entirely.”

“It’s what I was told,” he said. “I don’t know all the details. I’m sure your client can tell you more.”

“He has, it’s just strange that the information isn’t officially there.”

“It may be a moot point,” he said. “You should drop this case. Tell Azar that our settlement options will be better for him in the long run.”

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“Why not?”

“For starters, I don’t believe that it’s true. He stands to make more money by keeping the money he has now, and the suggestion that it’ll cause negative impacts on the galactic economy is shaky. And even if it did, he’d have the money to easily remain unaffected.”

“I don’t think it’ll be better for him monetarily,” he said. “I think it’ll affect his quality of life. I’ve been hearing things from some of the higher ups… this isn’t an official meeting here. The official talk… it’s going to come later. And they’re already planning for you to disagree with them. It’s a formality. They’ve already contacted… unofficial people for when you tell them that you won’t drop it.”

“Unofficial?”

“I’d rather not go into it,” he said. “People unaffiliated with BristleCorp who can get their hands dirty. I don’t know exactly what it’ll mean, but if you don’t go along with BristleCorp, then they won’t have a reason to call these people off.”

Barris stared at the man’s face. She wondered if it was just a fear tactic, but she couldn’t see any sign of a lie on his face.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “But I think I still won’t be abandoning my client.”

“Fine,” he said. “That’s good. For now. But when they really ask you later… probably at your office… I think you should change your answer then.”

“I won’t,” said Barris. “But thank you.”

The man nodded, rose, and left. Barris turned back to the palimpsest, but wasn’t sure she could focus on it. She expected a threat, but not a warning of a threat. Fortunately, the Order of Fierce Mercy had ways of protecting its clients. She’d just hoped they wouldn’t need them so soon.

Episode 28: Covert Negotiations

Chip opened the door to his spacious apartment, bearing a sack of supplies in one hand and the finest Haukreen takeout in all of Helix. He tossed both onto the front room’s coffee table, and ran into the monitor room as a formality, but was confused by the actual red warning light on the central monitor. No situation had ever warranted red since he wrote the software. Approaching for a closer look, the screen told him what he knew it would say but what he hoped it would not.

LUSCA HABITAT BREACHED. GAMMA STATUS: ABSENT.

The recreation of the underjungles where Murk kept his pet Lusca vine wasn’t as high a priority, but it was where Zack Gamma had been imprisoned. Murk had made it clear that nothing was more important than keeping Gamma contained. Ordinarily, problems in Murk’s business weren’t Chip’s problems to worry about, but the Underjungles wouldn’t have been possible without Chip’s assistance and knowledge of Helix’s infrastructure.

At the time, a jungle project seemed like it wouldn’t be problematic at all. The hardest part was translating Helix’s biosphere generation capabilities to a portion of its substructure that wasn’t initially compatible with the technology. After that, it had just been a matter of monitoring the system and keeping the legitimate authorities from discovering it. He’d resented it later when he learned that the gardening project would actually make him a warden if Murk ever had an appropriate prisoner, but by then he was too crucial to the process.

“Show me how he escaped.”

Chip watched a feed. A Pyrhian rock woman broke in through the studio facility that doubled as a service entrance, though she was clearly close enough to a metamorphosis that she shouldn’t have been so active. He watched, quickly scanning through the feed until it caught up with the present, causing a deeper probe that led to the unsettling possibility that the data had been altered. He dismissed the invasive thought and began tapping into alternate security cameras outside the office in question, until he caught an image of Zack Gamma entering a van outside the studio.

“Where did they go?”

The next feed followed the van as it left in a hurry. A number of cameras on Alpha and Beta street tracked its movements, but the van did a good job of sticking to the areas that had no cameras, or where the cameras had broken down without being replaced. Fortunately, no easy exits from the city flagged the van or Zack Gamma’s departure. Still, he needed a way to either track Gamma or gain leverage.

“What did Murk do with Carmen Shift?”

Chip saw a few quick video clips and read a report. She had been released back into the city with no real information about what had happened. Ordinarily an idiotic move, but Murk had been more concerned about how much media attention a missing asteroid racer could bring. She was still in the city, last seen leaving a police station. Chip hated acting proactively on Murk’s behalf as it would do more to reduce his autonomy outside of Murk’s operations every time, but he bore the responsibility for locating Zack Gamma and needed bait to lure him out before he left Helix.

“Contact… I don’t know, find someone not currently doing anything, some of Murk’s people. We need to retrieve Carmen Shift right now.”

“Belay that,” said a voice from behind him.

Chip spun and saw Zack Gamma stepping out from the closet. He was holding the basic ray pistol that Chip had bought years ago and hidden in his desk for safety. Chip looked from it to the desk drawer.

“Sorry, I’ve got a bad habit of rifling through drawers, seeing if I can find anything useful. You should really keep something like this in a safe. That makes it harder to get to, of course, so there are a few different opinions on that matter.”

“How did you find me?” asked Chip. “It wouldn’t have been possible to trace my signal from the studio to here, at least not without better hacking skills than I have.”

“Yeah, but your coding’s a little too intuitive,” said Zack. “I saw how you laid out the cameras in the Underjungle. You numbered them pretty consistantly there. You had other cameras up in your different satellite stations, numbered the same way. It wasn’t too hard to set up a grid. Now, I admit I had this whole building to choose from when I got here, so I took a gamble that someone with their eyes on the hardware that runs Helix would want the top floor. I didn’t have time to find what I needed on your computer there before you came in the front door and I had to hide.”

“Right. So… you’re the one with the gun. What do you want?”

“It’s that easy?”

“Absolutely,” said Chip. “I’m in no position to do much. Plus I don’t particularly like Murk. All I ask is that you don’t let him know that I did anything to help you.”

“Deal,” said Zack. “First, I need to know where my stuff is. I could live without my Purcellian Strikers, but my ID and money are kind of important.”

“I assume Murk still has them. I have a direct transport to the basement of his headquarters, but he’s put a guard there recently to keep me from showing up unannounced. No guards immediately outside the front door, but there’s usually a stronger force just inside. Then again, I’ve got no cameras there so I can’t say either way.”

“Good to know,” said Zack. “Next, I’ll need a safe way out of town.”

“There are plenty of safe ways, there just aren’t many unobserved ways. I could always look the other way. The trouble is convincing Murk that I couldn’t notice you in time. I’m usually not obliged to help him out, but you’re a special case.”

“We can work that out on the way,” said Zack. “I think you need to come with me since I’m so special. I’m sure Murk’ll be understanding. Grab your takeout, and let’s go.”

Chip nodded, walked back to the living room, and grabbed his dinner. He wasn’t wild about accompanying Zack for this escapade, but he also knew that he wanted Zack out of the apartment before he noticed the most crucial piece of information.

Zack might have asked the computer to belay the instruction to have Carmen located and captured, but the computer didn’t listen to anyone except him.
***

Much earlier, on another world…

Azar wore his best suit, though he still felt underdressed. He hadn’t yet spent much on his wardrobe since he became the wealthiest person he had ever heard of, and knew in his mind that he should, but he wasn’t sure how to begin looking for the best outfits that money could buy, or even what he’d look like in an outfit like that. His still-shaggy appearance had been improved, though, and in a suit he gave the impression of a ragged and lovable stuffed animal instead of a slob.

The lawyer on the other side of the table, Sister Barris of the Order of Fierce Mercy, adjusted her WimpHelm as she turned the page. She smiled at the relatively short final lines of the document and looked back at Azar.

“What do you think?”

“I agree with our Baristerbot,” she said, pleasantly stacking the papers into a neat pile. “You dotted every i on the important papers, never missed a day of work, and weren’t ever at fault in any way that would cause you to forfeit your earnings.”

Azar laughed, and fell back into his chair.

“That’s such a relief,” he said. “You’re the first lawyer who would speak to me after an initial meeting. Everyone else said that I probably wouldn’t have a case.”

“Most of the best lawyers on the planet are all members of organizations that are subsidiaries of BristleCorp and couldn’t legally help you anyway, and a lot of the others are easily bullied by them. It’s not a guaranteed loss in court, but some might see it that way. BristleCorp even owns the bank that forged the money for you.”

“So as an unaffiliated religious organization, your lawyers aren’t on the take.”

“The Order of Fierce Mercy isn’t strictly a religious order, but yes. We have no corporate affiliations, and believe in strong representation for those who may not be well equipped to find counsel elsewhere.”

“It’s horrible the way that they’ve tried to keep me from finding help,” said Azar. “I’ve been afraid to spend any of this.”

“Consider it the death throes of a corrupt and horrible system,” said Barris. “You signed on to a high risk engineering program that would be illegal if it was done today, even for someone with your education. The system was meant to be rigged so that no one could ever make much money. But you never paid for things at the company store on credit. You always brought your own lunch, borrowed from friends and family instead of the corporate banks when needed, and invested wisely. The high interest that was meant to make you owe them money worked against them for you. Most of the other people in the program who even came close to getting rich would perish in some of the deep space engineering projects, or at least wind up having to spend all of their payoffs in massive medical bills. In short, you played a game that the casino rigged, but the house lost. And anyone who works in casinos enough knows that the house will do anything not to lose. And in your case, they’ve lost more than anyone would have imagined was possible except as a theoretical thought exercise.”

“So it’s a blatant case of them going back on their word for me?”

“Not as blatant as it could be. They were very careful about when and where they said certain things. But yes, there is a definite promise made to you, and the promise made to you will be broken if they don’t pay you. The other issue is that this is a matter of self survival; they’ve given you more money than they can afford to spare, and it may cause their overarching corporation to collapse. Ordinarily, that would be a case of it merely being their fault, but in the case of this particular corporate collapse, there’s a chance that them paying you could negatively impact the galactic economy.”

“Doesn’t everything done by corporations do that, though?”

“Ha! Yes, yes. But in this case, it’s a bit worse. If they can show that the damage will be bad enough, they may convince the legal system to make it illegal to pay you directly, while only receiving a slap on the wrist for punishment.”

“How could they have made the offer, then?”

“Like I said, it was a rigged game,” she said. “And so is this one. Don’t worry, though, you seem to have a knack for slipping through the cracks when they rig things.”

“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” she said. “It’ll be an uphill fight. And if they hadn’t already paid you, I wouldn’t expect us to be able to get it out of them. But since you’ve already got it… an admission from them that they both had money to give you and that they, at one time, understood their obligation in the same way that you did… I think we’ve got a great chance. It’ll all work out, sir. Trust me.”