Wings of steele 4 dark c.., p.23
Wings of Steele 4: Dark Cover, page 23
“Hold on,” urged Mercedes, snagging him by the sleeve of his leather jacket. “This is not the mission. Stay on mission!” she hissed.
“We don't know that until we investigate,” he replied in a hushed tone. He moved to follow Fritz who had paused, waiting for them.
“Dammit, Holt...”
“Objection noted,” he whispered motioning for Fritz to move on with a nod.
Clearing the solid base of the stairwell, Fritz launched, his legs scrambling on the metal floor like a cartoon character on takeoff. Teeth bared he snarled as he disappeared from sight. Chase leaned into a sprint, Allie already accelerating ahead, Mercedes Huang attempting to catch up while checking behind them. Chase cleared the corner just in time to see Fritz in mid-flight, three-feet off the floor, grab the first of two men by the shoulder, his teeth sinking in, swinging him around and off his feet, the duo tumbling to the floor, the man with his pants down around his ankles screaming in pain and surprise.
Allie tackled the second man, hovering on his knees over a supine woman on the floor, her multicolored dress pulled up over her head. Allie missed a solid grab, tearing the man’s shirt off his body, over-running him and sliding to a stop beyond him. Chase was right behind her, on the man as he tried to right himself, who folded under a crushing right hook from Chase, laying him out on the floor with one shot. He spun to address the second man who was fighting a losing battle with a very angry forty-two tooth buzzsaw. Fritz's face was covered in the man's blood as he released and reattached himself on any limb swung in his direction.
Mercedes pulled the semi-conscious woman free of the melee, covering her body back up with her clothing, watching the amazing speed of Fritz as he mauled the first attacker.
“Fritz, leave!” called Chase. Fritz released and backed up, the exhausted man dropping over on his side in a pool of blood, the floor spattered and smeared from the struggle. Both of his arms had been ravaged, one hand crushed, his calf punctured, his pants shredded and one shoe missing. “Geez, dog, you don't play around...” Chase grabbed the man by the foot and dragged him over against the wall under the stairs with the other man who was still unconscious. “Well, shit...” grumbled Holt, straightening up, examining the mess.
“I told you not to get involved,” reminded Mercedes.
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved. “I'm not going to ignore a girl getting raped by a couple rabid little punks like this.” He punctuated his point by kicking the closest one in the groin, watching him curl into a ball in agony. “Bitch.”
“You know we have to eliminate them,” whispered Mercedes.
Holt dropped to a knee, “What? No... I'm not executing them...”
“They jeopardize the mission.”
“What about her?” asked Chase nodding to the girl who was barely cognizant.
“We leave her, she's drugged. I don't think she's even aware of what's going on.” She touched his hand, “There's a lot riding on this, we can't risk them telling anyone...”
Chase was staring at the floor, “I don't like this...” Killing non-combatants was against his training and good conscience - and these two were done.
She moved in a crouch over to the two prostate men, “Neither do I.” She tore the second man's shredded shirt all the way off and tossed it back at Chase, “Here, clean Fritz up the best you can...” The standard-issue Space Marine survival knife slid cleanly out of the sheath that was tucked into her boot.
“Wait,” pleaded the shirtless man as his eyes rolled around, trying to focus as he came-to. Mercedes didn't reply or even acknowledge him, placing her knee and weight on the side of his head, forcing the knife blade between the C1 and occipital bone at the base of his skull, producing a juicy bone-scraping sound accompanied a grunt from him as she severed his brain stem. The blade made a sucking sound as she yanked it out, blood pouring onto the floor. The other man, regaining consciousness was wedged behind his friend against the wall and tried unsuccessfully to retreat, fighting back with bloody arms and a broken hand. She viciously pounced on him, shoving the nine-inch blade up into his throat above his larynx, a spray of blood as he gurgled, trying to breathe as she drove the knife to the hilt. She wrenched it sideways, cutting the right carotid artery, a spurt of blood spraying across the legs and feet of his deceased friend. She yanked hard, the blade resisting at first, pulling free with a sickening slurp. He lay there, gurgling, his eyes searching, his body shuddering, finally falling quiet, vacant eyes staring at nothing.
“This is all your fault,” she pointed the bloody knife at Chase, her hands dripping.
He unapologetically held the shirt out to her, “Here...”
■ ■ ■
Sitting the unconscious girl on the stairs to the upper access of U-11, leaning her against the outer wall, her clutch bag under her head, she looked rather peaceful. Unaware of her previous predicament. “She looks alright,” offered Chase approvingly.
“She'll be fine. Let's go before someone comes along,” urged Mercedes. “I hope nobody finds dumb and dumber down there...” She scanned the corridor behind them as they climbed the stairs.
■ ■ ■
Jack and Ragnaar sat in the buyer's office for Nelson's Point Station; a sleek, stark, white, chrome and glass room with a broad floor plan and windows overlooking the docking spokes a hundred levels below them. The buyer's secretary deposited a tray of drinks on the glass coffee table and left the three men to serve themselves.
“Help yourself,” said the buyer, pulling up a holo-screen from a tablet on his side of the table. “Let's see what you have for us...” The man's black suit, shirt and tie was in severe contrast to his surroundings.
Steele sat back in his chair, casually crossing his legs at the knee, sipping the soda-like beverage, studying the buyer who was reviewing the offerings from the Perseus. He likes to be the focal point. Desperately wants to stand out. He's overcompensating...
“I can easily purchase your entire inventory,” the man commented arrogantly, not looking up from his review. “Hmm, most of your prices are reasonable...”
Ragnaar frowned at the word most, and Steele shook his head nearly imperceptibly hoping the Lieutenant would not voice his objection. “Well then, let's make a deal,” volunteered Jack.
“You do seem to have some... irregular stock, Mr. Mercury.”
Ragnaar shot Jack a quick I told you so look which Steele chose to ignore. “How so?”
“Well I'm seeing some Fed stamps in your inventory. I don't get the sense you're a licensed Fed dealer... Are you?”
“No, we're not. We sometimes acquire items in... unconventional ways.”
“I see...”
“We have friends in some trade hubs that help us in locating these... specialties.”
The buyer leaned back in his chair and touched his fingertips to his lips, “I suppose we could buy these from you... not something we see too often.”
Steele shrugged, “Or not. No pressure; if you don't feel comfortable, don't buy those items. We won't hold it against you, we will find other buyers.”
The buyer waved off the thought, not wanting to lose out on the opportunity for superior product at a bargain price. “No need for that, I think we can come to an agreeable price.”
Steele nodded, “Wonderful.”
The buyer waved casually, “The Diterian Brandy for instance...”
Jack's eyes widened, “I'm sorry, that is private stock, it was supposed to be removed from the inventory listing...”
“Don't be so hasty,” countered the buyer. “I would be willing to offer, say, three-hundred per bottle.”
Illustrating his years of pirate experience and his negotiating skills, Ragnaar calmly adjusted his position, leaning forward, “I believe you've left a zero off your offer.”
The buyer pulled back like someone had taken a swing at him, “Three-thousand per bottle? That's absurd!”
“What's absurd,” growled Ragnaar, “is that you insult us with the paltry offer of three-hundred!” He stood up, addressing Jack, “I believe, Mr. Mercury, he does not appreciate our offerings and we should take our inventory elsewhere...”
“Wait, wait,” waved the buyer on the edge of his seat. “Let's not be hasty... one-thousand...”
“Two-thousand.”
“Two-thousand,” mumbled the buyer, somewhat uncertain.
Ragnaar's posture softened some, confident in driving his deal home, “Two-thousand on the Diterian stock, one-thousand on all our other premium Fed-stamped stock and a five percent raise in all our other stock. Final deal or we find another buyer.”
“Fine, fine,” nodded the buyer reluctantly. “You drive a hard bargain...”
“It's worth every credit and you know it,” replied Ragnaar, satisfied, returning to his seat.
The buyer rose from his chair, “Excuse me, I will have my assistant prepare a purchasing contract.”
As the buyer walked toward his office foyer, Jack silently motioned to the time on his MOBIUS, tapping on the screen. Ragnaar replied with a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders.
■ ■ ■
Half way down the service spoke of U-11, Chase dropped to a knee next to Fritz, the dog's tennis ball in his hand. “You know what you need to do, right?”
Fritz nodded with a snort, “Yes.”
“You sure you can find it?”
Fritz sighed heavily, “Yes.”
Mercedes Huang shrunk to a crouch next to Chase, “Are we sure this is going to work?”
Chase gave her a sideways glance, “A little late to be asking that question.”
“I just meant...”
“You do realize his brain is half-computer, right? When we hacked into the station's repair and service network, we were able to locate the ship's schematics on their database. All those plans are in his head... like a road map.”
“OK, OK...” she said quietly.
“Ball,” Fritz reminded them.
Chase gave the Shepherd a pat, “Alright kid, it's up to you... keep Allie safe.” He chucked the heavier-than-normal tennis ball down the corridor, being careful not to actually throw it airborne, keeping it on the floor. The two German Shepherds dashed after it, flashing past the open boarding tube connected to the Red Moon's hull. Chase and Mercedes pulled back out of sight, hiding behind a power station mounted to the floor of the U-11 service spoke.
“Hey, did you see that?” asked the mechanic talking to a sentry stationed at the mouth of the boarding tube.
“What?”
“I don't know,” said the mechanic stepping out into the U-11 corridor. “Something ran past. Something short...”
Curious, the sentry stepped out behind him, looking left and right, “I didn't see anything. What did it look like?”
“Not sure. I thought I saw two of them...”
Fritz appeared from their right, running full out, the fuzzy yellow tennis ball clutched in his mouth, Allie in hot pursuit, weaving their way past equipment and parts stacked near the boarding entrance. The mechanic jumped back with a shout of surprise as Fritz shot past him, turned hard and raced up the tube towards the ship, Allie close behind, the stunned sentry standing mute in disbelief. “Hey!” he shouted ineffectually, after-the-fact. “What the hellion was that?”
“I don't know... But don't just stand there!” urged the mechanic pointing up the tube towards the ship.
“I'm not supposed to leave my post!”
“A little late for that... Go!” pointed the mechanic.
Keying the mic on his earpiece, the sentry sprinted up the tube, “Sentry One, we have two, um, animals aboard.”
“Sentry One, did you say animals..?”
■ ■ ■
Shooting past the two crewmen was easy and Fritz brushed against the wall of the boarding tube as he turned in, giving him something to push against without having to slow too much. Being taller and faster, he did a quick check over his shoulder, careful not to pull too far ahead of Allie. The CABL system had improved his strength, speed and agility; not to mention the capability of his artificial eye which allowed him to see far beyond his God-given abilities. Having studied the Red Moon's schematics and service information, now stored in his CABL module, the information played back in front of him like a road map on a HUD.
Entering the ship, Fritz's HUD directed him to the left toward the stern of the ship. He slid on the relatively smooth floor covering and dug in with his nails for traction, scrambling some to maintain his footing. He slowed to allow Allie to catch up before accelerating down the first corridor at a gallop. Leaning left and right like slalom skiers, the two Shepherds weaved past a few startled crew members as they raced past. With most of the Red Moon's crew on liberty aboard the station during repairs, foot traffic was light.
A ship-wide announcement alert chimed over the comm, “All security teams; we seem to have animals loose aboard ship. Apprehend but use due caution...”
■ ■ ■
Derrik Brighton watched Aleese Portwin's eyes, a look of grim determination on her face, tiny beads of sweat forming on her brow. Derrik eased the muzzle of the Needler off his leg with his index finger before covering it with his hand and gently turning it out of her grip. He leaned in close as he tucked it into his jacket pocket, “If you're wondering why you couldn't seem to pull the trigger, it's called Nepatolin. It's a nerve agent. A little slight of hand, a little drop or two in your drink...” He watched the concern in her eyes, “Don't worry, its effects are temporary; but you're going to feel very drunk very soon.” He looked around the club; no one seemed to be paying any attention to them, the music covering their conversation. “We need to get you somewhere quiet,” he added, helping her to her feet.
Halfway across the entry lobby towards the elevators, Aleese Portwin's knees buckled and Derrik scooped her up, cradling her in his arms, “Up you go...” Her eyes rolled lazily.
“Is she alright?” asked someone in passing.
“Oh she's fine,” he replied casually, continuing towards the elevators. “She's never been much of a drinker.”
■ ■ ■
Ensign Tug Widdish was not much of a dancer but he was having fun. The liquor was tasty, the music was great and the crew needed to let off some pressure; the run over Terra having been highly stressful. He was watching his feet as he danced, trying to keep up with the steps he'd been taught when he caught a glimpse of something on the lower level through the glass floor and stopped cold, other dancers bumping into him.
“Hey Tug, what gives?”
He pointed at the floor, “Isn't that Commander Portwin?”
“Those are called feet,” his crew mate replied sarcastically.
“No, no...” Tug spread his arms out, moving dancers aside, creating a larger window on the floor, attempting to follow the people below, “Who is that guy?”
“I don't know, he doesn't look familiar...” He elbowed Tug playfully, “Maybe the Skipper is going to get her some...”
“She fell!”
“Ah, he scooped her right up...” commented his crew mate with a nod of appreciation. “Nice move...”
Tug was pressed against the glass wall at the edge of the club looking down at the entry lobby towards the elevators, slapping the glass to get her attention, “Commander! Look up! Look up!” He turned to make his way across the dance floor toward the exit, “Something's wrong, we have to get down there!”
“Hold on Tug,” said the other man grabbing him by the sleeve, “If she's just drunk and you ruin her little romantic escapade, she's going to have your head...”
Tug pulled free, heading for the exit, “And if she's really in trouble?”
“Hellion,” muttered his crew mate, turning to follow him, “I hope I don't regret this...”
■ ■ ■
Fritz paused at the intersecting corridors checking for foot traffic, finding it increasingly difficult to evade the security teams running around the ship. So far he and Allie had been successful in giving them the slip.
He could hear the hustling footfalls approaching from behind them and dashed across the intersection, Allie close at his side. The schematic on his HUD said the first door was a private quarter and he stood on his hind legs and pawed the door switch, the door sliding open. They ducked inside and the door slid closed behind them, the security team passing outside a moment later.
“Well hello there,” smiled the woman stretched out on her bunk. “Aren't you the handsome couple...” She pulled off her headphones and propped herself up on one elbow, “What are you, and where did you come from..?” Fritz cocked his head to one side and his tail swayed slowly, hearing the music from the woman's headphones - she hadn't heard the alert announcement. He stood up and pawed the door switch and quickly slipped out. “Come back and see me again,” she called, pulling her headphones back on.
The duo shot past the elevators and headed for the stairs to descend four levels to engineering. So far there had been no sign of the VIP passengers that were supposed to be aboard the ship... maybe they were somewhere on the station like so much of the crew.
Coming from Florida where most houses have few stairs, Allie was not accustomed to dealing with them and heading down was the most difficult part. Fritz paced her, keeping her between him and the wall to give her some sense of support.
■ ■ ■
Mercedes Huang tapped on the face of her MOBIUS, her nails clicking quietly on its surface, indicating the time. Chase nodded, staring at a holo-screen floating above his own MOBIUS, “I know, I know...” His eyes followed a green dot moving through the ship's 3D floor-plan.
Mercedes suddenly wrapped her arms around him in an embrace and pressed her lips against his in a passionate kiss, pinning him against the power station anchored to the floor. It happened so fast and with such intensity he had no chance to react or object.
