[05] Elite: Reclamation (18 page)

A number of other individuals were already seated around the outside of the projector, a misfit collection of bounty hunters from across the sector. The two guards turned smartly on their heels and departed in the lift. The doors snapping closed behind them.

‘What’s your name, stranger?’

Dalk looked across and saw a tall woman observing him from across the room. It had to be Octavia herself.

‘Harfitt,’ Dalk replied, slurring his speech with a happy go lucky drawl. ‘Simeon Harfitt.’

‘Show us your ID,’ Octavia said.

Dalk pulled a datatab out of his pocket and chucked it carelessly onto the projector table. A holofac representation of himself, his fake name, his ship and various biometric markers appeared, slowly rotating. His pilot’s ranking appeared beneath them.

Elite.

A moment later the word ‘Verified’ appeared, glowing in green lettering. He looked over at her with a questioning glance and a slight bow.

‘Sit down,’ Octavia said. ‘We’re wasting time.’

Dalk settled himself beside one of the other bounty hunters, a grizzled looking fellow with a rather ornate handlebar moustache.

‘Nice ship,’ the grizzled fellow said.

‘Thanks,’ Dalk responded, not wanting to get distracted from Octavia as she walked around the back of the assembly.

‘Just as well, she just spaced a guy for wasting her time. He turned up in an old Adder.’

Dalk scoffed. ‘Chancers. If you can’t take the heat …’ He enjoyed playing the part of a relaxed and easy going professional.

‘… stay out of the corona.’

Dalk turned his attention to Octavia.

‘To business,’ she said, leaning against the projector, hands outstretched, looking at each one of them in turn. ‘This is what you’re looking for.’

The schematics of an old Eagle fighter appeared on the holofac. Dalk recognised it as an original model. It was a simple old ship, easy and cheap to maintain. This one was pretty much an antique.

‘Registration code is TY–198,’ Octavia added. ‘It’s a standard model. Old ship. A few mods, nothing fancy.’

‘Who’s the pilot?’ one of the others, a man with a red and white striped bandana, called out.

Octavia gestured to the display and an image of a young dark-skinned man with a flop of unruly black hair appeared. It wasn’t a great picture, it must have been taken by a security camera from some distance.

‘My nephew,’ Octavia said, smiling and gesturing to the image. There was a general chuckle from around the room.

‘Hassan Farrukh Sharma. Age twenty-eight. Mostly Harmless. Last seen here eleven hours ago.’

‘Any idea where he was heading?’ This time it was a woman dressed in a skin tight one-piece black outfit. The whites of her eyes seemed to glow in the gloom, standing out from her dark face. Her hair was arranged in a fashionable series of coloured spikes.

Octavia shook her head. ‘Our guess is Federation space, though we believe he’s gone dark for now. We’ve seen no activity in the immediate jump points or the local systems.’

Dalk nodded to himself. That was no surprise. Hyperspacing in consecutive jumps was a dead giveaway. Letting your trail go cold was a smart move. The youth had some nous at least. He wasn’t convinced that a jump towards the Federation made sense, but he kept quiet.

‘You want him back alive?’ Skin tight asked.

Octavia looked at her. ‘I want him alive, I want the ship back and I want the cargo back.’

Dalk seized his chance. ‘What’s he carrying?’

Octavia looked around at him. ‘Something of mine, that’s all you need to know.’

Dalk shrugged. ‘Count me out then. It can’t be done.’

A surprised look crossed Octavia’s face. ‘What did you say?’

Dalk looked deliberately disinterested and spoke in his lazy accent. ‘I’m guessing your nephew’s not looking to be found. So, first thing he’s gonna do is scrub his ship’s identity. Next he’s going to find himself a busy port and blend right in. We’d be looking for a cruddy old ship amongst a thousand others. Unless we know what’s aboard we can’t scan for it, can we? Can’t work miracles.’

Skin tight and Moustache were nodding in agreement. Bandana unfolded his arms and leant forward, listening intently.

Dalk looked around the room and then fixed her with a shrewd eye. ‘And I’m figuring that it’s the cargo you want back.’

Octavia glared at him for a moment before relenting.

‘Very well. He’s carrying contraband Imperial biotech in a specialised container. Here’s the profile.’

Dalk schooled himself not to react when the schematic of a bio support pod appeared on the holofac. The youth had stolen Kahina! From under Octavia’s nose, no wonder she was pissed. There was no mistaking the profile of the pod, it had been custom made and there wasn’t another like it. His plan still had a chance.

‘What’s it do?’ he asked, innocently.

‘Specialist pod for conveying hazardous bio samples,’ Octavia snapped. ‘Don’t be thinking of opening it. You’ll be dead without the proper handling tech.’

‘Just here for the money,’ Dalk assured her.

Skin tight nodded. ‘Good call. How much you paying and how long have we got?’

‘Fifty thousand and as long as it takes,’ Octavia replied. ‘For the cargo, the ship and the … my nephew. All intact and unmolested. Any questions?’

The bounty hunters looked at each other, but none spoke. It was a generous fee, you could buy a half decent ship for that.

‘You’ve all got the profile,’ Octavia concluded. ‘Suggest you get moving.’

***

Dalk took a moment to think things through before he departed. Octavia had clearly figured out who Kahina was, hence her fear about the pod heading towards Federation space. It made sense that the youngster would head that way to get the highest price for her, but only if he knew what he was carrying. Dalk thought it more likely the youth was an opportunist and had only stumbled on the pod by blind chance. If so …

The Pod would remain secure assuming no one had tampered with it. Dalk felt the youth must be running scared. He’d go where Octavia would find it hard to follow. That meant the Empire and not the Federation.

There was a good chance Dalk’s superior vessel could overhaul him, but that wasn’t the problem. He had to put the other bounty hunters, and Octavia if possible, off the scent for long enough to find the youth and then escape with Kahina to the protection of Haoria. Once there they’d be safe, but there was little point finding the Eagle and then not being able to get away himself.

But why did Octavia intercept the pod in the first place?

He watched as two of the bounty hunters set off, triggering their hyperspace drives shortly after leaving the
Basilica
. Dalk instructed the computer to analyse their course. They’d taken Octavia’s cue and headed towards Federation space.

The third bounty hunter remained docked. Dalk had a feeling the owner of that ship was waiting to see what he did. He didn’t want a shadow following him.

He gestured for a narrowband comm link and was rewarded with a holofac of the dark woman with the skin tight suit.

‘Would ya believe it,’ he drawled. ‘Got some nav vectors all messed up. All fixed now.’

‘Not good.’ Skin tight answered. ‘These modern ships. Don’t make them like they used to do they?’

Dalk grinned at her.

‘Well, best o’ luck.’

‘You too.’

Dalk cancelled the link.

Definitely waiting for me.

He watched as her ship eased out of the dock and thrust rapidly away. It was a Viper, a tough modern fighting machine. She had money and the right instincts for the job. She’d most likely go ‘dark’ herself and wait for him outside. Well, she could try. He relaxed into his flight chair, waiting a few more minutes as he considered his strategy. Then he engaged the power systems, allowing the protective flight-gel to ease up around him.

He fired up the drives and accelerated out of the bay.

***

Hassan gave Salomé a series of sticky bars. She took one and nibbled on it tentatively, before hunger overtook her and she gulped it down. Feverously she grabbed more of them and pulled them out of their wrappers. She finished them off in short order.

‘Woah, take it easy, those are supposed …’

She looked up with a scowl.

‘Ok, so you’re hungry.’

He’d moved her into the forward pilot’s chair to keep her out of the way with firm instructions not to touch anything. It still didn’t make sense. Not a slave, not a passenger. What was she doing on that Imperial Cutter? He’d no idea where that ship had come from or was going to. The nearest major system to the ambush point was some obscure backwater mining outfit. How did that fit with her snobbish Imperial accent?

Somewhere along the line she’d been coached and tutored. He recognised the conceited tones of the Imperial privileged classes in her style of speech. That spoke of money and some level of status. If he could figure out who she was maybe that was an angle worth pursuing, somebody must have missed her. He’d check the lost and found postings when he got a chance.

Maybe the pod was some kind of medical device, transporting a sick patient? Physically the woman appeared to be fine but clearly she wasn’t right in the head. But why an entire canister for just one person? And why not a medical ship? And why not sort her out on a planet with medical facilities? It didn’t make any sense.

Maybe she was some kind of refugee? Maybe she was being covertly smuggled out-system, incognito. That might explain the whole veil of secrecy, the escorts and so on. Did Octavia know about that? Was that why there was an ambush? If so he might have wandered into some kind of big stakes political situation …

Not good … shit!

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He was in over his head. He took a deep breath and tried to stay focused. He had to get rid of her and soon. Maybe the airlock wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She was so clueless about space operations he could probably con her inside without much trouble.

It would be quick.

She looked around at that moment, as if aware she was being scrutinised, before resuming her stare out of the cockpit windows. She wasn’t a classic beauty, but she wasn’t unpleasant to gaze upon. Hassan turned back to his work.

Killing in cold blood. He already knew he wasn’t going to do that. It was one thing shooting down other ships at range. All pilots signed up to the danger and possibility of being spaced in combat. It was just a game; point, lock, shoot and
Right On, Commander.
It was quite another to push an innocent woman into an airlock and pull the release.

Innocent though. Really?

She seemed innocent. Had she really lost her memory like she said? She was a good actor if so, but if she was a politician she’d be accomplished at that. Maybe he was being played again. If she was acting she’d be trying to influence him, wouldn’t she? Dropping in hints to go to this or that system maybe, or arguing over the destination.

Another thought occurred to him. Maybe she was a psycho, undergoing some expensive new mental treatment off-world. No telling what she might do if that was the case, some innocent gesture might set her off. She’d already demonstrated she knew something about hand to hand combat with that little trick with the wrist hold.

He puffed out his cheeks and primed the hyperspace system. His best bet was to make her somebody else’s problem, and as quickly as possible.

‘That’s it, we’re spooling,’ he said, a little louder than he needed to. Salomé looked around.

‘Spooling?’

‘Hyperdrive is spooling up. I’m taking you to Ferenchia. We can get you set up there with a new ID, some emergency creds, maybe even find you some work.’

Salomé nodded absently. He’d have given a stash of credits to know what was going on behind her solemn grey eyes.

***

The
Coup de Grâce
launched from the
Basilica
towing a plume of hot plasma in its wake. Dalk pushed his vessel to maximum acceleration for a few seconds. The passive scanner was blank as he expected. If skin tight was waiting to see where he jumped to she wouldn’t hang around making herself easy to spot. She’d be out of range, but close enough to sweep in once he’d jumped and analyse the resultant hyperspace cloud, figuring out his destination. It would be a simple matter to piggyback on his jump and follow him. His drive thrust would be lighting up her infra-red sensors like a solstice celebration.

 ‘Not going to happen,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Activate frameshift.’

On-board automation acknowledged his command with a faint musical tone and the Asp leapt forward into the void. His scanner was still blank, but he was convinced that skin tight’s ship was lurking behind him somewhere, waiting to follow him through hyperspace.

Dalk activated a secondary series of displays. The
Coup de Grâce
wasn’t just well equipped with weaponry; Dalk had ensured that a number of stealth technologies had also been installed.

‘Activate decoy drone.’

The displays showed a small device, mounted on the underside of the Asp, a sleek needle-like affair, hardly bigger than a mid-range missile. Status lights glowed orange and then flickered to green one by one.

Dalk grinned.

Bet you don’t have the military contacts I do.

He turned the
Coup de Grâce
in a lazy arc back towards the
Basilica
. As the station swept back into range he cancelled the frameshift. The
Basilica
was a much larger source of heat than his ship. He switched off the power to his shields and pulled the throttles closed. His ship continued drifting towards the facility on a course that would take it just past the edge of the main hull.

‘Spool up drone hyperdrive module,’ he called out to the on-board automation.

Skin tight would have seen the turn and most likely slotted in behind him again. Without exhaust glow his ship would now be indistinguishable from the background glow of the station. He was invisible unless she went active. Bounty hunters never went active, it just wasn’t
de rigueur
; an admittance of failure.