Absolute Zero (The Shadow Wars Book 4) (3 page)

“Fine, get the fuck out of here.”

The pair of mercenaries moved through the security checkpoint and joined Sergio and Sharpe. The four of them moved across the area, headed for one of the docking chambers. Judging by the security hanging around the entrance, Trent figured it to be a private bay. He tried to guess the name of corporation by studying the guards, but they wore bland black armor, free of logos or any distinguishing features.

“You don't have your permits?” Sergio asked.

“Fuck no. We're not pissing away twenty grand for two documents that say we can carry guns when we can carry them just fine,” Drake replied.

“Huh, didn't know they cost that much,” Sergio murmured.

“They do if you're a freelance merc,” Trent said.

They moved past the guards and into the private bay. The roaring sound of the transit hangar was cut off abruptly as the door closed behind them, and Trent let out a small sigh of relief. He stared around the small but cozy bay. Everything was wipe-clean and shades of sterling white and chrome. The windows were smooth and pristine and clear. Each wall held a single airlock bay and there were a few more security guards inside.

“Why do you maintain a bay here?” Drake asked.

“None of your business,” Sharpe said. It was the first thing she'd said to them. Trent had expected her voice to be deeper.

“I'm afraid I must agree with Sharpe,” Sergio said, apologetically. “The fewer questions you ask, the better.”

Trent stared out the windows near the airlock they were approaching. A sleek black ship waited for them just beyond.

“Whoa, nice ship. Like a space limo,” he murmured.

The circular airlock doors divided into pie-slice segments as it opened up, individual pieces sliding into the wall. The quartet stepped into the bay and waited for it to cycle them through. The far door opened and they stepped in after an uncomfortable moment of relative silence. The interior of the ship was small, but comfortable.

Trent was bemused to see that his previous assessment wasn't off the mark. They stepped into a plush, atmospherically lit room occupied by a host of deep, luxurious chairs. There was a bar across the room and end tables beside each chair and couch. Trent spied a small but high-tech kitchen in the corner, cast in gleaming stainless steel and glass.

“Wow,” he said.

“We like to travel in style,” Sergio said with a grin.

He walked to an intercom on the far wall and spoke softly into it. The subtle sounds of the ship disengaging from the airlock were muted.

“Settle in and enjoy my private reserve, gentlemen. We're going to be in transit for a few hours, then we'll link up with another ship for the final leg of our journey,” Sergio said.

Trent looked at Drake. They both smiled and crossed to the bar. From a glance, Trent saw that Sergio's private reserve was worth ten times what they'd made during their last job. There were a few bottles of wine from the early twenty two hundreds. Trent grabbed a bottle, then turned and studied the others.

Sergio had his face buried in an infopad, studying up on something. Sharpe had taken a seat in a chair that seemed designed to hold her huge frame. She sat perfectly still, her arms on the armrests, her black lens eyes staring directly at Trent, a small smile on her lips. Trent turned away from her. He'd never admit it, but she creeped him out.

He tore out the cork with his teeth and took a drink directly from the bottle.

It was going to be a long flight.

* * * * *

Trent decided that his assessment was right. It had been a long flight. Two hours and Sharpe hadn't said a single word. He hadn't gotten drunk, not really trusting the two corporate dogs he shared a cabin with. By the time they docked with another, larger ship, he had a nice buzz going on that soothed his background headache though.

Presently, he, Drake and the other two were shoved into another airlock. Trent had studied the ship as they approached it. There hadn't been anything else around, as far as he could tell. No nearby stars, no planets, no moons, nothing.

They were truly out in the middle of nowhere, deep in the dead space.

The interior door opened and revealed another, larger lounge with a handful of people milling about. They all turned to look as the door opened and everyone stepped out.

“Finally,” one of them, a thin man with bug eyes, muttered.

“Sorry we're late,” Sergio said. “But now we can be on our way. I think it would make the most sense if everyone introduced themselves now. You all know me and my associate. You all need to work together as a team. Let's go around the room, name and specialty.”

Trent went first. “Trent Stone. I'm pretty good at shooting people.”

“Drake Winters. I also shoot people with a decent level of skill and I like to play with bombs.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, then the man with the bug eyes spoke up. “Stephen Baxter. I'm a genius with all things technical. Systems, gear, vehicles, guns, you name it, I can make it work.”

Trent sized him up, wondering how he'd do in a fight. Probably not all that good. He was tall but thin, kind of gangly, all awkward limbs and unhealthily pale skin. He kept his head shaved bald and that only made his eyes seem to pop out even more. He paced about the room ceaselessly, chewing on his fingernails.

“Gideon Stewart. People typically hire me for protection.” The next man to speak was black, enormous and muscular. Trent immediately decided that he didn't want to go up against him in a fist fight. The man must have been six seven or six eight, at least. There were small nests of wrinkles around his eyes. Despite his hulking appearance, everything about the man spoke of a relaxed composure. Even his voice was quiet and reserved.

“Tristan Webber. I'm a freelance medic. I work well under fire.”

Tristan was tall, slender and well-built. Her black hair starkly framed her pale face. Her eyes were lit from within, though from a no doubt razor intellect than from anything technological. She leaned casually against one wall and had an air of immense calm about her. She'd been studying an infopad before they'd come in.

“I'm going to come right out and say it now, so that no one gets angry later. I'm a company man. My name is Trevor Yu. Let's just say I'm a tech guy.”

Trevor had Asian features, as well as a medium height and build. He kept his dark hair buzzed close to his skull and the amiable smile he had on seemed right at home. He wore a professional-looking blue zippered jumpsuit.

Trent realized Drake was staring at Trevor, and smiling. Trent glanced at Tristan, who had gone back to reading her infopad. Well, maybe there could be fun to be had for both of them. Two days was plenty of time to hop into bed.

“Okay, everyone knows everyone. Living quarters are to the right. They all have your names on them. Everything you should need is there. Relax, mingle, drink, I don't really care what you do. We don't need to speak for the next two days,” Sergio said.

With that, he and Sharpe headed through a door to the left, which, presumably, led to the bridge. Everyone looked around at each other. Tristan sat down and kept looking at her infopad. Stephen turned and left, heading into the living quarters section. Trent had a hunch, and decided to play it. He approached Gideon, who had taken a seat. Drake followed. The pair sat down across from the massive mercenary.

“Gideon...you seem familiar. Have we worked together before?” Trent asked.

Gideon pulled out a narrow cigar and lit up. “Yes. We did. Two years ago, we were all hired to play courier for the Black Rock Mining Corporation. Micrometeorites hit our ship, compromised the hull, we barely managed to get to our destination.”

Trent's eyes lit up. “I knew it! Man, you were fantastic on that job. So calm and cool. How long you been doing this?”

“Forty eight years now,” Gideon replied. He sighed out a big cloud of smoke. “Probably gonna be doing it for another forty eight. If I'm lucky.”

“Damn. So, have you heard anything about what we're doing?”

“No, they wouldn't tell me shit. Normally I don't do jobs blind, but I've been bored lately. In a rut. I decided it was time to shake things up, do something stupid, maybe. How about you two? I remember both of you being pretty competent yourselves on that job.”

“We've been at it for damn near twenty years,” Drake said.

Trent considered something. He doubted if anyone had been told anymore more than he had about their job. His eyes fell on Trevor. The young tech was seated across the room, staring intently into his infopad. Trent decided he should pay the tech a visit. Kill two birds with one stone. Try to get info and get Drake closer.

Trent stood. “Let's go see if the company man is willing to spill the beans.”

“I'm cool with that,” Drake said, standing as well.

“Go ahead. I need to go unpack,” Gideon replied, standing and heading for the dorms.

Trent and Drake crossed the lounge. Trevor looked up as their shadows fell across him. He offered the pair a smile.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked.

“What is Sergio being so tight-lipped about?” Drake asked.

Trevor laughed easily. “I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about our mission. I've been sworn to secrecy. All I can say is I think you should enjoy this calm before the storm. You should take a load off, relax.”

“I don't suppose you could help me relax?” Drake asked.

Trevor didn't miss a beat. “Maybe, I guess it depends on what kind of relaxing is going on. But,” here he stood, “if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to go forward and speak with Mister Davis.” He crossed the room and left.

“He totally wants the D,” Drake said, staring after him.

“I dunno, man, I don't think he's into dudes,” Trent replied uncertainly.

“Whatever, you don't know what you're talking about.”

“Uh-huh...well, now what?”

Drake seemed to consider it for a moment, then shrugged. “Relax, I guess.”

Chapter 03

–
The Arrival
–

The next two days passed in bits and pieces.

Drake learned that Gideon had a love of chess, and even carried a small, magnetized set with him. The pair spent several hours in the lounge, chins in their hands, eyes glued to the board. Tristan seemed to like to spend time out there as well, seated in a big reclining chair with her shoes off, feet tucked up beneath her as she read an infopad.

Trent tried hitting on her, but he found conversation with her difficult. He spent most of the first day bouncing back and forth between trying to extract information from Trevor and trying to see if Tristan would give him the time of day. His time with Marie had been really nice, but he'd only had a single night with her and he'd expected more.

He had blue balls.

But Tristan was being difficult. She muttered the occasional noncommittal grunt while he prattled on about bullshit. Finally, she got up and left, leaving him alone with the chess masters. Trent sighed, strolled over and collapsed in a chair beside them, watching them both.

“Strike out, huh?” Drake asked.

“Yeah, she's a tough nut to crack,” Trent replied.

“And if she's not interested?” Gideon asked. He reached out and moved a piece. Drake cursed softly and delved deep into thought.

“Then whatever. I'm done. I'm not
that
dumb, I can take a hint,” Trent said.

“Took you an hour,” Drake muttered without looking over.

“I said I wasn't
that
dumb,” Trent muttered.

“Does anyone ever give you shit for being gay?” Gideon asked suddenly.

Drake blinked, startled out of his thought, then gazed up at Gideon. “You asshole, you only asked that because it'd distract me. And no, not really. For the most part. Of course, running in a mercenary crowd, you always get ignorant morons who seem to still equate it with weakness. Not sure how it makes sense, but they're so damned persistent. I've broken a couple noses in my time when they didn't get the hint. Anyone give you shit for being black?”

“Not really, no. I
am
six eight and three sixty of muscle. But, every now and then, when you get out into the really backwater colonies-”

Drake suddenly smiled, reached forward and moved a piece. “Check.”

Gideon looked down, blinked in surprise. “You motherfucker.”

* * * * *

Trent made it a point to get to know his squad. He already had a good grip of what Gideon was like: big, strong, good in a fight. Though there was a sharp intellect swimming just below the surface. Trent made a mental note not to insult the man's intelligence, not that he made a habit of insulting people in general.

Tristan obviously didn't want to talk to him, so he let her be. Sergio and Sharpe weren't going to say shit and Trevor was a lot more clever than he let on. He was nice enough, and obviously pretty smart, but he carefully guided the conversation away from their mission and any of the specifics. Trent found himself talking about past jobs, the specifics of maintaining your arsenal, the best booze, great pleasure spots.