Assault on Ambrose Station: A Seth Donovan Novel (8 page)

I gave her my best deadpan stare. She shifted from foot to foot, this was the most unconfident I had ever seen her. Was I finally seeing the real Artemis? Had her veneer of aloofness and manipulative behaviour cracked?

“I’m working on it, I promise. We’ll work something out.”

“We?”

“I’ll need your help, of course. That’s why you’re here.”

“You mean that’s why your boss is holding us to ransom to be here? Because I’m one of only a handful of people to ever escape the Ghantri?”

“No, but it was a strong consideration. Your crew really are as good as we say you are. I’ve no doubt about that, not anymore. Even Zoe is on top of her game.”

“And you? Are you on top of your game?” I could see some of the Artemis I knew return.

“Of course,” she smiled, “Aren’t I always?” She sauntered past me with a seductive sway to her hips. She caught me staring at her shapely behind after a few steps and she laughed. “Relax, Seth. I told you, I’m good at what I do.”

11.

It took us the better part of an hour to get to where I was supposed to meet Chief Markum’s contact. It was deep within the infrastructure of the station, well below the normal concourse and pedestrian traffic areas. The thrum and hum of heavy machinery permeated everything this far down, I couldn’t take a breath without feeling the vibrations in my sternum. The lighting took on a darker tone, as the spacing between illumination panels became further apart.

We had arrived early, and used the time we had to scout out nearby compartments. There were several large compartments that surrounded a larger open area filled with processing tanks that reminded me of the water reclamation facilities of a thousand space stations, although the smell was far better here than it was on other habitats. The Corus Cluster in particular. There was a wide, metallic mezzanine encircling the central space, corroded in places from the humid air. The marker the Chief had given me led us to one of the adjoining compartments, which had two main exits and a ventilation shaft that fed moist, cool air into the area. This section appeared abandoned and I could not see any sign that anyone had used these compartments recently.

This was common. Space stations were large constructs, there were plenty of places that the general populace wouldn’t need to visit regularly and as this station didn’t have the bustling trade that others had, it made sense that there would be large empty compartments. Still, the vacancy of the place gave me the creeps. I said as much to Artemis, which elicited a chuckle from her.

“It
is
a little clichéd for a black market deal.” she admitted.

“Where are you going to watch from?”

“Probably one of those tanks. I’ll lay down on top and be able to see both avenues down this mezzanine and see anyone coming into the compartment.”

“Okay, I have you linked to my overlay now, just text me if you see anything.”

“I’ve also got these little babies.” She held out her hand, which held three small black spheres. They were self-adhesive cameras that could be linked to an overlay interface. “Put them on the passageway leading to both doors in that compartment.”

“Good thinking. I’ll put one in the room with me too, so you can see what’s going on.”

We went to work, and soon had as much surveillance as we could get with the tools we had. I retired to the meeting point while Artemis climbed up on top of one of the tanks in the central compartment. I knew that I was being overly cautious, but a long career as an active doesn’t happen by being sloppy. I’d rather feel foolish for going through all this preparation than feel foolish for
not
doing it. It was as simple as that.

When I had first started with Maxine’s crew before joining the Primarch Star Marine Corp. she had taken me under her wing for a few years. You could say that most of the crew at the time had done the same, especially Eric Thackeray, but it was Maxine’s guidance that made me the person I was today. One of the more important lessons she taught me was how to spot a deal gone bad and how to ensure that even if you stick around to see it through, you can stack the cards in your favour to maximise your chances of getting away alive.

This deal I was to oversee, it smelled fishy. I knew that I was being sent to check on questionable contraband - why else would Chief Markum send a lackey? He needed someone untraceable to him, but still beholden to him nevertheless. I was willing to bet he had been waiting for someone such as me for a while. The real crux of the matter, though, was that we needed him as much as he needed me.

I was glad that Artemis shared my own level of paranoia, I knew that Max would approve, too. Although she hated Art, she at least recognised her as an asset and had no qualms about using her.

I adjusted the view from the cameras in my overlay, so that they didn’t block any of my peripheral vision, and paced around the compartment taking note of any features I may be able to take advantage of if things got out of hand. I slid a table to a more symmetrical position with the rest of the movable cover in the room, to better spread out my options more evenly. I checked the seals on the windows that overlooked the mezzanine, and the thickness of the glass. I checked the condition of the locks on the doors. I gauged my chances of reaching the air vent above us as doable, but having a table below me would be much better. I slid another table over to compensate.

We got company,
came Art’s text,
4 thugs, 1 shirt.

Shirt?
I replied.

U no. wears a shirt, not fats.

Fats?

FATIGUES. Y U NO UNDERSTAND??

Probably because you text like a five-year-old. You don’t even have to type the words, you just thinking them!

Language is evolving, becoming more efficient in delivering info.

I loaded up my Tactical App into my overlay, feeding the cameras into the program. A few moments later it reported that it was calibrated and ready to go.

They haven’t stepped into the camera’s view yet. What are they doing?
I asked.

Moving down the main concourse, forward of us. The thugs are armed, service issue pistols by the looks of it. Shirt is trailing a trolley loaded with a couple of crates.

Sounds like our guy.

Soon enough, the party made its way down the main compartment towards the room I was in. When they appeared in the camera’s view, their wireframe outlines appeared on my overlay. Red glowing spots showed me where possible weapons may be hidden on their persons. They got to the hatch, and two of them stayed outside while the rest filed in. The ‘thugs’ looked like they were mechanics, wearing work coveralls stained with lubricants. The ‘shirt’ was a more formally dressed man, sporting a dark blue Fleet light duty uniform.

The thugs spread out on either side of me, eyeing me off in what they thought was a menacing stare. The shirt looked me up and down, a suspicious look on his face. He was slender, with a clean shaven face and groomed hair. He didn’t look like a hardened blockade defender, more like an administrator than a member of the military.

“You’re not Declan Markum.” he said, adopting an unimpressed air.

“Your powers of observation are astounding.” I quipped. I instantly didn’t like this guy. He was one of those Fleet types who thought they were more important than the rest of the Protectorate forces, simply because he operates from a ship rather than on the ground.

“The deal was supposed to go down with Declan present.”

“You’re still here;” I said plainly, “which tells me you’re not that fussed who comes to the table, so long as you get rid of your loot.”

He looked at me as if I’d just stepped in dog poo. I could see his upper lip twitch in disgust.

I pressed on with my observations, “You also came with four goons, who you probably think will menace me into lowering my prices.”

“And you are alone.” he said, an obnoxious sneer on his face.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Look, I can tell you’re new to this whole black market thing, so why don’t we just get past all the pleasantries and get down to business.”

“I’m not sure I like your tone. Who are you? Are you even authorised to be down here?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not. Why don’t you go get station security and tell them all about it? While you’re at it you might as well show them what you’ve got and how you acquired it.” I spread my hands out, palm upwards. I gave him my best nonchalant shrug.

He stared at me for a few moments, thinking it through. I could almost see him working out in his mind how he could get me arrested without implicating himself in any wrong doings. Eventually, he concluded that he couldn’t. He did his best to appear unaffected by my teasing.

“Very well, if Chief Markum isn’t here, you’ll have to do mister…?”

“Germaine,” I said. There was no way this creep was getting my real name. “Walt Germaine.”

“Very well, Mr Germaine. Are you here to buy or to waste my time?”

“That depends on what you’ve got and what condition it’s in.”

An incoming message flashed on my overlay, a quick glance showed me it was from Chief Markum. I gestured for the shirt to wait, holding a finger up at him. He looked annoyed by didn’t say anything. I accepted the message.

Meeting started?
It said.

I replied,
Yes. You want in on a camera feed I have in the room?

Most definitely.

I opened a channel for Markum to access the camera feed, and linked my audio to it.

Know this guy?
I asked when he confirmed he was connected.

Unfortunately. Name’s Wilson Graham the 12
th
. Prickly little shit, I’ll tell you.

I already figured that out.

Want to scare the piss out of him?

Hell, yes.

Tell that guy on your right not to be late for his shift in thirty minutes. His name is Peters, one of my junior grades.

“By the way, Peters,” I said, throwing the thug on my right a grin, “I hope this meeting doesn’t make you late for your shift in half an hour.”

The thug’s menacing stance shifted to one of shock, then uncertainty. Graham gave the goon a solid dose of stink eye, before Peters shrugged and resumed his glaring.

“You really should make sure you’re not hiring your competition’s own men when you do these sorts of deals, Wilson. Can make all sorts of ripples in the pond, if you know what I mean?”

“He’s paid for through a proxy, I had no idea who he was before this.”

“Sloppy.”

“We’re not all criminals, you know?”

“No, one of us is a civilian. Now, Mr Graham, shall we get on with it? I don’t want to be in your presence any longer than necessary, and I’m sure we don’t want Peters to be late for his next shift.”

Graham begrudgingly turned to his trolley of crates and unclipped the first one, peeling back the lid and gesturing for me to take a look. He stepped back to allow me better access. I walked up to the crate, careful not to let the pair of goons out of my view. I peered inside. Instead of Ghantri weapons, all I could see were containers filled with ampules. A cooling nanite pad rested at the bottom, chilling the contents of the crate.

“What the hell?” I said, reaching in to pick up a container. I counted over thirty ampules in each, and at least a dozen containers all up.

What in the galaxy have you gotten me into, Markum?
I texted. I couldn’t read the writing on the boxes, but I recognised a few of the symbols. It didn’t bode well.

Better living through chemistry is something I’ve always advocated. The Ghantri have some wonderfully diverse insights into narcotics, truly unique perspectives on some technology.

You’ve got me checking in on a drug deal for you?

Put it this way; they’re not illicit substances yet, are they?

Only because no one knows what’s in this shit!

True, but opportunity favours the swift.

“I trust you’re happy with the product?” asked Wilson Graham, “You can sample one if you like.”

Do it. I need to know if it’s pure.

Like hell!

If I can’t verify the substance, I can’t do the deal. No deal, I can’t grease enough palms to get you that fuel.

I quietly fumed. I’d never been a fan of drugs, even the legal ones. Sure, there were ‘safe’ narcotics that people used, but I’d gotten by without having to poison my body with such chemicals for most of my life. The only time I had used was during combat drops in the Star Marines. Stims were a requirement of service.

Narcotics in today’s society did serve a role. They were used for various reasons, besides recreational use. There were combat drugs, which enhanced reflexes and deadened pain receptors. Cognitive enhancing chemicals for better memory retention, deeper thinking and alertness. There were stimulants for all sorts of activities, such as sleep deprivation or muscle growth. Many biological augmentations required regular narcotic doses in order to function properly as well.

Most, however, had drawbacks. Some cosmic balance that made regular use of such narcotics ill advised. I’d seen what people end up like if they allow their chemical dependencies to get the better of them.

Besides, I did not need to try it to know if it was pure.

What compounds are you looking for to know if it’s pure?

You have a chem-tester?

Sort of.

Even better. Sending you a file now.

A file opened on my overlay, will all sorts of molecular data showing up. I focused on one of the ampules and sent a flood of my nanites into the glass bubble. Although the chemical was sealed in a glass pod, nanites were small enough to pass through the molecules using a process called quantum tunnelling. Soon, I had the chemical composition of the substance arrayed on my overlay. I packaged the data and sent it back to Markum.

Nice. It’s pure alright,
he texted.

What should I tell him?

Tell him that you’ll take both of those crates. Have him deliver it to compartment T4-091-A3. Get him to give you his account, and I’ll forward the credits.