Fringe Runner (Fringe Series Book 1) (18 page)

Silver-Coated Problems

Critch

The six men separated into their two groups after they left the docks. Critch’s team had the more dangerous job, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. His team was headed to Genics Corp’s Smithton warehouse, where the organization stored its incoming and outgoing inventory near the space docks. Heid’s Founder friend believed the fungicide was being stored there.

There were far too many unknowns in this plan for Critch to be comfortable. They had only an address to go on. No map of the place, no intel on security procedures. Hell, he didn’t even know if this warehouse had a night shift. The way he saw it, they were running into a potential cluster fuck with their eyes closed and both hands tied behind their backs.

Nonetheless, if anyone could pull off two concurrent heists within the heart of Myr, these two crews could. He, Chutt, and Birk had worked alongside one another in close quarters for years. He trusted them and knew he could count on them to follow his lead.

Critch noticed how stiffly the older man moved now. Nevertheless, he knew Demes would be safe, because he had Sixx there to look after him. Critch had sparred with the runner back on the
Honorless
and found the man had the heart of a pirate. Critch knew he could count on him as long as he paid him well—and he promised to pay him plenty to keep the young tech safe.

He worried more about the risk of Reyne selling them out to the CUF. Critch clenched his fists, thinking about the man he would’ve gladly given his life for at one time. Vym had asked Critch to give his old mentor another chance. Critch had given his word, but that didn’t mean he’d trust the runner.

He pulled up his collar against the damp winds blowing in from the sea. The sidewalks Birk led them down weren’t busy at this hour, lowering the risk of someone noticing them as off-worlders. They walked a dozen blocks, past silver skyscrapers that pierced the sky like swords, until they reached the address they were looking for. The narrow, four-story building bore no logo.

“This is the one,” Critch said quietly but loud enough for Birk to hear. Years spent as a pirate taught him that when someone downplayed their property, they were intentionally trying to avoid attention. That was the property he’d always go for first. The same was no different tonight.

Birk gave a quick nod and led them to the alley between the buildings across the street. Once in the shadows, Critch held up a hand to silence his men while he ran a scan for sensors. Several moments later, he let his hand drop. “Alley’s clear.”

He nodded toward the Genics Corp building. “They have motion and audio sensors at all windows and doors on the ground level. Looks like they don’t want company coming in from the street.”

Chutt smiled. “I’d say, let’s drop in.”

Critch looked up at the roof. “My thoughts exactly.”

The trio spent the next two hours breaking into the taller building next door and sneaking through hallways and up elevator shafts to get to its roof. From there, they shot a zip line over to the roof of the Genics Corp warehouse.

As Birk retracted the line, Critch scanned the roof to double-check for sensors. “It’s clear.”

He walked casually to the roof access door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He almost laughed at the ease of entry. The Myrads were too cocky for their own good. Sure, they had a space barrier, but he was still surprised no one on the surface felt like becoming a thief—or even a vandal—for the hell of it. He imagined Myr’s police forces were likely focused entirely on catching runaway tenured.

“Easy pickings,” Chutt said from behind Critch.

He turned to face Chutt and Birk. “Warehouse personnel are likely all tenured, so they won’t put their lives on the line to protect inventory. Still, there’s no need to draw any attention our way.”

“No problem,” Chutt said, and Birk nodded.

He wagged his finger ahead. “Let’s go.”

They crept down a short stairwell to the fourth floor. Critch frowned as he took in the layout. As expected, each level had shelves lining its walls, with walkways around them. The problem lay on the other side of the innermost walkway, where a large opening cut straight through the center of the building. A machine on rails ran up and down all four stories as it moved crates from one floor to another floor.

There was little opportunity for them to move around without being in the open. He entered in new search criteria on his wrist scanner and then scanned the building’s interior. Dots highlighted the only active sensors—all concentrated in a corner on the second floor. He crawled to the open center, got down on his stomach, and peered over the edge. Roughly a few dozen tenured workers, all in white lab coats, were inventorying and moving crates. Another four men wore familiar blue uniforms. Critch flattened himself on the floor and crawled back to Chutt and Birk’s position.

“I counted four dromadiers down there.”

Chutt scrambled to pull out his gun. “What the hell are they doing here?”

“Doesn’t matter. The mission is still on,” Critch replied.

“What do we do about them?” Birk asked.

“We take them out first,” Critch said. He scanned the warehouse for ideas. His eyes locked onto the massive machine moving up the center of the building.

He smiled.

“I have a plan.”

*

It took Critch, Chutt, and Birk fewer than ten minutes to work out the details of Critch’s startlingly simple plan.

On third floor, they acquired three white lab coats to blend in. Unfortunately, the tenured workers they came across didn’t volunteer their jackets as easily as expected and had to be quietly drifted by breaking their necks.

Once they had their camouflage, Chutt split off from their group and headed down three flights to the ground floor in search of the janitorial closet, also known as a demolition expert’s workshop. Critch and Birk hid for five full minutes before they took the stairs to the second floor to play their parts.

They found it easy to walk around the floor as long as they kept a wide berth from other workers. Walking side-by-side, they performed quick reconnaissance. Two guards stood at the corner where their payload would be while the two other guards separately made their rounds, walking opposite directions of one another, across the floor.

Ready to make their move, Critch nodded to Birk, and they split up. Critch meandered toward their payload while Birk headed for the opposite end of the floor, which was the only spot where the two guards making rounds would pass one another.

Critch looked down to not draw attention to his scarred face. He came to a stop before the dromadiers when he saw their boots.

The soldier to his left waved him off. “Move it, chump. This area’s off limits.”

Critch lifted his face. The two soldiers grimaced. “Damn. What happened to—”

As soon as Critch heard Birk’s first shot, he fired both his guns at the same time. The pair of dromadiers fell, dead, with shocked looks on their faces. He pulled his guns out from his lab coat. Each pocket now bore a burnt hole.

Someone gasped nearby, and he swung around to find a tenured watching him, her eyes wide.

“You scream, you die,” Critch said calmly, leveling his guns on her.

She nodded before taking slow steps back from him. After several paces, she turned and ran.

Critch holstered one of his guns and pinged Chutt. “Now.”

“Boom-Boom is on the machine. You have sixty seconds.”

“Good,” Critch reported. “See you at the RP.”

“Ready?” Birk asked as he reached Critch.

Shouts erupted across the floor, and he noticed that more workers had discovered Birk and Critch’s handiwork. He yelled out to the tenured workers. “This place is going to blow. You’d better run.”

They ran.

Critch motioned to fungicide. Birk grabbed a crate. An alarm blared. When Critch stepped forward to grab a second crate, his gaze fell on the single metal box stored within a refrigerated unit next to the fungicide. Making a split-second decision, he grabbed the box, and they ran.

They sprinted to catch up with the other workers, blending into the small mob by the time they were out the front door. The first police craft had already arrived. Critch and Birk stayed with the group of workers until the mob slowed to a stop on the street. The two pirates broke off and ran toward the nearby alley.

Someone called out after them, but they kept running. A second later, the shouts were drowned by an explosion. Critch and Birk were thrown to the ground, and a massive wind of heat blew over them. With his ears ringing and suffering from vertigo, Critch climbed to his feet and then helped Birk to his feet. They grabbed their cargo and closed the few remaining feet to the alley where they found Chutt waiting for them.

He bore a wide grin. “Nice boom-boom, eh?”

Critch peeked around the corner to see a pile of burning debris where the warehouse had stood seconds earlier. Bodies lay strewn across the street, though no one was moving. He turned back to Chutt. “You blew up half the viggin’ block.”

Chutt shrugged. “You said to cover our tracks.”

“That you did,” Critch concurred.

Birk eyed the box in Critch’s arms. “That’s not the fungicide.”

Critch glanced down. “No, it’s not. It’s Plan B.”

The Best Laid Plans

Zara Wintsel, president of Genics Corp, lived like a queen. The opulence—the sickening wastefulness—made Reyne want to be off Myr and out in the fringe where things made sense. “Let’s make this quick,” he gritted out. “I want to be on the tram and on our way back to the ship as soon as possible.”

“You don’t need to twist my arm,” Demes said.

“I should’ve brought a bigger bag,” Sixx said, entranced by the fortunes on display everywhere.

Reyne eyed the large duffle. “Your bag is plenty big enough.”

He turned his attention back to the mission at hand. If there was evidence of Myr’s plans for the Collective, Heid said it would be stored on Dr. Zara Wintsel’s personal computer. Heid’s friend—one who called herself Mariner—had seen the files for herself and had shared the details with the Founders. Rather than going for the data, the Founders chose instead to release the blight at Genics Corp’s Moon lab. Unfortunately, the attack did nothing to sway Wintsel and her Myrad coconspirators from moving ahead with their plans.

Heid suspected that the Founders would assassinate Wintsel and destroy any proof of the Myrad’s involvement to help prevent war. With no proof, the conspirators behind Ice Port and Sol Base’s destruction would never be punished. And that was something Reyne couldn’t abide.

He analyzed the silver-plated mansion that sprawled across the pristine landscape. Fountains and bushy trees dotted the lawn, providing plenty of coverage to approach the house from the back. A smattering of tenured house staff came and went. Four security personnel arrived and made rounds shortly before Wintsel landed late into the night in a hovercraft. One of the guards escorted her into her house.

An hour later, several house lights remained on, but Reyne had seen no signs of movement. “How’s the security look?” he asked Demes who lay on the ground in between Reyne and Sixx.

Demes ran a scanner as Reyne looked over his shoulder. Dots lit up at the mansion’s entrances but nowhere else. “Piece of cake.”

Reyne shook his head. “Let’s hope that scanner is accurate.” He rose to his feet and stretched. His joints were constantly reminding him how much stronger gravity was on Myr than on Playa.

“Demes, you stay between me and Sixx,” Reyne ordered.

“Oh, come on. I’ve been through a lot deeper shit before.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to listen to Critch’s incessant complaining if you get yourself killed,” Reyne snapped back. “Now, follow me.”

He took the lead, weaving between fountains and under thick trees to stay in the shadows. It was late, the time Wintsel would be soundly asleep and her guards snoozing on the job.

The trio moved slowly and carefully as they approached the mansion and made their way to the house. Reyne, still in lead, peeked around the corner. He counted three windows down to the one that would be the office window. He bit his lip to keep from cursing, and he turned to face Demes and Sixx.

“There’s a light on,” he whispered. “Which means she may or may not be in there. Sixx, I need you to check it out.”

Sixx gave a quick nod and moved quickly in a half-crouched pace toward the window. When he reached it, he flattened against the wall, and gingerly peered around the pane.

As Sixx hurried back, Reyne scanned the yard to make sure they were still alone.

“She’s in there all right. She’s sitting at her desk reading a book, just on the other side of the window, facing away from us. The room is small and the door is closed.”

Reyne grimaced. “Doesn’t that woman ever sleep?”

“What’s the computer look like?” Demes asked.

“It looks like a computer,” Sixx answered.

Demes rolled his eyes. “If it’s a tablet, I can grab it and go. If it’s a built-in house system, then I can’t do that now, can I?”

“Oh. It’s a big one.”

Reyne noticed Demes’ frown. “Demes, how much time do you need to break into her system and copy her files?”

He shrugged. “Depends on her security protocols. Could be thirty seconds. Could be thirty minutes.”

“You need to do it in under three minutes.”

Demes looked like he wanted to but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Reyne contemplated for a brief moment. “Sixx, I need you to draw her away from that room to buy time for Demes to hack her system. Think you can figure out a diversion?”

Sixx grinned. “My pleasure.”

Reyne clasped Sixx’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

“Always am.”

“You never are,” Reyne muttered as the man ran toward the front of the house.

Reyne turned to Demes. “Let’s do this.” He grabbed his plastic-cutting tools and slid along the outside of the house to the office window, ducking under the two windows before it. He stopped and waited, watching Wintsel for any sign of movement.

He needn’t have watched her. A hovercraft alarm pierced the air, and Reyne chuckled at Sixx’s flamboyant diversion. He counted to three before glancing through the window, and found Zara Wintsel walking through the door.

He carved a giant circle into the pane. Demes wore sticky gloves and pulled the pane out, keeping it from crashing. Demes crawled through first, and Reyne followed. He landed on the floor with a grunt, rolled to his feet, and quietly shut and locked the door that Wintsel had left wide open.

Demes sat at the desk. He set a small black dome over the keyboard. Gray lights flashed across its surface, before turning yellow, then finally green. “I’m in.”

A woman’s voice emanated from the hallway. “Be sure to report it in, and line up the house staff. I’d bet credits one of them thought they could steal my Selta.”

Reyne glanced at Demes. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

The handle jiggled, followed by a woman’s frustrated voice. “Guards, why is this door locked?”

“I don’t know why, ma’am. Did it lock on its own?” a man responded.

“No, it wouldn’t lock on its own, you dolt. You young fools have no concept of how antique handles work.” Someone pounded on the door. “Hello? Who’s in there? Patrice, if I find out that you’ve let your filthy daughter roam in my house again, I swear you both will go straight to the Citadel.”

“Demes, hurry,” Reyne warned.

“Almost seventy percent copied.”

“Move to the side, ma’am,” the same man who’d spoken before said.

Something slammed into the door, and Reyne leaned against the wood, attempting to keep the frame from splitting. As he held the door shut, he took in the shelves lined with priceless crystals. A portrait caught his eye. Zara Wintsel stood in a loving embrace with a CUF officer, who also had blue-hued skin. This wasn’t just any officer. This older man bore the insignia of the corps general. Reyne’s breath froze in his lungs. “Ausyar,” he muttered, and everything suddenly made sense.

“Eighty percent.”

Reyne glanced at Demes who was tapping his fingers on the panel. Movement outside caught his eyes. “Sixx,” Reyne said in relief.

Relief was short-lived as another slam against the door rattled Reyne’s body.

“We’ve been compromised,” Reyne said aloud, pulling out his gun. “Watch your back.”

Sixx nodded and looked from side to side before dropping below Reyne’s line of sight.

“I hear you in there!” came the woman’s voice. “Guards, open this door right this instant. I’m being robbed!”

“Ninety percent.”

The sound of a photon blast fractured the air, but Reyne held the door.

A sharp coldness pierced his left side, and he looked down.

“Son of a bitch.” They’d shot the door lock, and the laser-like shot had sliced right through his. The initial cold sensation from his burnt morphed into an intense burning.

Something slammed into the door, and he flew back, narrowly catching himself before falling.

“Demes, get down,” Reyne shouted as the first guard toppled inside.

Reyne shot him point blank. He swung around and fired off continuous shots at the guard on the other side of the doorway. The man stood, shocked for a moment, before collapsing in a heap. Behind that guard, Reyne found Wintsel. “Aw, shit.”

She was leaning against the wall, fighting for breath that would never come. One of Reyne’s shots had gone clean through her trachea and carotid artery. She’d be dead in seconds, but still she desperately fought for the last vestiges of life.

“Got it,” Demes said, coming to his feet, pocketing his hardware.

Reyne tore his eyes from the dying woman to make sure no one else was coming down the hallway. He turned and clenched his teeth through his inhalation, every breath and movement becoming more and more painful. Fighting through the agony, he motioned to the window. “Move.”

Demes eyed Reyne’s wound. “You’re shot.”

“A clean through-and-through. I’m still in this fight.” He followed Demes to the window, concentrating on not touching the open wound. The photon blast cauterized the wound, but it would easily become infected without treatment.

Demes tumbled through the window. Reyne followed, with help from Demes and Sixx. Outside, he discovered the two other guards, each dead with headshots.

“Tell me you got the data,” Reyne said.

“I got the data, but I won’t know if it’s worth anything until I look at it,” Demes replied.

“Wait. I need to grab some souvenirs,” Sixx said.

“No time.”

“But all four guards are down,” Sixx argued.

“No time,” Reyne repeated.

“You’re killing me here,” Sixx replied. “Fine, but don’t you think it was odd she had only four guards for a house the size of a castle?”

“She didn’t need more guards,” Reyne ground out. “No one in their right mind would trespass on this property. Wintsel was Ausyar’s lover.”

“Uh oh,” Demes said. “And, you killed her.”

Sixx’s eyes widened. “Oh. That won’t go over well.”

“No it won’t,” Reyne said, knowing full well that he just drew first blood from a vengeful man who bore the strength of the entire CUF armada.

An orange glow lit the sky in the distance, and all three men turned.

“Wow, now that’s an explosion,” Demes said.

“That came from the direction of the docks,” Sixx said.

Recognition of the most likely source of that explosion sent shivers across Reyne’s skin. “We need to get back to the ship
now.
”

Zara Wintsel’s hovercraft made quick time back to the ship. The explosion at the Genics Corp warehouse reddened the twilight sky, and Reyne knew they’d be lucky if the docks weren’t already under lockdown.

Reyne, the only pilot in the group, had to fly the hovercraft, even though his side was now on fire. He none too gracefully parked the hovercraft outside a café. Demes and Sixx helped him onto the space dock.

Critch, Chutt, and Birk were already walking up the ship’s ramp. Reyne and his crew hustled the remaining short distance. Reyne pulled free and headed straight for the bridge, where Critch was already strapped in and powering up the engines.

“Dock Control,” Critch transmitted as Reyne took a seat. “This is Eagle II hauler Myr-Four-Six-Seven-Four-Five. We’re ready for departure.”

“Myr-Four-Five, please hold.”

“Shit,” Critch muttered as they waited. “They’re onto us.”

Another response came long seconds later.
“Myr-Four-Five. You are cleared for launch. Moving you onto launch pad Delta Three. We’re expecting multiple inbound ships shortly. Be careful out there.”

Critch lifted his brow, and he cocked his head. “Will do, Dock Control. Thank you and have a nice day.”

“They must not have been notified yet to go under lockdown,” Reyne said.

“This place is seriously lacking security protocols,” Critch said. “Releasing the blight on their Moon was one thing, but they felt all cozy and safe behind their space barrier.”

Reyne grunted when the ship was jostled over to the launch pad.

Critch noticed. “You need Doc to take a look at that gunshot.”

Reyne winced. “Once we’re safely out of Myr’s airspace.”

Critch gave a small nod. “Did you get the data?”

“Yeah. Let’s hope Demes finds something useful in it. Did you get the fungicide?”

“Birk and Chutt are stowing it now.”

Now that Reyne was no longer on the move, his side began to throb, and darkness crept into his vision. He slumped forward, not finding the strength to lean back.

“Doc, you’d better get up here,” Critch said on the intercom.

Reyne vaguely sensed someone moving him. He heard voices but couldn’t make out any words. As he was dragged—or maybe he was floating—he faded into oblivion.