Chapter 62: Chapter 26: The Client

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Dash said. He lifted one of the three paper bags in the center of the table and placed the contents in front of him. He gestured to the other two bags. “I’m Dash. Help yourself.”

“You may call me Armin,” the client said. “Can you get to the point already so I can be done with you?”

Dash stopped himself before his first bite. “I know this isn’t fancy enough for your holiness, but it’s some of the best food you can get in the city at any time of day, let alone the middle of the night. Try it.”

“What makes you think I would eat this slop with—”

Dash halted his first bite again, and growled, “Open the damn bag.”

Armin’s face flushed red, and his posture went erect as if he’d just been slapped. It was the reaction of someone who hadn’t been spoken to in such a manner in a long time.

“Please,” Wesley pleaded.

Armin glowered at Dash with the burning disapproval of an irate professor. Dash bit into his meal, his mouth exploding with tender deliciousness. “This is unbelievable. If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it.”

Wesley placed one of the bags in front of Armin and took the other for himself. Armin lowered his eyes to the bag, then raised them back to Dash. After a deep exhalation, he opened his bag. He removed the main entree, and the cup of fried starches. Then his fingers touched the remaining item. His face went blank as he digested what it could be. He peeked into the bag.

“Don’t worry, we wrapped it in film,” Dash said with a mouthful of food.

Armin reached into the bag again and ran his hand over the object. Wetness formed in the corners of his eyes, but never fell. He replaced the food items, folded the bag closed, and pulled it toward him. His relieved expression tightened. “I see you opened the package then. In addition to the illegality of opening a certified shipping container, it is also most unprofessional for someone in your line of work.”

“I don’t disagree. For that, I do apologize. It isn’t something we’re in the habit of,” Dash said. For a second, Armin tilted back in surprise. “But the ambush required us to take extraordinary steps. You should be happy we did—otherwise, you wouldn’t have it.”

Armin narrowed his eyes at Dash. “What did SecForce seize from the locker then?”

“They wanted the package, so we gave them the package. What’s inside of it is another story,” Wesley said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Armin’s face remained a sullen mask while he digested the day’s events. “You now understand why it was important the delivery remain discrete.”

“Of course. It’s a forbidden artifact of Earth,” Dash said with a shrug.

“You must not say that word,” Armin hissed as quietly as he could manage.

“This is an Earth-themed restaurant,” Dash said, and savored another bite. “It’s a little hypocritical if you ask me, that the Human Coalition allow some aspects of Humanity’s history to be experienced, but others, like religious and government texts, are prohibited. But thank the Lords we didn’t lose this recipe.”

Armin’s nose twitched as the scent of hot food drifted through the top of the bag. “SecForce will soon find out they’ve been duped, if not already, and resume their search.”

“They might. Depends on if their mole knows the package’s content,” Dash said. “Despite all their advantages, SecForce is a bureaucracy. It’ll take time to process something labeled as contraband. And it’ll take even more time to figure out what happened in the warehouse. Though to be safe, you might want to hide that thing and leave the habitat for a bit. And definitely don’t tell any of your staff about it.”

“By happenstance, I already have a trip scheduled.”

“Gives you time to reflect on your associates, and who might’ve betrayed you,” Wesley said.

“You can take some solace in the fact that you weren’t the only one who was betrayed,” Dash said. “Seems like double-crossing your employer is a popular theme on Praxa Prime.”

“There is a reward for turning in those with illegal artifacts. I trust this will remain between us,” Armin said.

Dash waved his hand. “Discretion is in the job description. Do you think we’d go to all this trouble just to turn you in?”

“If you’re asking me to trust you, the answer is I don’t.”

Dash nodded at Wesley, who snapped a pic on his PD of Armin and Dash.

“And I don’t trust your either. So now we have some incriminating evidence. I’ve also got our conversation recorded too. Here’s your encrypted copy,” Dash said. Wesley shared it to Armin. “If you open yours, I get a notification. And you’ll know if I open mine. It self-deletes in five days. Neither party can expose the other without us both going down. But that’s just a failsafe. Neither one of us is going to do something stupid, right?”

“No, we’re not. I’ll have the payment transferred immediately,” Armin said.

“Not so fast.”

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Armin shook his head. “I knew it. I knew you would try to extract me for more creds after this happened.”

“Had it not been for the mole in your organization, this would’ve gone off smoothly. You can thank your Lords that the SecForce mole found out about it. Otherwise, we’d be dead, and your precious artifact would be gone,” he said. “Per your own credo, thou shall not stiff your smuggler from his honest earned pay. Our lives were involved. The rule of the thirds applies. Our original payment, our itemized expenses to get this package to you, including the fines, then an additional thirty-three percent.”

“That is a crude interpretation,” Armin said. He had to force the next words out. “But a valid one nonetheless. I didn’t take you as a man on the righteous path.”

“I’m not. But just because I don’t follow a path, doesn’t mean I don’t know how it works.”

“And what if I refuse?”

Dash pointed up. “I know you wouldn’t do that, not with the Lords watching.” Armin’s glare remained fixated on Dash as he placed his datapad on the table. He tapped heavily on the display and had the transaction approved a minute later. Dash smiled when the payment posted.

“I believe we are done here.”

“One last question, if you don’t mind,” Dash said, and went on when Armin nodded. “Why is the Church acquiring something it labeled blasphemous in the first place?”

“To avoid the mistakes of the past, one must understand when, and where things went wrong.” Armin stared at Dash as if seeing through him. “I was once like you, gallivanting among the stars. Trouble eventually found me, as it has found you. I recommend you attend a sermon sometime. It could help you, as it helped me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dash said.

Armin opened the privacy door and stepped out of the booth, bag in hand. “May the Lords bless you in your journey. I hope to never see you again,” he said, and left.

Dash and Wesley watched the client’s brim-topped head disappear into the night crowd. They stepped out of the restaurant a few minutes later, bags in hand. Dash ordered a personal transport as they approached the transport lanes. He popped one of the fried starches in his mouth. “Are all high-level clergy arrogant asses?”

“Not all,” Wesley said. “But too many are. I hope, despite his arrogance, he can learn something from this.”

“He better if he’s going to keep up this little smuggling operation of his,” Dash said. “You going to eat that?”

 “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment, but it does smell delicious. What is it called again?”

“Bacon cheeseburger and fries.”

“You may have mine if you wish.”

“Maybe, once we get back to the ship. If you don’t change your mind, that is,” Dash said. “It’s a real shame the channel leading to Earth somehow closed. Think of all the delicacies we might’ve lost.”

“Another galactic mystery,” Wesley observed as their transport stopped nearby. They climbed inside, and the transport pulled away from the curve. A map projected on the front window, showing their destination in the dockyard.

“We have yet to figure a way aboard the ship without the Nova-Red team intercepting us,” Wesley said.

Dash sighed. “Working on it. Hopefully they’re not dumb enough to try to blow up the ship while it’s sitting in the bay.” He noticed Wesley’s horrified expression. “I was joking. There’s almost no chance they would do that.”

“Almost?” Wesley asked as something smacked against the side window near his head, forceful enough to rattle the vehicle. He threw himself across the seat, away from the impact. Bodies thumped against the side.

Dash shoved his hand into the backpack and grabbed Betsy. He couldn’t believe the Nova-Reds had found them. He expected a window to blow out as a hail of gunfire shredded him and Wesley in cold blood. But then he saw two bodies fly away from the transport, spinning around clumsily while throwing wild punches at each other. A couple of drunks going at it. Other nearby pedestrians cheered the spectacle. A trio of SecForce officers appeared out of the crowd and separated the two belligerent combatants. The transport sped up and left the scene behind.

Dash released Betsy and slumped into the seat.

“I would like for this night to be over with,” Wesley said.

“Me too,” Dash said. He pulled out his flask and brought it to his mouth. The metal touched his lips, and he paused. Twisting around, he caught a glimpse amidst the crowd of the drunks being led to a SecForce security cart.

Facing forward again, he eyed the flask and took a hearty gulp. 

He was going to need it for what he was about to do.

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