Chapter 65: Chapter 23: Picking Up the Trail

The activated asset—Red One—perched like a bird of prey on a platform overlooking the dance floor. He casually scanned the club as if surveying for someone to dance with. His hawkish eyes passed over the crew he’d been assigned to observe, and eventually dispose of. They didn’t linger. They didn’t need to. His mind collated the scene’s relevant details with only a passing glance.

The crew was tucked in a booth near the back of the club, not moving since they’d settled in an hour ago. He and his partner had followed them from where their ship had docked. The other two assets remained in the bay, observing the ship. The operations crew were focused on their revelry, and wouldn’t have noticed One even without his precautions. He took them anyways. He always did.

The big man finished miming a dance move, then slumped into his seat. The other crewmembers broke out in raucous laughter. The older woman spilled some of her drink on her shirt. They laughed harder.

A server bot set a glass on his table. He took a small sip of the stim beverage. He would need a refresher visit soon, having downed one earlier while he waited with his partner—Red Two—for the crew outside the docking bay. Basic biological functions, the foil of any shadowing operation.

A secureComm request appeared on his PD. He opened it. “I’ve spoken with the contractors. They’re aware their crew is being watched. I don’t suspect they’ll try anything stupid. But be vigilant regardless,” the Controller said.

“Understood,” One said. He was unarmed, but his partner outside had their weapons. “What about the operation status?”

“There’s a high likelihood of a leak to SecForce. I’m activating reserve assets to retrieve the package from the contractor.”

“And the crew?”

“Same as before. Terminate them after package retrieval. We cannot have loose ends, acolyte.”

“Acknowledged,” One said, and closed the comm.

---

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Milia said on the comm.

“The ops crew is safe as long as they’re in the club. Keep them there until we figure out how to dump this package and get all of you out safely,” Dash said.

Milia was silent. The comm buzzed with the filtered background noise of the other sentients in line around her. “I agree that it’s our only good option. Honestly, it’ll be easier to convince them to stay. But I might need some extra cred to keep the drinks flowing.”

“Put it on credit and I’ll reimburse you. I’ll update you as soon as we come up with something,” Dash said.

“I’m almost to the front of the line. I’ll be with the crew shortly,” she said, and closed the comm.

The flight crew sat in silence. A bus slowed to a halt by the sidewalk outside the room’s window. The transport’s exterior displays were covered in anti-Commonwealth propaganda. The door opened, revealing a dim interior. A group of sentients exited, chanting slogans.

“What’re we going to do now?” Gaius said. He resumed pacing, his hands pressed into his stiff hair.

“We’ll think of something,” Wesley said. “We just need to put our minds to it.”

Gaius waited a few seconds, then said with great consternation, “Got any ideas yet, Doc?”

Dash ignored the bickering and approached to the package. He stared at the case, studying the bland outer shell. Had everything gone according to plan, he should have been staring at a big number in the ship’s account balance while he waited for his meal at a nice restaurant. Instead, all his favor had gotten him was a life-threatening mess. He never had something go this bad with Fletcher. They’d figure out what went wrong and try to make it right—assuming Dash and his crew made it out of there.

The setbacks had come one after another. The minor incidents and fines, the worsening contractor market, the tension with the ops crew, then Terminus, and now this. The common thread was Auturia. He had the thought that its destruction had upset some sort of cosmic balance, that the karma of all living things had been shifted and shaken, that he’d been caught off balance and was destined to teeter and stumble until he fell flat on his face.

He touched the case, feeling the rugged shell where a round had struck it. The nondescript exterior held a secret beneath. What could it be?

What was worth all this?

He spoke to the case, “How many people have died because of you?”

Gaius and Wesley stopped talking and watched their captain.

“Why are you so important?” Dash went on. A sudden heat bloomed inside him. “What could you possibly hold that even SecForce would kill for?”

“Captain?” Wesley said.

“What if I used you as target practice for Betsy? Then no one gets to have you.”

“Let’s take a breath,” Gaius said.

“We’re the only ones in the dark,” Dash said. He swiveled, scanning the room. “We need to level the playing field.”

“What are you doing?” Wesley said.

“Gaius, I don’t say this often, but you were right.” Dash went to the table where Wesley’s medkit was laid out. He drew the plasma scalpel and returned to the package. 

“Captain, please do not—”

“If this thing is going to get us killed, might as well find out what it is.” Dash switched on the scalpel. Wesley objected again. Dash ignored him and sliced through the lock with ease. He pressed the release and popped the seal. 

The top of the package swung upright. A blinding white light exploded out, as if a portal to another dimension had suddenly opened in the room. 

Dash held his arms in front of his face in a desperate attempt to protect himself, and wondered, in what could be his final moments, why he’d thought it was a good idea to listen to his pilot.

---

Fear gripped Dash like a detention field, leaving him frozen in place, his body rigid, anticipating the pain as his flesh melted and burned. It surely was a bomb, or a defense mechanism. Yet, no pain came, only the heightened voices of his crew.

“Lords protect us!”

“We’re dead!”

Several heavy breaths later, Dash was still alive. Irritation overrode his fear, prompting him to action. He reached inside the package with one hand—blinding light still present—and probed the interior. He found softness, like a cloth. His fingers then brushed a plastic extrusion. He recognized the shape of a switch and pressed it. The light shut off.

Dash opened his eyes, blinking away the colored spots in his vision. He peered down at the contents of the package, still half expecting something dangerous. Small white lights ringed an unexpected object in the center of the package.

“What is it?” Gaius said, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s a question for Doc,” Dash said, and looked at Wesley.

Wesley needed a moment to realize the others had spoken to him. “The deed is done. I suppose I have to look now,” he said. He stood up stiffly and approached the package. When he saw the contents, he went rigid and made the sign of the Lords.

“Would you care to explain why there’s a rag in there with the sigil of the Holy Church on it?” Gaius said.

“It’s not a rag,” Wesley said, an indignant grimace on his face. “It’s a linen blessed by the Lords. I believe this is how artifacts are packaged for shipment by the Holy Church.”

“You believe?” Dash asked.

“Artifact collection is highly secretive. The bright light is supposed to represent the spirit of the Lords. That’s for show, of course. The linen wrapping and embroidered sigil is the protection the Lords offer.”

“You’re telling us that the Holy Church is the buyer?” Gaius said.

“It appears that is the case,” Wesley said. “Captain, may I examine the contents?”

Dash gestured for the doctor to proceed. Wesley gently, almost reverently, opened one of the linen’s folded flaps. He shot upright, even stiffer than before, and made the sign of the Lords again. Dash peeked beneath the linen. He saw enough.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Wesley nodded hesitantly, as if afraid to admit it.

“Why would the Church want a forbidden artifact they’ve declared blasphemous? Not only that, it’s outlawed by the Human Coalition.”

“I have no idea, Captain,” Wesley said.

Gaius said, “We shouldn’t have opened it. That was a terrible idea.”

“It was your idea!” Dash said.

“It’s your job as captain to talk me out of terrible ideas!”

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Dash sighed and turned away from his pilot. “This explains why SecForce wants it so bad. But why the Nova-Reds?”

Wesley said, “The stories suggest they wished to acquire forbidden artifacts in the hopes of pursuing some grand reawakening.”

“I want your honest opinion,” Dash said to Wesley. “Should we complete this delivery to the Church? Are we okay with them getting their hands on it, you know, from a moral perspective?”

Wesley took a deep breath and stared off as he contemplated the question. “They obviously have their reasons for doing this. It is not up to me to judge them.”

“Now that we’ve cleansed our soul of wrongdoing, we have a few other things to figure out,” Gaius said. He began a count on his fingers. “Saving the ops crew while delivering the package without getting us or the client killed, then making it aboard our ship past cultists who want us dead. If you have any grand ideas on how to pull all that off, now is the time to speak up.”

Dash returned to the window. Another bus glided to a stop outside, sporting the same protest infographs on the exterior displays. More protesters exited, carrying flyers and wearing clothing with integrated displays. Hands held high, they chanted, basking in the triumphant spirit of their just cause, unaware of the stench of death lingering on Dash and crew meters away.

Hunted by the law and lawless alike. 

He watched the protest procession with renewed interest. As the last occupant stepped free, Dash caught hints of the colorful light show and pulsing music inside the dim interior. “Those buses aren’t joking around with the amenities,” he said. “This little Galaxy Wars event, how many people were attending?”

“It’s Galaxy Battles!” Gaius said. “And I had uh, almost three hundred locals invited, and sixteen reserved spots—”

“That’s plenty,” Dash said, and scratched at one of his sealed wounds.

“A normal side effect, unfortunately,” Wesley said. “It should pass soon.”

“How long would it take for the fans to assemble near this Wrap Speed club?”

“Say fifteen minutes, tops. I provided a general location until I figured out which club I could convince to give me free drinks.”

“Good. Send out the invite for the plaza outside Warp Speed, then get ready to meet them,” Dash said. He scratched his wound again. His eyes lingered on the sealant.

“What about the package?”

“One thing at a time,” Dash said, and messaged Milia. “What’s your status?”

“I’m next in line to go in. Bouncers keep letting females cut the line. Unfortunately, I didn’t wear my revealing dress under my utilities tonight.”

Dash smirked. “I’ve got a question for you. What’s your credit limit?”

---

“What did our little medtech get into now?” Cutter said. 

The agents stood at the mouth of an access corridor, surveying the exterior of Praxa Prime’s primary cargo processing warehouse. Bipedal security bots set up barricades around the access gate of the loading pad. A medical flyer zoomed in overhead, and landed outside the access gate. SecForce officers came and went from the warehouse, wearing tactical kits and holding high-powered weapons. A pair of medtechs escorted a wheeled bot topped with a trio of body bags out of the warehouse and onto the pad.

“Why are we here?” Parr asked, munching on a sustenance bar. He ate the last bite and chucked the wrapper on the ground.

Cutter eyed the waste, then swept a hand toward the mess. “Does this scene not look familiar to you?”

“It’s a coincidence, and nothing more,” Parr said.

“Whoever it was, they got into it with SecForce Special Operations,” Bloek said. “Those officers aren’t in normal kit. They were after someone, or something.”

“I think we’ve wasted enough time here. Let’s go back to the commercial district where we can at least look at some women.”

“We will. Once we get past the SecForce officers on our six,” Cutter said.

“What are you talking—”

“Don’t move!” a voice barked from behind.

The agents froze in place. Footsteps sounded on either side of them. A pair of SecForce officers circled around, while a third remained behind.

“Raise your hands.”

“Relax. Do as they say,” Cutter instructed. The agents raised their hands to shoulder height. Cutter had confidence the trio could take out the officers if need be, but that would bring a world of trouble. “We’re licensed recovery agents.”

“Bounty hunters? We’ll see about that. Face the wall,” the voice behind them said. Cutter’s jaw clenched. He recognized the officer as the hyper-aggressive type. The agents did as instructed. One of the deputies placed restraints over their wrists.

Another of the officers approached. “I’m going to scan your PDs now. Please remain still.” His academy-induced politeness had not yet dulled. He held a scanner next to each of the men. He reviewed the results as they continually updated on his PD. “They’re legit. Their recovery agent license is registered in the SecForce database.”

“Don’t see a lot of those here,” the leader said, a sergeant by his rank tag. His face was rugged, a hint of a faded scar on his cheek and a slightly crooked nose. He definitely hadn’t grown up on the well-groomed and policed throughways of Praxa Prime. “Tell me, what are a trio of bounty hunters doing watching over a major crime scene on a nice habitat like this?”

“We’re enjoying the nightlife,” Cutter said.

The sergeant gave them an unamused grin. “How about I bring you to a detainment center where you can tell me the truth?”

The polite officer said, “What if they’re spooks?”

“You don’t just let someone walk because they flash a credential in your face,” the sergeant said. “Did this warehouse have something to do with your contract?”

“None of your business,” Parr said.

Cutter shot a sideways glare at Parr, then faced the sergeant. “Even if it did, you know we cannot discuss it.”

A notification appeared on each of the agents’ PDs. The Galaxy Battles event now had a time and location—one of those entertainment buses that circled through nightlife hotspots. Their lead would soon be meeting with his followers to celebrate virtual exploits. And the agents needed to be there if they wanted any chance of finding the target. Cutter said, “Sergeant, there’s no evidence tying us to whatever occurred in that warehouse. We’d appreciate it if you could release us. You obviously have more important things to do.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the sergeant said.

Cutter met the man’s authoritative stare. “If I have to report this to the Port Authority commander, I will.”

“Sure, after you sit in lockup all night.”

“Enough of this,” Parr said, and swung his arms free. The cut restraint fell upon the ground.

The officers aimed their weapons at him. “Hands up.”

Parr smiled wickedly, and held one meaty arm up. The thumb-size plasma cutter still stuck out from the back of his glove. Forced to act, Cutter and Bloek did the same. The wide-eyed officers swung their weapons between the now-freed men.

“Resisting arrest? Now you’re definitely spending the night in lockup,” the sergeant said.

“You weren’t arresting us,” Bloek said.

“You’re pointing weapons at SecForce licensed recovery agents who’ve committed no crime,” Cutter said. 

The sergeant pointed at the wrapper. “You littered.”

“Oh no,” Parr mocked the sergeant. “Go back to wrangling drunks,” he said, and stepped past the officers.

The sergeant grabbed ahold of Parr’s wrist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The junior officers lowered their weapons. The polite one said, “Come on, Sarge, let them go.”

Parr glanced at the sergeant’s hand as if an insect had landed on him. Then he twisted the sergeant’s arm, stepped between his legs, and threw the officer onto the ground. A hiss of air escaped the sergeant’s lips as he gasped for breath. Parr kicked the man’s pistol away, then looked to the junior officers, an amused expression on his face. The officers were anything but, and raised their weapons at him.

Cutter jumped in the middle, holding his hands out, palms up. “Your sergeant there took quite a spill.” He could see fear behind the junior officers’ young eyes. “Better help him up and get back to work. You’ve got quite a crime scene to secure back there.”

The two junior officers exchanged questioning glances, then shifted their eyes back to Cutter. He nodded at them, silently pleading with them. Their weapons drifted lower as if their arms were deflating, then dipped back into their holsters. The officers bent to retrieve their stunned boss as the agents slipped away into the darkness of the alley.

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