Chapter 68: Chapter 20: Delivery Complications

The ceiling of Warp Speed morphed colors from light green to a subtle red. A haze swirled inside a transparent two-meter-wide cylinder, lasers pulsing down the center. The “warp drive” hovered over the open expanse of the dance pit. Three platforms floated in the air, a dancer in a full body light suit gyrating atop each one.

Hazard lights spun on the drive, warnings flashed on the wall displays. The club patrons were unconcerned. Rather, they drew closer, lured by the spectacle. The haze suddenly spilled outward from the cylinder as the “warp drive” breached. The club patrons cheered and raised their arms to the ceiling to greet the cool cloud as it settled upon them.

The ops crew rested in a circular booth, observing the spectacle. Henrik looked to the other three and felt an unstoppable smirk form on his lips.

Brock pointed at it. “What is that thing on your face?”

Rosalie leaned in, squinting. “Better have Doc examine it. I think some parasitic organism has taken control of your mouth.”

“Oh, go crank yourself,” Henrik said, and smothered his smile. He had plenty to be happy about, when Dash wasn’t around.

A glowing light ring at the center of the table turned from red to green. 

“Here’s the next batch,” Draug said. 

The cover at the top of the ring retracted, and a clear cylinder rose above the table. Inside, clouds of red and pink swirled about. They all connected their inhalant nozzles to the supply ports at the base of the cylinder. Brock inhaled deeply, held the breath, then slowly blew it out. He blinked, then bit down a giggle. “That’s good,” he said, his voice temporarily higher pitched.

The others laughed. Henrik lifted his nozzle and stopped when a notification on his PD interrupted him. He groaned. “Dash wants to talk.”

“So? Maybe it’s good news,” Rosalie said.

“Are you kidding me? Since when does Dash comm for good news?” Brock said.

“Answer your captain.”

Henrik said, “No. We’re on leave. It can wait.”

Rosalie peered at him with her annoying motherly gaze. “The relationship is never going to improve if you have a bad attitude about it.”

“It’s after hours. Cargo loading operations are shut down. Whatever it is can wait until morning.”

Rosalie examined the nozzle in her hand and shrugged. “I’ve got too much of this in me to argue about it.”

Henrik puffed on his nozzle. His head felt like it floated off his body then settled back down. “Wow, you weren’t kidding,” he said to Brock.

Draug straightened as if scared by a ghost. “Dash wants to comm with me now.”

“Don’t accept it,” Henrik said. “In fact, everyone, mute your comms.”

They all nodded and did as instructed. Henrik pinged their PDs and received confirmation they were muted. Then he muted his.

Draug’s short snout hung limp. “I don’t like ignoring orders.”

“This isn’t the fleet. He can’t write us up,” Brock said.

“You want an order?” Henrik said, and lifted Draug’s nozzle to its mouth. “Take a hit. That’s an order.”

---

“They’ve muted their comms,” Dash said, though he knew he should’ve expected nothing less.

“We’re going to have to drag them kicking and screaming out of that club,” Milia said. “It’s all they’ve talked about since I came aboard.”

“Let’s get to the ship. Then we can figure out how to deal with them.”

Another block and they reached the main throughway. Triple-story structures stretched away in gentle curves on either side. The blocks surrounding the docking bays were lively day and night. The daytime brought masses of traders and freighter crews. At night, sentients cruised the walkways to browse the various nightlife options. By habitat ordinances, the clubs and pubs exited into access corridors behind the establishments, dumping altered sentients away from the main throughways. It spared the meticulously maintained main throughways from the downsides of a vibrant nightlife. It also made exiting the clubs an interesting experience at times.

Sirens blared a few blocks away in the opposite direction. “They might lock down the hab if the protest gets out of control,” Milia said. “That’s what the local news feed said anyway.”

“Perfect timing,” Dash said.

They spotted the security gate for the Stardancer’s docking bay between a row of high-end transient apartments and boutique shops, and started across the transport lanes in the center of the throughway. As they stepped onto the opposite walkway, a pair of SecForce officers exited a nearby lift and turned in their direction.

Dash didn’t register that his legs had stopped moving until Milia slipped an arm around his elbow and ushered him on. 

“Just keep walking,” she said.

“I know,” Dash said, and followed her lead.

The officers appeared agitated. They gestured forcefully as they talked with each other. Their attention turned to the approaching civilians. Dash was suddenly conscious of Betsy’s bulge under his arm and the package on his back. He focused on maintaining a normal gait.

The officers looked the couple up and down, then passed by. Dash exhaled in relief and rushed the last few steps to the gate. He stood by the scanner, waiting for it to register the ship ID sent by his PD. It beeped. He stepped forward and bumped into the still-closed door.

He backed up and saw the scanner had denied him access. He tried again with the same result.

“Hey, you two. Step away from the scanner. You need to wait,” one of the officers said. Dash and Milia stopped and slowly turned around. The officers had turned around and followed them back to the gate.

Dash and Milia looked between the officers. One stepped toward them, then pointed at the gate. “Did you hear me? You need to wait in front of it. This one is a little wonky. Give it a few extra seconds.”

Dash did as instructed. The scanner beeped and denied him access. A second later it reversed course and granted access.

Milia thanked them. One nodded, then glanced at the holoflyer on the backpack. “Shouldn’t you be on the way to the protest?”

“We got runner duty,” Dash said. “Have to grab a few more supplies.”

The officer peeked at the backpack once more. “There’s been reports of anarchist groups planning to infiltrate the protest. Have you heard anything about that?”

“No. We’re just contractors,” Dash said.

“We’ll be sure to mention it to the organizers when we get back. That’s the last thing we want to happen,” Milia said.

The officer stared between them a moment longer, then offered a polite nod and said, “Enjoy your evening.” He returned to his partner, and they resumed their animated discussion as they walked away.

Dash exchanged a wary glance with Milia. “I’m ready for this night to be over,” he said, and stepped toward the gate.

“Hold on a minute,” Milia said. “What’s the name of that club the ops crew went to?”

“Uh, Warp Drive, I think?”

“That’s close.” She searched the local habitat map on her PD and found it. “It’s called Warp Speed. It’s not far from here. I’ll go there and supervise them while you ready the ship.”

“Good idea,” Dash said. 

“One more thing.” She gave him an unexpected hug. He discovered the true purpose when she slipped her snub pistol into his jacket pocket. “Better not be walking around with a gun used at a crime scene.”

“An even better idea,” Dash said as she let go of him. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Milia said, and headed toward the heart of the commercial district. Dash watched her go in case anyone tailed her, but she was clear. He went to rescan at the gate and spotted the lounge overlooking the bay.

What he really needed was a drink.

---

Dash stepped inside the lounge. Booths lined the viewing windows facing the bay, while a bar stretched the length of the room on the back wall. A pair of patrons—ship techs by the looks of the drab and worn uniforms—sat at the counter. Their gazes were distant, lost in thought, as they sipped on cheap liquor. They didn’t even turn to observe the newcomer.

Dash would’ve joined them—even with the impersonal experience of a bot bartender—had he not been trying to keep a low profile. Instead, he sat in one of the booths and scanned the drink menu. He needed something more than the synthetic stuff in his flask. Gaius and Wesley should be a few minutes behind, giving him enough time to down a drink before boarding the ship and figuring out their next move.

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He placed an order and observed the bay. The Stardancer sat on the center pad. An even older-model freighter occupied the pad on one side, while a boxy-looking chemical hauler sat on the other. The bay was quiet, as it should have been in the middle of the night. There wasn’t a single person in sight. A few bots roamed the bay, performing standard maintenance, while an automated loader wheeled a cargo pallet to the old freighter.

The door to the lounge opened. Dash looked up, surprised Gaius and Wesley had arrived so soon, but instead a serving bot entered. It stopped at his booth, holding a tray with a pair of empty stim beverage containers.

“Your order has been received and will be delivered shortly,” it said before rolling away.

Dash leaned back in the booth, sinking into the cushion. He’d thought he left this type of work behind. The early days running around with Boran aboard the Tegado. He’d promised the ops crew things would get better post-Terminus, and now this mess. 

His PD pinged him with a comm request in the secureHub the client had provided. Dash swallowed over a suddenly formed lump. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. He activated the booth’s privacy mode, then connected.

“Tell me you have the package,” the scrambled voice said.

“We do,” Dash said, talking low. Despite the privacy technology, he found it hard to resist natural instincts. 

“Thank the Lords,” the voice said. “I have not heard from my representatives, and received word of gunfire and explosions at the meeting location. I demand to know what happened.”

“You can stow the demands. We were about to hand over the package to your couriers when the shooting started.” He paused, remembering the glowing stripes on the one man’s face before Milia shot him. “SecForce and some other group got into a shootout over the package. Both tried to kill us. We were lucky to make it out in one piece.”

“SecForce?” the voice said, their concern evident even with the filter. “Are you certain?”

“Positive,” Dash said, thinking of the SSO officer who had almost shot him and Wesley.

“And what of my representatives?”

Dash hesitated. “Dead. Both of them.”

The comm went silent. Dash though it might’ve disconnected until the voice asked, “Did they suffer?”

“No.”

More silence. The voice mumbled something that sounded like a prayer to Dash. “Did you take the proper precautions? Were you followed? I cannot fathom how you screwed this up.”

Dash shifted close to the window and lowered his head to hide his angry response. It took all his willpower not to yell into his PD. “No one knew about this job except me. The leak had to be on your side.”

“Preposterous. I’m losing patience with you. I warn you, I am not one to tolerate schemes, or blackmail, or whatever else it is you’re trying to do.”

“What sort of scheme would I partake in that involves me almost getting my Lorddamn head blown off?”

“Language! I will disconnect from this comm.”

“Not if you want your package,” Dash said, and thought the client might still disconnect. Their icon remained connected, and he went on. “If you refuse to cooperate, then we’ll sell it to another party. I’m sure if SecForce and some other group are willing to kill for it, then we can find another buyer willing to pay top cred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“We can sit here and argue about what happened and whose fault it is, or we can make arrangements to complete this delivery and be done with each other.”

“Believe me, that would make me very happy. I will arrange a new meeting location. You won’t leave Praxa Prime until you deliver the package to me. I promise you that. Good day,” the voice snapped before the comm disconnected.

“What a pompous ass,” Dash said.

“What’d I do now?” Gaius said, startling Dash as he move through the privacy field into the opposite side of the booth.

“I was speaking with the client. Didn’t notice you come in,” Dash said, and switched off privacy mode.

“I’m stealthy like that. I also figured you’d be here. What did the client say?”

“They’re upset, accused us of leaking the meeting location somehow. They’re going to schedule another drop.” Dash looked around the diner. “Where’s Doc?”

Gaius nodded out the bay window. “I sent him back to the ship. He stopped to grab some hydration drink at the self-serve station.”

The server bot returned and placed a fist-sized glass in front of Dash. Most of it was ice, with a splash of greenish liquid. He looked at it with his disapproving captain stare. “That’s a double?”

“Yes,” the bot replied. “Every order is measured according to the Commonwealth Consumables Standards—”

“I bet,” Dash interrupted, and muttered to Gaius, “Can’t even get a decent pour from a bot.”

“Accusations of criminal conduct are a serious offense that must be reported—”

“I’m not accusing you. I’m just talking to my pilot. Now go away.”

The bot pivoted and rolled away. “I’ll take one of those too, on his tab,” Gaius said as it disappeared behind the bar. He looked to Dash. “Do you think it heard me?”

Dash sipped his drink and made a face. “Prepare to be disappointed either way. You got here fast.”

“We took a shorter route. Yours wasn’t so direct.”

Dash took another sip as he spotted Wesley in the docking bay. The medtech was almost halfway to the ship when a pair of dockworkers emerged from the bay control station. Their path took them in the general direction of the Stardancer. He looked toward the bar, then back to the bay.

“What’s the matter?” Gaius asked.

“The bay was empty when I sat down, then the server bot came into the pub with two empty stim cans.” Dash pointed out the window. “Now those two peculiar individuals walked out of the dockworker’s station in the middle of the night when no one is working.”

“Maybe they’re working overtime and wanted a boost.”

“Let’s have a closer look,” Dash said. He connected to the Stardancer’s hub and viewed the stream of the port landing cam. He shared it with Gaius, then zoomed in on the dockworkers. One was so primed with muscle he looked like he could lift the ship. The other was thin-framed, like the other had absorbed his tissue. The first tell was their speed. They walked with too much purpose for working in the middle of the night. Their overalls looked new, and they wore no workbelts. Then there were the boots: shiny and jet black, sticking out of their utility pants. Dash felt his heart flutter. Then the big one reached a hand into a pocket and pulled out an object, hidden from plain view on the inside of his forearm.

“That’s a stunner, I think,” Dash said. His heart rate kicked a notch higher. Somehow their situation had just gotten worse. “Someone from that warehouse knows who we are.”

“How? This was supposed to be a discreet delivery. There’s nothing linking our ship and crew to the meet.”

Dash gestured into the bay. “Tell that to them.”

“We have to get out there,” Gaius said, panic creeping into his voice.

“No. They’re too close to Doc. If we pull weapons, someone’s getting hurt, SecForce will be all over us, and then we’re done for.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Dash watched Wesley near the ship, oblivious to the danger closing in behind him. “I think I do,” Dash said, and sent a message to the medtech.

They watched Wesley’s posture twitch as he digested the message and the danger he was in. But to his credit, he kept going. If the dockworkers had noticed the momentary pause, they hadn’t given any visible sign.

“What did you tell him?” Gaius said.

“There’s two men following him, and to keep walking past our ship,” Dash said.

Gaius ran his hands through his hair. “He’s going to freak out.”

“Maybe not,” Dash said, and opened a connection to the Stardancer’s hub.

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