Death Drop (27 page)

“Sorry, Simon, I don’t trust robots that can act on their own—too hard to read.”

“Right, luv, knowin’ who to trust
is
important,” he said as he brought up Dezmara’s helmet camera on one of his peripheral displays. “I’ve got your eyes. Say ‘ello to the pub for me.”

“Thanks, Sy. Be back within the hour.”

Dezmara pressed the panel to open the portal just aft of the cockpit. The door flew open with a hiss, and she leapt from the deck and landed quietly on the platform below. She stayed low to the ground as she scanned the area around her and the long approach across the dilapidated dock to the heavy door beneath the stone arch. The heads-up display in her helmet cast everything in tones of green and gray. The data fed to the display from the mainframe on the ship flashed in digital orange to the right of Dezmara’s vision and was currently telling her that there were 100.2 meters between her and the doorway at the end of the dock. She doubted she had been seen, and she seriously considered scaling the underside of the structure and bypassing the security code on the door to avoid detection. But that would require a complicated hack on Simon’s part and they simply didn’t have enough time—the run to Simokon started in just over an hour, and any breach in security would leave
the
Ghost
wide open to attack from those cannons perched on the face of the mountain. No, the best thing to do was to walk straight up to the door and knock politely; and that’s exactly what Dezmara intended to do.

She stood slowly, closed her flight jacket, and made certain the collar was standing as tall as it could. She emerged from the shadows of the ship and skirted the cargo containers. As she rounded the oxidized hunks of rectangular metal, she stepped into the open and started for the entrance to Luxon at a brisk pace. There was nothing between her and the door except meters of open decking. If those guns opened fire, she would have no choice but to go over the edge and pray there was something down there to hold onto. The orange digital readout blinked with every brazen step she took. She touched the control on the right side of her helmet and the heads-up display highlighted each of the obstacles that stood between her and entry into the port. The mainframe and its peripherals were state-of-the-art and as fast as the latest technology allowed—Simon made certain of that—and Dezmara now knew that the guns were Rolfing model 88s and the alloy door was two meters thick.

She let out a long whistle. “Sy, are you reading this?”

“Well, luv, it has managed to survive this long. Some measure of security is to be expected, idn’it?”

“That’s some serious firepower…”

“An’ some serious armor, luv. You be careful.”

“Will do,” she said as she stopped within inches of the door. She assumed she, along with any activity on or around
the
Ghost
, was being watched carefully so she wouldn’t need to announce her presence. She didn’t have to wait long before her suspicions were confirmed.

“What do you want?” The door barked with the exact tone and lack of courtesy as the portmaster.

“We’ve been in the dark for two months,” Dezmara’s electronically disguised voice answered. “We need supplies.”

“Hmmm. I’m not stupid, Ghost! Toss your weapons and ammunition on the ground!”

Dezmara scrunched her lips in disappointment beneath the helmet and let out a heavy breath. She needed supplies and she was in a hurry. She didn’t have time to plan a proper infiltration of Luxon Station and it frustrated her. She was at the mercy of the portmaster. “Very well,” she said as she reluctantly opened her jacket and unbuckled her belt. The sturdy black strap, weighed down with several full clips, fell to the floor with a metallic clunk and she paused, hoping the dramatic crash would bring a satisfactory response from her abrasive commander.

“Now the guns!” he ordered.

She slowly unholstered her pistols, flipped them forward, and caught them on the underside of their smooth, dark barrels and then tossed them at her feet. The sound of metal clanking on the dock echoed in the cavern as the guns hit the deck and slid a few inches before stopping.

“I’ll be watching you, Ghost!” the portmaster threatened as the alloy door slid open with a squeal and a rush of warm, stale air.

“Not for long,” Dezmara whispered under her hood, and she crossed the barrier into the port.

Chapter 23:
Bizarre Bazaar

T
he moment the portmaster asked her to disarm herself, Dezmara guessed that his scanning equipment wouldn’t be able to give him a three hundred and sixty degree profile—that would require sensors placed back on the dock and pointed at the door. That kind of setup would be far too costly to be left out in the open and in the line of fire. As it turned out, the portmaster’s limited view worked to Dezmara’s advantage; her blades were still safely hidden on her back.

As she passed through the archway, the stale yellow light of the dockyard faded and then disappeared entirely as the door squeaked closed behind her. She looked around while steadily moving forward. She was in a tunnel with a smooth floor and walls. It was dark inside and the display in the helmet automatically adjusted to give her an optimal picture. She buried her hands in her flight jacket and walked quickly through the tunnel toward the dull roar of a crowd ahead of her.

After a hundred paces, she emerged from the tunnel into an immense, domed cavern. The ceiling arched overhead and its center was packed with clusters of spiked mineral deposits that gradually decreased in size and then disappeared altogether as the roof curved outward and down to meet the floor. The ground was completely smooth and stretched into a vast, circular plaza that was teeming with people. Luxon wasn’t the only space port in the universe, but it was the biggest one that Dezmara had been to so far, and although the throng crowding the plaza in front of her was impressive, she couldn’t take her eyes off of the perimeter. The sides of the cavern were lined with enormous statues. Each of the stone behemoths rested on one bended knee and a large metal truss, like the ones on the dockyard towers outside, curved up the wall from behind them into the center of the dome, braced between the sculptures’ rounded backs and the cave. Each had at least one hand pressed to the arch behind it and at least one other raised to support the truss as it passed over the figure’s head. Dezmara’s eyes followed the nearest truss from the hand that held it in its rocky grip, across the cavern to a central junction and into the grasp of the carved giant on the opposite side.

Although she was pressed for time, Dezmara found herself inexorably drawn to the titan closest to her. It looked very familiar. The arch of its foot was planted firmly on the ground, lines of muscle in its legs and torso rippled with effort, and it had five digits locked around the rusted metal of the support truss. Its face was solemn and touched with a secret, subtle despair as if the weight of the dead planet was crushing it slowly. It looked
Human.

“They were carved for the Trinitons,” a little voice squeaked. Dezmara snapped from her trance and looked left toward the statue’s back leg to see a child—of what species she couldn’t tell—with an oval head and large blue eyes that looked like a black star had exploded inside of them. She wore a blue shirt with matching pants and sat cross-legged in front of a blanket that held various trinkets as she stared up at Dezmara’s mysterious figure.

“They’re all different,” Dezmara said as she reached out and lightly touched the Human-looking replica. “It must’ve taken a very long time.”

“There’s one for each of the races forced to mine this planet by the Durax,” the little girl said, as if she were leading a guided tour. “What’s your name?” She changed tactics and hoped Dezmara would open up the door for an easy sale.

“I’m The Ghost.” The veiled answer rattled from Dezmara’s helmet.

“That’s a funny name,” the little girl said with a giggle. “Why’d your parents name you that?”

“I didn’t know my parents”

“Me neither,” the little girl interjected quickly. “I’m Lilietha—it’s nice to meet you, Ghost! Would you like to help out a fellow orphan?” She smiled as innocently as she could, which didn’t take much effort, and waved her hand over the blanket of goods in a practiced flourish.

“Sorry, kid, but unless you’ve got a pair of autos and some bullets hidden under that blanket—no sale.”

“Whattaya need that stuff for?”

“Protection.”

“Protection? I’ve got just the thing,” Lilietha said excitedly as she scooped up two black forearm shields and held them up toward Dezmara. Before Dezmara could take them, the little blue girl pulled them back toward herself slightly and bunched one corner of her small mouth in a skeptical frown. “How tall are you, Ghost?”

Dezmara paused and turned her head slightly to the side. “That’s a very strange question,” she said.

“It’s very important,” Lilietha replied gravely.

Dezmara decided to humor the kid. “In that case, almost six feet.”

“Perfect!” she exclaimed and then held the guards out once again. “These are all the protection you’ll need—well, okay—
this one
is all the protection you’ll need,” she said, waving one for emphasis, “the other one is just so you don’t look like a big dork with only one vambrace!” She giggled and smiled up at Dezmara.

“Kid, you’re cute, but I don’t have time for make believe or magic charms, I”

“Things aren’t always as they seem, Ghost,” Lilietha countered in a strangely adult tone that was completely alien from her playful banter just moments ago. “Wear this opposite your strongest hand and press here when you need protection.” The small, round end on her long finger pointed to a nodule on the topside of one of the shields. “That’ll be ten tolocs.” The pleasant timbre of a child’s voice had returned and she was smiling again.

Dezmara stared down at her for a moment and considered vanishing into the square and leaving the cute, but odd, kid with the blanket full of knick-knacks to try and nab the next weary duster or darkster that wandered unwittingly past. But there was something about her—something comforting.

“What the hell, kid.” Dezmara reached inside her jacket and produced a stack of shiny, golden coins. She deposited each toloc into Lilietha’s eager hand; letting each one fall on the one before it so she could hear them jingle. When they had both counted nine clinks, Lilietha noticed Dezmara was still holding a sizable stack of coins in the palm of her gloved hand. “And this is for the bonus round. Can you tell me where I can get supplies for my ship?”

Lilietha looked at the stack of money with her big, oval eyes and then up at Dezmara and smiled warmly. “If you can’t find it in the square, then you’ll have to find it on The Boulevard. That’s past The Boneyard.” She pointed her finger toward the back of the plaza. Dezmara touched the control sensor on the side of her helmet and the heads-up display zoomed across the bazaar.

The entrance to The Boneyard was befitting of its namesake. The structure itself was made of porous rock that had gushed down from a cupola at the top and then solidified. The result was a mountain of black stone pocked with millions of holes. Carved from the face of this mountain and staring across the square was another statue, but this one varied greatly from any other inside the great chamber. It had been chiseled from a different material than its forlorn brothers and sisters, and it had an air of melancholy that made Dezmara’s heart sink lower every second she dared to look at it.

Instead of rising on a knee or struggling to stand, the dark figure was kneeling on both his legs. His hands were raised to the cavern roof high above and clutched at a metal truss, but instead of appearing to support the ceiling, his arms were raised above his head in a defensive gesture. His tendril-like fingers were turned inward as if he were shielding himself from an inevitable collapse. Unlike his peers, the dark giant didn’t wear a grimace from the massive burden bearing down on him; instead, his face was set in agony. His cavernous eyes looked like they were ready to spring forth a tide of tears that would rush down his long face and wash away the plaza, drowning every creature that cheated, swindled, bought, bartered, or scurried beneath the mighty dome. But of all the attention to detail paid by its morbid sculptor, it was the statue’s mouth that held Dezmara’s gaze above all else. It was set at the end of his long, tentacled face and was rent open in a silent scream of ultimate suffering.

“King Gamuun,” Lilietha said softly. “He was loved by his people more than any other ruler of the Trinity planets…and so the Durax tortured him by making him choose who would live to work in the mines and who would die. They made him watch as they took control of the Trinitons’ minds and pitted brother against brother, father against son, and mother against daughter in death matches for sport. It drove him insane, and they say that when his mind broke, so did the planet.”

King Gamuun’s haunting memorial made Dezmara feel lonelier than she had ever felt in space, and a small thread in her subconscious whispered a warning not to go any closer. She had a creeping feeling that somehow, he was watching her.

“So, if I needed a half-barrel of stout and a barrel of talsey, who would I talk to?” she said without turning from Gamuun.

“You can’t get that stuff in the square—portmaster is very strict. He says it takes business away from the pub. But you should know I’ve heard plenty of sailors and pilots going on about how ‘bloody high the prices are’ and how ‘they can charge anything they damn well want because you can’t buy it out here in the square.’ You can talk to the barkeep—Buego, I think—but they don’t say very nice things about him either.” She looked at Dezmara like a teacher who had just finished her lecture and would now entertain any intelligent questions.

“You’ve been great, kid,” Dezmara sounded through the kranos as she stretched out her hand and dropped the stack of tolocs. The coins made a happy sound as they crashed into the large pile already in Lilietha’s palm with a loud clank and several jangles.