The Last Flight of the Argus (18 page)

“
I don’t think he cares,” the young man replied. His lips cracked and he showed a perfect set of sharp white teeth.

The target proved too good to let pass.

B’taav slammed his fist into the young man’s face. The man fell, hard. His mouth was a bloody mess. Several of his beautiful white teeth littered the floor. The game seller approached the downed man.

“
What have you done?” he wailed.

The Independent helped the merchant pick the unconscious soldier up. He sat the man between piles of games and out of the way of pedestrians before offering the merchant a twenty credit piece.

“
What’s this?”

“
For your troubles,” B’taav said.

B’taav eyed Daniels’ other men. They lingered some thirty feet away and did not approach. Instead, they glared at the Independent. One stood by a computer repair shop, the other by a synthetic food center. This man talked into his communicator.

B’taav knew who he was talking to. He figured now was a good time to walk away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The
two remaining military officers followed B’taav through a maze of floors on the upper deck of the station. At times they came very close to the Independent, but never close enough. Soon, B’taav grew worried.

It seemed Daniels’ boys were content to hold back and give the Independent his space. As if—

B'taav felt a sudden urgency to get back to Docking Berth 23.

When
the Independent arrived, he found a crowd of onlookers just outside the usually sparse area. Docking Berth 23, the berth leading to his spacecraft, was locked down. A flashing red light over the door indicated a catastrophic loss of pressure.

B’taav elbowed his way deeper into the crowd until he reached a side window. Floating just outside the station were two workers in environmental suits. They were doing heavy welding outside the docking door. B’taav looked past them, past the point where his ship should have been, and farther out into space itself.

Some five hundred meters away floated the Independent’s ship. She had a large gash along her port side. Like blood from a mortal wound, her insides drifted into space.

“
What happened?” B’taav asked no one in particular.

“
I don’t know,” a woman standing beside him replied. “Emergency lights came on and the exit tunnel was sealed. Someone said a meteorite hit that ship.”

“
She’s a goner,” another person said. “The owner will be lucky to get scrap value.”

Onlookers continued their conversations, offering speculation about the cause of the ship's destruction, but B’taav ignored them. The workers outside finished their welding job. One of them pressed a button on his arm pad and, after a few minutes, a rugged towing vessel drew in to pick them up. Gravimetric clamps drew out of the towing vessel's compartments and clamped onto the remains of B’taav’s ship. It was towed away and out of view.

The show was over and people scattered. B’taav moved with them.

He didn't walk far before spotting Lieutenant Lester Daniels and the two men who were following him. They waited for him at the outer radius of the crowd.

“
You know what I think?” Daniels said when B’taav was near enough to hear him. “It was sabotage.”

Lieutenant Daniels leaned in close to the Independent, so close that his next words could only be heard by him.

“
Nowhere to run. Now the show really begins.”

With a laugh, the trio of Epsillon military officers walked away. After a while, so too did the Independent.

B’taav
took a circuitous route through the main body of
Titus
. He had no specific destination in mind, but the trip allowed him to check for anyone following. No one was, of course. There was little reason for them to. B’taav was trapped.

The Independent spent the remains of the day finding and talking to transport pilots. He searched for anyone willing to fly him out of Erebus. But word spread quickly of the military's interest in him, and most pilots were unwilling to offer him passage. The few that were interested demanded a hefty fee.

B’taav told these pilots he would give them a call the next day, after he finished his business within
Titus
.

Afterwards, the Independent checked into the Titan Hotel on the main deck of the station. It was located only two hundred meters from the Jackal Bar and offered all the amenities of a lightly stocked broom closet.

B’taav’s room, though it could be more accurately defined as a square cubicle, had enough space to fit six people standing next to each other. A stiff bed was folded up into the wall and, once pulled out, there was no longer space to stand.

B’taav grabbed the room’s single towel and exited. He walked to the end of the hallway, where the other hundred and some odd guests within the hotel’s floor shared a communal bathroom.

B’taav waited his turn outside. When he finally entered, he found showers capable of fitting thirty people at a time. His fellow inmates kept to themselves. Like B’taav, their eyes never lingered on any one person, yet a base survival instinct made them weary of any and everyone within their proximity.

B’taav removed his clothing and showered. The water was cold so the turns proved quick. When B’taav was done, he headed to the dressing area. He was on his way out when the rusty wall speakers came to life.

“
Ladies and Gentlemen, this is
Titus
administration speaking,” the female voice began. “As many of you know, a small transport ship exploded near the Erebus Displacer a little over a week ago. At that time, our technicians examined the Displacer and felt she sustained no serious damage. However, out of an abundance of caution, we notified Epsillon authorities and were told EMC technicians would arrive to conduct a more thorough examination of our Displacer. A group of technicians arrived aboard the EMC craft
Wake
. They have concluded their more detailed examination of the Displacer and determined it is experiencing irregular energy fluctuations.”

“
These fluctuations are not, I repeat, not serious. However, they are a cause of concern. Lieutenant Lester Daniels, commander of the
Wake
, has for the time being cancelled all use of the Displacer. There will be one, and only one, exception: The battleship
Dakota
was called in to come to our aid in effecting repairs. Despite the risk, I’m pleased to say she arrived a few minutes ago. The
Dakota’s
full complement of technicians is now looking over the Displacer’s energy cells. If all goes well, they estimate she will be fully functional by the end of the week. We’re sorry for this inconvenience. We will keep you informed and report the moment the Displacer is ready for use. That is all.”

Only a few of the Hotel guests took the news in stride. Most could not hide their alarm. Like B’taav, they too were trapped on
Titus
. They, like B’taav, realized they were prisoners of Lieutenant Daniels, the
Wake
, and, now, the
Dakota
. One a cruiser, the other a full-fledged battleship.

Given this new reality, the Independent knew no one would dare make a run for the Displacer with him on board. Not even for all the credits in the Homeworlds.

B'taav's prison was fortified.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

After
sleeping a few hours in an uncomfortable fold up bed, B’taav exited his room and wandered
Titus.
The corridors were quiet this day, as the full realization of military control hit everyone. The citizens of
Titus
were willing to accept the
Wake’s
arrival as part of the routine process of checking into the
Sandstorm's
destruction. They were even willing to accept when this interest turned to their Displacer. But with the arrival of the heavily armed battleship and the shutting down of their only means out of Erebus, a palpable sense of paranoia prevailed.

Something bad was happening, and no one was sure exactly what.

B'taav's wandering led him back to the Jackal Bar.

Clients within the place were sparse. The scavengers huddled in small pockets and their conversations consisted of barely audible whispers.

B’taav sat at a barstool. Dave Maddox served a few cups of beer and some rum to a group of patrons before slowly making his way to the Independent. When he was within earshot, he laid down a glass of water and whispered: “Go to the back room.”

B’taav took the water and nodded ever so slightly. While Maddox focused on other clients, B’taav made sure the area was free of Daniels’ men.

When he was satisfied this was the case, he walked to the door leading into the rear of the bar. It slid open automatically, revealing a small room furnished with a wooden table and a set of chairs. B’taav approached the table and sat down. The door he entered closed.

“
Here I am,” B’taav muttered. He took another sip of water and sat back.

And waited.

Fifteen
minutes later, Maddox entered the room.

“
What is Lieutenant Daniels doing?” Maddox said.

“
Good morning to you, too.”

“
I’m not in the mood for jokes. What is Lieutenant Daniels doing?”

“
I have no idea.”

“
Fine. Then what is he capable of?”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Maybe you didn’t hear, but he’s got a goddamned battle ship parked in front of our Displacer. It is our only way out. Every single one of its weapons is pointed directly at us. We may be in the middle of nowhere and many of us may not have much of a formal education, but we’re not blind and we’re not stupid. How far is he willing to go?”

“
That depends on what he’s after.”

“
He wants you.”

“
Certainly. But he isn’t doing all this for me.”

“
I saw what he did to your ship. I saw the look on his face the other day. He wants you. Bad.”

“
If I were his primary target, he would have taken care of me a long time ago. Trust me, I don’t merit all this fuss.”

“
Why haven’t you tried to leave?”

“
I have. I’ve talked to almost every pilot I could find on this station. There were a few willing to smuggle me on their ships, but they demanded more cash than I had, or could get. Not only did Daniels destroy my ship, he also froze all cash transfers from the Homelands. Anyway, I hoped to secure funds through some alternate means, but when the
Dakota’s
arrived, that pretty much shut me down. There isn't a pilot willing to take me around the block, much less past her.”

“
Did you try the pilots on Deck—?”

“
Come on, Maddox. You know there are very few pilots still willing to risk a run at the Displacer. The only ones that are are secessionists who hate the Epsillon military more than their ex-wives and in-laws combined and pilot some of the shittiest crafts this side of the Argon Nebula. To get past the
Dakota,
they’d have to run their ship's engines much hotter than they're capable of. So hot they might explode. Like Kelly Lang’s ship did.”

Maddox tensed.

“
Easy, Maddox,” the Independent said. “I've still got ears and our good Lieutenant’s interest in Lang’s death is a hot topic. When Daniels first arrived, his interest was Lang,
not
the Displacer. Now he’s changing his tune completely and is focused entirely on the Displacer. People pick up on that.”

“
So they do.”

“
Look, when I got here I didn’t care what the military was up to. I had work of my own and, in retrospect, probably should have kept a lower profile. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out and now I'm trapped. So I figure it’s time I learned exactly what's going on here. Tell me, Maddox: Why is Kelly Lang’s death so damn important to the Epsillon military?”

Maddox’s lips tightened until they became pale white slits. B’taav shook his head.

“
If I can tell you know more about Lang than you’re willing to admit, imagine what Lieutenant Daniels thinks. He may be an angry, vengeful little bastard, but he’s also a member of the Epsillon Elite. The military doesn’t give membership into that club to just anyone.”

“
What will he do?”

“
If I was looking into Lang's death and had a battle ship backing me up, I’d do exactly what Daniels is doing. First I’d lock up the Displacer, so that no one gets past me. That way, all potential suspects can't skip town, so to speak.”

“
And then?”

“
Then I'd announce some kind of temporary fix to the Displacer’s energy cells. A minor miracle, but one with limits: Only a few people and ships will be allowed through it each day.”