Clay took a seat near the rear exit of the hovertrain, obscuring him from Talbot’s casual sight and allowing a fast exit should it become necessary to run. Talbot stood in the middle of the car, steadying himself on the railing that ran its length. He didn’t appear to relax until the train was four stops from the Hotel Fontaine.
Clay took a chance and switched his com and optical enhancements back on. “Where are you, Ness?” he whispered.
“Our girl boarded a hovertrain. I’m trying to tail her as inconspicuously as possible. We’re almost to Harba City. I haven’t seen her exit yet, but she’s a slippery bitch when she’s had her fix, so I may have already lost her.” A 3D city layout appeared in his heads-up display; indicators blinked, showing the positions of Ness and Ursza.
“I’m on a hovertrain with Talbot heading in the opposite direction. I can’t make sense of any of this. Why kill Hoefer?”
“You saw what he is. I can think of a dozen reasons.”
“And I can find a dozen ways where she could have gotten him alone instead of doing the deed in front of two dozen witnesses.”
“Clay, she’s a drug addict and borderline psychotic. You can’t expect rational behavior.”
“Maybe not,” Clay continued under his breath. “But why wait for me? I didn’t see if she did a deal for the datarod. How does Talbot figure into this?”
“Just because none of our theories stick doesn’t mean you’re still not playing her game like a sap, Clay. When I pin her down, I’ll ask her.”
“Don’t do a damned thing. Just keep observing.”
“It was a joke, Clay. I know my job. Just make sure you do yours.”
Clay tried to stay alert as the adrenaline left his system and fatigue began. Talbot appeared much calmer now and kept his head low as he scanned the faces in the car to ensure no one was following him. He didn’t even look up as the train slowed and stopped at the next station.
Clay instinctively made a quick mental note of every person who stepped on and off the train. It was evening, approaching dusk. They were in a residential district, moving further from the city’s commercial areas. Most people departing were dressed formally, as if for work, while those boarding were casual. He scanned the displays on the walls, which had switched to advertising recreational facilities over the next two stops.
Everything made sense, except for the three well-dressed, well-kept people who boarded last, one through each door just as they were closing. He wasn’t entirely up on Notosian fashion, but their clothes were too well-kept and modern compared to the other locals who had just gotten on. He pretended to continue studying the advertising and noticed all three making extensive glances at him as they took positions that could easily cover the doors they entered through.
Talbot continued to look more and more relaxed, almost closing his eyes out of boredom now. Clay’s heart picked up pace. He knew he’d been made.
Within seconds, Ness was back in his ear.
“Bad news, Clay,” Ness said. “Mother Eye has it out for you. There’s been a correction.”
“I noticed,” he said softly so only she could hear it.
“Your face is now flagged on every net on the planet, along with a vid of you stabbing Nils Hoefer. You’ll be ID’ed and grabbed the second you step off that train. I’m heading to the transit station at Ataranikko. That’s three stops. Just stay put until you hear from me.”
“Ness, I don’t need rescuing. The datarod must be with either Venter or Talbot. Stay on target. I can handle this.”
“You’re the boss,” came the reply.
It was far from the first time Clay had been in such a situation, and he was beginning to question Division 5’s choice for in-system handlers. Maybe options were limited on Notosia, but he had to believe there wasn’t at least one person who knew how the job was supposed to work.
The immediate problem was getting off the train and away from the local constabulary. Clay waited patiently as they approached the next stop, studying the passengers getting on and watching the stoic, disinterested reaction from the officers sent to bring him in. Their eyes kept moving from him to Talbot, who seemed unaware of his surroundings and oblivious to the drama unfolding around him.
Finally, Clay caught his break. As a woman walked in, she practically tripped and landed in Talbot’s lap, who caught her, helped her back to her feet, and fixed her with an annoyed glare. She continued to the back of the car, where Clay magnanimously stood up and offered her his seat. As she slid past him, he turned his back to the three security officers watching him and fingered a datapad from her bag. Before he turned around again, he’d shoved it into the folds of his coat. It was a risky gamble making a lift like that with four people watching from different angles, but it was all he had to work with.
He looked nervously around the car for several minutes, paying particular care to Talbot’s and the security officers’ reactions. As the display announced three minutes to the next stop, he dialed up his expression, looking nervously between the woman and Talbot.
“What?” the woman demanded. “Is something wrong?”
“Ma’am,” he whispered, “I hate to tell you, but I think that man you bumped into took something out of your bag here.”
The woman instantly opened the bag and began fumbling through it. “That lowlife! My datapad!” She stood up and started moving forward through the car, screaming the entire way. “You! You stole my datapad!” She reared her full height as she confronted Talbot, who instinctively tried to sink into his seat. Now, on full alert, the officers shifted their gaze between the confrontation, each other, and Clay, standing near the rear exit.
The moment the train stopped, Clay pushed past the crowd and leaped onto the loading platform. Behind him, he heard the shouts of the security officers as he quickly got his bearings, found the exit, and ran at a full sprint through the crowd of boarding passengers.
In the commotion behind him, he pieced together that only two of three officers had managed to get off the train. Curses and rapidly turning heads told him exactly how far behind him they were. He picked up his pace, hitting the stairs to street level two at a time, only taking the chance to glance back when he finally reached the top. He could not make out any of the officers with a glance but saw several people off-balance halfway up the stairs behind him. Despite his best effort, they were getting closer.
He darted across the street, pushing through the crowds, only now becoming aware of the aching in his lungs. While in excellent shape, it was always a challenge to account for the minute differences in gravity and atmospheric composition on different planets. In this case, he decided he may have underestimated the uncompromising nature of Notosia entirely.
To his right, he caught a public plaza similar to the frozen marketplace he had visited earlier that morning. The only differences were that the clientele and merchandise were more upscale, and the blinding sunlight was not nearly as intense. He instinctively ran towards the largest congregation of people as his breathing became more desperate. This was not a time to escape through sheer fortitude.
The crowd had stopped moving, as most people were suddenly transfixed by a street illusionist who appeared to be pulling objects out of thin air to the cheers and applause of those assembled. In the distance, he heard the alert tones of police aircars approaching over the rooftops and converging on the plaza, then suddenly stopping, turning back, and landing on the outskirts. They were forming a perimeter. Such a tactic would normally make sense, depending on the perimeter size. Given the number of people, the number of points of egress, and the size of the crowds they would have to scrutinize, Clay was convinced this one played to his advantage.
His confidence fell as he heard the loud, intimidating sounds of repulsors scream over the rooftops and into the heart of the plaza. Two black airbusses bearing government seals immediately descended without regard for the people in the streets where they were determined to land. Compared to the other aircars he’d seen on Notosia, these engines were tuned to be unusually loud and, therefore, could serve only one purpose. Intimidation.
He had to keep moving.
The airbusses did not power down their repulsors after touching down. Instead, they belched out a dozen black-armor-clad Tokusha officers bearing shock sticks and plazers, who immediately began interrogating the bystanders they had almost crushed seconds earlier. Clay watched as the average citizen immediately began walking for the plaza exits, preferring to take their chances with the police perimeter; the smart ones were running. It was the brave ones who held their ground, acting as if nothing was happening and confident that they had nothing to fear from Prevo’s private police force.
He had seen and done his share of violence in his years in the business. He never liked it, but he never shied away from it. Watching government officials hit civilians with shock sticks or the butts of plasers simply for not moving out of the way fast enough or not being respectful when asked a question turned his stomach. This planet was insane, and he found it difficult to watch. Women and children were pushed to the ground or stunned. Men who objected where rounded up at gunpoint, no doubt to later be taken from the plaza in restraints. Unlike the under-funded police department, who couldn’t always be trusted, Prevo’s Tokusha were certain to have optical implants tied to the domestic surveillance net. Clay, stuck with a crowd of people calmly heading for the police perimeter, knew he had only seconds before he was detected. He needed a way out of the plaza fast.
Hoverdrones circled the central plaza, and the main thoroughfares were too wide open and closely monitored by vidcams to afford good cover. Instead, he confirmed the absence of power signatures down one of the dimly lit alleyways between two taller buildings. The moment he entered, he removed his brown coat and deposited it, along with the pilfered datapad, into the first chute he passed, then continued deeper into the alley.
The sun was setting rapidly, and the only light was coming from a loading dock up ahead. Clay activated the light enhancement and telescopic features of his ocular implant and saw two men on the platform loading crates of scrap into a refuse hauler. He could barely make out the ID badge on one of their waists at maximum magnification.
“Hey, Morgan,” Clay shouted as he jogged the last few meters towards the dock.
The worker turned and looked at him, puzzled. “Yeah?”
“They need you up in the office. I’ll finish this up for you.”
Morgan smirked, then turned and walked back into the building. Clay climbed onto the dock, grabbed the closest crate, and tossed it into the back. He scanned the alley and found no sign the authorities were still pursuing him. The vidcams were operating, but he should be safe as long as he stayed in the general area of the dock.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the other dock worker said matter-of-factly as he handed Clay another crate of scrap.
Clay shrugged. “I normally do maintenance on the transport. Just got bumped up to line engineer here in the warehouse.”
“Oh, okay,” the man thought momentarily, which made Clay’s heart sink. “So, you’re working for Tully then?”
“I don’t know a Tully. I was told I’d be working for Mintz, but I suppose that could be a screwup by some bean counter at corporate.”
“Yeah, I don’t know a Mintz around here unless they mean Wentz, but he’s in assembly, not engineering.”
“I’m sure they’ll straighten it out soon. Meantime, I’m just tryin’ to look busy, ya know? Tell you what, I think I can finish all this off if you want to take a break.”
“Yeah, sure, thanks. I guess I’ll see you around.” The man started to leave but turned back, “Hey, a friendly word of advice. Don’t kill yourself trying to invent work like that. If they messed up the duty roster, it’s not your job to look busy.”
Clay said nothing but continued to load the crates, pressing the hatch close button and leaping over them into the back of the hauler just before the rear door slammed. Within seconds, he heard the repulsors fire up and the sensation of moving.
He carefully climbed on top of the crates and waited, making sure the rear hatch was accessible from his position. As soon as they made the first stop out of the area, he would open it and jump out. After that, he should be home-free.
In the distance, he heard police aircars with their attention tones still circling the plaza, and he felt the transport stop at what was most likely the checkpoint exiting the perimeter. Muffled voices argued at the front of the hauler, and then there was the sensation of movement again.
He waited several minutes after the alert tones subsided until he heard no other sounds, traffic, or noises outside the hauler, then risked a look around. The manual door latch creaked in defiance as he pulled on it. Finally, it gave, causing the hatch to instantly spring open with a loud hiss and a blast of cold air. The density of the buildings in the part of the city they were in was much sparser and eventually gave way to a large area of factories and featureless industrial complexes. He also noted that the sun was setting, and none of the structures were illuminated. This was a dead area of town.
The hauler abruptly began picking up speed and altitude, and the last factories had given way to natural terrain. This was not good. He was already several dozen meters off the ground and climbing as the city lights shrank into the distance. The bitter sting of the winter air was already infiltrating the compartment, and he regretted throwing his coat away with the ill-gotten datapad back in the alley.
He decided to take the risk now rather than wait until he was in danger and half-frozen. He climbed to the front of the hauler and slid back the access panel to the pilot’s compartment. Once there, he tapped gingerly on the transparent hatch, staying well back in the event the pilot was armed and preferred to shoot uninvited guests.
“Excuse me, buddy. I seem to be trapped on board. Would you be willing to set down and let me off?”
There was no answer.
Clay stretched forward and peered into the compartment. There were no lights, no controls, and, most importantly, no pilot to be seen. The hauler was completely automated and continued to climb in the freezing night air.
Clay considered his options. The hauler would have to land somewhere. He could depart at that point and find another means back to the city or stay put and wait for the hauler to begin its next run, assuming he didn’t freeze to death first. These were not ideal options, and they were compounded by the fact that he suddenly saw they were leaving land, and he was now flying on the back of a hauler several hundred meters above the ocean.
It was time to swallow his pride. He tapped his com. “Ness? Are you there?”
“Go ahead, Clay,” her voice crackled. They were near the edge of the comm’s range.
“Okay, I lied. I need an extraction quickly.”
“What?! I’ve got the girl in my sights, Clay. This might be our last easy shot to get the datarod. Are you sure you want me to break off now?”
“I have no idea where I’m headed, but it probably isn’t going to end well if you don’t come get me off this thing.”
“What thing?”
“I’m in the back of a refuse hauler. We seem to have left the city and are flying over the ocean.”
Ness stifled a laugh. “In the back of a … wait … how did you … never mind.” She flipped the scanners on and ran a trace on Clay’s signal. “Okay, I’ve got you, and I’m en route, but you’re going at a pretty good clip. IP in about 35 minutes if I push her into the red. I just wish you’d called sooner.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you will feel a falling sensation in about seventeen minutes. This will be the Tahmo Island landfill. There’s no stable surface to land on, so those haulers fly over and dump their cargo, so be sure to try rolling when you fall. Oh, and try not to breathe too much of the air or get near the water. The whole place is extremely toxic.”
Clay felt the aircar gradually descend as he busied himself, clearing out one of the larger crates. It was made of durable but lightweight plastene and just large enough to hold him and protect him from all but the sharpest objects when he hit the ground. He climbed in, pulled the lid down, and assumed a bracing position with his head between his knees and his arms holding the sides to keep him from bouncing around too much.
Surprisingly, it was the warmest he’d been in the past hour, for which he was grateful. Unfortunately, this was ruined by what would soon be the unwelcome anticipation of instantly falling an unknown distance to impact with what he hoped would be solid and sturdy ground, not a watery grave or a mountain of jagged, spiky metal.
Abruptly, the hauler’s repulsors changed pitch, and he felt the craft coming to a stop. Then gravity seemed to shift forward, only to suddenly disappear altogether as he entered freefall for what seemed like an eternity. He would have counted the seconds, but near panic had instantly removed any perception of time for him. He only knew the longer he fell, the greater the chance it would be to his death.
Finally, there was a crashing sound and an impact that knocked the wind out of him. He felt himself tumbling, continuing to bang into the sides of the crate for several more seconds. Eventually, the tumbling slowed, and he rested upside-down on his head. His entire body ached from the ordeal, and he was pretty sure he’d broken his collarbone.
“Ness, are you there?” He fumbled in the darkness for the comm unit but couldn’t find it. The crate was beginning to get stuffy, and he was still upside-down and lying on the lid. If the comm was destroyed and his crate was buried under a mountain of scrap, then rescue was unlikely, and this would be his coffin.
He struggled to rock back and forth and was relieved to feel the crate moving freely. Eventually, he toppled it over on his side and opened the lid. Instantly, a flood of rancid, ice-cold liquid industrial waste rushed in with the sub-zero blast of night air. He rolled out of the crate into a deep puddle and forced himself to sit up. Clouds obscured the moons, making the island almost entirely dark, and the only sound was the unrelenting wind and the crashing waves on the jagged metal shore. His ocular implant identified two dozen different chemical compounds in the air and indicated that his enhanced bio-filters could not counter this for more than an hour or so before his bloodstream became terminally compromised. After a few minutes, his throat was scratchy, and his lungs began to burn. He tried to stand up, but a twisted ankle and unsure footing made him settle for sitting on top of the crate, admiring the stars.
An eternity of fifteen minutes later, he saw the lights of Ness’ aircar low over the ocean.
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