Jumper's Hope: Central Galactic Concordance Book 4 Page 23

  Kerzanna chuckled. “Mine is no better. I nearly dragged you into the nearest closet a couple of times on the Faraón, even though we were in exosuits, and supposedly hated each other, and each time, something else would go wrong with the ship systems, or Bhatta needed me.” She snorted. “And when we finally got to the joy palace and a bed big enough for six, I slept twenty-one hours straight, when I could have been hot-connecting with you, telling you how much you mean to me.”

  “You needed the rest more.” He quirked a smile. “Besides, Bhatta’s new cats would have probably tried to help.”

  She laughed and kissed his smooth chin. “So what’s this thing we have to take care of?”

  Jess’s eyes gleamed sharply. “Data retrieval.”

  CHAPTER 28

  * Planet: Mabingion * GDAT: 3242.024 *

  THE REMAINS OF an excellent delivered dinner had been cleared, and Dixon surveyed his staff with satisfaction. Sachin, Vahan, and Xan sat at the rented townhouse’s dining table, watching him attentively. Lamis settled weakened Georgie and his favorite percomp tablet into the soft chair they’d dragged in for him, since he was still recovering from his self-induced trip to hell, then went back to her chair at the table. Renner stood near the arched room divider with arms crossed, muscles bulging, looking angry as always. A rivulet of red blood dripped slowly from his neck.

  Only two problems vexed Dixon at the moment. The first he could fix easily. He beckoned to Renner. “Come, Rexium.” He pointed to the floor. “Down.” It was amusing to tease Renner by calling him popular names for attack dogs. The staff liked the levity that nicknames brought.

  Renner stalked toward Dixon, then stopped a meter in front of him, turned, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head forward. Dixon had gotten so used to Renner’s bad temper that he no longer even noticed. He pressed today’s correct sequence to loosen Renner’s collar to its maximum circumference. He patted Renner on the head and smiled. “Good dog.”

  Renner got to his feet and moved back to his place. The man had done well this trip. Perhaps Dixon should reward him with a visit to one of the galaxy-famous Ridderth body shops to change his look again. Skin the color of ebony and predator-red eyes, maybe, and a bit taller but a little less muscular. He made a mental note to sketch some body art designs. He’d have to work around the neck scars, of course, because the collar couldn’t come off.

  Dixon’s other vexing problem was the disappearance of his pet sifter, Zerrell. He’d been so preoccupied that he hadn’t noticed Zerrell’s lack of contact until that morning, and Xan said he wasn’t in Xan’s ninety-kilometer range. The man could be hurt or dead, or he could be betraying Dixon’s trust and running. He’d give the man until midnight to ping, but after that, Dixon would have no choice but to shatter Zerrell’s career and family. Dixon would lose the respect of the rest of his staff if he started playing favorites.

  “Ms. Sachin, please tell us what you found out about the crew that contacted you with Orowitz.”

  “Their prime lines of business are enforcement and construction graft, forced insurance, and wetwork on the side,” she said. “The chief is Wutala.”

  Renner looked startled. “Gezi Wutala?”

  Sachin nodded. “That’s her. She picked up the pieces after a bloody coup about eight years ago, and has expanded their operations and areas of interest since then.”

  Something clicked in Dixon’s head, and the memory that had been hovering just out of reach for days finally surfaced. “Did you know her, Mr. Renner? Back when you grew up here?” If he’d remembered that earlier, he might have watched Renner more closely, but no harm done. Renner’s original past was dead and cremated long ago.

  Renner’s expression settled back into barely contained rage. “I knew of her. She was a pain specialist. Giving and receiving.” He gave Dixon a pointed look. “I wouldn’t cross her. She gets off on violence.”

  Dixon didn’t need to be told how to deal with criminals. He hid his irritation behind a pleasant smile. “If she delivers the package, I’ll pay in full.” He would, too, even though the crew had demanded an excessive finder and delivery fees on top of the reward. He needed to wrap up the loose ends and move on to the next project he had in mind. He’d already booked an appointment with the new CPS base administrator to present his idea. He was fed up with working on other people’s doomed programs and carrying the weight of poorer performers.

  Lamis had already sent the delivery details to the staff, and printed out a version for Renner, who had once again managed to fry his percomp. He gave his staff their assignments and told them not to leave the townhouse until it was time.

  At close to midnight, Dixon’s determined good humor was nearly iced. His staff members were sniping at each other. Renner had twice offered unasked-for advice about how to handle the package transfer. Zerrell still hadn’t surfaced. And to top it off, the crew’s delivery was three hours late and counting.

  Finally, finally, the ping arrived that said the crew would be at the warehouse in ten minutes.

  “The Solstice Day present is here,” he announced gleefully. He stood and grabbed his coat from a hook near the front entry. “Let’s go, people.”

  Renner opened his mouth to say something, but Dixon cut him off. “I don’t need you to tell me how to handle thugs. I was an assignments officer in the criminal restitution system before you were even born.” He started to reach for the door, then turned back to Renner. “You know what? Change of plan. You stay here with Georgie, Xan, and Lamis until we need them, and Vahan will come with us instead.”

  Dixon ignored Renner’s thunderous glare. “Vahan, get my beamer from the bag in my room. A little extra firepower won’t hurt.”

  Vahan nodded and bounded up the stairs two at a time. By the time she returned, Sachin had armed herself with a stunner and a mister, in addition to the forceblade she usually carried. Dixon pocketed the beamer, wishing now that he’d replaced the outrageously expensive but unstoppable Davydov beamer that had been destroyed nine months ago. He nodded approvingly as Vahan expertly checked her beam rifle, then slung its strap over her shoulder and concealed it under her cloak. He had to admit she was settling in nicely, and decided he would keep her. He could gladly accommodate her fondness for watching things go up in flames, and maybe even sell her arson skills to replenish his slush fund.

  “Lamis, if Mr. Zerrell should decide to grace us with his presence, have him wait here, then bring him when we call for you and Xan.”

  Dixon ignored Renner’s deeply disapproving look and opened the door to let Vahan and Sachin precede him.

  The walk down the block and around the corner to the warehouse was almost pleasant, for Ridderth. In this quasi-industrial district, the walkways were in good shape and well lit. And for the moment, delightfully dry.

  He frowned and stopped when he saw a small, paneled ground hauler parked halfway down the road near their warehouse doorway, and a long-coated, hooded figure leaning against the wall. “Ms. Sachin, please find out why our package isn’t being delivered by medevac capsule as promised.”

  Vahan stayed with him while Sachin continued walking, hand in her pocket. After a brief exchange, she came back halfway. The streetlights made her mottled skin look downright eerie. “The package was too tall to fit in the capsule. They had trouble getting the capsule in the first place, and didn’t want to make you wait for another one.”

  “Very well, proceed.” Dixon could believe they’d had trouble. Orowitz towered over everyone except Jumpers.

  Sachin opened the big warehouse door, and the hauler backed in. Sachin closed the big door just as he and Vahan entered through the normal door.

  The long-coated driver turned out to be a tall Oriental woman with raised pictograph tattoos where her hair should be and studs for eyebrows. Two more long-coated men lifted an invalid’s gravchair out of the back of the hauler and set it on the floor of the warehouse. The gravchair’s occupant was covered in an ash-gray religious purity cloak and a
full-face hood. Straps held the body up, but the head lolled forward.

  “Authorize payment, please.” The driver held out a portable display.

  Dixon gave her a relaxed, professional smile. “Show us what’s under the lovely gift wrap, and we will.”

  The driver nodded to one of the men, who untied the hood and pulled it off. The head was unexpectedly bald and light bronze.

  “Face, please.” Uneasiness curled in Dixon’s stomach.

  The man with the hood put his hand under the chin of the bald man and lifted. The unconscious face wasn’t remotely familiar. The man let the head drop.

  “Payment, please.” The driver held out her portable display with more force.

  “That doesn’t look like my order.” Dixon hated when people tried to cheat him. “I’ll need biometric confirmation.”

  “Biometric matches.” The driver stabbed a finger toward Sachin. “Ghost woman confirmed and approved the order.”

  Sachin shook her head. “The image you sent wasn’t of this man. This is the wrong package.”

  The driver stabbed at her display, and then turned it to show Dixon. In a photo taken from a high vantage point, the bald man leaned against the wall of an office door that said “Yujimu Full Body Artistry.”

  Sachin raised her arm and activated her percomp, then showed a holograph of the face and shoulders of Orowitz, with his brown skin, black hair, and mismatched eyes. “You sent this.” She tilted her head toward the gravchair. “It’s not him. If he’s had a makeover, we need biometric confirmation.”

  Suddenly, the images in both devices began to morph from pictures of two very different men into the same photo of a young, pretty, green-eyed Chinese girl wearing an old-fashioned double-helix-style decoration in her black hair. Sachin and the driver stared at the images in consternation.

  The driver’s “What trick is this?” overlapped with Sachin’s “Who the fuck is that?”

  “My sister,” said the man in the gravchair, who was no longer unconscious and was glaring at Dixon with naked hatred. “You killed her.”

  Dixon started to order Vahan to shoot him, but suddenly, energy beams stabbed the air and Dixon had to dive and roll for the cover of the table. By the time he could look again, one of the two men by the gravchair was down, and Vahan was trading shots with the other man and the driver from around the ground hauler.

  The man in the gravchair glared at Sachin, who was staring back in terror. “No, no, no!”

  Dixon drew his beamer and shot the bronzed-skin man in the center of his chest. The cloak burned away, revealing flexin armor underneath. The man’s gloved hand raised a beamer, and Dixon ducked back behind the beam-proof table just in time to avoid losing an ear.

  Time to alter the playing field. He pushed back his sleeve to access the wrist gauntlet he wore and keyed a control. The charges he’d had Vahan install in the corners of the large warehouse door made satisfying explosions as they blew the door out into the roadway. That was the flash that covered the bang that opened the hidden back door of the warehouse. A woman’s voice cried out in pain, but he couldn’t stop to see if it was the driver or one of his people.

  “Sachin!” he yelled, pulling the table to shield him as he scooted toward his new exit. “Clean him and let’s go!”

  He risked a peek around the table. Sachin had dropped to one knee, and she was holding her ears, chanting, “Get out, get out, get out.”

  He took her at her word. He scrambled out of the doorway and into the back lot of the adjacent manufacturing plant. He used his beamer to melt through the gate’s lock, then ran as fast as he could through the alley. He had no idea who the crazy man was, but he was probably a minder, the equal of Sachin or better. Dixon tore around the corner and made a beeline for the townhouse’s front door.

  A whistling, whining sound was the only warning he had before the front of the building shook with the impact of an incendiary urban combat round. He stumbled backward and ducked behind a decorative pillar. The townhouse’s morphglass windows were shattered, but the scorched glass brick looked intact.

  An amplified woman’s voice boomed out and echoed off the walls.

  “Trying to leave without paying, Mr. David? Or is that Mr. Rodix?”

  “I’ll pay when you deliver the right package,” he shouted. Where the hell was the weapon mounted?

  “No, you’ve proven to be untrustworthy. Pay first, then we’ll deliver.” The woman laughed. “If the price is right, we’ll deliver the fucking Continental Governor of Ridderth.”

  Something metallic glinted on the roof of the building across the roadway. Too far away for his beamer. He needed to lure the attacking crew closer. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here,” he shouted. “I have several thousand in activated cashflow chips in the townhouse that I’ve saved for a rainy day. They’re yours as an inconvenience fee, and we can figure out what went wrong.”

  The woman laughed again. “I do love doing business with a reasonable man.”

  Two men and a woman emerged from the shadows of the alley across the roadway and stood, waiting. Dixon pocketed his beamer and moved into view slowly, his hands out, showing he wasn’t holding anything. The woman tilted her head toward the front of the townhouse. Dixon started walking, and after a moment, they followed suit.

  As he passed by the gaping window, Dixon hesitated. “I have a dog in the house. Please don’t shoot him.”

  “We aren’t monsters, Mr. David,” said the woman, clearly amused. Her black skin was the color of the night sky, with a winking constellation tattoo splayed across her very large, almost fully exposed breasts. “What kind of dog?”

  “Just a mutt. Found him in the street when he was a puppy.” Dixon gave her a little shrug of embarrassment. “Bitey little thing. No one claimed him, and I found I kind of liked having him around.”

  He reached for the door pad, then hesitated, showing her he was waiting for her permission. She nodded, and he pressed his palm against it. The door slid open. He stepped inside several steps. The front room was smoky, but undamaged, except for the glass.

  “Rexy?” Dixon called out. “These three nice people are friends of mine.” He looked up the stairs and whistled. “Come on down, Rexy.”

  • • • • •

  Renner knew they were in big trouble the moment whatever it was hit the front of the townhouse. He ordered Lamis and Xan to take Georgie out the back door and go to the all-night café on the next block. Georgie started to wail, but Xan grabbed hold of him telepathically and compelled him to be quiet and march. Lamis gave Renner one last look, then scurried out the door herself. He hoped Xan had enough self-preservation instinct to protect them all with his talent.

  Renner stood in the shadowed corner between the lift and the stairway and drew massive amounts of energy from all the sources he’d already found. It gathered on his skin like sharp pins and needles, wanting to be free, and he had to concentrate hard to keep it away from the collar and its lethal failsafes. The natural hair on his arms and legs charred and burned in tiny little puffs of smoke. He’d learned the hard way when he was young that pubic hair and his talent didn’t mix, so at least his armpits and genitals weren’t burning, too.

  He heard Dixon’s warning about the dog in the house, and sent tendrils out to locate the three similar-sized people with him. From the voice, at least one was a woman.

  “Rexy?” Dixon called out. “These three nice people are friends of mine.” He whistled. “Come on down, Rexy.” His tone turned to baby talk, like he sometimes used with Georgie. “They promised me they won’t shoot you with those nasty-looking stunners.”

  Renner appreciated the warning, but he’d already found all the power weapons and drained their energy, adding to his store. It hurt like hell to keep the power contained.

  “I guess the noise scared him,” said Dixon. “The cashflow chips are upstairs in the safe. Who’s coming?”

  “Stay alert, boys,” said the woman. “If I’m gone
longer than a couple of minutes, you know what to do.” The menace in the voice was unmistakable, and he realized it was Gezi Wutala herself. Back in his day, crew chiefs sat in their lairs and let the expendable crew—like him—do the dangerous work.

  Dixon kept Wutala talking as they walked up the stairs. The moment Renner figured they were out of sight, he edged out along the side of the stairs until he was close enough to the two enforcers to strike simultaneously. He didn’t have time to be subtle. He hit them with enough power to scramble their nervous systems and stop their hearts. He heard their bodies fall with soft thuds. He crossed stiffly to a blown out window, smashed glass crunching softly under his feet, and sent tendrils out, looking for more trouble. He found it in the form of two more enforcers. He lured them closer by using a bit of his power to make the glass walkway lighting flash like chaser lights on a marquee. He dropped both enforcers like he had the first two. Doing so expended most of his extra charge, making it less painful to move, but his skin was likely to be sore for days from talent overuse.

  He ran toward the back door and sent tendrils out, but found no signs of life. Just as he ran back toward the stairs, he heard a woman’s voice cry out in pain, followed by several thumps. His tendrils couldn’t tell him what was happening, and Wutala was too close to Dixon—anything Renner did to Wutala could hurt Dixon.

  More thumps and the sound of breaking glass, and then Dixon came pounding down the stairs, carrying his bag. “I threw her out the window. Where are–”

  Renner interrupted. “I sent Lamis, Xan, and Georgie to the diner up the block. No Zerrell.”

  “Fuck him.” Dixon grabbed the railing to swing himself around. “Back way?”

  “Clear.” Renner ran to the back door and slapped his palm on the pad to open the door.