“There,” gestured Fenli.
Miko turned. A depot ranged up ahead. They scrambled up a short flight of steps; Miko could not help but see blood dripping from Fenli’s side pocket where the Sergeant’s finger was cached.
The tram station had come out in an echoing stone pavilion with a high dome. The place was teeming with people; from the look of them, traders and civilians of many races. The bright lights pained their eyes. Some sort of public place, Miko concluded. Tall screens of data blasted information at them—ads, announcements, excerpts from videos. These were the Skullroxers’ electronic-holo billboards.
Fenli hustled toward a cargo storage outlet and queued up before a tall machine that looked similar to the one in the detention bay. Miko and Usk trailed warily behind him.
Miko’s eyes blinked in amazement at the sights. Colours and smells assaulted his senses. A wall of raw sound hit his ears. He was dumbfounded that they had not been apprehended by Skullrox security. But then again, how would they know they were here? If anything, they should expect a Jakru assault.
Fenli gave a triumphant cry. “Look, Skullrox is one of those live and let live places where sin and debauchery are the watchwords. I told you! The Skullroxers are a bunch of cowboys. They are descendants of rogues and gangsters. Back in the old days, outcasts would come to this planet to escape the law on their own worlds. Lovers of the Mentera, they are not.”
“Mentera?”
“The ‘Locusts’, or suckbugs. Some call them the Ligin. I was thinking it would be the last we’d see our friend Usk. And here he is...” He patted the locust on the carapace, causing the creature no small amount of annoyance.
Usk jerked away, Miko guessed less from distrust but more from the fact that he hated to be touched by humans. The locust’s sudden recoil drew startled looks amongst the millers-about, but not undue attention. Skullrox was a universal port of call. There were many offworld races present. Miko could hardly count the number of shaggy Caluses and sleek Borthes he saw: the Borthes had that do-no-wrong statesmen-like expression of ocean seals, the Caluses were more warrior- and ape-like than Miko would have expected. Also conspicuous were tall lean Phenodeans with grey-green cone caps and elaborate headdresses, and a few dour-faced Dimors. Many scanned the electronic billboards or booked surface cars or air tram to outlying areas.
Fenli was up next. He plugged the blue disc into the machine. The machine stood ten feet high like one of the old telephone booths of Earth. Casually, he withdrew Salhan’s bloody finger and swiped it across a black metal plate: the holographic image of the Jakru woman came up, floating in her tank. Her expression was one of grim vindictiveness.
Fenli gave a hiss which turned into a chortle of triumph. “Ha, bonsai!”
“What are you doing?” croaked Miko.
Fenli clicked transfer, and an automated voice crackled out: “You will have to create a free account.”
“No problem,” Fenli muttered. He punched in a series of numbers and turned some dials. The console blinked in rapid succession, waiting for name and finger scan.
“Now we can call her up again when we want,” Fenli informed Miko. “That bastard Salhan will not have his prize. My payback and revenge on him for roughing me up.” He flung the bloody finger into a garbage receptacle to the side. “There!” A sucking sound ensued and a whoosh of air and the evidence was destroyed.
Miko’s jaw sagged. “She’s in that virtual maze.”
“Not virtual, only the interface. She’s stored somewhere for real. Remember, this is a traders’ town. Everybody is wanting to sell, trade and barter goods. ‘Instastore’ is the platform or technology to support it.”
“How does it work?”
“Beats me. Holo-digital splicing. But I suspect all these tubes and pipes have something to do with it too.”
“But why is it free?”
Fenli shrugged. “Why not? The profits that hotels, bars and other business get from domestic transactions and outworld traffic is huge. It rebounds to the Skullroxers.”
Fenli pushed some more dials and Miko watched in amazement as the machine spat out a green disc the size of his fingernail. Fenli happily pocketed it. “This machine and many like it across the city accept any cargo. They will store or ship it to any destination. One of the main innovations of this planet. A free service, as I say; all the unicoin and tokens they get for follow-up transactions in return makes it worthwhile. Even the military and custom and excise people use it. With the added security of eye or fingerprint scanning, of course.”
“It’s obviously not secure enough,” muttered Miko, peering idly at the receptacle that had swallowed Salhan’s finger. A sudden image of the blood aboard the battered locust craft caused him to shudder. “Can’t say as I’m sorry to see the last of that heap of trash of a locust vessel.”
Fenli sniffed. “Relax. Forget it, the past is done.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
“We take a stroll down ‘decrepit lane’ to my special haunts.”
“We’re dead men as long as we linger on this world,” commented Miko.
“In order to escape, we need money,” Fenli grunted. “We pawn her off and scram.”
“No way, you can’t.”
“We can and will. Do you want to alert the whole borough? Quiet! You’ll get us arrested,” he hissed. “I don’t doubt the Skullroxers are lawless, but they’re not that stupid. Listen, we draw some marks in, soak them for some spoils, send an anonymous message to the authorities about a woman in a tank, then we fly the coop.”
Miko remained obstinate. “We have to let her out of this cage at some time.”
“Why?”
“Suppose we never return? Then what?”
Fenli gasped in exasperation. “You worry too much, Miko! A bird in the cage
