Mathias smiled. “Bring the extra supplies aboard, Kaymis. Alert Goss regarding the usual security protocols. The shipment will be put to good use swiftly—it must reach my labs by tomorrow. We have room for it here.” Mathias chewed his lip. It would take several days for his ships to get out here and transport the main shipments back to Phallanor to his main labs. Work must be underway asap.
Kaymis nodded and left Mathias’s private chamber.
* * *
Well-cloaked in his stealth Orb, thousands of kilometres away from Mathias’s yacht, subcommander Krin intercepted Mathias’s private transmissions and with a console-mounted device translated the alien words into something he could understand.
He turned to Bral, his assistant who had been with him since the Orb fiasco. “Be sure to give ‘ambassador’ Chagin a warm welcome. Let’s prepare a little surprise for our skurg Mathias.”
Bral emitted a sardonic chitter. “Overseer Vngbrug requests to be part of the ops.”
Krin twitched, unnerved at mention of Vngbrug’s name. “On second thought, I will go down personally to be part of this mission.” A devious plan was already forming in Krin’s mind.
Vngbrug arrived at that moment, overhearing plans of the operation. His upper motilator reached out to call in the new development.
Krin stayed the overseer’s tentacle. “We can handle this with our own resources.”
“I think not,” growled Vngbrug, twisting free from Krin’s grip. “We call in backup. I demand it.”
A moment of deadly silence passed between the two. Krin’s tentacles writhed. “Your call, overseer.”
So did Krin contain his rage. The gurkuk was hovering on the border of becoming a serious nuisance, one that would have to be curtailed sooner rather than later.
* * *
For Yul, the roads quickly became dirt tracks through drab unwooded countryside. Weeds abounded in the makeshift, shallow ditches, crudely trenched. Dark and derelict buildings loomed behind steel fences on large, mostly deserted lots. A noisy, battered vehicle clattered closer and Yul quickly hopped the ditch and crouched in the weedy shadows. A flatbed truck carrying cylindrical objects, coils wrapped in clear plastic and rolls of packaged cables passed, spewing noxious fumes. An old hybrid vehicle. No other traffic came. The area was unnaturally quiet.
Namith’s moonless sky was dark but for a scattering of stars. Yul could see the lights of a fenced service yard ahead—should be Hresh’s, if the coordinate readings were accurate. Assorted vehicles were parked there: transport trucks and low-backed pickups, the halogen glow of lamps reflecting off their sleek, gunmetal sides. Some were badly dented and others had odd-sized wheels, the rubber cracked on their edges. A front? He observed other buildings behind the main octagonal one with flat roofs. Large ones—he could not tell how far back they went in the murk. Possibly some underground operations going on there.
Yul checked his gear: his ion blaster AV9, his long bowie knife, circle-vision collar and mini camera, also a small pistol for good measure—more a trank gun with two settings, stun and full sting. It could prove fatal if it struck vitals. His weapon of choice was the ionblaster, minted 4035, loaded and locked.
He snapped the circle-vision about his neck, an extra set of electronic eyes, allowing Mathias to see what he saw in 360 degree vision. The edges rested on his collarbones, manifesting a light pressure. He pressed the ‘live’ button. A switch on the other side turned off video and allowed him to take stills of whatever was in range. He also checked the key code card Mathias had given him at the last minute. It seemed sound; if it tripped an alarm, things could get ugly. The circle-vision’s cam eyes were sending feeds back to Mathias in real-time so the bastard could see what was going on from all angles, provided the trans-light network was open, operating and active.
He tugged his black cap down over his brow and donned his night-vision glasses. He wore dark padding underneath a Kevlar vest, effective for grazing blasts and minimal force, but no deterrent for serious blasts. Nighttime insects chirped away, of which he took little notice. He scaled the wired fence, his army-issue clothing protecting him from any electric shock.
The patter of claws on tarmac alerted his ears. He turned to the baying of hounds. Crouching, he held his breath, lifted his trank gun as the first of the salivating beasts came charging at him. All fell in writhing heaps, then lay still. He walked over, nudged one with his toe. Its red tongue lolled from a fang-filled maw. They’d be out for 3-6 hours. Not enough time to raise suspicion. He hoped. Plenty of time for him to do his sleuthing and be back out over the fence before anyone detected his presence. Get in, get the footage, get out...
He crept up to the side entrance across the weed-cracked asphalt, casually inserting Mathias’s card in the reader. He’d be on camera, but with his black cap and dark glasses, the security system’s monitor would be hard-pressed to ID him. The door opened slowly inward. Yul slipped inside.
A twitching unease grew in his gut. Of bad things to come. It would be worse, he knew, to oppose Mathias.
He blinked in the half-lift corridor that gave way to a spacious depot. Nothing but old junk here. Sybcore was a company that prided itself in stocking ancient android parts for replacement parts. He smeared his cheeks with charcoal and moved forward on the balls of his feet. There was something distinctly sinister about Hresh’s warehouse.
