Everything looked as it should for a robotics part distributor, but Yul felt in his marrow there was something not on the up-and-up about this place. Why use a junk storage depot as a front? Were such components illegal tech? Where were they taking them?
One last recon for that bastard Mathias: an exploration of the ship, then he’d make himself scarce.
Skirting crates, Yul looked up to see the gunmetal grey ship towering over him. He’d seen ships like this before, bulky, toad-like shapes of huge cargo-hauling capacity, older models which he couldn’t quite name.
Overhead, the ceiling ran up over a hundred feet. He needed to move fast and with caution. One quick run-through the ship and he’d quit this place. Nothing more of significance to see here. Too risky for in-depth reconnaissance. His cover was blown. There were the guard dogs patrolling the yard.
He skulked around the side of the ship, using some parked loaders as shields. He dipped into a ship’s service entryway. The cramped corridor connected to the open cargo bay where he’d have to be on guard for hostiles.
Dim amber light streamed down from a source within the corridor. Navigating by the light source, he saw a steel bulkhead ahead—a dead end. Heavy cables ran along the walls where they met the ceiling, along with electrical equipment, scanners.
Yul looked back. The adjoining cargo bay within the ship was huge. More crates hauled by loaders, mechno-drays, and men wielding trolleys, were stacked against the far wall. Yul snuck forth, using his knife to jimmy open the lids of certain crates in his vicinity, discovered electrical tools, expensive lab equipment, weapons, oxygen tanks.
He made a wide sweep with his collar so that Mathias could get a better look at what was being loaded into the hold. Just as he was about to backtrack to the depot, a deep voice boomed out at him from the shadows. “Hold up! Where you think you’re going, boss?” The man trained his weapon on him, a sleek 6-inch Obviator.
Yul shrugged. “Eugene sent me to check.”
“Who the fuck’s Eugene? Check on what? I’m the watchman here.”
“Eugene from security. Somebody’s breached the warehouse, didn’t you hear?”
The man’s brows rose and that split second gave Yul opportunity to lurch forward, elbow the man in the guts and twist the weapon out of his grasp, breaking the wrist. Bones snapped. The man squawked, but was silenced as a steel fist pounded on his back and sent him sprawling face first on the metal floor.
Yul’s heart pounded. He crouched low, hoping no one had heard.
No footsteps or voices.
Close. One slip and he would have been rat bait.
The man lay at his feet, a limp rag, likely dead. He listened for followup activity. None. Apparently nobody had heard the man’s cry. Good. He hurried back down the ship’s companionway, wanting to get out of this tin can. Yul winced. The workers and draysmen were moving closer, blocking his exit. Dumb bastards. No easy way to sneak past them without being seen. He could try to make a break for it, but at considerable risk. For the moment, he was trapped.
Yul turned back toward the dim companionway, the glow casting a gleam on his steel fingers. Hearing the sound of men’s muffled laughter ahead, he paused. It was clear if he moved up there, he’d bump into some other nosy shiphand. Yet he couldn’t backtrack and risk the loading men seeing him. Gritting his teeth, he waited, crouched on the balls of his feet beside a ventilation shaft. There were some lockers nearby. The sprawled body was a liability and he dragged the limp figure into one of them.
Now the workers were coming into the bays, loading foodstuffs down the companionway. Yul tucked himself into an adjoining locker and pulled the door shut.
No sooner had he done so when the tramp of feet came closer. An authoritative voice snapped, “Denga, where’s Hagran?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
Another quipped, “He’s probably stepped out for a swig.”
“We leave at 0100 for Remus in the Dim Zone,” said the first man. “If he’s not back, we leave without him and he’s fired.”
“Roger that.”
Yul gnawed the knuckles of his good hand, squeezed deeper into his hiding place. Dim-fucking-Zone? Could this be for real? Mathias was not joking about Hresh having liaisons out there. But why?
There was no bloody way he’d be forced back to that no-man’s land.
The footsteps stopped with the clink of the bulkhead door closing and the whoosh of air.
Yul waited some time before he eased open the locker’s door, enough to glimpse a stealthy figure creeping up toward the bulkhead. This was no patrolman. Neither the garb nor the poise for one. He burst out, caught the figure in his grip and disarmed her of her weapon. His knife flashed millimetres from her throat.
“Who the fuck are you?”
She gazed at him with curious surprise. “I’m Cloye. Backup, in case you fail.”
He sized her up, her intent, cougarish gaze. Her black, skin-tight assassin’s garb so easily blending into the shadows. “Yeah, like my ass you are. You’re Mathias’s goon, here to watch me and kill me, if he orders it.”
She shrugged. Her face, picture-perfect, remained deadpan. Her amber hair fell loosely over her broad-cheeked features, her face a growing sullen knot...Tight, anti-ion garb did not discredit her figure.
She twisted away from his grip as fast and easily as a snake. That movement showed the perfect contours of her cleavage, her breasts heaving.
Yul grinned unpleasantly. At least the woman was honest, but quick, and dangerous. He motioned her to the locker. “Hide in here. Quick! I don’t want you giving me away. You’ll be lucky if they don’t kill you on sight.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Like the way you did a few seconds ago with my knife
