A light switch on the side tempted me, but I resisted it. Others could come roaming about.
Crates and boxes of stuff lay stacked to the side. The lids of some I pried off to see weird things, looking like artifacts. Piles of them. Old technological junk, corroded batteries, wired circuits, strange bits of electrical panels, many half destroyed. But they didn’t look familiar. Could as easily’ve been telesat equipment for all I knew. Gutted ship parts? I poked about some more, becoming more puzzled by the second. Disappointed too. Why lock up all this junk?
A set of small crates, stacked two high, aroused my attention. One was set off from the others.
I shone my penlight in the topmost box. Three small, hand-sized objects like rings with a central disc lay in the bottom of the packed cellophane. Curiosity whetted, I reached for the first. It looked like hyperized barsol, like what they made ship hulls out of. When my fingers were about to make contact, it pulsed with peculiar iridescence, like the colors of a butterfly’s wings. I’m thinking it might have been something important, the way it swirled with all those alien colors, like chameleons’ scales, so I wrapped the cellophane around it, tucked it into my kit, not thinking of any consequences.
Here, by the wall, stood a pair of devices, U-shaped, with waist-high parallel plates set a few feet apart. The things were balanced on black bases. I studied those plates. Circular designs like sucker marks inscribed their insides—alien tech by the look of it—with squiggles etched between its pale ribs. A chill passed over my spine.
Something warned me that this was even more important. I dragged the first parallel-plate device out back to the flatbed. Lighter than I’d thought it’d be. Gingerly, I hefted it into the back and covered it with a tarp, then crept back to the room, thinking to grab the other one, when footsteps and the light scuff of a boot alerted me. I ducked down behind the truck’s rear tires.
Two guards, wearing black and white caps pushed down over their short-cut hair, came inching up to the door from the other direction. I could see they wore black chest armor and hefted AKs with murderous ease. Truncheons bobbed at their hips. Their black boots made little noise on the concrete floor. One motioned to the other and they ducked into the room, creeping forward like weasels along the walls. One stayed low to the left, the other to the opposite wall. I could see the thinner one from the angle where I crouched.
Shit, they must have been camped up in some command room watching the sensors. Could have been an infrared beam I’d triggered, which explained why the door was so lightly guarded.
Pinned like a grasshopper, I ran through my options. If I tried to start the lorry, they’d be on me. I could storm in and waste the two, but that was risky, two against one and they looked competent. Sit tight, Rusco. No need to play the hero. Slowly, I edged toward the open door, holding my weapon and breath, feeling the nakedness of my position. Only an open swath between me and death. No protection, and they’d be searching this lorry before long.
The seconds ticked by.
I heard a grunt, then an exhalation of surprise. “Mitch, there’s nobody here. Maybe mice tripped the alarm.”
“Right, mice just happened to jimmy the door?”
“Yeah, that is a problem; okay, scrap that.” The other grumbled. “Hey, you been messing with this box? Something’s tore through the wrap. I remember three of the phasos, now there’s two. Maybe rats took one away.”
“Yeah, rats took one and I came in like a Madonna, wearing them like bracelets behind your back, like I always do.”
“Shut up, wise-ass. It’s my neck on the line too. Baer hears about this and we’re cooked—”
“Relax. Baer doesn’t have to hear about it.”
“Are you kidding me? We’re fucked. Look—one of the amalgos is missing. Two of them were here propped by the wall, remember? Maybe some filchers are still prowling around?”
“Look around again,” hissed the other. “Some fuck may be hiding in the shadows.” I ducked lower, hearing shuffling and curses, boots laid against boxes and mutters. This was not looking good.
They came up near the door, breathing through their mouths. “Nothing. Let’s check the warehouse.”
“No, wait. What about the phasos?”
“Fuck the phasos, come on.”
“I don’t like leaving them, Mitch, if there’re skulkers about.” He grabbed one. “Baer said they’re for Mong, the star lord—”
“I don’t give a fuck if they’re for Bork of Ork. Put it away, those things give me the shivers.”
“I don’t appreciate that kind of language, Mitch. Furthermore, I’ll touch what I want, bitchface. We’re living in a free world, aren’t we?”
“You going to get stupid on me, Fario? I said leave it alone.” And he grabbed at the other’s arm, wrestled the thing out of his hand.
In a blinding flash of light, the thug disappeared. I stared with stupid, blank-faced amazement. I blinked, rubbing my eyes. No ray, no secret gun aimed from the ceiling, no Marty behind holding a blaster. The one named Mitch just disappeared. For
