“There’s an extra kick in those babies, for sure.” Pazarol shook out his fingers, bragging. “A barb with nerve toxin stub on the toe. One kick to exposed flesh and the victim is paralyzed, dies in twenty seconds.”
“Nice.” I set the boot down, wincing. He picked up a pair of fresh fatigues a nervous woman had sewn a battery pack to and motioned to the hand-sized circuit box wired to the back collar.
“This khaki blends into whatever environment a combat soldier is in. Brown bush, grey concrete, red sunset, don’t matter. A phosphoro-gluten plant-based resin coats the inside surface. This doohickey on the back, a black box, sends the signal down to the plant membranes or whatever, telling it what form to take. Right down to the color, texture. Big seller. The rage these days. Touch it. It’s realistic.”
“I’ll pass. Seems impressive though.”
“Ah, a cautious man.”
I offered no comment.
“I’ll throw in a pair for you as a freebie, my token of appreciation and good faith. What size? Oh, you look about a ten.” He grabbed a new suit off the storage rack and plunged it too into my hands.” He eyed me, seeing how I’d react.
“Who’s this lovely young lad you got here? Hiding behind your skirts like a bashful choir boy.”
“This here’s Wren—as in the bird.”
“A mighty fine bird, that. Got her all dressed up like an army brat and what, with a fuck-boy cut? Surprises me, Rusco. Didn’t peg you going for that. I’m liking what I see. Got to get me a fuck-boy.”
“Very funny,” I said and Wren growled her contempt. In spite of the rudeness of the remark, I let a dog snicker of grin brush my face. Get on Paz’s good side. It’ll give you an edge in this fencing. Let Wren get a little sore, no harm. Dressed in khakis and looking as unlady-like as possible, Wren was well, Wren.
“How ’bout it, sister?” He motioned to the fatigues. “You want a pair?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “Might make me too sexy in front of your boys and give them some unwelcome ideas.”
He snuffled out a laugh. “A good wit on her, Rusco. I like her. Better hang on to her. She’s a good one.”
“That she is.”
His expression turned serious in a second.
“They’re a trigger happy bunch of bitches down in the desert where you’ll be going—desert mongrels, primitives holed up on a hot planet too long. So don’t go getting any ideas to wise-guy them or do a double-cross. You’ll guard the shipment, make sure things go smooth as olive oil. They’ll string your nuts up on their voodoo-crossed banyans faster than you can spit prune pits out your ass, if you get on their bad side.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Take Raez here with you. I want him and Gris to report all operations direct.”
I looked over at the shifty man with the cold grin on his face. “No deal. Don’t know him from Adam.”
“Tough titty. Either Raez goes with you or no deal and you can walk and we’ll never cross paths again. A one time offer.”
I chewed my lip, pretending to hem and haw over it. I studied Raez, with the slicked-back hair, thin nose and beefy cheeks, wondering how I could dislike the man even more than Pazarol, without him having opened his mouth. The wide stance, the ‘I don’t-give-a-fuck’ attitude conveyed through the animal eyes, the challenging, bad-boy posture, it was a subliminal code of ‘screw with me and you die’ I’d picked up from experience. I ought to discuss it with TK and Wren, my partners, but there was no time. If I waffled here, Pazarol would look elsewhere and the deal would disintegrate, and a part of me vied to play longer. I gave a slow nod.
“Wise choice, Rusco. Now, more facts of life: Grisheimer, aka Gris, will be called in to run the main freighter and oversee a team of my own boys—hand picked.” He motioned to the older shiftless fellow with penetrating owl-like eyes, the slack jowl, gangly limbs, but no less violent a man than Raez—the kind that would slit your throat and ask questions later for less reason than a dirty look. “He’ll act as navigator on the Urgon, the freighter out back, and backup for the handling, pick up and drop of the cargo. In case things go ape and you fuck up, Rusco, Gris will carry out the rest of the plan.”
I could see Pazarol was a prudent man, an arranger, despite his fat, friendly airs. He liked to cover his bases, though with an arrogance and pride that stank up the air from here to Perseus. Nor did I like the idea of ‘brother’ Raez hobgobbling about my ship with his foul breath polluting the air. Something odd about the man, and something odd about this job in general; it seemed off from the start. Raez’s greasy look, Paz’s all too easy gestures and his quick impulse to fast-track this job and dish out roles without any discussion at all. A wiser man would listen to advice and input from the players, and never take on a fresh hireling so readily, at least without a test. Perhaps that was in the works. I got the crazy idea Paz’d gotten wind of something I wasn’t aware of. So my first warning was triggered. “You still haven’t told me what it is we’re carrying or where it is to be transported.”
“We fly Urgon from Besi 6 to Jasmel, plus your ship to guard. It’s enough to transfer the product. Fareon beam replacements, extended range, kills starfleas dead. That and raw Beryllium crystal needed to manufacture the beams. Need you to pick up raw product in Gizren on Besi
