Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (11 page)

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Put some thought into it,” I urged. “Could save your life.” He sent a quizzical glance before we passed a wide cross corridor. “Look at me. I didn’t expect to be shot by some criminals while getting off a shuttle.” O’Vorley would be an easy mark. “Said you studied mostly regulations, rules, company policies?”

He nodded, “Sometimes fourteen hours a day.”

“I’ll see what I can do for you. No promises.”

I looked ahead at the marine to avoid seeing the kernel of hope I’d just planted. I recalled my cousin, Oliver. He’d always been far more worldly than me. I smiled to myself thinking that could change. As we neared the guard I got a sick feeling. I hated making promises I couldn’t be sure of keeping.

The marine’s challenge interrupted my thoughts. “This is a restricted area.”

Not looking the marine in the eye, O’Vorley replied, “We are here to retrieve Specialist Keesay’s equipment.”

The marine’s haughty gaze shifted. “You’re Keesay?”

“That’s what my uniform reads.” I pointed carefully to each letter on my patch.

“I can read, R-Tech.” He sneered, noting my battered appearance. “Read better than you can fight.”

I couldn’t believe I was trying to get on a marine’s bad side. “Look,” I said, “if you’ve been on duty here in the last four hours, you probably saw the one who roughed me up, on a gurney. He was the one with the caved-in skull.” I grinned wide enough to encourage my split lip to flow. “I may not be as good as you, but I get the job done.”

He spoke into his collar. “Security Specialist Class 4 Keesay is here for his equipment. Do we have it?” He directed his gaze at the security camera.

He looked at me. “You have permission to enter.”

I pointed to O’Vorley. “You still owe me that meal. I’ll get my equipment, find a place to clean up, and meet you at the cafeteria near the main docking bay.” I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I can find it no problem, okay?”

O’Vorley looked relieved. “Three hours?”

“Can you make it two? It’s been a while.”

O’Vorley nodded. “It’ll be close but I’ll see you there.” He turned and strode back down the corridor.

The door buzzed and the marine commented while stepping aside. “Strange kid.”

“Just a little green,” I said.

“Straight down to the desk behind the bullet-proof plastic.”

“Right. Thanks.” The door closed behind me. I wiped the blood from my lip and began to consider as I walked. Me, referring to O’Vorley as green? That gunman wasn’t the first person I’d killed as a security specialist. I’d have to take a careful look in the mirror someday soon.

Passing a number of doors on each side, I walked up to the desk at the end of the short corridor. A clear wall extended from floor to ceiling. A cute blonde with wide green eyes looked up from behind the barrier. Crow's feet framed them as she smiled. Inoffensive as she appeared, I knew with a few finger taps she could trigger the automated defenses. I’d treat her better than the marine outside.

“I am Security Specialist 4th Class Krakista Keesay. I’m here to retrieve my equipment.”

“Yes,” she responded. “It has been arranged.” A door to my left slid open. “Locker 478, bay 2. You have the key.”

I almost questioned her. Then I recalled the magnetic keys I’d absent-mindedly slid into my pocket. Simms didn’t say more than he had to.

Locker 478 was easy to find. My equipment was in the second of five bays. I examined my cart and found nothing wrong. On top rested both keys to the padlock. I looked inside, unpacked, and checked every item: clothes, wood, tools, ammunition, firearms, Bible, and personal papers. Everything was in order, even my popcorn nukes. They sat neatly concealed within a box of 12-gauge shells. I’d carefully painted over the warning and codes on them so that they resembled standard slugs. Simms was the first to catch it, but not many people ever had reason to look closely. I gave them no more notice than was due normal ammunition as there was bound to be surveillance. I placed the manacle case with key in a pouch next to a water bottle, after taking a swig.

I examined the contents of the shelf above. Freshly cleaned, my revolver rested in its belt holster. Next to it was a small plastic box. Inside were my backup .38 and the contents of my pockets, including the beef jerky from the representative.

Everything seemed in order. I loaded my revolvers with standard jacketed lead rounds and reorganized my pockets and belt pouches. I strapped on my wristwatch and the attached automatic sound dampener.

I paused, then retrieved my bayonet and sheath and hooked them on my belt. Maybe I’d purchase something other than a blade for unexpected trouble. Pondering this, I locked up, took hold of my cart’s handle, and exited the bay. My left shoulder reminded me of its injury. I approached the desk and held out the locker’s magnetic key.

A panel at my feet slid open. “Place it in there,” she said.

“Could you tell me the way to the Corporate Quartermaster?”

“You’re R-Tech, right?” she asked politely.

Although she already knew I answered, “That is correct, ma’am.”

“Then I’ll show you.” The transparent wall became a localized map of the space dock. I looked at my current location and the yellow path. A synthesized voice read the subtitles explaining the route.

“Do you need to view it again, Specialist?”

“No. I believe I can find my way. Thank you.” She didn’t appear putout at having to call up the display. Normally she would’ve relayed a temporary auditory sequence to a receiver chip implant, if I were I-Tech. My stomached reminded me that it was hungry as I nodded to the marine guard while exiting the Green Sector.

Stares from technicians and civilian travelers, reminded me of my need to get cleaned up. Field Director Simms probably wouldn’t approve of me drawing unnecessary attention and raising questions.

I reached the corporate quartermaster station just before the shift change, so I was able to go right up to the counter. I opened my cart and set the manacles, key and case on the counter. “I’d like to return these for the deposit.”

The attendant tapped a screen just out of view. The counter scanned what I’d placed there. “It shows here that there is also a security uniform requisitioned for you.” The information readout scrolled across the counter. The attendant eyed my shoulder. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Briefly,” I said. “Could you apply the deposit credit toward a stun baton?”

“Type?” he inquired.

“Medium duty use, retractable, extended charge.”

He tapped in my request. “I could give you light duty, standard charge, and retractable, in exchange.”

“No,” I said, making a fist. “I prefer one with a little duration...and more oomph.”

“Don’t intend to have another rough morning?”

We both laughed. “That’s the idea. I should have sufficient funds on account with Negral Corp. You can access my account?”

“Yes, just set it up six months ago,” he explained as he tapped a few keys. “With Negral on the planet below, we administer most of their local accounting.”

I showed him my left thumb. The attendant caught on. “R-Tech,” he said. “No chip access. This will take a moment.” He worked diligently through the directories.

“Not a lot of us out here?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Very few, at least who visit the quartermaster.” He continued tapping. “Why not get an account chip? Faster and hurts less.”

“This is more reliable. Tough to fool a DNA reading.”

“True,” he agreed, “but you pay three percent on the transaction cost for the inconvenience.”

“Hey, while you’re at it, can you access the armory’s inventory?”

“I can. Is there something specific?”

“As long as I’m giving blood, may as well only do it once.” I looked around. “Slow time of day?”

“For about another twenty minutes.” He relaxed. “Okay, what were you looking for?”

“Any old-style ammunition? Thirty-eight Special and .357 Magnum caliber rounds. Also any 12-gauge?” I smiled. “I know it’s kind of a long shot out here, but I was told you might have something.”

“We do,” he said with raised eyebrows. He looked closer and punched up something from his screen to the counter. “You’re name is Keesay?”

“Correct.” I said, surprised at the question.

“Shows here that you have a package, some of the ammunition you requested.”

“Really?” It seemed odd, but I wanted to be careful of what I said. Maybe it was from Simms.

“You’ll have to pay the storage fee, and pick it up.”

“I’ll do that. Where?”

“At the range, near Green Sector.”

“I know where that is,” I assured him. “Anything else of interest?” Maybe there was another surprise. “Any gunpowder? Old-style firearms?” It was worth a shot.

“Gunpowder, no. Firearms, nothing you’re looking for.”

I watched as the inventory scrolled by. “There!” I pointed. “Old-style grenades.”

He keyed up the information. “Those have been in stock here since...since the Silicate War. You want’em?”

“Maybe. What kind, what’ll they cost?” Did Simms know these were here?

“Well, if they can be found...hold on.” He accessed other files. “Just sent an inquiry.” He kept reading, going through codes. Finally, he came up with something meaningful. “Fragmentation, flash-stun, concussion.” He looked up. “Mean anything to you?”

I nodded. “How many?”

“One case of each, holding nine.”

Less than I’d hoped for. An electrical engineering technician came up behind me.

“It’ll be a moment,” the supply attendant said to him.

The technician said to me, “Nice cart.” I was too excited to worry about his opinions.

“If you’re rated to dispose of them, they’re yours. Inquiry sent back that their recommended date has expired.” He tapped a few icons. Waited for a reply.

“Okay,” he continued. “A section in front of the counter opened and extended. “You know the routine.”

I placed my thumb on it, stated my name and classification, and waited.

“How long is this going to take?” complained the technician. He was only four inches taller than me.

“I’ve had a difficult morning,” I said. “Would you like to schedule your visit to the infirmary now?” I felt the prick as a minute sample of blood was taken. “Or would you prefer to arrive unannounced.” I squared off, knowing I shouldn’t have let the first comment go by.

“You sure look intimidating,” he said with a sneer.

“Most of this blood isn’t mine, and I can still report for duty.” I licked my lips. “They won’t for a few days.”

“Gentlemen,” warned the attendant, “I don’t want to have to call security.”

If we’d been alone, I’d have nailed the technician right there. Maybe he was as relieved as me that the attendant had intervened.

My adversary pointed at the counter. “C4,” he said, “your request’s been authorized. I’ve got things to do.”

“Me too, thanks for your patience, Technician.” Then I looked at the account information. All seemed in order. It’d cost only 40 credits.

The attendant appeared anything but pleased. “Process the transaction?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I appreciate your time and efficient service.” I grabbed my cart. “Just because I had a bad day doesn’t mean everyone else should.” I stepped aside. “I’ll wait for my order over here.”

The tech requested a few components for some personal project. He was gone before a dolly-bot arrived with my packages and set them on the counter for scanning.

“One security uniform with vest,” said the attendant. “High grade, with proper insignia and identifications attached. One stun-baton medium duty, extended use, retractable.” He looked up and handed me a small account chit. “You’ll have to pick up your ammunition and other equipment at the armory.”

“Thank you,” I said while slipping the chit into a hip pocket. “Again, sorry about the trouble.”

“I’m sure you get it all the time.”

“It depends.” I licked a blood bead from my thumb. “Hey, is there a place to change? Maybe I’d get less flack if I looked a little more respectable.”

“Flack? Probably true.” He pointed. “There’s a common area down the corridor about forty meters, to your left. You should be able to clean up. For two credits I can enable water access.” His eyes held some concern. “Specialist, shouldn’t you have requisitioned some medical equipment?”

“I have water, and a first aid kit in my cart. Just haven’t had the time to use it.”

“We just stocked a large medical shipment. Medical kits, good ones. Usually they’re in demand.” He prepared to enter the request. “I have some older ones that are still good. Won’t cost much.”

“Sorry, but you’ve seen my account. I
really can’t afford a new first aid kit.” It was true, for that account. Nice try on dumping more outdated equipment. “My transport will be in soon. I hope to avoid needing one.” I laughed.

“I do too,” he joked, “but if you can’t, don’t come around here!” He went back to work, sorting data files, or whatever he was assigned when not filling orders.