[05] Elite: Reclamation (22 page)

I’m on another world.

‘Over here!’ Hassan called, grabbing her hand.

Salomé saw a small ground transport had arrived next to them. A door slid open and they climbed in. It was cool within, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the landing zone. The door slid shut and the transport whisked them towards the main transport hub at the centre of the spaceport. The ride was short; Salomé only had time to register the transport passing a wide selection of ships of all shapes, sizes and configurations. She’d never imagined a place could be so busy.

‘Let me do the talking,’ Hassan advised.

She looked across. ‘Why?’

‘Because you don’t have an ID,’ Hassan replied. ‘Looks odd.’

‘Odd?’

‘Yeah, odd. If the border controls hear your accent they’ll start asking questions. You’re too posh. So unless you want them to stick probes in all of your holes - shut up. Got it? You’re just any old ship-hand. Don’t make eye contact.’

‘What are you going to say?’

‘Hopefully nothing. They don’t really give a ‘goid where you come from out here as long as you’re clean. That’s the problem. You’re going to need the bio-checks. They’ll pick up you’ve got no immuno.’

‘So how do I …’

‘A brief stopover in the hospital. Don’t worry, it’s only a jab and a zap. I’ll pick you up from the medbay in an hour or so; it don’t take long.’

The transport came to a halt and slotted itself neatly into the wall of the transport hub. They exited and were quickly shepherded in into a facility marked ‘DeCom’. A number of folks in classic ostentatious Imperial attire were standing in a line as a team of medics, covered from head to toe in one-piece fitted outfits, scanned them with a variety of portable equipment and then guided them through an archway. A light signalled green for most of them.

A light flashed red and a buzzer sounded for one of the people in the queue and Salomé watched as they were diverted into a separate corridor.

‘What do they do?’ she whispered to Hassan.

‘It’s just medicine, everyone has it.’ Hassan nudged her forward.

The queue moved further forward and Salomé found herself at the front. With a wave from one of the medics she stepped forward. Their portable scans seemed to go ok, but when she stepped through the arch the buzzer went off and the red lights flashed. She jumped and looked nervously back at Hassan. He stepped through with a green light.

‘This way,’ one of the medics instructed her.

‘You’ll pick me up?’ she asked Hassan, ignoring the medic.

‘Yes. It’s routine, just go …’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No not at all.’

Salomé’s face dropped. ‘That bad?’

‘Stings like hell for a bit,’ he grinned. ‘See you in an hour.’

‘Miss …’ the medic interrupted.

Salomé scowled, but allowed herself to be led away. She was escorted into an airlock of some sort. The door closed behind her.

‘Please lie down on the floor,’ an automated voice announced. ‘Decontamination procedure is starting.’

The interior was small and featured a series of tiny vents and tiny bright blue lights. As she leant forward to inspect them, jets of chilly vapour surged out. She backed off, caught a whiff of the vapour and slumped to the floor in seconds.

***

Hassan hurried through the spaceport, taking a lift down to the lower levels of the building. These areas were mostly filled with machine shops, ship repair outfits, breakers and unofficial dealerships. It took him only a few minutes to locate what he was looking for; a less than salubrious looking parts store.

An extremely large woman was flopped behind the shop-front, her eyes glazed over as some soap opera played itself out in her vision. Hassan drummed his fingers on the scarred and dirty surface of the counter. The woman looked up in annoyance.

‘Yeah?’

Hassan tried a friendly smile. It seemed to have no effect, the woman continued to glare at him, wiping spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand. A small pile of crumpled stim packets were carelessly discarded at her feet. Given the number she’d ingested he was lucky she was intelligible.

‘Need a DB50 transponder.’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘You got paperwork?’

Hassan tried the smile again. ‘I’ve got cash.’

The woman’s lips pursed in disapproval, but she slowly got to her feet.

‘Five credit mark-up for cash. Transponder is thirty-five.’

‘Done.’

The woman hobbled back into her store, muttering under her breath as she limped down an aisle crammed full of racks of various bits of junk and spare parts. She grabbed a small box with a thick conduit hanging off one side and limped back towards him, plonking it on the counter.

‘Transponder.’

‘Come with a new squawk?’

‘Dunno,’ she replied, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘You’re supposed to rekey it to the same squawk you had before. Law says so.’

Hassan nodded. She’d given him what he needed and covered her own backside. Hassan couldn’t help but glance at her obese frame. Covering her backside was a considerable achievement.

He flipped the necessary credits onto the counter and the woman settled back down with a thick sigh.

No receipt, no trace. Cash is always king.

His next stop took him to a comm terminal. He locked himself inside the small cubicle and paid for an encrypted link, typing in a complex code. He sat back as the connection was made.

A thick jawed, heavy set face appeared, dotted with rough stubble. The man was chewing something as he looked around, spitting it out as he recognised Hassan’s face. The background on the viewer was blurred, probably deliberately.

‘Hey, if it isn’t the cutest little trader in space. How you doing, Hassan? Still flying that flux-stained excuse for a ship?’

‘Same old,’ Hassan replied, ‘and I thought you told me it was a fantastic craft for the discerning young buyer with high hopes and big dreams.’

‘Time you traded up fella. Successful young entrepreneur like you. Should be in a Viper by now. Got a couple in as it happens …’

‘Not looking to buy. Looking to make a deal.’

Canos licked his lips.

‘You’re calling me crypto, got something interesting?’

‘A couple of things as it happens.’

‘Yeah?’

Hassan gestured at the screen and a schematic of Salomé’s bio-pod appeared. Canos studied it carefully for a moment.

‘Imperial shiny stuff. Classy. What is it? Bio-tech?’

‘It’s some kind of new cryo-system, diagnostics, body repair, genetics, memory mods – you name it.’

‘Sounds expensive.’

‘Guessing it is.’

‘Where’d it come from?’

‘It was just lying around.’

Canos laughed. ‘Well, wasn’t that just handy for you. Funny how careless some folks are, eh?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

 ‘What you looking for?’

‘I need a new ID, a cargo of luxuries and thirty light years’ fuel.’

Canos frowned. ‘ID? You thinking of changing your name?’

‘It’s not for me.’

Canos rubbed his stubble. ‘You do live an interesting life, kid. Sounds like a story there.’

‘Needs to be quick too.’

‘Now there’s a surprise,’ Canos replied. ‘Send over his profile and we’ll sort it.’

‘He is a she.’

Canos leant closer to the camera. ‘Hey, you finally scored, kid? Or just kidnapped some pretty from a backwater for a bit of fun in the void?’

‘She’s a passenger needs ferrying, that’s all.’

Canos winked. ‘Gotcha. Let’s have a look.’

Hassan sent Salomé’s record across the link. A holofac representation of her appeared on the screen and rotated slowly. Canos studied the image for a moment.

‘Not bad fella. Not bad. I would too.’

Hassan figured it didn’t matter what he said. Canos had already made up his mind as to his motives.

‘She’s …’

‘No need to be embarrassed, kid. You’ll need to bring her in for the bracelet, she with you?’

‘Just getting her bio done.’

Canos nodded. ‘Reckon we can deal. I’ll arrange for the Imperial tech to be offloaded and we’ll pack you full. Good?’

‘Deal.’

The video link terminated.

‘Stupid little shit,’ Canos muttered, shaking his head.

He sat back, watching Salomé’s rotating image. With a quick gesture he transferred the image to another projector and then let her now life-size image rotate around in front of him.

 ‘But you on the other hand … your card is marked, sweetness. I was hoping you might turn up here.’

Chapter Eight

The
Coup de Grâce
arrived in the Ferenchia system. Dalk was faced with deciding on his next course of action. His quarry could be anywhere and he had to figure out where to start looking.

He was working on the assumption that the young man suspected he’d be followed and would be taking steps to be as elusive as possible. Dalk hoped the pilot would underestimate how quickly he’d caught up. By his calculations he was only half an hour behind by now. Kahina was somewhere close by.

The transponder was the key weakness. All the time a ship was active its transponder would, by law, respond to basic identification checks. Ship systems were always active when on the move, but crucially, they were also active when docked in stations. To power down the vessel, the young man would have had to have gone planetside. That narrowed down the options considerably.

Dalk sighed ruefully. Only an entire planet to search.

If he had the cash the young man might just buy a ship and make good his escape. It would be hard work to track him if he did so, Dalk would have to gain access to the official transfer records. Ownership transfer was heavily bureaucratic – mostly to stop folks from dodging fines and putting future owners at risk from bounty hunters.

And I hate paperwork.

Flying around in a battered old Eagle didn’t scream plenty of cash; it seemed unlikely that the young man would have the funds.

But if he only intends to change the transponder.

The youth would have to go somewhere with a thriving black market, no reputable shipyard would swap a transponder out without rekeying it to the original code. That really only left the main city. It was the biggest and busiest planetside habitation in the system. There was plenty of scope for underhanded trading down there.

Dalk quickly requested the necessary orbital insertion and descent authorisation. With luck his chase would soon be over. The young man could fend for himself with Octavia. With Kahina aboard and a quick jump to Haoria they’d be out of her reach and he could reassert his plan for Chione.

Dalk eyed the Imperial capital ships, holding station in orbit. Time was running short; Imperial forces were already massing.

The
Coup de Grâce
blasted down through the atmosphere, switching to its atmospheric thrusters and extending flight panels as it hit the dense lower atmosphere. Dalk saw the city emerge through a bank of heavy thundery cloud, the dreamy spires visible even at dozens of kilometres out. He triggered a series of active scans as he passed over the various designated landing areas using the information Octavia had provided him. It didn’t take long.

There were three Mark 1 Eagles docked around the city. One looked particularly tatty and battered. It closely matched the visual record Octavia had provided. Dalk smiled as his ship was routed to an adjacent landing bay just half a kilometre away.

‘Got you.’

***

Salomé woke and found she was moving. Someone was pushing her along a clean white gently curving corridor in some kind of mobile chair. She shook her head to clear it.

She tried to sit up, but found she could hardly move. A feeling of nausea washed over her. She swallowed and tried to breathe deeply. Her arms and legs ached horribly.

‘Don’t try to move,’ said a man’s voice, cultured and educated. Salomé felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘There’s a restraining field to keep you safe. Some people don’t react well to the drugs.’

Salomé remembered what Hassan had said about not talking too much and decided not to answer.

‘Doctor Graham, by the way. Immuno hazard department. You’ve just had the full works. It’s not safe to venture into space without proper meds.’

Salomé let out a breath, trying to ease the pain in her limbs. Her head was throbbing too.

‘Head hurting?

‘Yes …’

‘That was your own fault,’ the Doctor said. ‘Didn’t you hear the machine tell you to lie down? You knocked your head when the treatment started.’

‘Oh sorry. Doctor …?’

There was something slightly unusual about the man, but she couldn’t quite identify what it was. She wanted to turn around and have a look, but the seat prevented her. His voice was measured, refined and sophisticated, but he seemed slightly distracted and there was a subtle but distinctly odd pause each time he started speaking.

Almost as if …

‘Call me John,’ he said, cutting across her thoughts. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll pass. I assume you’ve never been off-world before?’

‘Not that I can remember,’ Salomé replied, truthfully.

That pause again …

‘You’ve had the full spectrum profile,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, the ache is temporary and you won’t need another for two years.’

 Salomé found herself wheeled into a wide room which featured a series of large windows along one side. It seemed to be a recovery ward. Through the window Salomé could make out immaculately manicured gardens framed with strange exotic plants. Huge leathery bird-like creatures circled them, occasionally swooping down through the gardens. Salomé watched them, fascinated.

Dotted around the room were a variety of medical stations, each featuring an array of monitoring equipment around a central couch. Some were occupied, but most were empty. It seemed to be mostly older folk. Unlike the faded ship’s overalls that she wore, the others were dressed in flamboyant outfits with dramatic collars, frills and colourful dresses or pantaloons. The women, and some of the men, wore thick and heavy make-up, making them look as extraordinary as the flora outside. It reminded her of something.