Or Die Alone

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Snekguy
Snekguy
2,766 Followers

He became stern suddenly, his features wrinkling into a frown.

"You know it as well as I do, Agent Boyd, the UNN would expend more manpower keeping their tenuous hold on uninhabited wastelands like Kruger III than they would defending this tactically insignificant colony. I am not a dishonest man, my reasons for wanting control over Hades are purely selfish and monetary in nature, but when I say that the UNN will not protect the people of this planet I tell no lie. I, on the other hand, defend my assets. The people of this planet are an asset to me and I would defend them against any and all threats. My price may be economic control over the colony, but that control is already exerted by ExoCorp and their subsidiaries, the change in management wouldn't impact their daily lives in the slightest."

He crouched before Boyd, leaning down to eye level with him and taking another drag of his e-cigar.

"So what do the people of Hades have to lose by cooperating with the syndicate? The protection of a UNN fleet that would never arrive if they called for help? The employ of a corporation who cares even less about their welfare than I do? Nobody is being hustled or coerced here, I offered the people of Hades a choice, and most of them have made it."

"So they're not all onboard with your plan?" Boyd grinned as the boss stood again, his confidence faltering a little.

"Not as of yet, but that is where you come in, little spook."

"What can you possibly want from me?"

"I can't strong-arm these people, that would defeat the purpose of everything we have tried to accomplish on Hades, but what I 'can' do is convince them. Or rather 'you' can convince them. What we have in you is proof of the UNN's incompetence, their inability to manage the situation here. We baited a Ninny and trapped him like it was nothing, we made a joke of their most feared and covert operatives. If those who are still on the fence hear about the UNN's disregard for Hades, from the horse's mouth so to speak, then they would certainly tear down the final barriers that are preventing me from taking full control of the colony."

"You're asking me to be...what? Your poster boy? A mouthpiece? You have to know that I won't do that."

"Oh but you will, because if you don't, then I'll put a railgun round through your skull and drop your body down a mine shaft. Only the higher ups at UNNI will even know that you were ever here, and we'll just repeat the process with the next agent they send to investigate, when he hears about what happened to you I'm sure he'll come around."

The boss laughed at his expression, wisps of vapor trailing from his mouth.

"Does it surprise you that we know UNNI operating procedures? Until recently we had a man in the Admiralty, one Admiral Rawling, I'm sure you're familiar with the name. While you did a good job of covering that scandal up, he did a good job of cleaning up his tracks, evidently you were never able to tie him back to any of us. We know that the next step is to send another agent to find out why you went missing, can you be sure that he'll be as stubborn as you are? Would you stake your life on it?"

Boyd had to admit, the syndicate had really tied this affair up in a neat little bow. If the organization had the support of the people and an inside knowledge of how the UNN and its intelligence branch operated, then every agent they sent here would be walking into the same trap. Only Boyd could stop this, and until the syndicate changed the minds of the people who were still resisting them, there would still be time. He had to get the information he had learned off-planet, by any means necessary.

The weight of his handgun was absent from his hip, they had searched him and confiscated it. His respirator was gone too, and they had stripped him down to his UNNI issue environment suit, a grey-blue skintight garment covered in wires and tubing. They had let him keep it, did they not know what it was? He doubted they sought to preserve his modesty, but maybe they thought that letting him keep the suit would lend credence to his claims of being a UNNI spy, a potentially deadly oversight. The suit was his survival kit, packed with hidden features and secret capabilities that even someone like the traitorous Admiral Rawling would not have been privy to. He shouldn't give away his hand just yet though, he had to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

"It's not too late to back out," he said, "I'm authorized to make deals with you on behalf of the UNN. This situation hasn't escalated to the point that we can't come to a solution that works for both of us."

Everyone laughed, the masked PDF goons included, their voices taking on a robotic timbre through their helmet speakers.

"What makes you think you're in a position to bargain, Ninny?" The portly informant chuckled, his butterfly knife dancing between his fingers. "You're screwed, the options are do as we say, or like the boss says we're gonna bury your corpse in a mine."

"Then I guess we're done talking here," Boyd replied, his tone resigned. "I won't help you, do whatever it is you need to do."

The boss gave him a sideways look, scrutinizing him for any show of fear perhaps, and finding none.

"I respect your resilience, Mister Boyd, but it will do you no favors. In a moment I'm going to ask these fine PDF soldiers here to take you out to a truck, zip you up in a body bag, and then dump you down the nearest mine shaft. Maybe the fall will kill you, maybe they'll put some rounds in you for good measure, but you'll be dying for nothing. One of you is going to crack, one of you will have a weaker resolve than the last, and if I have to go through half a dozen agents to find him then that's what I'll do."

"That's it then? You're not going to try to bribe me, not going to torture me?"

"I am a businessman first and foremost, I have no interest in inflicting undue suffering, and your type are too opinionated for bribes. Besides, I know that you won't break under torture, not an operative of your security clearance. I've heard enough, dispose of him."

The boss turned his back and began to walk away, the man with the butterfly knife following behind him after one last sneering glance at Boyd. The three armed men moved in, two of them laying their hands on his shoulders as the third waited nearby, his rifle slung over his chest.

"I have only three words for you, 'boss'," Boyd called after them. The boss halted near the warehouse door and turned around, his voice echoing in the space.

"And what are those, Mister Boyd?"

"Parakeet, hyphenated, Monroe."

There was a flash of brilliant light and sparks, the high-density battery packs that ran down the suit's spine releasing a two hundred milliamp electrical current into the lining. The two men who had their hands on his shoulders at the time tensed for a moment, their bodies twitching, before falling limply to the floor. Smoke rose from their face plates, their nervous systems fried by the electrical discharge, their hearts stopped dead in their chests. The ropes that bound him flared and burned away in a fraction of a second, the material turned to ash by the intense heat, and before the third PDF soldier could react Boyd had already risen from the chair and was tackling him to the ground.

The suit would need time to recharge, he had expended all of its energy, but he was free now. He knocked the guard to the floor, the soldier struggling to raise his weapon as Boyd pinned it against his chest with his weight, his finger coming dangerously close to the trigger. He succeeded in firing off a shot, the XMR configured as a railgun apparently, the magnetically accelerated projectile blowing through a crate to their right and showered the pair in an explosion of packing foam.

The PDF goon managed to get in a hit with the butt of his rifle, bloodying Boyd's mouth, but the agent reached down towards his ankle. If they had scanned him for weapons with a metal detector, then they would have missed it, he withdrew the hidden ceramic blade and plunged it into the soldier's unarmored throat. He gurgled for a moment, dark arterial blood spilling from the wound, then his arms went limp as it began to form a crimson pool around him on the ground.

Boyd stood over the body, still a little dazed from the hit to the face, and heard rapid footsteps coming his way. He looked up to see the portly man with the butterfly knife charging towards him across the warehouse, brandishing his weapon as he closed.

Boyd reacted quickly, dropping to his knees and wasting no time cutting away the rifle's sling with the ceramic blade, shouldering the XMR and firing off a round at the incoming gangster. It blew a fist-sized hole in his chest, an expression of surprise frozen on his features as he tumbled forward, killed almost instantly by the immense energy that the projectile released. As he fell Boyd saw the hole that the round had punched through the wall behind him, narrowly missing the doorway where the shocked syndicate boss was still standing, his e-cigar falling from his hand to clatter to the floor.

They stared eachother down for a moment, the railgun's magnetic coils glowing red as they dissipated heat, a strand of bloodied saliva hanging from Boyd's chin as he caught his breath.

He raised the rifle to fire it again, but the boss ducked behind the wall and out of sight, Boyd cursing under his breath as he took off in pursuit. He sprinted to the door, then rounded the wall that he had blown a hole in, skidding to a halt as he saw three black SUVs parked behind the warehouse. He shouldered his weapon to fire at the trucks, the XMR would make short work of them, but he had to leap back into cover as a hail of conventional weapons fire ricocheted off the prefab metal around him. There were maybe half a dozen cronies using the SUVs as cover, pinning him with what sounded like machine pistol fire as the boss bellowed over the noise.

"-dead! I want that fucking Ninny dead! Bring me-"

Boyd couldn't take them on alone, his suit wasn't bullet-proof, and after a quick glance at the rifle's magazine he knew he didn't have enough rounds to shoot his way out. The other dead PDF guys had their own magazines, but he figured that it was time to make a hasty exit. The information he had was more valuable than the head of that mob boss, he would get his comeuppance in due time.

He set off in the opposite direction, heading towards a doorway at the far end of the building, hopefully he could slip away before the gangsters wised up and headed him off.

He ran out into the open air, the sun beating down on his head and the hot wind blasting him with stinging dust. He saw no vehicles round the building to give chase, they must assume he was holed up in the warehouse preparing to stage his last stand. He tried to shield his eyes against the blowing sand, spotting the silhouettes of structures a few hundred meters away. There was cover between him and the town, sand dunes that had begun to form around industrial machinery and stacks of raw materials, creating a sort of maze formed from dust and metal. He disappeared between a half-buried bulldozer and a pallet of steel girders, shielded temporarily from the howling wind that muffled the shouts of the men behind him.

CHAPTER 2: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY

Boyd hid in an alley between two prefabs, the cloak and scarf he had bought for a few plastic tokens from a stall obscuring his suit and his features, PDF patrols in groups of three or four walking the streets as the syndicate's goons searched for him. He had to ditch the gun, it was too conspicuous, there was nowhere he could have concealed it. Stealth was his only weapon now, he had to get off this planet, and he had to get the information he had learned back to the UNNI. There were no transmitters on his planet that could send a signal that far out, this hellish colony was too remote, he needed a ship.

He made his way towards the spaceport, or what passed for one on this planet, more of a cluster of landing pads out in the desert with a rudimentary terminal nearby. He stayed hunched, mingling with the crowds and hoping that if he stumbled a little it might throw them off his track. The soldiers were looking for a man in the prime of his health, not a shuffling cripple.

He met no resistance on his way there, but when he arrived at the port, he saw that the door was guarded by two PDF soldiers with rifles slung across their chests. They were checking the few people who came in and out, asking for ID by the look of things. There wasn't much traffic, only half a dozen ships on the landing pads, nobody had any reason to come here after all. He doubted that he could steal one, they would just shoot him down with the EMP warheads they had bragged about stealing, he would have to either book passage or stow away on a clean ship. He needed something foreign to Hades, the syndicate would own all of the pilots and captains who operated out of the colony, maybe there was a cargo ship that would let him ride along for the right price. He was running out of scrip, and while he had enough UNN credits to buy a goddamned yacht, that might draw the kind of attention that he was trying to avoid if he flaunted it.

He had to get into the spaceport first, but he had a plan to get past the guards.

He slipped between two buildings, leaving the crowds of similarly robed people as he reached into a pocket of his suit for his wallet. It was still there, good. He would have needed it to prove his identity after all, if he had turned traitor and agreed to the syndicate's terms.

He pressed his finger against the fingerprint reader embedded in the leather, the microcomputer inside activating to display his UNNI identification.

"Computer," he whispered, "randomize ID." He held the device up to his face at arms length and waited. After a moment, the familiar holographic badge faded, replaced with a fake name and ID number along with a photograph of his sand-blasted face. Not many people out here would have holographic ID cards, but it wouldn't be so unusual as to turn heads, at least he hoped. It was his only chance to get into the spaceport in any case.

He pocketed the wallet and rejoined the throngs of people, making his way towards the building. He shuffled up to the door, and was stopped by one of the PDF guards, stepping in front of him with his hand hovering over his rifle.

"ID please."

Staying hunched over, Boyd fumbled beneath his shawl, careful to keep his suit hidden under the ragged fabric as he withdrew the wallet. He pulled the scarf back enough that the man could see most of his face, slipping his finger over the reader so that the fake ID flared to life. He passed it to the guard, who held it up beside his face for a moment, then returned it and waved him on without another word.

It had worked, and Boyd hid his relief beneath his scarf as he shambled into the spaceport.

It was small, there was a counter staffed by a handful of employees who sat in front of computer terminals, and a few chairs and benches where the pitiable number of travelers might sit while they waited. This was obviously not for use by the general public, the colonists who came here did not have the means to travel, the port was merely here to accommodate the few private traders and shuttles that might arrive to ferry goods or VIPs to and from the surface.

He took a seat on the nearest bench, his eyes open for anyone who looked like they didn't belong, anyone who might not be on the syndicate's payroll. He saw more PDF patrolling the port, a couple of men in flight uniforms sitting at a table as they ate shrink-wrapped sandwiches from a vending machine, and a handful of guys who looked like corporate engineers. The ExoCorp employees had a decent chance of not being compromised, but that was a gamble that could cost him his life.

Then he saw it, his ticket out of here.

A giant alien walked across the room, heads turning to watch it as it marched along, snow-white fur patterned with dark rings and spots protruding from beneath its form-fitting jumpsuit. It wore no shoes, its digitigrade legs ending in cat-like paws, a long tail poking out from a hole in its suit. It was female, that much was obvious by her ample chest, her figure humanoid despite her odd features. It was a Borealan of the Polar variety, about eight feet tall, it stuck out like a sore thumb. What the hell was it doing here? The heat alone must be driving the poor thing insane.

The feline alien stopped to talk to one of the women manning the terminals, and she tapped on her touch monitor, relaying some information that Boyd couldn't hear clearly. The alien left and began to walk to one of the exits to the landing pads, and he rose from his seat to intercept her. There was no way this alien was native, the chances she was on the payroll were as low as he could possibly hope for, it was time to take this chances.

He hurried to catch up with her loping strides, foregoing his limping gait and hunched posture as he accosted her, stopping her in front of the exit. She looked down at him quizzically with blue, reflective eyes, Boyd loosening his scarf to expose his face.

"Are you a pilot? A ship captain?"

"Is there something I can do for you, stranger?" Her accent was odd, sounded Russian, but at least she spoke decent English.

"I need passage off-planet, and I'm willing to pay well for it."

"So book a flight with a passenger ship, why is that my problem?"

The promise of cash did not appeal to her then, he would have to try another angle, if her ship was UNN he could pull rank and commandeer it.

"Is your ship UNN?"

"No, it's a Russian Federation survey vessel, now are you going to tell me why you're acting so shifty before I call the security guards over?"

Damn it, at least that explained the Russian accent and her presence here, the Polar Borealans had established a colony in Siberia and were members of the Federation. They had started showing up in government and military positions lately.

She wasn't going for it, he would have to try a new approach, maybe concoct some kind of sob story to gain her sympathy. He couldn't tell her the real story, that was far too risky. She might not have believed him anyway..

"I can't charter a flight through normal channels, please I need your help, the people who come here don't get to just leave of their own accord."

That seemed to peak her interest, and the round ears that protruded from the top of her head swiveled to focus on him.

"And why is that?"

He lowered his tone to a hushed whisper.

"Criminals own this planet, organized crime, the corporation that founded the colony knows about it but they don't care what happens to the colonists as long as the mines stay open and the cash keeps flowing. I sold everything I own to a black market dealer to get some UNN credits, they only pay us in phony plastic tokens, I can't buy passage off-planet with those. They don't want us to leave, we're basically slaves here, either we fall in line and work the mines or they make us disappear. Now I have the credits to buy a seat on a ship going anywhere, I don't care as long as it gets me off Hades, but you're the only person I've met who isn't in their pocket. I can trust you because you're just passing through, the next guy I ask might just turn me over to the gangsters. Please, you have to help me."

Just enough truth sprinkled into the lie to make it believable, and she seemed to be believing it, her pink nose twitching as she considered.

"Listen, I'm just a cartographer, I'm not the captain or anything. My job is mapping the planets we survey and then identifying exploitable resources. It's not my choice to make."

His face fell, but she cut him off before he could speak.

Snekguy
Snekguy
2,766 Followers