The Radical Factor (Stone Blade Book 3) Page 7

  "Roughly what you expected. Medicinals, luxury goods and novelties. Nothing surprising there. We have to be careful about the last two, though. Apparently Dhu doesn't approve of some of the fads throughout the years and calling a luxury item a luxury item is a supernova-sized no-no.

  "By the Jengiil's admittedly incomplete statistics they also seem to have a lot of ready labor so add some locally-rare raw materials to the list. Zrock gel should make a fortune if we brought the mixers. So would resin binder and base after the fact."

  Micah nodded at that. Zrock, pulverized local rock mixed with a hard plant resin, was the cheapest and most available construction material available throughout the League and in most places outside it. The resin-producing plants grew on a wide range of worlds, too, so if they installed an industrial bioreactor they could produce the gel aboard ship without needing anything other than...

  "Heaven's flames!" Micah glared at Ferrel and Ionoski. "You two have me thinking free trader now! Katie, let's go work out before I go soft!"

  Micah feinted and kicked fast. He and Siffai sparred hard, with dampers of course, and both enjoyed it thoroughly. At times Barstein joined them and Micah could really cut loose and have some fun. Then the three of them worked on two-against-one fights and three-way free-for-alls. After one particularly inspiring session Barstein confirmed that Siffai had informed him of Micah's past. The 113th disgusted him and he admired without reservation Micah's survival of both the missions and the deprogramming.

  Dreams began troubling Micah. The ones he had after his talk with Siffai returned along with others like them. The content didn't bother Micah. Much. He knew he wasn't that man any longer. What bothered him most was the knowledge that the dreams had meaning and wanted to tell him, he just couldn't grasp it. Even more frustrating: the harder he tried the less he grasped.

  As Micah slept he wandered many worlds in many systems. He saw all of the buildings, streets, statues and everything else, even hovers, composed of zrock even when the rational part of his brain knew better. Every flower, shrub, tree or plant oozed the resin or gel used to form it and it flowed over the zrock sidewalks into the zrock drains in the zrock streets. The last battle he fought no longer concerned a League withdrawal but rather the ownership of massive fields of more resin-producing plants. The Esavians joined the Consortium in an unholy alliance against the League and the buildings and streets began crumbling, even the ones not touched by the combat. That only happened when short-sighted contractors used too little gel for the powdered rock they had. Before long all the buildings had started cracking and large chunks of zrock fell and smashed into powder.

  Micah sat bolt-upright in his bed, his covers thrown back, ready to fight. After growling at himself for ridiculous thoughts he turned his light on dim, sat back, worked through his relaxation exercises and began meditating. Perhaps this time his dreams would yield answers instead of more questions!

  ***

  Zuvi Minor grew in Micah's screen. Driving the ship didn't bother him as much now, he knew she didn't have any zip and he'd adjusted to it. Mostly. GC shot him a wire as soon as he verified his credentials with the Jengiil codes and he followed it smoothly down.

  Micah looked around the port and took a moment to let the world soak in. Zuvi Minor looked, smelled and felt dark. It had a dim, distant star and even now, just past midday, myriads of other stars shone in the sky. The air was cool but not cold and it had a moist, musty smell to it. Clammy: that word fit the world perfectly.

  "Not a pleasant place to live," observed Kidwell.

  "Truth," said Ionoski, "But a desirable one! Don't forget they have what we want."

  Plausible and present trade with the Esavians, thought Micah. Under that light Zuvi Minor was the perfect planet!

  The interior of the port administration building, well-lit even with the sun high in the sky, still felt closed in and oppressive. The architects used every trick they could to extend the space and make it feel larger and more cheerful but failed miserably. At least to Micah's mind. By what he observed the folks native to the planet gave not a second thought to such things.

  Siffai surprised Micah by grabbing his hand and tugging him close. When he put his arm around her she snuggled into him and whispered urgently.

  "Look low left about six meters away," she hissed, "Standing in front of the information kiosk and talking to the storage access scheduling manager. Do you see them?"

  Micah looked without seeming to look. He saw six men with one of them wearing a vaguely familiar head cover. It was almost a hood; it covered his head and shoulders and wrapped across his face leaving only his eyes visible. The five others around him wore similar cloths but with the fronts open and their faces visible. Their heavily-tattooed faces.

  "Esavians!" Siffai didn't shout it, of course, but her whisper conveyed exactly that.

  Even as Siffai spoke Micah remembered the strange man he and Ferrel saw on Triumph. A cough and glance at Ionoski made him stop to check his comm. Another glance to Kidwell along with a lifted eyebrow and a microscopic nod toward the six men and she nodded. She and Barstein wandered toward the fresher just beyond the kiosks.

  The hooded leader spoke animatedly and with many gestures to the man behind the terminal but he seemed impressed not at all. Ionoski finished his ersatz message and started moving briskly forward leaving Micah and the rest no choice but to follow. They settled around a booth with a marginal view backward but the Esavians had vanished into the crowd. Before long Barstein appeared.

  "Vera changed herself and followed them," he said, "I dared not stay any longer."

  Ionoski nodded at him, then "Micah. Go."

  Micah ducked into a fresher, changed his face, reversed his cloak and flipped his boots. Now taller, brighter and wearing a different face he messaged Kidwell. She returned it immediately, much to Micah's relief. As yet neither she nor her quarry had left the building.

  Micah spotted the Esavians easily and Kidwell not as much so. Now the leader argued with another manager who, like the clerk before, took nothing from the man's bombast. Micah downloaded an arrival schedule for scheduled ships and pretended to peruse it, all the while watching the Esavians. He wished for a long ear or a spider but had neither. Not, it turned out, that he needed them.

  The not-too-dense crowd formed a bubble around the Esavians. None of the people now walking a few steps further than necessary did so obviously nor with any discernible decision. They simply increased the distance as a matter of course, unconsciously. Micah even saw a few glances of amusement as the leader made a particularly grandiose gesture. Before long he managed to move just within earshot of the still-progressing argument. The leader was most emphatically not happy about some part of a cargo he intended to ship or receive and the manager's family routinely dealt profitably with raw sewage.

  After five minutes of exhortations from the Esavian leader the manager ended the argument with finality by closing his desk and walking away. The leader bellowed several epithets, good ones, and walked angrily away. Micah caught Kidwell's eye, winked and started following.

  By the time the Esavians reached the far side of the complex Kidwell messaged Micah. Her turn now. Fair coin since several of the Esavians had eyed him suspiciously. Of course they eyed everyone about no less so but better the Micah they saw should disappear. By the time he changed yet again and messaged Kidwell the Esavians had settled in the port billets near the edge of the complex itself: the cheapest rooms available. Micah checked the prices and availability; he had a strong suspicion that he, at least. would soon have a room there.

  ***

  "This reeks to orbit, my brother," grumbled Ferrel, "I should be connected to data! Data in streams and floods. Data in cargo hovers and cargo ships! Rivers and mountains of it, even!"

  "Mountains of something, for truth," grinned Micah, "Let Ted do the dirty work for once. Before being captain really goes to his head. Besides, we are gathering data, just not from a jack."

  Now
used to Ferrel's banter, Siffai and Barstein merely grinned. The four of them sat in a room in the same building with the Esavians and very few others. The room cost only forty talo plus a modest bribe and provided a much more economical alternative to the more expensive motels or fancier billets within the port complex. The Port Authority maintained them for just such a reason. That and they represented a not-inconsiderable source of income.

  While the others settled into the room Ferrel located the Esavians. Siffai assured him they would not be apart and she spoke truly. Ferrel even manged to plant a pair of spiders and his test blips showed them functioning perfectly. Now they need only wait.

  "Truth yet bitter," said Ferrel, "Anybody for a game of two-across?"

  Chapter 4. The Warehouse Temple

  al'Vooshi turned off the pain inducer. Sweat dripped from the infidel's obscenely unmarked yet sacrilegiously scarred body. Residual pain glazed his eyes as he took one deep breath and followed it with another. Good. Several of his muscles still twitched. Even better! That would make the extract that much more effective. al'Vooshi measured a careful dose into a hypo. Then, with a critical eye to his charge, increased it as much as he dared. The man didn't flinch when they hypo hissed against him.

  "Very good, infidel," said al'Vooshi gently, "Very, very good. You have bourne much pain and I will call you brave. Yes, infidel. I, chosen of Dhu to put the unworthy to the question will say that before him! Your courage is a testament to your resolve, Micah Stone. You have nothing left to prove!"

  Micah heard the words but couldn't quite focus on them. Dangerous! He worked hard to force his mind into its disciplined channels and paths. Absence of pain equaled relief to the point of pleasure but it fuzzed his mind and clouded his focus. He did feel the hypo and he had no idea what it contained. He could think of a dozen different elixirs to loosen his tongue, to say nothing of the combinations thereof. That knowledge didn't help him in his fight, though. Or could it?

  "Stone. Micah... Micah J. One hundred..."

  "Yes, Micah Stone. Your commander is proud of you. You have resisted the question past the point that would drive most insane. You have taken pain few others could! You did not break on the path that has broken thousands before you. Now tell me what infidel plot brought you to my chambers. Speak as a friend to me, Micah Stone, for now I am the only friend you have left. Speak! Tell me, why are you here?"

  al'Vooshi suppressed the beginnings of a smile as the man's jaws began working slackly. A broken sound came from his throat, almost as if his thoughts tried to organize themselves aloud. Few men could resist even a normal dose of the truth extractor al'Vooshi just administered and a higher dose would have sent even this man into incoherence.

  "Babble is best with booze. Doze will make them snooze. Pandream gets them high but then they tell a lie..." Micah focused all the brain he could muster on the list of drugs he used for chemical interrogation and all the others whose effects he knew.

  al'Vooshi gazed in disbelief. The infidel rambled on and he recorded the rantings but rantings they were! He considered the lash or inducer but the drug cocktail he used would completely mask pain.

  After a few minutes the words faded away.

  "Tell me your mission, infidel."

  "Babble is best with booze..."

  "Dhu take you to hell, infidel!"

  Though the man's body relaxed and he still babbled but he had a sharp look to his eyes, focused on a far point.

  A test! That was it! Dhu was testing his questioner. al'Vooshi wondered what sin made him unclean and vowed to find and expunge it. He would erase his unworthiness and make himself pure to Dhu again and the infidel would break.

  al'Vooshi checked the man's restraints habitually. The drug should keep him weak and confused for at least twelve hours but still he made certain. Twelve hours. Plenty of time. Before he left al'Vooshi took his best nerve lash and made sure it had full charge. This day he would spend his prayers at the Altar of Pain begging Dhu for forgiveness and purity. Then the infidel would break.

  ***

  Barstein disappeared around a corner. After a few minutes he messaged Micah, who gave him a slow count before following. The streets weren't crowded but given the lateness of the hour and Zuvi Minor's nature neither were they well-lit. Micah spotted the Esavians first, then Barstein. He nodded as Micah passed him and took up the trail. The streets they walked were neither abysmally poor nor decadently rich. The Esavians ignored everything around them and walked with definite purpose.

  As he walked Micah cataloged the buildings around him. Most were businesses or warehouses, closed now, with the occasional residence thrown in. He also saw a few restaurants and cafes, most closed but some open. He carefully noted the latter; their locations and number might affect the plans they'd soon make. The unhooded Esavians talked softly but jovially among themselves while the leader spoke not at all.

  Micah now knew the man as their leader for certain truth. Barstein informed them that the man's face would have many tattoos on it and, if they belonged to a truly radical sect, those marks would intertwine among an equal or greater number of ritual scars.

  "He may be the captain of their vessel or not," Barstein explained, "but he is their spiritual leader which makes him their only leader. He covers his marks when he must travel among the infidel. If unclean eyes gaze upon them they must be blinded or their owner killed; anything less insults Dhu."

  "It is an insult," added Siffai, "By covering his marks he is denying Dhu to those he deems unworthy."

  Micah faded into the general darkness as the group ahead of him stopped. They stood before a small warehouse with a residence attached to it. Not common but Micah saw a few of those along his route. Light spilled out as the door opened and the Esavians walked inside. Micah found a place to lurk comfortably and unseen and messaged Barstein. Before long he appeared and ghosted around to the back of the building. Micah sent Ferrel the address.

  ***

  "It's an independent warehouse," said Ferrel, "I know, no surprise there."

  After two and a half hours the Esavians emerged from the building and returned to the port. Micah and Barstein alternated trailing them; easier with their ultimate destination guessed.

  "Registered to and ostensibly run by an old man. One Abner Malkie" continued Ferrel, "No licenses for anything exotic so no special permits required. All necessary taxes and fees paid on time or ahead with no complaints, citations, incidents or findings anywhere touching the place."

  "Meaning they take care of their bribes properly and with courtesy due," said Ionoski.

  "What about the old man himself," asked Micah.

  "He bought the place twenty-six years ago," said Ferrel, "I investigated him as thoroughly as I could. For all the twenty-six years he's been here, well, same as his business. According to financial records he had a tough time of it the first two or three years after he started the business but nothing out of order for a newly-started venture.

  "Now he has more than a few locals to attest to his character and after the place started making a steady profit he straightened out his troubles and has been solid on the beam ever since."

  "What do you have on him before he arrived here?"

  "Citizenship applied for and granted," read Ferrel, "He listed himself as an immigrant from the Anastasia Cluster and had the records to prove it."

  Micah snorted at that. Even on their side of the League people knew the Anastasia Cluster as a haven for pirates, fugitives and anyone willing to associate with them. All one needed for citizenship there, rumor said, was a good blaster and a shady past.

  "So squelch for that," said Ionoski.

  "For that," said Ferrel, "but I have more! Informal records say Seigneur Malkie started this as a retirement business. He never said retirement from where and while he had plenty of capital to purchase the building and get the business started, he lacked enough to keep it going for the time needed to build clientèle."

  "Implying that he had no bu
siness experience," said Kidwell, "I know that isn't an indictment but it is strange that someone could retire here from A-Cluster space without at least some knowledge of how a business works."

  "There is one other thing," said Siffai, "Although his name is officially 'Abner,' the name ab'Noor is fairly common among Esavians. It is descended from ab'Noir which roughly translated means from, in or into darkness or a dark place. Our linguistics experts usually equate it with being unclean or impure."

  "Anything on the last names" asked Ionoski.

  "I don't know," said Siffai, "By the sound of it it's nothing more than a family name. I sent a message to SIFComm via twisted paths. Once we're somewhere stable they will send their response but I suspect it is simply a name."

  "Slib," said Ferrel, "Try this for a hat. I suspect Master Malkie and the folk associated with him here, his family if they really are, constitute a node in their external logistics network."

  "A terror cell," asked Kidwell.

  "Support for one or more," said Ferrel, "He deals with Esavians but so do a lot of people here. He also deals with plenty of others and, minus his initial problems, he's been here long enough to have the locals consider him just a part of the terrain."

  "This is how they work," said Barstein, "We've found several active cells and a few like this but most of those were not well-established. That's how we found them."

  "This type of organizational model is damnably hard to locate and trace," said Ionoski, "Fate and fortune led us to this one."

  "Truth and bitter," said Ferrel, "Five standing says they've already established at least one of these on Triumph."

  Micah nodded. It made sense and plenty of it.

  "Anything else, Charlie," asked Ionoski.

  "Some. For a retirement business it still manages to clear a nice profit. The nets here are totally primitive yet I still managed some decent queries. I'm still working on the correlates but it seems a disproportionate amount of his cargo involves ships known to trade in Esavian space. Before you ask it is basic consumer goods and some agricultural produce. Non-pharmaceutical and all handled properly with absolutely no contraband. That is inspected and verified."