Black Legion - The First Trilogy Page 11

  “One of the Thirty! It’s the City Prefect!” shouted a woman. A man nearby reached out and grabbed at Glaucon. In one swift motion, he unhanded the man and threw him backwards.

  “Keep off me,” snapped Glaucon.

  “You, you’re helping him escape!” added the man as he staggered back. He looked to the crowd starting to gather near them.

  “Traitors, both of them!” shouted a woman from the back.

  Xenophon pushed past the people that were milling about near the entrance, dragging Glaucon behind him.

  “Come on, we really don’t want to be here!”

  They moved away and joined the masses of others who, for one reason or another, felt they needed to leave Attica, and fast. The crowds were increasing by the minute, and it was clear that at some point soon, the place would probably have to close, or at the very least restrict the numbers arriving.

  “Is it me, or are there a lot of people who don’t want to stay?” Glaucon asked.

  “We need to get to departures before it fills up!” said Xenophon.

  They ran through the foyer but hit huge crowds for the local transport gates. It seemed most people wanted to escape to the moons or other planets in the system. The local vessels were by far the most common and also the cheapest. A ticket to one of the moons would cost the equivalent of one or two months’ salary. Any further, especially out of the system, could cost ten times more, and a price only the richest could afford. The place was overwhelmed.

  “We can’t stay here. The mob will force this place to be shut down to stop anybody escaping. You need to get out of here,” said Glaucon.

  “Me, what about you?”

  Glaucon smiled, “Look, they want you, not me. I’m not the guy that colluded with the Thirty.”

  “Colluded? I think you underestimate their capacity for anger.”

  As if to emphasise the point, a group of four men moved in to block their way.

  “What?” demanded Xenophon.

  “The shortest of the group took a step closer and held up an identity card. We’re bounty hunters, authorised by the provisional authority to bring in former members of the occupation forces and their accomplices.”

  “Like hell you are,” said Xenophon, who then tried to push away from them. One of the men grabbed his hand and tried to place a pair of handcuffs on him. Another stepped closer to Glaucon to do the same. Xenophon tried to struggle, but two more grabbed hold of him.

  The first bounty hunter slipped the metal frame of the cuff around Xenophon’s wrist and continued speaking.

  “We know who you both are. There’s a bounty out from the provisional authority already. Other members have already been taken into custody.”

  “Yeah, buddy, it’s payback time,” said another.

  Glaucon gave Xenophon a quick look, an almost pleading, questioning stare that only the two friends could ever have identified in such circumstances. They moved quickly into action. First Xenophon pushed the man backwards. As he stumbled, Glaucon flicked out his leg and smashed it behind his knee. The man fell flat on his back with a crash. The two then leapt on their attackers with a ferocity that was completely unexpected. They rained blow after blow on the men until they were on the ground or running. The fourth man fumbled with the baton on his belt, but it was all too late. In less than ten seconds, all four were unconscious and on the floor.

  “We have to move. We’re attracting too much attention.”

  “Where? This will take hours, and they’ll just come and drag us away.”

  They moved from the scene of the fight and ran down the nearest flight of steps that took them to the older part of the terminal. There were less people there, but it was still crowded.

  “Do you have any money?” asked Glaucon, panting from the exertion of the fight and from their running from the scene. They moved to the end of the corridor and took shelter near one of the many automated ticketing machines.

  “One sec,” said Xenophon as he fumbled about in his pocket. For a second he thought it was missing, but then he found it.

  He pulled out his wallet, a small and rather old-fashioned leather item now rarely used by citizens. All that was required these days was the ID card. It gave access to money, security systems and transport. Provided one carried the item, they could carry out all of their day-to-day tasks. Some people were being fitted with biometric chips in their bodies that were doing away with the cards altogether. Xenophon slid out the card and checked it was still in one piece after the scuffle. It was a small plastic device with a large holographic image of his face on it. He held it out and pressed his thumb onto a patch near the base of the card. It flashed three times, and then displayed a simple chart outlining his credit account.

  “Yeah, how much did you have in mind?”

  “A lot, come on, with me.”

  Glaucon rushed off to the long haul shipping part of the terminal. It was a quieter area that was filled with a small group of men in suits, as well as workers for the mining stations and long distance freighters that travelled on yearlong expeditions. Glaucon moved past them all and towards the darkest part of the terminal. As they reached it, a guard stepped out and blocked their path.

  “Sorry, this is for cryogenic long distance traffic only.”

  “Yeah, that’s us.”

  “Where are your papers?” he asked with suspicion.

  Glaucon ran his eyes along the destination board along the rear of the desk. It showed a list of dozens of places. Only one was easy enough to read at a distance.

  “We have urgent Alliance business on Tartarus,” explained Glaucon.

  “Tartarus? We’ve only got one transport going there, and it leaves within the hour. I’m not showing any missing passengers.”

  “You don’t understand. We’re survivors of the Attican government, and you must have seen the news. The city was hit by suicide bombers, and we have to reach the Alliance leadership that is in hiding before it is too late!”

  The guard looked at them both. It was clear he didn’t buy their story at all, but he was also not sending them away. Xenophon pulled out his identity card and held it out.

  “Look, you can see how many credits I have available. These funds are for our safe travel to Tartarus. Will you help us?”

  The card and the projected credits now enthralled the guard. Xenophon watched with contempt as the man’s scruples faded before their eyes. He took the card from Xenophon, saying nothing, simply nodding to the desk behind him. They moved past him and to the desk where an automated booking system proceeded to arrange their trip.

  “Tartarus, why?” asked Xenophon.

  “It’s the only place I could read from there. Look, it’s either Tartarus, or you stay and take your chances here.”

  Xenophon looked past the guard and to the crowds of people swarming about in the public departure area. He looked back to Glaucon.

  “You do realise there is a reason they are all avoiding the long distance trip to Tartarus, don’t you?”

  Glaucon laughed nervously.

  “What, apart from the long journey, the price and the chance of being killed when you get there?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tartarus Trading Post, Neutral Space

  Xenophon’s first impression of Tartarus was not favourable. In his mind, it would have been a cosmopolitan hive of traders and travellers from across the galaxy. The stories he had heard right from being a child was that it was filled with every possible colourful combination of strange and unusual. Tales of odd creatures, epic adventures and mysterious journeys often began at Tartarus. In reality, it was nothing of the sort, and Xenophon felt more than a little disappointed at what he found. The massive space station was little more than a hive of crime, drugs and as best as he could tell, prostitution. Bars and casinos filled the structure on every floor, and groups of armed men prowled the wide-open corridors. Tartarus was big, much bigger than anything he had been on before. Even the Plymouth Station was dwarfed by this me
tal behemoth.

  What am I doing here? He now felt completely out of his depth. Back on Attica he had been a reasonably wealthy young man with status, family connections and an official position. The more recent post of Prefect may have caused more problems than anything else, but it was nothing compared to his self-imposed exile on this artificial world.

  This was a big mistake.

  He stood in an open plaza that must have been large enough to land a star freighter inside. Trading stalls and dealers filled the area, and thick smoke ran from their stoves and pipes, making vision difficult. The busiest part by far was at the far end and the glowing red lights of the seedier part of the place. It was from that end that a dull throbbing thump of bass came from. Glaucon walked at his side. Any sign of the bruising and trauma he had sustained had now worn off from a mixture of rest and very high strength restorative drugs. He reached out and stopped Xenophon.

  “What?”

  Glaucon looked towards the less salubrious part of the plaza and leaned in closer to Xenophon.

  “I’ve heard some pretty weird stuff about this place. Just remember, it’s independent. Alliance and League laws mean nothing out here.”

  “I know, it’s not like we had much of a choice though, is it?

  He was about to continue, but the slender forms of two automatons walked past them. These completely artificial beings were the pinnacle of engineering. Created to emulate human life, they were expensive, relatively unintelligent but completely loyal machines. On the outside, they looked like pale humans but slightly shorter and of a much thinner build. Their somewhat ambiguous shape gave them a look that was neither male nor female. Xenophon gazed at the nearest one’s face as it moved away. The skin on the face was almost translucent with a pearl-like quality. He turned backed to Glaucon.

  “Automatons. Have you ever seen one before?” he asked.

  “There were quite a few on the Sarmatia pleasure ships, remember?”

  Xenophon smiled, for a moment forgetting the perilous situation they now found themselves in. Pleasure ships, was something of an understatement. It was more a convoy of black-market merchants that trawled the shipping lanes between colonies. Unlike Glaucon, however, he had not opted to partake in the many opportunities the ships offered on their journey. He did recall the automaton dancers, possibly the most exotic and elegant dancers in the known galaxy. Xenophon shook his head, partially to try and remove the image of the dancers and also to convey that Glaucon has misunderstood him.

  “Come on, you know what I mean. The workers, the slaves, like the ones the Laconians use. Like the ones that just walked past?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Well, these are the androgynous ones. Look, they are slightly heavier built for manual work, farming, factories and the like. We’ve been trying to get permission to use them in the Alliance for years.”

  Glaucon looked disinterested, even a little irritated.

  “What?” asked Xenophon.

  Glaucon waved his hand out to point to the large numbers of people moving about.

  “We’re homeless, have limited money and are in one of the most dangerous parts of Terran space. Maybe now isn’t the time to gawp at automatons?”

  Xenophon nodded slowly at him, and he couldn’t really argue with his statement.

  “Fair enough. My suggestion is we find somewhere to hold up for a few days and get our bearings. We need to work out what we are going to do. With all the retribution and anarchy back home, I think we might be away for some time. There are bound to be jobs we can do here.”

  “Jobs? What, like cleaning windows?” asked a bitter Glaucon.

  Xenophon smiled at him.

  “No, I’m thinking of something that might be better suited to our talents.”

  He looked about the open space and watched more people walking past them. Each one seemed to have a purpose, and all were in a hurry. It was clear that a good part of the traffic, especially for those that looked as if passing through, were heading to the glowing red lights.

  “I don’t know about you, but right now, I could do with a drink. A big drink, and more than one!”

  Glaucon nodded in agreement and placed his hand on Xenophon’s shoulder.

  “For once, we are in complete agreement. Where did you have in mind?”

  Xenophon pointed to the red glow further inside the station.

  “Really, isn’t that a little seedy for you?”

  Xenophon grinned back.

  “We need to get our bearings, and it looks like the busiest place here, so come on.”

  They moved off along the open plaza. Scores of people from all lifestyles tried to peddle their various wares. Some sold nothing more complex than cooked snacks while others sold clothing and electronic goods. It took several minutes to push their way through the stalls until they finally reached the middle of the plaza. At this point, they had a much better view of the place, but it was still by the smoke. Outside a small café, a group of people were laughing about something. They all wore thickly padded pressure suits, of a similar design to those used by atmospheric pilots.

  “Hi, we’re new here, I don’t…”

  The largest man in the group moved to within a metre of Xenophon and glared at him.

  “Listen, Attican, your kind ain’t exactly popular around here. What do you want?”

  “The club at the end, what can you tell me?”

  The man started to laugh, and the rest of his group joined in. Glaucon approached and dropped his right hand down to a pouch on his belt. The larger man quickly spotted the movement and took a step back, his own hand dropped to his side.

  “Hey, weapons are banned here,” he said sternly.

  “Like my friend said, we’re new here. Now, the bar?”

  One of the women in the group stepped closer.

  “What bar?” she asked.

  Xenophon pointed down to the red lights in the distance.

  “That’s no bar. That’s the merc recruitment place. They’re taking people on all the time. Why, you looking to make some money?”

  She stepped around Xenophon provocatively. He watched her but said nothing in reply. Glaucon moved a little closer and whispered in his ear.

  “Mercs? That could be a way to make a few credits. Better than waiting out here. We seem to be attracting attention.”

  Xenophon looked to his right and spotted at least a dozen more people that had stropped whatever it was that they were doing and were now watching them. Movement further away showed three security guards, all wearing heavy armour and carrying rifles.

  “Let’s go and see this merc place,” suggested Glaucon.

  Xenophon recognised the change in tone, and it wasn’t a suggestion. He nodded to the group.

  “Thank you, that’s all we wanted to know.”

  He turned and moved away, his feet moving as quickly as he dared, but not wanting to look too suspicious. They moved through the throng of people, and passing a dance troupe performing some kind of bizarre dance. As they worked their way through the crowd, Glaucon nodded towards the guards who seemed to be following them.

  “Come on, move it!” he said, but this time not bothering to be discreet.

  They increased their speed and forced their way through the crowd and to the large, red-lit doors outside the merc centre. There were six armed men waiting outside, each in an odd collection of clothing and armour and all aiming their weapons at them.

  “What do you want?” asked the closest.

  He was easily two-metres tall and covered from head to toe in worn red armour. A solid metal helmet protected his head, so that only his upper face could be seen through the smoked visor.

  “We’re looking for work,” spluttered out Xenophon.

  “Work? This is an independent merc contractor. You don’t look like mercs.”

  The noise from inside was much louder than either of them had expected, and it was difficult to make out the man’s voice over the sound o
f the music.

  “We’re looking to get started,” explained Glaucon in a conciliatory voice.

  The man looked at them both, starting at their feet and moving up to their faces. It took a few seconds before he finally nodded at them.

  “Well, lucky for you, we’re always looking for fresh meat. This month is the busiest yet. Head inside, we need all sorts for contracts.”

  He paused for just a moment, and then extended his hand to them both.

  “Either of you carrying? If you’re caught with a weapon, you’re banned from the facility, permanently.”

  Both Xenophon and Glaucon turned their heads. The guard gave them one final look and indicated to one of the large sets of doors.

  “Go on, then.”

  Xenophon moved first, and as he approached the metal frame, it hissed open to reveal darkness, flashing lights and even louder music. He looked back to Glaucon who looked doubtful. A number of dubious looking men pushed past them and moved inside. Xenophon pointed past him, and Glaucon turned to see the pursuing guards moving towards them. It was all he needed to persuade him. With almost a stumble they both moved inside, and the door hissed shut behind them.

  It didn’t take long for their eyes to adjust to the interior of the place, and the first thing that caught their attention was how much bigger it was on the inside. The part guarded by the armed men outside gave the impression it was the size of a large bar. In reality, it was more like a small town. Steps and elevators took people up to at least another two floors, and the large open space near the door was filled with recruitment desks and people. Xenophon leaned in to shout into Glaucon’s ear.

  “I heard they recruited lots of mercenaries here. This might be just what we need.”

  Glaucon shrugged, still looking unconvinced at their current course of action. They moved to the first desk that was manned by two scruffy looking men, both in suits and doing their best to ignore Xenophon. Even so, he stepped forward and sat down in front of them. On the table was a small headset and sheets of paper. It was all very low tech and very different to what he had expected. He slid the headphones on to find startling tranquillity.