The Black Garden: Chapter 10

My mind worked quickly as I smiled at Peggy. "Ohhh, I see. That's just a pre-screen tick from the Medical Corps.”

"Really? Whatever does it mean?" Peggy asked, with a measure of real innocence.

I let out a pleasant warm laugh that made her blush again, even as I turned my focus inward and adjusted the parameters of my central nervous system in readiness for combat. The chemical tweaks left me calm and sharp, keeping my heart rate steady. "Just means I've gone through the background checks to comply with local hospital regulations here. Like a pre-screen."

"Ooh! I see, that makes sense." Oblivious and flustered, Peggy turned the screen back and made a few more gestures. My ATLAS sent me a notification of admittance. "Well, Doctor Soo, you already have your bank account set up, so you’re all checked in. You're good for a six-month stay in New Warder, but I do so hope you’ll stay a while longer. We have such a terrible need for good doctors here. There’s a two-month-long queue here to see anyone, you know! And a year for a surgeon, in some cases. It’s just awful.”

I didn't sweat, or even let my pupils pin as I digested the implications of that little orange dot. My thoughts drifted to the pistol and the quantum locker inside my checked bag. If I was right about that mark, I doubted I’d have the chance to draw, load, and fire the former before some kind of security team was on me. "Hopefully I can do my part to shorten the line then, ma’am. Thanks, and good luck with the new job."

I swept off, walking slowly in the hopes it would give me more time. My first move was to patch through to Digger.

"Say, COMMS, I just stepped off the damn plane, and there's some kind of detainment order out on me,” I thought. “Looks like a private military company bounty alert mark. Might be a PMC working for New Warder.”

"I'll pull it up," Digger replied. His voice was terse and calm, but quick. "Yup... looks like someone snuck that on there right as you got off the plane."

"So much for my alias. Why? How?" I could only delay so much without drawing suspicion. "Did the local contact here leak the info?"

"I don’t know who tagged you yet, but they would have to be planetside. Hold for me."

My intuition reached a fever pitch as I passed through the gate and spotted them: two squads of four men, all human, all in casual wear. Even out of uniform, they had the stances and positioning of experienced soldiers. Both groups were watching the baggage claim conveyors. There were also two unnaturally large men roaming the crowd and scanning faces.

"The sharks are in the tank with me, COMMS." I put my face down and fell in behind a taller, broader man heading for Claims, keeping to his shadow until I could break away and stand within a dense cluster of people waiting for the belt to start spitting out their bags. They were coming out in twos and threes, and my heart lifted when I saw my bag roll up out of the chute and thump onto the belt.

I angled myself to minimize my exposure to view from the front, keeping the back of my head to the distant squad while watching them from the corner of my eye. Another scout broke off from each group to join in the roaming as the claim area began to fill. But no matter what positioning I used, it was a matter of time before they found me.

"Digger, my darling, I don’t want to be a drag, but uh..." I counted the seconds until my bag came around, then leaned out and hauled it off. “We’ve got about ten seconds before I need to start breaking people.”

"We've got the bounty mark off your profile and changed your I.D. Threw up a new trail for them to follow. Are they still after you?" Digger’s telemetric voice was grim with concentration.

I glanced to my left as one of the rough-looking men grabbed an Asian woman from the crowd by her arm and roughly hauled her out. She let out a startled shout, twisting away from him as he stared at her face for just long enough to realize she wasn’t the right person. “They sure are.”

"Do what you have to do, then. We’re trying to track who put it there, but it's locked down tight. Could be our friendly neighborhood demon vector got a whiff of your trail somehow."

“If they did, then their hacking is better than our security. What was this about New Warder being a po-dunk little nothing-town?” Calmly, I stacked and clipped my carry-on to the larger suitcase, then wove through the crowd toward the front of the hall. I mapped the stream of foot traffic with a glance, mingling into the densest knots of people as they moved for the doors. “If push comes to shove, I'll handle these lunks as discreetly as I can. Also, this informant of ours: he was supposed to be waiting to escort, but there's no one here. Where the hell is he?"

"The C.I. says he’s parked outside. And no, these guys aren't cops. I've got an ID on one through your ATLAS... Richard Johnson, private security for Hellion Intergalactic. Space pirates pretending to be a private military company. Client info is a blank."

“Wait. You’re telling me one of the guys that’s stalking my ass right now is named Dick Johnson?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. They’re pirates.”

“So who else do we have? Hugh Janus? Mike Litoris?” I focused my gaze and set off at a brisk walk for the glass doors at the other end of the arrivals hall, resisting the urge to look back or around.

"Wouldn’t be surprised if I turn up one ‘Hugh G. Rexson.’ Once you’re outside, you’re looking for a black muscle car. Model name Goshawk. They use registration here, plate is 885-OOL."

“Got it.”

From behind me, I heard someone shout. "Hey! Hey, you! Stop!"

I did not stop. I breezed out the door—and ran right into the chest of another grunt. The guy was the size of a barn door. As he caught my wrist, I could see the glowing golden inlays on the man's roughly-shaven cheeks. Light tattoos, a kind of 'hard' wetwear fashionable in Nu-suht territories.

“Doctor An, right?” There was the fruity tinge of ketosis on the man’s breath as he exhaled into my face. “There’s someone who wants a word with you. Come with me, and we’ll make sure you get there safe.”

“Sorry, doctor who?” My face flooded with a ditzy smile, even as I brought my knee up sharply between the man’s legs. The jeans were Kevlar, but they didn’t stop the pain—amplified by the thrust of raw neural agony I channeled up into his body. “Oopsie.”

The huge man mewled as his legs buckled. I caught him by the shoulders and gently steered him aside to continue on my way. Cries of alarm went up as I left the man to retch on hands and knees and set off at a brisk pace toward the car waiting for me at the edge of the ring road. It really was a muscle car, with the low-slung menace of a big cat on wheels. From the corner of my eye, I saw the remaining mercenaries boil out of the airport like a cloud of angry wasps as they scanned the nervous crowd and locked on, just as the officer behind the wheel threw the door open and unfolded himself from the seat.

Holy crap. Any day where I got to reduce a man to a puking mess felt like a good day, and the sudden appearance of eye-candy only made it better. I’d only been given the barest information about this man, nothing but a letter and a basic physical description: ’J’, 188cm, 175lb, brown hair, blue eyes. Whatever picture I’d formed would have fallen short of his hard-cut, hawkish face; the slash of cheekbones, full mouth, and deep-set, intense eyes that burned with a mixture of suspicion and alarm as he locked his gaze with mine.

"Sorry I'm late, officer. Had to play ring-around-the-rosie with the goon squad back there." Slightly breathless, I walked with the kind of stiff speed that made me look like I desperately needed the bathroom. "Can you please grab my suitcase? I think I should get in the car.”

“... Sure. And call me Jak." His voice was smooth but accented, giving the short name an Afrikaaner lilt. 'Jek'. "Get in and take a load off, yeh?"

“I’ll take a load off with you any time, papi,” is what I wanted to say. Instead I gave him a nod and wiggled my fingers at the gang of nine PMCs as they skidded to a halt in an awkward, seething gaggle some thirty feet away. That was one advantage to a city with cops.

"Making friends here already, eh? What do they want with you?" Jak wore a compact semi-auto rifle in a sling across his chest, his badge on prominent display on the front of his belt. His outfit was simple: black t-shirt, grey-washed jeans, combat boots. No jewelry other than a platinum band on the wrong ring finger. As he sunk into the leather seat beside me, I caught the clean, masculine scent of his cologne. It was rich and dark and woody, with just a hint of sweetness.

"Uh..." It took me a moment to collect my thoughts. "No idea, actually. Have to say, first time I've ever had mercs try and grab me before checking into my suite. They usually let me reach the hotel first."

"Usually." Jak snorted.

"Must be the heat." My eyes flicked from detail to detail. "So, detective… Does the force know you're out here?"

Jak exhaled thinly, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. This car actually had one: it wasn't a fully self-driving machine. "No. I don't need the chief to wipe my arse. Took some leave for this. Also, look sharp. We're being followed."

I already had one eye on the side mirror. An unremarkable red truck loaded with six of the men from the airport swung out of the terminal exit behind us, going twenty over the posted limit. "We sure are. Is it illegal for me to like, ask you to lure them somewhere kind of private so I can beat the shit out of them?"

"Eh. Technically." Jak pressed a button on the dash. Concealed sirens screamed to life overhead, and he hit the manual accelerator as cars scrambled to get out of the way. "Let's see if they can drive."

“Oh hell yes.” I cackled as I was crushed back into the seat.