Alex breathed in deeply as soon as he got off the transport and tried to get a sense of the smells on the station. No two stations smelled the same for many reasons. Different air recycling systems, different ventilation setups, different pollution standards but most distinctly of all, different food styles. Although the staple diet of the poor masses was synthesised vat grown soy products, it was spiced differently, cooked differently and contained different sauces. This station smelled sweetly with just a tinge of something peppery, not as fiery as Verasi Crossroads but still noticeable. And a small hint of something yeasty, fermented, pungent. He grimaced at that last smell; that would be the waste pools that were overdue for an overhaul. Or at least he hoped that was the case. The yeasty fermented smell would be the wodka vats he had read about and that were the third largest commodity in Daltas hold, the two largest being purified xithricite and the prison facilities that ensured the continued production of that xithricite.
A small welcoming committee was ready to receive him and his team and guide them to the office they would be working from. Alex led his aide lead the way and engage in talks with the local representative while he soaked in the atmosphere of the station. Although the station had suffered from multiple murders lately, he didn't notice anything from the locals in the way the moved and acted. He activated his brainpal and opened a secure line to his 2iC.
"Solus, ask if they have gone public with the murders. I think they have kept it secret."
He received an acknowledgement and continued observing while they walked further into the station.
"Lex, they have said nothing. Didn't want to cause a riot."
"Didn't want to hurt their profits is what they mean surely. Makes it easier for us."
If it wasn't public, the killer was probably not aware that a co-ordinated effort was underway. Good, gave him better chances of succeeding. A plan slowly grew inside his head that would solve this in the most efficient and effortless manner. After all, he was out to make a profit too.
###
Asteroth checked his account and flinched. 17.932 standard UIT credits, hardly enough for a months living and not enough to spare for a ship that he would actually be seen flying in. Not that he had any choice in the matter, his licenses had been kicked back to all 0's making the government issue bus the only option for him here. He inserted his cred stick into the public terminal and accessed Beria's private number. Nothing, actually worse than nothing. The number was not in use, the signal he had designed himself to warn the caller that Beria was no longer in a position where he could draw upon the resources of the Diplomatic Service. Looked like he would have to make his way to Corvus somehow and sell his services there. At least they weren't picky. He reclaimed the cred stick and pocketed it, swallowing a bit of pride and punched open the options for the purchase of an EC-89 class trainer ship. The public terminal softly chimed, an inbound signal. Curious, Asteroth grabbed the terminal and answered. The voice in the other end sounded like someone that had smoked 1000 cigars in one go while screaming all the time, harsh and growling, almost feral.
"You have a problem. I might help you if you help me."
"Who is this?"
"Call me Ahriman. We have worked together before under different names."
"I see. Lets assume I accept, it is not as if I have anything more or better to do, what happens then?"
"Two things. First thing is that you leave this public terminal immediately. Second thing, you go to the main public level where you await a contact."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you will find out whether the GESTAPO assassination teams are as good as they say they are in around a minute."
Asteroth left the terminal immediately and walked directly to the main public level scouting for would-be assassins all the way. Finding none, and not overly surprised by that fact really, he positioned himself outside of the "Arms of Kali" and waited for his contact. He didn't have to wait long. He spotted the contact almost immediately when she entered the concourse. Asteroth remained in place and waited for the contact to come to him, greeting her with a small nod when she arrived.
"Ast, how's things?"
"Not too bad Silia. And on your end?"
"Getting to be okay lately I guess but it was pretty crappy for a bit. Ready to meet the man?"
"He recruited you Silia?"
"Yeah, I didn't get a fancy court martial like you. I got a bomb in the mail that tore my flat mate apart and smashed my left arm. Was a signal for me to disappear but I didn't know who I could trust. So when Ahriman contacted me I leapt at the chance really. Never looked back."
"Guess I am then. Let's go."
Silia walked away without further explanations, expecting him to follow. Asteroth counted his contacts mentally and considered who of them were still alive and who had received a "pleasant" surprise like Silia. He would have to find out and warn them.
###
The Atlas pilot tapped nervously at the status display in a vain attempt at getting the yellow light to go back to green, or at least amber. If he had an engine malfunction now he would not be able to make the time constraints he had agreed to for the delivery. And that would likely ruin him. Sol II Whipbacks had to be eaten within six hours of catching them or they would turn toxic. Whipbacks were not the standard food item; each mature Whipback was a hulking ten tonne maritime reptilian monster that primarily lived at depths of thousand meters or more and the only edible thing on a Whipback was its brain, a fist sized morsel of delicacy. In the old days when the Whipbacks were plentiful, when a live-born Serco became a full warrior he was supposed to catch and kill a Whipback, eating the brain as his proof of his status as warrior. Today the Whipbacks were somewhat rare and most live-born Serco chose to buy the Whipback brains instead, the hardship and work of catching the critters was generally not appreciated in the same way. Needless to say, the prices on Whipback brains was phenomenal on the surface of Sol II and astronomical off the planet with only the richest of customers like the Serco ambassador to Ineubis able to buy it.
The diagnostic light flickered to amber and then back to yellow to the despair of the pilot, nothing seemed to work right now. He started to don his helmet and get ready for EVA to see if he could fix it from the outside. He opened to the emptiness of space and used his small air containers to thrust himself up and towards the engines. He spotted the problem immediately, a cracked inverse flux capacitor to the main de-combobulator in the warp drive. He could fix that with only a little effort, some vacuum grade duct tape and a small piece of wire. Humming to himself he started repairing the engine, focusing on the task. He didn't notice the ship that moved up to his position and stopped no more than 20 meters away. He never noticed that he died either, as the Gatling rounds tore him and his space suit apart with extreme force. The attacking ship disregarded the Atlas and turned away, boosting slowly outward. In a way it was poetic how the Whipbacks slowly degenerated and turned toxic, making the extremely valuable cargo into a lump of death, like what had happened to the mind of William Cutting three months ago.
Sated for now, William slowly boosted away from the person that had served his purpose by becoming a corpse. His face was a still mask with no indications of life except for the occasional flickering of his eyes. A single tear flowed from the left eye mixing with the week old filth that covered his face and matted his beard-stubble. The pain was too big for words and so he kept silent, only the telltale radio message emanating from his ship.
"I cut 'em Janice. I cut 'em good"
###
Cat checked her accounts at a public terminal and almost punched the screen. Her funds had dwindled to a little over three million credits with a claim of two million waiting. She put it on hold, inserted her cred stick and unloaded everything she owned onto the Corvus no-trace stick. There, at least they couldn't steal from her anymore even if her Aeolus official account would probably be closed and she would be banned. She flinched as her headache manifested itself once more with a sharp poke that felt like someone inserted a pick violently into the left side of her brain. It went away again quickly and she exhaled slowly. She pocketed her cred stick and turned around and stared right into the grinning face of two local thugs.
"Wher'd yu think ya gaoin?"
She was about to push him away when he poked her just the tiniest bit in the belly with a short but wickedly looking knife.
"Ah thaink ya betta come wit ma. Put ya hands in dem pockets"
The other thug was holding something in his pocket that could be a hold-out gun or the like.
"An no screemin or ya gits it."
Cat slowly put her hands towards her pockets while activating her brainpal's broadcast function to call for help. She panicked as it didn't respond, the silence deafening inside her head.
"Git ya hands in dem pockets shugar."
The shock of discovering that her brainpal didn't work had caused her to freeze completely. She slowly put her hands in the pockets and flinched as two strong hands grabbed her arms, one thug on each side. The smell of unwashed body, bad mouth hygiene, cheap alcohol and weed almost made her retch especially now when she no longer had her brainpal to filter her senses and control her instincts. She was defeated and moved her feet roughly in the required speed for following the thugs but in reality it was not necessary; they held her tight enough to drag her.
"We's gaoin ta hae fun wit dis un."
The thugs smiled in anticipation as they dragged Cat towards a side exit.
