Murder World- Kaiju Dawn

  MURDER WORLD:

  KAIJU DAWN

  Jason Cordova

  &

  Eric S. Brown

  Interlude I

  “Please state your name for the record.”

  The man fumbled with the microphone for a moment before he spoke, his tone filled with nerves and fear. In the small, cramped room, there was barely enough space for him, the prosecutor who sat across from him, and the four armed Marines. The air was hot and humid. Between the armed guards and the way they continued to finger the triggers of their rifles, he was almost certain that he would not be walking out of the interrogation room alive.

  “James Ambrose.”

  “And what is your occupation, Mister Ambrose?”

  “I’m the owner of Intergalactic Shipping and Freight, which consists of twelve for-hire merchant vessels. This includes the merchant vessel Fancy.”

  “But you are not its captain?”

  “No sir,” the pudgy businessman said as he wiped sweat from his brow. “I lease her out to other individuals on yearly contracts.”

  “And to whom is the vessel Fancy currently leased?”

  “Ah, that would be Captain Vincente Huerta, sir.”

  “And have you had any contact with Captain Huerta in the past six months?”

  “No,” Ambrose said as he continued to sweat profusely under the withering gaze of the Prosecutor. “He still has lease on the ship for another two months, and since he’s leased out the ship for five years now, he usually just deposits the money he owes into my account.”

  “You do realize that in a Court of Law, your business transactions come under the scrutiny of the Tax Revenue Service, and that all your transactions regarding Captain Huerta and the Fancy will be audited?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Very well,” the Prosecutor flipped through his screen for a moment before he paused and looked back up at the man. “Mister Ambrose, what can you tell us about Captain Huerta? Something that wouldn’t be on financial records? Something that only his associates would know?”

  James Ambrose thought for a moment before he answered, “Well, I can tell you one thing for certain, sir.”

  “And that is?”

  “He’s a goddamned lunatic, uh, sir.”

  Chapter One

  “Vincente!” A woman’s voice jarred him awake. He cracked open his eyes, rubbed away the filth and grime, and struggled to sit up in his bunk. He fumbled around for a moment as he searched for his comm unit. His hand smacked against the metal frame of his bunk and he yelped in pain. He blinked twice as he realized that he was on the floor, his bed was above him, and an empty bottle of booze was under his back.

  For a moment, he wondered just how he had ended up there, until memories of the night before came back to him. He groaned and put his head back down on the cool floor, ignoring the bottle pressing into his sciatica. He’d slept on worse things in the past, though nothing so bad recently.

  His gung-ho days of yore were long behind him.

  “Way too much whiskey,” he muttered. “Can’t drink a fifth anymore without paying the price. Ugh. What was I thinking? Lights on.”

  The overhead light of his room turned on, casting a harsh glare about. Vincente winced as his head began to throb. He pulled himself up off the floor and stumbled over to the small, steel mirror above his sink. Spitting in the sink, Vincente tried to clear his mouth of the foul taste. He glanced at himself and was appalled at who was looking back at him.

  Unshaven cheeks with unkempt hair, he looked every part the scoundrel his first ex-wife’s family had called him from the moment they laid eyes on him long before. His eyes were bloodshot, and he felt an unpleasant and familiar fuzz over his teeth. He exhaled and gagged as the overwhelming stench of cheap booze hit him again.

  “Jesus…” Vincente hissed, holding back the urge to vomit. If his breath was that bad, he was almost afraid of how much worse his clothes were.

  “Vincente!”

  “What?!” he roared back and winced as a fresh jolt of pain tore through him. “Ow. Shit, my head…”

  “Comm call,” the reply came. “I think it’s for a job.”

  “Damn it,” he muttered as his blue eyes inspected the rest of him in the mirror. “I look like shit. Can you stall?”

  “I’ve been stalling for fifteen minutes, you fat old drunk!”

  “Right,” he breathed. “Okay, be there in a minute. Get me a stim, will you?”

  “I’m not your servant!”

  “I’m still your boss. Stimulant. Now.”

  “Old, fat bastard…” the voice trailed off as his pilot moved down the corridor.

  He turned on the faucet and splashed a little water on his face. The cold shocked him awake, though it also made the sledgehammer pounding at his temples more evident. He toweled his face dry and turned off the water.

  “I still look like hell,” he said before shrugging. “Screw it.”

  He stumbled over to his hatch and popped it open. The oil-and-recycled oxygen smell nearly overwhelmed him as the new scents collided with the booze-soaked atmosphere of his room. He shook his head, struggling to regain his bearings. He glanced towards the cockpit, where his pilot was returning with a stim in her hand. He smiled as he saw the small medical device.

  “Thanks, Jasmine.”

  “Thank me later,” she said as she handed him the small injector. “When you’re in immense pain after this wears off and I’m mocking you. I’ll feel better about it then. I might even gloat some about how I’m always right and you’re always stupid.” He pressed it against his neck pulled the trigger. Immediately, the neural stimulators went to work, temporarily ridding him of any and all symptoms of his hangover. He sighed with great pleasure as the hangover disappeared and his brain was not as mushy as it had been.

  “Ah, bliss,” he murmured. “Blessed light, this is good stuff for a hangover. So, what do we know about the potential client?”

  “Sounds desperate,” Jasmine said as she flipped her long, braided hair over one shoulder. “Nice clothes, good haircut. Has had some minor cosmetic nanosurgery on his face to make him look slightly different, but nothing major, so he’s done some covert work or cheated on his wife recently with a younger woman. My guess is he’s either a spook or military.”

  “Military, huh? Interesting,” Vincente said as he made his way to the cockpit. Once there, he plopped down into his seat and looked over at the comm. It was blinking yellow. He shot a questioning glance at Jasmine, who shook her head.

  “They tried to lock our comms down when they came calling,” she explained. “I had to bypass the main sequencers just so they’d think they had locked us out. I think they didn’t want to leave any evidence of them calling. I’ve already made triplicates, and I’m recording it as well, just in case.”

  “So they don’t know about the upgrades?”

  “If they did, they’d have already hung up on us. No, we’re good.”

  “Good girl,” he said. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

  “You look horrible, boss.”

  “Can’t be helped,” he stated. “Let’s see who’s calling today, shall we?”

  He activated his comm and the light turned green. Four seconds later, a face appeared on the screen. Vincente nodded. Jasmine had been correct about the potential client, as usual. He knew that there had been a reason he continued to tolerate her insolence.

  “This is Captain Vincente Huerta of the Fancy. How can I help you today?”

  “I’m looking for the individual who once transported fifty tons of uncut diamonds for the Mossdale Cartel from right under the noses of the Morathi State
Security,” the man on the comm said. “Did I find the right person?”

  “That’s somewhat private information you have there, mister,” Vincente said as he stared at the comm. Only seven people alive knew about that haul, and two of them were on his ship at that moment. Very shortly, he was going to have a talk with someone about how to keep secrets. If he ever did figure out precisely who that person was. “And you are?”

  “You may call me Hines.”

  “No rank, Mister Military Man?”

  “Just… Hines.”

  “So mysterious,” Vincente grunted. “Fine, have it your way. So how can I be of service to you?”

  “We need you to retrieve vital, sensitive information from a research vessel which has crash-landed on a planet near a quarantine zone,” Hines said through the comm. The delay was down to a miniscule four seconds now, and Vincente was pleased with the comm unit upgrade he had purchased on the black market two months before. Granted, if Hines ever figured out that the Fancy had military grade hardware, Vincente would be looking at a few years in a labor camp. “The planet is coded as Gorgon IV, and we’ll pay you well for your troubles.”

  “So send in the Marines,” Vincente said, his voice hoarse. He rubbed his face and tried to keep the smile off his face as credit signs bounced around in his head. Off to the side, he saw Jasmine make a face at him. He sighed. The woman just would not let his appearance be, apparently.

  “It’s outside controlled space,” Hines replied.

  “And Marines only go to fun, vacation resorts and never have to break things?”

  “We have our reasons,” Hines said. Vincente finally grinned.

  “You bastards were out in Zebulun space again, ‘researching’, and you lost a spy ship– I’m sorry, a ‘research vessel’– and you can’t send in any sanctioned rescue involving military personnel, even black ops, because then, someone will know just how badly you fucked up, and you like your rank and pay, and really dislike failure. Am I right? Tell me I’m right. I know I’m right.”

  “Will you take the job or not?” Hines growled, his pitch low and dangerous.

  “Half a mil up front, five million upon delivery of the data banks of your,” he made quotations motions in the air with his fingers, “research vessel,” Vincente said.

  “What?!”

  “That’s strange. I didn’t stutter, and I know I didn’t speak in a language you’re unfamiliar with.”

  “You’re out of your goddamned mind! I should just shoot you for cause and hire someone else!”

  “You already tried that,” Vincente said, his grin widening. “Trying to hire someone else, I mean. They all told you to blow off. You only came to me as a last resort, which means I get to dictate the price. Sucks, don’t it?”

  “I don’t have to take this–”

  “Yes, you do,” Vicente said. “Keep arguing and the price doubles.”

  “Fine! Half a million credits, wired into your personal account…”

  “I have a numbered account available that I would prefer to use,” Vincente interrupted again as he began to type on the keyboard. He sent the information to Hines. “It’s on Kaymin.”

  “That’s tax dodging!” Hines roared, his face beginning to turn red.

  “That’s inadmissible in court,” Vincente said calmly. “Comm relays are unreliable and can be faked or corrupted. Besides, it’s not tax dodging at all. It’s simply the military transferring funds to an unknown entity in neutral space. You can’t tell me that it’s never been done before, Hines. The direct transfer avoids any… problems we might have Tax Revenue Service. I don’t want to break the law. I’m a law-abiding citizen, and tax dodging is a crime.”

  “The hell you are. Fine, you’ll have your money within the hour.”

  “Excellent,” Vincente leaned back in his chair and smiled. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Hines.”

  “Fuck off, you pirate.” the comm call ended. Vincente swiveled his chair around and found Jasmine staring at him. He shrugged his shoulders and abstractedly waved a hand in the direction of the comm.

  “Think I asked for too much?”

  “Too little,” she grunted. His eyes widened in surprise. “Do you know what people in that sector call Gorgon IV?”

  “No… and I have a feeling I should,” Vincente admitted.

  “You ever heard of Murder World?”

  “Yeah, sure, everyone’s heard of– wait. Seriously? That place is real?”

  “As real as you or I,” Jasmine said.

  “Shit.”

  “That’s what you get for getting so damned drunk last night. I thought you were just crazy to accept the job, not stupid and ignorant.”

  “I can always say I changed my mind,” he muttered as he turned back around. “Just gotta get on the comm…”

  “Too late,” Jasmine said and passed over the small banking tablet. She jabbed a finger at the account balance, which was now markedly higher than it had before the comm call. “Money’s already been deposited. We have to do it.”

  “Damn it. Now what?”

  “Now we go to Murder World,” Jasmine said, “and probably die. Momma said that following you around would kill me one day. I just thought it’d be much later than this. Thanks a lot, by the way.”

  “We’re going to need a crew,” Vincente moaned as he rested his elbows on the console. He buried his face in his hands. “Besides you and Kamol, I mean. Probably have to pay them well, too. Bunch of damned mercenaries. You know how much money it costs to get a mercenary squad together? Then we have to buy their armor, ammo, food…”

  “Psychopaths,” Jasmine added, her lips pursed in a thoughtful manner. “That’s the only type of people we’re going to be able to hire. We try to hire non-crazies and they’ll chicken out the minute they hear that we’re headed for Murder World. And there’s only one place in this sector that has the kind of psychotic scumbags needed…”

  “Alawi,” Vincente sighed. “I’m going to have to go back to Alawi and see–”

  “And apologize to her.”

  “–and apologize to that, that–”

  “Lady?”

  “–contemptible, soulless bitch–”

  “She’s going to shoot you again if you talk like that. I may have to help her.”

  “–and she’s going to want a cut of the money as well–”

  “Well, you did cheat her out of over one hundred thousand credits.”

  “–just to let me even begin to try and hire someone sitting inside her bar willing to sign on and go die with us,” Vincente finished. He glared at Jasmine, who smiled serenely at him. He looked at her with a quizzical expression. “You, you really think Mooney’s going to shoot me again?”

  “Definitely,” Jasmine nodded. “She might even aim for something vital this time, like your di–”

  “I hate that woman,” Vincente said as he rubbed his temples. “Damn. The stim is wearing off. Can I have another?”

  “Tough,” Jasmine said as she walked out of the cabin. “One every twelve hours. Sorry. Serves you right, though.”

  “Women,” Vincente muttered as the first wave of his monstrous hangover crashed over him.

  Chapter Two

  “Fancy, you are cleared to land at docking bay fourteen. Please be prepared to declare any fruits or live animals upon arrival,” the voice squawked over the comm.

  “Thank you, Control. Fancy, out,” Jasmine killed the comm and looked back over her shoulder. “Relax, boss. If she’d really wanted you dead, she’d have hired someone to finish the job years ago.”

  “Or else she wants to do it herself,” Vincente mumbled as Jasmine guided the Fancy into a controlled descent through the thick atmosphere of the small moon.

  Ever since he had realized that he would have to go to Alawi to recruit his mercenaries, Vincente had been a nervous wreck. He paced the corridors tirelessly as he thought of every single way that Mooney Starchild Glow could murder him, and each new way wa
s worse than the previous one.

  “Traffic Control has us on auto now and is taking us in,” Jasmine said as she popped out of the cockpit. She watched Vincente pace nervously up and down the hall for a moment before she interrupted his private musings. “You should probably put some body armor on. Just in case, you know, she doesn’t wait for you to explain.”

  “I don’t know where it is,” Vincente muttered as his pace increased. “Hell, I don’t even know if it fits anymore.”

  Jasmine shook her head. “Just apologize, offer to pay her back, and she’ll forgive you. Probably.”

  Vincente snorted. “Pigs’ll fly. How long until we’re on the ground?”

  “About eight minutes,” Jasmine said after casting a quick look at the display terminal. “We’re fourth in their queue, but there’s a tramp freighter ahead of us. Big old Tibetan.”

  “Ugh,” Vincente groaned. “Those things should be banned.”

  “I’m going to grab a few things,” she said. “You should probably let Kamol know what’s going on.”

  “Right,” he breathed as Jasmine disappeared down the long corridor. He activated the ship’s internal comms and buzzed the engineer. “Kamol? You alive down there?”

  “Ravki lunga dou?”

  “No, you’re not supposed to be dead,” Vincente sighed. Some aliens understood human mannerisms and slang, but the Lorn was not one of them. On the plus side, they were fantastic engineers, and some of the most sought-after crew in all of known space. “We’re going to try to hire some folks for a job. Watch the ship, and don’t let any customs agent on board.”

  “Shishika dou?”

  “The hell if I know,” Vincente admitted. “Kick their ass? Just don’t kill them, even if they force the issue. We can always claim you thought they were trying to steal the ship, and you don’t understand all human languages.”

  “Forthraki cona din louda.”

  “I know you understand them all, but they won’t,” Vincente reminded the alien. “Okay, just keep it locked up until we come back. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”