I did find out the locals were very agitated at the number of drones and platforms, and the discovery of “several types” of espionage devices. We weren’t the only ones intruding. Mr. Schinck claimed anguish and denial of our unethical hiring of his actors for deceitful purposes, and claimed he’d had to pay them out of pocket. Naturally, the cash I’d delivered was not going on his taxes, and he was going to claim the loss on insurance and taxes as well. More power to him.
Silver managed her analysis with chemicals, charts and a number of inquiries. Some explosive had tagged molecules for this purpose, but not all, and I assumed the trail would not lead conveniently from manufacturer to him.
She did find something, though. After hours buried at her screen, taking in nothing but water and cursing periodically, she looked up and caught me.
She said, “The explosive on Mtali was sourced by a company called Chongu Chemical.”
“Okay.”
“They’re widely believed to be a public arm of the mob in Novaja Rossia.”
“Then that’s who I need to talk to if this doesn’t go through.”
Serendipity struck. A message popped up and she glanced at it.
“Guess where our little devices are?”
I quivered alert. “Starport?”
“Yes.”
I said, “We need to be on the next lift.”
She already had her coat and bug-out bag. Anything else we could leave behind. We pulled on pants and shirts, since we weren’t going to be locals. We bounded down the stairs, jumped in the van and rolled.
“I’m disposing of hard evidence,” she said, while running the window down. She held up a large duffel. “Say when.”
“As clear as it’s going to get,” I said.
She pulled a striker, ensured the fuse caught in a cracking puff of sulfur over the spark of voltage, and shoved the bag out into the alley. In seconds, it was a roaring inferno of flame. Any data or ID should be effectively fried in two ways.
Once again, discretion was gone. I drove quickly, we reached the port and didn’t bother locking the vehicle. I even left the key in plain sight, because if it got stolen it was one less piece of evidence to point to us. We hopped on the tram as it rolled past, entered the station with only our bailouts, walked briskly to the counter, I slapped down a card, and we had boarding passes. After being scanned, harassed and ignored by security, we boarded the shuttle.
Silver sat next to me. She smelled a lot better than the stale, musty fabric of the seats. It couldn’t have been cleaned in months to be that saturated with sweat and grime on modern duralon.
She leaned close and said, “Kamu bisa bicara bahasa?” Do you speak Indonesian?
“Lumayan.” Reasonably well. She kept her voice quiet. I wasn’t sure if she knew there was a small community of Indonesian Sunni on Mtali.
“Kita harus segera naik kapal. Kita harus cepat.” We can just make it aboard. We’ll have to run.
“Kemana?” Where?
“Kapal selanjutnya menujui ke NovRos.” The next ship is for Novaja Rossia.
“Kamu yakin dia dikapal itu?” Are we sure he’s on it?
“Tidak. Tapi kita yakin karena dua dari peralatan kita menuju ke arah itu. Saya dapat mengecek kalau ada waktu. Bila kedua peralatan itu menuju kearah yang sama, berarti seseorang menguasainya. Mudah-mudahan dia.” No. We’re sure two of our devices are heading that way. I may be able to check in orbit if there’s time. If they’re both going the same way, then someone has them, hopefully still him.
I did not want to be on the wrong starship while he laughed at us.
Docking seemed to be interminable. I could see the station, alongside. I could see the gangtube. The mating arms swung out, and paused. Some minor software issue kept us sitting.
Then the arms banged down and we were secure. It swung us to horizontal relative to the spin of the station. I waited, gripping the safety harness, staring slantwise at Silver, for the whuf of the airlock. There it was, and I was on my feet in the centrifugal G, clutching bag and ready to move. The people ahead weren’t moving fast enough to suit me, but there was nothing I could do.
I joined the shuffle down the aisle and through the gangtube, pent up and coiled like a spring. As soon as we burst into the station and fanned apart, I went to a brisk stride around and between people, bounding in the .5 G until I got it under control, and headed for a Comm Cubby. Silver went past me and sat down, I blocked the entrance with my bulk.
She pulled out her tracker, built into a standard pocket roll, and brought the system up.
“Still here,” she said, and I exhaled in relief. Ironic. Relieved that I was about to go face-to-face into combat.