The Dragon Writers Collection Read online

  “I’m so hungry I could eat the backside of a-”

  “Dooly!” Dooly caught Heck’s expression and closed his mouth. “A lady is present.”

  Dooly nodded but gave Laylara a sideways glance as he followed them out of the slip and into Portside, New London.

  With their official Commonwealth credentials - Heck had sworn Laylara in as a Deputy Marshal too - the trio slipped quickly through the Customs and Borders Police processing point. Heck and Dooly had been to the drift a hundred times and seen more than they’d ever care to. But for the uninitiated, it could be an overwhelming sight. The creators of Portside had gone to great lengths to create an Earth-like feel. Holographic computers simulated the effects of the sun and sky and artificial weather controls modified the temperature to parallel Earth’s change of seasons. Since the founders of Churchill Drift had been largely of Old Earth’s United Kingdom, the climate was accordingly dreary. Today it was cool and damp and Heck was glad he’d brought his jacket.

  Air traffic was not permitted within the confines of Churchill Drift so the founders created a system of roadways with motorized transports, like those used on Old Earth, to move people about. Finding a taxi stand, the trio stood at the curb of a large roadway and Dooly tried to catch the attention of passing cabbies. Finally a sleek black sedan with a yellow light on top slid up to the curb. The back door opened and the friends were glad for the nicely heated cabin.

  “Where to, guv?” asked the driver, with a faint British accent.

  “Section Ten. Regency Express Hotel.” Heck slipped his Churchill Drift fare card into the slot. The computer accepted his credit and the driver nodded, lurching out into the fast moving traffic welcomed by a string of curses and blaring horns.

  Laylara nestled her head into Heck’s shoulder and he let his mind drift over the events of the day. Portside gave way to a larger city whose name escaped Heck at the moment and tall skyscrapers towered a kilometer or more into the holographic sky. Massive holographic billboards advertised products and services. Vid screens in the cab blared to life every time they passed by a shopping center or superstore. The illusory sun disappeared behind illusory clouds and a cold drizzle began to fall. The hum of the cab’s wipers lulled Laylara and Dooly to sleep, the latter snoring softly.

  Sirens blared and a bright yellow and white checkered police car with brilliant blue flashing lights sped by the cab, on its way to handle some emergency; an ambulance followed some distance behind. A red double-decker bus eased up beside the cab as traffic came to a stop, a tour guide could be heard pointing out this place of interest and the history of that particular street corner. The illusion was so real that Heck really felt like he was back on Earth, in the UK on vacation.

  He shook his head to clear it.

  Ruger missiles, he thought to himself. Only Commonwealth craft have those. Are the criminals using Rugers now? Or, did another Commonwealth craft take out Marauder? No signs of a fight. No escape pods. No distress calls or warning beacons. Nothing. Sabotage, perhaps. Perhaps not.

  Heck mulled these things over in his head and compared them to his own knowledge of the criminal activity in that sector of relatively peaceful space. None of the regular small-time pirates had the muscle for something on that scale. Their ships wouldn’t even be capable of counteracting the Newtonian Effect of firing missiles in zero-gravity; recoil was mean in space.

  No, he thought. Much more likely to be a larger mafia or gang. But who? Surely Kharkov’s gang aren’t resorting to using Commonwealth arms. What would be the point? If they took out Marauder, they’d use their own guns so everyone knew it was them who did it.

  A thought occurred to him with sudden force as the taxi slid to a stop in front of Regency Hotel. He quickly coded a message to his ship’s computer from his remote control.

  “Your stop, guv.”

  “Thanks.”

  Heck poked Dooly in the ribs to wake him up and the three exited the cab. A concierge picked up their duffel bags for them and loaded them onto a hover cart while the computer checked them in. Coded keys popped out from a small device attached to the hover cart and the concierge led the trio upstairs. Dooly went into his room directly opposite Heck and Laylara. Heck sat down at the holocomputer in his room and linked it to Sixkiller’s own system using a special private networking technology that only the Commonwealth government had.

  “What’s happening?” asked Laylara, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  “I had Sixkiller’s computer run a more detailed analysis of the debris scans.”

  “What for?”

  “Missile signatures.”

  Laylara draped her arms over his shoulders and gently kissed his ear. The problem was, and Laylara instantly knew it by his lack of reaction, that Business mode was still in effect. Heck just couldn’t shake the feeling that they were in danger, though it defied logic to think so. “Heck, remember your promise?”

  “Hmm?” he asked scanning the signatures.

  “You said we would ‘catch up’?’”

  “I did?” he asked. Then another warning bell hit him before Laylara could and he said, “Yes! I did. We will.” The fire in Laylara’s eyes died down, a bit, that is; no woman liked being sidelined. And Laylara had a temper to rival a cornered badger.

  “Well?” she demanded, in a tone that really said, “This-better-be-good.”

  Heck blew out a sigh. This was bad.

  “What is it, hun?” she asked, her anger abated. She knew by the set of his shoulders and the tension in his neck that there really was something more serious at hand.

  “Those missiles were ours.”

  “Well, we already knew that. Didn’t we?” she asked, getting his drift but hoping she was wrong. “Commonwealth missiles?”

  “No. I meant our missiles. Sixkiller’s missiles!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Special Agent Hall had arrived at the docks on Churchill Drift, the irony bitter. He’d had only one evening to put his affairs in order and then it was an awful fourteen hour ride aboard the slow-moving prisoner transport known as the CS Leviathan Hulk. The trip was abysmal even though he was allowed to pass the trip on the officers’ deck. It was an old ship that had once served as the HMS Leviathan Hulk, a prison ship in the service of the United Kingdom Space Agency before the Commonwealth was formed. It was a simple ship that orbited the Earth, going from space station to space station picking up prisoners who would spend the rest of their lives in space, never to touch Earth again.

  The ship stank of death and decay, though no one had died on board the Leviathan Hulk in almost one hundred years. Hall heard more than one crewman naming the ship haunted, mostly with the souls of her sea-faring namesake from the 1800’s, the HMS Leviathan. Hall saw no indication that this ship was haunted whatsoever, but it was a very unclean ship. It ran on fuel mined from the Moon and left a trail of smoke in its wake wherever it went. The residue of that awful exhaust somehow found a way into the ship’s air circulation system and nearly everyone serving on her was sick.

  When they finally arrived at Churchill Drift, Hall was thrilled to see the docks of Portside City and eagerly gave the Customs Agent his credentials, who waived him through the Outpost. Hall quickly realized he was overdressed for this part of Portside and stepped out to the curb to hail a cab. Marshal Thomas and his partner Doolin were shrewd and quick on their feet. They would have informants reporting the arrival of any Bureau agents in town.

  Luckily a cab slid up to the curb and he was inside within a minute of arriving on the street. Chances of being spotted were slim, but the arrival of CS Leviathan Hulk from the Moon would have been noticed.

  “Where to, guv?” asked the cabbie in his slight British accent.

  “I’m not sure. I need a hotel.”

  “Convention in town today, guv. Most hotels are full up except for them high class ones, eh? I think the Silverton would do you nice though. Lemme check for you, sir.”

  Hall nodded and the cabbie flipped o
n his holocomputer. With one hand he flipped images around and settled on the one he needed. A small advertisement for the Silverton Hyde Hotel floated in mid-air for a moment. Then, the word ‘VACANCY’ popped into view.

  “In luck today, sir!”

  “Sounds fine. What’s near there?” The cab sped off onto the main highway, welcomed into the flow of traffic by blaring horns and angry motorists.

  “A short walk to the cinema, if you like that sort of thing. Shopping, restaurants, Chinatown ain’t too far neither, sir. If you like, I can show you a real good place to eat. Took me old mum there just yesterday, I did.”

  “Is it far from the Silverton?”

  “No, sir. Bottom floor of the Regency Express Hotel. Next door to the Silverton, St. Alban’s Pub.”

  “No need to show me then. I’ll find it myself. Thank you.”

  “However you like, sir.”

  Marshal Heck Thomas was in trouble. Before him stood one of the most dangerous adversaries he’d ever faced, one with very good aim.

  “Ouch!” he shouted, ducking as a butter knife sailed through the air and grazed his temple. “Knock it off, already!”

  “Don’t move, ass!”

  “What? I’m not gonna stand still while you throw- damn!” A deftly thrown fork sailed through the air and struck the counter top in the kitchen area of their hotel suite. “That almost got me.”

  “That was the idea!” she shouted. Heck charged in and grabbed her wrists. If Laylara Espinosa was one thing, she was a fighter. Seeing his charge, Laylara waited for Heck to get in close and slammed her knee into his groin. Stunned, Heck fell to his knees and was rewarded with a stinging slap to the cheek. Open-handed, thankfully.

  “I...give...up,” he groaned.

  “Good. Now that I have your attention, we will talk.” She stood over him, glaring at him, eyes red with anger. He looked down at her feet, sucking wind. Then, when Laylara turned slightly to build up her next verbal assault, Heck swung his forearm hard and struck her behind the knee. Her leg now up in the air in front of her, and decidedly off balance, Heck threw himself forward and took her down in a bear hug. They landed on the bed, Laylara struggling mightily, and Heck thinking he was wrestling a sixty-five kilo salmon!

  Heck squeezed her until she quit struggling, then squeezed a little more. “Are we done?” he asked, tersely.

  She answered him with a look that meant he was, in fact done for; whenever she got free.

  “Laylara, please-”

  “Save it!” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. Heck relaxed, she relaxed. “Damn you!”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I am.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I understand. It just always happens like this. There’s never going to be an ‘us’ is there?”

  “God, I hope so! I’ve got nothing else to live for, but seeing you again. As long as you’re not trying to kill me with a butter knife.”

  “Heck, I just have a really bad feeling about this. Something awful is going on and obviously you are target.”

  “Look, I’m safe for now. Nothing’s come through official channels. No orders to return to Marshal Base. No warrant for my arrest.” Yet, he added silently.

  “That’s the worst part, Heck, and you know it,” she said passionately, tears brimming. “They aren’t going to announce to the world that they are coming after the famous Marshal Heck Thomas!”

  Heck dropped his head to her shoulder and said nothing. She was right. They were coming after him, it was only a matter of time. “There is nothing I can do about that,” he said softly.

  “Yes, there is. We can run!”

  “Where?” he asked wearily. “Put your emotions down for a minute. The only place in the Solar System we can go and really hide is the Outer System”

  “What about Earth? The non-Commonwealth countries? We could go to Argentina or Chile. The Commonwealth wouldn’t find us there.”

  “They would. They have spies everywhere.” He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. “This has to stop here, before it gets bigger. I have to find out what happened to CS Marauder. I’ll wager it’s connected to Yulia Kharkov.”

  “She’ll kill you, Heck.”

  “She’ll try.”

  “When she gets finished with you, I’m going to kill you all over again.”

  “Baby, I love you. When this-”

  She hit him in the gut.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve heard it from you a hundred times.”

  “Good, I’m getting tired of saying it,” he said with a grin and kissed her. They lay in each other’s arms for a while, each afraid to let go. Each knowing what would happen when he walked out the door. There was a good chance he wasn’t coming back. “Check out and go to another hotel. Somewhere on the drift, but far from here.”

  He handed her a small, palm sized, Churchill Drift holophone. Then he gave her a holocard with a pre-paid holophone number on it. “I picked those up today, with cash. Won’t be traceable to me for a while. Call me on this number. Tell me where you are in Portuguese. Numbers only, no names. I’ll figure out the rest.” He slipped her a credit card pre-loaded with Commonwealth dollars.

  “Please,” she began as he got up. But she stopped herself. The set of his shoulders told her business mode was on. His emotions were locked away in a deep dark corner of his soul now and she’d never reach them. His face a mask of stone, he turned his head slightly and waited for her to continue.

  “Be careful. I love you.”

  Heck nodded, put his hat on and strode out of the room.

  “Hall!” David Hall was sound asleep on his very comfortable bed in the Silverton Hyde Hotel. But for some reason, the annoying voice of his boss was buzzing through his dreams. The incessant voice danced around his ears like an angry wasp and he tried to shoe it away.

  “Wake up, damnit!” It was no use. The wasp would not go away. Now he would have to kill it. He sat bolt upright in his bed, hand balled into a fist, ready to smash the annoying creature that was interrupting his dreams.

  Then he saw a hologram version of Revelier glaring at him and woke up.

  “What?” he groaned. There was no use keeping the charade up.

  “Oh, feeling a little insolent are we?” he asked in that condescending tone.

  “You would too if you’d been on that sorry excuse for a ship.”

  “I’m sorry you weren’t booked with first class accommodations on Emirates Cruise Lines,” he said caustically.

  “I’m here.”

  “And you know why you were chosen.”

  “Yes, and it wasn’t the painting.”

  Revelier laughed heartily. “No, it wasn’t. Solve this problem and you can have your old, cushy job back.”

  “Fine,” he growled. “I’ll take care of your problem.”

  “Mine?” he asked, incredulous.

  “If you hadn’t screwed with the Moon Police so much, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  “Oh,” answered Revelier, amused once more. “Is that what you’d like to call it? Fine. Take care of my public relations issue, then.”

  “How?”

  “What? You can’t figure this out on your own?”

  “Oh, I can. But I know you better. You’ve already arranged a meeting with one of your informants.”

  “Right you are,” agreed Revelier. “St. Alban’s Pub, Regency Hotel. 1700 drift time.”

  Hall nodded wearily.

  “This stays quiet, Hall.”

  “Quiet.”

  “I’ve put a little pressure on the Marshals Service. That should squeeze our prey out into the open.”

  The hologram flashed and Revelier was gone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The illusory sun was high and bright over Portside City, creating deep shadows in the alleyways of the drift. The air was cool, damp in this particular alley. Heck and Dooly walked amidst a quiet and dangerous looking group of men. Ragged looking, dirty was their appearance. Yet they had an ai
r of confident ability. Neither challenging, nor taunting; merely capable.

  Heck nodded to one man in particular, an old acquaintance.

  “Hello, Garret.”

  “What do you want, Marshal?” came the calm response. Heck knew very well that the calmness of these men did not equal the lack of a threat. They were skilled fighters, these men. Many of them veterans of one military force or another. All of them committed to their organization. Committed and capable. “Ain’t no warrants in this crowd.”

  “That’s right. All of you are clear. I need to see Virgil.”

  “Virgil,” repeated the man. “Virgil doesn’t want to be seen.”

  “He will want to see me.”

  “Reckon he might, Marshal. Reckon he might. But I don’t reckon he’ll want to see that one.”

  “Dooly is my deputy. He comes with me.”

  “Marshal Thomas. Way I see it, I owe you one. The boys here know what you did for me when I was on death row. You knew it weren’t right, what they done. ’Cuz of you, my sentence was commuted.” The other men nearby eyed the duo carefully, a little more respectfully. “I always pay my debts, Marshal, so consider this payment. He should not be trusted.”

  Heck looked over at Dooly who looked chagrined and shrugged. Dooly?

  Heck, unsure what Garret was talking about, looked back at the man. “Why shouldn’t I trust my deputy, Garret?”

  Garret stuck a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth, then spit noisily on the ground, splattering his own boot, all the while never breaking eye contact with Dooly.

  “Ain’t you heard of the Doolin Gang, Marshal Thomas? The one your grand-sire’s grand-sire was responsible for breaking up, single-handed?”

  “Every Marshal has, Garret. What’s your point?” Heck was getting annoyed, every minute of delay would bring the dogs of the Commonwealth closer to him.

  “He’s got the blood of Bill Doolin in them veins,” growled Garret, his eyes still on Dooly. “Your family has a promise to keep, don’t they boy?” Heck turned to look at Dooly. The proof, and the shame, was in his eyes. It was true, he was the descendant of Bill Doolin. Still, what could that mean? How did this criminal know and why was he telling Heck?