Shepherds in Wolves Clothing

The 20:40 hovertrain was late. When it finally reached the Gerard’s Folly station at 22:10, the engineer was glad that the cockpit was sealed off by a twelve inch thick steel door.

“Can’t imagine why they’re all so eager to come here, of all places.” He muttered to no one as he activated the docking sequence. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. His job was to make sure people got from point wherever to point wherever else.

Inside the colony’s massive terra-dome, some of the passengers disembarking the train were wondering much the same thing. The Mercurian colony had never been much to look at, and was even less so these days. Of the tiles what were supposed to provide the illusion of an earthlike sky, only a third were still working properly, scattering midnight blue star-flecked squares on the black roof of the dome. Beneath the dome, the settlement proper sat huddled in the center of the ten mile wide enclosure, as if afraid to get too close to the edge. The town may have once been a quaint, pleasant little mining center, but was now comprised of a collection of rundown slums, a shopping district that had seen better and more prosperous days, and a dilapidated administrative complex.

After the other passengers had collected their belonging and gone their ways, two men stepped out of the train onto the platform. The first was a tall, stocky man in his late twenties wearing a battered black leather jacket over a black shirt. His jeans were baggier than was fashionable, held up by a bandolier style belt studded with cartridges. In an age when plasma pistols allowed two hundred shots per charge, the six-shooter on his hip placed him more in the nineteenth century than in the twenty-second.

His partner, a wall of a man in his mid-thirties, followed him. He wore a black leather jacket as well, but it was better cared for than his partner’s. The black jacket, black shirt, and black jeans made him appear to be a mountain of shadow. Stepping out of the train, he looked at the town and snorted, “Business never takes us to some resort planet like Anubis. No, we spend our time in dumps like this.”

“Look at it this way, Bull,” the younger man, Reilly, replied, “We do this and count it as work. When we get paid, we can afford to relax on Anubis a month or two. Hey! Careful with those!” A porter had tossed two titanium cases out of the baggage module at the end of the train.

“Den yeh shoulda been down here t’get ‘em!” The porter called back, retreating into the car and closing the hatch.

“I’m gonna need a vacation after this is done.” Bull grumbled. “About three months long.”

“If things go like I’m hoping they will, we’ll make enough from this job to retire and live very comfortably.”

“That’s what you said last time, and I thought you had.”

“I got bored, and apparently you did too.” Reilly replied. “Come on, let’s get the stuff. Carth and Ari are waiting.”

“They give a meeting point?”

“Yeah, some barbeque place. Carth says it’s the only one in town, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Bull picked up the cases and chuckled, “Yeah, that narrows the field a bit.”

The establishment in question was Wilson’s House of Ribs, sandwiched between an out of business pawn shop and a machine shop. Given the state of the town at large, they had expected to walk into a dive where even the roaches wouldn’t take a chance on the food. Few terran animals could survive the rigors of prolonged space travel. Cockroaches, however, thrived. One of the mysteries of the universe.

Against their expectations and against all odds, the restaurant was bordering on immaculate. The floor was polished concrete, with nine wooden picnic tables occupying the main dining area. To their left, a brushed steel counter guarded the entrance to the kitchens. A tiny blonde girl, fifteen at the oldest, sat behind the counter, her back to the room, reading a holo-zine. Before they had come in, she had been only person in the room.

Bull glanced around, “They did say Wilson’s House of Ribs, right?”

“Yeah, they should be here by now.” Reilly replied. A musical tone came from his jacket, and he fished a small earpiece out of his inside pocket. He pressed a tiny button to activate the speaker and said, “Answer.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to reach you?” The caller asked. “We’ve been waiting here for the past three days. And I don’t know about you, but we’re ready to get out of this roach hole.”

“Carth, we’re right where you told us-”

“If you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Ari’s keeping watch, and she doesn’t see you anywhere near here.” Carth contended.

After the train ride experience, Reilly was beginning to lose his patience, something that didn’t happen often but tended to happen quickly. “Carth, if you’re here and just jerkin’ my chain, I swear-”

“I don’t think I’m the one holdin’ the chain here.”

Bull tapped Reilly on the shoulder. “Rei, bickering isn’t going to get this done any faster.”

Reilly took a breath, “You’re right. Okay Carth, remind me, where were we supposed to meet you?”

“You were supposed to meet us behind Wilson’s Rib’s at 21:00. It is now 22:50.”

“The train was late and… wait. You work for me, why am I explaining myself to you? And I didn’t ask for the time, I just asked-” he stopped. “Did you say behind Wilson’s Rib’s?” Reilly opened a holographic menu of the datastream messages Carth had sent and began filing through them.

“Yeah, behind Wilson’s. Seriously, it’s the only barbeque place in town. Between the two of you, you should’ve been able to find it.”

Reilly found the message containing the rally point and time. “We would have, but your message didn’t say ‘behind’.” Reilly groaned. “We’ve been standing in Wilson’s for about five minutes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish. We’ll be there in a minute. Tell Ari not to shoot everything that moves.”

Reilly and Bull left the restaurant and the completely oblivious cashier and stepped out into the chilly night air. The irony of the planet closest to the sun having the coldest colonies was not lost on the two. It was simply so obvious that bringing it up seemed inane.

Ari was waiting for them when they came around the corner. Tall and slender, she looked more like a model than an assassin with seven years of experience in Mossad, the Israeli intelligence agency. She holstered the silenced Predator assault pistol she was holding, “Finally. Carth has been driving me mad. I’ve been out here killing cockroaches for an hour so I wouldn’t lose it and shoot him.” The alleyway was littered with dead roaches, some almost as big as serving platters. She shuddered, “They never got that big in Jaffa.”

“Carth said you were out here keeping watch.” Reilly said, grinning.

“I was, I was simply relieving stress and reducing the cockroach population while keeping watch. So I didn’t lie; I simply neglected to make all of my intentions known.” Ari replied with perhaps feigned detachment. “And I hate bugs, especially big ones.”

“All right you two, c’mon. We’ve got work to do, and these cases aren’t getting any lighter.” Bull said, “I assume Carth is hiding in the dumpster again?”

Ari rolled her eyes, “He tries to turn everything into a covert operation.” She said as she led them to the back of the row where three dumpsters served the three businesses. She pointed to the dumpster on the left. “He’s in that one.”

Bull motioned for them to keep a safe distance. Looking around, he found a short length of metal pipe, which he gripped in both hands like a baseball bat. Ari and Reilly watched as the large man took a batter’s stance and struck the side of the dumpster several times. When he stopped, a small sliding door on the side of the dumpster creaked open, and Carth tumbled out.

“Wha- whazzat for?” He said, dazed by the surprise percussion performance. “We s’p-s’posed to be secretive about this.”

“Maybe next time you won’t hide in the dumpster like some wannabe spy.” Reilly said. “Sit down before you fall down.”

Carth sat down on a wooden crate while Bull retrieved the two metal cases. By the time Bull had returned, Carth had sufficiently recovered, and Reilly opened the first case. Inside, nested in thick foam, were two disassembled guns, a Predator assault rifle and a Stethlar light assault rifle with sniper capability. Contained in another layer of foam were three magazines for each of the weapons. Ari sat down on the asphalt and began assembling the two weapons. When both guns were assembled and loaded, she passed the Predator to Carth and kept the Stethlar for herself.

The second case contained four pistols, custom made holsters, and everything needed to convincingly alter one’s appearance. Reilly passed two of the guns to Bull, one to Carth, and kept the last for himself. One eyebrow ring, three nasty looking facial scars, and a set of green colored contact lenses later, Reilly was ready to perform. The holster hidden under his jacket held a Stethlar SK 909, the most powerful handgun on the market. The .45 revolver at his hip was loaded, as were the three quick-load cylinders that were stowed in a roomy pocket.

“Hey Rei, have I ever asked you how you afford all this stuff? I mean, I know you budget for this stuff, but Predator and Stethlar are top shelf slug belchers. Not even the army can afford to buy much from them.” Carth asked, clipping a tactical knife onto his belt.

Reilly pulled a minicomp from his pocket and flipped it open, “A lot of people owe me favors and I’m still living off the payments from some big number jobs I did a few years ago.” He activated the holographic screen to display the information on the minicomp’s touch screen. “Huddle up, guys. Let’s run through this one more time before we get started.”

The Montague Hotel may have been a stately example of neo-terran architecture in the colony’s heyday. From Reilly’s standpoint at the corner of Billington and Bentner, however, it looked more like a glorified crack-house.

“Just looking at it, I want to blow it up.” Bull said. Before joining Reilly’s crew, Bull had studied to be an architect, but had soon found himself desiring a more exciting line of work.

While Reilly wanted to level the building for something other than mere aesthetic reasons, he agreed with Bull. Anything, especially the neo-terran style, could be taken too far. “If we ever have to come back here, maybe we’ll do it then. Who do you want to be this time?” He asked, referring to the pseudonyms they used in the job.

“I’m thinking of going as Mr. Bart Bartleby.” Bull replied, “Not that they’ll be interested in names.”

“Probably not, but it helps to have something to give them if they ask. They’re expecting Gary Sharpei, so that’s what I’ll give them.”

“Nice.”

Reilly plugged the earpiece into his ear and said, “Carth. Ari.” The earpiece beeped, and Reilly waited as the connection was made. The earpiece beeped again and he said, “Are you two in place? Good. Get a lock on my signal. We’re live, boys and girls.” Reilly closed the connection and pulled the earphone from his ear. Leaving the device activated, he slipped it back into his pocket, where the signal would keep Ari and Carth posted on their location. He looked at Bull, “Let’s go.”

The front steps of the hotel looked like they might collapse under their combined weight, so Bull waited at the bottom of the steps as Reilly ascended and rang the doorbell. When he pressed the button, he could hear the chime, concocted by some late twentieth century composer whose work hadn’t been good enough to be remembered in anything but doorbells and earlink tones. When the tune had stopped, he waited.

For about ten minutes, Reilly watched the door. To better match the architecture, a flimsy wooden door had been installed when a metal door would have served better. He considered kicking it in; however, they were expected here. Breaking down doors and charging into situations like this was an excellent way to catch a bullet. Having experienced this before, Reilly was content to wait.

He rang again, and descended the stairs. Five minutes later, the door opened and out stepped a weasel of a man in dark suit. “Good evening, gentlemen. I deeply apologize for the delay; we were experiencing some…difficulties. Come in, please.” He turned and walked back into the hotel.

Bull and Reilly exchanged glances and Bull mouthed “Difficulties?”

“Never mind, let’s go.”

They walked up the steps and into the hotel. The first room they came to was furnished in what attempted to look like the Victorian style and failed miserably. Here the man waited, holding a thick three ring binder stuffed to capacity. “Please have a seat, Mr….?”

“Sharpei, this ‘ere’s my associate, Mr. Bartleby.” Reilly said, affecting a decent Australian accent as he and Bull sat down on the spindly furniture. “And you’re Millnerson?”

The man laughed and clapped his hands as though Reilly had said something enormously entertaining. “Mr. Sharpei! Of course! My apologies once more! I’m afraid you’re not quite what I imagined you’d look like. And yes, I am Mr. Victor Millnerson, the proprietor of this fine-”

“Yeah, great. Look, we’re on a bit of a schedule here.” Reilly cut in. He was confident that given an audience, Millnerson would babble on all night.

“Of course, apologies. I have here a complete catalogue of everything stored here, and I assure you we have something from everywhere for everyone, and everything has a price.” Mr. Millnerson set the book down on the coffee table in front of the couch where they were seated. “I’ll return shortly, gentlemen, I need to go back and check on just a few things, I shan’t be gone long.” With that, he disappeared through a door behind him that led into the hotel proper.

Reilly successfully resisted the urge to put a bullet in the back of Millnerson’s annoying head and turned his attention to the ‘catalogue’. Inside the binder were pictures, information, and prices concerning weapons, schematics, drugs, and women. Reilly flipped to the last section and began flipping through the various women that were ‘for sale’ at the hotel. As soon as he had found the one he was looking for, Millnerson returned and inquired as to whether they had made selection.

Bull, who had been silent the entire time, pointed to the picture and said, “That one. She’s here, yeah?” His Aussie accent was better than Reilly’s.

Millnerson glanced at the picture, “Certainly! And an excellent selection! I’m certain that you’ll find her… most satisfactory.” He grinned. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

They followed him into a hallway guarded by beefers. Large synthetic soldiers with the intelligence of dirt and the personality of a rabid wolverine; beefers were the first, and last, attempt to build supersoldiers who would blindly follow orders. Failures on the battlefield, beefers were now manufactured by private security firms.

Up three floors, Millnerson finally led them to the room they wanted. Before opening the door, he turned to them. “Before we go in, I feel it necessary to inform that I keep guards in every room in case of emergency. They are perfectly programmed, so you needn’t worry about her having been…compromised. I and the guard will step out if you wish to…evaluate her.” He grinned again. Reilly had begun to hate that grin three grins ago.

Millnerson opened the door, pushed it open, and gestured for the two men to enter first. Reilly stepped into the room and stood in front of the door; Bull stepped in and sidled to the right. The only possible place Millnerson could stand was behind Reilly, which was simultaneously the last place Reilly wanted him and exactly where Reilly wanted him.

A beefer armed with a plasma cannon stood sentry in front of the window. In the center of the room, a girl of about sixteen sat on a tattered mattress, arms wrapped around her knees. A thin cable tethered her to the radiator in the corner. Her jeans and t-shirt were filthy and torn, and her long red hair was disheveled. Red rimmed blue eyes stared over her knees at Reilly and Bull with a mix of fear, despair, and loathing.

From behind Reilly, Millnerson asked, “Well gentlemen? What do you think?” His voice had the quality of man looking forward to making a great deal of money.

Reilly nodded. “She’ll do.”

As the words left his lips, the beefer’s head exploded, shattered by a high velocity sniper round, which embedded itself in a wall stud with a thock. In that same instant, Reilly spun around, smashing his elbow into Millnerson’s face. The resultant crunch followed by a profuse flow of blood indicated that his nose had been broken. As Millnerson fell, a small remote skittered across the floor. Bull picked it up, deftly removed the back panel and power source, and crushed the device under the heel of his boot.

While Bull dragged the semi-conscious man into the room, Reilly knelt next to the girl and pulled out a small plasma knife. Flicking the blade on, he began cutting through the cable. It was slow work; the cable was made of aesedium, a super strong material used in tow cables on salvage ships. Gradually, the blade began to sever the strands one by one. Three minutes later, the cable broke, and he looked at the girl. The fear-despair-loathing look was gone, replaced by shock.

“Marissa Henly?” He asked.

“Y-yes.” She replied.

Reilly unclipped a small black case from his belt and flipped it open to display the contents. A hologram of Reilly, sans eyebrow ring, scars, and contacts, was projected above his name and pertinent information. Inside the case was a badge in the style of the Old West that read ‘Bounty Hunter’. Under that was a small silver bar engraved with the word ‘Mercenary’. “My name’s Reilly Byrne, that’s Bull. Your father sent us. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Bull had bound Millnerson hand and foot with plasti-cuffs and sat him up in a corner. He turned to Reilly, “What do we do with this one?”

Reilly draped his jacket across Marissa’s shoulders. “Leave him. There’s no price on his head, so he’s no good to us.”

“You- you’re just going to leave me here?” Millnerson asked, eyes wide.

Escorting the girl out the door, Reilly replied, “You catch on quick.” Reilly switched off the lights and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The journey to the front door was quick and uneventful. Without Millnerson to give the order to attack, the beefers stood passively by as the trio passed. Still, Reilly kept both guns drawn.

Carth and Ari were waiting for them when they reached the front steps. Ari was carving another notch in an already heavily notched bamboo chopstick and Carth was sporting a black eye.

“I,” he explained, “was the aforementioned difficulty.” A roaming beefer had discovered Carth when he had been scaling the wall of an adjacent building to get a clear vantage point of the west side of the building. The beefer had managed to give him a black eye before Carth had ventilated its chest cavity.

Ari handed Reilly’s jacket back to him and draped a blanket across Marissa’s shoulders. “I think it’s time we were going.” She checked her watch. “The next train doesn’t come for about seven hours. Carth and I rented a little apartment on the other side of the colony, and I think we all,” She put a comforting arm around Marissa, “Could use some rest.”

Reilly nodded, “You’re right. Usual procedures, folks. Bull, Carth, see to the guns. Ari, give Miss Henly a once over. Don’t worry,” He told Marissa, “Ari’s trained and certified in battlefield medicine. You guys move on out, I’ll be along in a minute.”

While the rest of the group was heading toward the other side of the town, Reilly
took up residence in the shadows next to a building near the hotel. He plugged the earphone into his ear and connected to the security offices in the municipal complex. “I’m calling from the Montague Hotel. The owner, Victor Millnerson is storing illegal drugs and weapons on the first two floors and is holding several women captive on the third floor. Millnerson is in room 3L. The building is full of inactive beefers. Exercise caution.” He said. The dispatcher asked for his name.
“Sharpei. My name’s Gary Sharpei.” He terminated the call.

Five minutes later, a municipal security transport landed in the street. Reilly had left the door open, and the officers made their way into the building, guns drawn. Reilly watched from the shadows until they had brought Millnerson out, handcuffed, bloody, and protesting loudly that he was innocent and had been assaulted and framed. After Millnerson had been loaded into rear of the transport, Reilly slipped around the side of the building and started walking across town to meet the others. He took a hard caramel from his pocket and unwrapped it. Popping it into his mouth, he grinned. “Man, I love this job.”