Resonant Abyss Page 10

  I sighed, then rolled my head to stretch my neck out. “Mr. Landry… he has that kind of scratch? To buy distribution rights?”

  “He does,” Lars said. “I was generous with your portfolio. Perhaps a little too generous, but nothing to raise anyone’s suspicions. If anything, the Union’s multiple investigations of your assets has added more than enough credibility as to their validity.”

  “I’ve been investigated by the Union?”

  “Sure have,” Rachel said. “And more than one of the auditors has gone missing in recent years.” She made air quotes with her fingers.

  “So I’m already playing dirty.”

  “Making your pitch to the mine owner all the more believable,” added Lars.

  “I’m not saying I like it,” I said. “And I don’t appreciate you making plans without me. But I get that we’re on a timetable here, and… thanks for letting me sleep.”

  Rachel nodded slightly. It wasn’t right what they did, and it seemed like she understood that. But we also didn’t have time to argue. Plus…

  “It’s better than anything I had in mind,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Rachel said.

  “We tried our best, sir,” added Lars.

  “Right. Then who’s the bad guy?” I asked.

  Rachel sent up another file. “His name’s Oswald Oppenheimer, aka Ozzie. Two point three meters, ninety-eight kilos. He’s one bad dude.” The guy’s profile pic showed a broad-shouldered man with enough of a dark beard to cover his bald head twice over. “Ozzie here started showing up on the Union’s organized crime radar about seven years ago.”

  Pictures of dead bodies started appearing one after another—I knew the angles all too well. These were crime scene images. I noticed Rachel look away from a few of them. I couldn’t exactly blame her.

  “Made a name for himself by leaving bite marks in the necks of his victims,” she continued.

  “Gods.” I grimaced at a close up of a ghastly chunk removed from under a corpse’s ear. “This guy has issues.”

  “He became the go-to hit man for the main crime syndicates,” Rachel said. “Quick, ruthless, and with a perfect track record.”

  “An assassin turned business owner?” I asked.

  “That’s where it gets weird,” Rachel replied.

  Lars chimed in. “Mr. Oppenheimer went dark for a year before reappearing on Meldorn at the head of the sector’s largest myst operation.”

  “He saved up his earnings and purchased the mine?” I asked.

  “Most indicators suggest that, yes,” said Rachel. “But we have reason to believe he was placed there.”

  “Ozzie got a promotion,” I said.

  “So it seems, sir,” said Lars. “There was speculation that the authorities were getting too close to arresting him, and the syndicates couldn’t risk having him taken into custody because of how much he knew.”

  I folded my arms. “So it was either kill him—”

  “Which was too risky considering how many fail-safes guys like him have in play to out former clients,” Rachel said.

  I nodded. “Or give him something to play with, and pay him a fortune to do it.”

  “Which is where the Meldorn Mines come in,” said Lars.

  I was starting to put the pieces together for myself. “I can’t imagine Ozzie’s very happy about all this. Even if you have a fortune, what’s the use if you can’t roam the galaxy to spend it?”

  “Which is exactly why he’s going to entertain your offer,” Rachel said. “You’re not only going to take care of his distribution headaches, you’re going to pay extra for it.”

  “Very clever.” I genuinely admired the plan’s elegance. “It’s so over the top, so unexpected, that it just might work.” I looked at Rachel. “So, if I’m Samuel Landry, who are you? Still Scarlett Mason?”

  Rachel bowed slightly. “At your service. By now, the security footage from Falco’s nightclub will have gotten to Ozzie. So it’s in our best interest to keep up appearances. Plus, he arranged the meeting in my name.”

  “But what about my likeness? I was the Hammer.”

  “As if we’d forgotten,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes.

  “I took the liberty of altering the footage,” Lars said. “The Hammer, as it was, looks nothing like you.”

  “You sly son of a bitch,” I said. “Well played.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Well”—I rubbed my hands together—“let’s get suited up and prepare to meet our new mark. We’ve got a mine to steal.”

  8

  The Distant Horizon entered Meldorn’s orbit right on schedule, as per Lars’ estimates. There were no planetary shuttles, no greeting party, and no comms traffic. Just eerie silence as we overlooked the massive hunk of ore that had spent the last several decades being ripped apart to feed the Union’s massive appetite for raw materials. I suspected that had Falco not arranged our little meeting with Ozzie, we would have been met with orbital defenses and an endless barrage of quad cannon fire. Instead, all was perfectly still. But knowing that some neck-biting blood-thirsty thug sat in the chair behind all this made the silence even more eerie.

  The hub of the entire mining operation rested slightly above the planet’s equatorial line, perched atop a chain of low mountains. The industrial city rose along the ridge, denoted by tall drilling rigs, countless collections of bulbous gas vats, rock quarries, and kilometers-long warehouses no doubt filled with mineral stockpiles. While initial scans showed dozens more facilities like this around the equator, this was—by far—the largest. Likewise, it was the location that Falco had provided Rachel.

  As the Horizon approached its docking platform, I noticed several white cones poking out of holes in the ground. “What do we have here?” I asked Lars.

  “Those appear to be launch silos, sir,” the AI replied. “My initial scans show them to be part of the mine’s vast orbital delivery system.”

  “Gotta get all these resources off planet or you can’t pay the man,” I said.

  “Pardon me for asking, sir, but who is the man you’re referring to?”

  “Exactly.”

  Lars hesitated. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “And it’s probably better that way, pal.”

  The Horizon finished docking procedures on a platform that overlooked the main mine from the south when Rachel walked on the bridge.

  “So how do I look?” I asked her.

  “Like a wealthy playboy with too much time on his hands,” she said, unbuttoning the top of my white shirt. She doubled checked my business slacks—staring at my butt a little longer than normal—then tucked a loose strand of hair back into place over my forehead with all of its slicked-back counterparts. “There.” She patted my cheek. “You’re a regular lady killer.”

  “It comes naturally. What can I say?”

  Rachel smiled, then stepped back, asking, “How about me? How do I look?”

  “Like you’re ready to kill someone.”

  “What?” She shot me a confused look.

  “You gotta relax a little,” I said, pressing her shoulders down. She wore a red leather jacket, black t-shirt, and shiny black leather pants. “Guys like this want to feel like they’re in control.”

  “I know that,” she said, pushing my hands away.

  “Then why are you wound up so tight?” I was finally putting voice to the concerns that I’d had about her. Something just felt off.

  She shook her head a little. “Nothing.”

  I wasn’t buying it. “Why, Miss Fontaine, you’re not nervous, are you?”

  “Nervous? No way.”

  I waited a beat for her to add more, but she didn’t. “You’re not very convincing.”

  “Just tired of waiting,” she replied. “Two days stuck in slip space makes me… I dunno. Jittery, is all.”

  “Well, get those shakes out because I need cool, calm, and slightly deranged Scarlett Mason beside me. Once we’re inside, we’re on until
the job is done.”

  “Right,” she said, straightening her jacket and pulling her hair up into a ponytail. “Let’s do this.”

  “Lars?” I asked over comms.

  “Awaiting your orders, sir.”

  “Lower the ramp.”

  The rear loading ramp cracked open, letting in a thin but glaringly bright streak of light. It flooded the cargo bay, along with the smell of damp rock and rusty metal. A hot blast of air swirled in, carrying fine particles of dust that pricked my face.

  “Game faces,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  I walked down the ramp and onto the platform’s surface, my high-end dress shoes clip-clopping as I went. Behind me, Rachel’s knee-high boots beat the ground with the bearing of someone who wasn’t about to let anyone walk all over her. Which, again, bothered me a little. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she seemed on edge. Rachel needed to relax—to act like this was just one more acquisition in a long line of business deals.

  As we neared the docking tower’s round entrance port on the platform’s far side, the doors slid apart to reveal a thin man in an exquisite business suit. He bore tiny wire-rimmed glasses that looked like antiques, apparently having opted out of corrective gene-therapy as an adult.

  “Miss Mason, I presume?” said the man, hand extended toward Rachel.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” she replied.

  “I am Ino Wadsworth, personal assistant to the CEO. We’ve been expecting you.” He looked at me. “But, I’m sorry to say, we have not been expecting you, mister…”

  “Landry,” I said. “Samuel Landry.” I took his hand and shook it, careful not to do so too masculinely and betray my working-man’s background.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Mason, but without prior—”

  “Mr. Landry is my employer,” Rachel said.

  “But we were given to believe—”

  “What I wanted you to believe at the time,” she said curtly. “But, as I’m sure you can understand from working for your own employer, the galaxy’s elite demand a certain amount of anonymity, do they not?”

  Ino looked between Rachel and me. “Quite so, quite so,” he replied, his demeanor softening toward me. Then, to me instead of Rachel, he asked, “Safe voyage, I presume?”

  “Well, if you call what we’ve been doing safe,” I said, winking at Rachel, “then, sure. But I’m feeling pretty sore right about now.”

  Ino looked between us again. “Ah. I see. Well…”

  “Relax, Ino. Nothing she won’t offer to you if you ask politely.” I pulled his hand toward me and leaned into his ear. “Just watch yourself. She can get a little frisky sometimes, if you know what I mean.”

  I heard Ino swallow, then he wiggled free of my hand. “Would you care to freshen up before we begin? Though, from what our mutual contact says, you must be eager to begin the tour of our facility.”

  “Eh,” I said, pulling my belt up a little, “I feel pretty well relieved, wouldn’t you say, Miss Mason?”

  Rachel gave me only the coyest of feline-like grins, playing the part maybe a little too well. “I would say so, Mr. Landry,” she said, glancing at my pants.

  “There, you see?” I patted Ino on his shoulder. “I think we’re good to go.”

  “Very well,” said the man. If he was caught off guard, he was doing a good job of remaining the consummate professional. “Let us begin.”

  After being frisked and scanned by two security guards, our tour started with drinks in an elegantly appointed lounge. Two servers prepared me a glass of scotch while Scarlett took her usual whiskey sour. I nibbled from my handful of salted nuts, playfully feeding one or two to Rachel. We stood beside a floor-to-ceiling window that stretched along one far wall, admiring the landscape, a clash of metal and mountain like two titans competing for dominance against the lurid morning sky.

  When we were done, the servers returned with glass tubes of opal-black coffee. From the smell of it, Ozzie had sprung for the best in the galaxy… and I didn’t protest.

  “Thank you,” I said, trading my snifter for the tube’s metal handle.

  “Would you care—”

  “Black,” I said, preempting the server’s offer of additives. Coffee this good didn’t need to be ruined by the artificial.

  Rachel, on the other hand, asked for light cream and two hits of sucrose. Her tube became a tumultuous mixture of white and black, resembling billowing clouds on the edge of a storm front. She brought the tube to her lips and sipped. “Perfect,” she said to her server. “Thank you.”

  The man bowed and then disappeared through a set of doors.

  “Would you please follow me,” Ino said, gesturing toward a wide set of silver doors.

  The corridor beyond was flawless in design, a wonder of mixed materials comprised of polished wood floors, aluminum knee walls, alabaster railings, and frosted white glass for walls and ceiling. Round sconces lit the way with subtle amber hues, giving the impression of walking through the hallways of a luxury hotel, rather than an industrial mining complex.

  “Welcome to the main headquarters for the Meldorian Mining Corporation,” Ino said as we left the tunnel and emerged into a large vestibule. The windows stretched at least twenty meters, and then curved inward to form a massive dome. Flowering plants lined numerous stone pathways, and more than one pergola covered secluded seating areas beside bubbling fountains.

  I shot Rachel a quick glance. This was definitely not what I was expecting. But to Ino, I said, “How quaint.”

  If the man was perturbed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he motioned forward again. “This way, please.”

  We walked across the vestibule and took the center-most set of doors. The next room contained a six-seat hover pod that floated on what looked to be an elevated maglift track. “Please,” Ino said, “take the front seats.” They were extremely comfortable, made of fine leather. All around us, the seamless glass gave the impression that we were sitting in open air. Rachel and I buckled our lap belts, careful not to spill our coffees.

  “Prepare for departure,” said a sensual female voice from speakers near our feet. The glass door sealed shut as Ino buckled himself in behind us. A moment later and the hover pod was surging ahead, moving through a dark tunnel toward a point of light.

  The vehicle accelerated faster and faster until we shot out into the outside world, hundreds of meters above a massive quarry. Giant mining vehicles moved about the pit, scouring the ground for prey.

  “We boast the largest collection of state-of-the-art mining machinery anywhere in the sector,” Ino said.

  “I heard it was anywhere in the quadrant,” I said over my shoulder. I hadn’t really heard that, but I wanted to see what Ino here would say.

  “Some have conjectured as much, and—personally—I wouldn’t doubt it. That said, however, we prefer to be confident in what we can actually measure and leave the speculating to the amateurs.”

  “But isn’t mining just another word for speculating?” I asked.

  “Not when you’re certain of what you’ll find,” Ino shot back without taking a breath.

  “Certain? Seems a high claim for a mine that few know anything about.”

  “By design,” Ino said. “My employer chooses to keep things discreet.”

  “Something I can appreciate,” I replied. “How many more active quarries like this do you have?”

  “Over four hundred. And those are, as you said, just the active ones. Depending on demand, we will open up additional sites.”

  “And demand is…?”

  “Currently, iron ore, steel, and aluminum futures are on the rise. Likewise, carbon, cadmium, and silicon futures are performing higher than expected.”

  “So things are looking good for you,” I said with a grin.

  “Things are always looking good for us, Mr. Landry,” Ino said in an unflappable tone.

  The hover pod picked up speed and shot toward a massive warehouse that swallowed us whole. Once inside, the atmosphere
was hazy, as if someone had been burning a large fire for days on end.

  “Please don’t concern yourselves with the dust,” Ino said as small bits of debris pelted our glass bubble. “The pod’s composite material is nearly indestructible. Likewise, we treat the air with mist to prevent particle cloud explosions.”

  “I’ve heard those can do more damage than people imagine,” I said, more for Lars’s sake than anyone else’s.

  “I heard that, sir,” said the AI. I grinned.

  “They can indeed, Mr. Landry. Safety is our second highest value.”

  “And what’s your first?” Rachel asked.

  “Profits.”

  As I started to see through the dense atmosphere, I noticed a network of massive machines, conveyor belts, and metal chutes.

  “This,” Ino said, “is an example of a stage-one processing facility. Every quarry has at least four. Here, the raw elements are separated in bulk from their substrates and prepared for refinement.”

  “Including the gases?” Rachel asked.

  “Gases are treated elsewhere as their collection is done through closed pressure systems.”

  “How effective is this stage?” I asked, trying to sound like I was an informed buyer. “How much waste?”

  “Yesterday’s figures had this facility collecting 97.46 percent of all mined elements.”

  “Not too shabby,” I said.

  “It is the highest rate for any mine in Union territory,” Ino replied as he straightened his back.

  “Like I said, not too shabby.”

  “Indeed.”

  The next building was pitch black except for three enormous red-glowing pits located equidistant from one another. As my eyes adjusted, I could see metal chutes from the other rooms dropping the raw materials into the pits. The debris shrank as it fell away, betraying just how large and how deep the magma pits really were. My stomach fluttered as I considered the height.