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Interstellar Marines: Predators

Chapter 2: Leader of the Pack

Saama Taylor. Middle-aged. Dumpy. Single mother of three. Taxi driver currently parked in the taxi ranks of Sydney Airport. Hoping for a long trip to help her make ends meet.

Glancing at a descending Airbus 980 and then at her cab's digital clock, Taylor realized this was a hope that she'd been hanging onto for the last two hours. Not the longest wait she'd ever had admittedly, but more than she cared for when parked outside what was still the main hub of air travel on the east coast. True, Europe accounted for most of ITO's aerospace traffic, and of such flights reaching Australia, Darwin was the primary destination due to the presence of its space elevator. But while Sydney was no longer the hub of international travel it had been less than a century ago, it was still the de facto point of arrival for those travelling domestically. Mankind had taken to the stars, but many were still willing to fly under them.

"Case in point..." Taylor murmured...

A bad sign in that she'd been here so long she was talking to herself. A good sign in that a wave of new arrivals had exited the domestic terminal, most of them having transferred from Darwin according to her cab's onboard computer. Passengers who weren't rich or famous, but still out of her league. sPhones, business suits, children clutching the latest action figures from Lunar Toys...it was another world entirely, both literally and figuratively. A world that people like her could only hear or read about. In her case, through the stories of her passengers, providing that they weren't too exhausted from aerospace travel.

"Hey, taxi! You free?"

"That's what the light says..." Taylor called out to the old man approaching her, getting out of her cab to help with his luggage. "Need a lift?"

"Of course I do, that's why I'm asking."

Well, so much for pleasantries. Also so much for the guy accepting the offer of an open boot. Granted, he didn't seem to need it, since all his luggage consisted of was a satchel bag with a cube-shaped bulge taking up most of its interior. But as he walked right past Taylor and got in the back seat, clutching the bag all the while, it was clear he wasn't much for manners either.

"Central Business District..." the man murmured.

"The CBD?" asked Taylor in surprise. "Why do-..."

"Just...take me there," the passenger rasped. "Right in the centre."

"Yes...of course sir," the taxi driver said, pulling out of the taxi rank.

"Step on it, will you?" the old man asked. "Bit of a hurry..."

"Yes sir. I'll...step on it."

It would be the last words that the pair would utter for the next half-hour or sir-a rarity by any driver's standards. Taylor had been on the job for years, and had found that even if a customer was travelling alone and wasn't in the mood for conversation, they'd still pass the time by chatting on their sPhone or similar communications device. But no...the old geezer simply sat in the back. Large eyes shining through large glasses, clutching his bag as if his life depended on it...it was as if Darwin was shipping in fruitcakes to its dilapidated south-eastern counterpart.

All in all, Taylor wasn't sure if it was safe to ask. "Dilapidated" was perhaps too harsh a term for Sydney, but the city, and its central business district had seen better days. Taylor had never been fortunate enough to study economics (or really study anything beyond secondary level education), but from what she understood, much of a city's success was based around its geographical location. Even now, Tokyo, London and New York were the 'big three' of ITO nations, given their interspaced location in regards to stock exchange. With the advent of space travel however, the economic sphere had shifted to cities that could make the most of it. Now an urban sprawl, Sydney hadn't been so lucky, and while a select few companies had stayed the course, its business sphere had gone the way of the Siberian tiger. Once a hub of commerce, now a series of buildings that either changed hands every few months as companies came and went, or just waited for urban renewal.

"Drop me off here," the passenger said suddenly.

Bringing the cab to the side of the road, Taylor didn't object to his demand. Far better to get the old guy out of her cab and head for the airport to find someone who might be willing to give her a more decent destination.

"Alright sir," the driver said as she brought the counter to a halt. "Do you want to pay by-..."

"Here," the old man said as he shoved a series of notes into the front. "Consider it a tip."

Tip my ass...Taylor thought as the notes spread around the front seat. Seemingly generous, but who the hell used paper nowadays anyway? Old geezers and people who didn't want their transactions traced when they used a card or a scan. Heck, as she watched the passenger stumble out of the car, Taylor reflected that maybe both sets of criteria applied to him.

Either way, as she left her passenger in the dusty street, she didn't give him a second thought.


God this place is a shithole.

Shenton supposed that was a bit unfair as he shifted through the proverbial shit to get to the proverbial hole. There were worse places one could live, and it wasn't God's fault that Sydney hadn't been able to make the transition to a world that was but one of many in humanity's corner of space. Yet after coming from Darwin, after flying over North Australia to reach Eastern New South Wales, it was as if...well, if God did exist, then Shenton Cower was Lucifer.

Well, better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven...the scientist thought as he brushed by someone lucky enough to be seemingly employed, and head into a building that had seen better days and more businesses. Or at least get rich by doing the Devil's work...

The tiredness Shenton had felt from the flight, not alleviated by a taxi ride that could have exposed him to ITO agents, had all but evaporated. Fresh air (or city fresh at any rate), adrenalin, the electronic chime as he walked into what could only be described as a general store...this was it...

"Wassup dude?"

Shenton kept walking to the counter at the store's end, attended only by a middle-aged man with a white face, jet-black hair in a spiky style and enough body piercings to pass as an echidna. The store owner no doubt...

"Travelled far?" the man asked.

"A bit."

"How much of a bit?"

"A bit far for my liking."

"And for mine?"

"I wouldn't know..."

Silence descended between the two men, the owner leaning on the counter with an e-magazine in one hand, Shenton standing tall with his own hand on his cargo. Silence that masked even the sound of traffic coming from outside. Silence that was eventually broken...

"Follow me."

The storeowner headed for a door behind the counter, opening it with some metallic object that Shenton assumed was a non-electronic key, though he couldn't be sure. What he was sure of however, was that he'd said the scripted lines correctly, that he'd correctly identified himself as a seller, and that storeowner/middle-man Dore Williams was willing to let him through the doorway to opportunity.

"In you go," the salesman grunted, opening the door.

Shenton went in without protest. He might have insisted otherwise had he been suspicious or armed, but was neither, and for good reason. Williams was a shady character, but he was a character who nonetheless had a knack for getting people what they wanted. He could have simply taken Shenton's cargo and left him for dead if he wanted, but having planned this sale for months, the scientist knew better. Dead people meant dead bodies. Dead bodies meant suspicion. And if that suspicion reached the ears of his buyers, they might be more reluctant to deal with him.

"Got the goods?" the 'salesman' asked, having followed his seller inside the room and locked the door behind him.

"Hmm?" Shenton asked, momentarily caught up in the display. Most of the goods were electronic in nature, but there were a few more...interesting pieces of merchandise to be found. A preserved monkey head for one...

"The goods. Now."

"Alright, alright..." Shenton murmured, tearing his eyes away from Louie the Chimp and setting down his cargo on the table in the room's centre. "It's not as if anyone's going to be visiting the store front anytime soon."

Williams remained silent, as only someone with dark eye-shade could. Remained silent right up until Shenton opened the case, revealing...

"Sharks."

The scientist sighed, drawn back to Xeno-13 in more ways than one. "Yes, Williams, sharks. As I told you."

"But...sharks...small sharks..."

The salesman diverted his gaze from the specimens, matching Cower's more confident one (or what he hoped was confident). He knew this would be a hard sell, but for someone who apparently wanted to conduct the deal quickly, he was taking his sweet time in doing so.

"Williams, these are sharks from space," Shenton said quickly. "Sharks that ITO's finest are doing research on. Sharks that have malleable genomes."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning that anyone who gets their hands on them has hundreds of millions of years of genetic history to play around with. Anything from the cure to cancer to the next bio-weapon."

"Bio-weapons are banned, doctor."

"And so are most drugs. Don't see many people worrying about that though."

Williams fell silent again, rubbing a hand against his pierced jaw. It was understandable, if frustrating, Shenton supposed, what with having only the scientist's words that the specimens were valuable, and little recourse to retrieve his finances if they weren't. But they were running against the clock, and running was something that Doctor Cower was too old for.

"Well? If you don't get a buyer lined up, I'm sure they'll find a home with Louie."

"Actually, his name's Bob..." the middle-man said, gesturing towards the monkey head. "And...well, fine. It's a deal."

"A pleasure," Shenton lied, already wanting to get out of here and start planning his anonymous retirement. "Now give me the money."

Silently, Williams handed his seller a wad of notes.

Life was good.


Life was bad.

Alright, maybe it wasn't that bad, but it certainly wasn't that good either. Not when Gettis Fellman was standing around in the underground garage of the UniStrand Building along with two other security guards, waiting for a shipment that was an hour late. And with traffic in Sydney being at a premium, that could only mean it was the type of cargo that was late for a reason.

"Van's here," Eldon muttered.

Gettis rolled his eyes. "No shit Sherlock. Do you want to read its license plate too?"

"C-H-R-one-nine-six. It's the one."

"Never mind..."

As Gettis had reflected earlier, life wasn't that bad, but it wasn't good. In a good life, he'd be a security guard on an ITO space station, seeing the wonders of science. In a good life, he wouldn't be working for UniStrand, supervising and delivering materials that were too "important" for regular postage. In a good life, he wouldn't be going from boredom to tension in the space of a few seconds. Because while waiting around for cargo didn't present that much of a risk, actually receiving it did.

"Gentlemen," the driver said as he got out of the van and headed for its rear. "Been waiting long?"

"Just open the damn back," Gettis snapped.

"Sure thing. Just sign here please."

Gettis handed the data-pad to Grunewald while he and Eldon watched the driver head into the van. It was packed with crates, but there'd only be one thing coming out. Something small no doubt, but worth a pretty penny...whatever pennies were.

Gettis knew this work wasn't honest, but he did consider himself to be an honest man, hence why he'd given the pad to Grunewald to sign rather than take part in even more dishonesty himself. Black hair, brown eyes, a bit of facial hair and mixed Caucasian/Arabic ethnicity, he looked like the everyday man...the reason why UniStrand had accepted his application in the first place, apparently appreciating people who could look normal. That, and he knew how to use a handgun. Or maybe he was just overanalysing.

"And here it is," the driver declared, bringing out a featureless metal case that if Eldon's look of surprise as he took it was any indication, was much lighter than it looked. "One...whatever it is."

Whatever indeed...now piss off.

Feeling tense was never pleasant. But UniStrand had made one thing perfectly clear to when he'd been given the job of a security guard, and that was that feeling tense kept you alive. So far, as far as Gettis was concerned, his weekly wage was what did.

To be fair, UniStrand did keep many others alive. Genetics was big business in the 22nd century. People could cry foul all they wanted, but it didn't change the fact that GMCs kept the world's population fed, and gene therapy had greatly reduced mortality rates in even the world's poorest countries. Yet it was a business that was heavily regulated, whether it be a gene to make rice require less water, or genetic research that could lead to weaponization. It was regulation that businesses like UniStrand were willing to comply with in theory, but in practice, were always trying to beat their competitors to the next big breakthrough. And while that was also sound in theory, such as the latest drive to cultivate crops that could be grown on Mars, the methods behind putting such theories into practice were...iffy.

And that was why companies such as UniStrand were willing to operate in places like Sydney, Gettis supposed. Cities where there was no shortage of space for setting up shop, and where it was easy to do business without too much scrutiny. It kept the city going...but UniStrand was a business. And like any business, it had to put its own interests first. And that meant taking these kind of precautions when doing these kind of deals. Not because they were illegal, but because other such companies wanted to do the same thing.

"And that's that then," the driver said cheerfully, having taken back his pad from Grunewald. "Enjoy the goods."

Grunewald snorted. Eldon looked at the case suspiciously. And Gettis simply stared at the driver, wanting him to leave. And to his relief, he did. Got in his van, started the engine, started driving off...

...and exploding.

"Son of a bitch!" Grunewald exclaimed as he was sent sprawling along with his fellow guards.

"Oh my god..." Eldon whispered, rising to his feet first and staring at the van.

Gettis gritted his teeth. God...Allah...where was the bastard when you needed him? And why was Eldon standing instead of...

"Get to cover!" Gettis yelled, drawing his pistol and making his way to one of the garage's pillars. "Move, move!"

Eldon did move...to the van. Approaching it to lend a hand no doubt.

"Eldon, get back-..."

All he got was a hail of gunfire for his trouble.

"Shit!"

Gettis averted his eyes as fountains of blood ripped through Eldon's chest. One hand fell on the ground, the other on the case he was still carrying. And as a figure clad in stealth gear darted towards the van for cover, it was clear that it was the crate, and not its wielder, that was the target.

A hit...by Allah...a hit...

"You bastard!" Grunewald yelled, opening fire with his pistol. Gritting his teeth, Gettis did as well. Two people were dead, a van was in flames and all because of a bloody box.

"Come on! Come on! Come-..."

Grunewald fell silent. That was what happened when a bullet went between your eyes.

Shit shit shit!

Ducking down behind his pillar, Gettis quickly glanced at his pistol's LED-nine bullets left, plus another fifteen in his spare clip. He didn't want this...didn't want his friends dead. Didn't want to be caught up in a corporate war. Didn't want to die at the hands of some hitman...

It was for those reasons that when the figure darted out of cover for the blood-splattered cargo, he opened fire. He didn't want to die. So to achieve that, this monster had to die first.

Simple in theory. But as the figure grabbed the box in one hand and cart wheeled in the other, it was all for nothing.

"Just...die!"

Gettis fired and missed. The figure fired a round that tore through the security guard's torso.

Just...just..

The security guard crawled back behind his pillar, managing to eject his clip, but not managing to insert the second one.

Tired...tired...

He heard footsteps. He heard sirens. He heard footsteps heading the other way.

And after losing consciousness, he heard nothing.


A/N

Minor tidbit in that I actually had the space elevator going to Perth originally. However, it was pointed out in outside feedback that this probably wouldn't be the best place to put such a structure, that any space elevator would be best to be located as close to the equator as possible. Hence I changed it to Darwin-actually 12 degrees south, but from what I've looked up, 20 degrees is postulated as a maximum distance for a space elevator, and one has to make allowances for future technology. And fiction. Fiction with space sharks, AIs, and space sharks. 0_0

Update (09/03/12): Corrected spelling error.