Chapter 3 – Waiting Games
21XX
It was always risky making weapons deals within Abel City limits. Surveillance mechanaloids roamed the streets at night, as did several police cars and even the occasional maverick hunter, any of which would bring all of the others with them if they caught glimpse of a weapons deal this large in progress.
Vale Bailey stood outside his black sedan. He checked his watch then ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper colored hair. The middle-aged man wore simple jeans and a gray shirt under a black blazer and held a suitcase in his hand filled with credit chips, at least a quarter of which hacked with increased value. Laundering the hacked chips was simple enough and it was a generally accepted practice to accept hacked credits within a certain percentage of a deal.
Vale could have opted for a different arms dealer, but Ulysses Targue was the best; having the largest and most diverse inventory of every kind of energy weapon, modified or not. Bailey's security contract also had special needs for illegal robotics that most arms dealers couldn't provide and Targue was a robotics genius, with several custom heavy mechanaloids in his inventory equipped with weaponry deemed too hazardous and likely to cause collateral to be legalized outside of military use.
It was Targue's courier that had insisted on meeting inside city limits. Apparently he didn't like to travel farther than absolutely necessary for deals… an absurd practice, yet the highly profitable dealer had absolute faith in this new delivery boy of his.
"Three class-7 mechanaloid sentries within two kilometers," an even-toned voice materialized behind Bailey, startling him. The corner of Vale's eye caught the white wisp of a long scarf. Turning, he saw the metal-mesh fabric wrapped around a face with a stark white helmet and blue forehead crystal, leaving only the eyes visible. It was his spotter. Sheen was a mercenary contracted by Bailey's client, something of a free-will maverick, to Vale's understanding. It was a wonder Sheen could sneak up on anybody considering his appearance: his white forearm and boot cases were in stark contrast to the black body suit worn underneath, and a metal-mesh wrap concealed his upper torso and shoulders. A blue, circular clasp in the center of his chest held the wrap tight. But the least subtle thing about him was that he carried a large powered ax over his back with chains connecting it to his wrists. Both the clink of the chains and the hum of the powered ax ought to be dead giveaways, but no matter how many times he'd been interrupted by the white reploid, neither was noticed before intended.
"Insectoid form factor…" Sheen continued after Vale had starred blankly for a moment, "northeast, west, and south. They have wide viewing ranges, but their travel patterns don't suggest any will be scanning this street for another two hours."
"Well let's hope our salesman is as aware of his surroundings as you are," Vale said wryly. The spotter didn't answer. "I hate dealing inside the city. Too many communications towers… one slip and it's all over." Vale turned and pointed to the nearest tower, probably no more than two hundred meters away. Bailey was cautious by nature and had taken special note of the tower and had parked his car in the most probable RF dead-zone. Humans didn't live long in this business without being meticulously cautious and the fact that Targue's courier was obviously not thinking about such things put Vale on edge.
"I will handle the tower…" Sheens voice seemed to evaporate behind Bailey. Even without turning, the human knew his spotter was gone. Maybe if he had the heightened senses of a reploid he might be able to notice the metal ninja before being startled.
The security contractor pulled a small data pad from his blazer pocket and pulled up the weapons invoice and floor plans for the facility. Blue grid lines expanded upward from the pad to create a hologram of the building. He had checked his defense schematics countless times over the last three weeks since obtaining the contract, but the client had given so little detail on defensive zoning priority that Bailey was left planning a large number wide-scanning auto turrets and highly-mobile attack mechanaloids to compliment the facility's security officers, which was making it difficult to come in under budget considering weapons needed to be upgraded for both officers and mechanaloids. Vale had even managed to hack some credits in order to afford a few heavy guardian-class mechanaloids for areas he guessed might need extra security. He had been doing this for almost three decades and had developed a knack for finding critical defensive positions.
Vale was brought out of his reverie by the distinct, rhythmic, hydraulic sound of reploid footsteps behind him. Startled again, he turned to face the newcomer while discreetly finding the handheld blaster his blazer was conveniently just long enough to cover.
These damn toasters have got to stop sneaking up on me! The business-like contractor rarely used derogatory slang, even in his thoughts, but he was beginning to get a little jittery with this whole deal.
The newcomer was difficult to see; his gray under-armor and smooth black plating were hard to differentiate from the dark, dreary, concrete alley. Even the reploid's painted eyes seemed dark as a void; lifeless. The only conspicuous aspects on the reploid were the thin, orange ridges that ran along his helmet in a "V" formation, along with a few other orange accenting features.
Where is the equipment? He can't possibly carry it all on his person.
"Can you tell me where to find Sniper Joe's?" Bailey asked the prepared identifier question and awaited the newcomer's response.
The dark reploid paused only momentarily before simply responding, "This way," turning on his heels and heading back the way he had come.
That's not the correct answer. He was supposed to say, "Two blocks east, three blocks south." Then I say, "I thought it was west."
The diner was actually five blocks north.
"Can you tell me where to find Sniper Joe's?" Vale repeated, raising his voice slightly and taking a step forward. He slipped his finger into the trigger of his holstered blaster pistol.
"The weapons are this way."
There was little question left in Vale's mind at this point. The cautious contractor would have preferred to go through the handshaking process as planned, but the newcomer had already outed himself entirely or else he was lying. Some Maverick Hunters had a reputation for being blasé during undercover work, but that seemed extremely unlikely due to the lack of any real maverick involvement in the contract.
Reluctantly, Vale began to follow the already almost out-of-sight courier.