Lo stood at the side of the road and looked across at the gates opposite. The two great leaves towered four meters above the pavement, a twin pair of black iron barriers, spiked at the top and peppered with golden oak leaves that winked with moisture in the morning sun. A silver circle at the centre, halved where the gates met, surrounded a letter V that was almost as tall as Lo himself. The gates stood at the centre of an equally tall wall of red brick that extended in each direction down the wide, empty street. A security hut peaked from behind one square gate post. Lo knew that Beyond these formidable defences stood the vast and opulent Von De Oniyate compound. But right now, all he could see was the top half of the sprawling, red-brick pile, its darkened windows staring out over the wall like the eyes of some great beast, crouched in wait for passing prey. Suddenly, none of this seemed like such a good idea.
Something buzzed loudly in Lo's pocket, causing the little electronics salesman to chirp with fright. It was his vidphone. He hurriedly fished the device from the pocket of his ill-fitting, borrowed overalls and hit answer. Andy's image flickered into being on the phone's screen.
"H-hello?" Lo, stammered.
"What are you doing?" Andy's stage whisper was hoarse with irritation.
"What do you mean what am I doing?"
"I mean, what are you doing just standing there?"
"I'm scoping the place out," said Lo. A splendid lie. Anyone might even believe that he wasn't rooted to the spot with fear. "You know, like, reconnaissance." Lo frowned. "Wait, you can see me?"
He looked up and down the street. There was no traffic, no pedestrians, there weren't even any cars parked along the sidewalks. It was just clean blacktop and stunningly tasteless frontages almost as far as the eye could see. VT's dumpy rental car was parked way off round a corner somewhere, out of the sight of the neighbourhood's ever-vigilant private security teams.
"If you just stand there staring like that, the security guards will get suspicious," said Andy, ignoring Lo's question.
Lo turned on the spot, his view alternating between empty road and brick wall. "Where are you?"
Andy grunted in annoyance. "Never mind that now," he said. "I'm using a secret stealth technique to stay out of sight. It's a samurai thing."
Lo was pretty sure that secret stealth techniques were a ninja thing rather than a samurai thing but decided not to call Andy out on it; he had more immediate concerns. "Alright, fine," he said. "What should I do now?"
"Go over there and tell the guy in the hut what I told you to tell him."
"Right. Okay." Lo focused his gaze on his destination. He took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose, steeling himself.
"Excellent," said Andy. "And remember, you can't go wrong if you just follow the way of the samurai."
"Right," said Lo. He closed his eyes, and recited what Andy had told him of the ancient ways of the noble Japanese warrior caste: "Keep a cool head, never show fear before an enemy, and always try to sound like you know what you're talking about."
"Great! I'll make a warrior of you yet, TV Guy. Musashi out." Andy hung up before Lo could to protest the misnomer.
Lo slipped the phone into his pocket. He took another breath, stooped to pick up the toolbox that rested at his feet, and struck out across the street. It seemed to take an age to cross between the sidewalks. A dizzying mix of nerves, exhilaration and cold fear sloshed about in his gut as he approached the gates. Tiny trivialities began to flood his awareness, as they might that of a man who sees his death in the immediate future. The chatter of birds in perfectly coiffured hedges; the sound of his rubber soles squeaking against the moist tarmac; that fresh, cloying scent that Lo guessed to be the smell early morning.
And suddenly he was there, standing before the colossal gates. They seemed so much bigger up close. The spikes on top so much… spikier.
Lo caught himself staring up, slack-jawed at the exquisite metalwork. Rather than risk another call from the samurai-ninja, he shook his gaze loose and walked to the righthand gate post where a small, steel box was fixed to the brickwork. The faceplate bore a small, circular speaker grill and a single plastic button marked 'CALL'. Lo set his jaw, shook out his shoulders, and pushed the button.
And then immediately forgot everything he was supposed to say to the guard.
"Von De Oniyate compound," a voice boomed from the steel box. "Identify yourself."
Lo stood motionless, his mouth hanging open stupidly as he tried in vain to remember who the heck he was.
"Hello?" The voice came again. "Identify yourself."
"Uhh…"
"Wait there." There was a shuffling sound from the speaker before it clicked off.
With mounting terror Lo realised that the guard was on his way to the gate. A very large, very angry, very armed guard who wouldn't hesitate to take preventative action against that weird little guy hanging around outside his boss's mansion with a suspicious looking box at 7 AM.
Lo was now quite certain that he was about to die. He desperately wanted to abort the mission, to ditch his toolbox and sprint off down the road and back to the car, back to the ship, all the way back to his shop if he could. If only he could remember how to work his damned legs!
A shadow fell across the petrified salesman. Just the other side of the gate, looming with a professional level of skill, was what looked for all the world like an upright refrigerator in an expensive suit. Lo looked up, his eyes climbing a wall of tailored cotton as they hunted for a face atop the mountain of couture.
"Can I help you, sir?" the figure said.
Lo stared helplessly into the guard's chiselled face, at the reflection of his own meek expression in both lenses of a pair of designer shades. Some distant part of his mind recognised the look of a man about to wet his pants. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Surely nobody would shoot a man who had just wet his pants!
"Sir!" the guard barked. He leaned forward, and with no small amount of threat said, "Can I help you?"
"Um, er…" Lo fished for something, anything he could say that wouldn't end with him bleeding out on the richest street in Alva City.
Inspiration!
"TV guy," he blurted out. "I'm the… uh, TV guy. I'm here about the… um… uh… TV!"
The guard's expression didn't change. It was like staring at a jack-o-lantern that had been carved with an angry face and set on top of a wardrobe. But it didn't matter, because Lo's cover story was now flooding back, and he might just live to watch crappy TV shows another day.
"The AV system in Mr. Von De Oniyate's office," he said with growing confidence. "I'm here to do some repairs to the sat-link system."
The guard's brow furrowed a little further. "There are no maintenance visits scheduled for today."
Lo's confidence evaporated. Of course there were no maintenance visits scheduled for today. Why would there be? There was nothing wrong with Mr. Von De Oniyate's AV system and Lo knew it and Andy knew it and the guard knew it and oh dear God he was going to die!
The guard shifted. His jacket flapped with the movement, betraying a baggy cut that was probably designed to conceal all manner of head-exploding armaments.
Lo's trousers buzzed loudly. Both Lo and the guard twitched, the latter reaching with alarming speed for something in his jacket but stopping short as the visitor raised his hands innocently. "It's my phone," Lo squeaked. "I-it's just my phone." With very, very great care, he reached into his pocket and produced the little appliance. He glanced at the display to find that it was an audio-only call, and upon seeing the caller ID, only just managed to the contain the words "Oh dear God, no." He picked up, holding the phone to his ear the way his Grandma used to.
"H-hello?"
"You're blowing it, TV Guy," said Andy. His tone was conversational.
Torn between annoyance and mind-rending panic Lo could only reply with a strained, "Mm-hmm."
"But don't worry, I'm going to get you out of it."
"Um, okay." Lo was sceptical, to say the very least.
"Now," said Andy. "Repeat after me… But they won't let me in."
Lo had no idea what was going on. In lieu of any better offers, he decided to go along with whatever nonsense Andy had in mind. "But… uh, but they won't let me in?"
"What the hell do you mean they won't let you in?!" Andy screamed.
The shock was such that Lo very nearly hurled the phone down the street. Instead, he tentatively raised the device to his ear again and said, "But you said…"
"Put me on speaker," said Andy. His voice was quieter now, but still loud enough that Lo felt sure the guard must be able to hear it too. The register had changed as well. It seemed a little deeper and was tinged with a slight accent that Lo couldn't identify.
"Uh, are you sure?" asked Lo. "I mean, you…"
"Do it, damn you!"
Lo jerked the phone away again. He held it out and pushed the speaker button. "Um, you're… uh, on speaker."
"Peppard," Andy said in that odd, affected voice. "Peppard, are you there?"
Lo's adrenalin-addled mind only caught on to Andy's ploy when the security guard - presumably named Peppard - gave his hesitant reply. "Yes, sir."
"Peppard, why isn't my repair man in my office right now?"
Peppard stared anxiously at the phone, which Lo had angled carefully to hide the caller ID. "Sir?"
"I asked you a question, man. Now answer me! Why is the repair man standing out in the street when he should be in my office fixing that damned sat-link?"
"But sir th-there's nothing in the calendar about-"
"Does it sound like I care about your damned calendar? I have a link up with Ganimede Consolidated Fisheries at 3pm, and I don't want to lose the connection again like the last time."
"But sir, I thought you said it had already-" Peppard stopped. His eyebrows hopped up suggesting that his eyes were suddenly wide behind his opaque glasses. A long silence followed.
"Peppard," Andy said, his tone low and dangerous. "What do I hate more than anything else in this world?"
Peppard's Adam's apple visibly shifted as he swallowed. "Being told what you did and didn't say. Sir." The last word was tacked on hastily.
"That's right," said Andy. "And what did you do just now?"
The beleaguered guard seemed to glance at Lo, as if asking for help. Lo suddenly felt rather sorry for the guy, but all he could do was shrug.
"I, uh… I told you what you said sir." The words came out as if Peppard were confessing to a capital crime.
"That's what I thought," said Andy. He paused a while. Lo guessed he was letting the guard stew. "I'm in a good mood today, Peppard," he said after a time. "My breakfast meeting is going well, and if I win my round later today maybe I'll forget this ever happened. Maybe. Now, let in the repair man and escort him to my office. And do not, under any circumstances, disturb him while he's working. If that sat-link isn't fixed by the time my meeting starts I will hold you personally responsible."
Peppard shrank at the sound of those last two words. Obviously, it was a verbal tick of Andy's father's, one that only came out when an employee - and perhaps an errant family member - was treading on thin ice. "Yes, sir," said Peppard. He backed away hastily from the gate in preparation to grant Lo access.
"Now, TV Guy," said Andy, continuing with what Lo could only assume was an uncanny impersonation of his father. "Turn off the speaker. I want a private word."
Lo switched back to private mode, and carefully lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he said, cautiously. He knew it was only Andy, but the bounty hunter's alarmingly convincing performance was still ringing in his ears.
Andy replied with two words: "Open Sesame." Then he hung up.
The still air was cut through by an electrical buzz and then a metallic rattle as the gates shifted into motion. The great metal V split in two as the leaves swung aside, granting access to the riot of luxury and tackiness beyond.
Lo was in.
ooo
VT looked at her phone and bit her lower lip. She was standing on the bridge - the furthest place on the ship from Coffee's quarters - deciding whether or not to call in what they had learned to the DA. She'd already consulted Coffee on the matter, but the bounty hunter was adamant that they keep their intentions to themselves for now. Her logic was that if, as Tatopoulos herself had told them, positions of office on mars had been compromised by the Reds, who knew who might be listening in to the call. Plus, if they asked the DA for permission to proceed, she might say no. VT had to admit that Coffee's reasoning, on the first point at least, was sound. But on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel she owed it to Tatopoulos to keep her in the loop, for no other reason than out of respect. So here she was, hiding from Coffee, considering merits of going behind her partner's back.
VT shook her head ruefully. Bounty hunting did not agree with her at all. Not one bit.
She dialled the number for the DA's office and hit call. Chances were there was no one in yet anyway, early as it was. Or at worst she'd be put through to an answering service and asked to leave a message. The phone rang out twice before other side picked up.
"Hello?" Incredibly, this wasn't the voice of a secretary or an answering service, but the DA herself.
Surprised, VT hesitated for a beat before saying, "Oh. Uh, hey Ms. Tatopoulos,".
"Who is this?" The DA's voice was clipped and stern, the voice of a very busy woman.
"Um, this is VT," replied the trucker. "You know, we met the other night. Remember, the-" she winced "-bounty hunter?"
"Yes, I remember," said the DA. Her toned softened, but only a little. "How can I help you? Did you have any luck with what we discussed?"
VT hesitated, suddenly unsure.
"This is a secure line, VT," said the Tatopoulos. "You're free to talk. Did you learn anything?"
"No, nothing," VT lied, so smoothly and easily it shocked even herself. "Nothing worth knowing, anyway."
"You're sure? Kolarov may be the only viable source of information we have. If he doesn't know-"
"I'm sure," said VT.
"I see," said Tatopoulos. There was no surprise this time, but there was something else. Might it have been disappointment? VT felt obscurely crestfallen at having let down a woman who, until yesterday, she couldn't have picked out of a police line-up. "What about Kolarov?" Tatopoulos added, almost offhandedly.
"What about him?"
"Did you leave him in one piece? No offence, VT, but bounty hunters are known for playing a little rough."
"Don't worry, Kolarov's fine," said VT, consciously choosing not to mention the goons, not one of whom she could name. "Probably a bit shaken, but you know what they say about eggs and omelettes." She felt sick and was glad she'd opted for an audio only call.
"I do," said the DA, her voice suddenly sober. VT wondered what she'd said to elicit the change of tone. There was a long moment of silence in which the trucker wondered if she had somehow offended the woman at the other end of the line. But then: "Listen, I appreciate what you're doing." Tatopoulos's tone had lightened a touch, but now carried a weariness that hadn't been there before. "I understand that all of this won't come for free, but nevertheless, I appreciate the risks you and your partner have taken to help me. To help Mars."
VT was momentarily struck dumb by the DA's candour, and her own embarrassment; was she really going to accept money in return for saving the world? She took a few seconds to gather herself, before muttering, "No problem."
Another pause. VT could hear Tatopoulos's breath over the line, a small change in its cadence suggesting she might be steeling herself to say something else. Then Tatopoulos breath caught audibly. "Well, it was good to speak to you again," she said, returning to her business-like speech pattern. VT wondered if her secretary had just turned up for work on the other side of her thin office door. "I trust you'll be in touch if you learn anything else?"
VT scratched under the rim of her cap. "Uh, sure thing."
"Good." Then, more quietly, "I'll send you a private number shortly. This line is secure, but you may need to reach me after hours."
"Great. Thanks."
"Goodbye, VT. And good luck." Tatopoulos ended the call before VT could reply.
VT lowered the phone and looked down at the display, then up and out across the marina. She was pretty much back where she'd started, save that now there was a big fat lie sitting between her and Katherine Tatopoulos.
And how easy it had been. She tried for a moment to tell herself that she'd had good reason, that she'd lied for both of their protection. But she knew that for the bullshit it was. She'd done it on impulse, obeying some vestigial instinct whose purpose she could no longer place. Old habits really did die hard.
She dropped her phone back in her pocket and turned for the door. All she could do now was wait for Andy and Lo to get back from their mission. Hopefully they'd return with something worth calling in, and not trailing some whole new shitstorm in their wake.
ooo
Lo was exhausted.
The morning was still young and the air cool, and yet the electronics salesman was sweating more heavily than he could ever remember. Footstep after crunching footstep, he had followed Peppard from the gate towards the palatial Von De Oniyate residence, drops of his perspiration plopping onto the driveway before being soaked up by the thirsty gravel. Huge gardens spread out on either side of the path, swathes of exquisitely manicured lawn dotted here and there with topiary depicting improbable creatures, and water features presided over by nude statues with artfully missing body parts. It was clear that a lot of money had been spent to achieve such a level of tastelessness.
Peppard had marched in silence. He maintained his upright posture - probably a throwback to a former career in the military - but much of the aggressive fervour had gone from his manner. His dressing down in front of the diminutive repair man must have severely dented his machismo.
Now, after an age-long slog across a desert of gravel and kitsch, the pair were finally standing in the shadow of the house. Or rather, in the shadow the great, white staircase leading to the roman-style colonnade that stood at the front of the house. Lo was beginning to wonder if Von De Oniyate even liked money all that much. If he did, then why would he piss away so much of it on this garbage? Just one of those faux-Greek statues would buy a lot of retro games consoles!
Peppard paused at the foot of the stairs and, for the first time, glanced over his shoulder at Lo, as if to check that the man hadn't keeled over halfway through their uptown death march. Lo gave his guide a wan smile, at which Peppard grunted and began to climb.
If anything, the ascent of the staircase was even worse than the crossing of the gravel driveway. At one point halfway up Lo considered asking Peppard if he could stop for a breather. He decided against. Probably the guard was already in a bad enough mood and wanted to be rid of his charge as soon as possible. Lo certainly didn't begrudge him that. So, he followed his escort in stoic silence, his thy rubbed raw by the buffeting from his toolbox and the smell of his own sweat sharp in his nose.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs Lo thought he might be going blind. His eyes stung with sweat, and his blurring vision throbbed with the hammering of his heart. He couldn't see all that much as he and Peppard passed into the shade of the colonnade and, at long last, between the polished oak doors of the Casa Von De Oniyate.
Lo dragged a sleeve across his eyes to clear his vision. What he saw when he lowered his arm momentarily scrambled his sense of space. The lobby of the house was vast, its thick crimson carpet covering an area that might have matched the footprint of Lo's entire apartment building. The ceiling was a confection of intricate plasterwork and renaissance-style frescoes, vaulting to twice the height of the tallest room the electronics salesman could ever remember entering. The whole room was surrounded by ranks of portraits and landscapes, vases and busts, all struggling in vain to fill the yawning space. But what struck Lo hardest wasn't the scale of the place, nor the expensive decor, but the lustrous, featureless door that interrupted the wall directly opposite where he'd entered.
"An elevator," he wheezed to himself. "Oh, dear God thank you." The thought of not having to tackle any more stairs was almost enough to move him to tears.
Peppard looked back at Lo once more. "Follow me," he said. "And don't touch anything."
Lo smiled meekly in response, before setting off after the guard at a near trot.
The elevator ride was short, silent and awkward, as Lo and Peppard were forced to stand at closer quarters than either would have liked. Lo passed those few uncomfortable seconds scanning through the floor buttons. Most were numbered, as one might expect, but a few were marked with specific titles. The top floor was labelled 'Office'; this was their destination. Another was labelled 'Gymnasium', and another 'Stables'. Strangely, this last button corresponded to the third floor of the building. Lo considered asking Peppard how Von De Oniyate managed to get his horse into such a small lift but decided that there was probably a special horse elevator somewhere. It was an odd family that rode horses into elevators, but from what little experience Lo had had of the Von De Oniyate clan so far, he could believe that they might just be that odd.
The elevator pinged cheerfully as it reached the top floor, and Lo had to bite back yet another word of thanks to the Man Upstairs. He followed Peppard out of the lift and onto a corridor that stretched off to the left and right. Rows of doors lined the hall on both sides, but Peppard headed straight for the tall, double-sided door opposite the elevator. A desk stood empty to the left of the door, adorned by a monitor and a neatly stacked in tray – no doubt the station of Von De Oniyate's secretary.
Peppard reached inside his jacket and pulled out a key chain. The action was accompanied by a faint whizzing sound as the spring-loaded line that attached the keys to Peppard's belt unspooled from its housing. He unlocked the door and pushed inside. Lo followed.
The office followed much the same theme as the rest of the house: luxuriant red carpet, ornate ceiling, ranks of bespoke artwork and furniture lining the walls. A huge arched window dominated the far side of the room, providing views of an equally decadent property opposite and of the Alva City skyline beyond. The wall to the left was broken by a huge marble fireplace. It seemed that the fireplace was not just for show, as its gaping mouth was blackened and the air carried on it the faint smell of wood smoke, as well as those of ink, paper and freshly vacuumed carpet. A hulking antique desk stood at the centre of the room, framed by the window beyond. Such were its dimensions and apparent solidity Lo could have easily believed it had been carved in a single piece from the stump of an extinct Giant Redwood.
Peppard approached the desk and turned to face Lo.
"Here we are, Mr. Repairman," said Peppard. Lo wasn't sure if that was better or worse than 'TV Guy'. Peppard regarded Lo for a moment. There was something in the guard's manner, some shift in his mood that set Lo on edge. "So," he said after a long moment. "I take it you know where to start. Mr. Von De Oniyate left you with instructions I assume."
A test! Peppard was testing him. Lo figured he must be having second thoughts about letting a stranger into his scary boss's office on the say so of a disembodied voice. Now he wanted some assurance that he wasn't being hoodwinked. Lo couldn't help but smile a little; for once, he felt like he was in control. Without a word, he strode across the room and around the desk, all the while acutely aware of Peppard's intense gaze. He pulled out the high backed, leather office chair and settled himself in its oh-so-soft seat. He sighed with pleasure; it was probably the most comfortable chair he'd ever sat in.
Peppard shifted uncertainly at the sight of the rumpled little man usurping his employer's throne. But Lo was unperturbed. He held both hands out, palms down above the desk and then beat a short tattoo on its red leather writing pad - one-two-three-four-five, six-seven, just like Andy had shown him. He looked across at the fireplace, above which hung a vast, moody oil painting depicting Napoleon's victory at the Battle of Austerlitz. (Lo recognised the work from a boring history show he'd been stuck watching one night when his clicker had run out of batteries) A moment after the final tap of Lo's fingers the image flickered, warped, and then vanished. The departure of the holographic counterfeit revealed a huge, dark screen that dominated the wall.
Peppard's brow furrowed with irritation. If he'd been hoping to catch Lo out, then he'd been sorely disappointed. He grunted and turned for the door. "You have an hour," he rumbled as he walked away. "Work quickly and quietly, and don't touch anything that doesn't pertain to your work." He pulled the door open and stopped. Looking over he said, "I'll be back."
Lo had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the cliche. Instead, he gave Peppard a thumbs up and watched him leave. The door clicked closed. A few seconds later the elevator pinged, the doors opened and shut, and finally Lo was properly alone.
He knew he would have to work quickly. Andy had warned him that security regularly checked on contractors while they were on site, and rarely left them alone for more than fifteen minutes. Peppard would almost certainly be back long before the hour, despite what he'd said.
Lo slipped the phone from his pocket and dialled Andy. Andy answered before the first ring was complete. "TV Guy. Not in prison yet, huh?" He sounded cheerful enough, but the speed with which he'd answered suggested he too was anxious.
"I'm in your dad's office," said Lo. "What now?"
"Okay," said Andy, suddenly business like. "Open the top-left desk draw."
Lo complied. The draw slid open silently on well-oiled runners, releasing a whiff of polished oak. Inside was a well-ordered array of tin boxes and paper files. "Done," he said.
"Now, press down lightly on the back of the handle."
Lo placed his fingers against a brass plate on the reverse side of the draw's face and pushed gently. It gave with an audible click. In response, the desk's leather writing pad sank a couple of centimetres into the wooden surface before withdrawing out of sight. A state-of-the-art workstation - monitor, keyboard and all - bloomed from the recess the pad had left behind.
"Cool," breathed Lo.
"I guess so," said Andy. "My dad doesn't like clutter."
Andy's observation was certainly in keeping with what Lo had seen of Von De Oniyate Senior's office, though less so with his landscaping. Maybe the gardens bore the fingerprint of Mrs. Von De Oniyate, though which Mrs. Von De Oniyate Lo couldn't guess. The magnate was a sufficiently public figure that his string of marital failures were common knowledge among Martians, but Lo kept that thought to himself.
The workstation gave a single, urgent beep. The monitor - black, save for a yellow box and flashing cursor within - was asking for a password.
"Andy, what's the password?"
There was a short pause.
"Hmm," said Andy.
"'Hmm'?" Lo echoed in sudden alarm. "What's 'hmm'? What do you mean 'hmm'?"
"I'm thinking. It's been a while since I've messed around with Dad's work computer."
"You mean you don't know?" Lo's voice was ascending towards a rodent-like squeal.
"I do know," said Andy, patiently. "I'm just having a little trouble recalling is all."
"Come on, Andy, think! Is it someone's birthday? Someone's name?"
"No." The bounty hunter's manner was entirely too relaxed for Lo's liking. "My father's not the sentimental type. Hmm…"
Lo was suddenly acutely aware of the ornate clock that was ticking away on a bookshelf opposite the fireplace. Panic began to rise in his gullet as he realised he'd forgotten to check the time when Peppard left. He had absolutely no idea how long the security guard had been gone. "Come on come on come on…"
"Oh!" said Andy. "Oh, wait. Maybe it is someone's name. Now, who was it…?"
Lo was now tugging at a greasy tuft of his hair, teeth grinding almost painfully as he watched the filigreed second hand of the clock complete yet another circuit of its face.
"Ah! I've got it!"
Lo released his hair and held his quivering fingers expectantly above the keyboard. "Quick, what is it?"
Andy chuckled to himself. "I can't believe I forgot about that!"
"Andyyy!" Lo squeaked.
"Alright, alright. Okay, type in 'yang_070369'. That was the day my dad beat the old mayor of Alva, Fred Yang over eighteen holes. Yang had a handicap of…"
Lo wasn't listening. He was already typing in the password. However, he was only halfway through when he stopped. "Andy, what if your dad has changed his password?"
Andy paused the telling of his father's golf story. "Changed it?" There was a strange noise on the line that might have been the samurai picking his ear. "I doubt it. My father never had much of an imagination. He uses the same password for just about everything."
Lo hesitated. He took a breath, completed the password, and with an almighty act of will, struck the return key. He waited for the alarm to sound, for the commandos to burst in, for the computer to detonate in a hail of flesh-rending shrapnel.
The workstation beeped and displayed the desktop.
"Sounds like you're in," said Andy.
Lo didn't reply. He dropped the phone on the desk and stooped to his toolbox, opened it and fished among the tools until he found a memory drive he'd hidden at the bottom. He stood, inserted the drive into a port in the side of the workstation and then picked up the phone to receive further instruction. Andy must not have realised that Lo has set his phone aside. Incredibly, he had picked up where he'd left off with his father's golf story.
"Andy," Lo hissed.
"What?"
"What do I do now?"
"Well, you're the expert," said Andy. "Can't you like, make a search or something?"
"But what should I search for? What if your Dad's encrypted the file? What if he's given it a misleading name, like… like… macadamia nuts or something?"
"Unlikely," Andy said through a yawn. "Like I said, the old man has no imagination."
Lo looked at the screen, then shrugged and pulled up a search window. He entered the word 'Tiamat' and hit search.
The response was immediate. A directory, labelled Tiamat, saved directly to the local drive. Von De Oniyate was most certainly not a computer person.
"Got it," said Lo. "Making a copy now."
"Don't forget, you'll want to wipe the security camera footage for this morning as well."
"Right." Lo finished copying the file, then set about tampering with the security camera files and feeds. It was easy enough - video was his thing. With that job done Lo logged out of the workstation and used the same hidden button to stow it back in its recess. "Done," he said with a slow sigh of mingle relief and satisfaction.
A hand fell heavily on his shoulder.
"What the hell are you doing in my office!" boomed a terrifyingly familiar voice.
Lo went rigid with terror. It was over. It was over it was over it was over Von De Oniyate was back and it was over and he was going to prison and it was over!
In that moment, it wasn't Lo's life that flashed before his eyes, but rather a procession of people whose fault all of this was. VT and her stupid antenna. Coffee and her infuriatingly short skirt. And worst of all, Andy. Andy, who had persuaded him to break into the mansion of one of the richest men in the system. Andy, who had beguiled him with his sword and his cool outfit.
Andy, who leaned over Lo's left shoulder, grinning stupidly.
"Gotcha," he said.
"I hate you." Lo rasped.
Andy just grinned even more widely and slapped Lo painfully across the back. He hoisted his sword belt and began to pace about the room, examining it as if he were a shogun inspecting the palace grounds.
"How did you even get in here?" Lo said.
Andy shrugged. "Samurai thing," he said.
Lo scanned the room for any hint of a secret entrance or trapdoor. There was none, but no doubt a place like this could hide a veritable labyrinth of secret doors and passages, all of which would be known to a member of the incumbent family.
A thought occurred. "Wait," said Lo. "If you were able to get in here so easily, then what was the point of me sneaking in?!"
Andy looked at Lo as if he'd just asked where babies come from. "Because it was cool, obviously," he said.
Lo stared, incredulous. "Because it was… you… I…"
"Honestly, TV Guy. Do I have to explain everything to you?" Andy tutted loudly and went back to his inspection of the office.
"I could have died," Lo muttered to himself. "I could have died…"
"It's been a long time," Andy said, sighing wistfully. "Hey, maybe I should mess things up a little, just for old times' sake. What do you think, TV Guy?"
Andy's words brought Lo back into the moment. "I think we need to leave," He said. He stooped to gather up his toolbox, then stood and completed his thought. "Right now."
"If you say so," said Andy.
Lo drummed one-handed on the desk and the holographic painting reappeared, hiding a sat-link screen that was now, for all Peppard knew, healed of some non-existent fault. He then headed for the door with Andy in tow.
Lo stopped and turned. "Where do you think you're going?"
Andy frowned. "Um, out?"
"Not with me, you're not," said Lo. "What do you think that security guard's gonna do if he sees you wandering around the grounds." His eyes widened with realisation. "What will he do if he sees you wandering around with me?"
"Who, Peppard? I'm sure he'd be fine with it. He and I go way back."
Lo had a strong sense that this was not a good thing.
"Relax, TV Guy," said Andy. "I know this place like the back of my horse's head. I can get us off the premises, no trouble at all."
Lo's eyes narrowed. "You're sure?" he asked, carefully.
Andy smiled. "It'll be as if we were never even here."
Lo thought about it for a moment before deciding forlornly he had no other choice. "Alright. But make it quick. I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."
"No problem, compadre," said Andy. He reached for the door handle and drew the door aside.
As the two men headed for the elevator, Andy said, "Oh, I just want to make one stop on the way out?"
Lo looked up at Andy dubiously. "A stop?"
"Yes. There's something of my father's I'd like to borrow."
Lo frowned furiously at the bounty hunter.
"Hey, don't worry, TV Guy," Andy said. He pushed the call button and, as the mechanism whirred into life in the shaft beyond the doors, added, "My dad probably won't even miss it."
ooo
VT sat in the lounge and listened. She listened to the sound of the Bebop creaking at her berth. She listened to the sound of Zeros purring happily in her lap. She listened to the breath hissing in her nose.
It had been a long time since she'd listened this way, since she'd just sat back, feet up, and let the sound of the world fill her ears and her thoughts, rather than smothering them beneath a welter of roaring engines and screeching heavy metal. The trucker had forgotten what it was like to just let it be quiet.
After sending Andy and Lo out on their little mission (something she still feared she'd regret), and finishing her call to the DA, VT had considered returning to her room and picking up her rock marathon where she'd left off. But to her surprise, she had found that she didn't have the stomach for it. She thought at first that maybe she had just had enough of loud noises for the time being. The previous evening's gun fight, which had ended in the disorienting crescendo of Coffee's flashbang, had provided enough blood and thunder to last anyone a lifetime. But it wasn't that.
Twice now - once in the DA's office, and again in Kolarov's bar - the memory of her deceased husband had come to mind unbidden. It wasn't unusual for her to think of Ural. She carried around a picture of the Old Ball and Chain, after all. But the life she'd built for herself, the one that played out in cabs and diners and depots, was free of anything that reminded her of the wily old bounty hunter. And those moments of solitude, when the mind might drift and eventually snag on this thought or that, she'd drowned beneath the thrashing of guitars and the bellowing song of the Heavy Metal Queen. The only time she thought of Ural was when she wanted to, and she thought of him only as she wanted to.
The way the last few days had gone, full of danger and frustration and guilty exhilaration, it was hardly surprising that the image of Ural's crooked grin and dumb little beard he refused to shave off had once again come to mind. The last time VT had felt the way she did now, since taking possession of the Bebop, her husband had been at her side, whooping and laughing and promising her that this time next year they'd be stinkin' rich.
VT, eyes closed and head back, smiled a little at the memory of that promise. "Dumbass," she said.
No, the return of those memories wasn't a surprise at all. But what had surprised her was that they didn't hurt. Not anymore.
VT felt something shift in her lap. She opened an eye and glanced down at Zeros. "What is it, fella?"
The cat was sprawled across his owner's legs like an under-filled hot water bottle, but his head was up, his ears twitching restlessly. He'd heard something.
To VT's ear there was not a sound to be heard but the murmur of the somnolent Bebop. But the trucker had learned to trust her furry partner's senses - when he was awake, anyway - and if Zeros was unsettled enough to raise his lazy head, then something was going down.
"Okay," VT said, sitting up. "I'll go check it out."
VT stood, gently scooping Zeros up as she rose. She settled him on the couch, making sure he was centred on the warm patch where she'd been sitting, and made for the bridge. No sooner had the door rolled back to reveal the passageway leading to the Bebop's flight deck, a sound reached the trucker's less sensitive ear.
"What the hell?" she muttered.
There was a tapping sound coming from somewhere, maybe from outside, and perhaps the murmur of voices too, though that could just have been VT's imagination. She made her way to the bridge and as she emerged into the morning sunlight that spilled in through the curved windows, she became certain that someone was screwing around outside the ship.
She strode over to the window beneath the pilot seat and looked out at the quay. There were two cars parked there, long and black and sinister, their idling engines tainting the still air with fumes. A dark-suited man, face pale and thin behind aviator shades, leaned against one of the vehicles with a cigarette clasped between two fingers as he watched the ship with muted interest. No. As he watched his colleagues fussing with the key panel beside Bebop's hangar door. VT could see them now, two of them, down on the deck almost directly beneath her feet.
One of the men on the deck whipped his hand away from the panel, shook it then sucked at a smarting finger. His bark of pain rang through the old ship's hull as if the Bebop herself were trying to warn her occupants of the imminent danger.
"Shit," VT hissed.
She wasn't sure who was trying to get on board. Maybe they were Kolarov's thugs, here to even things up, or perhaps even Tiamat's men, come to put an end to a couple of bounty hunters who'd been asking too many questions. Right now, it didn't much matter.
VT hauled herself into the pilot seat and hit the internal comm. "Coffee," she barked. "Get up! We got visitors."
The trucker was part way through the pre-flight sequence when a groggy voice came over the speaker. "Tell 'em to come back later."
"I don't think that's gonna be an option. Now hang onto something, we're taking off."
That seemed to shake Coffee out of her stupor. "What?!" she squawked.
VT was no longer paying attention to the bounty hunter. She tried desperately to get the Bebop's engines going, but a day and a night spent idle in the cold water of the marina had left them torpid and uncooperative.
"Come on," VT growled as she tried once more to get the engines to turn over.
A thump sounded from deep within the ship as the Bebop gulped another mouthful fuel, but still the engines wouldn't start. All it achieved was to alert the goons outside that something was going on. VT looked out the window to the see the man on the quay gesticulating to his colleagues on deck, the latter emerging into view a moment later as they scrambled from the ship down to the quayside.
"Crap," VT said as she tried once again to get the engines started.
This time there was a loud rumble and a shudder that rattled the bebop to her rivets. A moment later the engines came to life with a triumphant bellow.
"Atta girl!" VT called, and thumped the console appreciatively.
Her elation was short lived. The trucker looked out at her gentleman callers to see one of them, the smoker, hastily fish something from the trunk of his car.
"What the hell is going on up here?" Coffee had materialised on the bridge, her bare feet flapping against the deck plates as she crossed to the pilot's position. She emerged into VT's peripheral vision, coffee mug in hand and swathed in an out sized bathrobe she'd found in the laundry room the night before. She pulled up at the window and followed VT's gaze. "Oh, hell no," she said.
The smoker had produced a long black tube, tipped with a muddy-green bulb, from the rear of his car. Even from this distance it was unmistakably a rocket propelled grenade launcher. It looked as though, in lieu of doing things nice and quiet, the thugs were settling for nasty and loud.
VT turned back to the console. "Sit down and buckle up," she said. Even she could tell that her voice lacked conviction. The inertia of the hulking ship was such that they'd never get away from the quay before the assassin could get a shot away, and he was hardly likely to miss. It was already too late.
She opened up the throttle and felt a shudder through her seat as the Bebop lurched into motion. It wasn't enough. She knew it, and so did the asshole outside. A brief look revealed him casually striding away from his car before settling down onto one knee and resting the RPG on his shoulder.
It was an odd sensation, watching her death drift by the window as the chug of the ship's engine filled the air. Some distant part of VT's mind felt the terror, the sadness, the impotent anger of one whose life might be about to end before she was ready. These were all emotions she'd felt before, and each time they'd been the fuel that had driven her to yet another improbable escape. But something was different this time. Somewhere, in the depths, a voice was telling her she'd done enough. She'd done all she could do. That it was okay. It was okay to let go.
Smoker raised the tip of his RPG, bringing it to bear so that it seemed as if it were aimed right between VT's eyes. He steadied himself, and in that critical, killing moment, all was still.
Neither the assassin nor his target could have anticipated what would happen next.
One moment, the Smoker was preparing to deliver ten kilos of cleansing fire direct to the Bebop's prone bridge, the next he was toppling to the ground, a spray of crimson erupting from his neck.
VT, recovering from her zen-like acceptance of certain death, took a moment to fully digest the scene unfolding below her. The Smoker was twitching his last, his blood pooling on the grimy concrete of the quay. Behind him, his shocked and confused colleagues were unloading sidearms from beside their cars. VT's eyes tracked up the quay to the target of the fusillade.
A horseman, clothed in blue and magnificent on his chestnut steed, was galloping towards the end of the quay, golden air trailing in the breeze. His reddened blade was held aside, still raised from the back swing that had ended the assassin's life. There was something else on the back of the horse too, something that, as the animal receded, could easily have been mistaken for a grubby sack of laundry. It was Lo, clinging on to Andy's waste for dear life like a greasy barnacle.
VT shook her head in disbelief. No man she'd ever known had made such an art form of looking ridiculous, and right now she was grateful for the bounty hunter's flare for a spectacular entrance.
But there was no time to admire Andy's unique brand of lunacy. The bounty hunter was pushing his mount hard and was rapidly running out of quayside. When he got to the end, he would either be forced to plough straight into the water or turn and face a hail of gunfire from the remaining syndicate hitmen.
The Bebop was picking up speed, fording her way along beside the concrete jetty towards the open water of the marina. Her attackers were now out of sight, left behind in the commotion. Fortunately, neither had thought to take up their fallen colleague's RPG and finish what he'd started. They were too busy trying to fell the anachronistic apparition that had burst from nowhere to turn their morning bloody.
VT looked ahead to where the quay ended. There, the concrete gave way to wood, a broad platform protruding from the end of the quay where several small pleasure vessels were moored. The sight brought on an idea that was so stupid that she felt sure Andy had already thought of it and was already doing his part.
"Coffee," VT called without looking away from the window. "You strapped in?"
"Yeah," Coffee shouted back over the building roar of the engines. "What the hell's going on out there?"
"Uh, let me get back to you on that. Listen, things might be about to get a bit bumpy, so no bathroom breaks 'til we're airborne."
"Whatever. Hey, not that I'm getting attached or anything, but what about Jackass and the little weirdo?"
VT checked on Andy's progress. The Bebop was almost alongside the horse now. "Working on it."
She eased up a little on the throttle just as the Ship was passing the horse, and absently touched the control to open the hangar doors. The end of the quay was approaching fast, the nose of the Bebop already throwing water up onto the boardwalk as it cut through the water.
"Alright," she said through gritted teeth. "Here we go!"
The Bebop's engine nacelle was just passing the end of the concrete quay when the trucker threw the ship into a hard, left turn. Immediately there was a roar that overwhelmed that of the engines, as the ship's hull strained against the sudden resistance of the water against her broadside. An instant later even this sound was dwarfed as the Bebop smashed into the jetty, sending up a spray of shattered wood along with the displaced water.
The next few seconds played out in a peculiar little bubble of unreality. The sound of the engines, of the water, of the disintegrating jetty and crushed pleasure boats, faded into a background hum. Outside, VT saw Andy's horse emerge from around the Bebop's port nacelle, galloping hard across the boards even as the ship was obliterating the jetty from its right. For a moment it seemed that horse, rider, passenger and all must be shredded in the great turbine that was chewing its way toward them.
And then the horse was airborne. The animal followed an improbably long arch, every muscle and sinew taught and rippling as it strained to reach the relative safety of the flight deck. Even as it flew, the spot on the jetty where it had been standing vanished, bursting in a hail of wood chips that surrounded the animal as it sailed through the air. This display of equine majesty would have been quite beautiful, had it not been for the open-mouthed, snot-nosed scream that contorted Lo's already homely face.
An instant later the horse was down, faltering as its hooves struck the deck yet somehow maintaining its footing. VT wondered distantly where on Mars Andy could have found such a well-trained animal. Then they were gone, Andy having turned the wide-eyed steed and goaded it towards the open hangar and out of sight of the bridge.
VT struck the control to the lower the hangar doors and then slewed the Bebop to starboard, towards the haven of open water. The roar of the engines built once more as the ship thrust out into the marina. Along with the engines and the rumble of the Bebop's wake, there was another sound, high pitched and grating, making a respectable play for dominance over the rest.
It was Coffee. The bounty hunter was screaming every obscenity VT could recall having heard, plus one or two new ones, at the top of her lungs. The front of her robe was soaked with steaming coffee.
"You said it," VT breathed. She tapped a button to open a link to the hangar. "Andy, you there?" There was a tense pause.
"I'm here," came the reply. The would-be samurai's tone was irritatingly calm, though VT noted with some satisfaction that he was a little out of breath.
"Good," said VT. "And Lo?"
"Present and accounted for," said Andy.
VT could hear sobbing in the background. "Okay," she said. "Get the horse secured and then get yourselves strapped in. We need to leave before our buddies back there remember they've got an RPG."
"Oh, I doubt that'll be a problem," drawled Andy. "The police were pretty close behind me when I got here."
VT frowned. "You called the police?"
A few seconds of silence, then, "In a way, yeah. I guess I did."
VT considered asking but decided that maybe it was better not to know. "Whatever. Just get yourselves ready. We're getting out of here."
"Yes, ma'am," said Andy, and closed the link.
VT pushed the Bebop out towards the centre of the marina, half expecting that at any moment the ship would buck under the impact of a high explosive charge. But as the seconds past, that feeling faded. Perhaps the police had arrived and apprehended or driven off their attackers. The trucker was tempted to turn back and provide her full and unconditional cooperation to the authorities. At the very least, she felt she owed someone an explanation for the spectacular destruction of public property she'd just perpetrated. Smash 'n' run was a pretty dangerous habit to get into.
To get back into.
But something else, some deep lying instinct, told her to keep going, to get out of Alva. To get off Mars. The authorities could wait. Right now, she just needed to be gone.
VT waited as long as she felt she could, allowing Andy and Lo time to secure their mount and themselves. Somewhere off to her right Coffee was still uttering a stream of expletives, albeit at lower volume. With that as her accompaniment, VT pushed the Bebop up to speed and with some relief, lifted her towards orbit.