.

Interstellar Marines: Predators

Chapter 4: Migration

York Powers wasn't a man that stood out.

That was just as well, all things considered. True, he was the CEO of HelixRail, but the more you stood out, the more likely you were going to end up with egg on your face at best, or a bullet through your face at worst. Admittedly there was little to be gained from assassinating someone like him, but still, better safe than sorry.

It was in the spirit of "better safe than sorry" that he was walking through the streets of Sydney's CBD, closely followed by two personal security guards about ten metres behind him. An operation against UniStrand had gone off without a hitch, bar the police presence, and he thought it best to be out and about rather than being in his office, as an easy target for investigators or the media. Not that there was any reason they should suspect him, but he'd rather just let the whole thing blow over. Crazed activist, tragic loss of life, importance of genetic research stressed, etc. Either he could be alone, or blend in with what constituted a crowd in a city that had seen better days.n

And despite all this, he could still be disturbed.

Scowling, York glanced at his sPhone. No real businessman turned off his doo-hicky, but that was by necessity rather than by choice. Still, he had chosen this lifestyle-a "self made man," as he put it. And seeing that it wasn't coming from the HelixRail building, there was perhaps at least some hope it wouldn't pertain to unwelcome questions.

"York Powers speaking."

"Hello Yorky. How's the weather?" a female voice inquired.

"Blue skies...as usual."

"Actually, they're grey. But don't worry, close enough."

The CEO's scowl deepened, not helped by him having to gesture to his personal guard that he intended to stop here, risking more attention being drawn to himself. He knew who this was. Why she was calling however, was another matter entirely.

"What do you want Blue?" York asked. "And how did you get this number?"

"Oh, darling Martin gave it to me. Nice boy you know. Very pleasant."

"Yes...indeed," York murmured, making a mental note to shift the idiot to another department. "Very helpful indeed."

"Yes...and speaking of help, it's actually something I may be able to help you with."

The businessman remained silent. He didn't know what the assassin's angle was, not after the hit she'd conducted and the payment she'd recieved. What he did with the drop was his business. So why was she involved?

"As you know, I tapped Mister Hill's line, to know when and where the drop would be," Blue said. "Well, turns out it's still paying off. Listen to this."

York did listen as a recording played. One of a conversation between what was presumably Hill and Williams. He'd recognise the second voice anywhere.

"Fine...but wait for this evening. The cops are out in force, and I don't want to be mixed up in your little corporate war."

"Shame...for someone who's so full of himself, you'd make an excellent shield."

York smirked as the recording ended. He wasn't sure what Blue's angle was, but it was good to know that Hill was sweating under the pressure. No matter what people said, it was still a universe of survival of the fittest. Anything that hurt UniStrand benefitted HelixRail by default.

"Nice guys," Blue interjected. "But not like you of course."

"Pardon?"

"Well, you know...Hill's got his own people going for the...sharks. But I'm sure you'd be able to help a poor old woman-..."

"Cut the bullshit," York interrupted. "I know your M.O. And I don't know why I should even care. Not even when you can't say 'sharks' without hesitation."

"So...you don't want my help?"

"I'm not going to push my luck," York declared. "Not now. If Hill wants to deal with Williams, that's his business. With any luck, it'll be a dud and UniStrand will go one step closer to being out of business."

"But what if it isn't?" Blue asked. "What if Williams is telling the truth?"

"And if he isn't? I've spent time and money on you. What makes you think I want to do it twice for an unknown factor."

"Because you're a businessman," Blue pointed out. "Because you know that if this is the real deal, UniStrand might be placed on the pedestal of genetics, with your board of directors asking you how this happened."

York remained silent. He cast his gaze out over the city, running a hand through his greasy black hair as he did so. The hitwoman was right in one regard-if UniStrand did get its hands on ITO technology, it could severely escape the capitalist sphere of genetic technology. And it wasn't like she was lying to him-he understood the woman well enough to know that her loyalty was to money. There was no reason for her to set him up any more than there was for her to favour one employer over the other. Heck, if UniStrand had offered her a pickup job, she'd probably take it. Heck, she would take it, no questions asked, no answers given as to why two bodies had gone off to the morgue.

Life was so simple sometimes...

"So Yorky? Made a decision yet?" Blue asked, interrupting her employer's thoughts. "Feel free to say no if you want. I'll be watching the news to see how things pan out."

"If...if you do this..." York began. "What's your M.O.?"

"Oh, the usual," the former marine said airily. "Follow the pickup, ghost it, retrieve the package. I'll probably be firing some guns as well, maybe an explosion, but hey, ABC's more focussed on Martian bombs nowadays anyway. Sydney can take two in the same day."

"Fine...do it," York said. "But you'll receive payment only after I retrieve the package. And after I verify its validity."

"Aw, Yorky..." Blue simpered. "Don't you trust me?"

"Course not."

"Good. Because dealing with idiots makes me want to enforce social Darwinism."

And with that, the conversation ended. Probably one of the few York would have all day.

And all things considered, he was perfectly fine with that.

Bescene Myrda liked private hospitals. Or rather, she disliked them less than public ones.

More efficient, fewer patients, less staff, and smaller. All in all, it made the travel time for her and Mr. Hill significantly reduced, as they walked through the corridors of UniHealth-a private hospital used by UniStrand for its employees and the people who could afford its care. And yet, for all these pros, there was one con that she couldn't help but keep in mind-she was there.

"Is this really necessary?" the scientist asked Hill. "Couldn't I wait outside?"

"No. You can't."

"Why?" Myrda asked. "He's simply some lapdog who's providing transport."

"And was shot this morning," the CEO pointed out. "Not to mention watching two of his co-workers be killed. I think we owe him our presence."

Myrda snorted. "All you owe him is some compensation and a non-disclosure agreement."

A few people in UniStrand knew where the line was when it came to Hill. Yet Myrda was one of the few who knew where it was safe to cross. Maybe it was due to them being similar in age, similar in appearance bar gender, or maybe that she was smart, and knew how the game was played. Which was why she wasn't so keen to be working with the lapdog Hill had assigned her. Because either he didn't know how the game was played, or by virtue of letting a drop be taken, had failed in the game. So why he was Hill's choice for his job was a mystery.

Either way, as Hill opened the patient's door, it became a moot point.

"Mister Fellman," the CEO said as the two of them walked in. "How are you feeling?"

"Crap."

Myrda smirked as she gazed at the man before her, sitting on the bed in the midst of putting on his shoes-all part of civilian clothing. She had little respect for him, but at least he had balls, not to mention the ability to think with them.

"Um...yes..." Hill said, closing the door behind him and the geneticist as he did so. "I understand that the surgery went well?"

"No scars, if that what you mean," Fellman murmured, tapping his chest with one hand while putting on his second shoe with the other. "The doctors here know their stuff."

Doctors my arse...Myrda reflected. Simple nano-surgery...why are they even getting paid the same amount as me?

"That's good to hear," Hill said, trying to look reassuring as he did so. "So I take it you're good to go?"

"Yes. Head home...have a beer...watch some cricket..."

"It's winter."

"Then I'll watch rugby instead."

It was...interesting, Myrda thought, how Fellman continued to refuse to meet Hill's gaze. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew what Hill wanted, and was trying his best to get out of it.

The CEO cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure rugby league-..."

"Union."

"...union...will be interesting," Hill said eventually. "Though if you have the time...I was wondering if you might be able to do me a quick-..."

"No."

And there it was. The offer. The refusal. The point where Fellman got to his feet and met Hill's gaze. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and Myrda waited to see who got to it first.

Hill did.

"Mister Fellman...I understand how you must feel," the businessman began.

"Oh really?" the security guard asked. "So you know what it's like to watch your friends die. To be shot in the chest. To be given a day off, some compensation, and the knowledge that I'll have to come back to work on Thursday."

"Yes, I do," Hill said kindly. "Which is why I'm willing to offer you a bonus...something that would allow you to find a safer line of work. A bonus that stems from what you might call a milk run."

"...I'll pass," Fellman said. "Now if you excuse me..."

"Two million."

Myrda smiled faintly as she saw Fellman's eyes light up for a second. Perhaps he did know how the game was played. Or more likely, he was just another human being. Everyone had their price, everyone had a love of money, and while you could perch yourself on the moral high ground, all it took was a pebble to start the avalanche that would take you down with it. It was a pebble that Hill had thrown, and seeing the effect he had, he proceeded with the briefing.

"This is Doctor Bescene Myrda," Hill continued, gesturing towards his employee. "The one who'll be picking up the material. The one who you'll be escorting."

Myrda stuck out a hand. Fellman didn't take it. Instead he turned to Hill.

"This material..." he asked. "I take it that it's similar material to what Eldon and Grunewald were killed for."

"Of course," Hill answered. "You expected otherwise? It's a dog eat dog world, Mister Fellman. A world of predators. Survival of the fittest. You're simply lucky in that while you are one of UniStrand's dogs of war, your lives are more in sync with a cat."

"And do I have a cat's lifespan?" Fellman asked. "Is my fur black?"

"That's up to you," said Hill.

Myrda had to hand it to Hill, he seemed to be able to toe the line between caring boss who wanted to help out an employee, and a boss who wanted to get ahead in the corporate sector. Fellman had been shot...but that could actually form a case for using him, in that he'd not only survived, but managed to get off a few shots based on the inspection of his pistol. By giving him the money, Hill could shut him up, along with giving him the incentive to retire, and disassociate himself from UniStrand. And if by some chance someone attacked their transport, and Fellman was killed...well, in a way, that could work for the company as well.

Just as long as I'm not killed.

"And if I'm shot at...again?" Fellman asked.

Hill snorted. "That's statistically unlikely, Mister Fellman. But if you are...well, good luck."

"You really don't care what happens to me, do you?"

"Actually, I do," Hill answered, with a sincerity that surprised Myrda. "I hope for your sake that you pull this off, that you get your money, and you live a fulfilling life. But I also care about UniStrand's board, investors, and finances. So while I'm willing to give you a lease on a new life, I need you to do something to justify that."

"Even if it's illegal?"

Hill's eyes narrowed. "Don't take the moral high ground Fellman. You lost it as soon as you started considering this job."

The security guard sat back on the bed, running his hands through his hair. Hill stood still. Myrda tapped her foot. And in the hospital, numerous other things occurred.

Fellman getting up and saying "alright," was but one of them.

Update (25/05/12): Tightened some of the writing.