by Travis Perry -
Ernsto sat in the darkened room with the angel, counting his stacks of platinum coins. The pay was good, there was no denying that. And it wasn’t as if the work was hard.
She watched him from the tank, her dark eyes glinting with reflected light from her own white bioluminescent body. The tentacles attached to the back of her head hung down almost like hair and her ray-like fins were spread wide, like wings, making her look especially angelic.
“But you’re not an angel really,” muttered Ernsto. “You’re just a big fish, a smart one.” He didn’t feel fully convinced. He fingered a platinum coin, feeling the cold hard weight of it.
Why? floated into the back of his mind. The more time he spent with the angel, the more he could swear he didn’t just know her feelings—he could hear her thoughts. He glanced up at her but didn’t offer any answer to her question.
The door slid open, revealing Wizard Hobson, smiling as broadly as ever. “There you are! You certainly do like spending time here, don’t you, my boy?” The man deliberately ignored the angel recoiling away from the surface of the glass, balling up at the back of the tank.
Eyes fixed on the wizard, he answered, “I like the dark. The quiet is good, too. You got experiments to run?”
“Not at the moment. I just have another job for you, Ernesto.” The wizard mispronounced his name in a way that for some reason made him smile.
He had more platinum and more luxury than he’d ever had in his life. At that instant he decided he’d had enough; the time had come to go back to smuggling. He rose to his feet, a forceful “No” at the back of his throat.
But when Hobson’s eyes met his own, he found his willpower ebbing away. The wizard started speaking and he couldn’t even remember anymore what he had wanted.
Whatever the old man said, he had to do it.
Showing posts with label smugglers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label smugglers. Show all posts
Friday, October 7, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Customs
by Travis Perry -
Ernsto fidgeted in the line. He remembered when moving goods up to Avenir used to be a lot easier. But then the Anti-smuggling Acts had been published...
The pressure tank next to him, roughly the size and shape of a coffin, but rounded and made of burnished steel, was mounted on a robotized wheel cart. The line he stood in was for commercial passengers with oversized luggage.
Some part of his brain picked at the word “CUSTOMS,” which had been newly embroidered in bright letters across the armbands of the enforcers standing in this designated section of Zirconia’s upper deck. Somebody must’ve pulled that out of an ancient dictionary somewhere. The word meant nothing to him.
“Next!” said the voice and he stepped forward, the robot cart following him with the tank as he’d programmed it to do. “Papers please,” said the man in his sharp new black-and-white uniform.
“Sure,” said Ernsto, handing over actual printed paper, not digital, not bugshell, supplied to him through a contact of his wizard benefactor in Avenir. The enforcer’s eyes widened at this rare form of official documentation.
“Well, sir,” he said, “All is very much in order…you may proceed.”
“Hold it, Smit!” barked the supervising peacekeeper, stepping toward them. He was not in any kind of uniform, but his badge hung prominently from his belt.
The peacekeeper snatched the papers out of his subordinate’s hand. “Gabril Jons, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ernsto, attempting a smile.
The man evaluated him from his toes up to his face. “You look a lot like the image capture I’ve seen on that smuggler Ernsto Mons.” He glared straight into his eyes, looking for any sign of inappropriate response.
“I’ve heard people tell me that a time or two before,” he muttered. “Can’t say as I like it bein’ accused of criminal activity. I’m Gabril Jons, general merchant, just like the papers say.”
“I think you and your cargo need to be scanned,” said the peacekeeper.
Of course, that would never do. The scan would reveal the presence of the angel in the tank, illegal to transport. And it would also show the weapons hidden under the loose merchant’s shirt Ernsto wore.
“The papers don’t allow that.” He enunciated carefully, “This cargo may not be exposed any extreme form of magnetism or ionizing radiation. This is a special delivery to Wizard Hobson in Avenir and has been pre-inspected. Just as the papers say.” Even as he spoke he was calculating. The peacekeeper and enforcer near him he could kill before they’d realized he had hidden weapons. But the two behind would have time to react, to maybe pull an alarm of some kind, if not actually fire back. And there were more enforcers at the scanning station and the commercial shuttle itself, along with surveillance devices. Plus plenty more on the upper decks of Zirconia. His chances of escaping them all seemed slim, no matter how many he killed.
But he’d known “Forcers” his entire life—he’d known from experience that many of them joined up just to boss others around, to make themselves feel powerful. When given the chance, they could be cruel beyond belief. He was not about to fall into the hands of those dregs—he’d rather die first.
That wizard said it was all arranged! He was angry at the old man. And with himself for having trusted anyone.
The needle gun in his sleeve he’d set up to fire by orienting his arm and squeezing his armpit just so. He turned to the peacekeeper, arm in place, ready to kill. “But officer—”
And then a powerful emotion swept over him, interrupting his plan in motion. It was a deep calmness, slapping away his rage with a shocking coolness, like getting hit on the shore with a sudden surge of the ocean. He gasped.
It showed in the eyes of the lawmen that they felt it, too. Deep, sudden calmness. They probably didn’t know where it had come from, but he knew. He recognized the presence behind it. It was the angel in the pressure tank—she had sent this emotion.
The peacekeeper, calmed and perhaps beyond that, perhaps influenced somehow, took a second look at his high-class forged papers. “I’m…I’m sorry to trouble you, sir. Officer Smit was right. Everything is in order. Please proceed.”
As Ernsto moved forward toward the Avenir-bound shuttle, he wondered why in the name of all Holy-in-the-sea-below-and-the-stars-above would that angel do that for him. Why did she save my life?
Ernsto fidgeted in the line. He remembered when moving goods up to Avenir used to be a lot easier. But then the Anti-smuggling Acts had been published...
The pressure tank next to him, roughly the size and shape of a coffin, but rounded and made of burnished steel, was mounted on a robotized wheel cart. The line he stood in was for commercial passengers with oversized luggage.
Some part of his brain picked at the word “CUSTOMS,” which had been newly embroidered in bright letters across the armbands of the enforcers standing in this designated section of Zirconia’s upper deck. Somebody must’ve pulled that out of an ancient dictionary somewhere. The word meant nothing to him.
“Next!” said the voice and he stepped forward, the robot cart following him with the tank as he’d programmed it to do. “Papers please,” said the man in his sharp new black-and-white uniform.
“Sure,” said Ernsto, handing over actual printed paper, not digital, not bugshell, supplied to him through a contact of his wizard benefactor in Avenir. The enforcer’s eyes widened at this rare form of official documentation.
“Well, sir,” he said, “All is very much in order…you may proceed.”
“Hold it, Smit!” barked the supervising peacekeeper, stepping toward them. He was not in any kind of uniform, but his badge hung prominently from his belt.
The peacekeeper snatched the papers out of his subordinate’s hand. “Gabril Jons, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ernsto, attempting a smile.
The man evaluated him from his toes up to his face. “You look a lot like the image capture I’ve seen on that smuggler Ernsto Mons.” He glared straight into his eyes, looking for any sign of inappropriate response.
“I’ve heard people tell me that a time or two before,” he muttered. “Can’t say as I like it bein’ accused of criminal activity. I’m Gabril Jons, general merchant, just like the papers say.”
“I think you and your cargo need to be scanned,” said the peacekeeper.
Of course, that would never do. The scan would reveal the presence of the angel in the tank, illegal to transport. And it would also show the weapons hidden under the loose merchant’s shirt Ernsto wore.
“The papers don’t allow that.” He enunciated carefully, “This cargo may not be exposed any extreme form of magnetism or ionizing radiation. This is a special delivery to Wizard Hobson in Avenir and has been pre-inspected. Just as the papers say.” Even as he spoke he was calculating. The peacekeeper and enforcer near him he could kill before they’d realized he had hidden weapons. But the two behind would have time to react, to maybe pull an alarm of some kind, if not actually fire back. And there were more enforcers at the scanning station and the commercial shuttle itself, along with surveillance devices. Plus plenty more on the upper decks of Zirconia. His chances of escaping them all seemed slim, no matter how many he killed.
But he’d known “Forcers” his entire life—he’d known from experience that many of them joined up just to boss others around, to make themselves feel powerful. When given the chance, they could be cruel beyond belief. He was not about to fall into the hands of those dregs—he’d rather die first.
That wizard said it was all arranged! He was angry at the old man. And with himself for having trusted anyone.
The needle gun in his sleeve he’d set up to fire by orienting his arm and squeezing his armpit just so. He turned to the peacekeeper, arm in place, ready to kill. “But officer—”
And then a powerful emotion swept over him, interrupting his plan in motion. It was a deep calmness, slapping away his rage with a shocking coolness, like getting hit on the shore with a sudden surge of the ocean. He gasped.
It showed in the eyes of the lawmen that they felt it, too. Deep, sudden calmness. They probably didn’t know where it had come from, but he knew. He recognized the presence behind it. It was the angel in the pressure tank—she had sent this emotion.
The peacekeeper, calmed and perhaps beyond that, perhaps influenced somehow, took a second look at his high-class forged papers. “I’m…I’m sorry to trouble you, sir. Officer Smit was right. Everything is in order. Please proceed.”
As Ernsto moved forward toward the Avenir-bound shuttle, he wondered why in the name of all Holy-in-the-sea-below-and-the-stars-above would that angel do that for him. Why did she save my life?
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Deep Deep Dark
by Travis Perry -
As Ernsto Mons slipped deeper into the inky blackness, his armored dive suit creaked and popped under the pressure. He swallowed hard—he had never been a deep diver; he’d never faced the deepest depths before. But he had been a smuggler and had killed men in cold blood when he needed to; he knew he was tough, so he brushed past his fear.
The movement locator built into his suit—an expensive piece of sonar gear his wizard benefactor in Avenir had paid for, like the suit and most of his weapons—flicked with green dots of movement. Dozens of dots, moving fast, around two hundred meters below him.
He tilted his helmet forward, straining his eyes to see any sign of anything down there. The only image his retinas received was of deep, deep dark.
Ernsto swallowed hard. This is nothin’, he told himself, his brow damp with icy sweat.
As Ernsto Mons slipped deeper into the inky blackness, his armored dive suit creaked and popped under the pressure. He swallowed hard—he had never been a deep diver; he’d never faced the deepest depths before. But he had been a smuggler and had killed men in cold blood when he needed to; he knew he was tough, so he brushed past his fear.
The movement locator built into his suit—an expensive piece of sonar gear his wizard benefactor in Avenir had paid for, like the suit and most of his weapons—flicked with green dots of movement. Dozens of dots, moving fast, around two hundred meters below him.
He tilted his helmet forward, straining his eyes to see any sign of anything down there. The only image his retinas received was of deep, deep dark.
Ernsto swallowed hard. This is nothin’, he told himself, his brow damp with icy sweat.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Arrest
by H. A. Titus -
Cara sat on a catwalk, the shadows obscuring her as she watched the smuggler unloading his ship. She’d noticed him last night, handing out bread to a few orphans in the marketplace. He looked nice, so she’d followed him so she could get a look at his ship. She wouldn’t have dared with some of the smugglers, but this man she trusted as much as she could trust anyone.
His ship was a newer model, sleek and pristine. If she ever got her hands on a ship half as good as this one, she’d be happy.
It wasn’t quite fair, she told herself. She liked flying. When she was five Foundings old, she’d snuck on board a trade ship for a round trip to Zirconia and back. But, being an orphan, she’d never be accepted in a flight school, even if she had enough money to pay for the classes.
Maybe this guy would give her lessons. He’d handed out food, hadn’t he? That was more than any of the other smugglers, or even the honest merchants, would do. It was strange that he would care about the orphans, yet disregard the Peace Council’s laws.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Cara stood up and leaned over the railing. Three Enforcers strode down the row of docking bays toward the ship. She looked back at the stack of boxes. The smuggler had gone inside.
She bit her lip. Did she have time to warn the smuggler?
The smuggler ducked out of his ship just as the Enforcers reached his stack of cargo. They stood facing each other for a moment. Cara could see the smuggler’s face, his blue eyes calm, his muscles relaxed. Didn’t he understand what the Peacekeepers were there for?
One of the Enforcers finally cleared his throat and spoke. “Pieter Kinsrol, you’re under arrest.”
Pieter. So that was his name. Cara expected him to make a run for it, or dart back inside his ship and try to escape. Instead, he nodded and spun around to receive his handcuffs.
Cara gently slapped herself. Had she just seen what she thought she’d seen? Who in their right mind would just let himself be arrested?
As the Enforcers led Pieter away, Cara jogged along the catwalk to keep up. There had to be a way to help him. And by the Whale, she was going to find that way.
Cara sat on a catwalk, the shadows obscuring her as she watched the smuggler unloading his ship. She’d noticed him last night, handing out bread to a few orphans in the marketplace. He looked nice, so she’d followed him so she could get a look at his ship. She wouldn’t have dared with some of the smugglers, but this man she trusted as much as she could trust anyone.
His ship was a newer model, sleek and pristine. If she ever got her hands on a ship half as good as this one, she’d be happy.
It wasn’t quite fair, she told herself. She liked flying. When she was five Foundings old, she’d snuck on board a trade ship for a round trip to Zirconia and back. But, being an orphan, she’d never be accepted in a flight school, even if she had enough money to pay for the classes.
Maybe this guy would give her lessons. He’d handed out food, hadn’t he? That was more than any of the other smugglers, or even the honest merchants, would do. It was strange that he would care about the orphans, yet disregard the Peace Council’s laws.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Cara stood up and leaned over the railing. Three Enforcers strode down the row of docking bays toward the ship. She looked back at the stack of boxes. The smuggler had gone inside.
She bit her lip. Did she have time to warn the smuggler?
The smuggler ducked out of his ship just as the Enforcers reached his stack of cargo. They stood facing each other for a moment. Cara could see the smuggler’s face, his blue eyes calm, his muscles relaxed. Didn’t he understand what the Peacekeepers were there for?
One of the Enforcers finally cleared his throat and spoke. “Pieter Kinsrol, you’re under arrest.”
Pieter. So that was his name. Cara expected him to make a run for it, or dart back inside his ship and try to escape. Instead, he nodded and spun around to receive his handcuffs.
Cara gently slapped herself. Had she just seen what she thought she’d seen? Who in their right mind would just let himself be arrested?
As the Enforcers led Pieter away, Cara jogged along the catwalk to keep up. There had to be a way to help him. And by the Whale, she was going to find that way.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Deadly Gear
by Travis Perry -
Ernsto Mons slid the fifth mini-torpedo into his bandolier, laid out on the stained mattress in a cheap hotel in the deepest part of Zirconia. His weapons included the guided torpedo launcher, wickedly sharp hooks attached to duraflex netting, ten sonic stun grenades, a tranquillizer gun loaded for underwater use, some of its tips poisoned and some not, and a steel curved knife nearly big enough to qualify as a sword. His gear also included his armored dive suit, specially designed to allow him to face the high pressures at depths of six kilometers. But that was stored in the third storage cell on the right from the nearest airlock into the city, the one at the very bottom, one little-used due to the incredible water pressure and complete blackness of the depths outside.
He fingered his five platinum coins—these would bribe the enforcer at the entryway. The other twenty-five were for him to keep, with twenty-five more when he delivered his prey to the wizard up on Avenir.
Ernsto grinned to himself. "Like you said, old man. One angel comin' up your way—dead or alive."
Ernsto Mons slid the fifth mini-torpedo into his bandolier, laid out on the stained mattress in a cheap hotel in the deepest part of Zirconia. His weapons included the guided torpedo launcher, wickedly sharp hooks attached to duraflex netting, ten sonic stun grenades, a tranquillizer gun loaded for underwater use, some of its tips poisoned and some not, and a steel curved knife nearly big enough to qualify as a sword. His gear also included his armored dive suit, specially designed to allow him to face the high pressures at depths of six kilometers. But that was stored in the third storage cell on the right from the nearest airlock into the city, the one at the very bottom, one little-used due to the incredible water pressure and complete blackness of the depths outside.
He fingered his five platinum coins—these would bribe the enforcer at the entryway. The other twenty-five were for him to keep, with twenty-five more when he delivered his prey to the wizard up on Avenir.
Ernsto grinned to himself. "Like you said, old man. One angel comin' up your way—dead or alive."
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