Phoenix Feathers, Part II Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Joss is Boss, and all of this is his doing.

***

“Where were you yesterday?”

The icy blue eyes glared at the lanky pickpocket who shifted nervously where he stood, not daring to look up from the lavish carpet before his feet.

“You were supposed to be working the Bazaar with Lee and Franks. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I thought I’d made it clear to you what would happen if you disobeyed my orders again. Or have you forgotten about Bror’s penchant for flogging?”

Blue Eyes nodded to a large man who lurked in the far reaches of the tent. The enforcer cracked his knuckles and advanced on the lonely figure with a feral grin. The merchant raised a hand when the lad spoke up, checking the enforcer’s movement.

“I had an interview.”

The boy’s voice had changed over the years, assuming the cockney accent of Dyton Colony, but that wasn’t the most drastic change that time and harsh experience had wrought on him. Over the years, the young man had learned the tricks of the criminal trade very quickly, and had excelled at whatever task his master had given him, from simple pick-pocketing on the city streets to stealing valuable wares from townhouses without leaving a trace of his presence. He was already becoming a legend on the streets, and his master had taken a personal interest in his career. The boy knew that he could make a life for himself here, doing what he had been trained to do.

But the orphan knew that it was not the life he wanted.

The young pickpocket went on to describe to his master the events of the day before. He had risen early and left the dilapidated building where he and the other “apprentices” were kept. It was an easy matter to slip past the guards, who were at ease so far inside their own tong’s territory. His calloused feet took him to the Bazaar District, which was all but deserted, and from there he headed deeper into the city, towards the relatively tiny Federal District.

When the boy got to the Recruitment Office, he paused, checking the street for observers. Satisfied that nobody was following him, he marched up to the door and tapped in a complicated sequence on the electronic keypad. The lock clicked open and he quietly let himself into the building, closing the door behind him.

An hour and a half later, the first Federal entered the Recruitment Office. He drew up short when he saw the visitor dangling his legs from one of the seats in the waiting area. He looked the young man up and down, taking in his age, bedraggled clothes, and dirt-smudged face. Deciding that the kid was just one of the scum that plagued the Recruitment Offices looking for a way off this dust ball, or at least a scrap of food, he grunted and moved past the youth towards his office.

“Please, can you ‘elp me?” The boy put down the piece of paper he had been studying and looked plaintively at the Alliance official.

The man stiffened, then turned around tiredly. “What’s your pleasure? You want to see the stars, walk the soil of faraway worlds? Keep order in the cosmos? Join the Alliance Military! –But…I’m not sure you’ll pass the age restriction, unless that dirt on your face is hiding a lot more wrinkles than I think it is.”

“I don’t want to be a soldier,” the young man replied.

“Oh? Well, then, tough luck, kiddo. Most guys who come through here don’t want to be soldiers either, but that’s pretty much the only use we’ve got for ‘em. It gets ‘em off the streets sure enough. So what use do you think we’ve got for a little man like you?”

The visitor looked his reluctant interviewer square in the eye. “Kids been disappearing off of the streets lately. Not near enough to attract any attention, see, and most a them are put right back where they came from. They don’t talk much about what ‘appens ‘ere, ‘cept that you all ‘ave them take some sort a test.”

The interviewer straightened up, looking around the room to see if anyone else was present. He coughed uncomfortably. “I’m not aware of any such thing.”

“Right. Guess I’m just delusional. Just a figment of my imagination, an’ all that. But let me ask you this: Have you ever heard of the Academy Project?”

The man’s eyes widened as the boy held out the sheet of paper that he had been reading when he had came in. On the very top of the document ‘CONFIDENTIAL: DYTON PROJECT OFFICERS ONLY’ was printed in English and Chinese, and below it was a description of the criteria for subject placement in the program, as well as a short list of names of those who had been accepted from Dyton Colony.

“I think I’ve met the minimum requirements for taking one of your tests.”

The kid sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest expectantly.

“How could you be so stupid, running to the Feds?” exclaimed Blue Eyes. “I will not allow them to take you away. What can this program give you that I have not? Ten years! Ten years I have brought you up, fed you, looked out for you. You wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for me, you ungrateful wretch!”

As the kid stood before him in the expansive tent that was his place of business, the master reflected with regret that such a promising apprentice had not learned the lesson of unquestioning obedience. In the rough world in which he lived, the merchant could not afford such liabilities. He would have to break the impudent boy so that he could be molded into a proper servant.

The master calmed himself, smiling thinly at the boy before him. “Well, I’m a generous sort of man. I’m giving you this one last chance to show me the thanks I deserve.”

He reached up to grab the boy’s chin, then frowned. His fingers traced the lanyard that snaked around the pickpocket’s neck and tugged the rest of it out from under the boy’s worn clothes. A battered old sextant fell out, swinging at the end of the plain necklace. The boy flinched as his master sighed, vexed.

“I thought I told you to get rid of this bauble. It doesn’t befit a man of your age to be wearing a trinket from his childhood. Besides, it belongs to me, anyway. I bought it, didn’t I?”

The pickpocket stared into his master’s blue eyes, his own wide with suppressed rage.

The master smiled and tugged on the lanyard, breaking it off of the boy’s neck. He moved to toss the sextant behind him, but a moment after the item had left his fingers, the boy’s own hand closed on it.

Moving with startling speed the boy grasped the sextant in his small fist and slashed downwards at the face of his reclining master. The curved edge of the improvised weapon swept across the skin of the man’s throat, turning the master’s surprised cry into a gurgle as blood rushed out of the gaping hole in his neck.

The boy sprinted for the darkened edge of the spacious tent as the enforcer took a swing at him, roaring for backup. Instantly the tent was full of armed men, all with weapons drawn and searching for targets. They fanned out, checking all of the potential hiding spaces within the tent, but they could not find the boy.

***

In the garish confines of a well-to-do businessman’s tent, a man stood in the common dress of Dyton City’s many beggars. He waited patiently while the man before him finished looking at the capture slate which he had surreptitiously taken during the long hours spent watching the newly arrived freighter’s activities.

He drew himself back to a posture of attention as the man in front of him looked up.

“Yes, that’s him all right. Take as many men as you need. I want him here before sundown. Alive and unharmed, dong ma?”

The spy nodded curtly, turning smartly on his heel to exit the tent. He paused to pull the hood of his tattered cloak up over his head before he left, if only to shelter him from his boss’s icy blue-eyed stare.

***

DeJulio stared at the face on the photo ID in disbelief. Looking around to see if anyone was nearby, she sat down behind Vitelli’s desk and took a closer look.

Vitelli had charged her with the tedious task of “reorganizing” the Dyton City Docks maintenance schedule so that the Stallion got patched up immediately. It had been easy for DeJulio to slip into Spaceport Control and change the schedule, far easier than Vitelli knew. While not all of DeJulio’s skills and connections were unknown to her boss, she liked to keep him in the dark about certain aspects of her tradecraft. DeJulio’s mysterious ways made her an indispensable asset to Vitelli’s organization while allowing her the freedom to fulfill another, more important mission.

While she had sliced into the Dyton City Docks’ mainframe computer, Vitelli had procured a number of distinctly rare and very expensive items for Monty. DeJulio turned over the identification card in her hand, admiring the perfect forgery. It would pass even a rigorous inspection by any Alliance investigator. She turned it over again to look at the name on the I.D., then again at the boy’s picture. Could it really be as simple as that?

She jumped out of Vitelli’s seat when she heard someone coming down the corridor, and dropped the I.D. back on the desk before moving off to mock-examine one of the pictures on the wall. It was a landscape of Earth-That-Was, painted before humanity had left in the great Exodus, and was worth quite a sum on the black market- she should know, since DeJulio caused it end up in Vitelli’s office after an unfortunate mistake during the piece’s shipping. She had studied every part of the landscape, admiring and learning from the painter’s style, and had memorized the piece, down to the smallest detail. Now she merely feigned interest so that Vitelli wouldn’t see her keen interest in his dealings.

The merchant stopped short as he entered his office, surprised by his lieutenant’s presence. He glanced suspiciously over to the files on his desk, but found nothing amiss. Then Vitelli cleared his throat.

“Good morning, sir.” DeJulio looked around at him calmly.

He moved past her to sit at his desk, rummaging in a pocket for an electronic notepad.

“Did you fix the logs?”

“Yes, everything’s on schedule. I was wondering if you’d like me to go over with the team, just to make sure the rest of the goods are intact?”

“Well done indeed, Ellen. Those repairmen couldn’t spot an Alliance cruiser if they were in orbit around Londinium! Not good business, paying good money for spotty intelligence. Yes, go with them, and report back here with your findings.”

“Very good, sir.” DeJulio spun on her heel and walked out of the office.

Vitelli wondered what he did to deserve such a more competent second-in-command. DeJulio was, in a very large way, responsible for his organization’s growth over the past six years. Vitelli wondered if every black market trader on the moon had such loyal people serving him.

***

Ellen DeJulio walked briskly into the Stallion’s hangar bay, trailed by half a dozen men in greasy coveralls toting massive toolkits. She caught the eye of the space freighter’s Captain, Patrick Montgomery, and nodded officiously, then turned to the repair team.

“Come along. I don’t have all day, and neither does Captain Montgomery! Now, we have to check the nozzle sites are all aligned, as well as recalibrate the main drive…”

One of the mechanics, a short, dark-haired man who wore a filth bandana, quietly cut her off. His breath smelled terrible, and DeJulio had to keep herself from shying away.

“Ma’am, we know our job.”

She looked down at him for a moment. “Well then, better get to it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The chief mechanic swaggered into the Stallion’s main cargo bay, not stopping to greet any of the ship’s crew who were watching the new arrivals curiously.

From the bottom of the ramp, DeJulio could see a young couple playing a board game over in one corner. The boy, a sandy-haired kid in his early twenties, she recognized as Cody Russell, the Stallion’s mechanic. Inexperienced, lacking in competence…no wonder Captain Montgomery was having a tough time of it. The girl, Nebula Ballantine, was equally young, but, judging by the ship’s battered hull, was either very lucky or very good.

DeJulio looked up to see an older woman whose blond mane of hair was beginning to grey clambering down the catwalk at the far end of the cargo bay, followed closely by a second, dark-haired woman who looked snappish enough to be one of the Furies from ancient Earth-That-Was mythology. These two crewmembers were the first mate and the doctor, respectively.

DeJulio made a mental note to watch Priscilla Ganlen carefully, because she suspected that the woman would be watching her. Only the Captain, the first mate, and Douglas Clarke, the questionably-strong-but-undeniably-silent-type, knew who DeJulio worked for. Or thought that they knew. It would be most inconvenient if one of them caught her snooping about the ship…

“Hey, there! Thanks for stoppin’ by so quick. Wasn’t figurin’ on this kind a service, even from an old army pal, Miss…”

The bearlike Captain proffered his paw for a wag, and DeJulio donated her own.

“DeJulio. Ellen DeJulio.” They shook.

DeJulio surreptitiously wiped her hand on the back of her borrowed coveralls. Unfortunately, it came back with more grease and grime than had been imparted upon it by Monty’s huge hand. DeJulio’s teeth grinded silently behind her lips.

“Well, Miss DeJulio, you all certainly have our gratitude for this. Be sure to tell that to Vitelli, will ya?”

“Of course. But first, I’d better go check up on those mechanics, make sure they’ve managed to find the engine room by now.”

Waving a hasty goodbye, she entered the cargo bay of the Stallion. She took a minute to look in on her repair team down in the engine room, then crept through the rest of the ship in pursuit of her true objective.

After a thorough search of the entire ship, DeJulio returned to the engine room in defeat. Perhaps he had left the ship for a day on the streets, or perhaps he had jumped ship. There was no way to know. The only thing she knew was that he was not here.

DeJulio froze then, on a hunch, crept forward into the dark underbelly of the Stallion. After a few meters of getting around a tangle of wires and machinery, she set foot in another room with a gaping hole in the floor. Sitting across from her, his legs dangling over the lip of the opening, was the boy she was here to see.

He was staring right at her.

For a second, DeJulio didn’t dare to breathe. If the report was right… But then he slipped off of the edge of the great opening between them and fell out of the ship. She lurched forward, just in time to see him land with catlike grace on the floor of the landing bay, perhaps fifteen meters straight down from his perch. He walked calmly back towards the Stallion’s cargo bay, having apparently forgotten all about DeJulio.

DeJulio shuddered. The look in the boy’s eyes had been utterly alien. She hoped that she would never have to lay eyes on him again. She got up from the edge of the opening and made her way back to the engine room, satisfied that the job was nearing completion.

***

Phoenix walked back into the Stallion just in time to see Monty, his back to the ramp, lecturing Nebula and Cody. As he approached, Nebula spotted him and gave a tiny and somewhat amused shake of the head.

“…not a safe place, so take care not to get caught up in any one of the violent happenings out on those streets. Just keep walking, you take my meaning in this?”

They nodded, and the Captain turned to Phoenix.

“That goes for you, too, kid. Now I know you’re no stranger to the wilderness, but it’s a whole different kind ‘a jungle out there, so you stay on your toes.”

“Will do, Cap’n.”

Monty paused, thrown a little, for Phoenix’s response had been the lengthiest he had yet heard.

He nodded slowly. “Okay, then. You all are free to go out this afternoon. You have my permission, on one condition. Clarke goes with you. Okay?”

“Thanks, Captain!”

Monty walked over to Priscilla and they began to look through the list of local jobs they might pull in order to raise the thirty platinum for Vitelli. Going by the deepening frowns on their faces, the Stallion's prospects of being debt-free weren't looking very promising at the moment.

Cody and Nebula grinned as the Captain moved off.

“So…where do you want to go, Neb?” asked the mechanic.

“I…don’t know…”

“If it’s your first time in the City, I’d recommend the Arena. It’s got crowds, sure, but it’s got plenty of spectacle to go around. If you stay on any one of the main roads to the other side of town, you’ll come across it.”

The three young crewmates looked over to see a woman in dirty coveralls, her hand on the edge of the airlock opening. She had to be one of the repair crew, who had done such quick work on the ship and were now preparing to leave. She had apparently overheard their conversation as she made to leave the ship.

Nebula frowned. “The Arena?”

“Sure. Exotic animals from the far reaches of the ‘Verse, amazing acrobatic feats…”

Cody had perked up. “Sounds good. What does this building look like?”

“Don’t worry,” the woman smiled. “You can’t miss it.”

Then she was gone down the ramp.

***

DeJulio walked seven city blocks before she came to the nearest Cortex station. The screen was smudged, and some of the keys were missing, but to her it meant that the computer no longer saw much use and her call would be hard to trace back to her. DeJulio used her special identification code and password to long on to the Dyton City Police channel.

Almost immediately, a Captain of the Military Police Force answered her wave, his brow knit in suspicion.

“What do you want?”

“I’m calling in a raid. Retrieval op in hostile territory, Alpha priority- Sector three of your play space.”

“The Arena?” The Captain frowned even more.

“That’s right. Target will be there in several hours- That’s all the time you have, so you’d better move fast. It is imperative that the target does not get away.”

“Why do they always say it's Alpha priority?” the man whined.

“Maybe that’s what it takes to get your lazy behinds up and moving. Take it up with the field manual. Now, the target- are you taking this down?”

The Captain just gave her a sullen stare.

“Good. Here it is. Serial number A-P-4-7-3-L-2-9-1. Access code is 1-2-3-4-5-6. I reprogrammed the sequence so you could wrap your head around it. Got that?”

The Captain’s eyes widened as he looked at the file. “Clearance level White- I’m not cleared to be looking at this picture, let alone…ta ma de!” The man wiped his screen of the information and glared furiously at DeJulio.

“I know- but at least now you know what you’re up against. Now, your men are going to need a face to look for. Do you still have that information or am I going to have to read you the sequence all over again?”

The Captain shook his head, his face pale. “No need. Target is confirmed. I’ll send everything I’ve got- I just hope it’s enough…”

DeJulio broke the Cortex connection, then typed in a series of commands that wiped the station’s small memory banks clean. She turned to look back the way she had come, then sighed.

“So do I, Captain. So do I.”

***