Her Brother's Keeper Page 3

  “Not on my watch, it doesn’t!” Lazlo said, stepping toward Greely.

  Marcus help up a hand. “Hold on there. This is a law enforcement matter now. The deputies here will take Mr. Greely into custody. I’m sure that the court will look favorably on his cooperation with the investigation.”

  “I will!” Greely squealed. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know!”

  “All I want to know is, what haul were you supposed to wave through?”

  “It’s supposed to arrive any time now. One truck. Don’t know what it was carrying. I was just supposed to make sure it got let in. It was going to load its cargo onto the service tower lift, then leave. The ship was supposed to launch as soon as it was loaded. That’s all I know, I swear!”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Greely,” Marcus said. He turned to the deputies. “Take him into custody. The people that pulled off this heist are dangerous. Police custody is the safest place for him. Hurry—don’t want our truck to see you leaving and get spooked. Thank you for your help, deputies. Excellent work.”

  “Sure thing, Marshal,” the tall deputy said. “We’ll send you a copy of his statement as soon as he gives it. But, hey, you want us to send you some backup? We’re stretched kinda thin right now, but we could get a couple of other deputies out here.”

  “We’ve got it taken care of,” Wade said. “I’m sending a request for them to airlift in a tac team, and get us a warrant to detain that ship.”

  Marcus patted the security guard on the shoulder. “And we’ve got Mr. Lazlo here to assist us.”

  The guard’s eyes lit up, and his back straightened. His hand moved to the butt of the pistol on his hip. “I’m ready to render assistance, Marshal!”

  Wade looked back down at his handheld. “The judge signed the warrant. Mr. Greely, before you go, can you lock down that service tower so the Luxor can’t leave?”

  “Y-yes, of course,” Greely managed. He crossed the room to his control panel. A 3D image of the Luxor was displayed in the holotank, with all pertinent information available. When a ship was docked with a service tower, control of the ship’s engine was typically given over to the spaceport traffic controller, with the crew locked out. This was a safety protocol that was observed across most of inhabited space. It prevented ships from taking off without clearance, destroying the service tower and killing ground crews with their exhaust. It also prevented damage to the ship itself. Most service towers were stout structures, enabling the transfer of heavy cargo and personnel into the ship. They were generally sturdy enough to stabilize the ship, even in high winds. Launching with one still attached to an open cargo bay would likely be catastrophic for the ship involved.

  With the launch controls locked down, the two sheriff’s deputies restrained Greely and escorted him out of the room. Marcus turned to Lazlo. “How many guards are on site right now?”

  “I’m the shift supervisor. I’ve got two patrol officers here during the day, plus some security robots. We’re pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. Not a lot of risk of theft or vandalism out here, usually.”

  “Alright,” Marcus said. “I’m deputizing you and your officers. Let’s get ready. Our guests will be here soon.”

  * * *

  Lazlo’s voice sounded in Marcus’ earpiece. “Marshal! The security system just alerted me to a vehicle approaching the gate. It’s a ten-ton, eight-by-eight wheeled cargo truck with five people in it. Its registration plate is covered with dirt, and it doesn’t have a broadcasting transponder. We don’t have any shipments on the schedule for today, and this truck isn’t from one of the shipping companies.”

  “That’s probably our mark then,” Marcus replied. “Where are they at?”

  “They’re approaching the truck gate on the south end. What do you want me to do?”

  “Let them in, but don’t do anything to spook them. Just open the gate. If we’re right about this we’ll have our train robbers and some smugglers too. Tell your officers not to make any moves until I say so.”

  “Understood. Opening the gate.”

  The two colonial marshals watched on one of the security feeds as the big truck rumbled into the spaceport. It made a beeline for the Luxor, not adhering to the posted directions regarding driving on the flightline. It kept its distance from the terminal building as it approached the service tower. Swinging around, the truck backed up the ramp to the loading gate of the massive structure.

  “Okay, it’s happening,” Marcus said into his transmitter. “Stand by.” On the security feeds, the marshals watched the men climb out of the truck and remove the soft cover from the cargo container on the back. The container matched the size and volume of the missing Sierra Nevada Mining Concern property, but had been painted over. Its registration transmitters had all been disabled as well. It wasn’t proof, but it was probable cause.

  The suspect container was then lowered from the back of the truck onto a large wheeled dolly. The dolly and two of the men proceeded into the lift. The other three stayed at ground level, standing watch while their compatriots ascended.

  The suspects were separated. Only two of them could get into the truck and attempt to flee. Perfect. Marcus keyed his transmitter. “Execute, execute, execute!” He then looked to his partner, behind the wheel of their vehicle. “Punch it!”

  Wade nodded and stepped on the accelerator. Their patrol vehicle sped from where it had been hidden in a utility garage, across the flightline, toward the launch pad. The two marshals had access to every security feed at the spaceport, as well as real-time footage from a small aerial drone they had deployed. On cue, Lazlo initiated a security lock on the launch tower, freezing the lift halfway up.

  As the marshals rolled across the vast, deserted tarmac, they were joined by a spaceport security patrol vehicle. The other security patrol was approaching the launch pad from a different direction. Two hundred meters out, Wade flipped on their lights and sirens. Right on top of the huge truck, the marshals’ vehicle screeched to a halt. The two lawmen were out in a flash, guns up. Marcus used the armored police vehicle as cover. Wade had his big revolver drawn and was covering one of the suspects, a wiry man covered in tattoos. He reached for a gun hidden under his vest. Wade’s revolver roared, and the tattooed man was dead before his body hit the tarmac.

  “Colonial marshals!” Marcus shouted. “You two, get down on the ground!”

  “Get down or I’ll put you down!” Wade ordered, shifting his aim to the next closest suspect. “Now!” The two security vehicles arrived, and the three guards, dressed in orange and gray, piled out with sidearms drawn.

  The suspect closest to Wade, a stocky man with a wild shock of orange hair, looked down at the body of his deceased compatriot before slowly lowering himself to the tarmac. The deputy marshal and one of the security officers moved in to restrain him. The other suspect, covered by Marcus’ carbine, lifted his hands over his head, but didn’t move. He stood near the driver’s side door of the truck, staring Marcus down. He was a large, bald man with obvious bionic augmentations. His arms were black and rippled with synthetic sinews. His eyes had been replaced with ugly bionic implants, which made him look like he was wearing goggles. His long, sleeveless duster flapped in the breeze as he stood in silence. Marcus had a bad feeling about this one. The other suspects looked like a bunch of yokels, but the cyborg in the duster had the presence of a leader and the look of a hardened criminal.

  He also didn’t get down on the ground as he’d been told. “Last chance, tin-man, get down on the ground, face down, right now!” Marcus ordered. The cyborg smirked, but didn’t move.

  “Suit yourself,” Marcus said. He flipped off the safety of the less-lethal launcher mounted under his stubby carbine, and squeezed the second trigger. With a muffled pop, a 30mm compliance round launched from his weapon, struck the stubborn cyborg in the chest, and initiated.

  The big man grunted in agony as his body was shocked with a tremendous jolt of electricity. Spittle shot
through gritted teeth as every muscle, natural and artificial, locked up. He fell to his knees, then unceremoniously flopped to the tarmac.

  Marcus exhaled slowly, relieved. “I wasn’t sure that was going to work,” he said to Lazlo. He then approached the incapacitated suspect, slinging his carbine behind his back. “Cover me. You,” he said, pointing to the other security guard, “keep your weapon on the guys in the lift.” He moved toward the incapacitated suspect with a pair of restraints in hand.

  The cyborg lurched upward just as Marcus stepped over him. An augmented arm backhanded the marshal, knocking him clean off his feet. In a flash the cyborg lunged forward, grabbing the closest security guard by his gun hand. He wrenched the guard’s arm upward, snapping bone like sticks, and threw him at Lazlo. The two security officers tumbled to the pavement in a heap.

  Realizing what was happening, Wade and the remaining security officer appeared from the other side of the truck just as the bionic criminal jumped back into the driver’s seat. The truck’s hydrogen engine whined as he hit the accelerator. The two injured guards were barely able to jump clear as the truck roared past, smashing aside their small electric patrol car without slowing down.

  Wade’s revolver roared as he rapidly fired off all seven shots at the fleeing truck. The big 12mm explosive rounds punched fist-sized holes in the back of the vehicle, but it didn’t slow down. “Marshal, he’s getting away!” he said. The empty cylinder ejected vertically from his weapon, and he slapped a fresh one into place before helping Marcus to his feet. “Come on! Are you alright?”

  Marcus shook his head and blinked hard. “Yeah, I think so. I might have a cracked rib. Go go go! You drive!” Marcus shouted to Lazlo as he climbed into the vehicle. “Secure the scene until we get back! The tac team will be en route. We’re going after him!” The colonial marshals didn’t wait for Lazlo’s response before speeding away after the fleeing criminal.

  Wade drove as Marcus got on the radio and explained what was going on. The tactical team was on its way, but even traveling via VTOL aircraft, it would take them almost an hour to arrive. Marcus instructed the special response team commander to secure the launch pad. He didn’t want to leave three security guards, one of whom was injured, and a few old security robots with the remainder of the cyborg’s gang and the crew of the Luxor. With the marshals gone, they might try something.

  Marcus next contacted the local sheriff’s office and explained what was happening. The spaceport was in a very remote location, and the local sheriff only had a handful of deputies. It would be a while before they could set up a roadblock. On the other hand, there weren’t that many roads in the outback. There really wasn’t anyplace for the truck to hide.

  “Where the hell does he think he’s gonna go?” Wade asked, as if reading Marcus’ mind.

  “Damned if I know,” Marcus said. “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what, Boss?”

  “Unless he’s just trying to lure us out so he can kill us both. Have you figured out who this guy is?”

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Wade turned the dash screen toward Marcus. “No match, Marshal. No criminal record, no record at all. Not even a name or address. Probably from off-world.”

  “Probably,” Marcus agreed. “There are a few salty types out in the desert that like to stay off the grid, but this guy doesn’t match that profile. He’s got serious tech on him. You don’t see that kind of augmentation out here that much.”

  Technological wonders like heavy bionic augmentation were hard to come by so far out from the Inner Colonies, the long-established technology and economic base of the Concordiat. Not only was it rare, but it wasn’t cheap, either. The odds of a local criminal coming up with the funds to pay for that kind of augmentation weren’t good. Just to be sure, though, Marcus told HQ to crosscheck the suspect with the augmentation clinics on New Austin.

  “So what’s the plan, Boss? We can’t just chase him ’til we run out of fuel.”

  “The sheriff is trying to get a roadblock together, but that’ll take too long. I want to stop this asshole before he hurts anybody else.”

  “I tried disabling his truck,” Wade said. “It didn’t work.”

  Marcus wasn’t surprised. Any two-bit criminal worth a damn knew to disable the safety cutoffs and lockouts on their vehicles. A lot of regular people did it too, just on principle. Most vehicles were sold with them, but they weren’t mandatory. “Let me see if I can get the surveillance bot in close enough to do something,” the marshal said. He tapped his handheld and directed the small aerial drone to fly close, alongside the truck. “I want to try something before we just start shooting.”

  “Agreed,” Wade said. “The Freeholder ship, the train heist, bribing mining company people, and now a dangerous cyborg. This could be something big.”

  Marcus watched the feed as the little drone barely managed to catch up with the speeding truck. The little bot had a less-lethal launcher mounted to it. It maneuvered into position, trying to get a shot through the driver’s side window. It fired, but the round failed to penetrate the truck’s industrial-grade safety-transparency window on the first shot. The driver didn’t intend to give them another chance. He smashed a bionic elbow into the window, punching it out with the second blow. Before the drone could line up another shot, the fleeing criminal stuck a machine pistol out the window and fired.

  “Shots fired!” Wade said, pointing out the obvious for the record. On the second burst, the cyborg managed to wing the little drone, damaging its control surfaces. The criminal pulled his weapon back inside to reload.

  “Shit,” Marcus snarled. “It’s not stable enough to get a shot now.”

  “Ram him!” Wade said.

  “What?”

  “Ram him!”

  Marcus grinned and told the drone to do just that. Using every bit of power it could muster, the little robot flew into the driver’s side window as fast as it could. The video feeds went dead as it smashed right into the cyborg’s head. Marcus looked up from his handheld just in time to see the truck swerve, then cut sharply to the left. Wade hit the brakes as the ten-ton vehicle, which had been barreling along at a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, came off its wheels and flipped over. The massive truck rolled off the road and down a small hill, ripping a swath through the desert vegetation and kicking up a huge cloud of dust that obscured the wreck from view.

  Wade pulled the marshals’ vehicle to a stop at the edge of the road. “God damn,” he said, still grinning.

  Marcus was talking rapidly into his headset, requesting backup and medical support. The office was undoubtedly already vectoring those things to his position, having witnessed the crash in real time through the on-board cameras of the marshals’ vehicle. “Let’s go,” Marcus said to Wade, retrieving his carbine from its mount in the cabin. “Grab your rifle, he’s armed.” Wade nodded and followed him out of their vehicle.

  Weapons shouldered, the marshals cautiously made their way down the hill toward the wrecked truck. There was no cover on the approach, so they went in guns up and ready to fire. Marcus used a hand signal to tell Wade to swing wide to the left, spreading out while still being able to see each other. The suspect was dangerous and they weren’t going to give him any more advantages.

  “Colonial marshals!” Marcus announced. “Come out of the vehicle with your hands in the air or we will open fire!” The truck was on its side. Marcus could see the battered undercarriage, but had no visibility on the cabin. He moved to the right, hoping to get eyes on the suspect. Wade circled to the left, around the truck. They were coming at the suspect from two directions.

  “Marshal, you see anything?” Wade asked.

  Marcus advanced through the cloud of dust, trying to see into the truck’s cabin through the windshield. “I see him! He’s not moving! Wasn’t wearing his restraints!”

  “Be careful, Boss!” Wade warned. The cyborg had fooled them once before.

  “Hey, tin-man!” Marcus said. “Dead
or alive, you’re coming with me!” No response. He looked up at Wade and shook his head.

  “Medical support is inbound,” Wade said. “We have to disarm him before they get here.”

  Marcus nodded. “Okay, I’m going to—” He was cut off as the safety transparency windshield smashed into him, knocking him into the dirt. The augmented suspect had kicked it out with both feet. Before the marshal knew what was happening, the murderous cyborg was on top of him. Marcus tried to bring his carbine up, struggling under the transparent sheet, but his attacker was too fast. The cyborg stepped on the weapon just as Marcus got it out from under the windshield, pinning it to the ground. He picked up the dislodged window, spun around, and hurled it like a discus. It spun through the air and smacked into Wade, knocking him off his feet. Turning back to Marcus, the cyborg clamped a massive synthetic hand onto Marshal’s throat and hoisted him off the ground with one arm. The emergency release on Marcus’ carbine sling gave way, leaving the rifle out of reach under the criminal’s boot.

  A steely hand wrapped around his neck, Marcus was eye-to-artificial-eye with the cyborg. The cyborg’s eye lenses irised as he spoke. “Well, well, well,” the he said, a metallic tang in his voice. “Not how you expected this to turn out, neh?” He let out a rumbling chuckle and squeezed Marcus’ neck even tighter.

  Marcus tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words out.

  “What’s that? You got words for me, you backwater colony pig?” The cyborg relaxed his grip slightly.

  Marcus gasped for air. “You . . . are . . . under arrest . . .”

  An evil grin split the cyborg’s face. Even his teeth were artificial, glinting silver in the afternoon sun. “Haw. How you—HURK!” BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM! Marcus had pulled his 10mm automatic, stuck it into the cyborg’s side, and rocked the trigger over and over. Whatever armor the cyborg was wearing, or had built in, didn’t stop him from dropping Marcus. The marshal fell to the dirt, coughing, hacking, gasping for air. When he fired the cyborg reflexively squeezed so hard his throat had nearly been crushed.