Chapter 3

SEBACULAR

Sebacular watched their target greet a man at the table, shake hands, sit down. A waiter came over, spoke to both, departed. Pulling his cloak tighter around his armour, Sebacular relaxed into the chair and flicked through the old style newspaper in front of him on the table. He twirled a pen in his fingers and made a good stab at the crossword when he came across it. Just another middle aged man taking a much needed moment for his self in a busy day.

: Holy shit! : Swore the voice in his ear : Is that who I think it is? :

Sebacular raised his eyebrows and peered above the rim of his fake eye glasses. There was a third individual now standing at the table, shaking hands. Sebacular felt his adrenaline surge. The mission had now gone to rat-shit.

It had been a simple ‘observe’ mission, however with the unexpected arrival of the third individual, there was now a chance of grabbing a veritable gold mine of information that he would be insane to ignore. He would also be insane to even attempt it. It was a risk Sebacular was certain they had to take. He subvocalized, making it appear as though he was muttering to himself about one of the crossword clues...

: We have to grab him :

Sebacular subvocalized his reply : I know Omarsh, but this was a watch only mission. :

: But that’s Salivan Adromast! How many times has he been seen in a situation that would facilitate an extraction! :

Sebacular agreed and was frantically doing the mental calculations. It was theoretically possible, but they had no support, no plan in place. The odds of an extraction turning into the mother of all catastrophic fuckups was immense. But equally, the prize was one that if he didn’t at least attempt, would haunt him for the rest of his life. Which if this went sour, could be over within the hour.

: We have to do this Seb. We have to take the chance... :

: I know, I know. If it is, and we don’t know that for definite, we are probably only ever going to get this one chance, and if we fuck it up, not only will we fuck up the actual mission, the prick will hide deep. :

: I know, but... :

They had no extraction in place, no way to get off world in a hurry, and it would be a hurry.

: What are we doing Seb? : Nyx asked, joining in on the noises in his ear.

: The mission. Observation. :

Sebacular frantically searched for available ships and whether any of them would be available for an almost instant departure. Given that most ships belonged to the faction they were currently targeting, it was proving to be somewhat challenging and limiting. Meanwhile, the focus of all their attention took a seat and a proffered cup from the returning waiter.

As nondescript went, the man was the proverbial poster child. Early fifties, tired looking, a little bit on the gaunt side. His drab attire shouted out ’wage slave’ or ‘workaholic’. Central’s intelligence was firmly of the opinion that he was of the latter.

He was also very high on the most wanted list throughout the galaxy. In fact, he was higher on the list than the current leader of the crime group he worked for. Whilst he had no control of the direction the group went, he had full control of where the group’s money went and where it was hidden. Sebacular’s employers were not so much concerned about the money, but in the methods used to move it, which would also provide valuable intelligence as to how the money of other groups was being moved and where it was being moved to.

: Seb we have to do this! When are we ever going to get another chance. :

: I know I know Nyx. I’m trying to work out an extraction plan.? Rus, can you do a walk past. Get confirmation? :

: On It :

On his tablet in front of him, Sebacular narrowed down the list to just a couple of independent freighters that had no affiliation to their targets organisation.

: Have we extraction Seb? :

: Working on it Omarsh :

: Work faster Seb :

: Fuck off :

Out on the street Rusold walked past the target to a table behind and spoke to the man sitting behind. Their lips moved but the words came over Sebacular’s earpiece.

: Hi! God! It’s been so long. Good to see you and looking so fit and well. I’m really busy, stupidly late for a meeting, I’II catch up with you later, okay? : Rusold gave a cheerful wave

and carried on back out into the street leaving behind a very confused coffee drinker.

Sebacular and his team waited and watched.

: DNA sniffer has come back as a positive match :

: How positive Nyx? :

: Ninety one percent: The other two, same for them. One is definitely our original mark, the unknown has come back as another high level weapons dealer. :

Sebacular checked his data slate. Three ships had responded with readiness availability, at a corresponding cost for the short notice. Sebacular wasn’t too bothered as he was not paying and as eye watering as the quotes were. It would be nothing if they could pull this off. It was going to be a hell of a gamble.

: Seb?:

Sebacular checked his slate and considered the ships currently docked at the port.

None of them were realistically viable.

: Any word from control? : Sabastion asked of Nyx

: Not a peep. It’s like they just dropped out of existence. :

: The backup channels? :

: The same. Silence. :

This was not right. In all his years of field work, Sebacular had never experienced such prolonged comm issues. Something was seriously wrong somewhere. He kept the paper up. Partly to hide behind, partly to shield the screen of his slate from the sun. They were going to have to let the moment slip by. The new arrival sat at the table, ordered something from a member of staff. He could kill all three. It wasn’t ideal, but the chaos and confusion that it would cause in all three criminal organisations, would be immense. And where there
was chaos and confusion, there was opportunity.

Think god-damn it!

There was another space port, but that was hours away by aircraft. Still, he checked the roster. One ship caught his attention. It was due to leave in a few hours but that wasn’t what caught his eye. The ship, and its captain, had inner world accreditation. Recently acquired, so both would have been recently vetted. Without access to control, he had no way to check the veracity of the captains claim, but since he was publicly broadcasting it, there must be some truth to it, otherwise someone – or some organisation – would have challenged the assertion even here, this far out in the outer rim.

Still, he had to get there!

Sebacular sent off a transhipment request to the hauler, and started looking for planetary transport. There was an airfield not too far away. Fixed wing planet craft and some rotary craft for pleasure and specialist commercial uses. His slate rumbled.

The hauler had replied to his passenger request. There was availability depending on destination. Now that was going to be a problem. Fortune favours the bold. Sector security had no physical presence in the outer rim, Not even ‘unofficially.’ Sometimes a patrol craft would skirt the edges of the outer rim close to the inner rim, but that wasn’t often and he would still need access to control for the location of the nearest craft. Which wasn’t happening. He tapped the old fashioned pen on the table top. No doubt annoying those sitting nearby, but handily fitting in with his businessman-stopped-for-a bite-to-eat persona.

His slate rumbled. The cargo plane had provisionally accepted the tender. The price was steep, but tolerably so, given the last minute nature of the hire. Sebacular sent the location of the closest sector security station that he knew of or any patrol craft encountered on the way, as the destination for the hauler’s captain. Not exactly subtle, and any captain worth his salt, was bound to realise that he was most likely speaking to an inner world security operative, in the outer rim.

Sebacular knew he had just burned himself and his team, but it should still take a few days for word of there being a security team in existence on Iridessak to get out. By which time Sabastion was hoping contact with Control had been re-established and an exit plan put into operation. Regardless, It would still give him a few days to continue their assignment. His slate rumbled.

Like the fixed wing planetary craft, the quote from the space hauler was steep, but it existed. Sebacular had access to ‘operational’ funds and the discretion to spend it as he saw fit with almost no oversight. That would cover the fixed wing, but not the spacecraft. He had access to deeper pockets, but that access was heavily scrutinised and use was discouraged by lots of paperwork and face to face interviews with both the auditors and operational standards. It was a fund most team leaders only dipped into once and afterwards resolved never to do so again.

Unless your name was Sebacular. This would be his fourth, and deepest dip yet, into the fund they were not to use. He was definitely going to get censured this time. The pieces were there, all he had to do, was line them up.

: Okay we are a go. :

: Ballsy : He could almost taste the reservation in Nyx’s tone.

: What about the other’s at the table Seb? :

: Terminate : It was going to piss off a few undercover operations, but the chaos would be far reaching and in chaos would be the chance for further intelligence opportunities.

: So how are we going to do this Seb? :

: Keep it simple. Grab and run. Silence the other’s and get off world as quickly as possible. Nyx? :

: Yes, Seb? :

: Burn the room. We are extracting. Rus? :

: Yes. :

: Pick up a sleepy pen and pass it to Omar. Once you do that, acquire a set of wheels to take us all, plus one, to the airport. Meet as close as you can get to my location. Nyx, we will collect you on the way. All things going to plan. If it doesn’t, Clusterfuck SOPs will be in effect and you can all join the queue to shout at me later. Omar, meet at my location. Time is our enemy. :

Time was indeed their enemy. Sebacular didn’t know how long they had. The meeting could be five minutes, ten, half an hour. It could slip out of his grasp and all he would have to show for it, were two, very large, lost deposits. Whatever was being discussed, it was going well. That was a bad sign in itself. These three parties were supposed to be ’at war’ with each other. What he was seeing was way too friendly for that. Adrenaline was running through his blood, making it hard to stay focused, calm. The woman to his left, was pointedly looking at him. Sebacular dipped his head and purposefully placed the pen he had been banging against the table top, firmly down on the café table.

Come on, come on...

In his head, he jumped up and screamed. It didn’t help. Sebacular counted in his head, refusing to check his slate for the time.

: Package collected, on route :

Sebacular looked over. Still no sign of the meeting ending. Even when it did, he still had a few moments in which to act. A shadow swept across the table as Omar pulled out a chair and sat down.

: Rus, where are you? :

: Coming up to the corner of Sochri. It’s a blue van. :

“Are we really doing this Seb?”

“Yes.”

Omarsh slid the four inch long cylindrical auto injector across the table. Sebacular picked it up.

“The calm before the storm.” Sebacular said as he stood, casually strolling towards the target table, deliberately not looking at any of the tables whose occupants he’d mentally marked as security.

“Josh! I’ve not seen you in ages! How’s the family?”

The man Sebacular was staring intently at, returned the look with a bemused and confused look of his own. Sebacular held out his arms as though in greeting. Though one hand was angled to hide the auto injector.

Surrounding tables were starting to turn towards him, piqued by the unsettled atmosphere. He was close enough. Sebacular turned and slammed the auto injector into his targets neck as the rest of the table looked on in confusion. He was already pulling out his pistol and it’s appearance, galvanised the hardened criminals into action.

The weapon in his hand kicked as shots were fired. This close, it was hard to miss. Sebacular used the recoil to turn the weapon. He was not going to be able to get all of them, so he focused on the main movers at the table. The men’s body guards were finally standing, pulling weapons free. Sebacular dived to the ground as multiple muzzles turned in his direction. People were screaming, throwing themselves either onto the ground or desperately pushing between tables and chairs.

The air echoed to the harsh crack of gunfire as Omar opened fire on those aiming at Sebacular. As tempting as it was to just to curl up and hope for the best, Sebacular rolled over and up onto a kneeling position. There were several gunmen, turning to fire in Omarsh’s direction. Sebacular opened fire, taking them out as their attention was distracted. He moved into a crouch and made his way over to the target who was collapsed across the table. The other two were slumped in their seats, slack jawed, pale, obviously dead.

Sebacular placed an index finger against the side of the neck. A strong pulse. The screaming had mostly died down. Just the injured, screaming. Backup would be arriving shortly. Sebacular glanced at the old fashioned chronograph on his wrist. Less than a minute since he had stuck the auto syringe into the neck. Momentum was everything. He crouched down, rolled the target off the table onto his shoulder.

Knocked over tables and chairs scattered the area making his passage difficult. Omarsh joined him, taking part of his burden.

“Is he alive?”

“He was a second ago.”

They hastily made their way to the roadside and the van that had just pulled up. Sebacular unceremoniously threw their charge inside and followed in after. The van was moving before Omarsh was even fully inside. As soon as Rusold put a few corners between them and the outside cafe, he slowed down, matching the speed of the other traffic.

Sebacular reached out a hand to steady himself as Rusold carried out a hasty lane change. There was a smear of red across the floor.
“Who’s hit?” Sebacular asked as he started to check himself.

“Awwe, shit.” Omarsh looked at his red hands, then collapsed like a marionette that just had its strings cut. Sebacular felt his own adrenaline start to subside.

“Where?”

“Chest somewhere Seb.”

Sebacular pulled out his knife and started to cut away Omarsh’s clothes. Two entries, no exits. He placed his palms on both wounds, keeping pressure as the van slowed and pulled over. The door opened and Nyx started slinging in their bags.

“Fuck! How bad?”

“I’m still here” Omarsh’s voice tapered off. Rusold joined Nyx in storing their luggage in the van.

“Did you clear everything Nyx?”

“Everything that needed to be cleared, Seb.”

The last bag was loaded and Rusold made his way back to the front, Nyx pulled out a med kit. “Adrenaline?” She asked.

“Save it, just in case we need it later.” The van lurched into motion. They worked to stop the bleeding as best they could. The van slowed and climbed suddenly with a sharp turn followed by another steep climb.

“Where are we heading?”

“The aerodrome Rus.”

“Not the spaceport Seb?”

“Couldn’t get a ship.”

The van slowed. In the front, Rusold climbed out.

Nyx Pulled out a thin disc. “Ready Seb?”

“Okay.” Sebacular whipped a hand away and Nyx quickly swiped the wound with an antiseptic wipe in one hand and followed it with the emergency seal in the other. Sebacular put his hand back on it till the adhesive cured.

“Ready?”

Sebacular removed his other hand as the process was repeated with another emergency seal. The back door opened and Rusold grabbed some of their bags. Nyx wiped her hands clean and pulled out her slate, navigating to a specific screen,

# Are you sure? # The screen asked. Nyx confirmed she was sure and just under two miles away, a ball of flame consumed the flat they had been using as a base. She put her slate away and helped with the bags.
They were in a multi-storey car park and Rusold had stopped near the top where it was quieter and had pulled up next to another van which he had broken into. They transferred their gear over and the two unconscious men. Rusold pulled out of the space in their new van as Nyx parked the bloodied one in its place. She placed an explosive charge in plain view on the dashboard, setting the timer for five minutes. Sebacular climbed into the passenger side and Rusold exited the car park, heading for the aerodrome.

Sebacular called the pilot, letting him know they were on the way.

The aerodrome was on the outskirts and Sebacular flashed a fake ID at the security guard as he checked them off the manifest. The names matched and that was all the guard was bothered about as he lifted the barrier and waved them through.

“Look for a turbo prop cargo plane. It should be on, or next to the taxiway with its back open.”

Rusold spotted the aircraft and drove inside. The cargo plane was mostly empty and he slowed to a stop as the back doors started to close.

Nyx and Rusold exited the van and started to lash it down as Sebacular made his way to the cockpit. He sat in the empty co-pilots chair and looked at the pilot as he donned the headset.

“Let’s go.”

The engine note changed and the ancient plane started to move.

The cynical part of him expected to see security vehicles rushing over the short grass to block the runway. The old aerodrome was as quiet as the channels in his headset A familiar scent tickled his nose. The pilot looked sideways at him betraying his knowledge of the smell. The sharp tang of expanded ballistic weaponry. His clothes were no doubt saturated with it. As no doubt were most of his team.

The pilot said nothing and moved his attention back to his instruments. Wise on his part.

Some questions were better not asked. Sebacular pulled his data slate out. No replies from Control and the emergency contacts still appeared to be down. Something, somewhere, was definitely up.

: Everything okay? : He sent to the cargo hold.

: As can be expected. Patches holding, carrier stable. :

That was better than he deserved really. “How long?” He asked of the pilot.

“An hour.”

Sebacular nodded and sent an update to the cargo hauler.

The cloud cover meant that there was not much to see outside, the pilot flying by instrumentation. Sebacular listened in to the conversation between the pilot and the control tower of the spaceport. Nothing seemed out of place and the transport plane headed for the auxiliary runway.

As soon as the wheels touched down, Sebacular transferred the remaining half of the charter. The pilots slate in a holder to his side chimed. The pilot turned to read it, his body blocking Sebacular’s view of the slate. The pilot turned back, nodded at Sebacular.

The haulier was where it said it would be, on the Launch pad. Sebacular unbuckled his harness and hung up the headset as he stood and headed back into the cargo hold. The plane was still taxiing, but Sebacular started to release the straps holding the wheels to the deck. The side door of the van opened and Nyx stepped out to give him a hand.

Sebacular caught a glimpse of an array of assault rifles and side arms neatly laid out for rapid collection. If needed. Nyx and Rusold had obviously spent the flight preparing for contingencies.

There was an audible and visual alarm as the back tail doors started to open as the speed slowly petered to a halt. Rusold climbed in behind the wheel, started the engine and slowly reversed out the back of the plane.

As soon as the front wheels of the van touched ground, the rear doors started to close. The haulier’s thrusters were already ignited and a lone cargo ramp lay waiting next to it, the operator waving at them angrily to hurry up. It seemed rude to keep them waiting and Rusold hit the ramp at twice the maximum speed stated in the large sign across the ramp.

The inside of the hauler was bigger than the outside led Sebacular to believe. But right at this moment, the cargo hold could have been slightly larger than their stolen van and he wouldn’t have given a fuck if it got them off the planet.

The bright light of sunshine started to dwindle as the large cargo doors ponderously slid shut. Nyx and Rusold climbed out of the van and took some straps off a nearby rack on the bulkhead and ratcheted the van down.

“Seb?” Sebacular looked up, “Look over there.”

Sebacular looked in the direction Nyx was pointing. Familiar shapes were neatly stacked in carrier racks. There were quite a few of them. They were not connected to an external power source, so were most likely empty. Sebacular retrieved his slate from the van, sent a message request to the freighter.

: Yes? : The female voice sounded irate, grumpy.

“I see you have a stock of LG613’s.”

: What of it? :

“I want to purchase one.”

: That will be extra. :

“That’s a given. How much?” The price was unexpectedly reasonable and Sebacular authorised payment before the woman changed her mind. He was racking up quite the bill on his discretionary account. “Which one?”

: Your choice. :

“Rusold, give me a hand.”

Sebacular and Rusold went over to the racks. As they drew closer, Sebacular took note of the neat clusters of restrained cargo. There was quite the eclectic mix. Dried food, medicines, agricultural seed, textiles, Sebacular was pretty sure that pile was alcohol and that one was ... Sebacular turned to Rusold who was also looking at the pile of ammunition.

“No smoking next to that pile, eh boss?”

Sebacular snorted. The LG613’s were of various visible conditions, one even had an unpatched bullet hole. He ignored that one. He located one within easy reach that looked serviceable. Opening it’s command hatch, he navigated the menu to the status diagnostics. According to the screen, the unit was fully replenished. He would have to take it’s word for that. They manoeuvred the unit out of the rack with difficulty. They were not light. They did come with their own wheels for increased manoeuvrability, but you had to get it out of the rack first to deploy them. They pushed it over to the side of the van.

Their captive was awake, but securely bound, gagged and hooded.

Omarsh tilted his head over weakly, his voice faint. “Where did you rustle up one of them?”

“You’re a lucky son of bitch Omar.”

“Not lucky enough to avoid being shot, was I?.”

“Well, there is that...” Sebacular opened the lid, the unit coming to life, a list of questions appearing on the screen of the lid. Sebacular started to cut off the remains of Omarsh’s clothes

“This is so undignified...”

“Well, don’t get shot!”

“On three. One, two, three.” They lifted the now naked Omarsh into the capsule. Attaching an injector collar around his upper arm and placing the automatic catheter over his groin. The umbilical snaked its way up inside.

“Urgh,” Omarsh groaned at the intrusion. “That’s not as much fun as I thought it would be...”

“Sleepy bye-bye time...”

Sebacular closed the casket lid. Inside, Omarsh’s eyes slowly closed as the casket put him into a coma. A voice echoed around the cargo hold from a speaker somewhere.

“Auxillary power can be accessed via the little flaps on the floor.”

Nyx was already heading to the nearest one, lifting it up to reveal both an anchorage point and standard female auxiliary socket. They wheeled Omarsh over closer and pulled out the caskets power connector and plugged him in. The casket’s display changed from ‘Battery’ to ‘ External’.

Sebacular sat down on the floor next to the casket and allowed himself a precious and luxurious moment of doing nothing. He stared up into the lights of the hold. He couldn’t see what lay beyond, but there were obviously cameras for the voice to have been aware of what they were doing. Had she seen what was inside the van? Probably. A problem for later.

They had been in the hold for a few days now. The food they had taken with them almost gone, though it had lasted longer with one mouth less to feed. There was the cargo in the hold, but he didn’t want to be here long enough to need it. His slate chimed. He pulled it out. Their impromptu ride had located an alleged sector security vessel and was rendezvousing with it in a couple of hours.

There was a pass through link to the ‘alleged’ craft. Sebacular debated the worth of opening it. It was an unsecure connection, so he couldn’t say anything anyway. But still. He sighed, opening the connection.

: This is commander Gustaft of the fleet sector security Cruiser Johanson. What is the reason for your contact? :

: My reason is Code Alpha Charlie, Mike, Oscar, one nine, three, five, six.:

It was an old code and Sebacular had deliberately chosen it because it was an old code. Not so old to be obsolete, but he wasn’t going to give updated codes over an insecure line. The officious looking man looked off to the side, no doubt looking at his comm officer, who was no doubt looking in turn at the reply to the query on his, or her, screen. Which should be along the lines of ’special ops in need of assistance.’

: Victor seven six two : Which was the correct affirmative : Power down your drives and stand by to be boarded. :

The connection went dead. Sebacular looked to his team. “As if I have control of this ships drives. Arm up and disappear into the stacks. Just in case.”

They collected weapons and moved off into the stacks of cargo. A dull thud sounded from the cargo hold hatch and Sebacular made his way over to stand in front. There were a further series of thuds similar to what he would expect of a lamprey seal engaging. Footsteps sounded behind and he was momentarily annoyed that one of his team had ignored his command. He glanced behind, did a double take at the girl approaching.

Her thin frame and slightly weird, too tall height that was disproportionate to the rest of her body, informing him that she was a lifelong spacer. A spokesperson for the crew, no doubt, though they could have picked someone a bit more ... Mature.

The cycle lights above the smaller sally port hatch lit up and Sebacular held his arms out, hands well away from his torso.

The hatch opened and a suit of assault armour stepped through, a large ballistic shield held in front by one hand, a pistol in the other. The marine stepped forward, allowing the following marine in assault armour to step through. A glance at the armour and the discipline in which they moved, made Sebacular ninety percent sure they were genuine. The entering team ignored the two disparate figures in front of them, spread out.

Sebacular spoke calmly clearly. “My team is in the stacks, armed.”

The marines continued to spread out to cover all sides of the van, but didn’t advance further into the hold.

The lock cycled again and one male individual wearing standard armour entered. His visor was raised and the face beneath was of a similar age and tickled a distant memory. Sebacular was sure he had seen the face in front, back in Central in his recruit days. He couldn’t put a name to the face, but he was pretty sure that’s where he had seen it. A similar flash of recognition crossed the face in front, followed by a momentary one of thought.

“Sebacular?”

Sebacular nodded, annoyed that he couldn’t remember the fellows name, not that he was sure he even knew it in the first place, yet the man in front somehow remembered his. The new arrival lifted up an Iris scanner.

“This is an Iris scanner. It will scan your eye and compare it to the records we hold. If you have been scanned before and have changed your name since, please state so clearly. If you have any convictions or outstanding warrants please state so now. I am required to confirm identities under paragraph five, subsection...”

Sebacular fought down the urge to tell him just to get on with it. There was a procedure that had to be followed and it would proceed the fastest it he bit his tongue and stayed

quiet.

“Do you consent?”

Sebacular nodded. “I consent.”

“Yes.” Came the bored voice to Sebacular’s left.

“Can I lower my arms now?”

“You can lower your arms Sebacular, or do you prefer Seb? Please do not attempt to reach into any pockets.”

“I won’t, Seb is fine.”