Planet 9 (The Dipole series Book 2) Page 3

"Someone will be right here, Sir."

  "Sir?" Mona Lisa purred.

  Her voice didn't draw eyes back to her, not directly. But she took secret pleasure in seeing that they kept glancing out of the corners at her, sneaking peeks. She squeezed her arms together in front of her and oozed sex, a talent Buster, her ex-fiancé had told her she was made for.

  A hover jeep buzzed across the empty expanse of land between the base and the guard shack, a single driver behind the wheel. It slid to a sideways stop in front of the guard shack and the driver jumped out to stand at attention next to the guard by the door.

  "Will you need a driver sir?"

  Bat passed by the man without a glance and climbed behind the wheel.

  "Thank you, Colonel, I'll handle it from here."

  Mona Lisa slid into the passenger seat and Tinker folded over the edge and huddled in the cramped back seat of the hovercraft.

  "Did a Colonel just deliver a jeep for you?"

  Bat nudged the throttle and they were jetting across the ground toward the base.

  "Lt. Colonel."

  "Do they do that?" Mona Lisa asked.

  "They don't," Tinker stared at the back of Bat's head. "But they just did. For you. Come on man, we're partners. What was in that thing you showed them?"

  "We need to hurry," said Bat. "Word will get out and people will want to talk."

  "I thought we were being sneaky," said Mona Lisa. "This doesn't seem like we're sneaking."

  "And seducing PFC's is sneaking?"

  "What's a PFC?" she held her arms in her lap, but it had the same effect that she was going for at the guard shack by squeezing her chest together.

  Tinker leaned between them and gave an appreciative sigh.

  "Private First Class," Bat explained.

  "Just boys," she said. "Boys are easy to distract."

  She reached her hand up and pushed Tinker by the forehead, nudging him into the back seat.

  "Give us some room to breathe."

  "Love," said the pilot. "I think you leave all of us breathless."

  She glanced at Bat, his steely eyes locked on the base, searching.

  "Not all of us," she said.

  She was glad no one commented on the sadness in her voice she accidentally let through.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bat kept glancing around as they walked, searching after they abandoned the jeep.

  "Are you lost?" Mona Lisa said from beside him.

  "No."

  "Then why do you keep looking like that?"

  "People are coming."

  Tinker craned his neck so he could look around too.

  "Where?"

  "They're on the way."

  He led them between two buildings and circled back toward a warehouse.

  "Are you trying to lose a tail?" Tinker watched behind them.

  "No one is following us."

  "Then why are we making circles?"

  "You noticed that?"

  "I'm a pilot. I've got great spatial awareness," Tinker grinned.

  "We're not in space," Mona Lisa pointed out.

  He shrugged.

  "Works here too. Why are we walking in circles?"

  "We're not," said Bat. "It's an S pattern."

  "Twice?"

  "Just being sure."

  "Sure of what?"

  He stopped at the end of one of the narrow alleyways between two buildings and pointed to a flat top structure across the street.

  "That no one is watching," Bat pointed.

  "What's that?"

  "That is a lab."

  "It looks like a warehouse," Mona Lisa said.

  "It looks like a motor pool," Tinker corrected.

  There were hover jeeps in various stages of disassembly out front, with parts strewn around the area just outside of the door.

  It did look like a motor pool.

  "Illusion," said Bat.

  "No," Tinker studied the layout. "Those are motors. I'm pretty sure it's a motor pool."

  "Dust on the parts."

  The pilot looked closer.

  Bat led them across the road and into the simple wooden doorway.

  The inside of the warehouse looked like a thousand others scattered around the Martian landscape. Rows of metal shelves ran in order, marked by numbers and letters of the alphabet disappeared into the far recesses of the interior.

  LED lights were affixed to the shelves, creating a cascading waterfall of pools of light that illuminated the paths between the shelves.

  "How are you going to find what we're looking for?" Tinker whispered.

  "There's no need to whisper," Bat said in a normal voice. "We're in a lab, not a Cathedral."

  "I don't know Mate, just feels right to be quiet, you know?"

  "Why?" A voice interrupted them. "Are you trying to sneak in?"

  Tinker jumped and let out a little squeak. Mona Lisa took a step closer to Bat, to use him as a shield or distraction while she ran.

  Bat just smiled.

  "Supply clerks," he said. "Worthless."

  "You wouldn't eat without us," said the average looking man in uniform with a pot belly and balding pate as he approached.

  He kept one hand on the weapons holstered at his side, and extended the other to shake.

  "Who let you back on base?"

  "I'm not back," said Bat. "Just here to find something."

  "You got a requisition order?"

  Bat raised one eyebrow.

  "You know I'm just kidding," the man smiled and lifted his hand off the weapon. "You guys never needed one."

  He caught sight of Mona Lisa and his breath hitched in his throat.

  "Bat," he gasped. "Who is your friend?"

  Tinker stepped in front of her and reached for the still proffered hand.

  "Tinker, mate, damn glad to-"

  The supply clerk brushed his hand aside and moved past him to reach for Mona Lisa.

  "Hello," he said in a husky voice. "I'm Duck Taylor."

  He took her hand in his sweaty palm and covered it with the other, trapping it as he drew her in close.

  "I'm in charge of all the supplies on this base," he kept his eyes locked on hers. "That makes me in charge of almost everything on Mars."

  Mona Lisa graced him with a smile and a deep breath that pushed up the mounds of her ample bosom to give him a better look. Duck sighed and complied, taking his eyes off hers and looking down instead.

  She had encountered a lot of men like him, enamored of their own petty powers, and hoping it would gain them some sort of traction with a woman like her.

  Who was she to not give him a shot?

  Or at least make him think he had one.

  Bat caught her eye and tilted his head left.

  She got it.

  Could she distract Duck while they retrieved the object? Child's play.

  She squeezed his hand.

  "Duck?" the way she said his name made him shift his pants to hide his excitement. "Why don't you show me around?"

  She pulled him after and he followed like a pup on a leash.

  "Tell me more about what you do," they heard her purr.

  Tinker watched them walk away and turned back to find Bat scowling, a line between his eyebrows almost deep enough to trap a finger.

  "She does got it, doesn't she."

  Bat nodded.

  "She's good."

  "Almost makes you a little jealous, huh?"

  Bat shook his shoulders.

  "Maybe you. Come on."

  He led the pilot toward the middle of the warehouse and down an aisle marked F.

  "Tell me they didn't store it under F for Faster than Light."

  Bat moved to the center of the row and traced his fingers across an alphanumeric code. He stopped at a small crate a little larger than a shoebox.

  "Never underestimate the efficiency of a bureaucratic entity," he said and lifted the box off the shelf.

  Tinker watched him set it on the concrete floor.

&nbs
p; "You need a crowbar."

  Bat stuck his fingers under the corners on the edge and pried the lid off.

  "Or you could just use your fingers," said the pilot. "Isn't this like secret squirrel classified?"

  Bat opened the lid with a huffing grunt.

  "Best place to hide a secret. Right out in the open," he said. "Everybody's looking dark corners, nobody is looking at the box on the shelf."

  He reached inside and handed Tinker a box that was smaller than Junebug's cube they stole from the Space Hub.

  "That's it?"

  Bat placed the lid back on the box and used his thumb to shove the nails back in with quick pops.

  "What did you expect?"

  "It's a Faster than Light Engine," Tinker flipped the box back and forth in his hand, studying the simple ebon construction of smooth surfaces. "I don't know, I expected a ship's engine."

  Bat stood up and replaced the box on the shelf. He held out his hand and examined the FTL, then passed it back to the pilot.

  "It works on a quantum level," he said as Tinker followed him back to the end of the row. "The routine inside that box is going to change the way the engines work. Junebug can figure it out if you can't."

  "I'm the pilot," Tinker protested. "I can figure it out before her."

  "We'll just plug it in when we get back, and you both can work on it. Stick it in your pocket."

  They reached the end of the row as Tinker slid the small box into a secret pocket in his flight suit. Hiding in plain sight may be better in a warehouse, he thought, but if clothes have hidden compartments inside them, might as well put them to good use.

  The doorway at the entrance several hundred yards away opened, creating a block of light to the outside world. They watched the shapely silhouette of Mona Lisa step through, followed by the portly supply clerk.

  "Hey," Tinker said. "Where is she going?"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Musk existed under a dome. Technically, it was a series of domes, built over time and connected, some smaller, some larger, growing over time to encompass enough surface to house fifty million residents.

  There was only one city so far that spread out from the spaceport, though various ventures in the past had extended the dome to include farming and mining communities.

  A man on earth or one of the waystations that existed in the space between the two planets could buy his passage to Mars and live on the fringe of the dome as a Freedman, trading the food or stock he grew in exchange for owning property.

  It was a hard scrabble existence, made more dangerous by the presence of miners, who hated the meager farmers for the simple fact that the Martian government encouraged the rivalry.

  A populace focused on hating each other didn't turn that rage on an entrenched bureaucracy.

  Mona Lisa had a plan.

  Her escape from Bat and Tinker back on the military installation had gone off without a hitch.

  Duck led her toward a group of men, where she caught the eye of a Major who offered to buy her dinner. She accepted on the condition they go now.

  She hitched a ride on a rail car with the enraptured officer, then ditched him at the restaurant he insisted on taking her to by slipping through the kitchen and out of the back door.

  She let her instincts lead her down the narrow, crowded streets of Musk, eyes searching as she ignored the leers, offers and sometimes grasp of the residents.

  Now she could focus.

  Being gone kept Bat and Tinker safe from Buster’s men. That was the idea at least. But she couldn’t help but feel exhilarated by the freedom of being alone.

  She couldn’t recall the last time she had been.

  The cell, sure, because everyone existed alone in the cell. But before that it had been Buster for as long as she could remember. A cell too, to be sure, for confinement and restriction by any other name is still a prison.

  Even if the cage was gilded with all the finest thievery, extortion and ill-gotten gains could provide.

  “Hey baby girl,” an ebon skinned man approached her. “What can I help you with today?”

  His smile was genuine, even as his eyes never met hers, traveling between her breasts, down to her crotch and back again like a figure eight of obvious intent.

  “I’m looking for a bar,” she purred, putting a little edge in her words, an intent and promise of what might be if the drinks flowed freely and the mood was right.

  She let him lead her to one, hooking her arm through his as he strutted down the crowded concourse, earning glares of hatred and envy from many they passed.

  Then inside, she lost him too, on purpose and hid away at a high walled booth in the back. A waitress brought her a lowball full of top shelf whiskey, and she nursed it slow as she let plans whirl through her mind and decided on her next move.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bat and Tinker rushed toward the warehouse door. They saw the back of the supply clerk disappear around the corner and raced after him.

  Bat was faster than Tinker and caught the man first. He grabbed him by the wrist and spun him around.

  “Where is she?”

  Duck smiled and glanced at the heavens above the dome.

  “Man she was something, wasn’t she?” he sighed. “I should have known better. We ran into the Major and she dropped me faster than a meteorite.”

  Bat surveyed the buildings around them.

  “Which way?”

  Tinker slid to a gasping stop.

  “Over there,” the Clerk pointed.

  Bat took off running again.

  “Hey,” Tinker wheezed.

  He took a last look at Duck, and shouldered him aside as he leaped after Bat.

  The guard was fast.

  Faster than a normal human, thought Tinker. Sure, the pilot was probably slower than a normal human thanks to all the drinking and carousing, but still, the man ahead of him was like an animal.

  Almost a blur of motion as he raced in the direction the tubby clerk had indicated.

  Tinker caught him when he stopped.

  “Damn it,” he heard the big man mutter.

  A squad of Mechanized Suit wearing Troops landed in a semi-circle in front of them, blocking the way.

  “Are those Troops?” Tinker stared in open mouth wonder at the golden faceplates that covered their sealed helmets.

  The Mech’s were eight feet tall, smooth exo-skeletons of polycarbonate shell with server processors embedded, and an array of weapons.

  It was like a walking fighter ship in a laser proof cocoon. A Trooper could be disabled, and hide out in his suit until the fighting was over and the cavalry came calling.

  Bat rolled his shoulders like a boxer.

  “They are.”

  “Are you going to fight them?” Tinker gasped.

  Bat cracked his knuckles and glanced over at the thin pilot.

  “Karate used for defense only.”

  He took strong confident steps into the center of the semi-circle of mechanized warriors that straddled the path in front of them.

  Their Leader was indicated only by stripes on the chest plate. He stepped forward to greet Bat.

  “The Commandant wants to see you.”

  Bat stopped and stared into the faceplate. Two of the Troops behind the Leader shifted from foot to foot.

  Tinker wondered why they looked nervous.

  “Are you going to start shooting?” Tinker called out. “Cause if you are, tell me and I’ll get out of the way.”

  “Is that an order?” Bat asked.

  “He said it was a request,” the robotic voice sounded flat in the speaker. It was by design. “He was very clear on you knowing it was a polite request. That’s why he only sent six of us.”

  Bat took a breath, held it. He let it out in a long slow sigh.

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  “Please,” said the Leader. “I’m supposed to say Please.”

  Tinker stared in open mouthed wonder at the exchange in front of him.


  The Troops were legends, elite soldiers sent in only under the most extreme circumstances. There were plenty of rumors about what they were under those shells, but human was not one of them. Ultra-human. Meta human. More human than a human maybe.

  And they were deferring to a prison guard.

  Sure, he knew Bat had a history. Mr. Kim alluded to it. But Tinker had a history too, and so far, the Gang Lord hadn’t brought it up, even though his records were easy to access.

  His history had ghosts in it too.

  Just not Mech wearing ghosts.

  “Get that to the ship,” Bat called over his shoulder. “And get it installed.

  “They’re Troopers,” Tinker said.

  “Yes. Yes, they are. Take him to the gate and put him on a train to the dock,” Bat ordered.

  Two Troopers on the outer edge of the perimeter stepped up to escort Tinker.

  “What about Mona Lisa?”

  Bat’s eyes flashed. Tinker took a step back.

  “Whoa, I’m not her.”

  Bat snorted into a laugh.

  “I’ll meet you at the ship,” he said. “We’ll go find her.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he glanced over his shoulder at the four Troopers waiting on him. “We can get help.”

  “Who are you Mate?”

  “Just a guy on a crew.”

  “Now.”

  “Get that installed,” Bat nodded his chin to the pilot’s pocket.

  He joined the squad who took up positions on either side of him.

  It looked more like a royal escort than a prison one, Tinker thought.

  “Follow me,” one of the two Troops said to him.

  “Hey,” Tinker called after Bat. “This thing have an instruction manual?”

  “Just give it to Junebug,” the guard called back.

  Tinker watched him lead the Troops toward the center of the military installation, then fell in line with the two left to lead him back to the gate.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Pardon me ma'am,” a honey voice with a lazy draw pulled her eyes from her drink to a long leg stranger in a cowboy hat by the table.

  “I couldn't help but notice you’re alone,” he kept talking.

  Mona Lisa took a breath to tell him to buzz off but he held up a hand to forestall her