Before the Storm (ch. 08)

Chapter Eight

While Sketch had certainly spent plenty of time in highly populated systems before, this was the first time after coming out of the long chill that he would be able to get off his ship for more than a couple of minutes. The atmosphere was so unlike the sort of backwater remote outposts he'd spent most of the last few years around. It was exuberant, seeing so many ships coming and going, full space with vessels in every corner of the void of every stripe of the galaxy, from Earther ships to full blown Starless Dominion flagships, from tiny little two-seater zip shuttles to massive frigates designed for the ultra-long haul.

It was glorious.

Back before he'd signed up with The Calm, he'd been in port systems like this all the time and loved every second of it. With so many ships coming and going, it was easy enough to disappear into the background, no challenge at all to hide amongst the noise and clutter. He and the rest of the mercenaries he'd been running with could get up to all sorts of shit and before anyone had even an inkling that there was trouble afoot, and they could disappear into the blackness of space again like they'd never been there in the first place.

It had been quite a life filled with trouble and mayhem, but when he'd gotten clear of that, and gotten into The Calm, the views had remained the same, but the background music had changed. He wasn't causing trouble anymore but was instead the person putting trouble down. Representing The Calm had been almost a free pass on or off any ship he'd decided to move around on. They'd been highly respected, well renowned for their ability to squash problems long before they had time to sink their talons deep into people's hearts and fester.

But that had been generations ago, and now The Calm were nothing more than a distant memory of a few old-lived souls who never spoke of them these days for fear of being "forcibly reeducated" and indoctrinated into a school of people who couldn't remember much of anything, including how to dress and feed themselves. Most people, though, didn't remember The Calm anyway - they were just another thing in the forgotten dust of the past that didn't matter.

Traveling through the gates, space often felt like an endless sea of black with only the occasional blip of contact of educated minds, but the Nobal System was one giant party that never started or stopped, just had been rolling on since before anyone could remember and would be rolling on long after anyone alive now would be there to see it. Most of the sub-orbital stations were lined with brilliant lights like electric veins pulsating across the midnight, and every so often, there would be a flareup of engine plumes, cutting through the quick.

"What the hell is that spiny looking thing over by Shibuya Station?" Sketch asked.

"That's a Quardiff cruiser," Aliara said to him. "They're voracious traders, but they've been known to venture far from home to obtain rare things they might have trouble obtaining on their own. They don't often travel through human-based territories, though, as they find your language offensive to their ears, so there must be something especially valuable around they're trying to get their hands on. They also don't like highly populated systems, so I wonder what they found important enough to overcome that foible of their personality."

*

So very much has changed since we have been away,*

Muriel Rose's voice said inside of his skull. *

The ships, the technology, the gates... nothing is as it was when I left it.*

'Yes, well,' he thought back at her. 'The universe has a habit of moving on without us after we're gone. It's quite the tragedy I know.'

*

Mmmm. And yet you somehow still came back to life, Storm Walker.*

'No rest for the wicked.'

"They're talking to you again, aren't they?" Serena asked him, standing at his side, her hand smoothing along his back. She'd grown extremely affectionate around him since their first encounter, almost as if she was always still slightly tapping into The Warmth, although it seemed like the emotional connection ran deeper than physical. Perhaps she truly had fallen in love with the stories of him as a child. It was certainly something to keep tabs on, although he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit to enjoying the affection.

"Just Muriel Rose," he replied.

He'd explained to Serena, Aliara and Helen about the personality engrams that were encoded into the Ashaka, how there were four generations of Fury living inside of him, something that all of them had grasped much easier than he had. As it turned out, the art of encoding a backup version of a person's memories and personality had existed long before Sketch's original time but had been restricted to those with wealth and his status, something they'd not gone out of their way to advertise, obviously. Since his disappearance into the ice, the practice had continued, although not expanded much beyond keeping historical archives of important figures. Serena admitted there might even be an engram of her floating around out there, assuming it hadn't been destroyed.

When he'd explained how concerned he was about their ability to exert control over him, Serena had gone out of her way to assure him that he had the final say over anything he said or did, and that while they could offer council or even lend assistance with some of his abilities, never once had there been any record of an engram dictating what could or couldn't be done to or by its host. The engrams were more like imprints than sentient beings, and anything that could hold an engram was imbued with more than a handful of restrictions. The worst they would be capable of, she assured him, was to be annoying him with their constant chatter.

"Do you know where to find this fixer of yours?"

"Cola? Oh yeah, she won't prove too hard to find," Sketch said with a little bit of a chuckle. "The harder part will be meeting with her without anyone noticing me."

"Why's that going to be tricky?" Serena asked.

"She's something of a high society show-off," he said, amusement in his voice. "She likes the thrill of setting up jobs, using her skills to keep her fellow socialites entertained. They believe she's got an inside line to some fixer in the system and none of them have ever realized that *

she's*

the fixer."

"How did you end up getting connected with her?"

"I was trying to get information about what happened during my absence, and I got put in touch with her by a fellow 'questionable hauler' named Fletch, who said she could be trusted to be polite and not attract the attention of the Starless Dominion. He still works for Cola, I think. Anyway, she was happy to provide me information, and decided to make use of my services, even with my particular demands about how I did business."

"She uses the cover name Cola?" Aliara asked curiously. "Really?"

"Sure," Sketch responded. "Who doesn't like cola?"

"And she knows you're a Storm?"

"She does. That's part of the reason I feel so strongly that I can trust her. She was looking out for an Ashaka for me, and I think the fact that I had to ask about one told her everything she needed to know. It also put into context all my odd requests about package delivery and retrieval. From that, she's probably learned all about who I used to be and knows that I couldn't go much into populated areas until I had an Ashaka again."

"Which is why she's not going to suspect you showing up on her front doorstep?"

"Would you?" he laughed.

"You want us to go with you?" Serena asked.

Sketch shook his head. "Certainly not you, princess. Your face isn't incredibly well known, especially after a while out of the limelight, but I still don't like the idea of taking the risk that some royalist fanboy recognizes you. I don't know how commonplace P'nox are, Aliara, so it's up to you whether you feel like you can blend into the background in a place like this."

"They aren't often bound for the more populated areas," Aliara answered, "so it's probably best I remain on the ship. No one's looking for me, but best not to push our luck. And you'll be able to pass freely and clearly without any difficulty on your own for the first time in years, so why cramp in on your style? We'll both wait aboard *

The Praeteritus*

and not expand our risk portfolio."

Once they had docked *

The Praeteritus*

at Basskar Station, Sketch made sure his appearance was exactly how a long hauler should be but kept up the elements of his disguise that needed to be reflexive, the kind of thing he needed to be doing without even thinking about them, like making sure his arms were covered from shoulder to wrist, not a bit of his tattoos showing. Odds were good that if someone caught a glance of just a tiny segment of them, they wouldn't recognize what they were looking at. But operational security was the kind of thing he couldn't afford to be lax about, so he added gloves as well, just to ensure that the chances were basically nil, because camera recordings lasted forever and who knew when people were looking at those.

He still found it funny that he didn't need to worry about his *

face,*

but his *

arms*

were the utter problem. It had been a couple of generations since he'd been to Basskar Station last, but he didn't remember it having heat issues, so he trusted in the inherent chill of space to keep him from overheating when he'd be walking around.

The harbormaster had asked what the purpose of their visit was, and Sketch had said it was just for a handful of face-to-face meetings and maybe to pick up some minor supplies. If he picked up cargo while he was walking around, though, he told the harbormaster that he'd be sure to let them know about it before departure, so he could be properly assessed the export tax. He was adept at making sure he had the right inflection of somebody who'd maybe tried to sneak by without paying it once and had gotten caught, so that they never really pressed him much on the matter.

Once he was loose in Basskar station, it was both wildly familiar and totally alien to him. Since they'd been conquered by the Starless Dominion, more and more alien races had integrated with humanity, and each time some new species wandered in, they brought their own collection of smells, sights and sounds with them. The thing he was most delighted by was the new insurgence of spices because it meant there were all sorts of new flavors to discover (and often reject). But despite the constant assault of street corner vendors with their assortments of grilled meats, fruits, and vegetables, he wanted to move quickly and efficiently to his target without doing too much sightseeing along the way. He would have plenty of time to explore later.

It was a short shuttle ride to change districts, away from the port and over towards the luxurious upper echelon district, where those of wealth and status called home. The structures were odd mixes of industrial sheik and old-school Earther classicism, brick and plastisteel coexisting side-by-side, columns of marble next to girders of titanium. Sketch had never cared much for the trappings of wealth, although he had always admired the security financial stability could provide. "Those with means always eat," the lesson went.

Cola's real name was Lady Miranda Biazotto and she was third in line to the Biazotto Construction empire, although she'd shown very little interest in assuming any position of power with the business, having let her husband manage it in her stead, as Lord Deacon Biazotto (he'd taken

her

name in the marriage) was something of an eager business and social climber, doing everything he could to establish himself as a figure of power in the company.

But Cola's side hustle had taken over more and more of her life.

Much like he'd expected her to do her homework on him, he'd done his homework on her, although it had been much more difficult to do for him, considering how much more his hands were tied as opposed to hers. But he'd enjoyed the challenge and learned a lot about Cola's definitely illegal transportation empire.

Sketch knew that she had multiple smugglers working for her, her undercover logistics moving empire not quite superseding the construction business but doing more than enough to keep her busy whenever she wanted to be. Running it out of her main manor would've caused too many questions, though, so he needed to be able to spot where she ran the smuggling business. To find that, however, he was going to need to spot her going there.

That meant following her from the manor home to wherever her office was, because there was no way in hell he was going to just walk up to her front door and attempt to get her staff to give him an appointment. He probably *

could*

but where would the fun in that be?

The highfalutin region of the station annoyed him with how many perfumes he was exposed to. It made him want to start sneezing and never stop. These people could buy a lot of things, but they certainly couldn't buy good taste, and layering a dozen smells on top of one another was offensive, never attractive.

The Biazotto Manor was lined with security, but Sketch just knew that as soon as she wanted to, Cola would have a way to leave and ditch them all, so he just walked the perimeter of it and spent his experience as a smuggler looking for how exits might be concealed if he was building them. And, as if fate had smiled down upon him, he saw a narrow little crevice fold inward before a figure draped in a thick cloak slipped out, almost completely obscured by the shadows, but Sketch had spent more than his fair share of time learning how to watch where he wasn't supposed to be looking.

It would be easier, he supposed, to follow Cola if had brought Aliara or Serena with him, but he needed to get these skills back into his rotation, and it wasn't as though he was relearning fundamentals, just more making sure they came to him naturally and without too much issue. He didn't have any difficulty staying in the pocket of space behind her that she couldn't catch, even as they moved down the streets and into the public transportation veins. A few minutes later, they were on a train heading down towards the industrial and manufacturing sector, just the sort of perfect area for Cola to run her operations out of.

He didn't want to let her get into her little nest because that would've made things much more difficult, so when he felt like they were a good enough distance away from everyone, he slipped in behind her, poked two fingers into her back like the barrel of a weapon and said in his most gravelly voice, "Move an inch and I'll plug ya."

He felt her tense up for a second, and then the odd choice of words set her laughing. "Sketch, you sunuvabitch," the woman said, shaking her head, "I damn near might've killed you."

"What, with that little peashooter that's normally on your hip?"

"*

Normally?*

" she asked, reaching down only to find the weapon wasn't in its holster where she'd placed it, turning around to see him offering it to her with his left hand, his right hand still making a finger gun. "You bastard, I didn't even feel you lift it off me. When did you take it?"

"Right when I poked you in the back," he told her as she took the weapon back from him. "You tensed up and it made the perfect distraction for you not to notice the missing weight from your hip."

Lady Miranda 'Cola' Biazotto was in her late fifties or early sixties, with finely braided silver hair and a too youthful complexion that came from having more than enough money to throw at the aging problem. Under the cloak, she was dressed in simple pants and a shirt made of common cotton, designed to blend in rather than to stand out. He'd offered her tips on it in the past, but there was no concealing those bright violet eyes of hers. They stood out like glowing amethyst in even the slightest shadow. "You must've finally found an Ashaka if you're out wandering around populated areas again," she said. "Good on you. Where'd you finally locate one?"

"With a bit of grave robbing," he admitted. "The previous owner has told me she doesn't mind, being on account that her mental engram is encoded to the Ashaka itself, along with three others."

*-

Are we comfortable giving away such secrets lightly, m'boy?-*

*

Hush father,*

Muriel's voice corrected, *

if Storm Walker believes the woman can be trusted, then we must trust in his judgment. It's seemed to serve him quite well so far.*

"That sounds..."

"Complicated?"

"I was going to say comforting, but that too, I suppose," she admitted. "You've got *

The Praeteritus*

docked here?"

"I do. And I'm starting to take up some crew. But haven't you got an office we can go and sit and have a drink in, like a couple of civilized criminals, instead of standing in some darkened alleyway, waiting for the law to stumble across us?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "The law don't come down here much, Sketch, but sure, we can step into my office." The two of them didn't have much further to walk, approaching what looked like a semi-abandoned warehouse with well-faded signage for 'Renovations coming soon from Biazotto Construction' placed all over the major points of entry, although the sealing job looked pretty solid, as if it was important that people stay the fuck out. Of course, he understood why.

They approached a collection of oil drums, and she pushed her fingers through what looked solid metal and disappeared beneath the hologram to touch the keypad underneath, drawing some kind of symbol on the surface to signal a door to open as one of the oil drums swung out, unveiling a passage into the building.

Once he was inside, he was pleased to find it was a well-organized lair, several fields of information showed exactly how adept Cola was at running smugglers, dozens of vessels scattered across the systems, a callboard keeping track who was on which assignment and when delivery was expected, so if something had gone sideways, she would know about it in advance.

There was a desk with a big chair attached to it, but also another chair off to the side next to a sofa which looked like it had doubled as a bed more than a handful of times, with a blanket pulled off and to one side. Cola ushered him over to the couch, letting him sit down on it while she took the chair next to it. "So, you've been radio dark for over a week now, Sketch," she sighed. "I take it something went tits up on the Vemex delivery?"

"No recipient there to take delivery of the package and no money waiting for me to just leave it there as per how we usually do things."

She shrugged. "You know how business like this is. You open the container, see if there was anything of value inside?"

"How much can I trust you, Cola?"

She tented her fingertips together and looked at him with an expression he'd never seen from her on all their various vidcalls - one of annoyance. "It can't be any more dangerous than the secrets of yours I'm already carrying, can it Sketch?"

"It can and it is, which is why I'm giving you the option of choosing not to know instead of finding out and being burdened with carrying this new particular wrinkle around with you. If you want to know, of course I trust you enough to share, but this is a piece of information you might be better off just *

not*

knowing and if you want to employ caution, I'd respect that."

She laughed, leaning back into her oversized chair, shaking her white hair from her face. "With that sort of lead-in, I think I'm rather *

forced*

to make you tell me."

"How much do you know about House Sanada?"