Retribution: Downfall of the Republic (The Retribution Series Book 1) Read online

  “Jesus christ, fine!” Terry shouted in fear.

  He explained their process for turning dock personnel and that they had a shift manager on the payroll whom he and Brick had prepaid to have their latest haul overlooked. The manager on the take was a newer arrival to the rapidly growing work crew of the station, Alicia DeVry. She would organize the inspectors in a manner that allowed her to check Brick and Terry's crates and ignore whatever she found while the legitimate workers were none the wiser.

  “Does she know which crate is yours already?”

  “Y-yeah, it's already in the staging hangar. It's supposed to ship out once we find a buyer.”

  Right as Terry started exclaiming that was all he knew while simultaneously begging for mercy, Alistair stood up and slammed his boot onto the nearly unconscious Brick's throat, crushing it and leaving the wretch choking on his own windpipe. He slowly approached Terry, who was now on the verge of hyperventilating and passing out from stress and blood loss, and knelt down to his level.

  “Thanks for the info, Ter. I'll tell Dervish you said hi.”

  Terry's eyes somehow stretched even wider and his expression said more than any confession ever could. Still staring at him, Alistair smiled at the terrified man just before replacing his chest cavity with two nearly cauterized holes the size of golf balls. His handgun wasn't too loud and was actually drowned out by the screams of Terry begging for mercy before his life was cut short.

  He turned and walked toward the door of the sparsely decorated flat, firing his weapon one more time into Brick's chest as he stepped over him. Typically he would incinerate the flat and remove all traces of evidence, but tonight's mission was just as much about sending a message as it was about removing some scum from existence. The scene he left behind as he closed the door and disappeared into the winding network of alleyways was one of utter carnage, but this evening's work was only just beginning. It was only after he closed the door did he realize he still had Brick's index finger in his hand. Alistair chuckled, grabbed a stray plastic sack from a nearby trash bin, and put the finger in.

  As he wandered to the heart of the station he thought of how this particular ring of kidnappers and mercs was relatively small compared to some of the more organized groups roaming the outer rim. Alistair knew that Dervish was the head of the local group, however, and now he had a when and where to have a chat with the man. This would be a bloody night of reckoning on Alceti Hub and, even though he knew from the offset that his work would yield terrible results, the thought of hapless colonists not losing a child made it all worth it. Alistair smiled, whistled a chipper tune while twirling his newly acquired eleventh finger, and made his way toward his next objective.

  Chapter 2

  The docks were chaotic and busy, as usual, but during the evening hours shipments would slow and night crews typically did maintenance and cleaning while there was a lull in shipping. Even though man had begun living among the stars many centuries prior, basic needs, such as a healthy sleep schedule, were still the relative norm. Nobody wanted to inject stimulants consistently in order to keep working, so a 24-hour Earth schedule was still the readily used constant for the vast majority of the Republic.

  As Alistair wandered the corridors spanning the first bay's staging areas, he immediately noticed inspection crews going from crate to crate. He kept walking until he made it to one of the office units where he met a young woman manning a reception desk. She looked tired, but she smiled as she looked up from her computer console and saw him.

  Alistair was a relatively handsome man, and although he had somewhat noticeable scars on his face, they only added to his air of mystery. His brown hair was currently long and ragged while he displayed several weeks of unkempt beard growth. Beneath his unruly facial hair was a square jaw housing a sly smile.

  “I hate to bother you,” he said, “But I'd happily buy you a cup of coffee if you could tell me where to find Alicia DeVry? She's my cousin, and she forgot her medication today. I figured I'd bring it by on my way to work.” He held up the plastic bag that most certainly did not contain any medication while his light blue eyes, reminiscent of frozen oceans, bored into hers and forced her cheeks to redden.

  The receptionist was completely caught off guard by his forward offer. “I can look her up and have her meet you here, if that's okay? I can't give you her route or locations or anything. Security stuff. And I won't say no to a cup of coffee. It'll be a few before she gets here anyway.” She was very friendly, and even if she was tired from being stuck in a musky office room all evening and into the morning, she was happy to have pleasant company.

  “That sounds perfect, thanks. I'll go get us both a cup, maybe it'll help your night go a little smoother. I can't imagine it's easy being cooped up in here all the time.”

  She smiled in response and gestured toward the bag of 'medicine'. “Want me to hang onto that for you?”

  Alistair laughed and declined. Even before his current life, when things seemed somewhat normal for a voice hearing man convinced he may be insane, he had a morbid sense of humor. After leaving he took an elevator ride to the upper levels, ordered two black coffees with a bit of cream, and made his way back to the office. When he returned, he saw another woman standing inside talking to the receptionist. She was clearly unhappy. As he opened the door, he heard why.

  “-and I told you I don't have a cousin. What's wrong with you, Cheryl? Are you always this stupid?” She turned and went to storm out, before stopping in front of the large man who now took up the entire doorway.

  “Alicia, I'm a friend of Brick and Terry's. If you give me just a moment of your time, I have something I think you'll truly find fascinating.”

  She paused and reluctantly agreed. She was still expecting the second half of her payment and she was hoping that by 'fascinating' this giant dipshit meant 'enriching'.

  “Thank you, Alicia. I'll meet you in the hallway and we can talk more, but give me just one moment.”

  Alistair walked up to the receptionist and handed her the coffee. “I wasn't sure how you like it, so I went for strong with a bit of cream. Figured it was the safest bet.” She seemed truly grateful for the act of kindness, as it had been several months since she'd had a cup of coffee. Most of the rare commodities coming through Alceti were destined for the political elite or the corrupt. Prices were outrageously high and the only reason cafes even survived on the station was at the whim of upper management and wealthy residents, typically waiting for their colonial mansions to be finished.

  “Now I'm going to recommend you take the night off. You aren't feeling well and you need to leave it at that. Go home right way.” The look in his eyes changed from genuine kindness to an almost pleading seriousness. She quickly nodded, grabbed a few things, and left through an employee door in the back.

  Alistair had a soft spot for the downtrodden worker, especially those who weren't even spoken to like people. Cheryl seemed friendly enough and, as a result, her life would only degrade - at least as long as she stayed on this station and people like Alicia and Dervish were allowed to exist. Until the Republic could shore up its colonial security efforts and root out some of the already deep-seated corruption among the political elite, Alistair figured his job security was never in doubt. He smiled and walked out to meet with Alicia.

  “So you have it for me?” she asked impatiently.

  “Yes ma'am, I've got some credit chips in this bag. But first I need to see the merch to make sure it's all safe.” Giving off the big, dumb lackey vibe was one of Alistair's favorite methods of manipulation.

  “The shit's fine, but whatever. I'll bring you to it. Let's go.”

  He whistled as he followed and gentle swung the bag front to back, in a display of happiness that visibly annoyed Alicia.

  “Can you stop with the whistling? I'm in a hurry and I want to get this done. You aren't the only one who needs something forgotten tonight.”

  His night was getting busier and busier, but he realize
d he'd be a fool not to press for more info. “Full manifest of profitable partners tonight, eh?”

  She stopped, turned around, and stuck her personal communications device, or PCD, in his face. “What does it look like?”

  Alistair smiled, shrugged, and gestured forward. “Is this it?”

  “Yeah, this is it.”

  An entire cargo container with minimal air reserves, no sanitation, no restroom, and no food, full of human beings being prepped for a life of slavery. Considering the MO of the group he'd been hunting, this particular crate had at least several young women destined to become sex slaves until they inevitably get killed in a snuff situation.

  Alistair's smile faded rapidly as he gave himself a moment to take stock of the situation.

  “Open the door.” It wasn't a request. It was a statement.

  “Give me my money first.”

  “I need to make sure my cargo is still alive. Do they have enough air?”

  “They're provided with basic life support. They're fine, now give me my fucking money!”

  Alistair handed her the plastic bag and stared intently as she fumbled to open it. The bag itself was dark gray and opaque, which helped to disguise the contents. The look of glee on Alicia's face indicated that she had completely forgotten the truly gruesome nature of her side business. She was excited enough that Alistair wondered if she had an impatient booky of her own.

  He had to stifle a laugh as the smile on her face slowly degraded to a look of terror and disgust as she opened the seal and saw a severed finger smeared with blood. She dropped it shortly after and immediately wanted to know what was going on.

  “Oh, that's Brick's index finger. Sorry, I must have grabbed the wrong bag. Now open the door or things will get rough. Call for help and station security will know what you're up to. No way out, eh?” His smile returned. He felt like his smile wasn't just because he was enjoying himself, but also a defense mechanism. Showing just how little he cared during a life or death situation was extremely unnerving and smiling before ripping off a person's extra digits only made it that much more so.

  “Fuck.. fuck.. fuck.. okay. Just let me go, okay?”

  He didn't respond, but instead smiled and gestured toward the door. He'd lie and say 'yes' if he thought it would matter, but she wasn't the run-of-the-mill tough guy he ran across. He'd absolutely still kill her: that wasn't up for debate. She was just as complicit as the men doing the actual kidnapping. But she wasn't of the same stock as his usual victims. She was, in his mind, a criminal by circumstance. Which, unfortunately for her, still meant that her fate was sealed. The atrocities committed by these groups were bad enough that he justified a scorched earth policy. He would cleanse these planets and stations one person at a time if that's what it took.

  Alicia fumbled for her badge and as she did Alistair's stomach dropped a bit. His intuition was telling him something was off, so he rested his hand on his sidearm and raised his guard. Alicia may not have been more than a crooked dock official, but something else was going on here.

  She raised the badge to the sensor lock, turning the light green, then reached for the double doors. As soon as she opened them, a metal pipe entered her torso and violently protruded from the other side. Alistair was standing to her right as she lurched back with an expression of anger and surprise covering her face. He noted that even when being murdered she looked as though she felt more self-important than she could ever justify.

  He drew his weapon and stepped back, opening the door a bit, to reveal a young woman holding the other end of the long pipe. It was about ten feet long and looked like it was a water line from inside the crate. From what he could tell, she had ripped it free during her days of imprisonment. Behind her were four young girls, all teenagers or younger. He felt disgust as he saw them, but also relief that they were alive and as well as they could be, given the circumstances.

  He immediately holstered his weapon and put his hands up. He knew the girl wasn't a threat, but wanted to show her that he wasn't a threat as well.

  “Whoa, whoa. It's alright, I'm here to get you out.”

  The woman looked at him with fire in her eyes, let go of the pipe, and stepped back to protect the younger girls toward the rear of the container. She couldn't have been older than twenty, but he was bad with age.

  She was obviously scared, justifiably so, but she had a ferocious aura about her that defied his understanding in a small way. He looked from the prisoners to the gurgling and dying dock inspector who's life was rapidly fading away. “Well shit. I was going to do that. And I was looking forward to it.”

  The woman's eyes softened a bit, but her stance was that of a warrior, ready to fight and die to protect something she loved.

  “If you touch them, I'll rip your throat out,” she said. It wasn't exactly what he was expecting and her bravado was shocking.

  “I just want to make sure you're all okay. The men who took you are dead and I want to take you home. My name is Alistair and I only want to help. Can you at least tell me your name?”

  She eyed him up and down and answered “Rachel” without wavering in the least.

  God damn, she's got ice in her veins, he thought.

  “Rachel Sahlinz?” he asked.

  “.. Yes, how did you know?” She eased up ever so slightly. If not for his ocular implants, he may not have been able to tell at all.

  “I've been looking for you. And your wards as well, I'm sure.”

  Rachel Sahlinz was the daughter of a prominent politician on Alceti III and from what he'd read about her she'd left a life of opulence to run a women's shelter on the station. She'd gone missing a few weeks earlier along with some of the girls. It was a high profile abduction, as she and two of the orphaned girls had been taken along with two others whose mothers were distraught. Apparently the shelter was an easy target for gangs. Or so they'd thought - witnesses said there were four intruders total, three men and a woman. The woman and one man were both killed as the group was escaping. Rachel had gotten her hands on a firearm, apparently, and she knew how to use it.

  “I'll keep my distance, but I honestly just want to make sure you get to the authorities and returned to your families before your .. uh.. buyer figures out what happened. He already paid a deposit on you and he'll be expecting some sort of compensation.”

  “The 'authorities' are what allowed my shelter to be raided in the first place. A group of them are bought and paid for by one of my father's rivals. We can't go to them.” Her stance was more alarmist than threatening at this point. Alistair could tell she was still extremely tense. Not to mention malnourished, dehydrated, exhausted, and full of rage.

  “Well... shit.” He wasn't expecting a conspiracy that goes to the top. He was expecting a night of savage murder, possibly followed by a warm bath and a light breakfast. But this extends the timetable of his operation considerably. “Okay. Do you have a place I can take you? Anywhere that's safe?”

  “I assume that my quarters won't work, right? All I had was the shelter and now it's a homicide investigation site.”

  “If you trust me, you can come with me to my ship. There's plenty of room for all of you.” Alistair remembered that two of the girls behind Rachel still had mothers on the station, victims of domestic abuse or criminal mischief. He took a step forward and motioned toward the younger girls behind her. “And your mothers, of course. It's just me on the ship, but you can stay there as long as you'd like. You'll be safe and you can eat as much as you want. Hot showers, too.”

  The prospect of food and a warm shower made the girls' eyes widen so much they almost popped out of their heads. Rachel, however, wasn't sold.

  “You may not be here to sell us or whatever those sick assholes were planning, but I absolutely am not getting on a ship with you. And neither are they. We'll figure out our own way. I don't even know if I can trust that Brick and Terry are dead.”

  At that, Alistair remembered the bag lying on the ground. He picked it up slowly a
nd tossed it in front of Rachel.

  “That's the best proof I've got: Brick's finger. I twisted it off of him. Should have a ring on it.”

  She quickly grabbed the bag, never taking her eyes off Alistair, and opened it. Her look, as she peaked into the bag, surprised him. It was an anger filled guise of gratification.

  “That's his ring. I remember it left a mark on my face.” Her bruises were healing, but she had suffered a lot of abuse over the last few days. Alistair took note but made sure to tread lightly. He was no therapeutic psychologist, but he knew trauma and torture, and these girls had suffered. Yet here they stood, stoically defiant. Their will gave him hope, knowing that even the young and small had the strength to endure. But their circumstance fueled his rage, thus propelling his internal conflict ever onward.

  He slowly took his sidearm from his side holster with his right hand and raised his left hand with his palm toward the girls in a non-threatening manner. They all tensed anyway and Rachel looked ready to pounce.

  “Here. I know that you know how to use this, I've seen your handy work. I'm going to disable the genetic lock so you can use it. If it makes you feel better to keep me as your prisoner, then I'm willing to do that.” He unlocked his weapon, showed her its disabled lock on the small blue screen, and slowly slid it over to her. “My life is in your hands. I just want to help. But we need to go either way.”

  She nodded, grabbed the weapon, and dropped the bag with Brick's digit. Alistair was sad to abandon it, in a way. It had proven much more useful than he'd anticipated. He'd have to remember that in the future.

  “Alright. Just follow me, my dock is pretty close to the loading bay.” The girls cautiously followed him, staying far enough back that if he tried anything, Rachel could fill him with holes. She obviously knew what she was doing and for that he was glad. She could kill him in an instant if she wanted and he was putting his life in her hands because he knew that his ship was the safest place for her gang of orphans and castoffs.