Deal Done Bad

The Montoya was berthed in Fueling Bay 2-A. James Sandersen had the annoying habit of liking to run the ship down below manufacturer's recommendation on fuel levels. He also ran the ship past suggested maintenance schedules, but that was due to finances more than any other factor. Sandersen always insisted that the shipbuilders were in a cartel with the fuelers, but that was neither here nor there.

Currently, he and Marcia Tangles were waiting in one of the seediest back alleys Sandersen had ever been in--and he had been in quite a few in his career. They were waiting for someone named Maurchant. James had never heard of him, but Marcia vouched to his reliability at getting his hands on contraband. She wouldn't vouch for much else about him, though, and that troubled him.

He didn't like the fact that he had been forced to returning to drug-running and gun-running, but he desperately needed the revenue. He was already several payments behind on the Montoya, couldn't afford to have the ship's drives overhauled, and had missed the last payroll. Luckily, most of his crew were friends that had served with him in his days in the Republic Navy and they were willing to ride out a bad spell with the finances.

Marcia suggested the smuggling--she knew that that's what he got started with, after he left the Navy--confident in his ability to fast-talk his way past customs and searches. He wasn't too keen on the recently increased penalties for transport of contraband: confiscation of ship and ten years in a Navy prison. She assured him, though, that they would work their way through it just like they had back then.

He did know, however, that he needed to get some money and get it quick.

A gruff voice said, "You Sandersen?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Call me Maurchant." A man walked out from the shadows, metal casings covered his legs. He looked unarmed.

James stopped fiddling with the pistol he had stuffed in his jacket. "Yeah, I'm Sandersen. Let's get this over with."

"You got the money?"

"If you have the merchandise."

James never like this part of the game. The mutual distrust. The dancing around the business at hand.

"Of course I do, Sandersen." With a wave of his hand, an anti-grav flatbed moved out of the same set of shadows that had once concealed him.

James took a step forward. "No, no, no. You stay where you are. The woman brings the money."

He could tell by her face that Marcia didn't like that idea. "Hey ... it was your idea."

She didn't seem to take any comfort in his words. She took the plastic card James offered her and quickly walked the length of the alley way. She thrust it at Maurchant, turning to get the controls of the flatbed.

"Not so fast," Maurchant said. "The woman ... she is collateral. When you finish the deal, I'll be finished with her." He had a sickening smile on his face.

James closed his eyes and sighed. This was why he had gotten out of the smuggling business years ago. You could never trust your contacts. He made a large stretching motion with his arms. "I won't be back from Ceti Six for at least a month. Trust me, you don't want to have to deal with her for that long."

"Deal?" Maurchant laughed. "They don't cause problems when they're chained and gagged."

Marcia winced and tried to recoil from Maurchant. She hadn't caught onto James' attempt to signal her to drop down. He stretched his arms again--in hindsight, it would seem too dramatic of a stretch. "Yeah, that should keep her quiet. Maybe teach her lesson, too," James said, arms still outstretched.

Marcia shot a look in James' direction; a look of recognition crossed her face, followed by a wry smile. She glanced sideways at Maurchant, who was chortling at Sandersen's comment. She quickly slammed the heel of her foot onto his. This would have normally worked, but Maurchant had some sort of mechanical apparatus around his legs and feet, which looked like they were power-assist braces.

"Ow ow ow!" She wiggled free of Maurchant's hold, holding her heel and cursing in pain.

James chuckled. It may not have worked as planned, but the end result was all that mattered. He pulled the snub-nosed pistol from his jacket and fired two quick blasts at Maurchant. The first went wide and high, as James was still bringing the weapon to bear. Maurchant turned away from Marcia to look at James, with a panicked look on his face.

The second shot hit home. Dead square in the face.

Maurchant's body collapsed to the ground, a wisp of smoke rising from the now cauterized remnants of his face. The shots had been loud, however, and alarm klaxons were sounding.

James ran over to Marcia. "You ok?"

"I think I broke my foot."

"Yeah, well, grab what you can. Security will be here quick."

She muttered under breath, aping him as she winced in pain. They made their way as fast as they could--slowed down somewhat by Marcia's now hobbled gait. James had two of the medium-sized boxes under each arm, and Marcia had one.

Once they got back to the Montoya, they stashed the boxes in a closet with some work tools. They had a few more hours before the fueling would be complete, so they sat down to work through what had just happened.

Three boxes of Quickrock, street value of about two hundred fifty thousand.

One drug runner dead, gain of some street cred, but loss of potential seller and buyer faith.

The quick analysis was that it was worth it, from the finance side of things at least. It meant that he'd be able to make up for the skipped payroll and pay the next month.

Plus, he saved the girl. He always liked saving the girl.