Brain Games (Rich Weed Book 3) Read online

  I heard a voice carry over from the back. “Do my eyes deceive me? Dirk Kriggler, is it not? What a lukewarm, pleasing surprise.”

  I poked my head around a shelf. My eyes confirmed what my ears already suspected. Dundu was a Tak.

  The bovine alien trundled forward, his hooves clattering on the flooring as he walked. He waved with one of his stunted arms, the hands and fingers far too small for the rest of him by human standards but perfectly in line with the average for Taks. He flashed a creepy, toothy grin as he approached the counter, his ears perking. All together, it gave him the appearance of a cow all too eager to be milked.

  “Good to see you, Dundu,” said Kriggler. “And I’m glad to see the feeling’s mutual. I was worried after, you know…the Saladrius incident.”

  The Tak waved it off. “A brush with death. A momentary lapse of reason. All in the past. Said event caused a great increase in sales, let me assure you, so I hold toward you no infirm conscious action.”

  I think he means ill will, said Paige.

  Right. Taks were notoriously poor comprehenders of human turns of phrase.

  Kriggler looked back. “Rich. Get over here.”

  I walked forward and gave the Tak a halfhearted wave. “Hi. Rich Weed. Nice to meet you. Cool place. Lots of porcelain.”

  “All hand painted,” said Dundu. “By Tak hands, you understand. Much smaller, much finer than human hands. This makes quality much improved over the alternative.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “You don’t have any problem getting around the store with all of it around?”

  The Tak’s ears flattened. “What do you imply? That because I am large and quadrupedal I am poorly coordinated? That my wide posterior is a veritable magnet for fired clays?”

  I should’ve known the guy wouldn’t get my bull in a china shop reference. “No, I wasn’t implying that. I—”

  Dundu broke out in a loud, braying laugh. “Hah! I jest, of course. I have knocked numerous bobbles and bowls to the floor over the years. My fingers, they are composed of congealed milk fats.”

  “Dundu,” said Kriggler. “Let’s talk business. My friend and I are in the market for some of your wares. I owe him, financially speaking, from a little run in with the police, so it’ll be my treat. I can vouch for him.”

  “Ah,” said Dundu, steepling his fingers before him. “By all means. Let us peruse the goods.”

  “No offense, Dirk,” I said, “but I’d rather you Brained me the bail funds directly. I don’t have interest any in hand painted china, even if I didn’t have to drag the plates back to Cetie on the Paradise. No offense, Dundu. I’m sure they’re wonderful.”

  Kriggler turned and looked at me with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Despite the obvious physiological differences, Dundu managed to give me a similar look.

  He shrugged it off quickly, waving at Kriggler. “Come. I will show you.”

  He led us around the counter, through a door, and into a storage area filled with stacks of the same merchandise as in the front, most of them wrapped in thin layers of clear packing plastic. We stopped in front of a corrugated metal wall.

  “We have arrived,” said Dundu.

  I wasn’t impressed, but I tried to hide it. “Uh…nice wall.”

  I heard a clank, a grind, and a whirr. The metal panel lifted, revealing a dark space behind it. Lights flickered to life inside, revealing an arsenal of the likes I’d never seen. Pulse pistols, projectile pistols, and combo units. Rifles of the regular and sniper variety, combat shotguns, grenade launchers, railguns, and deployable drone turrets, all hanging from racks, on hooks, and on the walls.

  “Holy crap,” I said under my breath.

  “So,” said Dundu. “What can I forge interest in you with?”

  “We don’t know what we’re up against,” said Kriggler, stepping forward to browse through the weapons, “so we’ll need to remain as flexible as possible. That means combo pulse projectile pistols for everyone. Except me. I’ve already got a pair. But I’ll take a couple tactical rifles, the ones with flight correcting tracer rounds—oh, and ballistic vests and pads for good measure. Maybe some smoke mines and EMP grenades, too.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said. “Pistols, I get. Rifles? Mines? Grenades? What the hell do you plan on getting us into?”

  “You heard Daayan. Sharp is building an army. Better to be overprepared than dead.” Kriggler grabbed a pair of pistols and threw them my way. By some miracle I caught them before they hit the floor. I didn’t want to test the safeties yet.

  “Did you say Sharp?” said Dundu. “As in Sharp Guy?”

  “Guy Sharp, not Sharp Guy.” Kriggler paused. “Oh, Dundu. Don’t tell me…”

  “His representative came bearing copious amounts of SEUs,” said Dundu. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “No, it’s okay,” said Kriggler as he hefted a large pulse rifle from its home. “This is good. You can tell us what you sold him and how much. You said his lackey came to you? Did he load up a truck, or did you deliver?”

  Dundu wrung his hands together. “I am unsure if I should say. He purchased many weapons. I do not wish to be positioned on his rotten half.”

  “Come on,” said Kriggler. “Remember the Saladrius? You yourself said business boomed afterwards.”

  “Yes. Boomed. Exactly.” Dundu made an exploding motion with his hands.

  “Just tell us Dundu. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Mostly pulse weapons were purchased. A mixture of pistols and rifles. No body armor. No explosives. But many weapons, so do not say I did not share the warning.”

  “Good. Dispersive vests it is, then.” Kriggler picked out a few more things and brought them back. He handed me a vest equipped with a mixture of spare batteries, clips, and grenades. He held a belt equipped with a pair of pistols in Carl’s direction.

  Carl took the weapons hesitantly. “You realize I’m a droid, don’t you?”

  “Nobody said the mercs would be human,” said Dirk. “Dundu. You didn’t answer my second question. Did you drop the guns off yourself or not?”

  The Tak nodded. “I did. A factory of some sort, not more than twenty minute’s drive from here. I can provide an address, if necessary.”

  “Twenty minutes?” said Kriggler. “That should be within the signal radius. Jackpot.”

  “Jackpot?” I said. “Are you nuts? You’re talking about walking into a situation where we virtually know we’ll be encountering a firefight.”

  “We’ll be expecting it,” said Kriggler. “They won’t. That gives us an advantage. Now strap that vest on.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I said. “I’m supposed to wear this in public? What if we get pulled over by the cops?”

  Dundu brayed again. “Hah! His residence is not within close proximity, is it?”

  “He’s a Cetiean,” said Kriggler. “Dundu? What do I owe you?”

  “I have your account information,” said the Tak. “I will withdraw the correct amount through the proper channels. Very subtle, as usual. I simply hope the payment does not return unfulfilled. Dealers of arms are not individuals to be fleeced.”

  “I can cover it,” said Kriggler. “At least I think I can. Weed. Mount up.”

  “Oh, one moment,” said Dundu. “Because I care about you and your continued business… Before you leave, take some stimpacks. On the home, as you would say.”

  “Stimpacks?” I said. “What is this, a video game?”

  “Perhaps I used an improper term,” said Dundu as he rifled through a bin. “Injectable pharmaceuticals, tailored to your particular physiology. A mixture of blood coagulants, stimulants, and painkillers. Perfect for the modern urban mercenary on the go.”

  “Dundu’s right,” said Kriggler. “We’ll take some. Could come in handy if the situation deteriorates.”

  I paused and pressed a hand to my temple. Pulse rifles? Body armor?
Stimulant injections? I couldn’t believe what I was getting myself into.

  Might as well do it, said Paige. I mean, we’ve come this far, right?

  I glanced at Carl. He shrugged, as if to say he’d join me, whatever my decision.

  I sighed. If Carl and Paige were on board, who was I to say no? “All right. Let’s do this.”

  23

  Our car pulled through an open gate and slid to a stop in front of a towering factory. Spotlights bathed the cooling towers in cool blue light, some of which trickled down to the pavement outside but precious little. It was almost as if the building’s designers cared more for ambience than nighttime safety. Then again, based on the barren nature of the parking lot outside, I suspected the factory only operated during daylight hours—if at all. That would be a point in our favor.

  Kriggler cracked the door and hopped out, a tactical pulse rifle hanging around his neck from a strap. He glanced at the skimmer in his hand.

  “We’re smack dab in the middle of the radius,” he said, “and my signal strength is as strong as ever. I think we’ve found the place.”

  Wonderful… I hopped out after him, feeling the weight of the energy dispersive vest over my chest. For perhaps the first time, I was appreciative of the cool weather. Whereas here the armor merely bothered me, on Cetie it would’ve unleashed on me a tidal wave of sweat or, at worst, been the instigating factor in a debilitating case of heat stroke.

  Dirk slipped the skimmer into one of the many pockets on his vest. He pointed. “That looks like the front doors. Let’s check to see if they’re open.”

  “Right,” I said. “And if anyone asks, we’re members of the Lower Melghat SWAT, investigating a call about a bunch of heavily armed gang members.”

  Kriggler snorted. “Again with the police jokes. As if they were going to show up. You crack me up.”

  I glanced at Carl, who’d also exited the cab. “You ready?”

  He wasn’t wearing a vest, but he’d strapped the belt into place. His coat mostly hid his pistols, so at least he didn’t look like a threat to public safety. “I’ll bring up the rear. You follow Kriggler.”

  Dirk set out across the barren stretch of pavement separating us from the factory doors, his rifle held at the ready. I kept pace with him, a cool breeze picking up and bringing with it another hint of rain. Somewhere in the distance I heard a siren. The factory itself emitted a low, electronic hum, but other than that we travelled in silence.

  We neared the doors, but they didn’t open upon our arrival. Kriggler pushed on them to no avail, then pressed up against a window and peered inside.

  “Can’t see much. Too dark.” He tapped on the window with the butt of his gun, but it didn’t seem inclined to give. Probably Pseudaglas.

  “There must be some way in,” I said. “Maybe if we look around…”

  Carl walked over to the side, coming to rest near a large set of metal slats. He knelt and pointed to a latch system on the side. “Rich. I think this door is activated manually. And it doesn’t appear to be locked.”

  “No way,” I said.

  Carl stood, crossed to a recess in the middle, and pulled on it. It slid up and in, rattling along on slider wheels.

  “See?” said Kriggler. “Luck’s on our side. Let’s go.”

  He dove into the opening, and I reluctantly followed. Bits of light trickled down through enormous skylights onto the factory floor, illuminating tall cranes and presses and conveyer belts in blue outlines. I didn’t trust myself not to smack into smaller barrels and crates, so I activated the tactical light on my rifle. Through its cone of light, I spotted huge blocks of light gray plastic sitting next to extrusion presses, the sparkle of electronics and multi-colored wiring, and bundles of pistons, actuators, and power supplies that had been assembled into limbs. Looked like a low-level droid factory.

  Kriggler activated the light on his own rifle. He waved at me to follow before taking off at a jog. With my weapon gripped tight, I moved through the factory floor after him, waving my flashlight to and fro. Large machinery loomed at me out of the darkness. Some cranes stood empty, tall and proud and ready for action, while others held hulking metal containers and canisters in mid air as if they’d been stopped mid-shift. Steel ladders stretched into the rafters, providing access to a pair of long hanging bridges that hung over the factory floor. Red LEDs blinked intermittently from deep within the gloom, all while the factory pulsed with its omnipresent electronic hum.

  Kriggler stopped and glanced at his skimmer twice, changing direction each time. Eventually, we worked our way to the factory’s far side. There, a trio of sliding metal doors similar to the one through which we’d entered stood open, revealing more of the blue-tinted gloom outside. A drizzle had once again started to fall, slicking the surfaces of a number of delivery vans and heavy transports parked there.

  Kriggler paused just inside the doors. He pulled the skimmer from his pocket and glanced at it again. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is I’m positive this is where the satellite array is pointed. The bad news is I can’t pinpoint where the signal is being retrieved. I suspect there’s another receptor array on the factory roof. We should try to find a way up there. Either that or look for a servenet room. If we can find the latter, I should be able to tap back in and see if the funds we’re after are being rerouted to a conventional account.”

  I listened to Kriggler with half an ear, all the while wondering who’d left the loading doors open. Sure, the parking lot was empty, but to leave the front doors unlocked and several loading bays in back open seemed exceedingly careless, especially for someone who might well be engaged in illegal activities. Besides, the neighborhoods we’d travelled through to get to the factory didn’t exactly give the impression goods left unattended would still be there in the morning. Still, the factory seemed abandoned, of transients, thieves, and security. Why?

  I noticed a crate sitting outside next to one of the delivery vans. Its top lay open, collecting rainwater, and it appeared to be empty. I lifted my rifle and shone my light on its side, illuminating the words ‘Dundu’s Novelties and Imports.’

  “Kriggler.” I nodded toward the crate.

  He looked up from his skimmer. “Yeah, so? Dundu already told us what he delivered. Did you expect they’d leave a big box of weapons sitting around?”

  I didn’t, but I did wonder what had happened to said weapons.

  “Rich?”

  I turned at the sound of Carl’s voice. I found my partner staring into the factory. A moment later, I heard what had undoubtedly drawn his attention. The clatter of footsteps.

  I suddenly became keenly aware of my tactical vest and rifle. I suffered an urge to hide the latter behind my back, but thankfully, I realized how silly that would be before I tried it. Kriggler’s and my intentions would be obvious from our apparel. Better to keep my weapon at the ready in case I needed it.

  Emboldened by the fact that I hadn’t already been shot at, I called out. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  The footsteps continued. A moment later, a figure emerged from the darkness, gleaming and plasticized. A low level droid, of the sort businesses employed for repetitive, non-service related jobs with minimal human contact. It possessed the same height and build as Carl, but it lacked his exterior finishes: hair, skin and tissue substitutes, or even clothing. Based on the parts I’d seen on my trek through the factory, I’d bet he’d been manufactured here.

  The droid’s eyes flicked to my weapon. “State your purpose.”

  So much for pleasantries… I opened my mouth, but I realized I didn’t know how to respond to the demand. How could Kriggler and I have planned an impromptu raid on a factory without coming up with a plan for what to do when confronted? Sure, police might not arrive, but what about the other forces we might encounter, the ones we were actively tracking. It seemed like a major oversight on our parts.

  “You are not authorized to be here,”
said the droid. “Leave at once.”

  The droid took another step forward. Something at his side gleamed in the dim light, not his hip but at that height. It looked like…a pulse pistol.

  Kriggler turned. “No can do, pal. We need access to your local servenet. Now you can make this easy and take us there yourself, or we’ll do it the hard way and find it by trial and error. I assure you, the latter involves a trail of potential destruction that you won’t want to have to explain to your masters. So…what’s it going to be?”

  The droid’s eyes shifted to Kriggler. It could’ve been my imagination, but it seemed as if he was looking at his hands. His skimmer.

  The droid’s arm blurred as it tore the pistol from its side. It whipped up. Two electric crackles split the air. A pulse round, sparking and hissing, flew up from the tip of the droid’s gun into the rafters as the droid himself flailed and fell backward. He slammed against the hard factory floor, his body still.

  Carl stood next to me, his own arm extended, pulse pistol in hand.

  I blinked, trying to understand what had just happened. “He… He…”

  “Would’ve shot you if I hadn’t done the same to him first?” finished Carl. “It would appear that way, yes. Either that or he’s a terrible marksman, something I find extremely unlikely given his synthetic status. Besides, if his systems were functioning properly, he wouldn’t have fired anywhere near you and Mr. Kriggler.”

  “I… But…”

  Dozens of lights flickered and blazed to life inside the factory. The whirr and clank of heavy machinery began to sound, but behind it, there was something else. A rolling drumbeat. A cascade of synthetic feet hitting the hard floor.

  Kriggler hefted his weapon. “Folks. We’ve got a problem.”

  24

  A herd of droids materialized from behind a conveyer belt fifty meters away on the factory floor. Carl grabbed me by the vest and threw me into the shadow of a stamping press as a flurry of pulse rounds crackled and hissed, ripping through the air like a swarm of angry bees. Kriggler dove in the opposite direction, rolling and taking cover behind a control station for the loading bay doors. He knelt and poked his rifle out around the edge of the station, cutting loose with a burst of combo rounds.