Dangerous Data (The Meridian Crew Book 2)

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  Dangerous Data

  The Meridian Crew | Book 2

  Blake B. Rivers

  Contents

  Dangerous Data

  Extras

  Witch Academy Box Set (1-4)

  The Plague Preview

  Exclusive Book For Book

  Unknown Cargo

  CHAPTER 1

  From her vantage point hundreds of feet over the main hall of the Titan Heavy Industry Concern headquarters, Amelia Durand realized, to her shock, that the number of enemy soldiers wasn’t simply a handful—it was dozens. Even from her nearly bird’s eye view of the enormous, Gothic cathedral-inspired hall, she could make out the imposing size of each of the troops. Carefully removing her lancer laser rifle from her back, she pointed the weapon down, looking through the scope at the troops that were gathered in the hall, noting their gleaming, chrome armor that exposed not a square inch of skin, as well as their jet-black weapons, all state-of-the-art pulse armament, as far as she could tell.

  These weren’t just any pirates—these were highly-trained commandos in gear that rivaled the Federation’s elite Scalpel Squads. Whoever they were, they were either the wealthiest pirates in the solar system, or funded by someone with enough money to train and equip them. Amelia didn’t like it, either way.

  “Little one,” spoke the strained voice of Benkei, grunting through his words. “Can you see our target?”

  Amelia scanned the floor of the hall, looking for anyone who wasn’t one of the soldiers. But from her position, crouched among the angles of durasteel support beams in the upper corner of the space, she wasn’t able to see who was closer to the front of the room, near the vast, curved windows that looked upon the planet Saturn, the swirling, brilliantly-colored sphere and its curving, dust-colored rings dominating the view.

  “Negative,” said Amelia, tucking the compact rifle back into her back holster, and resting her hands on her knees. “He’s gotta be here, but I can’t see up near the, uh, throne.”

  “Throne?” asked Benkei through another grunt.

  Amelia squinted and looked at the top of the wide set of stairs that led to the raised platform of the hall. Through the crowd, she could spot the golden, glistening embellishments at the top of the large chair where CEO Soldand Martel, their target, sat whenever he held meetings with visiting clients, mercenary groups, or any kings or princes of the many petty kingdoms that existed beyond the asteroid belt.

  “You know,” said Amelia, “big chair, golden, eight or so meters tall.”

  Another grunt sounded through the comms.

  “Not something you’d imagine finding in an industry magnate’s meeting room.”

  “It is when it’s this industry magnate.”

  Another grunt, this time followed by the sound of creaking metal.

  “What’s the word, big man?” asked Amelia, dropping down from her vantage point onto lower one.

  “Let’s just say, these equipment lockers aren’t the most spacious hiding places,” he said.

  Amelia looked forward at small ledge around five feet from where she was standing. Backing up slightly, she took as much of a running start as she could before leaping over to it, landing on the metal surface with the quiet of cat’s paws on carpet.

  “Is it the locker?” she asked, situating herself in her new spot. “Or the four packages of ramen that you’re shoving down every day at lunch?”

  A dry laugh sounded over the comms, followed by more creaking as Benkei adjusted in his hiding place.

  “I’ll go low-carb when we can actually afford vegetables and meat, how about that?”

  Amelia scanned the room once again, unable to see through the dense cluster of troops, their suits gleaming and segmented like medieval armor, their faces obscured through the black of their faceplates.

  Still, she couldn’t confirm the presence of their target. Her arms spread against the wall, her all-black, skin-tight sneaking suit blending in against the dark metal of the upper scaffolding, she glanced to her left. There was one more potential vantage point, but this one was nearly fifteen feet away.

  “I don’t suppose a few well-placed grenades would clear that room out?” asked Benkei.

  “You’ve seen the armor these guys are wearing,” she said, brushing a stray strand of coal-colored hair from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. “I don’t even know if a close-range blast from a particle shotgun would do any good.”

  “Still no clue as to who these mercs are?”

  “No idea,” she said, before taking in a slow, deep breath as she prepared to make the leap onto the final platform.

  “You know, I’m thinking they might be from that crew that’s based out of Eros.”

  Amelia tuned out Benkei as she stared at the exact point on the sharp, metal overhang that she’d need to land upon.

  “I don’t know what kind of tech they have these days, but they could be amassing so—”

  Amelia took the few steps back available as Benkei spoke, noting that she had even less take-off space than before.

  “…anyway, just a thought. Oh, by the way, did you ever get around to replacing that tea kettle of mine you broke? That was a twenty-second-century antique, you know…”

  Amelia ran the few feet, her stealth boots landing with silent footfalls directly in front of one each other with each of the four steps she was able to take. Then, with a tight spring and release of her calves, she leaped the distance.

  “…I know you didn’t mean to break it, but it was my favorite…“

  The air of the hall was cool against Amelia’s face as she arched through her jump. The ledge rushed closer to her, and she realized within an instant that she wasn’t going to be able to land on her feet. Shooting out her arms, she slammed into the impossibly hard side of the ledge, grabbing onto the pores of the grating, her feet dangling in the air.

  “…and if you wouldn’t mind, please talk to Sasha about not drinking my Macha. He keeps telling me that he only drinks coffee, but I know he’s been going through my supply…”

  Amelia’s glance shot down to the ground below her. It had to be a fifty-foot drop. And she knew that even if she was able to stick the landing, she’d be perforated by the troops within seconds. With a heave and a grunt, she pulled herself onto the ledge, her chest expanding and contracting, her blue eyes wide with fear from her brush with death.

  “Hey, are you even listening to me?” asked Benkei.

  “Yeah, tea. Got it,” said Amelia, feeling calmer than she did a moment ago.

  “Where are you? You see him yet?”

  Amelia squinted once again, and this time she was able to spot a snatch of crimson cloth through the sea of chrome and black. She whipped her rifle from her back and aimed it at the spot of red.

  Sure enough, it was him.

  Soldan Martel, one of the wealthiest shipping tycoons beyond the belt, was on his knees, his fleshy, goateed face in a look of terrified supplication as one of the soldiers – one that
was taller than the rest – paced the floor thoughtfully in front of him, a rifle that resembled an obsidian spear sling over his shoulder

  “Got him,” said Amelia, a small smile breaking out across her face.

  The two of them had been sneaking through the Titan complex for over an hour, and after more near-spottings than they hoped for, they finally had a bead on the target.

  “I don’t mean to be a wet blanket,” said Benkei. “But how, exactly, are you planning on getting him out of there?”

  A small, black control panel on the wall near Amelia caught her eye. She had a guess as to what it was, but didn’t want to get her hopes up. But when she accessed it and a series of three small monitors slid out of the top, her hopes were confirmed.

  “I’ve got an idea or two.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The battle mech was old, Amelia could tell that from the moment she switched to a garage camera that brought it into better view. She guessed that it was from the Federation’s expansion period, around a century ago, and well before she was born. But it was tall, well-maintained, and bristling with all manner of anti-personnel weaponry, outdated though it might be. And the tacky gilding that covered the mech in a gaudy, gold luster marked it as what it was, an antique straight out of Martel’s private collection.

  “B, have I got an antique for you,” she said, panning and zooming over the mech.

  “Unless it’s a replacement tea kettle, then I don’t think I’m interested.”

  “You will be interested, because this antique means you don’t have to hide in that locker for much longer.”

  A moment passed.

  “All right, tell me what you found.”

  “An old battle mech.”

  “How old?” asked Benkei.

  “Maybe a hundred years?”

  “Hm. Look at the shoulders. You see any fins?”

  Amelia tracked her eyes along the broad, bulky shoulders of the mech. Sure enough, the square shapes of the mech’s shoulders were embellished with gold, curved fins.

  “Yeah,” she said. “What about them?”

  Benkei let out a slow, impressed whistle through the comms.

  “The fins date them to Emperor McHale’s reign. He didn’t last very long, but he made sure that anything the Federation war factories turned out had enough unnecessary details on them to make them twice as expensive and half as effective.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Are you planning on doing more than appreciating?”

  “Much more than that,” she said, counting the guards in the room.

  “Hmm,” said Benkei. “Well, as much as I’d like to get out of this locker, I’m curious as to the last time you piloted a mech.”

  “Pilot? You just strap in and walk. A kid could do it.”

  “Famous last words. Then what’s the plan?”

  “Uh, there’s not a really a ‘plan’, so to speak. I’ll create a distraction, and you go in through the vents. I’m looking at the schematics now. It looks like from where you’re hiding, you can get into the main hall through them. Once the troops are distracted, you sneak in through the back, get the target, and then we blast our way out of here.”

  A moment passed.

  “I have to say, that plan doesn’t exactly leave much room for subtlety.”

  “We don’t need subtlety. We have a fifteen-foot-tall battle mech. Besides, if you’ve got something better. I’m all ears.”

  Amelia glanced over at Martel. The tall soldier was still pacing in front of him, and Amelia could make out the fleshy folds of Martel’s face move as he spoke.

  “Okay, then,” said Amelia, downloading the schematics to her slate and closing the terminal. “No time like the present.”

  “Whatever gets me out of this damn locker, I guess.”

  “I’m going in now. The garage is the next room over, so I shouldn’t be too long. Let me know when you’re in position.”

  Benkei let out a final, resigned grunt. Looking up, she saw the vent was about five feet above her, right where the schematics said it would be. Accessing the schematics on her slate, she bypassed the station’s security defenses and unlocked the vent, the black grate opening with a computerized chirp.

  Taking one look around to make sure she hadn’t yet drawn attention to herself, she leaped up, grabbed onto the side of the vent, and pulled herself into the narrow, dark passage. Crawling forward, one arm after the other, she moved through the long space, toward a small square of light a hundred or so feet away.

  “B, you there?” she asked, grunting with each drag forward.

  “You’re kidding me with this vent, right?” he asked, his voice hushed.

  In the small barracks where Benkei had been hiding, he looked into the vent, realizing that it would be nearly impossible for his body to fit in there.

  “Come on, big man,” said Amelia. “You’ve got a hundred feet to go, tops, before that main hall. Just get yourself all snake-like and wriggle through.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” he said, one eye on the door to the small, locker-room-style barracks where he had been hiding. “You’re about a third my size.”

  “Well, unless you want to knock on the front door, make it work.”

  Benkei grumbled, shaking his head as he looked at the vent. Knowing that Amelia was right, he went to work on the vent, prying it open with his multi-tool, bypassing the security. The vent creaked open, and he looked down it once more, shaking his head and running his large hands over his black, glossy hair, before walking back to the locker where he had been hiding.

  Ensuring the one he had been in was just as he found it, he opened the locked next to his, where Madchen, his Toro plasma rifle, was stored.

  “Sorry, girl,” he said, grasping the gun by the barrel and looking over the weapon, paying special attention to the battery cable.

  But just as he finished, he heard a pair of murmuring voices from just outside of the door. His eyes shot to the vent just as the door hissed open. He started for the vent, but before he could even cover a few feet, the door to the barracks slid open, a pair of chrome-clad soldiers stepping in, just as Benkei was able to leap over the row of lockers, reaching the other side right as the troops entered.

  “Okay, seriously, is she gonna kill this asshole, or what?” asked one of the troops, his voice spoken trough sharp static via his helmet mouthpiece.

  “Christ, no kidding,” responded the other, the boots of the men clanking with each step. “I don’t know how much longer I can listen to this clown beg for his life.”

  Benkei grasped his fingertips the power cable that dangled from Madchen, taking the white cord into his fingers and, the rest of his body stone-still, a trickle of sweat darting down his face.

  A pair of metallic clanks sounded through the locker room as the two troops sat down on the bench in front of the row of lockers.

  “He’s stalling, I think,” said the first soldier.

  “You’re probably right. I say we just plug him and raid this place. Gotta be enough gear and art to sell for some good money.”

  “Maybe, but you got any idea how much cash this guy’s worth? Billions.”

  “Yeah, but shit lot of good it does us, if we can’t get at it.”

  Benkei, now holding the connecting plug of the battery pack between his fingertips, moved it with care toward the port on Madchen.

  “Oh, she’s got something in mind,” said the first soldier said. “There’s more ways than one to get into someone’s brain.”

  “Then why didn’t she do it from the goddamn get-go?” asked the second soldier.

  “Because it’s really messy.”

  “Oh,” said the second. “In that case, I really hope she does it soon.”

  “Psycho,” said the first.

  Benkei slipped the cable into the port on Madchen, the plug sliding in with a satisfying click.

  Then a loud hum. A very loud hum.

  “Huh,
what was that?” asked the first soldier, as the two of them clanked to their feet.

  “It’s on the other side of the locker.”

  The first troop gestured to the second—a finger in front of the mouth for silence, and a curving motion with his hand that indicated the second to go around the other side.

  Benkei watched as the power meter on Madchen went up in ten percent increments. Slowly.

  “Faster, girl,” he whispered, louder than he intended.

  But before he could even chide himself for speaking aloud, the pair of troops appeared, one at each side of the locker room. They pointed their rifles directly at Benkei.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked the second.

  “Ah, hello, fellow soldiers,” said Benkei, rising to his feet and placing his hand on the back of his neck. “I’m one of you, of course. Just wanted to, ah, get out of that armor for a while. Don’t tell the boss.”

  The second solder looked at the first, as though waiting for an answer as to how to deal with this obvious intruder.

  “Blast him,” said the first.

  But right at that moment, the power display on Madchen filled to a hundred percent. The first soldier fired his rifle, the crack-hiss of laser sounding before the red streak connected with the bench right in front of Benkei, cutting it in half, the acrid smell of superheated metal filling the air. The second soldier fired just as Benkei rolled over the bench, the metal singing his arm. Once on his feet, he leveled Madchen and cracked off a shot, the emerald bolt of plasma connecting with the first soldier’s neck and sending him flying into the wall.

  Then he turned his aim, bringing into his sights the second soldier and fired again as the soldier fumbled with his aim. The bolt connected as true as the first, hitting the soldier square in the chrome span of his chest plate. Benkei rose, strapping Madchen to his back.

  “’Hello, fellow soldiers’?” asked Amelia.

  “Hey, I never said I was good at improvisation.”