The Fringe Wars

1.25

"No problem," Chutt said, and Birk nodded.

He wagged his finger ahead. "Let's go."

They crept down a short stairwell to the fourth floor. Critch frowned as he took in the layout. As expected, each level had shelves lining its walls, with walkways around them. The problem lay on the other side of the innermost walkway, where a large opening cut straight through the center of the building. A machine on rails ran up and down all four stories as it moved crates from one floor to another floor.

There was little opportunity for them to move around without being in the open. He entered in new search criteria on his wrist scanner and then scanned the building's interior. Dots highlighted the only active sensors—all concentrated in a corner on the second floor. He crawled to the open center, got down on his stomach, and peered over the edge. Roughly a few dozen tenured workers, all in white lab coats, were inventorying and moving crates. Another four men wore familiar blue uniforms. Critch flattened himself on the floor and crawled back to Chutt and Birk's position.

"I counted four dromadiers down there."

Chutt scrambled to pull out his gun. "What the hell are they doing here?"

"Doesn't matter. The mission is still on," Critch replied.

"What do we do about them?" Birk asked.

"We take them out first," Critch said. He scanned the warehouse for ideas. His eyes locked onto the massive machine moving up the center of the building.

He smiled.

"I have a plan."

*

It took Critch, Chutt, and Birk fewer than ten minutes to work out the details of Critch's startlingly simple plan.

On third floor, they acquired three white lab coats to blend in. Unfortunately, the tenured workers they came across didn't volunteer their jackets as easily as expected and had to be quietly drifted by breaking their necks.

Once they had their camouflage, Chutt split off from their group and headed down three flights to the ground floor in search of the janitorial closet, also known as a demolition expert's workshop. Critch and Birk hid for five full minutes before they took the stairs to the second floor to play their parts.

They found it easy to walk around the floor as long as they kept a wide berth from other workers. Walking side-by-side, they performed quick reconnaissance. Two guards stood at the corner where their payload would be while the two other guards separately made their rounds, walking opposite directions of one another, across the floor.

Ready to make their move, Critch nodded to Birk, and they split up. Critch meandered toward their payload while Birk headed for the opposite end of the floor, which was the only spot where the two guards making rounds would pass one another.

Critch looked down to not draw attention to his scarred face. He came to a stop before the dromadiers when he saw their boots.

The soldier to his left waved him off. "Move it, chump. This area's off limits."

Critch lifted his face. The two soldiers grimaced. "Damn. What happened to—"

As soon as Critch heard Birk's first shot, he fired both his guns at the same time. The pair of dromadiers fell, dead, with shocked looks on their faces. He pulled his guns out from his lab coat. Each pocket now bore a burnt hole.

Someone gasped nearby, and he swung around to find a tenured watching him, her eyes wide.

"You scream, you die," Critch said calmly, leveling his guns on her.

She nodded before taking slow steps back from him. After several paces, she turned and ran.

Critch holstered one of his guns and pinged Chutt. "Now."

"Boom-Boom is on the machine. You have sixty seconds."

"Good," Critch reported. "See you at the RP."

"Ready?" Birk asked as he reached Critch.

Shouts erupted across the floor, and he noticed that more workers had discovered Birk's and Critch's handiwork. He yelled out to the tenured workers. "This place is going to blow. You'd better run."

They ran.

Critch motioned to the fungicide. Birk grabbed a crate. An alarm blared. When Critch stepped forward to grab a second crate, his gaze fell on the single metal box stored within a refrigerated unit next to the fungicide. Making a split-second decision, he grabbed the box, and they ran.

They sprinted to catch up with the other workers, blending into the small mob by the time they were out the front door. The first police craft had already arrived. Critch and Birk stayed with the group of workers until the mob slowed to a stop on the street. The two pirates broke off and ran toward the nearby alley.

Someone called out after them, but they kept running. A second later, the shouts were drowned by an explosion. Critch and Birk were thrown to the ground, and a massive wind of heat blew over them. With his ears ringing and suffering from vertigo, Critch climbed to his feet and then helped Birk to his feet. They grabbed their cargo and closed the few remaining feet to the alley where they found Chutt waiting for them.

He bore a wide grin. "Nice boom-boom, eh?"

Critch peeked around the corner to see a pile of burning debris where the warehouse had stood seconds earlier. Bodies lay strewn across the street, though no one was moving. He turned back to Chutt. "You blew up half the viggin' block."

Chutt shrugged. "You said to cover our tracks."

"That you did," Critch concurred.

Birk eyed the box in Critch's arms. "That's not the fungicide."

Critch glanced down. "No, it's not. It's Plan B."