Silver-Coated Problems
Critch
The six men separated into their two groups after they left the docks. Critch's team had the more dangerous job, and he wouldn't have it any other way. His team was headed to Genics Corp's Smithton warehouse, where the organization stored its incoming and outgoing inventory near the space docks. Heid's Founder friend believed the fungicide was being stored there.
There were far too many unknowns in this plan for Critch to be comfortable. They had only an address to go on. No map of the place, no intel on security procedures. Hell, he didn't even know if this warehouse had a night shift. The way he saw it, they were running into a potential cluster fuck with their eyes closed and both hands tied behind their backs.
Nonetheless, if anyone could pull off two concurrent heists within the heart of Myr, these two crews could. He, Chutt, and Birk had worked alongside one another in close quarters for years. He trusted them and knew he could count on them to follow his lead.
Critch noticed how stiffly the older man moved now. But he knew Demes would be safe, because he had Sixx there to look after him. Critch had sparred with the runner back on the Honorless and found the man had the heart of a pirate. Critch knew he could count on him as long as he paid him well—and he promised to pay him plenty to keep the young tech safe.
He worried more about the risk of Reyne selling them out to the CUF. Critch clenched his fists, thinking about the man he would've gladly given his life for at one time. Vym had asked Critch to give his old mentor another chance. Critch had given his word, but that didn't mean he'd trust the runner.
He pulled up his collar against the damp winds blowing in from the sea. The sidewalks Birk led them down weren't busy at this hour, lowering the risk of someone noticing them as off-worlders. They walked a dozen blocks, past silver skyscrapers that pierced the sky like swords, until they reached the address they were looking for. The narrow, four-story building bore no logo.
"This is the one," Critch said quietly but loud enough for Birk to hear. Years spent as a pirate taught him that when someone downplayed their property, they were intentionally trying to avoid attention. That was the property he'd always go for first. The same was no different tonight.
Birk gave a quick nod and led them to the alley between the buildings across the street. Once in the shadows, Critch held up a hand to silence his men while he ran a scan for sensors. Several moments later, he let his hand drop. "Alley's clear."
He nodded toward the Genics Corp building. "They have motion and audio sensors at all windows and doors on the ground level. Looks like they don't want company coming in from the street."
Chutt smiled. "I'd say. Let's drop in."
Critch looked up at the roof. "My thoughts exactly."
The trio spent the next two hours breaking into the taller building next door and sneaking through hallways and up elevator shafts to get to its roof. From there, they shot a zip line over to the roof of the Genics Corp warehouse.
As Birk retracted the line, Critch scanned the roof to double-check for sensors. "It's clear."
He walked casually to the roof access door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He almost laughed at the ease of entry. The Myrads were too cocky for their own good. Sure, they had a space barrier, but he was still surprised no one on the surface felt like becoming a thief—or even a vandal—for the hell of it. He imagined Myr's police forces were likely focused entirely on catching runaway tenured.
"Easy pickings," Chutt said from behind Critch.
He turned to face Chutt and Birk. "Warehouse personnel are likely all tenured, so they won't put their lives on the line to protect inventory. Still, there's no need to draw any attention our way."
"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."