“Bring me a spare battery for your hover loader. I have an idea," Jaisen breathed into Riordan's ear. Ten minutes later the module was sitting on one of the small tables bolted to the floor around the periphery of the rec room.
“So, it’s not ‘listening’?” Riordan asked.
“Nope, it’s just a telemetry tracker. It reports your position in real time. I think they are on to you. Whatever is in that case, they want it,” Jaisen gently lifted the device and wrapped a last piece of EVA tape to secure the battery to the module. He gently placed it in his duffel bag with his tools.
“What are you going to do with it?” Riordan asked.
“I told you I have an idea. It might buy you some time. My advice to you is to ditch the case somewhere public where it’ll be found and get the hell out of this sector. You don’t need this level of heat.”
***
Jaisen calmly walked down the gangway. He was dressed in his work uniform, a bright green polo shirt, and technician's pants. He carried his green duffel bag. He paused at a closed bulkhead and waved his security badge. The door hissed open. He made his way down the long port way and stopped at the last airlock. He pressed the visitor button. A few moments later a large man in a suit opened the airlock door.
“Jaisen Folyn, locksmith and safe master. I have an appointment for a locking mechanism replacement on an MK23 safe," he said to the imposing man. He held the duffel bag open for a cursory search. The man looked, seeing nothing but tools and parts.
“One moment,” the man said. He spoke briefly into his holocon. He nodded and escorted Jaisen onto the ship. Jaisen took one last look down the gangway to make sure it was clear before he stepped onto the ship. ‘The shize Riordan gets me into,’ he thought as the airlock closed behind him.
***
“Sir, the ship has departed the station!” The young leftenant called out to the captain.
“What? Did he file an amended flight plan?” Captain Shepherd asked, leaning forward in her seat. She watched the tracking marker move rapidly toward the edge of the system.
“Negative, Sir. Should we recall the strike team?” the leftenant asked.
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“No, notify the team leader that Riordan has departed the station and to continue with the mission. They won’t find the case, but they can still get the locksmith. Something must have spooked him. We’ll go after Riordan when the team completes their mission. Helm, maintain our current position.”
***
The anonymous shuttle edged closer to the docking arm. The airlocks mated with a clang as the metallic air of the station filled the small craft. The men readied their weapons. They left their military-issued equipment and gear back on the Hugo. They dressed in a motley assortment of second-hand clothing, nothing out of the norm for the poorer spectrum of citizens in the Occupied Territories. The team leader brought up the map of the station on his holocon. The images projected directly onto his retina showed the exact location of their target. He sent the map to the other men's devices.
“We got a FRAGO, the Swindler departed the station an hour ago. Proceed with the capture of Jaisen Folyn. Once the target is acquired, place the charges at the pre-selected locations and transition to phase two. Slowly make your way back here to this ship. Once we are away, we blow the charges on the orbital engines. Clear?” the team leader asked. He received a chorus of positive responses.
He looked over his team. These men were the best of the best, hand-picked for their willingness to follow orders and their predilection for murder. Sadly, he lost several in the attack on the Gypsy Rose. I won’t lose anyone today, he vowed.
***
Shortly after Jaisen left, Riordan sent an encrypted message to another contact at the station. A response came back almost at once; time and place. With a few hours to kill, a little shopping was in order. Grabbing an empty sea bag, he headed out to the station's bazaar. Somebody had murdered three people fleeing a crippled ship and installed a tracker on his. To say his paranoia meter was pegged would have been an understatement. He needed insurance, and not the kind 'Farmers' could sell him.
He worked his way through the stalls crowding the bazaar. Originally a shuttle hangar, the station had expanded over the decades. To facilitate increased traffic, they installed a docking arm, and the auxiliary hangar deck was repurposed. He wandered, buying items he needed, and some items he didn't, to blend in.
When the meeting time approached, he ducked down a maintenance corridor. He doubled back a few times to make sure he wasn't being followed. He almost ran into a small group of 'spacers. They supported one of their fellows who'd had too good of a time. They looked lost, constantly referring to a holocon and conferring amongst themselves. Thankfully, they chose a direction that led them away from where he concealed himself in the shadows behind some duct work.
A few minutes later, he found himself waiting anxiously in a maintenance space, mostly occupied by environmental control machinery and waste reclamation vats. It was dark, humid, and loud—the perfect place for a clandestine meeting. He caught a furtive movement and watched as a figure emerged from the darkness. The form was slim, wearing a well-worn hooded jacket and baggy pants remade from an oversize brown flight suit. The person appeared to be wearing a pack. They stopped a few meters away and pushed their hood back.
"Shize," Riordan exclaimed in surprise.