Read Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) for Free Online Page A

diplomat’s shoulder as the elevator door closed.
    Caylar put his fingers to his lips, indicating silence, before activating the elevator with the remote. We descended further.
    Caylar held Varney’s pistol ready and tapped the remote a few times. I held Simms’s pistol, knowing that if I discharged another round, I might not be able to endure the pain and remain conscious.
    Caylar said, “You’re on voice control if there’s any trouble. Try to get to the yacht. The Gilded Swan . L-X-K, zero, zero, eight.” He stopped. “You’ll find it.”
    This didn’t make sense. The Iron Armadillo was a sure thing. Whose yacht? Did he really think Silvre’s holo would fool the surveillance? They have infrared and motion sensors. And if the Armadillo ’s marines shot out the sensors, then why the holo-image?
    Caylar stood, awaiting my response. “Right,” I said. “ The yacht.”
    “Let’s go,” Caylar said, opening the door with the remote. He stepped out, checking left and right. He signaled for me to follow.
    “Bed, forward, one yard--damn, ummm, point nine meters per second, unless otherwise directed.” I’ve always hated I-Tech metrics. The bed moved forward. Caylar used his boot to nudge a security specialist lying prone next to a control station. No response so he moved on.
    I followed. “Bed, thirty degrees left…thirty degrees more left.” I looked around, lowered my firearm. “Bed, thirty degrees left.” I was falling behind. “Increase to two meters per second.”
    I followed Caylar past several shuttles and into a secondary hangar holding fewer than a dozen small vessels. Past a large corporate yacht, we came to a smaller one, maybe twenty yards long with at least two decks. The front ramp was down. The yacht’s smooth, tinted gold exterior and had ‘ Gilded Swan ’ scribed freehand in blood-red paint across its side. The vessel was even armed with a single-barreled pulse laser housed in a ventral ball turret. Impressive.
    Caylar came around behind me while I scanned the deserted hangar, for what it was worth. Thankfully, Caylar guided me up the ramp and into the space-faring pleasure vessel.
    The ramp retracted and the hatch slid closed. Lights switched on to reveal a spartan interior that included several fold down bunks, three padded reclining chairs, and a table. A storage area for cargo and supplies led back to a large door, probably to the engines and life support machinery.
    “We’re in,” shouted Caylar as he maneuvered my bed to the port side and locked the wheel mechanism. “After I check your diagnostic support equipment, I’ll have to strap you down.” He looped the restraints to the wall. “You don’t look so good.”
    He could have smiled while saying it. I took a breath and tried to ignore the splitting pain in my head, bad eye, and shoulder.
    From above, near the starboard side lift came an announcement. “The Armadillo has just departed.”
    I knew that voice! I fumbled for my pistol but Caylar placed a hand on it. “Not necessary,” he said.
    From the lift, Hawks’s former assistant, Mr. Loams, looked down. He appeared friendlier without his yellow tie. “No arm restraints for this trip, I hope?” He looked to Caylar. “I’ll request departure momentarily.” Mr. Loams disappeared after Caylar nodded in agreement.
    Caylar set the safety and placed the pistol back within reach. “Mr. Loams is, as you might say, our ace in the hold.”
    I listened to my nurse hum a light tune as he manipulated my support equipment. “Hole,” I corrected. I felt more pain meds entering my system. A good thing as my adrenaline was played out. “What was Silvre’s holo all about?”
    “Deception.”
    “It might fool the infrared. What about motion sensors?”
    “It’s A-Tech. I suspect it did, easily.”
    “Simms?” I asked.
    “He went down.” Any sign of mirth abandoned his voice. “Looked like he took a couple of shots to the legs, maybe one to the head.” He paused.