"Felicity sent me. I'm looking for Ziggi," Jaxon said, keeping the conversation to a minimum.

"Door down hall," she said in broken English and pointed to the right.

Jaxon nodded. "Thanks," he said, peering into the room behind her. From his vantage point, he could see at least nine other women in similar orange jumpsuits, also wearing dust masks. They were lined up along several banks of countertops, sorting what appeared to be Universal Credit bills. As he attempted to see further into the room, the Asian women stepped back and slammed the door.

At least he was heading in the right direction, Jaxon thought. As he continued through the corridor, he reviewed what he just saw. Ten women wearing jumpsuits very similar in color to the standard medium of exchange in the outer ring, splattered ink covering their fronts. If he didn't know any better, he'd have sworn that they were counterfeiting in that room.

No, he thought. Not my mission. I need to find Ziggi and ... Whitetail.

Finally, Jaxon came to another door that bore the number 961. Jaxon knew instantly that he was in the right place, as the room number was part of his five-digit access code. He knocked, and without waiting, threw open the door.

Not knowing what to expect, Jaxon stood in the open doorway and stared into a relatively small, cluttered room. It couldn't have been more than three or four meters wide and deep, and the ceiling wasn't much higher. At the center of the room sat an industrial-style desk with a metal top and drawers. There was wire shelving stacked floor to ceiling around the perimeter of the room. The room was vacant.

Jaxon leaned back into the hallway and peered as far as he could see in both directions. He was alone.

He stepped in and closed the door, then began rummaging through the contents of the shelves. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, but with the name Whitetail, he figured the pills, assuming the dose was in pill form, would at least be white in color.

On the first stack of shelves, he found several plastic bins with cellophane bags filled with a dingy white substance. Figuring it was either heroin or cocaine, he moved on. The next set of shelves was filled with bottles of pink and black pills, and they at least had the label X in some designer font.

Jaxon continued rummaging through bin after bin, shelf after shelf, finding every imaginable drug known, and some unknown. Nothing jumped out at him, saying: Hey, look. I'm Whitetail!

The last wall of shelves had only boxes. He began flipping open the tops and found proof of his earlier suspicion. He found banded stacks of freshly minted universal credits. He combed through several stacks and found that their printing numbers had consecutive serial numbers.

All this, and no Whitetail, Jaxon thought. Perhaps Ziggi wasn't the man that he needed to talk to after all.

Jaxon returned the stacks of credits to the box and put it back on the shelf. A second after he released the box handle, the door swung open and in stepped a tall, rather spindly man.

"Who are you?" he demanded, shutting the door behind him. As he waited for Jaxon to respond, his hand rested on a weapon strapped to his waist.

"Hi there. Name's Graham. I was just up at the casino, and Felicity sent me down here and said I could talk to Ziggi. Are you him?" Jaxon asked, trying not to appear threatening.

"I am. But you shouldn't be here, certainly not alone," Ziggi said, maintaining contact with his weapon.

"Hey," Jaxon said, holding his hands up in protest. "I'm just looking for a good time. I asked Felicity where I could score some Whitetail, and she gave me your name with the number 50961. So? Here I am. I have-"

"No Whitetail here. I'm calling security now," Ziggi said, moving to the corner of the desk, where a small communication device sat.

"Listen, Ziggi. I'm not looking for any trouble. I'm really not. My wife and I are just looking for something new and fun, and all of my friends said to give this Whitetail a try. Honestly, I don't know what they're all talking about, and we're here on kind of a second honeymoon and ..." Jaxon stopped, as he'd moved closer. He shot his hand toward Ziggi's throat, his fingers rigid. He could feel Ziggi's trachea snap upon contact.

Ziggi fell to the floor in agony. He dropped the communication device and clutched his throat as he fought for air. His gasps for life quickly turned to gurgling.

"Now, listen here, Ziggi. I'm going to ask you this just once. I'm looking for Whitetail, and I need to know where I can find it. Do you understand?" Jaxon asked, placing his hand firmly on Ziggi's shoulder, holding him down to the ground.

Ziggi nodded, his gurgling turning to wheezing.

"Great. Now, tell me what I need to know. Can I find Whitetail here on Delta Station?"

Ziggi shook his head slowly, the pain evident with every movement.

"If I move on to Upsilon Station, will I have any luck finding Whitetail there?" Jaxon asked.

Again, Ziggi shook his head from side to side.

Jaxon exhaled loudly. "Oh, Ziggi. Perhaps I impaired your voice too soon. I so wish I could just ask you where we could find it, and you could just tell me, isn't that right?"

Ziggi nodded, and he attempted to speak. A gurgling yelp passed his lips before he spat blood to the floor.

"Well, I guess we are going to have to do this the slow way." Jaxon gripped Ziggi by the back of his shoulders and yanked him to his feet. He thrust him against the side wall before he bounced down behind his desk. Forcefully, he sat Ziggi in his office chair and scanned across the desk for a pen. Finding what he was looking for, he placed it in front of Ziggi and said, "Write. I want you to tell me the closest station where I can find Whitetail. Then, I need you to write down the location of where it's being made. Do you understand?"

Ziggi picked up the pen and began to write. Jaxon stood behind him, holding his neck firmly as he read the words coming out of Ziggi's pen.

Omega Station. Then Ziggi dropped the pen to the desk.

"What's this? Is this where it's made or where I can find it?" Jaxon asked.

Ziggi quickly picked up the pen and wrote out the word Made. He looked up at Jaxon, his eyes pleading for mercy.

"Well, Ziggi, that's quite extraordinary. I really would like to thank you for your assistance here. But I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it out of here if I leave you alive. What do you think, Ziggi? Do I have to enforce your silence permanently?"

Ziggi vehemently shook his head, fear spreading deep into his eyes.

Jaxon didn't recall seeing Omega Station on the list from Evans. He wondered if Ziggi was telling the truth or if he was leading him into a trap. As Jaxon contemplated this, Ziggi's hand disappeared beneath his desk, and by the time Jaxon noticed, it was too late. The warning alarm began to blare throughout the station. He knew then that he wouldn't be leaving the station of his own volition.

Aggravated by the battle that was certainly ahead of him, Jaxon raised his arm high above his head and brought it down firmly, connecting his elbow and forearm hard on the back of Ziggi's head. Ziggi slumped over his desk, unconscious.

Jaxon rushed to the door and bolted out into the hallway before sprinting toward the elevator. He figured that if the alarm had just sounded, it would take a fair bit of time before security realized where the danger really was. He hoped that'd give him enough time to at least get into the elevator or possibly find a back stairway.

As he continued sprinting through the curved hallway, he flew by the printing room; thankfully, the door was still closed. Jaxon continued to be astonished at the meager level of security on the level, especially with all the illicit activities occurring. Then he remembered the automatic machine gun that lowered from the ceiling. He knew instantly that there would be no way for him to get through that final corridor and into the elevator without getting shot by the automatic defense system. He stopped in his tracks and decided to backtrack to possibly find another way out, anything that would prevent him from moving through that main entrance to the level.

Jaxon ran in the opposite direction, and as he approached the printing room again, he noticed the door open, and he quickly flattened himself against the side wall and strafed up to the edge of the opening. As he ducked his head in, a fist came directly at his face, connecting firmly on the bridge of his nose. First, his vision turned red as the blood gushed. Then it turned to darkness as he fell to the ground, out cold.

46.

Camille burst through the oak doors of The Pleasure Gauntlet, anger in her eyes. She continued past several barely dressed hookers, and their soliciting customers, heading directly for the Madame.

"Where the hell is my husband?" Camille demanded. "We were supposed to be here on our honeymoon, and he said he was coming down to the promenade for a drink. I've been asking all day, and everybody keeps telling me he came in here!"

A look of confusion and worry spread across Madame Elina's face. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I cannot be held responsible for the behaviors of men. What they do with their own lives is their business. Perhaps if you had a stronger relationship with your husband?" Madame Elina said sternly.

"Listen, you bitch. Tell me where I can find my husband this very instant or there'll be hell to pay," Camille said, portraying the role of a jealous spouse.

Madame Elina looked Camille up and down before speaking again.

"Listen, Missy. I'm not completely dispassionate to your pleas. I, too, was once a woman scorned. But you have to understand, of the hundreds of men that come through my door, only a small fraction of those are men that wander. I can't have you coming in here, making wild accusations. Perhaps if you describe your husband, I can tell you whether or not he's even here."

Camille stepped up to the podium and looked Madame Elina in the eyes. "He's just short of three meters tall, black hair, grayish eyes, and somewhat stocky. His name is-"

"I don't need a name, sweetie. Besides, we like to keep things anonymous. I remember seeing your man. He and another gentleman went back about forty minutes ago. Something about a threesome?"

"I think you're mistaken. My husband would never partake in anything so ... unthinkable," Camille said, pouring on the nave wife role thick.

"Regardless of what you think, I'm telling you what I saw. They left me two thousand credits as a retainer on her services and walked through that doorway," Madame Elina said. "Strangely, though, the younger gentleman that went back with them came back out shortly after. I don't think he was back there for even ten minutes."

"Well, tell me which room and I'll go get him myself."

"I don't think that's wise," Madame Elina said. "I should send somebody else back. You know, privacy concerns and all."

Camille stood in front of the podium, staring at Madame Elina. Although she'd hoped that she might be able to catch a glimpse of the horrors that Francisco described for herself, she knew it was a long shot being allowed back into the catacombs of the brothel on her own. Finally, not seeing any other resolution, Camille nodded.

"Okay, fine. But just don't tell him I'm out here. Make up something else, because I want to see his lying and cheating face when he sees me standing here," Camille said, confident that she sold the story well.

Madame Elina smiled scornfully before disappearing behind the velvet curtains.

Camille anxiously paced around the plush foyer of The Pleasure Gauntlet, fighting the urge to rush back and see the atrocities that Francisco had described.

After several minutes and no sign of Oliver, she began to think something might have gone wrong. She couldn't imagine what would cause such a delay getting Miles dressed if he, in fact, was in the sack with the hooker.

Suddenly, the dimmed lights brightened fully, and a strip of red began to flash at the junction where the wall met the ceiling. Faintly, she could hear a repeating alarm, honking on and off. Then, the entry doors burst open, and the sound level increased dramatically.

"What did you do?" Francisco asked, stepping in.

"I didn't do a thing," Camille pleaded. "I ... just told her a small fallacy to give her a little motivation on getting Miles out here."

"What did you say?" Francisco asked, concerned.

"Wasn't anything big. I just said that I was his wife and that I was irate that he was in here screwing one of her whores. See? Just a little lie."

Francisco whistled with astonishment. "Couldn't you have just said ... I don't know, maybe that you're colleagues, and the ship was getting ready to leave?"

Camille sulked and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I suppose. But my story had much more pizzazz."

"Not if she just called security on you for being a crazy, jealous, whack-job of a wife," Francisco pointed out.

"Yeah, well ... just wait outside and we'll be out in a minute ... hopefully." Camille hoped that she didn't jeopardize the mission with her antics.

No sooner than Francisco closed the front door, Oliver came stumbling through the curtains, followed by Madame Elina.

"... and I don't care if you were finished or not. The party's over!" Madame Elina said as she continued to chase after Oliver. "This him?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's my man," Camille said sullenly. "Did you sound the alarm because of me?"

"What? Oh, no. I don't know what that's for. Probably some brawl going on in the casino or who knows where else," Madame Elina said. "Now you two just get out of here. And honey, do yourself a favor and keep control of your man if you don't want him wondering back in here on his own."

Oliver looked at Camille with a confused look.

"Later," Camille said as she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out into the promenade.

As soon as they were out of Madame Elina's sight, Camille released Oliver and gave him a wink. A few moments later, Francisco joined them, flinching at each sound of the alarm.

"What's going on?" Oliver asked, tucking in his shirt.

"Not sure. We thought the Madame sounded the alarm after I came in asking for you. But ..." Camille said, trailing off. "But I think it might be something to do with Jaxon."

"Weren't you two supposed to be together?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah, but we split up after a fairly frightening ordeal. I'll explain later. Right now, I think we should get to the ship and activate his tracer."

"You activated his tracer?" Francisco asked. "You didn't tell me that."

"Slipped my mind," Camille said as she started toward the other end of the promenade.

Despite the loud sirens and the flashing lights, most of the patrons along the sidewalks were either oblivious to the impending danger, or they knew something that the team didn't know. Regardless, the grating sound caused just a bit more urgency in their step.

As soon as they made it to the grand staircase, the emergency must have been taken care of, because the lights returned to normal, and the blaring alarm ceased completely.

"Dammit," Camille said. "I wish there was a way we could communicate with Jaxon."

"I don't know. I think he'll be fine," Francisco said. "I know I've only known him for a few days, but ... I think he knows how to take care of himself."

Camille chuckled. "And sometimes, that's all he takes care of."

They climbed the stairs and made for the docking bay. Not surprisingly, the security getting out of the space station was nearly as strenuous as it was getting in. They each got a full pat down and body scan. Once they were cleared, they cycled through the airlock and were back in the Buddha.

"Clay, I need you to start tracking Jaxon's tracer. How sensitive is the reading?" Camille asked.

"If I remember my training well enough, I think it's based predominantly on proximity to the receiving device. If we're close, the sensitivity is tighter. Within a meter or two. But at a distance, I think we can scan for him up to a few thousand kilometers. But then, the accuracy is scaled proportionately."

"Great. I last left him on the fiftieth floor below us. We'll maintain dock until he's on board. But I want you to watch his every movement."

Francisco nodded and disappeared into the control room.

"Miles, I want you to get through your preflight check. Get everything ready to go, so the moment Jaxon comes aboard you're releasing the docking clamps. Something feels ... wrong. I can't put my finger on it, but I think ... I feel that we're in trouble."

"You got it, boss," Oliver said, following Francisco up the ramp.

Camille stood in the main hold for several minutes, contemplating her next move. She was reluctant to follow through with her next action, but she knew that she had to. She had to call this in.

She retreated to her quarters and withdrew a compact, long-range radio and fingered the mic.

"Bluto, come in. This is Olive Oil, do you read? Bluto, come in."