The prisoner had no poisons. But he had several syringe-tubes of different colors and without markings in the most unexpected places. Under his armpit, a holster with a small blaster was found. And behind the top of a high boot – a heavy knife, suggesting military intelligence.
The prisoner did not answer Nemo's remark. He was tensely thinking about something.
"Listen, we could play silent games for a very long time," the guy said without much interest, flexing his fingers, "but, as I said, because of you, I'm losing time, and it's more valuable now than glitzerstim. You either answer my questions. Or I'll make you."
"Can you outdo a torture droid?" the prisoner asked. "I could use such a person."
"You can't afford my services," the guy smiled, "I'm asking nicely, for the last time. Introduce yourself."
"Everything has its price," the prisoner smiled back. There was no fear in his voice. "And everyone. Not everyone knows their true price... You can call me Troy, Mister Nemo."
"Mister Troy," the guy stood up, approaching the interlocutor within two meters, "I know my price. And that's why I'm saying: you can't afford it. What organization do you represent?"
"My own," Troy was openly amused. "I work for myself."
"Why do you need Jetro?" his tone shifted from friendly to cooler.
"And why do you, Mister Nemo?" the prisoner clarified with lively interest. His own situation bothered him no more than if he were sitting in a comfortable chair with a cup of caf. "Don't tell me it's for the cargo, you could have deceived poor Eugene. But not me."
"Is poor Eugene alive?" Nemo showed genuine interest. "And did he get what he wanted?"
"An accident happened to him," Troy sighed. "These racers from the lower levels... No idea about traffic rules. But I did what he asked. I didn't touch anyone with a finger. Why should I get my hands dirty myself, Mister Nemo?"
"So much the better for Fly," Nemo felt regret about Eugene's death, a bit of it. But he couldn't care about everyone, only about his own.
"Indeed, why," Nemo agreed with the prisoner. At least in words. "As for the Duro... He was carrying out my orders. You interfered with his plans and thus harmed me. However, we've strayed from the topic. Why do you need him?"
"No longer needed," if the prisoner could move, he would now wave away the mention of Jetro like a рекламный agent. "If he worked for you, Mister Nemo, then I need you."
"Then why do you need me?"
"And that's what I'll talk about only in a different situation," Troy grinned. "Free, without means of control, and in some cozy restaurant."
"You chose your situation yourself," Nemo said coldly, "and now you're feeling its consequences. Answer the question."
The answer was a smirk and silence.
"You are undoubtedly a strong person, Troy," Nemo began from afar, "both physically and spiritually. Trained, educated. I have no doubt you have a high pain threshold and torturing you is a thankless task. One could try to use the contents of your pockets on you. But I need you alive. For now. And before we move on to a more intimate stage of our acquaintance... Tell me..."
Pausing, he voiced the last superficial question that interested him:
"Are you behind Clark's murder?"
"Let's say so," the prisoner replied. "Does that change anything in your plans?"
"I'm putting the whole picture together," Nemo stroked his beard, "it's very important to know what happened at key moments, and who is behind what. You must agree, it's unpleasant if, besides you and this..."
He nodded towards the corpse lying near the machine.
"...subject, there were other forces."
"I don't know what subject you're talking about, but judging by your tone, he's no longer participating in the game," the prisoner didn't even turn his head to look at Larrius, the target client. "Other forces are my concern, not yours. You are needed for something else."
Nemo smiled.
"I'm needed by you?" he crossed his arms, "And yet you stubbornly refuse to meet me halfway. Contradictory, isn't it?"
"It's you who don't want to meet me halfway, Mister Nemo," came the reply. "For some reason, you think that way you've gained the right to dictate terms to me. Notice, you were treated differently. All you got were handcuffs, and even then as a result of your resistance. No one stunned you, tied you up, or threatened you with torture."
"They threw a detonator into my room," the guy said with a smile, "after they blew up the door, tried to throw a glop grenade, then fired a couple of bursts. Eugene tried to beat me up. Should I continue the list of how differently I was treated?"
His voice changed to a rough one, his gaze from good-natured became sharp and hard.
"And I'm not threatening torture. I'm warning you."
"There's a term, Mister Nemo – zeal without understanding," Troy paid no attention to the smuggler's sharp tone. He himself seemed to be having a polite conversation. "Eugene attacked you and was punished for it. He had other instructions. Your escort was ordered to deliver you alive and unharmed. They will be punished. If they are still alive."
"So many people are around who don't follow instructions correctly," Nemo said more to himself than to Troy, "and poor Clark... Did he also sin against you in some way?"
"He didn't want to cooperate," he said in a tone used when talking about a starlet changing lovers.
"You know, Mister Troy," the kontr sat in a pose usually associated with thugs, "there's a term – irreversible consequences. I try to avoid them whenever possible. You don't. We could talk for a long time, but my stomach tells me I need to eat. And you... You can sleep for now."
With these words, he temporarily disabled his interlocutor through the Force.
The prisoner went limp. A bright spot flashed behind the container, then disappeared into the depths of the hangar.
Nemo plunged into the Force, first he needed to find and see Larrius. Then talk to Bus, then deal with Troy.
The mercenary sat nearby on an empty crate. She was tossing and catching an object resembling a melted piece of glass. Sensing the smuggler's approach, the woman turned her head.
"What do you intend to do with him?"
"First, search him more thoroughly, then talk again, after... If he doesn't cooperate, I'll hit him mentally and while he's recovering, I'll get all the necessary information directly from his memory. As for what to do with him after..." Nemo hesitated. "You have more valid reasons to decide this."
"What do you want for him?"
She didn't ask how much. That question had a completely different significance for her. For her brother's killer, she was ready to pay not only with money.
Nemo looked at the girl with sadness. In the end, he understood the emotions she was experiencing. But he knew he didn't fully.
"I don't need anything from you for this. You helped Jetro. Jetro trusts you, and therefore, you are one of us. And I don't demand payment from my own," he faltered, "but... I'm planning an expedition. If you decide to lie low, I'd be happy to see you... you, on the team. I... have something to learn from you. But please, don't do it as payment. You owe me nothing."
"What equipment is needed?" Bus asked, appearing nearby.
"Later," Larrius stopped him. "Then I'll have a request... when he's no longer needed by you, sell him to me. For a credit. So that he hears it."
The woman gave a forced smile, and it was the first display of emotion Nemo could see from her.
"I want him to know his true price..."
"Sold," he smiled, "Bus, I need a small favor from you. Or from both of you. I need food. Something that looks and smells like food. When he wakes up, I want to start breaking him. With such a tool, it will be much easier."
"Food that looks and smells like food?" the kushiban wondered. "That's something special..."
"I'll order delivery," the mercenary nodded. "I have to celebrate a successful double order..."
"Excellent, then it's settled," Nemo nodded, putting his hands in his pockets, "then I'll go and gut the guest."
The first thing Nemo did was to run the Force through his clothes again, looking for unpleasant surprises for pickpockets and scavengers. Undoubtedly, Troy was a person who could leave a big nasty surprise for the one who defeated him as a parting gift.
He had already taken everything out of Troy's clothes. It remained to sort through the findings. Syringe-tubes, a holster with a concealed blaster. A pleasant and sometimes necessary item, though not very powerful. Lastly, he took out the heavy knife, admiring it like a child. There was something about it... Beautiful, graceful, and at the same time deadly. Although he himself always preferred a blaster.
Taking the first tube, he looked at it with interest, immersing himself in the Force, assessing its contents and the danger emanating from it.
The white, translucent liquid shimmered slightly. Just a few drops, but the Force said that each of them was deadly.
Poison... Or a specific medicine taken in microgram doses. Or medicine for aliens. He looked at the other tubes, searching for a pair. The antidote should have been here. It could have been here.
It was indeed found – in the form of a similarly tiny syringe. Only the liquid in it turned out to be pink. And no less poisonous.
Well. It seemed Troy was quite an experienced poisoner. The very thought of poisoning an opponent was disgusting to Nemo. He would have preferred a duel to such a vile way of settling scores. He had learned one thing clearly. He would never go to a restaurant with this person, not for anything.
Putting both tubes aside in pairs and remembering the colors, he took the next one for study. Which turned out to be an antidote to the second tube.
How elegant...
No, even if he was negative about it, what cunning and treachery did the person who carried such a thing possess... The tube was transparent. The possessor was a very confident person. From poison to antidote was only a few tones.
Putting three tubes aside, he took the knife in his hands, studying it. Such a weapon could carry some clues about its owner, as could the blaster. However, this was unlikely.
The knife was clearly in use. The matte dark coating was worn, scratches were visible in places, the semi-soft plastic that coated the handle bore traces of blows. But the blade was impeccably sharp. The handle turned out to be hollow, with tools that pleasantly surprised Nemo. Given the traces of a worn-out number, this weapon was once either in the military or near-military circles. Admiring the beast on the handle, he decided to keep it for himself. Like the blaster.
Afterward, it was decided to return to the remaining three syringe-tubes. The Force suggested that the transparent red contained a sleeping pill, the yellowish one – an unknown stimulant. The last, the sixth, was surprising, containing life. It was amazing and scary. Scary how such a small creature could be used. There were many options, and one more terrifying than the other.
Putting the blade aside, Nemo looked at Troy with interest. A smile almost appeared on his face. Almost. Was the man from Mandalore? Or did he get that knife in battle? Taking his blaster in his hands, he weighed it in his palm, then placed it on the hood of the car. For the next stage of their acquaintance, he needed strength. But before recovering, he decided to run through the stranger through the Force one more time. He was too confident... In salvation? It gave the counter no peace. The beacon could lead unwanted guests to him. He began to search for glints of energy in Troy's body, other than nervous or any other activity.
The desired beacon was found under the collarbone. It hid under the skin, protruding only as a tiny bump, more like a pimple mark than the result of an operation.
It was urgent to change location. Nemo reached for the beacon through the Force, looking for a way to disable it. It could be useful in the future, which meant destroying it was premature.
"Larius, Bus," Nemo said in a calm voice. It was too late to be nervous and pointless, "we have problems. Mr. Troy had a beacon on him."
The mercenary appeared next to him somehow very imperceptibly.
"Did you turn it off? Too bad... Now we have to leave. And quickly."
At that moment, a bike flew into the hangar door.
"Yeah, well," Nemo agreed belatedly, snatching Troy's blaster and diving behind the car. Now he could stop fooling around. Especially considering that small blasters have a small number of charges. He looked through the cabin glass at who was on the bike. Although he suspected that his new heavy blaster had been brought.
Larius didn't move, and neither did the kushiban.
"Your order, ma'am," a clear boyish voice called out to them. A large box landed on the plascrete. "Wow, you're pinching someone here... It's a fruitful day today, isn't it? I won't disturb you."
The bike turned and flew back out, leaving Nemo and the mercenary alone with their business.
It was unclear what annoyed the counter more: the fact that he looked like an idiot, or that he most likely wouldn't get the blaster. Returning to Troy, he began to quickly unhook him from the container.
"Bus, into the car," the mercenary picked up the delivered box, closed her eyes for a moment, and threw it into the trunk.
"And they didn't even slip in a single grenade," she grumbled. "Although rumors about a double order have already spread..."
Slamming the trunk shut, she headed for the container to help Nemo move the stunned Troy into the car.
"I'm driving," after Troy was in the car, Nemo went to the driver's seat, "I have a hangar rented for a week."
"Which they probably already know about," the mercenary shook her head, sitting next to him. "I wouldn't risk it. There are places where no one goes..."
"There are," Nemo agreed. "Except I'm usually just passing through on this planet. Tell me where to go."
"Now - straight," Larius replied seriously. "Then to sector Jar, a barge exploded there recently. What could be salvaged has been salvaged, and nothing has been built yet."
"Sector Jar, understood," Nemo didn't speed up or drive recklessly. Instead, he tried to stay in the shadow of the freighters, occasionally changing lanes. Not to break the rules and not to attract attention. It's simple.
The crash site was visible from afar. Judging by the scar left behind, the barge was loaded with explosives to the brim. And a little more on top. A crater gaped in the center, and ruins were visible closer to the edges. The surviving buildings around the crash site looked with broken windows, but here and there new transparisteel was already gleaming.
"Land in the ruins," Larius advised, glancing at the deck.
The guy carefully directed the car towards the ruins.
"It's desirable to find a room without too many cracks," he said, studying the landing surface.
"It won't work without cracks here," Bus replied from the back seat. "But it's almost a kilometer to the nearest ears. No one will hear if we get into that nice little basement..."
An image of a half-destroyed arch and a dark void beneath it appeared in Nemo's mind. A similar place was visible a little ahead and slightly to the right of the course.
Smoothly turning towards the arch, Nemo began to reduce speed and altitude. After a few seconds, the speeder smoothly descended, approached the arch just above the ground, and stopped completely near the entrance to the basement. To avoid unnecessary risk, he turned the car so that the door with Troy faced the entrance to the room.
Getting out of the car, the guy was about to grab his blaster, but changed his mind. He listened to the Force, to see if anyone was inside.
"I'll keep watch," the kushiban jumped over the back of the driver's seat and sprawled comfortably on the car's dashboard.
"It's clear in there," Larius got out of the car and opened the rear door. "You take your loot, and I'll take the box down. And if they gave me bad wine, I'll find those who ordered it."
"Maybe just punch him in the jaw?" Nemo smiled, taking Troy's body on his shoulder, "sometimes that leads to mutual understanding better than a hole between the eyes."
With these words, he slowly walked forward, switching from normal vision to the Force. Better than fumbling in the semi-darkness.