A gloomy faced, dark haired young man gave a yawn as he stared up at his computer screens, munching idly on some chips he’d just retrieved form the pantry. He’d finally just gotten some sleep, yet was vexed to find himself more tired when he woke up than before he went to bed. His boosted Mental Energy allowed him to last longer than an ordinary man, though to be honest, he’d been supplementing with non-medical stimulants. Nothing too crazy, so as to not fry his brain, but enough that he’d been able to incur an unreasonable sleep debt that he wouldn’t be paying off soon.

  Case in point was the message he’d just gotten. He’d just been considering getting a few more hours when old man Marcovi had dropped a new project into his lap. Apparently one of his cats had escaped her captors, and he’d been called in to provide some support. His eyes read the message carefully, growing ever more tired as he did. They wanted him to do what? Hack the government’s spy database? That would be awkward. Breaking in directly wouldn’t be too hard, especially considering the monitoring software they’d installed. The trick was not getting caught. Having the breach traced back to him or exposing the monitoring software would be inconvenient.

  As he read further, however, the hacker’s mouth thinned into something that resembled a grin. The boss had thought of all of this and had given him a lead. With that info, it should be possible.

  Cracking his knuckles, he got to work.

  …

  Jordan let out a relieved breath as he stepped outside of the cramped safehouse, squinting slightly in the bright morning light. The single story, concrete building had originally been a convenience store. It’d gone under and was bought and repurposed by one of his father’s friends. Now it operated more like a disaster shelter that he and his friends were using as a safehouse. It would give them time to lay low and figure out a permanent solution to the Marcovi problem. Not to mention their other, newer conundrum.

  Inside the building, more than two dozen people milled about in close confines. They were playing cards, chatting, and more or less doing everything they could to keep their minds off the sweltering summer heat. The building had air conditioning, but it was one of the few things the owner had yet to upgrade. The house’s overpopulation, alongside the heat of the day, meant that no one inside was terribly happy. Unfortunately, it was too much of a risk for any of the women to wander around or get some air, since that was just begging to be recognized by a Sinachro agent. Shelter-in-place was the name of the game.

  Jordan gave a lazy salute to O’Riley, who returned the gesture rigidly. The blonde-haired man smirked at the seriousness of his colleague, before asking: “Any problems out here, old man?”

  “Negative. All quiet so far.” O’Riley responded, frowning thoughtfully.

  Jordan picked up on that expression immediately: “You’re telling me there’s good news, but your face says otherwise.”

  “Well, blondie, I was thinking. You know that truck we used to transport the civilians here?”

  Jordan nodded and O’Riley continued: “Well, it occurred to me that there might be some sort of tracking device in it. That truck was owned by the Sinachro. They aren’t known for letting things slip out of their grasp. Not without a fight.”

  Their original plan had been to steal a vehicle from the warehouse, drive away, then get in a car that they’d prepared ahead of time at the hotel. They’d ditched the van, switching it for the car, but they’d needed to keep the truck for obvious reasons. Two dozen people weren’t going to fit in a sedan.

  Jordan gave a cheeky half grin and clapped O’Riley on the shoulder: “Oh Devin, where is your faith in your old buddy Jordan? I’ve thought of that one. Remember how I had you drop us off a few blocks away?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  O’Riley grunted in affirmation, before Joran finished his thought: “Well, I had Ramirez and MacNeil double back and drive it to another safehouse. They’re unloading the gear and checking for any tracking devices.”

  Meanwhile, Gon, O’Riley, Stan and Jordan had stayed with their charges. Their safehouse was in a remote location on the edge of the city, where there were few functional security cameras or people, making it less likely they would be seen or reported. These were far from foolproof methods, but Jordan wasn’t planning on staying here permanently anyways. He just needed to buy a bit of time. O’Riley grunted, still skeptical: “And what if they find something? Won’t they investigate wherever we stopped?”

  “Indeed!”, Jordan responded, stroking his chin confidently, “They’ll investigate, but we put some distance between us and the drop-off point and I worked to cover our tracks. No guarantee they’ll find where we went, even if they come looking. Furthermore, if those two find a tracker, they’ll drive around for a bit before ditching the vehicles entirely. The Sinachro will need to investigate every place the truck goes to, slowing them down and stretching their resources even further.”

  He was rather proud of himself for having come up with all of this. O’Riley looked impressed as well, but he didn’t stop asking questions: “What about the satellites?”

  Jordan felt the bubble of his confidence flutter a little, but it held firm as he continued answering: “You don’t think the Sinachro could make use of the government spy satellites, right?”

  “No, of course not. But the Marcovi are connected to the Khazari, right? I’m not an encyclopedia on the Galaxy’s criminals, but I do know that those bastards are some of the deadliest and most sophisticated crooks out there. If anyone could gain access to that kind of information, they could.”

  That confidence bubble was now on life support, but Jordan did his best to save it: “Even if the Marcovi can get access to the satellites, they won’t know where to look, will they?”

  O’Riley’s eyebrows raised high into his mop-like haircut, continuing his point: “They could always just target the waterfront where we were fighting and track us from there.”

  Jordan shook his head: “We drove for quite a while after the fight, trying to throw them off the scent. They’d need to go over hours of satellite data to track us properly through all of that. Even the Khazari would struggle to find a hacker who could do that without raising government flags.”

  “What if they had a tracker’s data? Then they’d just have to tune into the places where we stopped and track us from there.”

  O’Riley mercilessly popped Jordan’s bubble with a single final sentence. Face darkening, Jordan gave a slow, long sigh, and made one last feeble attempt: “Well, we don’t even know for certain that the tracker-“

  He was interrupted by his ringtone, an incoming call from Ramirez on his phone. Jordan really needed to invest in the telecommunications upgrade for his Codex, so he could answer calls on his HUD, but that had taken a backseat to his other expenses. Taking it out, he answered and heard exactly what he’d been expecting: “Boss, I found it. You were right. There was a tracker.”

  Jordan looked like he’d eaten something sour as he responded: “Thank you, Ramirez. Yes, you’re right. This is all according to plan. That said, how about you ditch the tracker and drive back here. Bring MacNeil with you.”

  “But you said-“

  “Nevermind what I said. I have had a recent premonition that the safehouse will need more guards.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Jordan ended the call, refusing to look at O’Riley even as he felt the ex-factory worker’s eyes bore holes in the side of his head. The man’s next words were dripping with sarcasm: “Premonition, eh?”

  “Shut up.”

  Jordan’s mind was already processing these new developments as he dialed a new number. They were going to need some more backup.

  …

  O’Riley watched Jordan talk with his father and shook his head mildly. While these youngsters were smart, they tended to be overconfident. He wasn’t sharper than them by any means, but he was good at poking holes in plans if there were weaknesses to be found. Plus, he’d always loved reading about criminals over the Network when he was a kid. It was a morbid fascination his mother didn’t approve of. It wasn’t like O’Riley idolized these scumbags. There was just something weirdly interesting about the exploits of the Galaxy’s cleverest rule breakers; “I’m technically a criminal now, aren’t I? Since I helped out on this op.”

  Their cause was righteous, but the law didn’t always see it that way. They’d decided to take the matter into their own hands, rather than leave things up to the law. Considering the problems within the police force, that had seemed like the right decision at the time. But would he be able to withstand the consequences of that choice?

  He gave a short intake of breath. No time for regrets now. As he listened to Jordan’s conversation in the background, O’Riley’s eyes wandered to the sky, where his eyes caught the glint of something dark on the horizon. It was a HoverTruck, a large aerodynamic construction of black and red metal with a large rectangular rear made for transportation. Its bottom possessed a glowing pinkish-white ring, representing the Latari tech used to keep the thing aloft. The older man’s eyes widened a little as he watched the vehicle swoop down toward them, not even bothering to make its intentions unclear. He yelled out to Jordan: “Incoming!”