* * * * *

Floor workers wandered the halls on the top floor of Mayor Corrigan’s office building, the air seething with tension. A elevator opened, with a handful of staff stepping down the carpeted halls, their briefcases shining against the overhead lights. They shuffled down the hall, where a man with black hair and glasses pressed the intercom button.

“Morris? Is that you?” Corrigan said through the speaker.

“Yes, Mayor. Our twelve-fifteen appointment needs to start so we can adjourn before afternoon close,” Morris replied.

The heavy, oak door opened, and the mayor shook Morris’ hand, escorting them inside his conference hall. He waved off the floor guard and closed the door. Inside the room, a couple police guards sat at the table, lined with coffee cups and folders.

“Thank you for coming, everyone.” Corrigan took a handful or documents from Morris, skimming their headlines as he sat down. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to begin with Accounting. Mrs. Smirlock, how much of the reconciliation have you completed?”

The portly, curly-haired woman pulled up her glasses and rifled through one of the folders. “As of this Monday, we’ve only managed to restore eleven hundred and ninety Dinara. At this point we either have to prolong the budget cuts or dip into company stocks. We’re on the verge of mutiny as it is.”

Corrigan huffed, his chubby fingers rubbing his eyes. “I suppose it’s the only option…I’ll arrange a meeting with the shareholders. Keep on as normal.” He shifted in his chair. “Officers, what about the Higonji project?”

Officer Dackford saluted the mayor. “It’s been over a month since the evacuation. All the markets there have been quarantined; Commissioner Riley is still working on closing all the paperwork.”

“I see. Are all the roads closed off in that part of town?”

“We’re nearly done with zoning. It’s been difficult since so much traffic from here cuts through Higonji,” Dackford replied.

Corrigan looked over one of the reports. “I understand. Once we re-route I plan to have construction crews out there to tear the place down.”

“Sir, in the meantime, what can we do about it? Unless we rebuild it soon, it’s going to make congestion worse. We’re basically cutting off the whole city; it’s a disaster waiting to happen,” a woman said.

“That’s probably another thing he didn’t consider,” one man whispered.

Corrigan smacked the table. “Excuse me? Mr. Andrews, how would you feel about taking a mini-vacation? My decision was for the good of this city. This needless criticism is going to accomplish nothing!”

The half-bald Andrews raised his hand. “Mayor, with respect, the budgeting committee has worked tirelessly picking up the slack left by the Arugians you deported. You may’ve temporarily solved the problem, but it’s created several more.”

Corrigan folded his hands, his lip jutting out. “I appreciate your honesty, and I respect your efforts. That said, the only thing to save us from this temporary downturn is to pool our resources—what little we have after those…!” He tugged his tie, his chest puffing as he breathed. “I think this can be a learning experience for us all.”

“Mayor, the Arugian ambassadors have been calling relentlessly,” another woman said. “At some point we need to communicate and attempt to salvage relations with them.

“As far as I’m concerned, Aruga is out of my hands. I simply refuse to do business with a group that so blatantly disregards moral, integrity…everything we stand for! Whatever correspondence they want is not in my interest anymore,” Corrigan replied.

“What’s going to happen to all those deportees, though? We can’t assume the emperor is going to accept that! I just think it’s a good idea to start looking for alternatives to discuss before this blows up in our faces.”

“If anything is to be salvaged, the ball is in their court.” Corrigan checked his watch. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s shoot for eleven tomorrow morning. Good day.” As the room emptied, he stood up. “Harrison? A moment, please?”

Dackford walked over, removing his hat. “Yes, Mayor?”

“As for now, keep Commissioner Riley on alert. The fact Jirani’s still missing is alarming.”

“We’ve combed all the files, Jirani and Shigoh were never apprehended,” Dackford said.

Corrigan peered out the window at the streets below. “Those people…deception is in their blood.” He tapped his fingers anxiously, then faced Dackford. “I may have to extend my search.”

* * * * *

The following morning, a bitter breeze blew across the rocky plains of Orenton, a modestly-sized, congested western region of Gesnia. A mountain range towered over the grand expanse, its crimson crags brightened by the rising sunlight. A set of railroad tracks wound down the torrid plain that stretched from the base of the mountain all the way to a small transfer station in the nearby city. A few travelers wandered around the quiet station as they waited, the metal-plated platform clacking beneath their footsteps.

A glass door opened, letting the cold air inside the room. Amali and Kaffron huddled in the doorway, their arms tucked into the thick, black and grey jackets covering their bodies. Frosty breath puffed from their mouths as they stepped into the station. She unfurled her arms while she looked around, eventually finding a little coffee shop and newsstand by the teller’s windows.

“Shit, it’s cold out there,” she mumbled. She looked over the neon sign displaying the menu contents, then nodded to the barista. “Hey, lemme get two coffees, black, and a newspaper.”

“Of course,” the young man replied, keeling down to grab a couple cups. Steam filled the air as the coffee flowed from the canister, Amali’s nose twitching while the roasted hazelnut aroma enticed her. The guy punched some keys on the register. “Total comes to four Dinara and sixteen change.”

Amali pulled out her little wallet, her lightly wind-cracked hand pinching the money as she gave it to him. “Thanks,” she said, holding the coffees. She tucked the newspaper under her arm and looked for Kaffron, seated on a bench. “Babe, I got coffee.”

Kaffron rubbed his hands. “Great, I been draggin’ ass all morning. Can I have it?”

She sat down. “Just lemme hold ‘em for like, twenty minutes.” With a chuckle, she handed a cup to him. “Did Lander call back yet?”

“He says in about fifteen minutes,” Kaffron replied.

Amali took a drink, then leaned against the bench. “Check it out, Mayor Corrigan’s on the front page,” she said, flipping through the newspaper.

Kaffron tilted his head. “Damn, Ornell was right! Says something like two-thousand Arugians were yanked outta Senigot.”

Her brows scrunched as she read. “Look there—it was Jirani. He and Shigoh were embezzling money. Damn, those guys are smarter than we thought.”

“Hmm, does that mean there’s still stolen loot lyin’ around?”

“Eh, maybe…cops probably found it already,” she said, touching her lip.

“I don’t get why he’d ship all of ‘em out like that. It was just the two guys, right?”

“Yeah, from what it sounds like.” She turned the pages, shrugging. “The mayor probably just went on a power trip. Kind of a dick move—I doubt those people had anything to do with it.”

“No kidding, that kinda puts us all in some shit. Mayor’s askin’ for trouble.” Kaffron’s radio suddenly hissed with static.

“Kaff, where are you?” a snide-sounding voice said.

“Lander? Hey, we’re hangin’ in the train station. You here yet?”

“Yeah, I got a car waitin’ on the other side. See you in a bit.”

Kaffron flicked off the transceiver and stood up, his jacket hanging over him. “Bring the paper; he’s gonna want to see that.”

He and Amali walked by some incoming visitors on their way out, the glass door pushing against them from the chilly wind. Outside the station, they stepped through the parking lot, where at the end, a man waved to them. They walked over to him, leaning against a sleek, black car with tinted windows. Lander pulled back his black hood, unveiling his muscular, chiseled face and coarse, trimmed auburn hair. Tiny scars peeked through his light facial stubble.

“Surprised to see y’all in one piece!” Lander said, shaking Kaffron’s hand.

“Heh, tell me about it. Never thought I’d be glad to see your filthy mug!”

Lander’s bushy brow lifted, his thin lips simpering. “You dopes get lost or what? It’s been like, two months!”

Amali held her hips. “Pssh, more like sucked in! Our idiot friend got us trapped on Gundul Island of all places!”

“No shit, sounds more like you went on vacation,” Lander said, his arms crossing.

Kaffron opened the door and slid onto the cushion. “We almost got killed, dude! That shit’s not enjoyable!”

Lander mockingly bent his lips as he shut them in and entered the front passenger seat. He pulled a little walkie radio from his tattered, yellow jacket pocket. “Mr. Ornell, I’m reporting back with Amali and Kaffron in about thirty minutes.”

“Ah, good timing,” Ornell replied. “Be ready to commence training when you return. Also, I have some interesting news for you before we start.”

Lander tucked the radio in his jacket and ignited the engine, the car pulling through the lot and onto the streets. “So tell me about your non-vacation.”

Amali stared at him through the rearview mirror, then pulled off her bandana and combed through her hair. “We met some kid a while back, dumb as shit, so we thought we could get him to join us. Turns out some guys were lookin’ for him; once we got to the island shit just went to hell.”

“Sounds like one of us! What’s this kid’s deal then?” Lander said.

Kaffron sipped his coffee. “He’s pretty tough for a teenager, but he ain’t smuggler material.” He nudged Amali. “He’s more like the guy who could slip in a shit pile and land in gold.”

Lander chortled. “Dumb luck…the same way our headquarters is two miles from the Wimbush police station.”

“They been gettin’ on our asses lately?” Kaffron asked.

Lander’s dark blue eyes drifted to the mirror as he changed lanes. “More than usual. We keep having to switch our stakeout spots ‘cause people are gettin’ suspicious. Couple of ‘em grilled me the other day about me hanging around the electronics store.”

“What happened?”

“Told ‘em I was waiting for my partner to make a delivery. If Harvo hadn’t pulled in when he did, they’d’ve found the stolen merch in my bag.”

Amali looked out the window. “Phh, now that’s dumb luck!”

“I’ll say. You ever try stuffing a computer down a manhole?”

Within the hour, the car approached Wimbush City. They pulled off the highway and veered onto a short ramp leading up a long incline. As the car rose above the highway, the tops of several buildings near the end of the looping ramp.

“Home sweet home,” Amali retorted.

“Shit, it beats staring at ocean water,” Kaffron said.

They entered the city, the tires skidding as they stopped in the flow of traffic. People glanced at the darkened car windows, bouncing with warm sunlight as they inched along the congested concrete streets. After several minutes, the cars drove onto an exit ramp leading down another incline, gradually widening into a six-lane road, laden with street signs indicating upcoming tolls, security booths, and weigh stations as it stretched through the town. The group finally reached a series of toll booths that branched off in different directions.

Lander veered to the leftmost booth and waved his security card at the register. The bright red lights turned blue, and the car wheeled towards a broad, U-shaped tunnel that seemed to engulf the vehicle as they neared. Heavy steel buttresses and grids of metal framing reinforced the broad, gaping tunnel as the car disappeared into its dark interior. Lander approached one last security booth and rolled down the window. The attendant, dressed in an orange vest and white pants, peered through his sunglasses.

“Are you with United Streamline Services?”

Grinning, Lander pulled a little decal from his glove compartment, consisting of three blue squares over a straight, green line. “Good soldier…I’m back with ‘Mali and Kaff.”

The man scanned the decal against a little monitor, the screen blinking as it registered. The red lights lining the blockaded gate ahead eventually turned blue, and the massive, metal gates hinged apart. The car continued down the straight, narrow tunnel, lined with bright lights. Soon they reached the mouth of the tunnel and pulled into a large parking garage. Lander pulled slowly into a vacant space and shut off the engine. They got out, stretching as they headed to a nearby elevator. Beyond them stood a grand, thick glass window overlooking a sweeping space several hundred feet below. Hundreds of smugglers moved down in the workroom, surrounded by towering machinery, elevators, cars, and heavy wooden crates.

Upon entering the elevator, Lander took out his walkie. “Green Leader, you copy?”

“Copy, Lander. You back yet?”

“Yeah, ‘Mali and Kaff are with me.”

“Sweet, I’ll meet you down here.”

The elevator landed roughly on the ground floor, chiming as the doors slid open. Everyone stepped down from the platform down a long, marble-tiled floor surrounded by metal grids and beams. Eventually they passed down a short staircase leading into the central zone of the Underground Smuggler’s Society. Passing beneath the large floodlights suspended overhead, they walked along the slick floor of the gigantic subterranean warehouse; raucous noise filled the air, their voices barely audible over buzzing, droning, clanking, and whirring emanating from the droves of machinery and loading equipment around them. Amali and Kaffron waved to some of their allies while they worked, his eyes following a conveyor belt above him filled with scrapped electronics and discarded army weapon parts.

A stocky, thirty-one-year-old man stepped over, removing a pair of goggles. “There you are,” he said, shaking Lander’s hand.

“Captain Bock, good to see you.”

His voice brash and prickly, Bock Winters stood a bit shorter, with a keg-like belly and a stocky, pear-shaped appearance. He had a full, husky face with a short, stubby nose and coarse, curly black hair. He wore a reddish-brown jacket over a mustard-yellow shirt with white cargo pants, his thick, leather boots squeaking along the floor. Bock came over, pulling off his black gloves and playfully smacking Kaffron’s shoulder. “Damn, guys! Didn’t think I’d ever see you again! We were just about to clean out your lockers!”

Kaffron shook Bock’s hand. “You mean what’s left in ‘em! Man, we had a hell of a time gettin’ back here.”

“Any new scores to add to the pile?” Bock said, rubbing his hands.