Terra Group: Operation Arrakis: Cold Trails by Brad Corletti "You look like you could use a drink." He should have known he was in trouble right then and there. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," he began, turning to face the speaker, a young woman. "About yay tall..." He'd been at this for a long time now. He hadn't been able to pick anything up, not from people he ran into, not from his Force vision. In desperation, he'd headed for a bar. He wasn't having much luck. It seemed pretty obvious Josh hadn't gone this way. He reached into his coat pocket for the mugshot he was handing out. She grabbed his hand before it cleared the pocket. "Is she pretty?" Angrily, he yanked his hand back, and showed her the picture. "No, he's not. Have you seen him?" She looked at the photo, looked at him, then looked at the photo again. "Actually, I think I have." "Thanks any- come again?" Brad was so used to hearing the negative he'd begun to assume it automatically. He'd have to start paying more attention. Not that it would be a chore to pay attention to this particular lead. Her flaming chemically- coloured red hair and black leather outfit made her seem younger than she, upon closer inspection, really was. Late-thirties at the oldest. He didn't have to pretend to be greatly relieved. "Finally, I've been looking all night. Where did he go?" "I was standing here waiting for someone to buy me a drink when he came in." Brad took the hint and signalled the bartender. When it arrived, she smiled gratefully and continued talking. "There was another man who came in first, and he just ran straight upstairs without even looking." He followed her gaze, and noticed a narrow staircase on the same wall as the entrance, roped off with a sign marked, "Staff Only". She took another sip of her drink. "Your friend came in and followed him. That was a few hours ago." "You've been a lot of help," he said, opening his wallet. "That's not necessary," she interrupted, holding her palm out in a 'stop' gesture. "I insist." He drew out a pair of fifty dollar notes and, on a whim, a vaguely-worded business card. Handing it to her, he turned and walked to the stairway. Casually, Brad stepped over the rope and proceeded upstairs. It felt good to finally be on the right track. The woman at the bar pocketed the cash and glanced with some amusement at the business card. "Technology Export? That's a dangerous business, Mister Defel." A series of high-pitched whining noises from upstairs momentarily disturbed the bar's atmosphere. She drew out one of the fifties and called to the bartender for another drink. -- Aw, dang. That was the last coherent thought Brad had upon realising he'd just taken three stun bolts in the back. Much, much later, he had some more thoughts. None of them were very self- flattering. In fact, they were exclusively about his own failings as an intelligence agent. Eventually he began to recover. He resisted - the darkness was comforting, and instinctively he felt that there were things his concious mind knew that it did not want to. "Wake him up," he heard. Something blunt and hard cracked him in the jaw, and he was forced back to reality. Or at least this mess that resembles reality. "Who are Terra Group?" His ears still ringing, he took quick stock of his surroundings. He was cuffed hand and foot and sitting on a chair. The room looked hastily constructed. Or maybe that was just the poor architecture in this part of the world. Shoved against one wall was a table that Brad could see contained his pistol, 'cellphone', wallet, and other gear. The speaker was brandishing the pistol he had just clubbed Brad with. He was wearing extremely loud tourist clothing but certainly didn't look like he was here for leisure. In fact, he looked extremely pissed off. "You Terra Group pricks are really getting annoying, you know that?" Brad could feel blood running down his temple. This wasn't going well. "Maybe I can help you, then," Brad offered. The man with the gun seemed slightly mollified to hear this. The gunman grabbed a chair and sat on it. "Allright then, let's just get down to business." "Name's Wells," he began. "I know you're Terra Group, and I know what we're all running around here chasing. What I want to know is why I shouldn't just kill you right now and relieve some of the stress I've been feeling." "I think you want more than that," Brad said. "You'll find I'm a pretty acommodating guy. It's on my card." Wells glanced over at the table. Brad launched himself at Wells. He launched himself off the chair, spun in midair and struck Wells with a two-handed strike. As soon as his feet hit the ground he leapt again for the table, scooped up his gun and trained it on Wells. All this was done without breaking his bonds. "But I'm much more accomodating when I'm talking as an equal. I want the keys to these cuffs." Wells was visibly shaken and more than a little upset. "Are all you Terra Group people fucking superhuman?" "The keys. I'd kill you right now but I'm having such a swell time talking to you." "I could kill you too." "Want to bet your life on which one of us is faster? How would that help your country?" Brad was careful to offer Wells a way out that would help him to save face. Some men would rather die than concede a point like that. Especially a Texan. And frankly, Brad didn't much care for being shot at. He couldn't dodge bullets under normal circumstances, and he was a sitting duck bound like this. "I take it you're American. Your job is to get the device, right? Mine is to keep it out of hostile hands. I'm not seeing any conflict of interest there." This seemed to sway Wells, and he threw Brad the keys. Brad quickly set about freeing himself and recovering his equipment. "You got it right," Wells said. "We want the shield generator." Brad smiled. "I can help with that, if you can help us."