Dirty Work: Volume 2

Story Three - Speed Demon - 6

The back of the garages was a stark contrast to the neat, clean exterior of the pit lane. There was the smell of burning fuel and slippery grease, the occasional shower of sparks leaping out from the shadows like drunken fireflies. The floor wasn't tiled anymore, just the regular cold steel of Celestria's floor, though it looked like someone had tried to keep them clean and free from rust. More than that, the space felt closed in and claustrophobic. This was the guts of the matter, the working insides of the industry, and space was expensive when it wasn't necessary.

We picked our way through the cabins that were to house the Zoomus riders when they were racing; brand spanking new, mirror sheen and gleaming blue. A woman was applying sponsorship to the side of them, peeling off the backs of vinyl stickers and throwing them into a small rubbish bag.

'So who even are you?' Kerra asked as we emerged from the makeshift alleyway. 'What are you doing here?'

'Trying to get a sponsorship deal for my boss,' I said, dodging a K-Crow flying closely overhead.

'What's the company?'

'Dirty Work.'

Kerra snorted. 'Sounds like a strip club.'

'It is.'

I couldn't see her face redden, but I felt the heat suddenly coming off it, like someone had struck a match. I grinned.

We headed towards a pyramid of crates, their shimmering sides containing mysterious cargo. I glanced quickly over my shoulder. Nobody was stalking us.

'These are the spare parts,' she said, stepping up to the first box. 'What are we looking for?'

I shrugged. 'You're the mechanic. Parts with numbers that don't match the database, I'd say.'

She nodded and took out her Halo-Core. 'Let's get started.'

We began by taking the boxes to the front. I extracted parts and gave Kerra the parts number, and she plugged them into the database. Time after time they came up matching. At the fifth or sixth piece of fender, I began to consider that we were on the wrong track entirely. By the time we had opened up the fourth crate, I was beginning to lose hope. Had I been so wrong in my estimations, so cocky that it was all an inside job, that I'd never considered anything else?

'None of these are out of the ordinary,' Kerra said. 'They're all coming up nicely.'

I couldn't lose face. 'There must be something. There has to be.'

She frowned and looked at the pyramid's base. She put the panel back in the box. 'Let's try one of those crates buried at the bottom,' she suggested. She put her wrench down and grabbed hold of a crate on the top. 'Come on. Give us a hand.'

We shifted several large boxes out of the way and opened up a crate which immediately felt different. Perhaps my time at Dirty Work had made my somewhat alert; it just had an air of wrong-doing about it. Having had my hands soaked in misdemeanours and crime for a long time by that point, I was used to it, and this particular box, with the parts just that little bit too polished, seemed off.

Kerra took out an exhaust pipe and flicked it over. 'This feels wrong,' she said, scanning the number. She rested it on her knee and tapped in the code. 'No match.'

'That's been changed, then?'

'More than likely, though I can't see a mark on it. Check something else.'

I picked up one of the underlights for the anti-grav and that came up negative also. My heart was racing. We were on the right track. When the second underlight also came up negative, we were grinning.

'Got 'em,' I said triumphantly.

'The sneaking bastards,' she said.

'Not too much for a mechanic and a strip club worker,' I replied, and we couldn't help but chuckle.

'What now, then?' I asked.

'Inform the cops, I guess,' she said, then paused. 'Although, what happens to my job?'

I stopped. I hadn't even considered it. The whole circuit involved in a scam like this could stop the entire enterprise. Kerra would be unemployed in seconds.

Our questions were answered for us, when a shadow fell over us. 'You're not meant to find those.'

Roddy Berwhal was standing atop the crates with a gun trained on us.