Achilles Greenburn's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Achilles climbed the coffee hut roof before dawn. The surveillance rig sat wedged under a loose shingle, lens still warm. He pried it free and turned it in his hands. A small compartment popped open at the base. Inside was a folded photograph, edges soft from handling. He unfolded it under the gray light. Red hills rolled across the picture, a thin road cutting through them. On the back, faded ink coordinates. He knew that range. Everyone in the region did. The rig had been planted by someone working for Red Hills. He carried the photo and the rig straight to Marcus's shop. Marcus was already at his desk, flipping cards in a small brown and grey rolodex. Achilles set the evidence down. Marcus looked at the photo, then the coordinates, then him. "That's a war," Achilles said. "If I smash it, they know we know." Marcus tapped the photo once. "Then we smash it. Quietly. Today." He slid a card from the rolodex and tucked it in his pocket. "I'll handle the noise after." The radio crackled. Kira's voice, clipped and exact. "Look. I'm two hours out. Don't move on Red Hills before I'm through your gate." Achilles glanced at Marcus. Marcus shook his head once. "Too late," Achilles answered. "It's already done." He crushed the rig under his boot on the shop floor. Plastic split. A small green light died. Marcus pocketed the broken pieces. "Now we're in it," he said. Achilles looked at the photograph still on the desk, the red hills steady and waiting. The yard had a side now. The trader coming through the gate would walk into a fight, not a deal.