by Paul Grover
Ben Jones buried his worries by retreating into his work. He took over the lounge with books, notes and his datapad. When Mira asked, he told her he was drafting a constitution for the Alliance. It explained why his battered satchel never left his side. Ben’s mood brightened when Tish told him Meyer was safe.
Mira worked through the post-landing checklist with Tish, positioning the controls for a fast start up. She flicked the engines to off but left the fuel feed engaged.
“Mira…” Tish said.
“I know it’s not safe or in the manual but, if we keep the reservoir primed, it cuts our start up time to seconds rather than minutes.”
The irony caused a smile to snap over Mira’s tired features, turning the drive system into a potential bomb might just save their lives.
“Okay, I understand. Maybe you get this pirate thing,” Tish mumbled.
She curled her hands and forced her nails into her palms. Tish had been distressed since they left the surface, and the deviation from routine further increased her anxiety level. Mira vowed to make time with her once they were FTL and heading out of the system.
The ship-to-shore communication system pinged and a warning message appeared.
“Ramp check,” Mira said. “Give me a fucking break.”
Station authorities had requested a document and cargo check. They were running empty with eight cargo bins, one of which was full of weapons and field equipment. Before leaving the Valhalla the Navy crew had fitted a bonded seal, denoting inspection complete and marking the bin as contaminated.
Mira sighed.
“Let’s get the formalities done before we pick up our passengers.”
Tish unbuckled herself from her seat. They both went aft, toward the mid airlock.
Mira was about to open the hatch when Tish stopped her.
“Wait up,” she said and unzipped her flight suit to mid chest.
“Seriously?” Mira said.
“Trust me, I’m a pirate.”
Mira opened hatch with a bemused shake of her head.
Two customs officers were on the dock; they looked bored.
“Manifest, origin and destination. We’ll also need personal travel documents and pilots’ licences,” the first said.
Mira handed him their manifest; it was blank aside from eight empty cargo pods. Tish supplied a folder with the rest of the documentation.
“We ferried here from the Frontier,” Mira said to the lead officer. “There isn’t much moving between Earth and Mars, so we figured we would try the Belt. Maybe pick up some passengers or cargo on the way out.”
He studied the documents.
“Contaminated bin?” he asked.
“Battery leak,” Mira confirmed.
The man checked his datapad.
“It says you came up from the surface.”
“Yeah,” Tish replied. “We heard you were having a party so took a surface landing. There is no chance of picking up a cargo down there, so we thought we would chance it here. We can’t keep running empty.”
“Open your hold please,” the officer said; he seemed in no mood for conversation.
Tish hit the release and the door slid open. The lead officer gestured to his colleague to go aboard.
“So…” Mira said. “I guess you guys are on the front line since the stadium attack. It must be tough.”
She pulled out her most innocent face. The officer’s mood changed.
“Tell me about it,” he said. “They’ve pulled half my team for surface duties. We’re stretched thin up here. I’ll level with you, we’re only checking you out because this your first visit to the Orbiter and you are from outside the system. Those further up the food chain are worried about smugglers bringing in weapons. They tell me to check the ship out, so I come down and check it over. They don’t issue us proper kit, not even a dog.” He shrugged. “In this job you get a feel for who is hiding something and you two don’t look like smugglers.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The officer gave a humourless laugh.
“You have a Navy license; most ex-service types are more honest than my people.”
The second officer reappeared.
“Hold is clean just like the manifest, sir,” he said.
“What a surprise,” the senior officer replied.
“Want to check the rest of the ship?” Mira said. “We have coffee, not much else until we resupply.”
“Thanks, but we have a full roster today. We are expecting D37 and FRONCO to search the station.”
“Better you than me.” Mira said.
He rolled his eyes and stamped the manifest.
“At least the relief flights are no longer coming up. The governor declared us full and it has quietened down.” He shrugged. “Enjoy your stay. The station has got little to offer but Sheila’s Pub is worth a visit. Pretty much everything else is in lock down. Never seen the place so quiet.”
He turned to Tish.
“Thanks for your help. For future reference, the unzipped flight suit never works.”
Tish blushed as the men walked away.
“Tish, D37 can only be coming aboard for one reason,” Mira said.
Tish sealed the hatch. Mira followed her up to the lounge. She picked up her side arm and secured it behind her back. She made sure her jacket concealed the weapon. Tish ran through the information Meyer had provided.
Barnes limped into the lounge. He was doing his best to disguise his injury, but Mira could see every step caused him pain.
“I’m coming with you.”
Mira looked at him.
“Gunny, you are staying here. You’ll slow me down.”
He grunted.
“Rich take the weight off and support Tish.”
“Monitor the comms?” Tish asked.
Barnes picked up a datapad and slumped on a couch.
“Is there anything I can do?” Ben asked, looking up from his notes.
Before Mira could answer Tish spoke up.
“I can tap into the local security net and you could watch the cameras for me. I can send the stream to your pad.”
“I can do that,” Ben replied, his voice eager.
Tish turned to Mira.
“They are holed up in the Phobos Olympic; it’s on level two, tower three. The hotel is three kilometres from here. According to UniNet it’s a little more upmarket than the rest of the station. I guess that means no bodies in the bathtubs and zero tolerance of flushing guns down toilets.”
Tish called up the station map. Her fingers darted over the surface of the datapad. She zoomed in and double tapped the screen. A pathway glowed green.
“There is a service tunnel that runs to the entrance. You can access it from several places. The closest is in the market square, west of the docks.”
Mira put on a data visor; it comprised a carbon fibre headband and a tiny screen. She adjusted the distance so she could bring the screen into focus.
“I forgot how good these things are. Can you send me the route Tish?”
Tish tapped her pad and sent the data.
“You’ll need this.” Tish placed a small circular device on the table. Mira picked it up and studied it. The device was heavy and small enough to conceal in her palm; contact electrodes were exposed on the underside.
“It’s a spider key,” Tish said. “You pop it on a lock and it will open it. It might take a few seconds. Don’t let anyone official catch you with it.”
“We had this on board?”
“I made it.”
Tish was the smartest person Mira knew.
“Call up Meyer and tell her I am on my way.”
Tish kissed her.
“For luck.”
She hoped she would not need it.
The station was tired; the bulkheads had been painted and repainted many times over. Diamond plate steel was riveted over holes where industrial machinery had once been installed. It gave the walls a curious industrial patchwork loo
k. The further Mira ventured from the docks, the worse the state of repair. Phobos Orbiter appeared to go against the norm for stations. The docks were in better condition than the rest of the platform. It made sense; this was a cargo handling facility.
Mira found the marketplace with relative ease. It was an enclosed square with eleven tiers of balconies rising to the high ceiling. Clothes lines were strung between terraces and faded garments fluttered like flags in the artificial breeze generated by the upward airflow. The market was all but deserted and lacked the vibrancy of Tarantella’s Medina. The few humans she encountered walked past her with casual indifference. She kept one eye on the data visor, the other scanned for threats; years of monocular vision had given rise to the unusual skill.
Mira walked with faux confidence, head down not making eye contact with those she passed. She did her best to look like a local or a regular visitor. It was a proven tactic she had used to avoid attention in cities on Earth.
“Hey, newcomer,” a voice called from the shadows, rousing her from her thoughts. The man’s voice carried a heavy outer-system accent; a patois of short vowels and stunted consonants culled from a multitude of Earth dialects. It sounded harsh and aggressive.
She knew she should have kept moving, kept her head down and her eyes fixed ahead of her, yet she turned. A heavyset man emerged from a shop doorway, followed by two others. They did not appear to be armed but she was in no doubt they were carrying. The men wore greasy station coveralls and padded gilets. Their pallid, feral faces were covered with tribal SkInks. The gang markings identified allegiance and rank.
“You need to pay your taxes, Li’l Sister,” the lead thug said.
Beneath the SkInks his cheeks carried an unnatural flush; she assumed from chewing Scratch, a genetically engineered hallucinogen which had a side effect of increasing oxygen uptake.
Mira stepped back to increase the distance from her to them.
“I paid my docking fees on landing,” she replied, holding her hands up.
Laughter.
“Listen, Li’l Sister. There is an order to things out here. You come here and take a little air, drink a little water. The station loses it; we have to buy more. Docking taxes are supposed to cover the cost but you know station admin still keeps charging us more. It’s only fair. Yah understand me? Think of it as paying your way. Fair trade.”
Mira fixed the leader with a stare. He stared back. The speech was for tourists, the easily intimidated, a sob story so they would pay up and the gang would pass the tax up the chain, skimming off their small percentage. She reached for her weapon.
“I’m not staying, just collecting… something. I have no money,” she said.
More laughter. The men moved in close. The two followers crossed behind her while the leader leant forward into her personal space. The man’s breath was sickly sweet; his eyes bored into her. She didn’t want to break his gaze, but did.
“She’s just collecting boys! Not staying!”
They shared a look and a laugh between them. “Is there something wrong with our station? Not up to your standards, Li’l Sister?”
He grinned at his companions. The laughter continued. He moved closer until his face was centimetres from hers.
“That visor is bingo. How about you give it to me and we let you go to collect your thing?”
She removed the visor and gave it to the man. He looked it over and smirked.
One of them grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides and closing a hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted around the marketplace, looking for someone, anyone. The few people she had seen had melted away.
“Yeah, nah, kinda nice. But not enough. Still, I have an idea you have something sweet under that flight suit.”
The man holding her dragged her backwards, lifting her off the ground. She struggled and tried to reconnect with the deck.
They were laughing as they dragged her into an empty shop. She bit down on the man’s hand. She tasted blood and he pulled it away with a yelp.
“Get the fuck off of me!” she screamed and tried to break free.
They slammed her hard on the deck. Her world flared red, then white as the impact forced the breath from her lungs. One of them was on her, pulling at her flight suit. She continued to struggle as a gang member pulled the zip down, another pulling at her jacket.
She felt his oily hands on her skin, pushing down between her legs. The man laughed; it carried no humour, no satisfaction, only contempt. Tears came.
“Please, don’t…” she begged.
“Taxes gotta be paid, Li’l Sister. You stay still; you take what we got and maybe you go back to your ship, perhaps you have a story to tell,” the leader said from somewhere above and behind her.
They sniggered like teenagers as Mira continued to struggle.
This could only end one way.
Mira calmed herself and focused; she took a breath, relaxed and reached behind her back. The thugs were working her jacket off her shoulders, her flight suit with it.
Her hand alighted on the weapon. She wriggled it from the holster at the same time trying to push her assailant off. Mira pointed the pistol upward. She pulled the trigger and discharged the weapon into her attacker. His eyes went wide as he collapsed onto her. Mira rolled sideways and leapt to her feet. She targeted the second thug and fired two blasts into his chest. He pitched forward, a smoking hole where his life had been. Mira looked for the gang leader.
A baton crashed down on her arm; bones crunched and the gun skittered from her grasp.
“Well ain’t you full of surprises Li’l Sister?” he snarled.
Mira staggered back, avoiding a second blow.
“You are still just as dead. These were good boys so I ain’t going easy on you.”
It was just her and him. He was half a metre taller than her and all muscle. The veins pulsed in his neck. His face was flushed with rage and beaded with sweat. His eyes were glazed as he moved toward her, breathing like a bull through his wide nostrils.
“Back off or die,” Mira said. She was calm and almost confident. She knew something he did not; she had fought alongside Federal Marines and had learned all they could teach her.
Mira Thorn waited. No fear, no panic. She was in control. This was her fight. She would win.
The man charged her. She stepped aside and kicked his feet from beneath him. He pitched head first into the counter. Mira kicked him as hard as she could between his legs. The man screamed and she thought she felt his balls pop. She kicked him three more times. He rolled over, writhing in pain and she brought her boot onto his throat, holding it in place until he stopped moving.
Mira stumbled back, staring at the three bodies. Her face and the back of her neck burned. She leant forward, waiting for the nausea to pass; it didn’t until she threw up.
She gasped and wiped her mouth with a shaking hand.
“I killed them.” Her voice was hoarse. “I killed them,” she repeated.
You’re a killer Thorn, what’s the matter, too personal? Different when you look into their eyes isn’t it? Not like lighting up the mini-guns before hitting the landing zone. Not like killing a carrier with a thousand people on board. Her Shadow Sister took over from the street gang.
I did what I had to, they would have raped and killed me…
“SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” she yelled. She cradled her head in her hands and sobbed.
Mira had underestimated the threat. She had no experience of stations like this. What had she been thinking? Was this the reality for women out here? Preyed on by street gangs? How had Tish survived in a place like this? This was supposed to be the 24th century… shit like this should not happen.
Get real Thorn, that wasn’t about sex. It was about power.
They wanted to hurt her. It wasn’t enough for people like this to gain materially, they had to degrade their victims and years of practice taught them all the best ways. In their eyes she was the enemy, the oppressor, the one who kept th
em poor.
They picked the wrong person today… I did the universe a favour.
Her Shadow Sister had no answer.
Mira took a deep breath and straightened her clothing. She secured the torn zipper with duct tape she found under the counter. Her hands shook but the repair was good enough.
The weapon lay on the deck. She scooped it up with her good hand. The data visor was gone.
Without a second look she bounded from the shop back into the market place.
She spotted the entrance to the service tunnel, a narrow door sunk into the bulkhead. She sidled up to it and placed the Spider next to the lock. It clicked and she slipped inside.
Mira blinked and shivered. The air was cold, damp and fetid.
She slipped to the ground and pulled her knees to her chest. She sat sobbing in the darkness, knowing time was against her but no longer caring. She lost track of how long she sat.
Mira closed her eyes. She waited for her heart to stop racing and keyed her com-link
“I’m in the tunnel, Tish. It’s dark and stinks of piss.” She tried to keep calm, to hide the trauma from her voice.
“Mira? What happened? Are you okay? You sound rattled. What’s happening?”
She steadied her breathing, hoping her nerves would follow. “Some guys jumped me. I… took care of it. I need a shower… I lost the visor so you need to guide me.” Her voice sounded distant, even to her.
She shivered in the gloomy half-darkness.
“Follow the tunnel. It will be about a kilometre and you will find a T-junction. Head right and I will direct you from there. Our friends know you are coming. No sign of D37 this end. I am picking up reports of disturbances throughout the station. If this is like Tarantella used to be, it will be local gangs using the chaos to fight turf wars and settle scores.”
Mira clicked the link twice in acknowledgement.
She studied her arm; it was swollen and bruised. She felt for a break but could not find one. She flexed her fingers; they moved. It hurt like hell but there was more mobility than she expected.
A large black rat crept along a pipe above her. She waved her arm to shoo it away. The rat just stared at her with indifferent, evil looking eyes.
