Valhalla Station

by Chris Pourteau

  He cupped the bag in his hand and gave it a sniff.

  “I provide for you. I work really hard. All I ask is a little support on the home front, you know?”

  “I know, Luther, I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

  “And yet you’d rather visit Dark Meat in the market than have my dinner ready.”

  Edith stared blankly. She’d been ready to explain why she’d been so tired. Luther, I have such wonderful news, she’d lie, then balance the lie with the truth. You’re going to be a father.

  Luther pulled two pots down from the cabinet and dropped them on the stove. The racket they made startled Edith.

  “Do you know how embarrassing it is,” he continued, “to know you’re flirting with him instead of keeping our home as it should be kept?”

  “Luther, I wasn’t—”

  “How much it hurts me that you do it behind my back, while I’m out working to make a home for both of us.”

  “I swear, there’s nothing—”

  In one broad, violent motion, Luther swept the ingredients she’d so carefully arranged onto the floor. Spices, rehydrated beef, tubes of tomato sauce … one tube split, spitting red liquid across her shoes.

  In the aftermath of the clamor, there were a few moments of echoing silence.

  “Stand up,” Luther said.

  Edith’s feet were like lead. There was a hardness in her belly, a kind of loathing born of experience of what was to come.

  “I said, stand up!” He advanced the two steps separating them and grabbed Edith by the arm.

  “Luther, please! I’ve never been unfaithful to you!”

  He drew her face up to his, pulling her by the arm. His hand clamped around her forearm like a vise. “That’s not what Dark Meat says.”

  What? What did Reyansh say?

  “He gave me some details. About you. Details only I should know, Edith.”

  “That can’t be true,” she said. Luther was making it up. Reyansh would never say anything like that because he didn’t know anything like that. “It’s a lie.”

  “So, now I’m a liar?” he growled, his breath reeking of belched beer.

  “No, I just meant—”

  “I know exactly what you meant,” Luther said.

  She made the choice in a split second. There was nothing else to do. It would either save her or seal her fate.

  “Luther, I’m pregnant!”

  Time stopped. Luther’s beer breath stopped. Her heart stopped.

  His expression was inscrutable. His mouth began to work, like he was chewing his own tongue. His pupils dilated.

  Oh, no.

  “You get me drunk,” he whispered. “You get me drunk and sneak out. You don’t think I know what you do?” He yanked her up to stand on her tiptoes, the pain in her arm where he held her flaring hot and sharp. “Then you crawl back into our bed…”

  “Luther, no—”

  His backhand sledgehammered her across the small kitchen. Edith hit the floor hard on her back, the small table where they ate their meals screeching over the floor. The small apartment disappeared in a starburst of orange and yellow spots. Red pain bloomed from the stunned flesh of her cheek. Instinctively, she curled into a ball to protect her stomach.

  “Not done yet, slut,” Luther said, coming on again. “Not done yet.”

  Chapter 26

  Edith Birch • Valhalla Station, Callisto

  “I didn’t do anything!” Edith cried. Luther bent over her and grabbed her by the same arm. It ached, like it was bruised from the inside. “Luther, I swear!”

  “Like I’d believe you. After all the lies.”

  She stared into his hard eyes and saw them empty of empathy. If she looked deeply enough, she could see her death. The death of her child. The death of their child. How stupid was she to think she could get away? That she could outsmart him, run somewhere he’d never find her. She’d never be free of him. Now Edith knew the vicious truth of those words that had seemed like the line from a fairy tale six years earlier.

  Till death do us part.

  As punctuation to that thought, Edith heard the absurd twinkle of a happy bell ringing.

  But the baby … the baby hadn’t bargained for this. The baby was innocent. Luther was right, she’d lied, just not about what he thought. She’d deceived him, mined data from his account, made the deals with Crow. Maybe she deserved this after all—for lying, for deceiving him. Maybe … she didn’t really know anymore. Not right from wrong or up from down or justice from persecution. But the baby didn’t deserve it. That was the one anchor of absolute truth in her thoughts, a buoy of clarity Edith clung onto in the storming sea of Luther’s rage. And she knew she wanted the child more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. To bring her child into the universe and love and raise him—or her?—without the fear Edith had lived with every day of her married life.

  The happy bell twinkled a second time. No, not a bell ringing—a chime.

  “Get up,” Luther said, dragging Edith to her feet. She steeled herself for the next blow, her eyes casting around for escape. She could never best him physically. But Luther seemed to relent. “Fix yourself—company calling.”

  What … what about the Company?

  “I said, fix yourself!”

  Luther released her and thrust her against the small table. Rapidly, mechanically, Edith began smoothing her hair, wiping the mucous from below her nose. Luther approached the door to their quarters and engaged the visual display. Clearing his throat, he put on his visitor voice.

  “Yes?”

  Edith could see an old man on camera, a miner by the look of him. On the front of his coveralls, he wore the double-bar-R of the Rabh Regency. That would give Luther pause. The old man was an official of some kind, maybe.

  “Luther Birch?”

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “Well, I surely do hope so,” the man said amiably. “The Company sent me. Might I have a moment of your time?”

  “You’ve already had several,” Luther groused, then more affably: “It’s been a long day.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?” The old man smoothed the sparse silvering hair on the top of his head. “I’ve actually come to talk to you about an opportunity, Mr. Birch. Adriana Rabh has taken personal notice of you.” The man brought his hands up in front of him, and he chuckled. “Now, this is a good thing, just to be clear!”

  Luther glanced back at Edith. She wiped her cheeks with her fingertips. He pressed mute. “Sit down at the table and stay there.”

  Edith sat down.

  Releasing the lock, Luther pressed a button. The front door slid into the wall. “Come in, Mr…”

  “Finn,” the old man said, walking in. His brother-in-arms smile beamed at Luther, and the two men shook hands. “Thank you, kindly. I promise not to take up much of your time.”

  Luther murmured something unintelligible.

  The visitor glanced briefly in Edith’s direction. She did her best to minimize eye contact, lest Luther notice. The man seemed familiar somehow. Whoever he was, she was grateful for the interruption. Sometimes Luther cooled down when he was interrupted. And now she had time to think of a way out.

  “You’re a little old for a miner,” Luther said.

  “Well, that’s why I’m not a miner anymore,” Finn said. “I’m a member of Regent Rabh’s Labor Council.”

  “You’re a biter?”

  Finn cocked his head. “We prefer the full ‘arbiter,’ but yeah.”

  Luther grunted. “Never had much use for union men. Never saw much point in all that talk. And never saw no dollars come from it, neither.”

  “Funny you should mention money,” Finn said, his tone baiting.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Regent Rabh has singled you out for special recognition.”

  Luther’s expression lightened. Edith had real hope that, once the visitor was gone, maybe she could calm Luther down. She glanced at the stove and had the silly notion that m
aybe she could get dinner made while the two men talked. They’d have to talk a long time for that to be the case. Still, maybe Luther would even invite the arbiter to dinner.

  “I’m listening,” Luther said.

  • • •

  Stacks Fischer • Birch Living Quarters

  I was stalling. I should’ve popped Birch as soon as the door closed behind me. My line of work isn’t like you see in the vids. It’s no-nonsense. It’s efficient. Anything less begs for trouble.

  But the wife complicated matters. If I killed him in front of her, she’d be a witness. Any other enforcer worth what I get paid would have done them both. But I don’t kill women.

  So I needed time to think. While I bantered with Bubba, I got the lay of the land. Birch was a real piece of work. Not only was he selling out Adriana Rabh for a few SynCorp dollars, but he liked to knock the wife around for kicks. There was still an angry, red gun smoking on her right cheek. She’d tried to arrange her hair, but wild strands gave it away. She had the darting eyes of a mouse cornered by a cat.

  Noticing the details prompted my memory. The woman worked in the infirmary. She’d been kind to me there, but her name escaped me. The complications just got more complicated. One thing that was simple, though: Bubba Birch was a bully. A small man in a big body. I hate bullies. Have, ever since I was a kid.

  Dealing with him was gonna be fun on multiple levels.

  “I’m listening,” Bubba said.

  “Well,” I answered, making it up as I went along, “your whole crew’s quota numbers have been up recently. At least they were before the ring problem.”

  “Yeah. Whoever did that oughta be horsewhipped around the dome.”

  I nodded. “Glad to hear you feel that way, Luther. We Company men have to stick together. Loyal to the regent, right?”

  “Sure. Now, you were saying about some cash bonus or something?”

  “You like money, eh?”

  Bubba hesitated. Probably sensed the tide shifting a bit. “Sure. Who doesn’t, bub?”

  “Right.” I paced around the small quarters. There was a living area barely wider than a corridor that looked like it led to two small rooms: a bedroom and a study, I guessed. I passed by the wife sitting like a statue at the table. Her right hand was trembling. She noticed I noticed and covered it with the left. “Do anything for a dollar—that sum you up pretty good, Luther?”

  He cocked his head. His eyes flicked down to the wife. It was like he was seeing us in bed together. That’s the thing about bullies. They’re really cowards, so their radar’s always pinging red with fear. Always paranoid, looking for the next threat to their bullyhood. I had a penis, so I was a threat. It was that kinda paranoia that forged handprints on cheeks.

  “Look, Finn, what’s this all about? I thought I was being rewarded.”

  “Oh, you are,” I said standing between the two of them. I pulled my stunner from under my shirt and pointed it at his head.

  “What the—Finn, what the hell is this!”

  Birch’s bulk wrapped around his saucer-wide eyes made him look cartoonish. The woman behind me squeaked. But she didn’t move.

  “The Company takes loyalty seriously, Luther. And disloyalty? We take that deadly seriously.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bubba’s hands were turned up. “I’m as loyal as they come!”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, my index finger curving around the trigger. “Selling tanker schedules to pirates doesn’t qualify you, boy-o.”

  His lost look was interesting. I decided he was a good actor. Bullies develop that skill, too.

  “I never sold nothing to no pirates,” he said, his eyes learning every detail of my stunner’s barrel. “I never done nothing but work hard for the regent. Never even called in a day sick I could get out of bed.”

  The woman behind me shifted. I moved to the side to get them both in view. The last thing I wanted was for her to get in the way somehow. I’d seen it before—a woman, abused, taking the side of the abuser against a stranger. But she stayed put.

  “That’s not what your terminal logs say,” I said. “You did a good job covering your tracks. But you’re stupid if you think the Company can’t break any encryption you can buy on the black market.”

  He truly looked lost. Like I’d sped past him and left him the dust of a conversation he didn’t understand. Then he turned to the woman at the table.

  “Edith?”

  That was it. Edith. A flick of my eyes revealed an anguished look on Edith’s face. I couldn’t tell whether she was about to say something or just wanted me to get on with it.

  “It wasn’t me,” Luther said, his voice full of menace. “It was her.”

  What a fucking asshole. Caught red handed and selling out his wife for the crime.

  “That true, Mrs. Birch?” I asked, sighting down my stunner to the center of Bubba’s chest. What the hell … I’d play along.

  “I—” she began. “I…” It was like the words wouldn’t leave her throat.

  Uh-oh.

  My eyes made a rookie mistake. I looked her way.

  Luther lunged.

  Punk!

  I’d fired but at empty air. His bulk drove into me, and that sonofabitch was heavy. We crashed backward into the kitchen. His miner’s grip slammed my gun hand against the counter, and the stunner went flying.

  “Now you’ll get what’s coming to you,” he said. His breath smelled like stomach acid and hops. He raised a fist, and I jammed a knee up into his balls. Enforcers don’t fuck around. Remember that whole efficiency thing?

  Bubba oofed air like vacuum had just sucked on his lungs. His hold weakened on my gunhand but still held it, so I slammed two fingers each into his eyes, digging deep. He screamed and let go, pushing away from me.

  Edith was on the floor, her legs pumping to get away from the mayhem. Birch fell backward, and his weight flattened the table to the kitchen floor. I quick-glanced for my stunner but didn’t see it. That’s okay. I’ve got backups.

  I sprung the blade from beneath my right wrist. Edith made a noise. Encouragement? Terror? Begging me to stop? I couldn’t tell.

  Luther was clawing at his eyes, trying to clear them.

  “Don’t bother,” I said.

  Still blind, he raised an arm. I went in under and uppercut the blade into that soft patch between his collar bones. Like Daisy had done for Elaena, only without the bullseye throw. I struck blood, and it founted out of him like oil in a Texas pasture. No need to draw this out any further. I drew the blade across, severing his left carotid.

  Edith screamed, but it was silent. Her mouth was open, and she gagged like she’d forgotten how to breathe. If she’d leaned over, her eyes might’ve rolled right out of their sockets. If she could’ve crawled through the cabinets into the next apartment, she’d have done it.

  Luther Birch gaped up at me. He was a gas miner, so he’d lived with the possibility of dying every time he suited up for work. But something told me he’d never really believed it would ever come for him. Maybe none of us do. He’d had grand plans of retiring rich. And here it was. Early retirement, sans cash.

  That’s a life lesson right there. Death doesn’t wait for an invite to the party.

  Edith Birch • Birch Living Quarters

  Edith stared at the horror pooling onto the kitchen floor. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was like she needed to see it to make sure it was real.

  I’ll have to clean up all that blood.

  Her body felt numb. Her brain had locked up, unable to think. Only a single thought made its way through, repeating, over and over.

  I’ll have to clean up all that blood.

  Luther wasn’t moving anymore. He’d clamped his hands to his neck trying to stop the flow. Impossible, of course. And now his hands—his calloused, bear-like hands—lay on the floor at his side. Edith reached up and caressed her cheek with her fingertips. She’d never have to endure their hardness, ever again.

  “We need to
get out of here, Edith.”

  The man, Finn, stood over her husband’s body.

  “I can’t,” she said. The sound of her own voice surprised her. It was strange in her ears. New, somehow. “I have to clean up all the blood.”

  “No, you don’t,” Finn said. “You need to come with me.”

  “But Luther is dead.”

  “He is.”

  “You killed him.”

  “I did.”

  Her eyes found his. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I’m mostly all right with it,” Edith said, her tone less confident than her words. “I think.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Her thoughts had begun to loosen, her brain to work again. Should she tell him the truth? Luther had died for her sins. She’d used his terminal, sold the information to Crow for months. When she’d first heard rumor of the pirates in the Belt, Edith had convinced herself the two weren’t connected. But a part of her had known. Had always known. And now Luther was dead.

  And I’m free. She touched her stomach. We’re free.

  How could she begin a life with her child born out of such a lie? A new life born of murder? This isn’t how she’d wanted things to go. Luther had died for her sins, not his.

  “I think I need to tell you something,” Edith said.

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t.” Finn reached out his hand and helped her to her feet.

  She rose carefully. The floor was red and sticky.

  I need to clean up the blood.

  “Regent Rabh sent you here to … kill … the person who sold the information to the pirates in the Belt,” she said. “You didn’t come here to kill him, Mr. Finn. You came here to kill me.”

  Sighing, he said, “I came here to put a bow on a situation. And the name’s Fischer. Not Finn.”

  “But, the truth is—”

  “Are you planning to sell more information to the pirates?”

  Edith shook her head, her eyes again fixed on Luther. Her hand again resting on her stomach. “No.”

  Luther had insurance, the devil on her shoulder said. No need for Crow now.

  “Then let me give you a piece of advice, Edith. It’s a dirty reality I’ve learned from a lifetime in a dirty business.”