She knew what it was like to want to forget. Not just Garilia, but all the shit leading up to it, all the ways in which she’d been the kind of person she would happily give a boot to the ass now. The lying, the cockiness, the easy violence . . . And worst of all, she’d been so sure she was a good person, even while she was doing bad things.
Denial was a hell of a drug.
They rented one of the cheap two-seater gas dashers people used to get around there, with their weird triple-balloon tank system in the rear. Eva climbed in first and Vakar took the back seat, standing and gripping the roll bar. She had the controls, which she used with practiced ease, despite the antiquated system not syncing properly with her commlink.
She leaned back, thinking about how she didn’t often get to see Vakar from this upside-down angle. The pangolin-like scales on his neck were smaller than on the rest of his body, smoother; she resisted the urge to rub them, then mentally shouted at herself for even thinking it in the first place. Pink’s plan to fix their little situation was going swimmingly already. Like a fucking dolphin on a murder mission.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Yes.” Vakar smelled like a candy store, literally. Were her emotions that complicated? Probably.
They sped off, vegetation rippling in their wake. If there was a speed limit here, she was probably breaking it, whatever the punishment for that might be. She weaved in and out of the other traffic, which was mostly pedestrian until they passed beyond the immediate border of the spaceport area, and then it was a long, empty road except for the occasional pit stop or scrapper yard. In the distance, jagged rocks leaned against each other like enormous dominoes fallen sideways, and she could have sworn she saw someone ride a dasher off the edge of one and glide toward the ground.
Not her idea of fun at the moment, but maybe another time.
There was no sign in front of the place where they stopped, but it matched the coordinates. It was gated, with a shoulder-high fence overrun by vegetation. Tarps and metal sheets covered the merchandise, no doubt to keep the plants off. Just inside the gate, there was a sturdy building with a door made of razor wire, electrified, judging from the low hum emanating from it.
Chained next to it was a hard-shelled crehnisk, its carapace shimmering green in the golden light, grinding a piece of metal in its circular mouth. It paused and turned beady eyes toward them, fluttering hidden wings.
She couldn’t identify half the stuff in the piles, even though she considered herself relatively savvy when it came to ship parts. She’d learned from her dad, after all, and he had bought and sold a few hundred different kinds of starships in the time she’d spent with him, before she took off with Tito’s crew. So long ago, it seemed like forever, even if it had only been ten years.
That made her think of her mother, of course, and her sister. They had been so mad when she went to live with Pete. She hadn’t cared at the time about his less legal dealings, had assumed the stories were either exaggerated or somehow justified, especially the ones that sounded dangerously interesting. She’d thought they just didn’t want her to leave them, didn’t want her light-years away in another star system instead of getting a boring job like monitoring credit transactions or cataloguing the dry data points of emerging species on planets no one would ever visit. Screw that. She wanted to visit them. She wanted to live, really live, instead of reading about life in books or experiencing it through other people’s memvids. And look where that selfish urge had gotten her.
Oh, Mari, she thought. How did they even find you? Why did The Fridge decide you were a target? Was it because of Dad? Or me?
Or, she thought suddenly, was it something her sister was researching, something she had discovered—
“Who’s there?” came a whistle-song from inside the building. “I got an alarm, so don’t try nothing or you get the Chomper.”
The Chomper? Must be the crehnisk, which ground its metal snack at her more vigorously. Eva inclined her head and shouted, “Jappy? Captain Innocente. I’m here to pick up some cargo.”
The kartian appeared behind the door, eyestalks flicking his gaze between her and Vakar. “Cargo, yeah?” He opened the door and stepped out, one of his legs dragging a bit from what looked like an old injury. His carapace was shiny, almost iridescent, and he rubbed his tiny hairy arms over each other like a nervous tic. “Lemme see your card, so I knows it’s you.”
“Not a chance,” she replied. “I’d like to keep my kidneys. I’m sure you have a scanner anyway, if you really want to check.” She wasn’t sure, but it stood to reason; if she were too paranoid to pull out her card, anyone who had lived here long enough would know better.
He grabbed a small device off a nearby shelf and pointed it at her. It gave a tinny whistle, and he whistled back, sounding almost disappointed.
“Wait here,” he told her. “Don’t want you touching anything.”
Jappy wandered away, down a row of stuff like any of the other five rows that wound in no discernible order or arrangement. Eva squinted up at the cloud-diffused yellow sky. The urge to check for her ID card strengthened. She ignored it.
Vakar wandered a bit, not so far as to arouse suspicion, but far enough that she couldn’t always keep an eye on him. Maybe there were some other parts for the ship they could grab while they were there? He’d know best what needed repairing or replacing. Plus he probably enjoyed seeing all the random stuff Jappy had on display, like a museum or a catalogue with treasures waiting to be discovered. Maybe she could get him a gift?
Eva-Benita, she screamed at herself. Feelings. Stop. Madre de dios.
“Here it is,” Jappy said, limping back from his search. He towed over a cargo floater with a large metal box that steamed slightly—or rather, condensed. Refrigerated? Why refrigerate a machine? There had to be a way to ask what it was without seeming foolish, though the kartian might not have any more idea than she did.
“I was told it’s inactive,” Eva asked.
“S’right,” he replied.
“Hasn’t given you any trouble?”
All his eyestalks swiveled to face her. “No trouble,” he said. “Can’t figure out how to shut off the subspace beacon, but it’s weak. Box dampens it.”
“Right, of course.” Subspace beacon? What the hell would it need a subspace beacon for? To send a distress signal? She remembered the strange rectangular metal thing at the lab where she’d left Miles Erck, and wondered again if this was more of the same. Could it really be Proarkhe stuff? Leroy probably would have been salivating at the thought. As would her sister.
But the Proarkhe had been gone for eons. Nobody even knew what they looked like; none of the remains that were found near their artifacts were old enough to be them, and everything else was more void than substance. Vast impressions in eroded landscapes that might once have been cities, the mysterious Gates scattered across the universe, fragments of machinery whose original purpose was usually impossible to guess. Unless you believed the rumors about BOFA hiding all the working tech somewhere so they could experiment on it. Which she didn’t.
Where would it be transmitting to, anyway? And what? And why would The Fridge need the booze from Dalnulara, which had nothing to do with ancient tech? No, it didn’t make sense. Not to her, at least.
She’d need more pieces to have any hope of putting that puzzle together.
Vakar came back around and his hand crept to one of his pockets. The one where he’d hidden his ID card? He patted it, a faint whiff of anxiety wafting from him. Had it fallen out on their ride over here? That was ridiculous; the suit was skintight and pressurized. But maybe something had happened.
She glanced at the metal-eating guard dog, then at Vakar, picturing his card tumbling end over end and getting gobbled up by the excited creature.
As if it could read her mind, Chomper fluttered its wings and bobbed gently in the air, pulling on its leash, then settled back down to chew on another hunk of metal. Could he have? No, Vakar wasn’t tha
t foolish.
So why did he smell like dismay and panic? He glanced at her, and the ping came in. ((Card gone.))
“You are shitting me,” Eva said.
“Whatsit?” Jappy asked.
“Nothing.” What had happened? It didn’t matter. All she had to do was keep a straight face until they made it back to the ship. Stay away from card detectors, move quickly and quietly.
They were fucked.
“Floater should tether to your dasher, yeah,” Jappy said. He gestured to a button on the side of the box, then resumed his hand-rubbing, eyestalks swiveling in multiple directions. “Drive careful.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Eva motioned for Vakar to follow and together they walked back out to their dasher, pushing the floater.
Eva waited for him to tether the cargo and climb onto the back, then she took her seat. “So. You’ve got, what, a stun grenade, an EMP, a flashbang, and two smoke bombs?”
“Also a pistol and a container of synthetic lubricant,” Vakar said.
Eva raised her eyebrows at that. “I’m assuming there are sensors rigged along the roadway to alert people to fresh meat.”
“That is likely. Are you able to drive and shoot at the same time?”
Eva snorted and didn’t answer, summoning up a dark visor with a silent command. She wasn’t sure why Vakar had bothered to ask, really.
“All right,” Eva said. “Let’s burn this candle.”
“I am sorry,” Vakar said. “It simply disappeared. I suspect sabotage.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Eva checked her own pocket. Her card was intact. Made a sick kind of sense; if someone was handing out self-destructing cards, or using some special device to destroy them from a distance, they wouldn’t target every visitor. Might discourage repeat visits, and then where would the fresh meat come from?
“You could always leave me here,” Vakar said.
“What?” The thought hadn’t remotely occurred to her. “No way, macho. I’m not leaving you here to be someone’s lunch. You may just be meat, but you’re my meat.”
He smelled embarrassed. And there was that licorice scent again. It was driving her bananas. She thought of her talk with Pink and sighed.
Eva wasn’t sure what the sensors would look like, or if they would even be visible along the side of the sand-colored road, but she tried to keep her eyes open anyway. They might be closer to the rest stops, to let hunters hide near them in comfort, or they might be in more isolated areas, to avoid any chance of poaching.
What a planet, she thought, where people could be hunted as meat. Then again, was it really worse than other awful treatment people suffered in places that pretended to be civilized?
The first sensor they hit was a shrieker, going off as they passed so fast that the sound faded behind them into a low moan. A short barrier appeared in front of them, manned by a handful of kartians whose eyestalks were whipped sideways when Eva dipped the nose of the dasher down and then yanked it up, jumping the barricade with only a mild jostling of the cargo. She didn’t even have to waste a shot on that group.
The second sensor was silent, and instead of a barricade they hit a tunnel with no ceiling, sharpshooters crouched on the walls to target the travelers inside like fish in a barrel. Vakar tossed in a smoke bomb before they reached it, and luck kept them from being hit by any wild shots from the aliens above. There was a third sensor on the other end, presumably to catch people coming from the direction of the spaceport, and that one had the added bonus of a flashbang that would have blinded Eva if her eyes weren’t shielded behind her dark visor.
By now, they’d attracted the attention of hunters with their own rides, ones who weren’t content to sit around waiting for the fish to swim into the net. A set of dashers sped up to flank them, followed up by a lumbering tank of a vehicle that spewed smoke behind them.
“Take the shine!” one of them shouted, and the others hollered back, “Kaboom!”
Eva cranked their dasher, but it was carrying two plus cargo, and there was only so much it could handle. On the plus side, Vakar didn’t have to worry about steering and aiming, so he was able to pick off one of the pursuing dashers with a trio of well-placed shots to the gas balloons in the back. The other evaded more deftly, its driver flaring the purple tendrils on the end of her proboscis like she was blowing a raspberry.
The tank behind them opened and closed a horizontal door in the front, like a great maw, drawing slowly closer. The pilot wasn’t visible, presumably safe inside with monitors to guide them. Eva ducked a shot from the remaining dasher, squeezing off a few of her own at the driver, none hitting. The girl was good. Too bad she wanted to sell Eva off as a snack or they might have been best pals.
“Hang on,” Eva shouted. Vakar grabbed on tight to the bar behind her head.
Eva swerved toward the other dasher, which sped ahead to avoid the collision and glanced back at them. With a rush of air and gut-churning momentum, Eva yanked the dasher’s brakes, pulling it sideways just in time to drift off the road and avoid the chomping doors of the tank. The other dasher wasn’t expecting the maneuver, and didn’t get out of the way in time. Eva could barely hear the sickening crunch and boom over the howl of the wind and the roil of her breakfast trying to make an unwelcome return.
They made it back on the road within a few seconds, just in time for them to pass a rest stop with its own sensor mounted to the roof. It blasted a whistling alarm that made Eva’s cuca clench.
More vehicles appeared behind them, others in front of them heading in their direction. They were going to get crushed between two waves of kartians in no time. Vakar shot one of their balloons, then another, but that only slowed a few of them down.
The balloons, she thought. It was worth a try. But would it work with the cargo hooked to the back? Only one way to find out.
((On me,)) Eva pinged. ((Lap.))
Vakar fought against inertia to climb over the bar and straddle her. It slowed them down, but gave her time to squeeze off a few choice shots at the oncoming vehicles. Two of them collided; the rest swerved but kept coming. She didn’t bother looking behind her.
“Come and get me, punks!” she shouted, crowing. Shots whizzed past her, including an energy weapon like the one the hunter in the spaceport had used. If this didn’t work, they’d be fried chicken. Or pan con lechón.
Some of the vehicles peeled off the road, wary of an oncoming collision. They probably figured they would have easy pickings of the survivors, or the debris and corpses. But the rest revved up and came on faster.
((On mark,)) Eva pinged. ((Shoot balloons. Ours.))
She had to time it perfectly. Too early or too late and they’d be creamed, along with the cargo. She held her breath and allowed herself one glance over her shoulder, and immediately wished she hadn’t. That was a lot of people. Que rayo, had they all been waiting around for the dinner bell?
More shots, more evasion. Nearly time. Steady, steady. Eva could almost see the kartians’ little hands washing each other, they were so close.
((Now,)) she pinged.
She braked hard, yanking the nose of the dasher so it was nearly vertical. At the same time, Vakar shot the gas balloons in the back, which blasted the dasher into the air like a rocket.
Below them, dashers and tanks smashed together or zipped sideways or leaped over each other, an orgy of metal and carapaces and thin, hairy legs. Balloons exploded into fires that burned yellow as sulfur, and the pained and frightened whistling of the kartians added to the cacophony. Above it all, Vakar and Eva flew like a glorious rooster about to land claws-first on their enemies. Except they didn’t have any claws, and their enemies were burning like marshmallows.
They landed hard, skidding sideways, their dasher rendered useless by the maneuver, since it was gas-powered. Eva dragged a leg out from under the metal wreck, her arm singing with pain, back burning from the explosion of their balloons. Vakar had apparently fared better, tossed a few meters awa
y but already on his feet.
The cargo was still tethered to the back of their dasher. She limped over and unhooked it, grateful that the floater it was on rendered it nearly weightless. The box still condensed, seemingly undamaged from her stunt, and she sent up thanks to the Virgin for the good luck.
The shimmering dome of the spaceport was within view. Eva pinged Min to be ready for them to take off in a hurry, hoping she was within range, hoping if they made a run for it they wouldn’t end up like that nameless human who’d almost lived.
No response.
A huge blast blew a crater in the road next to her, knocking her sideways. Eva’s injured arm hit the ground first, a bright pain that clenched her eyes shut for a moment.
In the distance, between them and escape, was the kartian hunter with the robot leg. Grissy.
Another blast chunked some plants in front of her, throwing grit into her face. Grissy wouldn’t want to hit them directly, because the market likely paid less for ground beef. Plus, Eva still had her card, so theoretically killing her would be murder. Theoretically.
She pinged Min again.
((Where?)) Min asked.
Eva pinged her the coordinates, wondering whether the ship could possibly make it in time. At least if it didn’t, she wouldn’t have to worry about doing any more asinine Fridge jobs. And her crew would be able to sell La Sirena Negra and split the profits, as per her will. The idea of earning her freedom from debt with her own death was strangely unappealing, though.
Not to mention, it meant Mari would end up in an asteroid mine at best, or be flushed out an airlock because she was no longer valuable.
Grissy was clearer now, her dark shell smeared with plants to blend in with the sandy color of the road. She had a giant tripod-mounted blaster cannon anchored to the ground to absorb the recoil, and she took her shots carefully. Eva wondered if she’d also booby-trapped the road, and was rewarded for her speculation by the low boom of a hidden explosive nearby. Probably hitting poachers coming for Grissy’s kill.
Chilling Effect_A Novel Page 12
