Catalyst

by Jody Wallace

  Should Wil keep running and subjecting other people to his personal consequences or should he give himself up? Not the cat—he couldn’t make Pumpkin do anything. Then again, if Casada only got Wil, the vengeful vac-sucker wouldn’t hesitate to raze this factory to the ground. After all, what were factory workers and pickers to a megarich criminal? The planet didn’t have a central government or a police force, so Casada had free reign.

  Speaking of the cat, where was he? Sleeping with Tama? Did he know Casada was coming, and had he decided everyone was no longer worth saving? Or was this beyond anything a small orange feline could handle?

  “You’ve put yourself in harm’s way to help me when all I asked you to do was call me,” Su said to the Pish employee. “I owe you, but why would you do that?”

  She gestured to Scrapper, who began to mobilize the employees into what looked like squads while others took the children and disappeared into hallways.

  It was all very well-oiled. Too well-oiled. How often did the factories and businesses here get attacked?

  “Somebody jammed half the comms in Bunk Port,” Bart said. “Couldn’t get a clear line.”

  “Garza must have helped him.” Su adjusted the handgun holstered at her hip. “I know it. First Garza didn’t care that he wrecked the tunnel and now he let him jam a port?”

  Bart stuck his hands on his hips, seemingly unaffected by the organized chaos around him. “When you asked me to find that whizz, see if he was poking around, see if anybody was talking, I was glad I did. He was asking things that made me nervous. Like what kinda factory you had, if he could blow it. And wanted to know about that spiff who was with you and about a cat.”

  “I don’t know anything about a cat, but the spiff is my new spotter.” Su had never once glanced Wil’s way, yet she jerked a thumb right at him. “Doesn’t he look sneaky? He did good on his first run, but we lost all my gloss in the tunnel fire.”

  “Gizem whizz says the spiff’s a thief that stole a cat,” Bart said, eyeing Wil. “Wants the cat back. But it’s not right to bomb a whole factory over a cat. The cat could be in the factory, so that’s why I figured it’s not about a cat.”

  Su clapped the large man on the arm. “If your brother’s as insightful as you are, he will be welcome here with his family, my friend, and you, anytime you want to jump ship. It’s not about a cat.”

  It was absolutely about a cat. But it was also about millions of DICs.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Su. I wouldn’t send my brother into a bad situation. I was glad you came through on my shift so I could talk to you about him.”

  Tama slipped up beside Wil, her dark eyes wide with excitement. “Where’s Pumpkin?”

  “I thought he was with you.” Wil refused to be concerned about the cat. He disappeared all the time. All. The. Time.

  “I thought he was with you and Su.”

  “They had a fight,” Wil explained, only half paying attention. Guilt nibbled at his edges. He shouldn’t have let Su get involved. But what choice had he had? Naked in the trash, no possessions or clues to his name. Now he couldn’t even repay her because Casada had figured out a way to freeze his accounts.

  “A fight about what?” Tama wasn’t joining the squads or the people herding children, and he realized she’d probably been assigned to keep him out of trouble. When had Su found time to do that?

  Best guess—immediately after he’d rejected her last night. Now that she was back among her crew, she would have greater concerns than a man and a cat. She wasn’t his personal champion, and it was ridiculous to be disappointed that she’d handed him off. She owed him nothing and he owed her his life and a half a million DICs.

  A different alert cut through the clatter of voices and feet, this one more urgent than the first. Now he understood why Su had realized that first one wasn’t the panic button.

  “They crossed the perimeter,” Nico announced at a shout, to be heard above the siren. “Shot Dasburt and Flip. Dunno if they’re okay.”

  Had people just died to protect him? Him and the cat. Everything echoed in Wil’s head as if at a distance, but the burn of his skin, the rage, was right here and right now.

  “Rat fucking son of a fucking bristleback shit pile,” cursed a man nearby. Rumbles of anger and more curses rolled through the assembled crew like percussion in an orchestra. Wil joined in, letting the fury pulse through him and drive him to action.

  How dare Casada kill innocent people over money and a cat? How dare he.

  “Two minutes. Places, places! Bart, you go to the shelter. You seem good with kids.” Su waved a hand over her head, and the gathering scattered. Again, far too well-oiled for Wil’s comfort. Not even a ten year dance troupe could boast such precision.

  Tama grabbed Wil’s arm and spoke near his ear. “Come on, we have to go.”

  He tugged free and headed for Su. “I can fight. It’s my fault this is happening.”

  Tama grabbed him again, but she was no match for his strength if he didn’t want her to be. “Wil, please. We trained for this, and you didn’t.”

  “I can stop this.” If he gave himself to Casada, maybe it would save the factory. Wil had to make the attempt. It wasn’t likely Pumpkin could push Casada and his men into changing their minds about the raid.

  Su met his eyes across the hectic, noisy room and shook her head no. Then she motioned for him to leave. Wil dodged a line of crew members jogging for the exit, guns ready, and increased his pace.

  But Tama threw herself into his path. “Su said to keep you hidden until we need you.”

  He was about to hoist the young woman and just carry her until her words sank in. He leaned close so she could hear him. “Wait. Su needs me to do something? Will it help?”

  “Yeah, she has a plan.” Tama glanced behind him, not meeting his eyes. “We aren’t going to make it if we don’t run.” She gave his chest a push. “In case we get separated. Right door, all the way down, left, halfway down, red data pad, the code is Scrapper Stinks.”

  “Sounds complicated.” If Casada came in hot, launching EE-torpedoes, this whole place could go up in smoke, and he’d turned Su down last night. What the drakh had he been thinking? Something stupid and noble. If he’d slept with her, would she let him fight beside her now?

  What if his not being beside her meant she got hurt? Or worse?

  Su looked at him again and mouthed, “Go.” She pointed, more like jabbed, at the doorway Tama wanted him to enter.

  Did Su have a plan? Her plans had worked so far. And he wasn’t part of the guerrilla units that Su’s crew had morphed into at the wail of a siren. He would be in the way, like an audience member who leapt on stage during a performance.

  So he let Tama shove him away from the person he desperately wanted to protect. If there was a chance Su did need him later, he ought to be ready.

  They were almost to the left turn when the first bomb hit.

  Tama stumbled. The siren wailed as the ground juddered beneath them. He grabbed her arm and half-carried her around the corner to a red plastene square on the wall that had no distinguishing features beyond its color.

  Tama smacked the pad and shouted, “Scrapper stinks.” A section of the wall clunked and slid aside far enough for them to slip through. It didn’t stay open long, rolling shut almost as soon as they used it.

  “This way, this way.” Tama led him through the near-dark of a steep, manmade passage that plunged into the ground. A chill built in the air as they descended, reminding him of the tunnels in the mountain. Beams and crossbars propped up the grey earth and stone like a mine shaft, but the floor maintained a metal tread for traction. Their boots thundered along the slope until they were louder than the fading noise of the siren.

  “How far away is the shelter?” He had no trouble maintaining the pace Tama set, but more information was always better.

  “Oh, we’re not going to the shelter. We’re going to the ship.”

  Another boom sounded somewhere abov
e them, distant like the siren now. The walls did not threaten to bury them, and Wil breathed a sigh of relief. “Are we sure he didn’t blow it up?”

  “Su set us at orange alert when you arrived yesterday. The scow’s hidden away from the factory.”

  “A long way away,” he remarked as they continued to jog through the dark tunnel, which leveled out. The sirens, the explosions, grew remote. “Did they take all the kids to the scow so we can fly them out of here?”

  “Nope, just a select few of us. It’s for Su’s plan.” Tama had begun to struggle to speak as they continued their rush, losing her wind. She panted out the rest of the words. “Don’t worry, the kids are fine. Union militia…actually coming…two factories.” She wheezed but kept on jogging. “For the kids.”

  So Su did have a plan, and it involved Wil and Tama being on a stellarship. Would they provide cover? Fight back? Lure Casada away? “Do you need to rest a minute?”

  “I’m…fine.” He could hear her gritted teeth, like a student in the nineteenth of twenty squat lunges. “Where’s…cat?”

  “I’m sure he’s around.” Wil hoped Pumpkin was being his normal wily self and protecting his orange butt from repercussions. But he wouldn’t mind if the cat would pay him a visit to reassure him that he was unscathed and stuff.

  Could Pumpkin find him if he’d flown away on a ship? Leaving the area without the cat, perhaps leaving the planet, concerned him. The furthest geographical distance Pumpkin had relocated himself was from Bunk Port to the Bristleback Range on the day all of this had begun.

  That was assuming Pumpkin hadn’t been hiding in the back of the truck the whole time.

  The tunnel sloped up, and there was no more talking. They emerged through the framework of an ancient ship on the outskirts of a ship graveyard. The moons in the sky provided enough light for details, though it was all shades of blue and grey. Some of the ships around them seemed intact while others were obvious wrecks. Sounds of battle echoed off in the distance, and a ship raced past overhead.

  “Hope that’s Omar,” Tama said, staring at the sky, chest heaving. “I know he’s got a few roundabouts that work.”

  A substantial-sounding engine with a low pitch hummed nearby. The Moll? Tama hustled Wil to a ship he would have sworn was a junker, but it was the one with the engine currently running. They jogged up a ramp in the back, into a cargo hold, where several small ground vehicles were lashed to the floor. Crates and boxes of all types lined the sides, also lashed, as if the ship often flew upside down.

  A grey-clad teenager Wil didn’t recognize emerged from a second-floor door and motioned frantically. “Come on, come on!”

  “Gimme…a minute.” Tama bent over, hands on her knees, and sucked in deep breaths. The screech of more ships, and now the rumble of ground crawlers, thundered past the graveyard. Good guys or bad guys? If Casada had been to the day laborer hangouts Tama had described, he could have hired a miniature army.

  The young man in the doorway shifted his weight impatiently from foot to foot. “We got word. Union militia just crossed Bristleback Range. But the off-worlder’s torpedoes took out part of the barracks.”

  “Everyone okay?” Wil asked. Most of the fighters had been on the way out of the barracks, but he didn’t know how secure the shelter was. Had anyone been inside the part of the building that had been destroyed? If he’d remained, would he be dead?

  The teenager leaned on the railing that lined the catwalk around the cargo bay. Stress furrowed his brow. “Shelter’s fine. My mom’s in there. Nico didn’t say anything about anyone else.”

  “Hope that hoser didn’t blow up the kitchen,” Tama panted. “We just upgraded.”

  Wil’s tired escort plodded toward a set of metal stairs, and they joined the young man. He waved them through the doorway, gesturing for them to strap themselves into the passenger area. Voices spoke urgently somewhere past the next bulkhead, accented by the occasional hiss and crackle of a comm device.

  “So you’re the guy with the cat?” The young man eyed him from boots to hair. “Why did you leave the cat behind?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” Pumpkin hadn’t outed himself to all of the employees, so Wil didn’t know who to tell what.

  “The cat is fine,” Tama said, taking pity on Wil. “Protected.”

  “It’s like this jagoff knows the cat isn’t in the buildings.” The kid lowered himself to the edge of one of the molded seats before popping back up again. “He’s saying he wants the cat, but he’s blowing things up?”

  Tama side-eyed Wil for a moment. “It’s not about a cat,” she said, echoing Su.

  “Is it about him?” The youth regarded Wil suspiciously. “Is the jagoff your ex? Mom says exes are the worst so that’s probably what’s going on.”

  Wil had never had an ex willing to kill people over their breakup. “No, he’s mad about money as well as a cat. I, ah, won a bunch of DICs in his casino.”

  “You steal it?” the boy asked. “That’s what everyone’s saying.”

  “Won it,” Wil corrected, leaving off “fair and square” because Pumpkin’s assistance put their gambling outside the fair and square range. “But rich people, nobles—even if you don’t do anything wrong, they can get incredibly sensitive about a reduction to their bank accounts.”

  “They don’t have enough already?” the boy asked with a snort.

  “To them, it’s never enough.” A similar greed had driven Wil and Pumpkin for a whole year, winning a great deal of money but always wanting more. He’d learned that lesson, but the knowledge that Pumpkin had somehow spent billions of DICs confounded him.

  And the cat said he wasn’t done.

  Was it because Pumpkin, like the richest people in the galaxy, was never satisfied, or was there a mystery Pumpkin wasn’t sharing?

  Wil suspected it was both, and Su was right. Knowing what Pumpkin needed the money for might help them decide what to do about it.

  Not them—him. Su and her crew were only involved until Wil could book passage to the other side of the Rim. With his zero DICs and good looks, he supposed. He’d also need a way to convince Casada to leave Su alone. If the casino boss believed Wil and Pumpkin weren’t on this planet, would that work? Wil could abscond with a big flourish and lure Casada after him before finding an actual way to disappear.

  He would need to stage his departure as carefully as he’d staged Ballo della Bashear when presenting it to the easily offended nobility of Bashear Moon.

  Barring that, he could try to fake his and Pumpkin’s deaths. But Casada would require the type of proof a holo wouldn’t provide.

  He’d want to see bodies.

  He wondered, briefly, if Casada had placed more than one tracker inside his body and Javier hadn’t found it. Something organic, impervious to routine scans. The casino boss had access to all the worst, most insidious tech through Zev and his underworld connections. Hells, they weren’t connections—Zev and Casada were the underworld of the Rim, at least in this sector.

  He shouldn’t have cooperated with Pumpkin. He should have stopped Pumpkin before they got caught. He shouldn’t have let Su help him so much. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t.

  He shouldn’t be this worried about Pumpkin—but they’d never been in a warzone before.

  “I’m going to…go outside and see if anyone else is coming,” Wil said. Would the cat show up if it was just him? Did Pumpkin have some way of listening to Wil when Wil couldn’t see him? It had always seemed like he did.

  Wil hurried back through the ship, around the metal grated catwalk, and down the narrow stairs to the bay floor. The back ramp led outside, where he breathed the freezing, mineral-tainted night air and listened to the noises of the conflict. If he gauged their route through the tunnel correctly, the factory was two kilometers away from the shipyard.

  The flashes against the sky weren’t as frequent as when they’d first emerged from the escape tunnel. No more bombs. Not that Wil was a munitions expert
. Or a gun expert. He was only an expert at fancy footwork and stage directions.

  But one thing was for certain. He was willing to give every penny he’d earned or ever would earn if it repaired the damage to Su and her factory. Nothing he’d done in his entire life had hurt people like he had the last couple of days. His days had been about entertaining, educating, and pleasing people. Sharing the glory of physical dance, the euphoria in using one’s body to express story and emotion, the satisfaction of art combined with movement. He had not injured or ruined or killed.

  “Pumpkin, this would be a good time to show up,” he said aloud. He no longer felt foolish speaking in dark, abandoned places in case the cat was around. Lots of times, he was.

  But not this time. No sauntering, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed feline appeared from an area that had been empty moments ago. No smart-mouthed, sarcastic little dictator twitched his whiskers at Wil’s concern as if to say, “Why do you even bother?”

  “I’m worried about you and the danger we’ve put Su’s people in. You said you liked them because they were clean. I want to think that means something to you. That you agree with me that we need to help them.”

  Nothing. Not even the whistle and chirp of night critters that lived on temperate planets or domes.

  Instead of the cat he wished he could see, a ship screamed away from the factory, so fast it nearly raised the short hairs on his head. Wil plugged his ears, expecting at any moment for an EE-torpedo to smash into the ship.

  It didn’t happen. In the wreckage of other ships, the Moll was well and truly concealed.

  Drowned out by the scream of the fleeing ship were other whines and hums he could only hear once his ears stopped ringing. Something, or someone, was traveling this way. More fleeing ships? Medical crafts taking the wounded to whatever passed for a hospital? Casada and his people giving up? The union militia leaving Su to fend for herself? Wil found his fists clenched so hard in the face of his impotency that his nails stung his palms.

  But these approaching engine noises weren’t like a Tomen or a freighter. They were small, but not ground-based. Otherwise they wouldn’t have that whine—would they?