Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel

by George Ellis

  I wasn’t particularly hoping to make his acquaintance this visit, however. Under the radar was the order of the day.

  Batista shook her head at the patchwork station as we approached it.

  “Looks worse than I imagined,” she said. And I had to admit, M12’s aesthetics were not its strong suit. The station looked a bit like a mad scientist’s attempt to fuse a robotic octopus with a bionic spider that was missing half its legs. I was more enamored with the idea of the station.

  Edgar stared at the mismatched structure through the display. He was just waiting to get off the ship and hit the casino. I tried talking him out of it, but he had been clear that once he stepped off the Stang, what he did was his business. “Besides, no bounty on my head,” he had bragged.

  I navigated the Stang around to quadrant six, the low-rent end of the neighborhood. If there were railroad tracks on the station, quad six would be on the wrong side of them. It was an old, long-range hauler that now had a new life housing a tightly packed group of rental properties. Shaped like a donut, it held a special place in my heart because my uncle and I had towed it out here to become part of the station.

  “Nice neighborhood,” Gary said.

  “Ford 5.0, please proceed to skip eight,” an automated voice advised over the Stang’s intercom.

  I smiled a bit to myself, as I was the only one who got the reference. Edgar had given me a blank stare when I told him to change the call sign from Mustang 1 to Ford 5.0. Not too many people in the verse even remembered the Mustang was a car, let alone a model made by the Ford Company, which had changed its name a century earlier. And the reference to the car’s famous engine size? Over everybody’s heads.

  Anyway, skip eight was separate from the main set of docking bays. Batista raised an eyebrow as we rounded the corner and saw a perfectly secluded bay that we had all to ourselves.

  “Look at this spot right in front,” Gary noted.

  * * *

  Jiang greeted me with a wide grin and even wider arms. I wasn’t much of a hugger, but made an exception for Jiang because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He met me halfway up the gangway, embracing me before I could even step onto the bay floor.

  “It is good to see you, Denver,” he said, holding me tight for a moment. Then he stepped back and looked at my face with concern. “You have either aged poorly or you carry a lot of burdens.”

  His eyes moved past me to see Edgar and Batista descending the gangway. He seemed to understand the nature of our relationship. “I see.”

  “You, on the other hand, look exactly the same as the last time I saw you.” I said, trying to remember how long it had been since my last visit to his corner of M12.

  “Thirteen months ago, Denver,” he said. “You were very drunk most of the time, so I won’t hold the lapse in memory against you.”

  “You were drunk, too,” I reminded him.

  “Then I guess I simply have a better memory, or I can hold my gin better. You never were much of a drinker,” he said. Jiang liked to talk that way. He was a man of options and consideration, so a lot of times when he made a point, he also offered other potential possibilities as well. He was also right about me. I loved the taste and relaxation a good beer provided, but you had to twist my leg to get me to drink gin or other spirits. Just wasn’t my thing. So when I did, it usually got the best of me.

  Edgar walked right past us without a word. I called after him. “Three hours, don’t be a minute late.”

  The big man waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. “I’ll be back,” he said with a thick accent. Apparently he’d been working his way through the 80s action flicks too. He disappeared into an atrium that led to the heart of quad six.

  Jiang sighed. “Only three hours. That won’t give us much time to catch up.”

  Batista approached and traded nods with Jiang.

  “Guess it’s good to have friends. Can we trust him?” she asked me.

  Jiang took no offense, so I took some for him. I gave her a severe frown. “I trust him more than I trust you. Be back in three hours, and don’t forget the groceries.”

  Batista appraised Jiang one more time. She seemed satisfied and started to head off.

  “I like IPA’s more than lagers!” I yelled as she stepped out of sight. I hoped Batista only doubted we could trust Jiang because he was someone she didn’t know, not because of his background. There was a lot of anti-Chinese sentiment in the verse, mostly lingering racism from the Earth days. I didn’t take Batista as that kind of person, but I’d also come to realize I didn’t know her very well.

  “You’ve grown a temper,” Jiang said, rather gravely. “Although it is understandable given the warrant. Would you like to talk about it?”

  “I’d rather have a beer and an egg roll,” I said.

  Jiang smiled again and turned to the stout woman with the dour face that had just appeared next to him. He said something in Chinese and the woman hustled back to the fueling truck and hopped in.

  I followed Jiang through the bay doors into the atrium of the ship, which had been expanded to be a hundred feet higher, giving the main entrance an airier feel. The interior of the atrium was lined with small balconies, each belonging to an apartment. Most of the balconies were empty at the moment, but a few were occupied by residents who stepped out of their homes to vape or just lean over the railing and enjoy the view. I didn’t like the eyes on me. Jiang sensed my apprehension and quickly escorted me to a corridor leading to his own apartment.

  “Do not worry, the people who live here have little interest in bounties like yours,” he said. “Some have warrants out on them as well, though none with as many zeroes…”

  “Collection and naturalization?” I asked.

  Jiang nodded. It bothered him that the federation would rather spend the resources to track down and harass working class people than simply forgive them the taxes owed. These were folks that had enough problems. I agreed with Jiang, of course, and that was part of why I liked him so much. As the Quadrant Mayor, he charged much less for his apartments than he could have, and he probably gave the hardest cases places to live for free.

  His apartment could have been the nicest in the quad, if he wanted. After all, he was the mayor. Instead, he lived in what I guessed was a fairly average rental compared to the rest. One bedroom and bath. A small kitchen. And a sort of living room/storage area combo. The view from his window was of the recycling bins.

  He closed the blinds to make me feel better, then lifted the lid off the pot in the kitchen. Steam rose from the simmering oil and I caught the scent of honest-to-goodness home cooking. I nearly fainted on the spot. When Jiang returned from the fridge with a cold bottle of IPA for me, I almost embraced him once again.

  I took a long swig of the beer and sat on the couch, some of the tension easing in my shoulders. Jiang sat across from me, appraising me more closely now.

  “The egg rolls are almost done,” he said. “Want to talk business or just keep it light?”

  I mulled the question for a few moments, then shrugged.

  “I’m already asking too much just being here with the Stang. But if you want to get in even deeper, I’m happy to hear your advice.”

  Jiang shook his head. “I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you. I still owe you.”

  I waved my hand and motioned to the egg rolls. “Those will be payment enough, trust me.”

  “Those?” Jiang joked. “I only made you one!”

  I smiled, knowing he was kidding. Or hoping, anyway.

  He settled into the couch and swigged his beer. “What can you tell me?”

  “It seems I may have crossed the wrong man,” I began. “Well, before that, I helped the woman you saw escape a federation ship. We left some bodies in our wake. And then Desmond, yes, that Desmond, forced me to be part of a suicide mission to take down the Rox, which apparently exists. Oh, and my brother is alive.”

  Jiang took a moment to absorb this information. “I
hate to think you’re holding any details back, Denver. That sounds pretty serious as it is. Your brother is alive. Wow. How do you feel about that?”

  “I honestly don’t know, and that’s the part that bothers me.”

  Jiang understood. Not only did he know enough of my story to realize I had complicated feelings when it came to Avery, he was also the black sheep of his own family. The only one with a conscience, he often told me, and I got the impression he spent most of his life trying to compensate for his family’s shortcomings. It explained why he was so generous and giving.

  “What about the giant?” he asked.

  Edgar. I was wondering how long he’d take to ask about him.

  “Desmond wanted him on my crew to make sure I went through with our deal,” I said.

  “You with a crew…that’s a new one,” he admitted, considering the scenario.

  “How are Pirate and Gary adjusting?”

  I laughed. “Better than me, let’s just say that.”

  “This man…”

  “Edgar.”

  “Edgar. He seems…different.”

  Jiang wasn’t just a lenient landlord who made a mean egg roll. He had also been a bio-engineer in a former life. And he knew after one glance what I’d been starting to realize about Edgar.

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure he’s enhanced,” I said. “Not just physically, either. The guy hacked a missile navigation system like he was opening a sliding door.”

  “The way he moves, I’d guess those physical upgrades were military, and not run of the mill. We’re talking about high end work that may have started at a developmental age,” Jiang said. “Intelligence implants on top of that and he could be a pretty scary situation.”

  “He is. And he’s not even the one I worry about most. Batista, the woman I sprung from a fed ship, has me twisted like a pretzel.”

  Jiang raised an eyebrow at the expression. He’d never heard of a pretzel, apparently.

  “She’s hard to figure,” I clarified. “I don’t know her angle. At least with Edgar, I know where I stand.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “About an inch from the edge at all times. Are those damn egg rolls done yet? I need some fried dough and pork!”

  Jiang nodded at my mock anger and went to fetch the food.

  * * *

  No sooner had I bit into the flaky, delicious crust of my second egg roll than I felt a buzz in my pocket. I checked my handheld. It was Batista. She wasn’t looking at the screen, but rather seemed to be checking her surroundings. She was crouched in a dark corridor, peering around the corner.

  “Batista?”

  “We got a problem,” she said, her eyes scanning the corridor. “Feds.”

  “Have they spotted you?”

  “One did, but I don’t think he had time to tell any of his friends,” she answered. “I’ve got his handheld now and they are getting concerned about him being missing.”

  “Is he…”

  “He’s alive. I think.”

  Well, okay then. “Can you get back to quad six?”

  “Nope, they have the corridor blocked. Gonna need a little help.”

  I looked at Jiang. I didn’t even have to ask. He was already grabbing his own handheld, along with a gun. He knew better than to offer me one. I made eye contact with Batista on screen. “Alright, we’re coming to you. I’ll let Edgar know we’re pulling a fast evac.”

  I stuffed the device in my pocket and followed Jiang out the door, shoving the rest of the egg roll into my mouth along the way. Jiang shook his head and smiled.

  “I’m noth gonna wathe ith,” I managed, my mouth full.

  Once we were in the atrium, Jiang whistled sharply and signaled toward a pair of teens sitting at a nearby picnic bench, vaping. They hopped up and hustled over.

  “Got any charges?” Jiang asked them.

  The taller of the teens, probably closer to his early 20’s now that I got a good look at him, nodded to Jiang and patted his jacket. He and his companion fell in step behind us as we hurried to the bridge leading to quad five, where Batista was holed up.

  I was nervous about the bridge. Each quad was its own ecosystem, run by its mayor, in this case Jiang. But the bridges were another matter. They had at least two sentries at each end, and they all worked directly for Aldo Jones. Part of his Elite Moon Guard (EMG). He may have been a quirky character, but I’d heard stories of him cracking down hard on anyone causing trouble on M12. The EMG had a reputation as well for being tough and not necessarily fair.

  As we approached the bridge, one of the sentries gripped his gun a bit tighter. The other stepped toward us.

  “Mayor,” he said, nodding at Jiang, then flicked his eyes over the rest of us, eventually settling on me.

  “Lieutenant,” Jiang greeted in return. “Any idea where a guy can find a good taco at this hour?”

  The Lieutenant grinned, and it seemed sincere. “What hour is that? I lost track years ago.”

  The man stepped aside and motioned for his partner to do the same, and we walked on past the checkpoint. No ID checks or anything. When we were out of earshot of the sentries, I turned to Jiang. “What was that?”

  “His brother’s family fell on hard times and needed a place to stay, and I was more than happy to help,” he said. “The perks of being a nice guy. Though I don’t know how far those perks will get us if we try to come back the other way with a bunch of feds on our tail.”

  I frowned. “I thought the feds had no jurisdiction here.”

  Jiang held his hand up and tilted it back and forth. “It’s all relative. They don’t technically have jurisdiction, but piss them off enough and a few hundred more will come back and slap you around.”

  Yeah. Made sense. In small groups, the feds were kind of a joke. Their true strength was in their numbers. By some estimates, they had half a million soldiers in their ranks. The problem here was getting off M12 before they identified us. Even if we wiped out the unit on station, one alert and we’d have the cavalry to deal with.

  I was so deep in thought I hadn’t noticed Jiang was speaking into his handheld. I listened in as he asked someone what fed ship was docked at the station. He disconnected and informed me it was the Burnett.

  “That mean anything to you?” Jiang asked.

  Jiang saw the answer to his question written all over my face. I didn’t even have to utter a word.

  I was hoping for a worse ship with a worse crew. The fed vessel Batista had been on, for example, the DTL Graymore, would have been fine with me. The guy in charge, Jeffries, was a hot-headed moron, straight out of the Interstellar Federation officer’s catalog. A ship’s crew tended to be molded in its captain’s image.

  The Burnett had Slay at the helm. She seemed like the type that didn’t tolerate anything less than ultimate obedience and top-notch work. That didn’t bode well for our chances of getting off M12 undetected, let alone alive.

  “Are we gonna be able to get back through that bridge with feds on our tail?” I asked Jiang.

  “My reach only goes so far beyond quad six,” he said. “But the bridges aren’t the only way to get around this station.”

  That was a ray of hope, at least. I checked my handheld and saw we were approaching Batista’s location. She was near the middle of quad five, which housed one of two major commerce areas of the station. Food markets. Clothing depots. Ship repair shops. If you needed to buy, barter or sell something, quad five was your place. Unless that something was sex, then quad eight was in order. That’s where Edgar had gone.

  Damnit. I’d forgotten to ping him.

  I tried to connect, but received a message saying his handheld was not in service. The guy had turned it off and was already getting laid. I didn’t blame him for it, but I was still upset. Jealous too, if I was being honest with myself. Well, first things first: extract Batista.

  Unlike six, a converted craft, quad five was actually its own station back in the day. It had spent the majority of its
30-year run orbiting the earth as a sort of convenience store for ships either passing by or stocking up after they burned Earth’s atmo. Three times the size of Jiang’s old ship, it was the largest jigsaw piece of the M12 puzzle, and probably the busiest.

  The market area was filled with protein-meat stalls, drink carts and booths with freeze-dried foods of every variety, from produce to ice cream. Vendors sold goods and items from around the verse. Walking among the stalls, I could smell the liquor in the air. It mixed with the scent of recycled oxygen, which always seemed to me to have a stale odor to it, probably from the charcoal dampers.

  There were people everywhere. Kids. Families. And some blue suiters.

  I tugged Jiang’s sleeve and we all ducked into a clothing store to avoid a trio of fed soldiers in their navy blue uniforms. They passed by without seeing us. Judging from their darting eyes, they were looking for someone, however. It’s possible their missing comrade had them all on high alert. I began to wonder just how smart it was to have come to the station in the first place. Perhaps sensing this, Jiang put a calming hand on my shoulder.

  “We’ll get you guys fueled and stocked up, and safely back on your way,” he said, with sincerity and conviction. “Of course, I’d still recommend you keep your head down and out of sight of the facial recognition eye in the sky.”

  He grabbed a sport cap with a large bill – some people still called them trucker hats – and swiped his handheld across the tag, buying it. He then placed it on my head with a smile.

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said, instinctively curving the bill of the hat into more of an upside down u-shape. “Been a minute since I’ve worn one of these. My uncle used to have a whole collection.”

  “I bet Erwin did,” he said. Jiang had admired my uncle. They were both self-made men and had eclectic senses of taste.

  We slid back out of the store, followed by Jiang’s two young associates. They didn’t speak much, just took our lead and followed Jiang’s orders. Must be nice to have your crew listen to you, I thought.

  I tried Edgar again and this time, I got through. “You said three hours,” he answered, annoyed. He was shirtless and I could see his naked female companions (twins) on the bed behind him, vaping.