Constellation (Blood Empire Book 1)

by Robert Scanlon

  I grin. “Don’t worry about me, Danielli. I have it handled. Now ... we’ll head into the social district. I have some trading contacts I can pull some favors with. Our objective is only to discover as much information about Errikson as we can. Low key recon. Then we’ll pull back and formulate a plan, depending on what we uncover. Questions?”

  “Yes.” Danielli leans forward. “Weapons. I’ve no experience with the Ganymedian authorities. What can we rely on slipping in?”

  “Anything we can hide on our person. But if we get stopped, it will cost us.”—I shrug—“They might have Generals and a superficial military order, but it’s still a mafia-run outpost. Everyone carries. Even so, tucking Plexi’s plasmacannon under your arm might attract the kind of new friends we don’t want.”

  I hold Danielli’s gaze for a moment. “And if we find ourselves using them, something has gone wrong.” I don’t tell him about Jordi’s warning. My reputed status as an illegal trader of Rykkan mercenaries originated on Ganymede. Probably in the very bars we’re likely to be heading to. Then there’s the fact that my last exit from the moon wasn’t exactly tidy. There might be a few people taking an interest in my return, but the last thing I want is a gunfight in the heart of mafia-town. I only just avoided the last one.

  ***

  I let our other pilot—a wiry, taciturn youth called Zhang—dock us to Ganymede’s outer trade station, where we will board the central shuttle hub. I am busy elsewhere on my ship with Plexi.

  When we are docked and transportation access is confirmed, I check in with Aktip and Danielli on the commPanel. “Status check from Ruby. Ready for action?”

  “Yes, Ruby.” Both Aktip and Danielli confirm.

  Ready for action is exactly how I look. Though maybe not in the military sense.

  I draw up the plastizip on my black leather skintight and float awkwardly down to the airlock. Not drawing attention to yourself on Ganymede is counterintuitive: everyone is a wannabe. Me? I’m a wannabe rock star from Ribas, or an aspiring actress from Actiron, here to see her new manager, “Django.” It won’t matter what I am, as long as I look the part. Where we’re going, everyone is a narcissist. No one will pay much attention. Except if I have flaming red hair.

  Danielli’s eyes practically fall out of his face when he sees me at the airlock. He nods approvingly at my full-length leather outfit. “You came prepared.” He inclines his head to my jet-black hair, tied in a long and very tight braid.

  I shake my head. “Plexi’s dye came in useful. The outfit is another story.” As is what I’ve managed to hide in it.

  I catch his inquiring eye. “For later. Right now, I need to be in character. We on the same page with that?”

  He nods. “Sure thing, Ruby. You’re here to get hired, and I’m your sleazy manager.”

  “And that means you act like it. No deferring to me: act like you’re in control. I’ll let you know when I have a specific request.”

  He grimaces. “So I have to treat you like crap, order everyone around, but behind the scenes, follow your lead. Sounds simple.”

  “Then let’s party.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Sheesh, Tyrone,” I say to Danielli as we enter the station’s main hub and feel the grav-simulation kick in, “it’s about time you finally brought me to somewhere with gravity.”

  I adjust my breasts in the leather jerkin, throwing a flirty smile at the guard lazily checking everyone out at the shuttle entrance. “At least people here can see these are real.”

  Danielli does well to disguise his slight shock at my new-found persona. “Loudmouthed as always, Ruby. I think you’ll fit in just perfectly.” He winks at the guard and looks back at me. “You and Ganymede are made for each other. Now move your butt. From what I hear, Django is desperate to see his newest recruit.”

  He pulls my elbow roughly and I make a show of ripping my arm away from his and scooting into the shuttle on my high-heel mags.

  If the stakes weren’t so high, this would be a comedy.

  We descend to Ganymede Central in the shuttle. I adopt a bored look typical of wannabes secretly seeking fame and fortune. But what I seek is much darker and my stomach turns at the thought.

  “Ruby!” I finally twig that it’s Danielli calling me. The shuttle has landed without me realizing.

  “Yeah?” I give him a sullen scowl.

  He jerks his thumb at the exit. “We gotta guy to see. Pronto.”

  I bound past him in Ganymede’s 15% gravity, and look down my nose at him. And anyone else looking. Though I see my leather skintight has collected a few views. Good. I’d rather be lusted after than ousted. The latter has far worse consequences.

  A change of shuttle pod and a couple of beltways later, and we’re inside the T-Dome.

  I stop and gaze, like a starlet in awe of movieTown. Despite being planet-sized and only three-quarters the size of Mars, Ganymede has proved stubborn to terraforming. The colony engineers believed they could build on the existing traces of oxygen and, using Ganymede’s geothermal resources, form a neutral gas base. But with very low gravity, and in the presence of Jupiter’s massive magnetosphere, Ganymede’s atmosphere production is still in its infancy.

  The only way to survive the daily dose of Jupiter’s fatal radiation is inside one of the many shields, most of which double-up as pressure domes. Some for housing, most for work, some for the energy transfer plants monopolized by the mafia ... and some, like the T-Dome, purely for entertainment. Of any variety.

  If I have my bearings correct, this dome houses the Xpress district where Jordi and I tangled with some of Ganymede’s lowlife. And the scene of a fight. So it’s not exactly salubrious. Then again, not much in the Xpress district is.

  I strut—a kind of hip-swinging bounce in lo-grav—in front of “Tyrone,” scowling at anyone who tries to hit me up. My height—exaggerated further in the mag-heels, my jet-black braid and the black leather skintight seem to do the job. I need to be intimidating, but also a wannabe.

  Tyrone pushes me roughly. “Hey!” I protest, but he pushes again, making me skip forward a few meters. “Leave it out, you puke-jockey. I know where we’re heading.” A few bystanders smile at the interchange, and carry on as if it’s a normal day on a Jovian moon. Because it is.

  Soon we are heading down the Xpress mainway. A place I remember leaving in a big hurry on my last visit. My mag-heels with their “enhancements” don’t always grip as I wish, so “walking” comes with a frequent majestic slo-mo hop. I try to make it part of my act.

  A string of grimy blue lights lead us down an alley, and we arrive in front of a unlabeled door.

  Which is open. Revealing a small mezzanine entrance foyer, and a bar room and dance floor set below.

  Tyrone growls. “Get inside, babyface.”

  Babyface? Danielli needs a heads-up on the current lingo. But I throw him a nasty look and enter the mezzanine.

  Unchallenged, we descend the slo-lift, and are enveloped in a cloud of fun-gas and blasted by driving drumtrax. Danielli hands me a filter and I slap it over my nose and mouth. I don’t need fun-gas to know when I’m having fun, and I’m not planning on any fun anytime soon.

  I scan the crowded and large, cave-like room, as if I’m looking for the cool people. Not far from the truth. The forgotten-era throw-back strobe lights and loud music are pounding my head and make recognition difficult. I spy the face I’m looking for, surrounded by a gaggle of his preferred furry aliens, in a booth on the far side of the dance floor. I grab Danielli’s arm. “Darling—I’ve seen just the man you need to hook me up with.” I drag him behind me as we push aside the slo-mo heaving, sweaty crowd, most of whom have inane fixed grins from the fun-gas.

  I’m halfway across the room when I notice a face staring at me from the bar over the gloom. I spin around, pull Danielli into me, yank down our filters—and kiss him hard. He flinches momentarily, then leans into it. I pull away, noticing his red face. “Ah, Tyrone. Has it been that long?
Poor darling. Never mind—they’ll be plenty of willing victims for you here.”

  I sneak a glance at the bar. The staring face has moved on, apparently satisfied. I pull our filters back up, let go of Danielli and flounce across the rest of the floor. I come to a stop at the edge of a throng of fur-groupies around the man I’ve come to see. I put my hands on my hips and wait.

  Slowly the man’s attention comes to me. His bald head glistens when the colored roving spotlights hit it; lank brown hair descending either side of a face with high cheekbones. He smiles and opens his mouth to call my name, but I give my head a tiny shake. Instead I push through his furry friends, ignoring their protests, and float down onto his lap.

  “It’s Ruby, darling. Or did you forget already?” I lean in as if to kiss him on the cheek and whisper in his ear. “That hard object in your lap? It’s not you being glad to see me.” I dig my laserdagger into his solar plexus to reinforce my meaning. “But I’m sure you’d still love to get a private room.”

  The man’s eyes widen for a moment, then he breaks out into a wide, toothy smile. “Ruby. How long has it been? Will your friend accompany us? Or will our time together truly be private?” He flicks his eyes briefly at Danielli.

  I flutter my hand behind me. “Tyrone, why don’t you find yourself a playmate? There should be someone young and furry enough for you here. Pedro here and I are going to have a little private fun. Come back in five minutes. If you last that long.” I rise up, dragging my dagger suggestively up Pedro’s lower chest. He just grins wider, stands and beckons me through a guarded door, which hisses closed behind us.

  Pedro bats the laserdagger away and hugs me. “Ah, the ‘divine one.’ But what on Europa are you doing back here? There’s a price on your head. Are you mad, Indy?”

  I feel a brief smile flick over my face at Pedro’s use of the honorific nickname my father used to use. “Apparently.”

  I pull down my fun-gas filter. There will be no gas or fun in here, but my lips are still tingling from Danielli’s kiss. I’d let go of any notion of any such action years ago. I shake the thought free, but the tingle remains. “What can you tell me about Errikson?”

  Pedro sinks slowly into the plush tubchair behind him. I follow him and slide onto his lap. Just in case someone pokes their head in. He sighs. “So that’s the risk payoff. I should have known.” He looks me in the eyes. “It’s still all about Papa, isn’t it?”

  I shake my head vehemently, but deep down I wonder if he’s right. Then I remember Mitch. “Not just Papa. Sloper’s got Mitch holed up somewhere and he’ll kill him if I don’t bring him what he needs.”

  His eyes narrow. “Must be big if you’d rather do what Sloper asks than kill him. What’s Errikson got to do with it?”

  “Can’t tell you. For your own good. Actually for the Sector’s good.”

  He leans back and regards me carefully. “Word is that Sloper went after the C—”

  I put my hand over his mouth and whisper. “That’s what I mean. Forget you ever had that thought.”

  Pedro’s eyes widen and I remove my hand. He collects himself. “Errikson’s been holed up in the yards.”

  The shipyards in Jupiter’s orbit, and in Ganymede’s shadow. Easier to contain Jupiter’s fierce radiation wind that slays delicate equipment.

  He continues. “He’s hired the biggest hangar cloak you’ve ever seen. Street-talk says he’s bringing in a big salvage op.”

  I shift on Pedro’s knee. “Hmm. Who could get me in there?”

  “Spacedust, Indy. You’re as tough as they come, but even your moves won’t help you if they find out you’re here.”

  I bring my lips together in a tight smile. “Are you forgetting something? Indy’s not here.” I stand up and wiggle suggestively. “It’s Ruby. And I’m looking for action. Let me ask you again: who can get me in?”

  Pedro exhales noisily. “Might be time for me to repay my debt to your father. ’Specially if you’ve found what I think you’ve found.”

  You don’t know the half of it. If anyone other than Danielli learned about my new captain credentials, I’d be spaced in a picosecond.

  “You have someone in mind?”

  He nods. “You won’t like it.”

  My face falls. “Bruno?”

  He nods again. “If there’s anyone who knows Errikson’s Achilles heel, it’s BB.” He looks anxious. “But have you got anything that will interest him?”

  I give Pedro a wicked smile, unzip the front of my jerkin, reach all the way down to my abdomen and pull out a long neuronic entrail, capped with its small graphene-encased headunit. I dangle it suggestively. “Ruby’s got a toy for Bruno the Bad.”

  “Oh Jesus.” Pedro looks up at me with wide eyes.

  “That old urban myth? Didn’t know you still believed.”

  The door knocks and slides back at the same time. A small furry face pokes in and speaks in a peculiarly incongruous deep and sexy female voice. “There’s a Tyrone looking for Miss Ruby.”

  I look at the creature. “Tell Tyrone Ruby’s almost finished. And so is Pedro.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Pedro takes us in a wide-bodied, three-seater flaretrike, unique to Ganymede. I introduce him to Danielli, but I refuse his request for more information.

  “It will only put you in more danger,” I tell him. Sounds noble, but I know the fewer people I share information with, the less likely it is to leak. Papa always said, “You don’t want it found on the netcom, you don’t put it on the netcom.” The Sector War saw the demise of the netcom as a flawed security risk, but Papa’s principle remains: people can’t give up what they don’t know.

  I glance at Danielli. He hasn’t said much since the club, but I’m pretty sure he’s one hundred percent soldier, and his repressed desire to talk has nothing to do with the giant smooch his captain gave him. I only hope I wasn’t ID’d.

  Danielli looks over at me. “Ah ... Ruby. What is our mission objective?”

  “We trade this”—I reveal a little of the neuronic entrails I’d cut out of the SIM before it autodestructed—“for information about Errikson. Access to his hangar cloak if we can. Depends how bad Bruno wants to cut Errikson’s SIM market down.”

  I find myself shivering. Even though we are under a geothermal-powered heatdome, a leather skintight wasn’t the most practical choice for a moon with an average outside temperature of -121 Celsius. I have to find out where the Constellation’s drive is. Once I know that, I can lure Sloper into a deal to get Mitch released. Sloper’s greed will take care of his motivation. I just need to take care that he doesn’t quite get what he wants.

  We jet across an empty drone park and into a long, low building, designed with one convex wall and tucked into the edge of the dome. Whoever chose this location was streetsmart. Finding defensible strongholds in a domed environment takes planning.

  Pedro pulls the trike around to the building’s main door and we slo-mo off. He calls up the doorpad on the main access and punches in a code. I raise my eyes at him when he looks at me.

  He grins and entwines his first and second fingers. “Me and BB? ... We’re like this.”

  The door slides back and twenty or so armed goons rush out at us. We’re surrounded.

  Pedro looks at me and slowly disentangles his fingers until they point in different directions. “Or like this.”

  We follow the armed platoon into the building and down a brightly lit corridor. I pick up sounds from the closed doors we pass—laughter; a girl’s high-pitched squeal, some males arguing. Yep, Ganymede. Satellite of love, as it’s known.

  We turn into a larger, sparse, windowless room. Three guys stay outside. There’s one hefty square table in the middle. No chairs. Leaning against the wall at the other end is our man. Bruno the Bad.

  “You’ve put on weight,” I say as I come to a stop in front of him.

  He had, too. Never a slim man, Bruno’s brown jowls now droop almost into the folds of his neck. His arms are
trike-jet thick, maybe flabby, but still strong. He wears a satchel slung over one shoulder.

  I smile. “You should try setting up shop on Rykkamon. Put some muscle on you.”

  He doesn’t return my smile. “I heard you have ops with spinheads. But cut chat, pretty face. You want something from Bruno, you give something to Bruno.” He leers at me. I see food stains spattering his plastivest.

  I start to pull down my jerkin’s zip, but Bruno grabs my wrist. “Not that. Bruno not interested in women.”

  I regard him coolly. “You think I don’t know your ugly pleasures? Please. I’m not unzipping for your carnal delight, believe me.”

  He stares, and drops his hand, holding his eyes on mine. I keep up the staring contest and drop the zip down to my panty line. I reach in and pull out Bruno’s prize, whipping it back out of his reach when I see his eyes light up. I pull the zip up.

  “I’ve got more where this came from.” I watch him carefully, and I sense Danielli shift behind me. I’m confident of my deal, but we’re on Ganymede.

  “Where?” His eyes are fixed on the SIM headunit.

  “Classified. But I’ll bring ’em ... when you give me the info Pedro tells me you have.”

  He hacks up a spit, and the gobball sails majestically down to Pedro’s feet. Pedro is unmoved. Then he laughs, his belly wobbling in lo-grav empathy. “Okay, Miss Rooby. I play your game. You want information of Errikson, yes?”

  I nod, and hold up the neuronic unit. “This should more than pay for it.”

  Bruno laughs again, and reaches into his satchel. He pulls out a handful of identical SIM units, complete with their long neuronic tentacles. “Trouble is, already have units.” I feel my face fall. He leans forward, snatches the device from my hand, looks up at me and says, “I think, you want information from Mr Errikson, better to ask him yourself.”

  Crap. Looks like my attempt to avoid my cover being blown in the bar was all in vain. At least it earned me a kiss. Time to play games.