After ten yards Charley’s light faded. With a burst of inspiration she rummaged through her pellet case. She needed to shimmy back a few feet so she could distinguish them in the faint light there. The pellet she’d used on the jeep back at Pedro’s compound had been green. Green for poison gas. Was there some kind of logic to the pirate pellets? What she needed right now was some kind of flashbang. Something to illuminate the tunnel and show the way. What color would that be? White? Yellow? In the end Charley went with the yellow, only because she remembered Silverton saying something about smoke, which would probably be white.
Burying her head in her arms, she rolled a yellow pellet along the tunnel. It fizzed for several seconds and she waited for the initial flare to die away. When she opened her eyes she smiled. Not only had the pellet been a flashbang, it showed the tunnel opening out into a wider cavern just twenty yards ahead. She took the remaining distance at high speed, glad to be making progress and hopeful that the loot cache lay in the cavern. As she approached she could see a pair of blinking lights set into the far wall. That must be it! A security panel. She emerged from the tunnel and stood to stretch her back. By the fading light of the flashbang she could see the lateral walls. Except they weren’t made of rock. Every inch of space to either side of Charley was occupied by leviathan bats. They were hanging upside down from protrusions near the cavern ceiling. Judging from the rapid-fire squeaks, Charley had disturbed their slumber.
Many years ago, when she was a lowly street urchin in Sandflower Downs, a mysterious stranger had passed through. He’d worn a fancy utility suit and had an air of violence about him. Apparently he’d come to town to collect the bounty of several men staying at the whorehouse. A man of violence indeed, except that he was very kind to the little girl he found under the piles of trash.
“Kid,” he had told Charley after his grisly work was done, “when in doubt, fire first. It’s nicer to regret being wrong than regret being dead.”
So Charley drew both blasters and fired indiscriminately into both walls. She raked the colony good and hard, enjoying the meaty thud of her plasma blasts. The cavern filled with a chorus of anguished squeaks and sonar-related pings. Several bats flew at Charley at once, knocking her clean off her feet. One enterprising beast locked its jaws around her ankle, biting hard. She yelped, firing at point blank range. Her body was buffeted by the bats jostling to attack. The cavern was a chaos of surprisingly strong, leathery limbs. The high-pitched squeak infected Charley’s mind and threatened to overwhelm her. The bat latched to her ankle began dragging her across the cavern. She felt a wetness down there and knew she was being eaten. In savage desperation she waved her arms, firing as she wheeled. Her right blaster maxed out, falling silent just when she needed it most. She yanked herself free of the feeding bat and crawled back to the hole. Luckily, several bats were still flying crazy, panicked circles and she had a semblance of cover as she made her way. She reached the hole just as a pair of bats made lunges at her feet. She hauled herself through and the creatures reluctantly let her go.
From there, she fumbled through her pellet rack as leviathan bats scrabbled madly at the hole. Their hairy, slimy mouths pressed way too close and she was slapped in the face by their foul breath. Clutching a red pill, she rolled it underneath the writhing bats into the cavern. It was what she hoped it would be - a light incendiary. It ignited several of the bats in flight, bringing them down in a cacophony of grunting. It scared others, increasing the general panic. Charley followed up with a white pellet, which released a thick cloud of cloying smoke. The abrasive air particles rose to the ceiling, choking the bats but leaving her relatively unharmed. The bats at the hole retreated. Charley took a deep breath and watched as the bat colony turned on each other, driven mad by the various toxins she’d released. As she considered her next move, she remembered that she hadn’t yet called the Galactic Office of Names. She swore vehemently as she hauled herself back down the passage, hoping she hadn’t missed a golden opportunity to get across that cavern.
Blinking in the bright sunlight, Charley dusted herself off and contacted the relevant authority via her wrist pad. She was greeted with drop shaft music for several minutes before an actual person deigned to talk to her.
How did they know her name? Charley guessed it was transmitted via her wrist pad ID.
“I want to register a name change, please,” she said. “I recently discovered I’m the daughter of a deceased man.”
“Just a moment,” Charley said, scrambling over to the DC23. She opened the trunk and grabbed Silverton’s gray hand, recoiling from the smell.
“Ready when you are,” she reported.
“Transferring fingerprint,” Charley said, pressing Silverton’s decaying thumb into her wrist pad. She waited with bated breath while it was processed at the other end.
Charley paused, unable to believe she was finally a Silverton, daughter in spirit to the pirate lying in the trunk. The moment was unexpectedly moving. She felt like she’d been waiting all her life for this feeling.
“Well, yes actually,” she stammered, blinking back tears. “May I have access to my father’s last will and testament?”
“And to you,” Charley said absently, waiting for the wrist pad to ping. She couldn’t open the incoming document fast enough. Many of the contents, including snippets of bad poetry and some kind of pirate haiku, were quite strange. It appeared Silverton was a sentimental man, leaving various favorite possessions with lovers from his past. Charley made a list of the things she needed to leave in the loot cache. The final page of the document contained what she was looking for - the access code to the cache.
“Bingo bango,” she said triumphantly as she memorized the number.
Charley needed another drink from the trickle before she re-entered the cave. She hoped it wasn’t contaminated by the toxins she’d spread through the bat cavern. At the far end of the crawl space she checked her blasters - both were back online. Another flash bang painted the walls with light. Most of the colony was either critically injured or had retreated into cracks in the wall. Charley stood confidently, dispatching the injured animals with precise blasts aided by the targeting computer. She was free to assess the security panel on the far wall. Shaking with anticipation, she entered the code with greedy anticipation. A thick steel door opened noiselessly and lights flickered on in the next chamber.
Charley beamed as she entered Silverton’s loot cache. The first thing she noticed was a pile of money. Intergalactic credits mostly, but exotic currencies from far-flung places too. Bags, cases, clips, digital dispensers. Credits galore. More than enough to send Charley halfway across the galaxy. Enough to live it up in some beach-side hotel for six months. And yet … she’d made a promise. Worse still, she’d made a promise to a pirate. Instinct told her that such promises carried weight. Sure, Silverton was dead now, but Charley had a keen sense of justice. She resolved to leave the money alone. Which left plenty of weird and wonderful items. For starters, there were the manaquettes. Sex dolls from gods-knew-where. It seemed Silverton had a perverse streak. Either that or he had simply traveled alone for much of his career in deep space. There were six dolls in total, most dressed in garish sex garb that seemed impractical, even for a manaquette. The sixth lifelike figure was different. For whatever reason, Silverton had dressed that one in a practical utility suit. No, more than that. Charley gave a low whistle as she touched the jet black fabric. It felt expensive. Light and tactile but extremely t
ough at the same time. She activated the holotag at the base of the neck. It was from a production house called DSM, or Deep Space Merc. The tag claimed the suit was heat, cold and toxin resistant. The style was classic and non-demonstrative. Simple, elegant lines. Charley thought she’d try it on and was gratified to see it fit snugly around her pert frame. Nodding in satisfaction, she moved on to see what else was in the cache.
Apart from the money, Silverton had amassed quite a gallery of exoticana over the course of his life. There were idols of all kinds - animalistic, shamanistic, cosmonautic, cybernetic. The pirate clearly had a fascination with various cults and religions across the galaxy. Pirate lore clearly borrowed from a number of belief systems to create its own unique philosophy. Pirates hoarded idols and totems like others kept electronic media. As far as Charley was concerned, they were also fair game. She piled them into a bag, ready for transferal to the D23. Surely some of them were worth a chunk of cash.
Further back in the loot cache, Silverton had stored a variety of weapons and armor. Charley didn’t find a saber like the one she’d been forced to sell in Zeba, but she did lift something possibly even better. A scimitar, curvaceous and deadly. The blade probably demanded a different technique to the saber, but it was much lighter and hefted more naturally in her right hand. It sliced the air sweetly and she suspected it was of the highest quality. Better still, it came with a scabbard so it wouldn’t cut her to pieces as she walked around. Finding a basic utility belt, she slid the deadly scimitar into position at her hip, just behind the right blaster holster. She even found a custom pellet rack to attach to the belt, spending several minutes sorting her pellets into separate compartments.
There were multiple armor pieces but Charley suspected they were too big for her. It was common for pirates to wear armor over their utility suits like the ancient warriors did many centuries before. Silverton had stashed titanium gauntlets, breastplates, boots, greaves and pauldrons. Each piece could be shield-activated. The old pirate must’ve seen a lot of close quarters action. Charley wasn’t planning on getting as close to her enemies. She took the boots and pauldrons for salvage but the rest was too heavy.
Finally, the weapons. Silverton kept a gear rack at the rear of his cache. Unsurprisingly for a man with so much battle armor, he had clearly favored short range weapons. High-powered quantum pistols, very expensive. Snub-nosed shotguns. Flamethrowers. The only medium range weapon was a murderous looking RD47 assault rifle with rotating ammo chamber. Charley slung that over her shoulder. Dragging the bag back through the crawl space wasn’t easy but she wasn’t about to leave any of her haul behind. After stowing the bag in the D23, she had a promise to keep. She dragged Silverton’s corpse rather unceremoniously over the boulders to the cave entrance. By that stage she was baking in the sun and needed more water from the trickle. It took about twenty minutes of grunt work to get Silverton into the loot cache. Luckily, the leviathan bats appeared to have retreated for good.
Charley laid Silverton to rest on his bed of credit chips, just like he would’ve wanted. A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. After all, she didn’t really know him, right? The emotion she felt, the strange, preternatural connection she sensed in this place, all of that was heat exhaustion. Couldn’t be anything else. Or so she told herself. Silverton had lived for a long time and had clearly stuffed his journey with joy, adventure, danger and pleasure. That was something to be respected. Revered, even.
“Thanks, Silverton,” she said softly as she shut the cache door behind her, probably forever. If only the man could possibly know what he’d gifted a girl from the slums.
16
Charley was still feeling a little vulnerable as she made her way back to the rock crawler. FIGJAM seemed to sense her mood and had the good sense to keep quiet. Sitting behind the wheel of the throbbing D23, she considered the journey ahead. She probably had the means to buy a berth on one of the long haul cargo freighters that left from Spacetown. She didn’t really care where she went at this stage, just that it was away from Abeya. Silverton had mentioned something about a man who could teach her a few things. That seemed a reasonable way to start considering she wasn’t going to get anywhere if she didn’t have a particular survival skill. Besides, she was armed to the teeth. It would be a waste if she didn’t at least learn how to properly protect herself. As for a becoming a pirate, well, she would at least visit Silverton’s friend and see what happened from there. Seeing the old man laid out in his chosen resting place had filled her with mixed emotions. She felt connected to Silverton, but did she really want to be a pirate? What kind of life saw a person feel the need to entomb themselves with their unspent riches? It seemed like a lonely existence. Then again, Charley didn’t have to follow Silverton’s example to the letter. She could put her own stamp on what it meant to be a free spirit. Feeling slightly better, she turned on some music and threaded her way north through the gorge. Her nav map showed a string of settlements on the far side of the Dusty Mountains. From there, she could swing east on one of the trade roads to reach Spacetown. Or so she hoped.
The gorge thinned into a tricky descent. The path was jagged and perilous as it spiraled down to the northern plains. Charley took the track carefully, glad that the D23 was built for exactly this type of terrain. Within three hours she had negotiated the worst of the downward run and was cruising through rolling foothills once more.
“You need fuel, baby,” cooed FIGJAM. “This desert has sucked your titties dry.”
“Thanks for the report, asshole,” Charley muttered, but the PalBot was right. One of these northern outposts had better have some fuel or she was toast. She couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck without wheels out here.
The first of the settlements was a fineli transfer station. Fineli were large birds that ran the salt pans in this part of the world. They were farmed for their rather dry and stringy meat. No fuel to be had in any case. Charley pressed on, hoping to have more luck at the next facility. Ondego had what looked to be a fuel depot, but it was manned by a bunch of men with the predatory look of gangers. No thanks. Since Charley wasn’t able to switch off the D23 without losing Tando’s activation, she didn’t want to turn her back on the vehicle with men like that hanging around. Eventually Charley rolled into a small fuel depot that turned out to be a family operation. An elderly lady with a freakish set of teeth loaded a few rusty looking fuel cells while her husband assaulted Charley with his breath. She passed on one of Silverton’s jade trinkets for the fuel. Probably an over-payment, but she was keen to be on the road again. She also bought a drum of water and some tarbor jerky, a concentrated protein that would keep her going until she reached Spacetown.
Charley drove until dusk had settled. Driving on the salt pans at night was a dangerous activity. Apart from the poor visibility, there were simply too many bandits and sand skinks. She rolled to a halt under a lonely mesa and killed the lights.
“Is this where we fuck?” FIGJAM asked solemnly as Charley pushed the driver’s seat back and prepared to sleep.
“Play your cards right and I won’t leave you in pieces,” she snarled. She wondered if she could turn the thing off.
“Fine, have it your way,” the robot muttered.
Charley closed her eyes and focused on what she would find once she finally lifted off this hellhole. At length a rustling sound drew her attention. It was rhythmic and close.
“FIGJAM?” she asked nervously. “Are you trying to jerk off!?”
“Just getting comfortable,” came the defensive reply.
“You realize you don’t have sexual organs, right?”
“Semantics,” the PalBot said in a sad tone.
Charley shook her head in wonder and rolled over. The throb of the prop bulb was actually comforting and she was asleep within a minute.
The dawn sun woke her, bright and piercing through the D23’s broken windshield. The cabin was cold. Damn cold. Rubbing her arms, Charley shook herself awake and prepared
to continue on her way.
“Morning, gorgeous,” said the PalBot brightly. “I feel we got off on the wrong foot. Can we start again?”
Charley eyed the little robot warily.
“Sure,” she said. “Why the sudden change?”
“Ah, nuttin’” came the cagey reply. “I like it when you’re facing me. I like the way your nipples poke through that smokin’ jumpsuit.”
Charley gasped and checked herself out. It was true - the jumpsuit was extremely good quality but the sheer material didn’t leave anything to the imagination. The idea was to wear underwear too. But the sun was climbing and there were hundreds of miles to travel today. She could change at Spacetown. Glaring at FIGJAM, she took a mouthful of water from the drum. It took her less than a second to shut the PalBot down. In blissful silence she continued on her way, tackling the shimmering salt pans with renewed determination.
17
The journey southeast was long and uneventful. The next two hours saw Charley pass through increasingly inhabited terrain. Moisture farms were quite common north of Spacetown. The city itself rose in the distance like a mirage. The port dome, huge even at this distance, shimmered like a magic sphere. The rest of the city lay further east, a hazy skyline of minarets and towers. It was said that Spacetown held close to half a million people. Charley couldn’t imagine so many crowded into one location. She felt nervous just thinking about it. At length the port dome shifted to her right as she selected a thoroughfare through the city’s northern limits. The road was thick with outbound speeders and utility haulers. Charley checked her wrist pad - it was mid-afternoon. The rental on her pad was about to expire, so she made a mental note to have her access replenished in town.
Low garages and farm supply dealerships gave way to larger tenements. Charley was soon traveling down a busy street into the center of Spacetown. For a simple pan girl, the neon billboards and towering res blocks were intimidating. The sidewalks were thick with all kinds of folk. Hookers, pimps, hustlers, dealers, cryjacks, lurkers, borgs, monks, urchins, runners, mercs. All manner of scum available for hire or rent. As the door through which all interstellar travel flowed, Spacetown had a particularly infamous reputation for sin. Sex and violence were bought and sold on a regular basis. Charley drove carefully through the milling traffic, awed by the sights and sounds of the city. She saw squadrons of patrolmen wandering the streets and remembered the gossip from Zeba. Were the planetary authorities cracking down on crime and poverty? She had no idea how that was to be achieved, but she was hoping to be gone before it became a potential issue for her.
The Pirate Guild Page 7
