by Astrid Amara
I turned to look at the box. As I did, he hooked his right foot out and kicked me in the back of my left knee with his heel. How he knew I had an old injury there, I had no idea, but I crumpled.
Instantly he was on me. He grabbed the gun and scrambled to his feet.
“You always fall for that trick, cowboy.” He snapped mag cuffs on my hands, then backed away. “Jesus, you’re strong.” He sounded almost reverent.
I began to flex my wrists against the mag cuffs. I could break my real fingers and get out of them, but it took time. The euphoria rushing through me would dull any pain, and it would be easy enough for the med team back at headquarters to fix the digits again.
But until I could get free I wasn’t much help to Security.
Mack yanked off his thin suit glove and reached back toward me. I thought he would slap me. Instead he ran his hand over my armor, reclaiming his knife and extra rounds. His fingers lingered at the back of my neck. I shivered with the contact. It felt really good while flying high on Peak.
“This feels different. Is your back…metal?” He leaned closer, glancing at the back of my neck. He snapped back up, ramrod straight. “A barcode? Are you a slave?”
I blinked. “What?”
He knelt to look me in the eye. I thrummed with the desire to head butt him, disable him. But he seemed to guess this was a possibility and kept enough distance between us.
“Are you working here against your own volition?” Mack asked succinctly.
My mind whirled with violent desires and ecstasy. “I’ve no fucking clue what you’re talking about, tiger.”
Mack suddenly smiled, his eyes shining. “Tiger?”
“It’s a saying.”
“No, it’s not. It’s your pet name for me. You used to call me that all the time.” Mack left me kneeling on the grates and attempted to lift the box off the magplate. As soon as he realized it was locked down, he re-approached me and felt around my suit for the key.
“I can’t believe how muscular you are,” Mack commented. “Do you work out?”
I almost laughed. “A heist and a pickup?”
He smiled at me again, and I felt really good all of a sudden, almost dreamy. He was beautiful, I thought. Fucking beautiful. A sight for sore eyes.
“Don’t take that box,” I warned him.
“Why not?” He unlocked the maglock and lifted it. It appeared to weigh nothing in his hands.
“Because you’re fucking with the wrong people. Trust Insurance doesn’t take to corporate espionage lightly.”
The man simply snorted in response.
“You’re so fucked,” I told him. My body thrummed with the Peak in my system. I leaned back, trying to get enough force behind me to break my hand.
Mack didn’t pay attention to me as he struggled to deposit the box into a collapsible sack he whipped out of a uniform pouch. I didn’t recognize his clothes—he wasn’t military. His assortment of gear suggested mercenary, but for whom?
He reached up and yanked on the cable to the hovering gyropod, lowering it. I had to keep him here.
“Hey, Mack,” I said.
He looked at me, eyes wet with tears. “Yeah?”
“When did you last see me?”
He swallowed. “Ten years ago. We were—”
I yanked my right hand through the metal cuff with all the unnatural hepped-up strength of a soldier flying on Peak. The skin sheared off, and my thumb cracked and broke back. I grabbed his gun with my broken hand. I felt pain but I didn’t care. On Peak, I didn’t care about anything.
Mack stared at me, a look of horror registering as he stared at my hand.
He tugged on the cable and it retracted quickly, lifting him and the box into the air. I had to shoot with my right hand, not my best for accuracy, so when I shot him, the blast only grazed his left thigh.
He cried out but didn’t slow his ascent. The gyropod tilted toward me as the weight of his bulk capsized the vessel slightly. There was no copilot. With a grimace of pain, I saw him grip the steering column.
I fired again but ran out of bullets. I clambered over the wreckage of the train wall and poked my head outside the top of the ruined train in time to catch the gyropod heading south, while half a dozen other gyropods from other terrorists went in every other direction.
From the view atop the disabled train, the terrorist attack was large in scale—I wouldn’t be the only agent left to chase down an errant gyropod. Without direction from security and communication fried, I realized I’d have to commandeer one of the buggies in the rear of the train and go after the fucker myself.
Chapter Three
Gotcha
I worked for an insurance company, which meant they were nothing if not prepared for the inevitable. They undoubtedly had a fucking actuarial table for every possible mission. And the buggies were equipped with everything I’d need to hunt down and recapture the box.
The buggy was designed specifically for the sandy ground and weak oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere of Calypso, so I didn’t have to worry about my blown helmet. I activated the vehicle canopy and took off as fast as I could in the direction the pod had flown.
Looking upward to follow the gyropod while steering over the bumpy terrain of sand dunes was harder than I thought it would be. I caught the pod changing directions and had to switch course more than once to keep up.
Despite its direction changes, Mack’s route was primarily heading south, away from the trains, away from the biodomes. I tried several times to activate the buggy’s communication system and alert the other agents to the location of the repository, but the buggy’s communication system had also been shorted in the comm blast.
At last I caught up close enough to the gyropod to take a shot. I pulled the emergency energy blaster strapped to the buggy door off its hooks and aimed. I knew I only had one good shot before he’d serpentine to avoid me, so I gripped the steering wheel with my injured hand and steadied my left hand on the side of the buggy. My shot hit the rotor blade engine.
“Gotcha,” I told him, grinning with Peak.
* * * *
The gyropod continued south, smoking as it crashed. It hadn’t stay in the air long. The closed buggy muffled the sound of the crash, but I saw the plume of smoke emerge over the dunes.
I whistled as I drove over the rough terrain. The buggy’s superior shocks took most of the brunt of the sunken patches and rough stones that hid under the fine sands and glass particles of the surface. The buggy’s screen fogged from the heat, so I turned on the aircon. I didn’t feel anything at the moment other than pure joy.
The smoke from the downed gyropod wavered frantically in the erratic winds of the planet surface. Tendrils of smoke thinned and blew in every direction.
At last I spotted crumpled metal glinting in the harsh Sol 10 light, smoke pouring steadily from the rear fuselage. I gripped the energy pistol, then felt around in the back cargo section of the buggy for an emergency mask.
The buggy was designed to provide for all sorts of emergencies, not exclusively military, so it wasn’t a military armor-grade helmet, but it would do. I slipped the simple air filtration mask over my head, struggling to do so one-handed. My broken thumb didn’t hurt, but it also didn't work, which meant I couldn’t grip anything with my right hand. Distantly, I knew it would start to hurt like hell in about an hour. But the buggy came with at least one medical pack, and I could undoubtedly score some pain meds until my next hit.
In the wreckage, I expected to find the repository. And possibly Mack’s ejection seat. So I wasn’t surprised to see Mack, sitting casually in the sand next to his deflated ejection seat, wearing a similar mask to mine and cooling his injured left thigh with a stasis torch. In the burnt wreckage, I could see no remnants of the repository.
When he saw me approach, he smiled. I aimed the energy pistol at him.
“Where is it?” I asked. The clear filter mask muffled my voice.
Mack cocked his head to the south. “I dump
ed it.”
I swung the butt of the pistol and smashed it into the mask on his cocky, smug face. He fell against the sand. “Ouch!” he cried out, readjusting his mask. “What the fuck!”
“Why did you do that, asshole?” I yelled, pissed. I aimed the gun again, ready to finish him off.
“Wait!” he cried. He held up his palms in surrender, wincing in pain. “I know the coordinates of where it’s dumped—I memorized them.”
“Bullshit.”
“Really! I have a quick memory. I can take us there.” He tried to smirk, but clearly pain overpowered his efforts at nonchalance. “Just making sure you don’t kill me first.”
I turned from him, body pulsing with rage. I wanted to kill him so badly I could taste it. I breathed deeply to control my thrumming fury, then turned back to him. I pushed him on the ground, ripping off his mask and pressing my left hand around his throat. It took all my strength of will not to simply break his neck.
He choked for air. “I’m going to make sure to kill you nice and slow,” I whispered. Violence felt so good when I was flying on Peak.
As soon as I released him, he curled up again, favoring his left knee. He choked and gasped for air, writhing on the sand. While he fumbled to retrieve his mask, I double-checked the wreckage to make sure he hadn’t lied and that there wasn’t anything salvageable.
Since the comm blast had destroyed my osys uplink, the buggy’s transmission, and every other electronic communication device in the train, I hoped some part of the gyropod wreckage would include a communication link. But everything had melted in the explosion.
Cursing, I came back around and spotted a trail in the sand where Mack pulled himself toward the ice torch. I rushed forward and retrieved it for him.
“Might want this for later,” I informed him, stuffing it in one of the slots on my belt.
“Oh come on, man!” Mack complained. “You shot me. It kills.”
“Get in the buggy, or I’ll throw you in,” I told him.
He glared at me but nevertheless struggled to his feet. I was glad to see he could put weight on his left leg, although his face went ashen as he tried to bend it. A crippled navigator was a pain in the ass, but at least he wouldn’t make any quick escapes.
It took Mack a few tries to fold himself into the small passenger seat of the buggy, given his enormous bulk and his injured thigh. By the time he slammed the door shut and removed his mask, a sheen of sweat covered his face.
I placed the pistol on my side of the buggy. I tested the vehicle osys once more, but it was still dead.
“What’s up with your eyes?” Mack asked.
“Huh?” I fiddled with the comm link dial.
“They’re overly dilated.”
I didn’t answer. I pulled on the starter and cranked the steering wheel. “Where we headed, tiger?” As soon as the words were out, I clenched shut my mouth. I didn’t know why I had called him that, and it hadn’t been the first time.
As I stared at him, I realized there was something familiar about his face. He was handsome, with high cheekbones, chiseled features, and gorgeous blue eyes. His black hair, even sweaty and sticking up in every direction, was thick and beautiful. He had the beginnings of stubble on his pale cheeks and an endearing cleft on his chin.
I must have known him from somewhere, but it hurt my brain to think about it.
“What are our coordinates right now?” he asked.
I switched on the osys. Then swore when I realized it needed a communication link to get the mapping system. “Shit.” I reached behind me and felt around for the emergency pack that had planetary maps.
“You also have a funny smell,” Mack said.
“Shut up.”
“It’s like a chemical. I take it you’re on some sort of drug? That’s how they brainwash you?”
I found the plastic planet map and flicked over the screens until I got to the quadrant we were in. It was challenging deciphering where we were, given that the closest marker was the train track miles away. I estimated our location the best I could and showed him.
“Head east,” Mack said.
“That’s it?”
Mack nodded. “We’ll correct course once we get to a flag.”
Emergency coordinate flags were installed throughout the sands and would help correct our path. But the steep dunes and craters of Calypso took a long time to traverse on land. It was unlikely we’d reach the dump site before Sol 10 set.
“This is a nice buggy,” Mack commented. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Love the aircon.”
I considered punching him until he shut up but decided I didn’t want to waste the energy. Or risk injuring him to the point that he couldn’t give me directions. My mission was a disaster until I collected the repository. Once I had it in my hands, I’d shoot him with relish. But for now, I had to put up with him.
“Looks like there’s an inflatable tempcamp in the back there,” Mack added, yawning. “We’ll need it. It’s going to take us a few days to return to the nearest biodome.”
“I can gag your mouth shut,” I warned him.
“So kinky.” He winked at me. “What will do you with me once you have me all bound up?”
I growled and looked back at the sand, although there wasn’t much of a distraction. I realized I was going to have to spend several hours, if not a few days, with this insufferable prick beside me, out of contact with all my superiors. All I could hope for was that someone at security would send backup after me, or at least follow me via satellite.
Or maybe he would get laryngitis.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Mack said. I glanced over and saw him sleepily staring at me. “I mean, it’s been ten years. I thought you were dead this whole time.”
“Shut up.”
“We had a funeral and everything. I cried for a solid month. I had to take medical leave.”
I ignored him.
“And to find out you’re not only alive, but here? Still on Calypso? It’s unbelievable.”
“I don’t know you.”
Mack snorted. “Yes you do. Maybe you don’t remember, but you do.”
“Oh yeah? Who am I then?”
Mack closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Ivo Franco Toreli, born September eight in the Akeli Biodome here on Calypso. You would be thirty-five by now. You’re an orphan.”
I made no expression. Nothing he said rang any bells.
“You came to the Calipso Center for Vulnerable Populations when you were six, and I’d only been there for about a week before you showed up. At eighteen we both joined the Calypso Recon. You were a star, you know. Top sharpshooter. I blamed all those virch games we used to play, you were so good at hitting targets. Or maybe it was all that practice sticking your big dick in my little ass.”
I swerved the buggy in surprise, staring at him in shock. “What?”
Mack just grinned. “What?” he repeated innocently.
“Shut the fuck up,” I told him. “Or I’ll tie you up and gag you for real.”
“You wouldn’t—”
I shoved him, and he slammed against the passenger door. It wasn’t a hard shove given my busted thumb and steering through slippery sand, but it got my message across. Mack looked insulted.
We came across the first of the marked flags. He glanced at the coordinates and pointed to the southeast. “Change your angle, follow the fifty-fifth parallel.” This would be slow going, given the completely monotonous, endless rolling hills of yellow.
After a few precious minutes of silence, Mack said, “Hey, Ivo?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.
“What should I call you then?”
“Nothing. Keep your mouth shut.”
“Hey, Nothing. Can I have that ice torch?”
“No.”
“Come on. It’s not like I can commandeer the vehicle with it.”
I glanced at him. Judging by his size and the way he’d fought in the t
rain, I didn’t believe his weak act for a second. “Too dangerous.”
“Fuck.” He slammed his head back against the headrest of the seat and closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth. On his knee, his burned polymesh suit was dark with blood. Through the tight-fitting fabric I could make out the shape of his skin swelling.
Well, that's what happened when you were an asshole terrorist.
As Sol 10 began its fast dip, I consulted the map and readjusted my route. We made it another mile, slowly, the hills and crevices of the planet larger than they ever looked from the trains.
As the last of the light dipped behind the mountains, I settled myself with the idea that I’d have to camp with this fucker.
Mack was correct, there was a tempcamp in the back of the buggy. It was easier to set up with two people, but I didn’t trust him enough to let him loose. It would be easy enough to catch me off guard, steal the buggy, and head off. So before I set anything up I found a pair of mag cuffs in the security box behind the front seat and locked his arms behind the buggy seat and to the frame.
It wasn’t a comfortable position, and he complained about it loudly as I got out of the vehicle and manhandled the heavy camp unit onto the ground. My thumb was finally making its angry presence known, not helping endeavors. The camp was a bitch to maneuver alone with the ability to grip with only one hand, but once in the correct location, the tempcamp only took a switch to power on the generator and inflate.
As it filled, I went through the supply boxes in the back of the buggy. There were ration bars and basic cooking ingredients, water, blankets and warm clothes, a medical kit, mechanical replacement parts, maps, and a bunch of communication options, all burned by the comm bomb.
Mack remained silent. He was very pale now and a little sweaty. I realized he hadn’t had anything to drink or eat since his assault on the train. Neither had I, but I needed a lot less food and water than most people.
It took about fifteen minutes for the tempcamp to fully inflate. Inside, the space was lit from the plastic mesh, and the air was already filtering through the airlock door. There were two inflated cots on each side of the spacious unit, a work station, even cupboards and storage areas. The generator was in the center of the tent, purring quietly as it made the space habitable.
