Dark Ice (Mercenaries Book 2)

by A. R. Knight

  "What happened?"

  Davin shrugged. "We took care of them. And I got over it. Point being, it'll fade. You'll be fine."

  "Opal needs help," Mox rumbled. "Soon."

  "That suit of yours have any bright ideas on how we get to the main deck without getting lit up by a bunch of waiting ass-hats?" Davin asked. "That's where the med rooms will be."

  Viola tried to recall the schematics of the Karat, the ones they'd had on the shuttle console and that she'd been able to look at for a few minutes before their launch from the freighter. The vessel was three levels, with the bay above them. The bridge and crew quarters occupied the top, the labs and vacuum storage - to prevent any degrading of the minerals - was in the middle, with general cargo, raw materials, and the engines making up the lower deck.

  "Then let's go around," Viola said. "There are suits still in the shuttle, the emergency ones, two packed in the back, two in the front."

  The full passenger load. The Free Laws weren't good for much, but nobody wanted bad press of a crew forced to let someone freeze-out in space, so they'd mandated a minimum space suit set on every craft equal to the expected passenger count.

  "Wait, you're saying to scale the ship? The outside?" Davin said, his tone more curious than dismissive.

  "I'm saying we can get in through the cargo bay. Through the same tubes they get the ore from," Viola continued, both impressed with her own ingenuity and wondering if this was a really, really dumb idea.

  "There wouldn't be anyone there," Davin said. "Because it's a ridiculous plan."

  "Opal," Mox said.

  "That's true, she couldn't climb," Davin muttered. "But if we split . . .”

  “Davin and I,” Viola said. "We'll go."

  "No offense, Viola, but you'll probably get in a fight eventually and—”

  "It won't do any good," Viola interrupted. "If you two get down there and find a computer you can't crack. A locked shut-off on that ore intake and you're going to have a long walk back. And I don't think Mox will fit in one of those suits."

  Davin glanced between Mox and Viola, then nodded.

  "We'll go. Mox, hang out here and keep an eye on Opal," Davin said. "I'll comm you before we head up the elevator. It opens before then, it won't be friends on the other side."

  26

  Engineers

  "So what're you gonna do with her?" The short engineer asked, a look in his eyes that Merc didn't much care for. "She's the enemy, right?"

  "She's a resource," Merc replied as he finished patting the woman for weapons. The scattered randomness of her outfit left all kinds of places where she could've stowed away a small gun or knife. He took off her comm, tossed it next to the body of the other attacker. "You got a name, resource?"

  The woman, who'd spent this whole time swapping glares between Merc and the engineer settled after the question. Like she realized Merc would not light her up there and then, weaponless, in the hallway.

  "Cass," The woman said.

  "Cass," Merc chewed the name while pondering the next line. "How about you let us in on what the hell's going on here?"

  "It's what it looks like," Cass said. "We're taking the freighter. There's a lot of us, and once some more of my group get down here, you'll be as dead as Trap over there."

  "His name was Trap?" The short engineer said.

  "It's what he chose," Cass said.

  "And now he's dead," The engineer said. "Guy gives himself a great name, winds up dead on the floor of a freighter looking like an ugly grizzly bear. What a life."

  Cass stiffened. Merc hadn't put any restraints on her. If that engineer kept talking, Merc might have to.

  "How about we focus?" Merc said. "Cass. Tell me. What's your goal?"

  "Mine?" Cass's voice was tight, her eyes locking on the engineer even as she talked to Merc. "Right now, it's to kill that man."

  The engineer took a breath and Merc snapped the sidearm at him, causing the engineer to gulp down whatever dumb words were about to spew out of his mouth.

  "That's not gonna happen," Merc said. "But if he keeps talking, I'll let you beat him up a little."

  Cass's shoulders dropped and she took a deep breath. After a long blink, her eyes went back to Merc.

  "We were supposed to hold the engines. Keep the freighter from moving out of position," Cass said.

  "Out of position for what?" Merc replied as the engineer moved towards the far way, leaning against it and giving both of them a glowering stare.

  "Whatever ship is down there on Neptune," Cass said. "We're supposed to catch it when it comes up."

  "Who told you to do that?"

  "What do you care?" Cass asked. "Why does it even matter? You're dead."

  "Would you quit saying that?" Merc said, then stepped behind her. "Now, here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to go find my friends, and you're going to help me out."

  "I am?"

  "Yeah, because if you don't, then I'll shoot you first," Merc said. "Your boy Trap there can tell you what a good shot I am."

  The bridge, that'd been Phyla's order. Time to get to it.

  Cass didn't put up a fight as Merc moved the two of them. He told the engineer to seal the door behind them, lock it and not to open it for anyone.

  "Only a moron would open this door again," The engineer replied.

  "Still not sure about that one," Merc said, looking at the engineer.

  "You can't say you don't want to punch him too," Cass said as soon as the door shut behind them.

  "Maybe," Merc said. "But here's what I really want to know. How are you so cool right now?"

  Trap's body, lying there on the floor, was playing with Merc's senses. The idea that one day that could be him. Or Opal. That the other would be left behind. It was the thing Merc, as did most of the pilots flying combat missions, thought about in abstract. Family attending their funeral. Their lead saying a few nice words. The next mission without them flying on it. But it was always from a remove, an imaginary broadcast. Now, though . . . Merc blinked away the thought. Focus, man, or you will end up like that guy.

  "You ever lose much in your life?" Cass said.

  "Enough," Merc replied.

  "I've seen so many friends burn out around me that one more barely registers," Cass said.

  "Sounds like you need a new line of work," Merc replied.

  "This isn't work, it's a cause."

  "Hijacking freighters is a cause?"

  Cass stopped, turned to Merc. Held out her right arm, wrapped in a loose gray sleeve.

  "This cloth right here? It came from a store, a place I used to go every week as a girl to see what was new. What Eden and the others sent to our town on the edge of civilization," Cass pulled the arm back, pointed to her shoes, which were stained, patched and beaten, but still held together. "These were a friend's. She didn't need them after the first day of the war. She raised her hand and they shot her for it."

  "Red Voice," Merc said, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. "You're all supposed to be dead. Or surrendered."

  "One man closer, thanks to you."

  "Wasn't my fault you attacked this ship," Merc said. "Keep moving."

  They reached the intersection where Merc had been before hearing the shouts, Cass walking in front with Merc behind, sidearm pressed to her back. Red Voice. They'd started the Martian wars, fought against the Free Laws and lost. Which is what happens when you pitch a bunch of Mars townspeople against a corporate army backed by Earth's governments.

  "You don't look like Eden," Cass said after a few minutes walking.

  "Hired help."

  "Don't meet many mercenaries that wouldn't split first sign of being outgunned."

  "Guess you've been meeting the wrong ones."

  "Maybe so."

  The next few minutes passed in silence until they came to the sloping ramp that carried them up to the bays. The noises coming down told Merc everything he needed to know. Stern shouts were accompanied by the bangs and shunts of sup
plies moving, the attackers spreading out into their new home. Going up there would mean wandering right into the middle of them. Merc pulled Cass to the side, out of sight from the top of the ramp.

  "What's in it for you?" Merc said, keeping his sidearm pressed into her side. "Taking the freighter?"

  "Bakr said we'd get paid," Cass said. "We need coin, just like everyone else."

  "Bakr?"

  "Don't worry about him," Cass said. "He's a problem you can't solve."

  "Then how about this one," Merc said. "I need to get past these bays. Past your guys. Get me by, I'll see about letting you get back to your cause."

  "What're you going to do?"

  "Don't worry about it. It's a problem you can't solve."

  Cass laughed.

  "Now run," Merc said. "Run up the ramp or I'll shoot you."

  Cass looked back at Merc, her eyebrow raised, and Merc leveled the sidearm at her face, finger on the trigger. And Merc felt he was ready to do it. He would pull that trigger and send Cass to whatever world waited for her on the other side without hesitation.

  "Go," Merc said, and Cass went. She slipped on the ramp, but recovered, stomping up. Merc belted up behind her, trying to keep the sidearm ready. The Red Voice started as a peaceful protest. Finished as a bloody fight with whole towns ground into the red dust of Mars. Opal told him the stories, the merciless attacks on Eden convoys where they'd find, after, only the smoking bodies of the innocent. There was no reason to think he'd get anything nicer.

  So Merc followed Cass up the ramp and shot at anything that moved.

  27

  Traitors

  Gage stood alone on the bridge. Alarms blared around him, the freighter telling of various disasters being committed in its halls by the boarding crew. Gage could've turned them off, could have sat in silence, but his hand hovered above the button, unable to press it. This was his fault and the alarms were his punishment. He could handle it.

  His wrist buzzed. Gage glanced at it, noticed it was a face he'd been waiting, wanting, fearing to see. Eventually, one has to reckon with his choices.

  "Thank you for letting us on board your vessel, Captain Gage," said the man on the other side.

  Through the small screen on the comm, Gage stared at the wrapped visage. Rags. Only the man's eyes poked out, blood red and angry. He looked like that every time Gage spoke with him, as though the man's default state was harrowing.

  "As we agreed," Gage said. "And you're not going to hurt my crew."

  "So long as they don't harm us," the man replied. "However, there appeared to be some on the ship that were not expected. Some that are proving difficult,"

  "Eden saw fit to protect their investment," Gage replied.

  "Then I hope none of your crew members get caught in the crossfire," the man said.

  "I can help with that," Gage said. "The ones you want will try to make it here. To the bridge."

  "We'll have a squad coming to greet them."

  "And if that's not enough?"

  "Then I can deal with them myself."

  Gage swallowed. He hadn't ever seen the wrapped man handle things personally, but why ask for a nightmare when you didn't have to. Part of Gage wanted those mercenaries, wanted Quinn to succeed. To drive off the attackers and retake the freighter. To arrest Gage and hold him responsible. It was only right. But the small voice was drowned out by the rest of him, the part that knew if this went as planned, Gage would have nothing to fear. Nothing to want. Ever again.

  "They won't be able to get in the doors," Gage said. "I'll direct them towards the escape shuttles if your crew fails."

  "Then I will make my way there," the man replied. "Gage, I trust you understand how much is riding on this."

  "For me, yes," Gage said. "For you, I don't care."

  "A good answer."

  The wrapped man cut the call. Gage stared at the blank screen for a second. He'd never sent anyone to their death before. But then, today was a day of firsts. A day of lasts.

  28

  The Bridge

  The wide gate leading to the bridge was shut, and standing in front of it was a group of five invaders. Like the ones that'd chased her earlier, Phyla saw these were all wearing their own takes on randomized fashion. Mismatched footwear, shirts sewn with different fabrics in each arm. Phyla wasn't sure of the tactic there, but if they were going for strange, then they earned it.

  "If we hit them quick, we can have them down before they get a shot off," Quinn said. "They're standing so close that our misses will hit one of the others."

  "They're trying to blow the door," Phyla replied. "That means they might have explosives. We set one off and—"

  "It's what they're going to do anyway."

  Maybe. Even on a ship the size of the freighter, Phyla wasn't real happy setting off any kind of bomb. By accident or otherwise. All the electronics running between the walls and floors. What happens if the fireball knocked out the bridge's ability to control the engines, or triggered a lockdown that sealed them in the hallway?

  "Not like we have a choice," Phyla said, fighting her aversions. "I'll go left, you right."

  Quinn nodded. Phyla hefted the weapon she'd stolen from one of the torched attackers back in the crew quarters. Stepping around the corner, Phyla pulled the trigger and blue bolts flew out at the attackers. Stunning shots, designed to overwhelm the nerves of whomever they hit and crumple them to the ground for hours. They were lower energy than killing blasts, and when ammo was a premium resource, Phyla was ready to settle for incapacitation.

  Quinn's blasts joined hers a hot second later, the dual streams catching the attacking crew unaware. They barely had a chance to turn, to raise a hand, before they were struck and piled on the ground like a bunch of passed-out revelers. Phyla and Quinn ran up to them, checking each one with a slap to the face, a kick to the side to make sure they weren't faking. Satisfied, Phyla turned to the panel next to the door and pressed the comm button.

  "Gage. It's Phyla and Quinn. Open up."

  Seconds passed while the two of them waited. Quinn aimed down the hallway where the attackers would have come from, waiting for the next round.

  "I can't do that, Phyla," Gage replied.

  "You going to tell me why?" Phyla said, throwing a questioning look back at Quinn, who shook his head.

  "Opening these doors risks the bridge," Gage said. "You two might be hostages."

  "You have cameras looking out here," Phyla said. That was a hunch, but even the Jumper, a much smaller ship, had cameras throughout. It made sense when any breach or problem anywhere could cause all kinds of hell in space. "You think all these people are taking a nap?"

  A noise echoed up the hallway. Or rather, noises. Phyla picked out the various footfalls of a squad, a bigger group than before. Reinforcements called when the first five found the door sealed. She was running out of time.

  "Sorry," Gage said, then cut the comm.

  "What's he doing?" Phyla asked Quinn. "Why wouldn't he let us through?"

  The bodyguard stared hard at the doors, as though trying to bore holes through them.

  "When I checked, only a few people on board this ship knew the real objective," Quinn said. "Myself. Captain Yuan and his crew, all of whom are on the Karat . . .”

  "And Gage," Phyla said.

  Before Quinn could respond, with the clamber of the approaching group getting louder, Phyla slapped the comm again.

  "The thing with sell-outs, Gage, is that they always think their side's going to win," Phyla said. "You made the wrong play."

  "And the problem with the righteous is that they assume their enemies had a choice," Gage replied before clicking off again.

  Then Phyla was on the ground, Quinn tackling her as the first shots sizzled over her head. Bright orange, killing energy. Phyla rolled out from underneath Quinn and, propping her weapon on the prone body of a stunned attacker, triggered off a few retorts down the hallway. The enemies ducked back behind the corner, so her answering
bolts splashed harmlessly against the wall.

  "We have no cover here," Quinn said.

  "If we run, we won't get back," Phyla said.

  "I don't think that matters anymore," Quinn said. "The freighter is lost."

  Lost. As in, taken over. Which meant they were way out in Neptune's orbit with only the Jumper, currently nestled in the midst of enemy territory, as their only ticket home.

  Quinn pulled Phyla up, holding his rifle in his left hand and continuing to trigger a barrage of bolts down the hallway. The attackers chose to fire blind. Sticking their guns around the corner and squeezing the triggers, shots going wildly into the walls or overhead. Phyla shook off Quinn’s tugging and back-pedaled on her own until they were around the corner.

  "What now?" Phyla asked. "The bays are swarming with them."

  "The Amerigo has several escape shuttles. Small things, meant to keep you alive until help arrives," Quinn said. "The shuttles also have long-range transmitters. I can get a message to Eden from there."

  "Which will mean what?"

  "They'll know who did this and long after we're dead, Eden will avenge us."

  "That's comforting," Phyla said as the two of them jogged down the hallway, taking turns back to the crew quarters. Yet again, Phyla was running away from a fight. She was getting really, really sick of it.

  29

  Outside

  There were two men's, two women's space suits on the shuttle, locked away towards the back of the passenger compartment in a cabinet coated in Emergency red. Snug fits, like more suits these days. They converted enough oxygen to go for hours outside, insulated well enough to allow survival on body heat in a vacuum, and, to Davin, felt like zipping himself up in a plastic bag. The suit made every interaction a little unreal. He hated not feeling what was in his hands. A wall between him and the rest of reality.

  The coiled tether was as big around as Davin's thumb. Silver, with a thick casing made to withstand direct cuts with beam knives, lasers, or space rocks. A broken tether meant someone would spin through the cosmos, counting the stars till they fell asleep as their suit gave out.