Wild Nines (Mercenaries Book 1)

by A. R. Knight

“What do you think?”

  “That she probably knew before you did.”

  Davin could only nod. And when the lift doors opened, the two of them pushed their way out along with a motley mess of humans, down the stairs and onto the stained, rusted metal that served as the trench floor.

  Waiting for them, a small floating platform with a railing around the edge and a single stick used for steering. The man at the helm stared dead at Davin through a pair of thick goggles, doubtless meant to protect from the occasional mists of toxic anything that spewed out at random from constant experiments gone wrong in Vagrant's Hollow.

  Phyla paused as Davin stepped on to the platform, the constant flow of bodies making a subconscious part around them. Was she nervous? Why? Davin put on a grin, reached to pull her up, but Phyla ignored his hand and used her own legs to get herself on board.

  “Tell you something? I never wanted to come back here,” Phyla said. “When we left, I thought there was a chance we weren’t coming back. Ever. It felt good.”

  “You didn’t say anything about it when we took off,” Davin said as the platform lurched forward. “It won’t be long. Lina will let us know who we need to talk to, we clear the charge, then we’re good to go.”

  “I guess I didn’t know I still hated it this much.”

  Phyla leaned over the edge of the platform, looked at the leaning metal masses of the pack homes around here. Davin followed her gaze, washing his eyes over the dreamers meandering below. Miner Prime was an idea as much as a place. A literal manifestation of hope to the bunches stuck on Earth who wanted adventure. A chance to hop on a mining ship, or an expedition deep into the dark universe. Davin checked his math. Almost fifty years, this place had been acting as a permanent settlement.

  An older woman, dishing out soup to a family, glanced up at them bobbing by on the platform and turned away. Davin wondered why until he looked at Phyla, realized that the two of them didn’t look like they belonged here anymore. Both of them armed, in gear that screamed they were probably working for Miner Prime’s own police, or were otherwise searching out criminals.

  “Sometimes I wonder why we were the ones that made it out,” Phyla said, nodding her head at the woman.

  “Luck,” Davin replied.

  What else would explain how the Whiskey Jumper had landed in his lap?

  “Here,” the driver said, and they stepped off.

  In front of them sat a storefront. Davin noticed kitchen utensils, scrap metal, a few used books, and more on the shelves visible through the doorway. The only sign naming the place hung above the entrance, made from bits of different metals, an A missing, so that the name appeared to be “The Wrehouse”. Davin was the first through, stepping in and immediately feeling eyes on him.

  “Why do I only see you when you’re in trouble?” came the lead-lined voice of one Lina Monte.

  Lina stood behind the desk, staring at and yet also through Davin. A look that was wrapped in the past as much as the present, and Davin met those eyes fell down that well with her. Several decades of shifting dreams, promises kept and broken, the twisted love that fate doesn’t like to let alone.

  “Could say the same about you,” Davin said.

  They stepped towards each other, Lina coming around the desk, as though they were going to hug. Phyla walked in behind Davin, though, and Lina paused, setting a masked smile on her face. He wasn’t the only one playing in the past. Thing was, they were living in the present. With Lina grunting in surprise, Davin pulled her into a tight hug.

  “You can let me go,” Lina said, her face mashed into Davin’s shoulder.

  “Felt like it was needed,” Davin said, loosening the grip. “You remember Phyla?”

  “Friends never forget,” Lina said.

  “Nice to see you too, Lina,” Phyla added.

  “One of these days all three of us are going to go and get a bunch of drinks, deal with our problems, and get over this,” Davin said. “But right now there’s this thing hanging over my head. Namely, that there’s an android trying to kill us. And, you know, that has priority.”

  Phyla was the first to blink, to glance away and nod. Lina accepted the gesture, went back behind the desk, and sat down in a stool made of different parts stacked together.

  “You’ve got to deal with Bosser,” Lina said.

  “Who?”

  35

  Puppet Master

  The problem with space was that there was too much of it. Bosser muttered this so often that he considered having it plastered on a picture and hung on his wall. The vastness meant he couldn’t be everywhere, couldn’t take all of the problems into his hands and grind them into dust personally. Bosser tried, via the stuttering video link with the Marl’s new police chief, Ferro, on Europa. Turns out choking a man on another world wasn’t easy.

  “As much as I’d like to hear again how you failed so miserably, I have other things to attend to,” Bosser said, and then cut the feed.

  Ferro would sit there for another fifteen minutes before Bosser’s replied bounced its way across the solar system to Europa, and the thought gave Bosser a small bite of satisfaction. Life was all about time, after all, and if Bosser could demand a few minutes of it from someone else, then wasn't that power? Although power wasn’t much good if it stranded Bosser on a station like Miner Prime. The spinning waste of space was only getting less attractive as Bosser’s departure date neared.

  And pushing that day closer was the woman Bosser dialed next, Marl Rose. Dialing. There was a word that hadn’t made its way out of language yet. Bosser wasn't punching buttons. Just saying the target's name was enough. The monitor would present some options, highlight the most likely one, and he would say one, two, or three. Bosser glanced back towards the nightstand and, on it, a wooden clock ticking away. He wound it every morning. A steady grinding of the gears.

  “Are you going to talk, or is this just a way to wake me up?” Marl said over the feed, staring out the monitor in a frenzied outfit, eyes tired.

  “Your new security seems worthless,” Bosser said. “I couldn’t find much on him. With no record, Eden won’t like the choice.”

  “I didn’t have much time, or options.”

  “I’ll remind them,” Bosser said. “Though they won’t be thrilled to hear you failed to apprehend Davin Masters.”

  Another thirty minutes passed as Marl listened to his response and composed her own. In a way, the delay was a feature. Bosser could hold multiple conversations at once, rarely feeling stressed. Reading, reviewing other work, or just winding the clock and watching the stars outside the apartment’s window. For one thing, it helped his temper. Hard to sustain true anger at someone when it took so long to see their response.

  “Davin ran. Along with his crew. They’re not a problem,” Marl said. “Is Eden going to send another set of inspectors?”

  “Your cavalier attitude towards the killers might raise eyebrows,” Bosser said. “You might want to try some sympathy.”

  “When I’m talking with Eden, I will,” Marl replied.

  “Free advice, that’s all,” Bosser said. “The answer to your question is: not yet.”

  “So then why did you call?”

  “I activated the android based on your evidence,” Bosser said. “Your flimsy evidence. You’ll be receiving a message soon with account details. Please deposit the amount noted, or Eden will come to understand just how easy it is to doctor a video feed.”

  Marl didn’t bother to reply. After fifteen minutes, she gave Bosser a look as frigid as Europa’s surface and cut the signal. It didn’t matter, she would pay.

  Bosser left his room and went to the small cafeteria that served the police building where he lived and worked. Miner Prime, even now, required an economy of space. Eating was cheaper here.

  The entire dining area was polished silver metal, or plastic disguised to look like it. Easy to wash and resistant to scratches. Everything a concession to durability, safety. Except the feeds. Along one
wall, opposite the serving counters, a vast screen divided into a series of real-time videos. Most were from Miner Prime. The main promenade on Level Five, the center of the station that served as its prime shopping center. Vagrant’s Hollow and its dirty chaos. Various docking bays flooding ships in and out like an ocean’s tide. There was one in the upper left corner that continued to show a magnified view of Earth, routed and delayed from satellites, but still an ever-present reminder of humanity’s beautiful home.

  Somewhere between his second sip of the dark coffee and the first tentative bite of the morning’s pastry, a starchy blueberry scone, the main door to the cafeteria opened and a comm officer stumbled into the room. A flushed face and wild eyes stared at Bosser, waited while he took a slow drink. Then Bosser signaled the man to speak.

  “They’re here, sir. The Whiskey Jumper just docked a few minutes ago,” the comm officer said.

  “Remind me what that is?” Bosser asked.

  “The, uh, ship that you wanted me to watch for?”

  “Ah. There are so many,” Bosser said. “Thank you.”

  The comm officer stood there for a few more seconds. Watched Bosser take another sip. Waiting for orders. People claimed to be disturbed by the androids, how they looked human but were not. This officer, though, stood more still than a bot ever would and lacked the utility. The officer made a slight cough noise.

  “You can leave,” Bosser said, and the officer ran away.

  The android, Fournine was its designation, already knew where Davin and his crew had gone. Its current position put the bot only a few hours behind the mercenaries. Waiting for Bosser's signal.

  One of the feeds on the far end flipped to a broadcast of the most-watched new videos, burning through popular footage. The second one, muted and fuzzy, effects added in, showed a trio leading a pair of Eden-garbed employees into an empty docking bay. Then shooting them in the back. The video flipped to a picture of one Davin Masters, claiming the man was wanted for the murder. He and his entire crew of eight.

  Wild Nines, and only eight members. Funny. Eight hardened fighters could be a lot for an android. Could cause a lot of damage to the station if they went down shooting. Split them apart, however . . . Bosser picked up his comm, started placing some calls.

  Davin Masters had come home, and he was going to find it a very unwelcome place to be.

  36

  Shopping

  Viola could tell Mox was tiring of her questions. The big man had slipped from three words an answer down to one. Sometimes just a grunt. Not like Viola could help it. The entirety of Level Five was full of things she’d never seen. Movies on Ganymede dealt little with the miracles on display here, the glittering dresses flecked with asteroid platinum, perfumes mixed with chemicals extracted from Mars rock, and even a pet store selling animals used to low-gravity environments.

  “If only you weren’t broke,” Puk said, floating by Viola’s head. “Think of all the cool stuff you could buy.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Viola said.

  “What I’m here for.”

  Mox drifted behind the two of them, casting his eyes at random. Shopping didn’t seem to be his thing - most of the stores Viola entered, Mox stood outside and leaned against a wall. It didn’t take a lot of deduction to realize that Mox was here as a bodyguard, to keep Viola from doing something stupid. Which, given her luck so far, wasn’t a terrible idea.

  Past a pair of restaurants hawking Japanese and African cuisine, the gentle curve of the level revealed a circular square with a giant projection in the middle. Sponsored by a news organization Viola wasn’t familiar with, the holographic image gave a 3D representation of the current broadcast. Pictures of Mars, ruined settlements and flashing lasers. Better to be here than there.

  Beneath the projection, which shot up ten meters into the air, people mixed and mingled on benches and tables, all anchored to the floor.

  “Cadge,” Mox said, nodding towards the left side of the projection.

  Viola noticed the squat mercenary was talking with a few other people dressed in thick jackets and work pants. Hoods on their jackets kept their faces hidden, and the group was too far away to overhear. On the trip over here, Viola couldn’t shake the impression that the man kept sizing her up like he would a piece of meat. Not sexual, no, but more like whether she was valuable. It was a strange feeling, and after the first couple of days, Viola had tried to avoid Cadge whenever she had the chance.

  “Who’s he talking to?” Viola said. Mox shook his head. “Puk, want to listen?”

  “On it,” the little bot said, zipping up and away.

  Like a human ear, the bot could concentrate on conversations from a distance. From vantage points Cadge wouldn’t think to look, such as right above him.

  “Why?” Mox asked.

  “I don’t know,” Viola said. “How he looks at me, makes me feel off. And he’s talked about my father’s bounty before.”

  “He jokes,” Mox said. “No filter.”

  “I get it,” Viola said. “He’s your friend. But he’s not mine.”

  Viola pulled Mox over to a small cafe where she let the metal man point out which of the unique beverages she should try. Zero-G roasted coffee, grown in enriched asteroid soil, had a flavor all its own. Having subsisted for weeks now on the Jumper's Anything with a new taste would be welcome.

  The frothy dark liquid, into which Viola poured a slight drop of cream, steamed in her face. Mox watched her from across their tiny for two table, a slight smile buried in his scruff as Viola raised the mug and blew into it. A few seconds later, the first tentative sip. It was hot, sure, but also sparkled in her mouth. Tiny bursts of heat and… macadamia? Followed by an undercurrent of deep, earthy loam that massaged its way down her throat into her stomach.

  Viola sat the mug back on the table and stared at it. If this coffee blew away anything she’d ever drank, what else waited for her out here?

  “Incredible,” Viola said when Mox asked how it tasted. “I don’t understand how it can have so much flavor. I mean, scientifically, I understand the components that go into it, how the molecular -”

  “Viola!” Puk buzzed, whirring back into the cafe and catching a few stares from the other patrons. “We have to move! Cadge is selling you out to those guys right now.”

  “What?” Mox said.

  “The bounty,” Puk said. “Cadge is going to divide it with them. They have a ship.”

  Viola looked across the courtyard, but Cadge and whoever he’d been talking with weren’t there any more. Disappeared.

  “Did you see where they went?” Viola asked Puk.

  “Sorry, was too busy coming over here to warn you,” Puk replied.

  Mox stood up, touching his wrist to the small part of the table sectioned off to a reader. Mox’s comm connected to his account balance and brushing it against one of these sensors paid whatever outstanding bill existed for the table. Viola remembered when the technology first came to Ganymede, at the same time a fully-fledged stellar network swung into place. It required instant connection and verification of an account’s balance, but was way more efficient than carrying physical chits loaded up with coin.

  “We go back,” Mox said, and Viola wasn’t going to say no. “Wait for Cadge at the Jumper.”

  Walking out of the cafe and back into the promenade, Mox, rather than falling behind, now walked right next to Viola, scanning the surroundings. Was this what it was like to be in this business? To always have to watch her back, to suspect anyone of having ulterior motives?

  The crowded racks of clothes in stores and their projected models, the stands advertising essential luxuries, lost their sense of wonder and became only places someone could hide. Anyone glancing at Viola could be an informant, passing along her location, that she was unarmed, or what she was wearing to someone who wanted to find her.

  “I’m not having fun anymore,” Viola said.

  “Get used to it,” Mox replied.

  As they p
ushed through a small crowd of people, all wearing bright neon t-shirts and being led by a tour guide, Viola wanted to be back in the small, comfortable confines of the Jumper. On the other side of the tour group there was a brief break in the crowd, a space through which the smooth floor of Level Five reflected the dusking store lights as the afternoon of Miner Prime’s artificial cycle wound on. Three men, the ones Cadge had been speaking with, stood in the break, and they stared right at her.

  37

  Past Friends

  Phyla’s eyes wandered the small confines of Lina’s shop. A menagerie of security-related gear. There was a tiny gun that shot a sticky bead that would record and send video and audio around it for ten minutes. That’d be one way of keeping tabs on Davin and Lina’s conversation, a back and forth that’d sent itself lower and lower in volume until Phyla couldn’t even hear it anymore. She felt like the kid left to wander while the parents talked.

  Hanging on the walls, above the shelves holding cameras and comm equipment, were a series of old-style pictures. Actual print photos, which these days were a retro rarity. Thing was, Phyla remembered all of them.

  The one with Davin and Lina standing outside their small school, Phyla holding the camera, right here in Vagrant’s Hollow, as they completed the last grade and society ejected them, at fifteen, into whatever lives fate held for them. Phyla thought the nervous grins on their faces must have mirrored her own.

  Another picture, to the right of that one, taken by Davin’s long-gone mother, had the three of them and some of their other friends engaging in one of their floor hockey games. The metal ground made a perfect surface for skipping around any spare junk they wanted to use as a puck.

  She’d found the camera at a special discount. No, that wasn’t it. The man was losing everything, was liquidating all he had to get a ticket off of the station. Phyla had coin from a recent birthday and bought it. The camera was so ancient that it printed the photos immediately after taking it. The man selling it to her looked so sad as he handed it over, but when Phyla turned away, he’d asked her to wait. A moment later the man returned with a stack of thick little paper, necessary for the camera to print. Phyla asked him where to get more and the man just shook his head.