by A. R. Knight
Looking at these pictures, she could never tell how badly they wanted to leave. Davin, especially, went on and on about exploring the stars. Breaking out of the bounds of Miner Prime and making his own life. Lina went along with him, egging Davin on until he left. He told them he was going and was gone. For five years.
Phyla remembered the day Davin came back, remembered him running back through their street, claiming he had a ship, that they could go with him. Breaking open their boring lives.
“Phyla?” Lina said, touching Phyla’s shoulder. “Do you want them?”
“The pictures?”
“They should be yours, really. You took them.”
“They’d just get lost on the ship. Too much movement,” Phyla said, though her eyes didn’t move away from the memories.
“If you think so,” Lina said.“Davin’s going to come back soon. He’ll ask you to go get the ship prepped.”
“Why, we just got here?”
“This station is dangerous for you. Every hour here increasing the chance of you being trapped.”
“And Davin won’t be coming with me?”
“He wants to find the source, the person who can turn off the android pursuing you. I can lead him to it, but you’ll need a ready escape.”
Phyla looked at Lina’s set face, searched Lina’s eyes for a hint of a lie, a scheme playing through the wrinkles and scattered grays touching Lina’s temples. Phyla felt the urge to touch her own face, to trace her own wrinkles and compare whether the space-faring life was any better.
“Why’d we split up, Lina?” Phyla asked. “The three of us?”
“You two wanted to see the stars, I had people to take care of,” Lina replied.
Parents, and Lina had a younger brother. Davin and Phyla lost their responsibilities before the Jumper ever became a reality. Not that Phyla had regrets - there’d been nothing in Vagrant’s Hollow then and there was nothing now. Better to run from a black hole than get crushed by its hopeless gravity.
“How are they?” Phyla let the question float in the air.
Lina didn’t bother answering, looked back at the pictures. Dead, or vanished. In Vagrant’s Hollow, those were the likeliest outcomes. The past wasn’t a friendly place to visit here. All it did was show how much you’d already lost. Phyla took a deep breath. Maybe now was the time to fix part of it.
“That last fight we had, I was so stupid,” Phyla said. “I just couldn’t, after all the times we’d talked about escaping this place, understand why you wouldn’t come.”
“I know,” Lina replied.
“It’s been hard without you,” Phyla continued, still looking at the photo. “Going everywhere without my best friend.”
“Haven’t you made a new one yet?”
“Still waiting for you.”
Lina wrapped Phyla in a tight hug, the same way they used to say goodnight to each other when they were younger.
“There’s nobody left here anymore,” Lina said. “If you two are willing, I’ll come with you this time. I’m ready to say goodbye.”
There was room. An extra cabin. For the first time since hitting the station, Phyla felt a real smile climb to her eyes. Lina returned it.
“You two having a good talk? Back to being friends again?” Davin said, coming up to them. “Phyla, Lina dish you the details?”
“Yeah, you’re abandoning us to go on some solo thing,” Phyla replied.
“Not solo. Lina’s got my back.”
“That means you’ve got hers, too,” Phyla said.
Heading back to the Jumper alone, Phyla remembered when they’d left Lina the first time. Those promises the night before, the three of them getting ready to meet Davin’s crew on his new ship. Phyla excited to pilot something that wasn’t mining an asteroid, Lina reading out load about the neat things they were going to see, Davin throwing around stories of Luna, Mars, and even seeing Earth from orbit.
And the next morning, in the Jumper’s cockpit. Lina only comming sorry. Davin delaying, pleading, and finally Phyla starting the jets and taking the Jumper out to the stars. It’d been hard to see with tears in her eyes, but it hadn’t taken long for those tears to dry. To harden into the same resolve that carried her now. There were more than the three of them to take care of.
38
Old Flame, New Burn
Lina’s cramped apartment clung to the top of the store desperately. A menagerie of bolted scrap, ropes, and a thin set of stairs brought Davin up to the second level. Between the hotplate and the single-stall shower, there was a fold-out couch and the scattered junk of years.
“I don’t know what you think it’s like on the Jumper, but it’s better than this,” Davin said.
He expected a fiery retort, something along the lines that Davin had no right to critique her life, not after leaving a decade ago. Instead, Lina nodded and sat on the couch, hand digging between the cushions until she found something. Davin stayed standing, watched Lina’s wrist flex as her hand moved underneath the cushions, and then heard the sound of shifting metal.
The greased up panels of the apartment shifted to the sides, jutting out and sliding over each other to reveal a slick set of screens and small compartments full of gadgets. Davin smiled wider as each new part showed itself. This was much more what he’d expected from Lina, matched the way she used to beat, no, annihilate Davin and Phyla in childhood games, waiting until the last moment to show a secret that handed Lina the victory. A fake sword, maybe, or an obscure rule pulled out to devastating effect. Now Lina had a hidden armory.
“You built this just for me?” Davin asked.
“Just for you,” Lina replied. “The thing is, you find out everyone’s secrets, then you keep more of your own.”
“Most secrets don’t involve caches of spy gear.”
“Only the best ones.”
Davin walked over to the terminal, pressed the small power button. The screens populated with various video feeds from around Vagrant’s Hollow and other levels of Miner Prime. Black and white but sharp, with words tracking across the bottom as the terminal attempted to scribe any audio going on.
“Can you see everywhere on the station?” Davin said.
“Almost,” Lina’s face twisted into a frown. “A few places are too hard to get to. Haven’t been able to bug Bosser’s office, for instance.”
“You mean, the spot that’s the most useful to us.”
“Not really. Bosser does a lot of chatter with off-station partners. Those transmissions I’ve been intercepting for a while.”
“Whose he talking with?”
“Your friend Marl, for one.”
“Yeah, I get more friends like Marl, I’m not going to be around much longer.”
“She’s only part of the chain,” Lina said, taking Davin’s hand and pulling him back towards the couch.
Lina’s hand was warm. It always was, her fingers slipping in between his. The fit was effortless. Muscle memory split by years still holding strong.
“Then what’s the rest of it?” Davin said.
A familiar thrill juice his veins as Lina’s fingers started massaging his palms. That same dance, those same rounded nails and the way Lina glided them on the ends of his nerves.
“Marl and Bosser have an arrangement, but both of them are working for other people,” Lina said. “Don't know who pulls Marl's strings. Outside of Bosser, I don’t hear anything she says. Bosser, I think, works with Eden. Maybe other corporations. It’s hard to pin him down.”
Davin sank back into the couch, allowed an arm to slide up Lina’s side and around her back, holding her closer.
“You mean you don’t know everything about him?” Davin said. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Bosser doesn’t play in public,” Lina replied, moving along the couch till her hips touched Davin’s. “He’s not a politician. So far as I can tell, he’s not elected to anything. There’s nothing on him in the public records. That means he’s running something the Fre
e Laws don’t touch. That Miner Prime is keeping out of the light.”
“Never stopped you before.”
Lina leaned away, looked Davin square in the face.
“Don’t come in here and act like you know what it’s like,” Lina said. “It's been a year since you last came here.There’s been a shift. Nobody wants to fight anymore, because they want to save up, buy passage to one of the new outposts. Like your Europa.”
“And they’re willing to live in crap until then?”
“Better than dying for it. Or rotting in prison. They’re seeing what’s happening on Mars.”
Davin looked back at the monitors. The feeds from all over the station still running. It’d been a long time since their parents had led the marches, organized the meetings to improve conditions in Vagrant's Hollow.
“It’s not your job to make their dreams come true,” Davin said.
“I thought it was, for a long time,” Lina said. “I built this, collected blackmail, was ready to start a revolution until I realized nobody wanted one.”
“We find Bosser, clear the charge, and then we can leave,” Davin said.
“There you go, Davin. Being the hero,” Lina said.
“That is the best part of this job,” Davin shivered as Lina’s fingers walked up his chest. Her mouth moved closer.
“Really?” Her voice low, her lips lush.
“I stand corrected.”
39
Ambushed
Opal put the scope on Mace’s counter. Beneath the glass surface was a surfeit of beam knives, and behind the counter an array of deadly weaponry whose price tag took notice of the high tax the Free Laws put on arsenals. An updated version of the one she had, this scope contained a chip that analyzed the movements of people seen in it, compared against a database of human walks and runs. It’d tell her whether a target was nervous, calm, or about to run a moment before the person did. In that second, Opal could squeeze off a shot, save the day.
“You got enough coin for this one, Opal?” Mace, the tattooed, grungy owner said to her. “Last I seen you, your account wasn’t doing so hot.”
“We’ve picked up a few gigs, old man. It’ll clear,” Opal said.
Mace gestured for Opal to slide her comm across the reader. Opal did, and the thing chimed an affirmative a second later.
“Well, color me surprised,” Mace said. “Here I had you figured for broke.”
“Have I ever disappointed you, Mace?”
The shopkeeper chuckled, both of them knowing Opal had pinched a few items from this store. Mace held a certain level of respect for anyone gutsy enough to steal from him and get away with it, much less do it multiple times. So the last time Opal came in, Mace had her cornered and made her an offer. Steal nothing else, and she could keep her ill-gotten gains. Opal, seeing the beam knife in Mace’s hand, hadn’t argued.
Merc, leaning against the store entrance, had his eyes on them. The pilot was still standing, but Opal noticed Merc's pained grimace, his arms hanging limp. After this, it was back to the ship. Opal gave Mace a nod, then started towards the entrance. As she did so, Mace’s terminal, behind her, made an angry noise, like a horn being squashed flat mid-note.
“Hey,” Mace said, quieter now.
Opal glanced back at the shop keeper.
“I’m being told by the peacekeepers to keep you here. Just popped up now.”
There was a time when Opal would have asked why. Would have been angry, surprised that police would be trying to find her. Now, though, all she did was nod. The shopkeeper slanted his head in return. Then Opal’s eyes and mind turned to Merc.
“Time to go,” Opal said to Merc as she held out an arm.
Together they limped towards the lifts that would take them back to the ship. Miner Prime’s artificial sun was resting on the horizon, the diodes illuminating Level Five’s ceiling shifting into hues of purples and oranges this evening. Beautiful, so long as she pretended it was real. Opal took a mental inventory. She had a sidearm, the beam knife too. Merc had nothing more than a bottle of pills.
Which was why, when, only twenty yards from the lift doors, a dozen green-uniformed peacekeepers stepped out and demanded the two of them surrender, Opal dropped her gun without a fight. Two of them separated Opal from Merc first, then one of them slapped a pair of stun cuffs around her wrists.
“Good choice,” the peacekeeper told her as they walked towards the lift. “Not worth adding to that charge, right?”
“I did it for him,” Opal said, eyes sliding towards Merc, who had a pair of peacekeepers helping him along.
“Won’t hear me arguing,” the peacekeeper said. “All I’m looking for is to get home at the end of the day.”
“I was, too,” Opal replied.
40
The Metal Man
Vi’s wide eyes blinked from one of the three men to the next. Mox could smell the fear coming off her, that rush of scent Mox normally had directed at him. The exoskeleton picked up on it, told Mox about Vi’s near-panic while he looked at the opposing trio. The middle man looked like the leader, hands at a pair of handguns on his belt. Given away by his cronies, who kept glancing towards him, waiting for a signal. A poor strategy.
“Step aside,” Mox said.
“Aren’t you a mercenary, big guy?” the leader said. “Don’t you know what she’s worth?”
“Step aside. I won’t ask again.”
“Guess all that metal must be messing with your mind,” the leader said. “We’re taking the girl.”
Mox started forward. Vi said his name, but Mox ignored her. To hesitate now would give them a chance to shoot, and Mox had no weapon with him. None save his fists, anyway. The exoskeleton registered the movement, picked up the surge in energy as Mox ran, and amplified it with mechanical strength.
On his second step, as the trio leader tugged at the guns in his holster, Mox leapt three meters. Crossed more than half the ground between the two groups. The leader raised the gun and, as Mox flew through his third step, his fist colliding with the leader’s chin, fired.
The blast bounced off of the floor and into a wall. Mox did the same to the leader, smashing him into the ground, momentum sliding the man into a bench. Mox registered the strike audibly, as he’d turned left, following the swing of his arm, and clapped the second crony in the stomach. Doubling over, collapsing to the floor, flunky number two was no longer a problem.
Mox flung his right arm back in a wild blow, meant not to hit the third one as much as delay him, get him to duck and give Mox a second to turn himself around.
The swing, as expected, hit only air. Mox, though, used the energy to pivot around and look at the third attacker. The little goon seemed paralyzed. Mox’s blow had missed not because of any ducking, but because the coward hadn’t even tried to close. Pathetic.
Mox took a step, stared into the goon’s face, which melted into slack-jawed fear. This one wasn’t even worth the effort. Instead, Mox pulled the gun out of the goon’s pocket, and snapped it with his hands. Vi yelled something again, but Mox couldn’t make it out over the pounding adrenaline in his ears. So much time with the cannon had him forgetting the feel of using his own hands. And how much fun they were.
The third goon recovered apiece of his wits and ran towards the lifts. Mox could catch him, could toss the goon around like a doll, but Vi was the concern. Mox turned back to his charge, at where she used to be, and saw nobody. The fight hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds. Where’d the girl go?
Mox looked around, but the walkway was full of people running away from the conflict, none of them matching Vi’s clothes. But there! Puk, Vi’s little bot, floated near the entrance to a dark-looking club. Mox ran in that direction as Puk zipped inside. The joint’s name, Cosmic Dust, did not inspire confidence.
Mox crouched to get through the door, a sliding one that made no noise as it slipped open. Well maintained. The entryway was short, a deep blue with flecks of white. Evoked leaving Earth for the stars.
Something Mox had done many, many years ago. But memories were not the point of now. Further inside even the deep blue vanished, replaced by wheeling stars and galaxies. A vibrating crowd filled the place.
Suddenly a bright comet streaked across the ceiling, moving in a strange pattern and, every so often, appearing to drop motes of light on the dancing peopled. Music, such as it was, existed as a slow, bouncing beat with synthesized echoes.
“Need a how-to?” said a girl appearing out of nowhere next to Mox.
Her tag read she was an astronaut. A lie, as she appeared, even in the darkness, to be Viola's age. The only astronauts left were relics of an older age, back when governments funded space travel and one needed more than money to see the stars. Perhaps, then, the girl was an attendant.
“Finding someone,” Mox said.
“A lot of people find things here,” the girl said. “Use your comm. It’ll automatically connect, and then you can order from there.”
“A girl,” Mox replied. “With a bot.”
“Uh huh. Pick the dust you want and it’ll be dropped. Then, you know, you enjoy,” the girl said, giving Mox a smile and fading away into the blackness.
Mox couldn’t see anything, but Vi had to be in here somewhere. He would comb the blitzed out stargazers. He would find the her.
41
Start Your Engines
Another thirty minutes before the supplies finished loading. Phyla heard Trina saying the words and wondered how much time had passed since she’d heard them. A minute, maybe? She’d put out a few comm calls to Opal, Merc, and Mox and had nothing to show for it. Blanks. Davin still in Lina’s bunker. Which meant Phyla was acting captain, and she might have to actually do something with that responsibility.
