Mercury's Orbit

by Lia Black

  “Don't be a martyr. We’re heading to a port with a medical clinic and likely a thriving drug trade. I’ll be fine.”

  Did that mean he’d be staying? Probably not—only long enough to get some supplies and head to Sol Labs’ floating monolith. “Right…but—”

  Mercury snatched up the autosyringe, pointing it at Sean like a gun. Sean had a brief flashback of their first meeting. The sociopath was still in there, but contained. “Take it. You can’t do anything to be helpful once we get there and we’ll be there fairly soon. I’d rather not have you screaming in agony when we arrive. It will ruin my plans.”

  Sean knew very well that if he refused again, Mercury’s next move would be to take his hands off the wheel and forcibly inject him without bothering to stop the crawler. It occurred to Sean that he had no idea what the plan was once they reached the station. “Okay, okay.” Sean carefully extricated the device from Mercury’s fingers with his right hand, which took some doing, and held his breath before punching the pad full of needles into his neck. Seconds later he felt the cool sensation of the tetrahaze snaking through his veins.

  “Good. Good boy, Precious,” Mercury cooed and caressed his cheek. “Don't worry, it’s all going to work out.”

  Sean was not in a position to argue.

  He sighed, sinking back into the seat and wrapping his hand around the rifle to keep it from swinging from its tether.

  “I’m not sorry I got caught, you know,” Mercury said as though Sean had just asked the question. He turned his head and gave Sean a smile. “This has been a very grand adventure.”

  Sean drifted in and out of daydreams, watching the mist settle over the landscape like velvety gauze. He suspected that Mercury had added lithanus to the tetrahaze after all, but it was difficult to be mad as he watched the swirling shapes making colored trails through the fog. He was aware of his shoulder but only in the sense that he was so unaware of the rest of his body. He was floating, made of sand and smoke in the shape of a man. He smiled stupidly over at Mercury who was sparkling, glowing in the driver’s seat. He was so pretty. He looked like an angel. Sean hummed to himself; the vibration felt good in his throat.

  “There,” Mercury said and pointed out the windshield. Sean would have been happy to look at him forever but Mercury’s hand drew his attention and he followed it until his eyes found the lights. Coming up over the rise were three tall spires, reaching skyward and piercing the clouds. It took him a moment to recognize them, but when he did, Sean instantly knew what it was. The Virgero Spaceport. Once it had been a marvel of modern engineering and cutting-edge technology. The three spires reached up through the atmosphere to collect ships from the ports and bring them down in giant elevators to the hangar below. When the mining industry was alive and well, this port likely saw hundreds of ships a day, but now the spires were dark. The Federation had held it for a while when Sean was in the military, but it had been too expensive to recruit and maintain a large or lucrative enough presence to keep a lid on the trafficking of drugs and stolen goods.

  “Virgero,” Mercury mused. “Their tech is at least thirty years old. Ninety percent of their screeners were AI—assuming any of them are still active. This will be easier than I thought.”

  Sean wasn’t entirely surprised that Mercury knew of it. It seemed every dozen years or so, someone with more money than brains would suggest revitalizing it, making it into a “destination”, rather than simply a stop between jump gates. But it wasn’t on the way to anyplace most people would be headed, and certainly, nobody was going to come this far out just for another shopping mall or amusement park.

  As they drew closer, Sean could make out the ruins of the spaceport. The towers were stained with corrosion and history only knew what else, and one of the glass domed ceilings of the terminal was covered by a fluttering silver tarp. What was once a parking lot had become crumbling concrete, cracked like a riverbed baked dry in the sun. It had deteriorated since the last time he’d seen it, but that had been over a decade ago. Mercury parked the crawler next to an abandoned supply truck. The windows were gone and the back of it gaped open, spilling broken and empty containers across the dirty pavement.

  “Ready now?” He asked, pulling up his bandanna and pulling down his goggles.

  In Sean’s drugged state, Mercury looked like a giant insect. “Y-yeah…”

  Mercury got out, coming around to his side of the vehicle and unraveled the webbing of rope he’d used to secure Sean and the gun. He casually tossed it behind the seat before he crouched to give Sean his shoulder to lean on.

  Everything from Sean’s brain down seemed to drop away as he stood. He was boneless, could barely feel his feet as he tried to stand, and worried that he might break his ankles because he couldn't keep them rigid.

  “Merc, I d-don’t think…I can do this…” Sean stammered. Just getting out words was a struggle. He was certain he was going to pass out.

  “Just a few more steps, Precious. I need to get you inside so someone can find you.”

  “Y-you’re not coming?” It took nearly all of his focus to form the words, which caused forward movement to suffer. Mercury may have answered, but blood was hammering in Sean’s ears, roaring like an engine with every beat of his heart.

  Sean had forgotten how inhumanly strong Mercury was; he’d somewhat forgotten that he wasn’t human. Mercury’s arm curled around him, underneath his own, and he lifted him up, carrying him like a bride the rest of the way. The world spun around him and he closed his eyes. He had no idea how they were going to pull this off, but he trusted Mercury was smarter than he was crazy—or maybe crazy enough to be genius. Whichever one got them through the gates and into a doctor’s care was fine with him.

  Security wasn’t lax, it seemed non-existent as they entered the facility. While there were a few uniformed guards about, nobody stopped them or seemed to notice them at all. Mercury set him gently down, propped against a pillar.

  “I have to leave you now, Precious.” Mercury’s breath was warm against Sean’s lips a moment before he kissed him. It was quick and gentle but left Sean disoriented enough to allow Mercury to rise. “It’s going to get loud for a bit,” he warned. Before Sean could muster up the energy to respond, Mercury slapped the pillar with the palm of one hand and looked up. A moment later, alarms were blaring above them.

  “Merc—” Sean tried to call out to him but the sound was swallowed by the noise, and then Mercury was gone.

  An unfamiliar set of voices came up from behind.

  “Goddamn false alarms. When’s this wiring supposed to get fixed any—”

  “Holy shit!” A second voice, louder as they came upon him, and a man crouched, touching Sean’s arm. “What the hell? Hey, buddy, can you hear me?”

  The world was too blurry for Sean to see much of anything, at least some of which was caused by the unshed tears welling up in his eyes. Although he’d known it would happen sooner or later, Mercury was gone, and likely for good this time.

  28

  Mercury hated to drop Sean off and leave him, but he didn’t have time for questions, or time to let himself linger and hold Sean until help arrived. He watched from his perch in the maintenance shaft, a place where ceiling panels were missing and a ladder implied maintenance was going on. But the wires here were cold and long dead. An abandoned cup of coffee on top of the ladder platform had gone black and furry with mold. He nearly jumped down when he heard Sean cry out, but he couldn’t risk being recognized. His heart was squeezing hard with every accelerated beat as he fought the urge to go to him, to protect his most precious one.

  He would be back. He’d made a promise: one last date, one final goodbye, and he intended to keep it.

  Sean was not like the others. Each and every one of them had meant to hurt him or betray him. The older, more notorious, and more powerful that Mercury became—the higher the bounty on his head—the more men wanted to be by his side. Mercury learned that sex could help him focus, so he used them a
s much as they thought to use him. But they were all so predictable. Being on top during sex did not mean being in control. Maybe that’s why he had been more interested in Sean. At first, he was a hostage and a distraction. But Sean didn’t give him what he wanted—he didn’t pander to him. He told him the truth—things Mercury suspected he knew about himself, but no one else had ever dared tell him.

  He missed him all ready.

  “I’ll come back. I swear on all of the trees in Flutterby Forest that I’ll see you again.” If he swore on something so vast and important, it was bound to be a certainty.

  Mercury made his way through the rafters. The Virgero Spaceport, because it was so remote, was a hotbed of drug activity. Being so close to a series of jump-gates made it accessible enough that it was used as a landing point for so many traffickers. On Earth, it was easy for law enforcement to trace the path of drugs across the countryside, but going from planet to planet was never a straight line in space.

  The lower holds had once been where the less-savory delivery pilots ended up staying when they needed a bed, a fuck, and a shower. Over the years it had evolved, from shops opening out of cargo containers filled with stolen merchandise, to prostitution and drugs. While the shining floors of the terminals above saw less and less traffic as the mining industry died, the lower holds underwent a black market boom, that still remained steady.

  Mercury slid through a vent that came down near the stairs leading to the holds. The area was lit by a single working fixture that buzzed and flickered, alternating between jaundice yellow and dull orange light. There was the smell of stale air, filled with sweat and exotic spices, hovering like an invisible, solid wall inside the wide open doorway; it hit his sinuses like a fist as he stepped through. He kept his goggles and the kerchief covering his face as he made his way through the maze of garbage and old metal containers, many of which had been converted into shacks. A sign painted and hung from the rafters proclaimed this place: Underbridge, now a small city unto itself. There were many stories here. Some people came in the hopes of starting a new life, imagining a plot of land that they would call their own, spending their days farming and raising a family. Many people spent their life’s savings on that dream, ignoring the warnings of those who’d come before. Just like the science outpost where he and Sean had stayed, the land would be fertile and the water pure for a while, but the constantly changing course of the shifting planet was not made for long-term settlers. With no home to return to, many of these failed homesteaders sought the certainty of shelter and a market that would provide. Some had come with families, and sooty-faced urchins ran between the market stalls and through the slightly better lit aisles between the large cargo containers. Others who were here had come escaping prosecution, or were mercenary groups looking for work. Many had skills that they used to make a living, trading for what they needed and providing to those who came specifically for what they sold, be it drugs, weapons, or bespoke specialty items that one could not find affordably or have legally manufactured elsewhere.

  From somewhere he heard the familiar song of his Flutterby Fairies, drifting through tinny speakers from an old TV. It mixed like oil with the watered-down sounds of crackling radios and the station’s automated intercom system. He battled the temptation to seek it out and find some solace in the familiar. That would risk things that needed to get done and pull him into a headspace that he couldn’t afford right now.

  Eyes followed him when he entered the market; curious, calculating. He recognized some of the stares as they tried to determine whether or not they recognized him. Some he would reach out to—the chemists and dealers; others, like the mercenaries, he would avoid. He didn’t trust any of them, but those who dealt primarily in drugs would be less likely to accept a payoff from Sol in return for information. They didn’t need to. They were therapists, doctors in their own right, caring for their patients as long as the money held out. Souls in need of such comfort always found a way.

  He would seek their aid soon enough, but first he had to have access to his money, which meant finding a code-cracked and shielded terminal. Finding one here shouldn’t be a problem, finding one that worked, however, could mean a trek into territory controlled by mercenary companies.

  They ruled sections of turf here like street gangs, some bullying for “protection” money and charging “safe passage fees” to allow people to move through the small section of the hold that they’d claimed as their own. No doubt, these sections held the only working terminals and the mercenaries would expect payment for using them. Well, he’d just have to see about that.

  He stopped one of the children running by, a girl of about ten years old. “Please take me to your father,” he said to her. She and her companion looked Mercury over and he obligingly raised his goggles and lowered his kerchief so they could see he was not a hideous beast. People—regardless of age—tended to appreciate his face. Maybe he looked trustworthy, or maybe he was just pretty. It didn’t matter, all that he cared about was getting what he needed as simply as possible.

  “Do you know my father?” she asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as Mercury followed them.

  “I might,” he answered her. He knew a lot of people, though more people knew him. That wasn’t always a good thing. Mercury replaced the goggles and kerchief and followed the girl to her home.

  Her father, as it turned out, was a tinker—someone who was very good at making things that didn’t all ready exist or copying things that did. The occupation was a very specific one, and typically they would get one or two jobs then spend the rest of the time trying to make a living by selling counterfeit communications devices or whatever was popular at the time. He would be a useful man to know.

  The tinker was probably Sean’s age, but looked much older. He was in a wheelchair, his legs gone from the knees, but he had good hands. He also had a gun—an energy weapon that was out of charge— that he showed to Mercury when they entered his home.

  “Delia,” her father hissed at the girl, “who is this person?”

  “A customer,” Mercury answered, “and a man who could use your help; for a reasonable price, of course.”

  The shack where they lived was basically two large containers butted together. In the front container was the shop where he had a counter to meet customers. Behind that was a curtain, drawn back to show his workshop and in the second container was a small makeshift stove, a table and single wooden chair, and mats on the floor as beds. There was no sign of anyone but the two of them living here, and they were not living well.

  The man’s brown eyes darted between Mercury and his daughter. He gestured for her to leave and she did so with an exasperated-sounding sigh. Once she had stepped out, the man looked at Mercury again, his hand still resting on the butt of his useless gun.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “I need to rent a room on someone else’s behalf. I will pay you to make the call for me, and I will pay your daughter to deliver the keycard to someone upstairs.” Mercury answered the parts of the question he found important, and his name wasn’t one of them.

  “And you’re offering money for this? Why can’t you do it yourself?”

  Behind the kerchief, Mercury smiled. “Reasons.”

  The man fidgeted. Mercury understood he was making him uneasy, so he offered him a viable excuse. “I am a fugitive from justice,” Mercury supplied. “Showing my face is dangerous.”

  “And making a call?”

  “My voice is rather distinctive, easy to pick up and trace.”

  The man twisted his mouth, staring at Mercury as he considered his offer. “Where’s the money?”

  “I’ll get that as soon as we have a deal.”

  “I don’t make deals unless I know what’s being offered.”

  “Name your price.”

  The synthetic leather seat of the wheelchair creaked under his weight as the tinker shifted. Mercury knew what was going on in his head, he could read it in h
is features. The battle between asking for enough, in case what he’d suggested was outrageous yet agreed to by Mercury, and asking for something even more outrageous just to make Mercury go away was moving like words through the creases in the man’s forehead and the lines around his eyes.

  “A hundred credits.”

  Mercury raised an eyebrow that lifted the goggles. That was reasonable. “And what should I pay you for your silence?”

  The man opened his mouth, his eyes widening in surprise. He recomposed before saying. “A hundred again.”

  “Fine,” Mercury agreed. He offered his hand to shake on the deal and the man hesitated, looking at the long, pale fingers, the remnants of sparkling silver nail polish left behind near the cuticles. The man’s eyes rose up, trying to seek Mercury’s through the mirror-like lenses of the goggles he wore. He didn’t shake his hand.

  “You’ll need to seal our deal, or else I’ll find somebody else,” Mercury warned. “You don’t want that, do you, Mr…” Mercury paused to let the man fill in his name.

  “Glenn. My name is just Glenn.”

  “Glenn.” Mercury smiled as the man grasped his hand. His grip was firm and sure, though fleeting. He couldn’t blame him. A tinker’s hands were his life. Should anyone decide to get nasty and break them, or worse, he’d be as good as dead and his daughter would end up a whore in some mercenary group’s stable. Of course, that might happen anyway.

  “Who runs this territory, Glenn?” Mercury asked.

  “Blue Disciples.” Glenn said the name with a sour note, his eyes darting as though he’d uttered a curse.

  “Mm. Given you trouble, have they?”

  “My daughter. But it’s the west quarter group— Flint Company—who’s been trying to stretch their territory and throw their muscle around. A man named Des, mostly. Stares at my Delia, says…things. Ugly things no child should hear.” Glenn sighed, looking away. “I’m worried they’ll raise the protection fee to something they know I can’t cover and ask for her in exchange.”