by M. D. Cooper
“Maybe we can get on the distribution list,” Rogers said with a clap of his hands. “Always heard good things about Chimin brews.”
The words earned him a smack on the arm from Ricket.
“What?” He shook his head at the Hand agent. “It’s award-winning beer and we’re going to be this close to it.” He held up two fingers millimeters apart to emphasize his point.
“Doubt we’ll have time,” Kylie said and patted him on the shoulder. “Better luck next visit.”
His eyes ticked to the right as a transmission came in from the Chimin-1 STC, requesting ident and intent.
Rogers cleared his throat. “This is shuttle Princess requesting permission to dock. Personal, sir. Meeting an old friend who happens to be in the system, you know how it is. Standing by.”
Rogers sighed as he cut the transmission. “We really need to change this bird’s call sign.”
“We ride in on the Queen, so it only makes sense…” Ricket laughed at the sorrowful expression Rogers tossed her as he continued his slow and steady approach to Chimin-1, waiting for approval and a lane.
Laura said happily.
Kylie suppressed her own smirk. “We didn’t have time to change the shuttle ident before we shipped out. It’ll go straight to our priority list.” Kylie took a seat against the shuttle’s wall.
Ricket said privately to Kylie.
Kylie held back a laugh, as she met Ricket’s eyes and shook her head.
She leant back against the cabin’s bulkhead as they waited for Chimin-1’s STC to respond. She pulled out one of her pistols, checked its charge and sighting mechanism. Being prepared was the only thing to quiet her nerves and for some reason, Kylie was all nerves.
“Princess,” the call came over the system and the operator’s voice carried a small laugh as he spoke. “You have permission to dock. Please proceed to Dock 2, Platform 3. Sending you your lane assignment.”
“Thank you, Tower Control,” Rogers said in his best pilot’s drawl—an obvious cover for his embarrassment over the shuttle’s name—before glancing back at Kylie. “They’re mighty polite. Maybe we should invite them to tea next time, Cap.”
Kylie couldn’t help a small smile. She stood up and holstered her weapon on her hip. “That sounds nice…so long as we don’t go down in a blaze of glory. Nothing I like better than a few biscuits and sugar cubes.”
“Or a finger sandwich with crispy cucumbers,” Rogers added.
Ricket gave them a look of reprisal. “Why does it always come down to food with you guys?”
“What?” Rogers frowned at Ricket. “What do you have against food? It’s food!”
* * * * *
Chimin-1 was an oblong asteroid that rotated slowly on its longest axis. Scan showed the asteroid to have a radius of five kilometers, and it completed nearly two rotations a minute. Kylie did the numbers and came up with an internal artificial gravity of roughly 0.8g, depending on distance from the center.
It was strange to see a habitat like this not relying on artificial gravity, but it was cheaper to maintain a spin than use a-grav—so long as the structure itself could withstand the stresses.
The entrance to Dock 2 was near the axis point on what Chimin-1 listed as its southern pole. Unfortunately, not right on the axis. So Rogers had to apply thrust from the grav engines the entire time they passed through, muttering softly as he fought to keep the shuttle in its lane.
Once inside the docking bay, he eased the ship toward Platform 3, continuing to match the rotation of the station until they settled into their assigned cradle.
“Shit,” Rogers muttered, wiping his brow. “Why they don’t just build platforms outside on the axis is beyond me. That’s freakin’ harrowing! Damn platform is moving at a hundred meters per second.”
As the cradle locked its clamps onto the Princess, Kylie pinged the Barbaric Queen for a status report.
Kylie grinned.
Rogers and Ricket filed out of the cockpit as Kylie spoke to Winter, and she followed after. They cycled the airlock and walked down the ramp, taking a look at Platform 3 in all its glory. It bore the markings of decades of use but appeared to be well maintained.
A couple of dock workers walked by in dingy uniforms and scuffed up helmets, going about their jobs, casting only cursory glances at the three visitors.
Grease stains and carbon scoring covered the deck; after the crisp polish everywhere inside the I2, it felt like a breath of fresh—or not so fresh, as things would have it—air.
Now, as a de-facto operative of the Hand, Kylie held little certainty about the future, be that the coming months, or even years. In light of that, some amount of familiarity was nice.
Kylie spotted a security booth next to a pair of large steel doors across the platform, and she led the group toward it. Once there, she peered inside the window that wrapped around the booth. “Huh, empty. Where is everyone, Rogers?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Cap.”
“Looks like lunch on local Chimin-1 time,” Ricket said. “Maybe the customs officer is getting a snack.”
“Pesky people, always eating. Where do they get off?” Rogers muttered, his eyes on Ricket.
She shot him a nasty look. “Har-har.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be unwelcoming,” a woman’s voice said from behind them. “But I always like to see who I’m meeting with before I make myself known.”
Kylie turned and saw a woman walking out from behind a loading mech a few meters away. She wore a fitted one-piece white suit that shimmered as she strode toward them. It morphed between white and black as she moved, and she’d paired it with long dangling black earrings and matching boots. Her look was finished off with blond hair twisted atop her head into a dazzling geometric shape.
To say she stood out from everyone else around them would be the understatement of the century.
Kylie regained her composure as she spotted two large men following behind the woman, impressive in both their size and armament.
Rogers grinned as he stepped toward the woman. Kylie watched, tension rising in her as the hulking men drew near. Rogers’ contacts were rarely on the up and up.
“Liberty,” Rogers said, while looking her up and down. “It’s great to see you again. Love the outfit.”
“I thought you’d appreciate it.” She offered Rogers her hand. When he took it, she pulled him in for a warm hug. “What have you gone and done to your eyes, chap? You look, well, creepy.”
“It’ll fade with time. Let me introduce you to my friends.” Rogers gestured with his gloved hand toward Kylie and Ricket.
“Let me guess,” Liberty strolled toward them. She appeared poised, yet ready to pounce. “You’re Kylie Rhoads. It’s easy to see the family resemblance between you and Paul.”
Kylie held her breath tightly. “You saw him, then? Was he on Chimin-1 buying something?”
Liberty grinned and tossed her head back. “I’m only ever interested in doing business. Live and breathe it. So yes, if I saw Paul, you can bet it was because I sold him enough goods to make sticking my neck out worthwhile.”
Ricket settled her hands on her hips. “What did you sell him?”
“Only the good stuff for a Rhoads. Your father would’ve attested to that.” Liberty tilted her head and narrow
ed her eyes. The look was enough to send a chill racing up Kylie’s spine.
Kylie decided to cut the coy back-and-forth off before it carried on too long. She took a quick step toward Liberty, lifting her hand to point at the woman—only to stop as the two men lifted their weapons a few centimeters. They didn’t move otherwise, but Kylie got the message and lowered her hand a few centimeters. “Why don’t you just get on with it and say what you mean to?”
If Liberty supported the Rhoads’ family crusade, Kylie wanted to know—though her clothing suggested she was just an opportunist.
“Pretty sure I just did.” Liberty licked her lips and they sparkled silver and blue. She took a step toward Kylie, who held her ground.
With a languid breath, she breathed on Kylie and a foggy mist flowed into her nostrils. In an instant, Kylie felt herself begin to drift away, voices around her sounding faint and indistinct.
The mental disassociation intensified for a moment, but then began to clear away as Marge’s voice came to her.
The sounds of gunfire—not pulse blasts—came from all around and Kylie dropped to a crouch, covering her head, until she remembered that her new armor could take care of that.
With a brief moment of concentration, she felt it flow over her face, and she reached for her sidearms.
The haze over her vision disappeared, replaced by the crystal-clear feed from the armor’s sensors, Kylie looked up and saw seven shooters on the catwalk above. Liberty was nowhere to be seen, though one of her goons was down. A quick scan of the platform revealed that the other was behind the loader.
The enemy’s shots ricocheted off the teams’ armor, and Rogers crowed with delight.
Kylie fell back behind the security booth, then moved to a flanking position behind a stack of crates from some place in Scipio.
Kylie remembered that she had placed two pulse grenades in her satchel. After deciding to blame her forgetfulness on the poison Liberty had tried to use, she grabbed them and lobbed one up onto the catwalk, and the other behind the loader.
The blasts went off at the same time, and the attackers were thrown clear off the catwalk. The goon behind the loader flew onto the platform and smashed into a crate while Liberty went the other way, crashing into the bulkhead next to the doors.
Kylie approached Liberty, nodding with satisfaction as Ricket and Rogers took out the shooters who were still moving.
She fired a shot into the back of a man who was struggling to rise, feeling as though she was on autopilot, no emotions at all.
Liberty groaned as Kylie approached, pulling herself toward the doors. But there was nowhere for her to go. Kylie kicked Liberty in the shoulder, flipping her onto her back before placing a boot on the woman’s neck.
Liberty gagged, gasping for air, but Kylie found that she didn’t care.
“I meant you no harm. Why would you try to kill me?” Kylie yelled at the struggling woman.
Liberty wheezed and clawing at the boot pressing against her throat.
Kylie sighed and eased the pressure enough for the woman to draw a breath.
“Where’s Paul? Do you even know?” Kylie asked, scorn mixing with rage. “Who wants us dead? Did someone pay you?”
“Rhoads,” Liberty gasped. “Everyone wants Rhoads.”
Shit. Kylie knew that her name would be mud here, but not so much that their first contact would try to take them out. She’d been banking on no one wanting to mess with a Rhoads, but it seemed that the opposite was true.
Kylie pulled her boot off Liberty’s throat and knelt beside the arms dealer. “Tell me where Paul is and who put you up to this? I can’t believe you’d decide to take me out on your own. Was it money? What?”
Liberty swallowed and nodded, working her mouth for a moment.
“Talk to me,” Kylie begged. “Tell me what I need to know, and we’ll find a way to get security to go easy on you.”
Instead of speaking, Liberty’s hand brushed against her lips, and Kylie saw a small white pill fall from her fingers.
“No!” Kylie screamed and tried to fish it from Liberty’s mouth, but it was too late. White foam pushed past the woman’s lips, spilling across her cheeks.
Kylie remembered what the ISF technicians had explained to her about her nano, and put her hand on Liberty’s cheeks, trying to send in a medical dose to save the woman.
A hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her backward and Rogers’ voice came to her. “Get away from that stuff, Captain!”
“Predictably, they have nothing on them,” Ricket said from where she was bent over one of the men’s bodies. “I’ll see if I can get into their mods before their Links power down.”
Rogers shook his head as he looked down at Liberty’s now-still face. “Damn, I’m sorry, Cap. If I knew it was going to go down like this…”
Kylie shook her head and holstered her weapons. “You couldn’t have known. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“Good to know.” Kylie opened a channel to the Barbaric Queen.
“Here comes the rescue party,” Rogers said as the doors opened and a three-person security team rushed onto the platform. All three were focused on Kylie, eyes narrowed and weapons drawn.
“CSF! Don’t move! Hands up!”
Kylie and Ricket raised their hands as ordered. “Sure is nice,” Rogers said with a wry smile, “that we get treated the same way no matter where we go.”
Isn’t that the truth?
“You security?” Kylie asked the men, arms crossed over her chest. She studied the guards’ smarmy expressions, considering how easy it would be to take them down. “You guys need to do a better job. We didn’t make it forty meters before we were attacked. I want to talk to whoever is in charge.”
ying a whispering hiss.
Ricket said.
“What are you talking about?” one of the CSF officers asked. “What business do you have on Chimin?”
“Sorry,” Kylie said with a smirk. “Like I said, we only answer to the man in charge. Last I knew, little guys like you didn’t get to be in charge.”
The guard laughed. “You think we don’t know who you are? You think a Rhoads can just dock on Chimin and we wouldn’t know who she is?”
Kylie held out her arms. “Are you going to take us in or what? You can handcuff me if it makes you feel better.”
One of the CSF officers stepped forward and grabbed her wrists, while another pulled the pistols from her holsters. The first officer clamped a pair of shackles around her wrists tight enough that it would have pinched her skin had the flow armor not solidified and protected her.
With Kylie in cuffs, the two officers moved to Rogers while the third continued to cover them with his sidearm.
Kylie had to admit that she was impressed. These CSF guys had guts. All around them were the bodies of dead men and women—all obviously taken out by the three they were now subduing—yet they did their job without hesitation.
Once they were secured, the first officer jerked his thumb back toward the exit. “Let’s move, we don’t have all day,” the man said and tugged on Kylie’s cuffs to make her move forward.
Even though that was the official objective, there was now as secondary reason for being on Chimin. If there was someone here who wanted her dead, Kylie wanted to know who it was and why they were so keen to see her die.
