Armstrong Station

by D. M. Pruden

  He realizes that killing her will not solve his problem. Too many others know too much. Vostok’s silence he might be able to control; the connection of the dead men to his gang is too obvious. He can use blackmail or simply let Cabot’s cleaning team eliminate Vostok for him.

  More problematic is Melanie Destin and the crew of the Requiem. Anyone who Chloe was in contact with potentially knows enough to put his life in danger.

  He regards Chloe, who returns his gaze. She offers him a shy smile. “When will I be going home?”

  He picks up the pill bottle from the table and slips it into his pocket.

  “The people behind your abduction are still looking for you. We can’t risk public transportation. I’ll take you to a safe location where you can wait for your father to send a ship for you.”

  Carson realizes he can take no chances. He decides that everyone must be eliminated. He just needs time to come up with a plan.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It is not wise to piss off Oskar Vostok. For as freely as the vodka flows at his table, he is not the cuddly teddy bear he presents himself to be. This bruin has a temper, and I expect, teeth, and claws as well. I consider myself fortunate that his ire is not directed at me.

  “You are certain of this man’s identity?” he says.

  “Our AI gained access to Lunar immigration files. His iris scan on record matches the man from the image we captured: Nazer Akun.”

  He grumbles something under his breath then turns to shout a question at one of his men. They converse tersely, the tone bordering on argumentative. My poor Russian is no match for the speed of their exchange.

  After he barks an order, five men rise from a table at the other side of the room and depart. He turns back to me, murder behind his dark eyes.

  “I take it that you know him?” I say.

  “I know of him.”

  “So, he isn’t one of your people, then?”

  “If he was, I would have killed him long before he did this.”

  We stare at each other across the table. Oskar’s nostrils flare with every breath.

  I say, “Will you tell me, or are we playing twenty questions?”

  “Now is not the time for games. Why do you ask such a thing?”

  “It’s an expression...never mind. What can you tell me about him?”

  “The mudak came to Luna a number of years ago, along with other Kazakh podlets from Terra.” He spits on the ground to put a point on it. “They came to me, like others, seeking help to establish themselves here.”

  “I take it they didn’t follow the rules very well?”

  “Nyet! They caused much trouble for me. I had my men leave them at Gerasimovich.”

  “Where is that?”

  He raises an eyebrow. Apparently, it is a stupid question.

  “It is a crater on the far side.”

  “What’s there?”

  “A crater.” He shakes his head, now evidently convinced I am an idiot.

  “Your men abandoned them on the other side of the Moon?” I said. “Why?”

  “It was many years ago, when I was young and more merciful. I thought I would give them a chance to prove they deserved to live. If they found a way back, I would accept them again.”

  “Did you leave them with anything to help make that trip?”

  “Nyet.”

  I keep my opinion of Oskar’s idea of mercy to myself.

  “Today, I would simply shoot them and sell their corpses to the hydroponics plant for fertilizer.”

  “Much more practical.”

  “Da,” he says, missing my sarcasm.

  “Well, given that these Russian Houdinis—”

  “Nyet. They are Kazakh, not Russian.”

  “My mistake. They obviously found their way back, so who of your competition would they be working for now?”

  “That is the mystery. No competitors remain here in Armstrong. There are some minor gangs in Artemis and Hawking, but nothing of significance; certainly no one who would trespass on my territories.”

  “So they’re freelancers, then?”

  He nods.

  “Any idea who might hire them?”

  He shakes his head. “It is not a question of who might hire them; there are many. It is a question of who is not afraid of Anthony Cabot.”

  “You know who Chloe is?”

  “I only learned it after she was gone. A man came to me looking for her on behalf of her father.”

  I stare at him as the significance of that statement takes root.

  “That man wouldn’t happen to be Carson Willis, would it?”

  He nods.

  I try to keep a lid on my temper. “Are you the reason he paid me a visit and had me dragged down to Morality Police headquarters?”

  “Nyet, I have not spoken to him since you and I made our agreement for her freedom.”

  “But you had a deal with him?”

  “Da, I agreed to help him locate the woman in exchange for Cabot’s favour.”

  “Cabot’s favour? You mean Willis works for him?”

  “Da.”

  “But you didn’t sell me out to him. Why not?”

  “I did not find her—you did. Besides, you offered me something more tangible than Anthony Cabot’s goodwill.”

  “That is crazy. Why would Willis go to all the trouble to kidnap her when we were going to take her home to Daddy anyway?”

  “It only makes sense if he has reason for her to not return home,” says Oskar.

  “Why would he want to antagonize the local head honcho of the Jovian Collective? That is a career-limiting move, no matter who you are.”

  Oskar shrugs. “I do not know. Perhaps when my men find him, he will provide an answer.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re going to strong arm a Morality Police Inspector? You’ve got some big balls, Oskar.”

  “It is war. Willis is dirty, but he also has the MP at his disposal. My deal with him was the only thing that kept him from making a move on my operation. Now that he has found the woman, and done so without my help, I must act first to protect myself.”

  “Well, at least Chloe will find her way home.”

  “Nyet, she will not. I believe her life is in danger.”

  “Why?”

  “You said it yourself. Why would Willis take her if he knows you would return her home? The only reason possible for a man like him to act this way is because he believes she is a liability to him.”

  “What kind of harm can she cause him?”

  “She knows something that makes her dangerous to him.”

  My heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest. “Oskar, if there is even a small chance that you’re right, you’ve got to help me find her.”

  He studies me, concern painting his features. “If she is a danger to him, then so is anyone who can connect her to him.”

  The meaning of his words requires a few seconds to register. “Chambers and Schmaltz are at the hospital. Cervantes—”

  “Not to worry; my people are on the way to them. You will all fall under my protection.”

  “But what about you?”

  He chuckles. “Carson Willis should be worried about me doing him harm.”

  He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “My people are searching for him and the woman. Go home, Doctor Melanie. You look terrible. Get some sleep. I will contact you when I learn something.”

  “You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, Oskar.”

  He grins at me.

  “Go home. I will call. Is that better?”

  I smile and pat his hand. “Getting there.”

  I have little other choice. If Chloe’s life is in as much danger as Oskar suggests, he is my only way to save her. I just want to be present when the Russians catch up with Willis.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I am afraid to return to my flat, worried that Willis will be waiting for me. My fear isn’t entirely irrational. If Chloe presents a danger to him, he can’
t do away with her and not want to eliminate anyone else who can connect them. That means that not only I, but also my crew mates are probably on a hit list.

  Vostok’s people control the docks, and he assures me that his men are better able to protect us if we all remain aboard Requiem. I am escorted there under the watchful eye of Vassily, who does not bother to conceal the gun tucked into his belt.

  Once aboard, with the hatch shut and secured, my nerves finally catch up with me.

  My knees give out, and I collapse to the deck. Perspiration flows from every pore as I huddled against a bulkhead and shake uncontrollably.

  It isn’t long before footsteps echo from farther down the corridor. I try to stand, but my legs behave like they belong to someone else.

  “Mel!” says Schmaltz. “What the hell?”

  He rushes to me and helps me to my feet.

  “I’m all right, Schmaltzy,” I say as I disengage myself from him.

  “You don’t look it. Where have you been?”

  I fill him in on my meeting with Vostok. “His men are keeping watch, making sure nobody gets aboard to do us harm.”

  “Yeah, he sent someone to the hospital to collect me and Chambers. As grim as those Russians outside seem, they won’t provide much protection if Cabot is out to get us.”

  “It’s for Willis. Why did you think we’d need protection from Cabot? We’re trying to return Chloe to him.”

  Schmaltz shakes his head. “You’re naive, aren’t you?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Cabot’s reputation; people who cross him get themselves eliminated, along with everyone who is even marginally associated with the offence. If Willis kills Chloe, what do you think Cabot will do to the people who knew where she was and didn’t tell him?”

  “Holy fuck.”

  “Yeah, exactly. We’d better pray the Russians find her before Willis does something stupid.”

  “He is anything but that, Schmaltzy. He’ll only eliminate her if there is some way for him to put the blame on someone else; someone like Vostok. Or us.”

  “Chambers and I discussed it, and we agree. We need as much distance between us and Armstrong as possible. He’s pushing the paperwork for us to depart sometime tomorrow.”

  “I don’t see how that will help. The reach of the Jovian Collective is long. I doubt there are many places where we’d be safe from them.”

  “Terra is one possibility,” he says. “There are enough people down there that we can blend in, and the JC hasn’t got much of a presence there.”

  I don’t relish returning to Earth, but neither do I like the idea of ending my days at the hands of a gangster.

  “Everyone is on board with this plan?”

  “You were the last person to talk to about it, but it doesn’t matter how you vote, because it was unanimous among the rest of us.”

  As much as I am offended by the decision being made without taking my potentially pointless vote, I can see his point. The only thing I can do if I object strongly enough is to wave goodbye as Requiem blasts off in the morning.

  Walking to my quarters, I pause before Chambers’ door. I briefly consider going in and talking to him; try to persuade him to consider an alternate course of action, but I can’t think of one. The only way we will be safe is if Chloe magically walks aboard the ship sometime in the next few hours. Given the lengths Willis has gone to, that is as likely as me restoring my virginity.

  After continuing to my room, I collapse on my bunk without removing my shoes. The emotion of the day has finally caught up with me, but as tired as I am, I can’t sleep.

  For the life of me, I can’t imagine what Chloe knows that can hurt Willis enough for him to precipitate everything that’s happened. Nothing he’s done makes any sense. From every angle I can come at the problem, I can arrive at only one conclusion: he’s wrapped a rope around his own neck. I am missing something important.

  My mind wanders until I recall Chloe’s description of how she ended up in her situation. Somebody transported her to Luna and delivered her to the creep who bought her like she was some exotic pet.

  I then remember my conversation with Willis in my apartment. If he was called in to search for Chloe by her father, there is no way he should know about her being trafficked.

  I shoot up to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Holy fuck.”

  It makes perfect sense. According to Vostok, Willis is in Cabot’s pocket. Even an inspector of the MP can’t make a lot of money, so it isn’t a stretch to understand how Cabot got to him.

  If he is compromised, what is there to stop him from setting up another side business—something Cabot is maybe not aware of—supplying sex slaves to the rich? Somehow, Chloe ended up in his possession, and without knowing who she is he sold her to some asshole.

  When Papa Bear came looking for his lost little cub, Willis did the math and realized his fuck-up. He can’t risk her returning home and maybe recalling something about his involvement.

  Now that he has her, he doesn’t even need to get his hands dirty. All he needs to do is withhold her pills and let the nanites consume her. Then, when he miraculously “locates” her, she will be too far gone, or dead. Problem solved.

  Then, all that remains to do is to identify us, and Cabot’s boys will come to exact his vengeance.

  Schmaltzy is right. We have no choice but to flee. Willis could hide Chloe anywhere on Luna. Maybe if Vostok’s people turn up a credible lead, they might find her, but I suspect Willis is smart enough not to leave a trail.

  I make a quick estimation based on what little I understand about Chloe’s nanites. At best, she can survive another four days. That gives us a little time before Willis turns Cabot loose on our asses, but we’ll be running for the rest of our lives.

  From what little I know about Cabot, we probably won’t last a year.

  It is all my fault.

  I had to open my mouth and offer Chloe sanctuary. If I had been smart, I would have followed Chambers’ lead and turned her out the minute I found her.

  Why do I think it is my job to save every stray I come across? I don’t owe Chloe, or Vostok, or anyone a thing. Yet I always seem to find myself doing the exact opposite of what common sense screams at me to do.

  I wasn’t raised to be this way. God knows with everything I’ve been through, I should be the most selfish person in the solar system.

  But I have a soft spot for the underdog. I see myself in them and want to offer them the same kind of helping hand I once benefited from.

  It is stupid, and I keep on doing it and getting into all kinds of trouble. If it is only my life I fuck up, I can live with the consequences, but it isn’t.

  Chambers, Schmaltz, Cervantes, Mikey, Miller, and Shin are all going to enjoy very short lives because I don’t know when to quit.

  The best thing I can do for them—if we get away, that is—will be to go my own separate way.

  But the reality is that we won’t escape.

  Chambers and the others all believe going to Terra gives us a chance, but I know better. I grew up on Earth. Yes, there are countless billions down on that rock, and one might be justified in imagining we can possibly remain inconspicuous and live long enough to believe we cheated the Reaper.

  There are a lot of hungry people down there who would sell their children for a decent meal—I have first-hand experience with that. Cabot will find us. It might take years, but he’ll spread some money around and track each of us down to make us pay a terrible price for trying to do a good deed.

  It sucks, but then so do most people’s lives. Despite the delusion that our little crew all bought into—the one where we believed we had a chance to make our own way and give the finger to the dealer who’d dealt us our shitty hand—we have no advantage over the vast majority of humanity. Like it or not, we are among the 99% that the one percent shits all over, and we, like everyone else, are expected to take it and be grateful.

 
We are thoroughly fucked, no matter where we run, and I am probably the only one to realize it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ten hours.

  That is how much time remains before Requiem’s launch window comes up. Chambers wanted an earlier slot and might have secured one if all his cash hadn’t gone toward buying out Chloe’s contract.

  I make a mental note to reimburse him—assuming, of course, that we don’t end up abandoning Requiem and scattering ourselves to the four winds. At the moment, continuing our side business is the least of our concerns.

  I left Chambers to work on his paperwork. He was in such a foul mood that he wasn’t enjoyable company anyway.

  Wandering to the galley, I encounter Schmaltz getting himself a cup of coffee. As usual, his grease-covered overalls look like they probably haven’t been cleaned since he bought them sometime before we met. The ever-present unlit stogie is clamped between his back teeth, giving him a lopsided grimace.

  He raises the pot with a grimy hand. “Want some?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  I select the cleanest looking mug and hold it out for him to fill.

  “One thing about going to Earth is that we’ll be able to get real coffee,” he said.

  “Mm-hmm.” I can’t bring myself to tell him that the stuff is just as rare down there.

  He sets the pot down and turns to lean back against the counter. “You’re from Terra, aren’t you?”

  I sigh. “Yup. Never thought I’d be going back there, either.”

  “I’ve never been there; Born and raised in the belt.”

  “Your family were diggers?”

  He smiles proudly. “Four generations of us.”

  “So why are you working here? Isn’t the expression born to die a digger? “

  He shrugs. “I have four older brothers, and they all have kids. The family stake isn’t rich enough to support everyone, and there aren’t any open claims to start a new mine. I’d just end up working for somebody else anyway. Thought I might as well go where I can make some scratch.” He casts a melancholy gaze about the galley. “This was nice while it lasted.”