Was this their language, he wondered. Where did Mags get this?
“Tarzi!”
“Coming!” Auntie, thought the young man, must think I’m some kind of friggin’ genius. This writing, if that’s what it is, doesn’t look like any human alphabet.
He locked his tablet and tossed it on the bed. It would just have to wait until after dinner.
“Ah, here’s our boy.”
“Sorry, Dad. Mum.” Tarzi kissed his mother on the cheek. “Wow. Dinner smells delicious.”
His father asked, “Did you get it all worked out?”
“Oh, yeah,” he lied, watching his mother scoop rice and curry onto his plate. “It’s just algebra about triangles mapped on a circle. You know. Takes bloody forever, though.”
“Language, Tarzi.” Dad frowned.
“Sorry. It takes—uh. It takes a long time.”
His father’s face lit up with approval. “Much better, Son. It looks like we have our next trip chosen for us. A mine in Mexico needs anthropologists. Have you heard about this dig?”
“Nope. Too busy with cosines and thetas and stuff. What’s going on?”
“That’s what we hope to find out. A mining operation discovered what we think is new species of Dracorex.”
“A what?”
“A dinosaur,” said his mother, “with bony armor covering its head, and spikes coming out of it.”
Tarzi blinked.
His father said, “Everything we know about them came from a single skull in North America. But that skull belonged to an herbivore. Now, they’ve discovered a whole mess of skeletons, and they’re clearly carnivorous. Teeth about this long.” Tarzi’s father stretched his fingers wide to show the size.
“Bloody hell!”
“Tarzi! Profanity is the hallmark of a feeble mind.”
“Well,” said Mum, “I said the same thing when I first saw them. Are you saying I’m feeble-minded, honey?”
The old man sighed. “The cultural battle is all but lost.”
“Sorry, Dad. It’s—It just sounds like a real monster. Do you have a picture?”
“Let me show you.” His mother stood and plucked her tablet from the couch. “Here. Look at this beast.”
“Tablets at the dinner table? Really, now.”
“Hush. Let the boy see.”
Tarzi gasped at the photograph of a skeleton juxtaposed with an artist’s rendering. He dropped his fork and stood suddenly, bumping the table. His glass tipped over. “Jesus fuc—I mean—What is that thing?”
But as he sopped up the spill, Tarzi already knew. The artist had drawn perfectly the dragons he and Mags had battled more than once now, the same ones whose images filled the scans Donny had sent him.
“There, there,” said his mother. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry, Son. They’re all quite dead. Extinct for millions of years. But that’s hardly the reason we’ve been asked to visit. The mining crew unearthed some unusual metal alloys which really have no business being mixed in with the skeletons.”
His mother said, “They probably botched the job. A mine is hardly a proper anthropological dig. It’s more likely they mixed up raw material from different strata.”
“Too right,” said his father. “But those alloys suggest they’ve found something civilized, and that’s our specialty. We’ll help them get it sorted. Miners wouldn’t know a bloody dinosaur from an ancient civilization anyway.”
“Language,” said Mum.
“Oh, now he’s got me doing it!”
“Dad, are you sure it’s safe?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean to go down there with all these monsters and weird metals and—”
“We’ll be safe as houses. This wouldn’t be our first time at a dig, you know.”
“I just—be careful. I worry about you on these trips sometimes.”
“What a sweet boy,” said his mother.
“Not that you’d guess it with a haircut like that. But I appreciate your concern, Son.”
Tarzi smiled, but he felt a cold fist clench his stomach. Somehow, he knew, all this was connected. “Did they find any other evidence of civilization? Like writing or symbols?”
“No, but we can hope. It would be a big deal for your mum and I to find something new. It’s a tremendous opportunity.”
“Maybe you could send me pictures, if you have time?”
“Taking such an interest in our work! That’s my boy.”
“Of course we’ll find time,” said his mother. “Now tell us more about your studies. Are you working on any projects we can help you with?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with a nod. “I certainly am.”
★ ○•♥•○ ★
From behind a bullet-proof glass window, Meteor Mags watched the ship land outside the foyer of Club Assteroid. “Why is there nothing on radar?”
“I don’t know,” said Celina. “The ship is there, plain as day, but not a bloody thing on radar. I’ve got zip on any spectrum. He announced himself on audio, asked for you, and went dark again.”
“Hmpf.” Mags pouted. “Can the guys join us up here? Armed. Kaufman’s alright in my book, but something about this makes my hair stand on end.”
Celina sent out messages. “I’ll tell Hyo-Sonn to keep the crews working back there.”
“Right. Get me shooters, and keep the girls away.”
The ship landed outside the foyer. It kicked up blasts of regolith but remained invisible to the club’s electronic systems.
Mags drew a .50 caliber pistol from her garter. “I’ve got visual, anyway. I’ll kill anything that threatens my girls.”
“Wait. He’s back on voice. Here.” She handed the tablet to her friend.
“Ahoy! This is Meteor Fucking Mags, and if you make one wrong move I will personally carve you into bite-sized pieces! Do you copy?”
A pause, and then a voice came from the tiny speaker. “Mags. This is Kaufman. I have my son with me. We need to talk.”
“The fuck we need to talk about, Kaufman? I can’t see you on radar! What’s your game?”
“Have you heard about the new amendment to the Musical Freedoms Act?”
“I have. Ten fraggin’ minutes ago.”
“Ten minutes? It’s days old! Where have you been?”
“I was busy! We got the memo, alright? Is that all you wanted?”
“No, no. But if you’d rather I bugger off, I can go somewhere I won’t be abused.”
She paused. “Anyone with you other than your boy?”
“Not a soul.”
“Alright. Come on up, and we’ll talk.”
By the time Kaufman and Anton disembarked and approached the doorway, Fuzzlow stood in the foyer with a laser rifle. So did Donny. Plutonian held his shotgun. They brought their weapons to bear on the doorway.
Then it opened, and Kaufman stood there with his son. Seeing the aggressive greeting, he put out his arm like a barrier across the boy’s chest. He swept the arm back, nudging Anton into place behind him. “We came here undetected. Can we discuss things which affect us both?”
“At ease, guys,” said Mags to her crew. “Come on in. You haven’t steered me wrong before.”
He stepped up, overcoming his fear to meet her eyes. “That’s not entirely true, Mags.”
“What?!”
“I have a confession you must know before we go any further.”
She rolled her eyes. “Alright. Out with it.”
He drew a deep breath, and his diplomatic training took over. “Do you recall when we last met at Below the Belt? I gave you a tip about a spaceport favored by the dragons.”
“Do I remember?” Mags shouted. “I almost died there! “
He nodded gravely. “I’m afraid that was the intent.”
Plutonian pumped his shotgun and leveled it at the administrator. Fuzzlow and Donny likewise aimed their rifles.
“Not my intent!” He pleaded, “Mags, hear me out.”
> “You tried to kill me? These guys are good shots, Kaufman. You got five fucking seconds to convince me we shouldn’t waste you.”
He eyed the men and their weapons. “I was under duress by the reptiles. The one named Cragg forced me to give you that tip. He invaded my home. He threatened my boy.”
Anton spoke up. “He was going to eat me! He had horrible teeth and breath like something dying and they were spying on Dad and me and—” Her stare stopped him cold.
Mags sniffed the air several times and studied the boy. She waved her hand for the men to lower their weapons. “We have a common interest here. Follow me.”
She led them to the club’s main hall. Her tail flicked sharply, but she pulled out two chairs from a table and took a seat at a third.
The men took seats at surrounding tables, fixing their eyes on the strangers.
“Crew,” said Mags. “I’ve known Kaufman a long time, and you haven’t. But this club owes its existence to him. From supplies to superconductors, I built the Assteroid using his information to prey on shipping lanes. So let’s hear him out.”
Celina produced a bottle of rum and six shot glasses.
Mags asked her, “Could we get something a little less strong for the boy?”
Celina poured him a glass of cold tea.
“Thank you, dear. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Kaufman looked around the table at the crew’s faces. They were well-known to him, having been branded throughout the Solar System with the invidious name of pirates. He had reviewed their files many times. And as well as he knew them, his superiors on Earth knew them, too. Rum coursed warmly through his esophagus and stomach and veins. “Let’s start with the new amendment to the MFA.”
“It’s open season on me now! What is this?”
“A full-scale invasion of Vesta has been planned as part of this amendment. I believe it is not merely the action of the MFA nor their superiors on Earth. Reptilian forces have collaborated on this.”
Plutonian slammed his shot glass on the table. “That explains a fucking lot.”
“Aye,” said Mags. “Dr. P. saw those MFA bastards in joint maneuvers with the lizards just days ago.”
“Then you know what I say is true,” said Kaufman. “And believe me when I tell you. They will stop at nothing to destroy you.” He let it sink in. “But, I have made provisions for your defense to the best of my ability.”
“Listen,” she said. “Why in hell are you here? What do you care what happens to us? What about your job?”
At the challenge, Kaufman’s gaze wandered over her left shoulder to the framed poster on the wall behind her. It displayed an enlargement of the artwork from her solo piano album, Blind Alley Blues. The ink-brush portrait captured Mags’ piercing eyes, her star tattoos, and the wisp of smoke rising from the stolen cigarette on her lips. It stoked the fire which seized him when he heard her songs, and the thrill that overtook him when he listened to music outlawed by the same organization he worked for.
Kaufman felt ill-prepared to articulate these feelings in the presence of the assembled pirates. So he only said, “You and your generous crew do not deserve the wrath of Earth, nor these reptiles that have insinuated themselves into humanity’s future.” He swallowed the rest of his rum, and a storm blew across his face. “They threatened me and my son, mind you.” He leapt to his feet. He slammed his open palm on the table and shouted, “In my own home!”
His anger echoed in the concert hall. Placing both palms on the tabletop, he leaned in until his face nearly met hers. Her scent of cigarettes and leather intoxicated him. “I want to see those fuckers burn. I know your crew is important to you. But imagine what my son means to me.”
Mags smiled wickedly. She pulled a pack of stolen cigarettes from her bra and calmly chose a victim from inside. “You can get out of my face. Now.”
Kaufman settled down. He took his seat again. In a quieter tone, but with no less determination, he said, “Cragg must die. Because of him, nowhere in the System is safe for me and Anton. I refuse to live my life in fear, Mags. Not anymore.”
“What do you propose we do? You didn’t show up here looking for asylum, did you?”
“Ha! This asteroid is the last place in the Belt anyone would seek asylum right now. There’s a target on your head, Mags. Anyone near you is in danger. No. I am here to solve your defensive problems.”
Her stare could have frozen water.
“I have arranged for a shipment of weapons to a place where we can easily ‘liberate’ them. The only catch is,” he began. Then he looked each of the crew members in the eye, one by one. “You have to pick them up from Ceres.”
“Ceres?! Kaufman, you are something else. What could possibly be on Ceres that we don’t have here?”
“Railguns,” he told her. “The latest design. The most powerful arms ever designed, short of atomic weapons.” Railguns used electricity, not combustion, to fire massive projectiles, large enough to destroy an entire ship. They worked in any atmosphere or gravity—or lack thereof. “I diverted them from their Martian destination to a warehouse on Ceres. I dare say you and your crew could ‘liberate’ them easily, especially given my cloaked ship and my access to clearance codes.” He returned her stare.
“Wait,” said Fuzzlow. “Didn’t he say he sold you out to the lizards once already? And we’re supposed to go on another one of his suicide missions?”
“Fuzz is right,” said Mags. “What makes you think we can trust you now?”
He had considered this question on the long hours of his voyage to Vesta. “Frankly, I don’t think you can. You would be entirely justified in dragging me and Anton out to the surface of Vesta and putting bullets in our heads.”
If Kaufman noticed the look of shock on his son’s face, he gave no sign. “But I ask you to first consider I arrived in a ship your systems cannot detect, and I have access to weapons on Ceres. Otherwise, you can party, and bullshit, and wait for the end to come, and wonder if perhaps your friend of so many years could not have helped you defeat your common enemies!” He raised his glass, drained it all at once, and slammed it on the table. “Vivan las anarquistas!”
A cruel smile formed on Mags’ face, and her eyes sparkled with delight. She raised her glass in salute and shouted, “Vivan las anarquistas!” She drained it in a flash and smashed it on the tabletop. “Well-spoken, Kaufman. Now, let us hear all about your little set-up on Ceres.”
★ ○•♥•○ ★
Mags led father and son down a hallway to the club’s living quarters. “I’ll introduce you to Sarah,” she said. “Hyo-Sonn is sending her up to meet us.”
“Mags?” Anton looked up at her, but his gaze returned to the floor.
“What is it, dear?”
“Nevermind.”
“We won’t be very good friends if you can’t speak your mind around me, will we?”
Anton had heard stories of her penchant for violence and murder: the massacre of Port Authority squads on Rebbeck 13, the slaughter of MFA troops at a pirate radio station, and the riotous destruction unleased at the Ceres concert—to name a few. If they were true, then he should fear Mags, not trust her. But when Anton raised his face again, she wore a smile that shone like starlight. “Are you mad at us?”
Her laughter echoed down the hall. “I’m sorry, kiddo. You didn’t get the most pleasant greeting, did you?”
Anton was afraid to nod yes, but a furrow in his brow told Mags everything she needed to know. She stopped their procession and knelt before the boy.
“Things have been tense here,” she said. “But I’m not mad at you. Life’s handed me some nasty surprises lately. So if anything weird comes my way, I swing a hammer at it. Or a board full of nails. Anti-materiel rounds, if necessary.”
Anton began a nod, but frowned in bewilderment at her list of weapons.
“I mean,” she explained, “it’s been pretty scary. You know?”
“It’s been like that for us, too,” he said
.
“You poor thing.” Mags placed her gloved hand on the side of his face. She knew of the death of Kaufman’s wife after a prolonged illness. Though the man had never discussed the details in the course of their dealings, he had politely accepted Mags’ condolences four years ago. “Anton, I lost my mama, too. And I was chased by our enemies—people who wanted me dead, or worse. I know it’s no fun.”
His eyes brimmed with tears. “Why do they want to hurt us?”
She hugged him. “Because they’re bastards. If you try to make sense of it, you’ll only make yourself crazy. Help the people around you, and do your best to survive.”
The boy trembled in her arms, and then the trembling stopped.
“There, there.” She held him back to meet his eyes. “Everything will be fine, Anton. Your dad’s got a good plan. We’ll get this asteroid safe as can be. Then we’ll find the creeps who are trying to hurt us, and we will send every last one of them to a fiery fucking grave. I promise you.”
Anton smiled.
“Now come along, dear. I want you to meet my biggest fan.” Mags stood and offered the boy her hand. He took it, and they continued.
Kaufman had never seen her interact with a child before. He felt no small sense of wonder at how quickly his son’s distress brought out a markedly different tone in her voice. She had, in an instant, turned from a hardened criminal into someone far more motherly. Even the boy’s mum could have hardly handled his fear better, though perhaps with fewer curses and certainly without an oath of vengeance.
Still, Kaufman had his doubts. He took note of the closed doors lining both sides of the hallway. “Does everyone get a private room here?”
“Most of my girls share rooms. It isn’t entirely private that way, but it’s not so lonely either. Given what they’ve been through, they could use the sisterly support.”
“And the rooms are—” He considered how to ask the question. “Secure?”
“You mean like during an invasion?”
“No, I mean there’s a lot of—what would you call them—activities that go on here, you see.”
“You mean the parties and the dancing? Yeah. I do see. You’re worried this isn’t a safe place for Anton.”
Meteor Mags: Omnibus Edition Page 45
