“Oooh, I like that.” She imagined a stencil of a cat’s paw, claws extended, that she could spray-paint onto the ship every time she took out an enemy.
“All of which leaves me without a name for mine,” said Kaufman. His nameless vessel zoomed over the warehousing district.
“I get stoked thinking about the last time we were here,” said Mags.
“Aye,” said Fuzzlow. “Are you ready to raise hell and leave it burning in our wake?”
“Awww yeah!” Mags happily patted Patches in her lap.
“Try to not raise too much hell,” said Kaufman. “I’d like to get out of here quickly and cleanly.”
“Lighten up,” she said. “You know I’m sweet as a little angel.”
“Which one is that?” he replied. “The angel of death?”
Her belly bounced happily. “You know me all too well. Oh, look at that!”
“We’re in luck,” he said. “They haven’t unloaded our cargo into the warehouses yet. This is almost too easy.”
Kaufman held his small craft over the landing zone at the district’s von Zach Division. His crew exchanged knowing glances at the sight of the Hyades, the massive freighter below them with its rear door lowered. At 150 meters long and 30 meters wide, the box-shaped craft enjoyed its reputation due to its carrying capacity and not its good looks.
The Queen Anne would have easily fit inside her several times over, and she dwarfed Kaufman’s tiny ship. Her engineers had dispensed with aerodynamics in favor of capacity. The Hyades and ships of its class existed only to carry cargo, from entire ships and heavy mining equipment to supplies and personnel.
“Ugly cuss, ain’t she?” Donny asked.
Mags scoffed. “Any bitch that can carry that much freight is pure beauty in my eyes. I haven’t boosted one in years.”
Celina added, “We never would have got the Assteroid built without them.”
Staff swarmed around the Hyades’ rear entrance, preparing to unload the first of many rail guns down from the lowered hatch door. The door itself was 20 meters tall and made an impressive ramp onto the landing strip. Kaufman set his ship down in a landing zone 500 meters from the Hyades.
The landing zone was part of a circle centered on an electric railway hub. Five arms of rails radiated from the hub like a starfish. Metal towers held power lines above the rails. Along the starfish arms stood warehouses, filled from cranes and forklifts shuttling back and forth to the ships. Trains arrived at all hours of the day and night to empty the warehouses and speed their contents to the cities of Ceres.
The rail system divided von Zach Division into five sections, one of which housed the Port Authority buildings. Four sections served as landing zones. Around the central hub and across the top of the administrative buildings, anti-aircraft artillery defended the Ceresian skies.
“I can get you all aboard the Hyades,” said Kaufman, “for the ‘inspection’. You’ll need to close the rear hatch for take-off and commandeer the bridge. Expect solid resistance from any of my men left aboard.”
“Celina and Donny will take care of them,” said Mags. “Fuzz will work his magic on disabling the tracking systems so they can’t pinpoint where the ship is headed. Patches and I will handle any goons on the bridge. You just worry about getting back to this ship and making it home to your boy in one piece, alright?”
“Roger that,” he said.
★ ○•♥•○ ★
Kaufman’s boots clacked against the smooth, stone surface of the landing zone. Machines had blasted away the regolith blanketing much of Ceres. In its place, they had carved a flat expanse into the asteroid.
From the landing zone, streets branched off to warehouses, hangars, offices, and barracks. Von Zach Division sprawled for kilometers before meeting the cities and mines of Ceres.
Pride swelled in Kaufman’s chest. He beheld one of humanity’s greatest engineering achievements, second only to the facilities on Mars. This port fed a thriving asteroid megalopolis where man had finally mastered nature. Gravity, atmosphere, and the rock itself obeyed a human will.
Homo sapiens had taken lifelessness and made it live. Insects, rodents, and spiders had also settled here, slowly. Carried in shipments of food and supplies, or even in the hair and bedding of the humans, tiny animals had begun their own colonization of Ceres.
Pets, too. Cats, dogs, certain birds and reptiles—all had come as pets. They often got lost, or abandoned. Their owners died in mining accidents, and then where could they go? They made what homes they could in the cities, for no food awaited them in the desolate range beyond civilization. Many reproduced.
As one of the oldest and largest asteroid settlements in the Belt, Ceres potentially could support larger, urban-adapted wildlife: squirrels, foxes, coyotes, hawks, and owls. But the community’s reported sightings of these animals remained rare and unsubstantiated, only the wishful thinking of space’s first settlers.
No one in the early days of space exploration had truly quantified what it might mean to the human spirit to hear a birdsong or see a spider’s web gleaming with dew in the starlight. Man often forgot the importance of these small things, and as Kaufman beheld the majesty of the Ceresian spaceport, he was certainly no exception.
A wide expanse of blue, sunlit sky stretched to the horizon. Nearby, from nooks and crannies of shelter along the warehouse roofs and communication towers, the songbirds of Ceres serenaded the administrator and his crew. The atmosphere, held in place by GravGens, enjoyed a comfortable 24℃ on the ground. It was, in short, a perfectly beautiful day.
Here and there, between Kaufman’s ship and the gigantic freighter, shipping crates and loading equipment stood on the tarmac. The unloading crew had done some work already, and these crates held supplies the staff at von Zach could use just as well as the intended Martian recipients. Kaufman walked confidently past a forklift and a small crane to the ramp, where he returned a salute to the half-dozen members of the Hyades’ unloading crew.
Mags walked at his side, and her three friends followed side-by-side in a second row behind them. The boisterous criminals had grown deadly serious and focused on the matter at hand.
Patches took a hiding position near the landing gear of Kaufman’s ship. A cat would look incongruous tagging along with an inspection crew, so she waited for the all-clear from Mags to join them.
Kaufman addressed the workers and told them they could take a break during the inspection. He suggested they enjoy a dinner at the commissary and take their time.
No crew enjoyed an interruption like this, but it had been a long shift, and dinner sounded appealing. They stopped what they were doing to gather their things from workstations along the ramp.
As Mags and her phony inspection crew prepared to board the Hyades, a slate-grey van sped across the landing zone from the headquarters. Mags’ sensitive ears picked it up first, and she glanced back over her shoulder. “This can’t be good.”
The van pulled to a stop and released Lieutenant Spassky followed by a cadre of armed soldiers. Two dozen boot heels stamped across the tarmac with all the precision of a pocketwatch’s gears.
“Let me speak with them,” said Kaufman. He calmly turned about-face and raised his chin as if taking an interest in something unusual but harmless. He stepped through the line formed by Mags’ crew, who held their position near the forklift and crates alongside the freighter.
Mags went with him, but not before issuing an order to Celina loudly enough that all the staff on the ramp could hear. “Prepare to board the Hyades, inspectors.” She thumbed the safety off her rifle and stood firmly at attention at Kaufman’s side with all the stony demeanor of a military guard.
Kaufman’s rank should have earned him a salute, but Spassky offered none. “Chief Administrator Kaufman, you are under arrest on charges of treason, murder, theft, and kidnapping. Surrender your weapons and come with us. This inspection is over.”
“You must be mistaken, Lieutenant. We are here on official—”
&n
bsp; “The hell you are. Does your inspection crew know you colluded with insurgents to steal Port Authority property? That you committed murder not twenty-four hours ago? Have they seen this?” Spassky clutched a printout of the arrest warrant sent to all ports only a minute before Kaufman had landed. He held it out confidently before him for all to see. The single sheet of paper bore Kaufman’s name and face. Above and below the picture, big, bold type declared him Wanted for Treason.
“You traitor!” The rifle slung over Mags’ shoulder leapt into her hands. “How could you?!” She confronted Kaufman, and the look of surprise and terror in his eyes was no act.
Mags improvised an act of her own. “Lieutenant Spassky,” she ordered, “we will arrest this killer. Tell your men to stand down!”
Spassky’s men had no intention of standing down. Each of them now trained his own rifle on the pirate or a member of her crew.
Spassky was caught off-guard, but he held onto control like a bulldog holds onto the throat of another dog in a fight. “Absolutely not, Inspector! Cease this outburst at once. We have orders to—”
“Chief Inspector,” Mags lied emphatically. “Chief Inspector Margaritka Moskalev. Port Authority Inspection Act of 2023, Title 14, Section 5. ‘The commanding officer of the inspection crew shall have full jurisdiction of arrest authority during all freight inspections.’”
Kaufman’s look of terror turned to one of shocked admiration. The smuggler was entirely correct in her citation of protocol, and he had not even thought of it.
Mags stood facing Kaufman, so only her profile was visible to Spassky and his squad. With her left eye hidden from their view, she gave the administrator a languid, deliberate wink. Her thick lashes closed like a Venus flytrap around one gleaming green pupil streaked and flecked with black and stars.
Then they released it. For a moment that burned itself into his memory forever, Kaufman caught a glimpse into the coldly murderous heart of a pirate. It frightened him, but it galvanized his will.
“Chief Inspector,” Spassky corrected himself. “We are fully equipped to process this traitor’s arrest.” Spassky enumerated the reasons his staff could best handle this confrontation.
As he did, Mags drew closer to Kaufman, and her breast pressed against his bicep. Turning her hips, she exposed her back to Spassky’s squad. Her belly bumped Kaufman’s arm.
Despite the wrinkle in his plans and the fear that his life was about to end, he felt nothing so strongly as her presence. He gladly would have prostrated himself on hands and knees to kiss the tarmac, for no other reason than the soles of her boots had trod upon it.
“Lieutenant,” she interrupted. “Did you study the rebellion of Gelnikov 14 in the Academy?”
Spassky, his patience exhausted, began to reply that he would arrest all of them if she did not back down. But his challenge never left his lips. He had never heard of the rebellion on Gelnikov 14, because no such rock existed.
The members of Mags’ crew, however, knew this code phrase. It was no surprise to them when, with her front hidden from their enemies’ sight, she snapped a grenade from the straps across her torso. Celina, Fuzzlow, and Donny sprang for cover among the shipping crates.
Mags pulled the pin with her teeth and tossed the explosive into the air. Up over her shoulder it flew, carving a graceful parabola above the space between her and Spassky’s crew. In the two seconds it traveled to its destination, Mags swept her foot behind Kaufman and kicked his legs out from under him. Her left arm closed around him, and her embrace took them falling to the ground. Before they even hit the tarmac, the rifle in Mags’ right hand strafed Spassky and his squad.
Her back struck the surface as the grenade completed its fatal arc. At chest-level, the bomb exploded. Throwing its fragments like deadly knives, it tore through the squad.
The shrapnel mostly passed above Mags and Kaufman, but a dozen pieces lodged in her shoulder, along her rib cage, and in her right hip. She shielded Kaufman from the explosion. Pain shot through her body, and the adrenaline rush that immediately followed would give her foes cause for regret.
Her friends already had weapons drawn by the time the grenade exploded. Without a pause, they followed that blast with a semi-automatic rifle assault on the squad. The outlaws, emerging from behind their cover, trained their weapons into the grenade smoke.
The surprise attack would have worked if not for the members of the unloading crew still present on the ramp into the Hyades. They had avoided the initial confrontation between Mags and Spassky. But as the pirate crew destroyed the life beating in the heart of each member of Spassky’s squad, the crew of the Hyades responded with laser fire.
Patches had watched the confrontation from her hiding spot. She did not like Spassky’s scent. He smelled like a dog, but she had groomed herself detachedly. Mags seemed to have everything under control—until she didn’t.
The barrage from the Hyades’ crew pinned Celina and Fuzzlow behind a shipping crate. Donny returned fire from behind a forklift, but he lacked a line of sight to the shooter who targeted the two lovers.
Patches crouched and wiggled her hindquarters. She shot out of her hiding spot and darted across the landing zone. Laser bolts flashed above her head. She streaked past the shipping crates where her friends hid. Her paws landed on the ramp, and she bolted toward the cargo hold of the Hyades.
Near the top of the ramp, she pounced on her prey. Like a calico tornado of daggers, her claws assaulted him.
He screamed. His finger left the trigger, though he did not drop his weapon. Not yet comprehending what demon sliced him from all directions, the shooter flailed, trying to defend against it.
Fuzzlow and Celina stepped out from behind the crate and mowed him down. Bullets riddled his body. He and Patches smashed into a wall.
Bullets had struck Patches, too. But she bounced off the wall, landed on her feet, and shook it off. Covered in one man’s blood, she bolted at another shooter. Like Mags, he had a grenade strapped to his torso.
Patches sprang on him. Her teeth clamped on the grenade’s pin. Then she launched herself off his chest at her next victim.
The man did not realize what she had done. He whirled his rifle in her direction, but he could not fire without hitting his beleaguered comrade. He was still trying to sort what to do when the explosion splattered his torso all across the hold’s interior walls. The fragments killed Patches’ intended victim, and the force shot her off the ramp like a rocket.
She hit the tarmac and rolled arse-over-teakettle again and again. Suddenly, she sprang to her feet, shook her head fiercely, and scanned the scene. Her eyes blazed wildly.
Her attack had granted a reprieve to Donny, who took full advantage of it to climb into the forklift’s seat. He fired an AK-47 through the open frame of the cab. “Come on, then, motherfuckers!” He revved the engine and drove the machine straight at the Hyades.
Celina and Fuzzlow ran across the clearing and took up positions using the rolling forklift for cover. But only one shooter remained alive on the ramp. As the grenade smoke cleared, his figure disappeared into the hold, leaving the ramp completely unmanned. As Mags had ordered, her crew boarded the Hyades.
During the initial volley from the unloading crew, Mags pulled Kaufman to his feet. They ran for cover behind the small crane they had passed on their approach. Though it provided shelter from the gunfight, it left them exposed to the rest of the landing zone.
A van holding members of von Zach’s military police pulled up to Spassky’s decimated squad and squealed to a sudden stop.
The smuggler wasted no time securing her crew’s flank. While Kaufman covered his ears, she emptied two clips from her rifle into the paddy wagon, first exploding its tires then perforating its chassis and destroying its windshield.
Mags peeled off her second grenade and hurled it at the van. It flew through the shattered windshield. The van burst into a fireball of steel and mayhem.
“Arrest me now, you fucking cunts!” She spa
t onto the tarmac.
The corpses offered no reply.
Gunfire came at her from another direction. Bullets clanged off the crane’s metal frame.
Mags ducked. “Sentries,” she said, “in the towers on the main building!”
Kaufman crouched beside her. “They’ll have scopes and long-range rifles.”
“Fuck. We’ll get more troops pouring onto the LZ any second now.”
“Maybe not. You just took out the shift’s commanding officer. And he must have found out about that warrant right as we landed. Otherwise, he would have had a whole platoon armed and waiting for us.”
“Then we’ve got just as long as it takes for these goons to sort the chain of command. And which of the uniforms on the LZ are real.”
“A couple minutes. Maybe three. You’re bleeding.”
She looked down her right side at her multiple frag wounds, twisting her hip forward to see them. Blood soaked the blue-gray fabric of her uniform from shoulder to thigh. “It’ll stop. I hope.” She pulled out a small fragment, held it between two fingernails painted a dark and merciless red, then flicked it in the general direction of the corpses. “We need to get the Hyades off the ground. Now!”
Just then, Patches’ grenade exploded. Seconds later, she ran up to them, bumped her head against the pirate’s boot, and pressed her body against it. She meowed at Mags.
“Shit, you’re right,” cursed the smuggler. Her skin crawled. “Do you feel that, Kaufman?”
“Feel what?”
“You will in a minute. Animals notice first. Listen.” She raised a finger in the air.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“The birds aren’t singing. There’s no wind. There’s not so much as a cockroach twitching his arse right now. You’ve got to get to your ship.”
“Because the birds?” Then he felt it, too. The temperature dropped suddenly to 8℃, and the eerie stillness took on the scent of ozone. A drop in barometric pressure made his stomach queasy. The deathly silence which had sucked the hum of life from the asteroid turned the sky a sickening green.
Meteor Mags: Omnibus Edition Page 48
