by Tripp Ellis
The top level of the station was Mr. Raymond's private suite. It had every amenity available—pool, Jacuzzi, sauna, theater room, game room, bar, dining area (complete with servants), and a luxurious master bedroom with an expansive view of the cosmos. He even had his own private escape shuttle attached to the living area, in case of emergency. He was a meticulous, if not somewhat obsessive, kind of guy.
Xavier marched Max and Zero before Mr. Raymond in his living room. The walls were covered in sports memorabilia. Autographed red boxing gloves, signed by Mudalla Ama’al, hung from the wall. There was an autographed football, signed by Rich Wilson, the six-time Galactic Bowl champion quarterback. There was an old-school Sirius Slugger, signed by the home run king Billy Ray Brown.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the planet below, Delta Majoris 4. Raymond was mixing himself a cocktail at the bar as Max entered. His most prized possession was in an airtight case atop a pedestal—a certified authentic baseball, signed by Babe Ruth himself. The pre-apocalypse artifact was priceless. Anything from Earth had enormous value—even mundane items. Any remnants of the old world were extremely hard to come by. Not only did the object have to survive the destruction, it also had to be transported millions of miles across the galaxy to the settlement on New Earth, survive the last several hundred years of colonization and expansion, and find its way into a private collection. It belonged in a museum, for sure.
Mr. Raymond's eyes lit up with glee as soon as he saw Max hobble into the compartment. “Ah, so glad you could make it. Can I offer you an adult beverage?” he said in a congenial tone.
“Antarian Whiskey?”
Raymond smiled. “I only have Bulvacci Special Reserve. Will that do?”
"I can suffer through it," Max said. It was her favorite.
“And for your companion?”
“I'll have what she's having."
“Excellent choice.” Raymond filled their glasses with the expensive whiskey and brought the drinks to his guests. He held up his glass and proposed a toast. "To longevity. Cheers."
Max watched cautiously as he took a sip of his drink. Max followed suit. The smooth liquor tingled the back of her throat as she swallowed it down. It warmed her belly and felt good after the cold ocean. Her bones still felt like icicles.
Max took another mouthful. Raymond punched her in the stomach before she could swallow it. Whiskey spewed from her plush lips as she doubled over. The little bastard packed a hell of a punch.
The glass fell from her hand, shattering against the tile. Shards of glass sprinkled across the deck. Max clenched her fists and came up ready to swing. But she was greeted by the business end of several plasma rifles. She clenched her jaw. It was a shame to see good whiskey go to waste.
“I got your message. I didn't particularly like the contents of it. Such foul language from such a pretty lady. Perhaps you’d like to reconsider. It would be such a shame to make an example of you."
"Chesney was a cheat,” Max said, trying to catch her breath. “He got what he deserved."
“No doubt, I'm sure. But there is still the matter of his debt. Which you have inherited."
“It can't possibly matter that much to you?”
“It doesn't. But the principle of the thing does. I can't just have people not pay me because they think I don't need it. One can never have too much money. But, perhaps we can come to other arrangements?” His lecherous eyes surveyed her delectable form.
“I'm sorry, that's not up for negotiation.”
Raymond frowned. "That's a pity.”
Max gave him a go to hell look.
Raymond eyed her wounded leg. It was black and blue and swollen. Max was putting all her weight on her opposite leg. “That looks like it hurts. You really should seek some medical attention. I could have my private surgeon look at it for you? It would be a shame to lose the leg.”
Max said nothing.
Raymond strolled to the wall and took down the baseball bat that had hung on its mount since the day he acquired it. He eyed the slugger with awe. “Are you a Ravens fan?"
“I'm partial to the Blackhawks myself," Max said, knowing full well they were the arch rivals of the Ravens.
Raymond's face tensed. “Billy Ray Brown. The finest player to ever play the game.”
Max arched a skeptical eyebrow. "That's a bold statement. And it's really hard to compare players across eras. You know that."
“True. But we all have our favorites, don't we?" Raymond strolled towards Max, gripping the bat. He was almost fantasizing he was at the plate. “I remember my father took me to see the 2657 World Series. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Me, and my old man, eating popcorn and peanuts, watching Billy Ray Brown knock ball after ball over the fence.” He paused a moment, drifting back in time. We didn't have any money, and my father had dipped into his retirement to buy tickets. I wanted Billy Ray's autograph so bad that day. But I just couldn't get it. When I started making real money, this was the first piece of memorabilia I bought.”
“Sounds like you had a great father and a nice upbringing. What went wrong?"
Raymond glared at her. He swung the bat with all his might. The wooden bat smacked into her wounded thigh. The force of the impact disrupted some of the GS gel plugs. Blood spewed from the wounds, painting the deck a brilliant red. The bat impacted her skin with a hard slap. It almost sounded like her femur had snapped, but it was hard to say.
33
Max collapsed to her knee as pain rifled through her body. She hunched on the ground in agony. Her thigh throbbed. She took slow deep breaths and focused her mind, pushing the pain away.
“I was going to give you a second chance to give me my money, but I thought better of it.” Mr. Raymond cocked the bat back again and swung. The heavy wooden collectible whooshed through the air, careening straight for Max's pretty face.
Hunched over on her knees, Max was almost as tall as the short, stocky gangster. Max's head was perfectly teed up, and Raymond had swung for the fence.
Max reached up and blocked the bat, grabbing it with her fist. The impact against her wrist sent a loud smack echoing off the bulkheads. She thrust the bat forward with all her might, jamming the handle into Raymond's groin.
He doubled over with pain.
With blazing speed, she yanked the bat back, smacking it into Xavier, who was standing behind her. The blow to his crotch was equally effective. Max used her good leg to sweep Xavier’s feet from underneath him.
He crashed to the deck beside her. Max snatched his plasma rifle and rolled over the top of him, using his body for coverage as she fired at another of Raymond’s goons.
The thug returned fire before Max could get a shot off. The blistering bolt of plasma plowed into Xavier.
Max rattled off a flurry of plasma projectiles, eviscerating the thug. His body crashed to the deck, toppling the pedestal that held Babe Ruth’s autographed baseball. The glass case shattered, spraying shards in all directions. The ball thunked to the deck and rolled away.
Zero had taken the opportunity to plant an elbow into the gut of a goon. The two were now struggling over a plasma weapon. Both clutching the barrel of the rifle, kicking each other in the shins.
Max climbed to one knee and took aim, but it was hard to get a solid shot. The two were struggling and changing positions so much that Max risked killing Zero if she took the shot.
She followed the goon with the reticle of her sights, waiting for an opportunity.
The goon managed to strip the weapon from Zero. He swung the barrel around, taking aim. His finger grip the trigger.
Max fired a shot before the goon could complete the action. The plasma bolt sizzled through the air, vaporizing the thug’s head. A pink mist hung in the air. Chunks of brain and skull peppered Zero in the face. He recoiled, his face twisting up as he spit fragments of debris from his lips and mouth. He was absolutely disgusted. He wiped his gooey face with his sleeve.
Max to
ok aim at Mr. Raymond who was staggering to his feet after taking a blow to the family jewels. There was an unusual trace of fear in his eyes. It was a rare position for him to be in.
Zero scooped the rifle from the deck and shoved the barrel in Mr. Raymond's face.
"Perhaps it's time to renegotiate?” Raymond said, forcing a smile.
Max braced the stock of the rifle against the deck and used it like a cane to stand. She staggered to her feet, putting her weight on her good leg. Pain stabbed through her thigh. Her face creased as she grimaced. She brought the barrel of her plasma weapon in line with Raymond's forehead. “What did you have in mind?"
The mobster swallowed hard. Sweat was beginning to bead on his skin. His voice trembled as he spoke, though he did his best to hide it. "I'm sure we can come to some kind of an arrangement. Name your price. You should be fairly compensated for your pain and suffering.”
Max pondered his offer for a moment. She heard several footsteps approaching down the outer corridor. Her furious eyes narrowed at Raymond. “You tripped some kind of silent alarm.”
Mr. Raymond's eyes widened. “Of course not—“
Max clenched her jaw and squeezed the trigger, blasting a hole through his skull. His limp body tumbled to the deck.
The main entrance hatch slid open, and a team of guards stormed in. They were dressed in tactical gear, wielding assault rifles.
Max unleashed a torrent of plasma bolts, taking out the first two guards through the hatch. She scampered for cover behind a bulkhead. With each step, she felt the stabbing pain in her thigh shoot through her entire body. She angled her weapon around the corner and kept unleashing a blistering stream of plasma projectiles.
The guards returned fire. Sparks showered from the bulkhead as blasts impacted near Max.
Zero was on the opposite side of the archway from Max, firing back at the guards. Bodies were starting to pile up in the entrance portal, but more guards kept coming. The alarm had alerted the entire station.
Max poked out from behind the bulkhead, fired several shots, then ducked back. She repeated this routine several times. She didn't have enough ammunition to take out every guard on the station, and they were just going to keep coming until Mr. Raymond told them to stop—which wasn't going to happen anytime soon, seeing how he was now minus his head.
Plasma bolts blazed all around Zero as he dashed across the archway to Max. Smoke filled the compartment, along with the ionized smell of plasma bolts. “I think it's time we made our exit.”
Max nodded. She fired off several more shots, then ducked back for cover. Her eyes gazed across the living room to the airlock that led to the escape shuttle. It was maybe 20 yards away. The path to get there would take them out into the open, leaving them exposed.
“Can you make it?" Zero asked.
Max nodded again, but she knew the run was going to be difficult in her current condition. “You go first. I'll cover you.”
Zero was skeptical. “We go together.”
Max was a little surprised. It was a rare display of bravery from Zero.
He grabbed her and hoisted her over his shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Keep firing and don’t stop!” Zero darted toward the airlock.
Max faced the opposite direction, unleashing a torrent of weapons fire at the guards. A chaotic flurry of plasma bolts sizzled all around. If they made it to the airlock in one piece, it would be a miracle.
34
Zero’s quads burned. His chest heaved for breath. The pounding of his heart filled his ears. He ran as fast as he could, carrying Max on his shoulder. Not that she was heavy, but an extra 117 pounds would slow just about anyone down. But for his size, Zero was surprisingly fast and strong.
Plasma projectiles sizzled through the air, scraping precariously close. Max bobbled on Zero’s shoulder, trying to keep her aim steady. She sent a blistering stream of plasma toward the entrance hatch, dicing up guards as they tried to push into the compartment.
Max and Zero were halfway across the living room. The air was thick with haze. Plasma blasts left blackened scars and craters in the bulkheads, and amber sparks rained down. Then the unthinkable happened. The guards hadn't given it much thought. In fact, they hadn't given it any thought at all. They were just spattering as many rounds as possible at Max and Zero.
One of the plasma projectiles pierced a window. Air rushed out of the compartment. The hazy atmosphere was sucked out into space through the narrow opening. It swirled, funneling down to a point like a tornado—only horizontal.
It wasn't a big deal at first. The volume of air spewing into the void was small. But it didn't stay that way for long. Small hairline fractures in the poly carbonate window popped and crackled as they spread out. It only took a fraction of a second for the small fissures to web into dangerous chasms. A fraction of a second more, and the window shattered completely.
It was like a hurricane in the compartment. Air vented into the vacuum of space, sweeping Zero off his feet. Caught in the gale force winds, he and Max spiraled toward the gaping window. Everything that wasn't nailed down poured out—the autographed boxing gloves, the baseball bat, the Babe Ruth baseball.
The couch slid across the deck and slammed into the bulkhead. Max and Zero careened toward the infinite void. Zero managed to cling onto the window frame before getting sucked into space, and Max clung onto his foot, half in, half out of the window.
There was no weapons fire anymore. Everyone was too preoccupied with their immediate survival. Several of the guards tumbled through the air, plowing toward the open window. All it would take would be for one of them to collide with Max, or Zero, and they'd have an eternal ticket to the abyss—an endless frozen space nap.
It wasn't the way Max wanted to go out. She clung onto Zero’s ankle for dear life. She managed to pull herself aside and avoid the collision with two guards as they screamed by. Max watched as their bodies expanded slightly. Within moments, their blood had sizzled with nitrogen bubbles from the lack of pressure. Their exterior froze over. It was a fate she wanted to avoid.
She pulled her way up Zero’s leg, then latched onto the window frame. Max fought against the wind, pulling herself farther into the compartment. Fragments of glass remaining in the window frame carved into her skin.
A guard in the outer corridor managed to mash a button on the bulkhead and sealed the hatch to Mr. Raymond's penthouse suite. The hatch slammed shut, and the rest of the air vented into space. Max and Zero only had a few moments to make it to the airlock before the lack of atmospheric pressure would wreak havoc on their delicate bodies. Max had a better chance of survival than Zero, due to her enhanced genetics.
Max launched toward the airlock. Without the overwhelming wind, she was able to move across the compartment at a faster pace. She grabbed onto Zero and moved as fast as she could. Every joint in her body felt swollen as the lack of pressure caused her tissues to expand. By the time she reached the airlock, she felt puffy and bloated. Once inside, she sealed the hatch behind them and pressurized the compartment. They were both moments away from a fatal decompression.
Max sucked air into her lungs as the airlock filled with oxygen. Despite all odds, they were both still alive. Max opened the outer airlock hatch, and Zero slung her arm over his shoulder and helped her stagger into the escape shuttle. He sealed the hatch behind them and ushered her to the copilot’s seat. She buckled into her safety harness as Zero climbed into the pilot's chair and powered up the craft. The dash came alive and the engines spun up. After the preflight checks, Zero detached the craft from the main structure and throttled up. The escape shuttle eased away from the space station. Zero angled the craft around and headed toward deep space.
Max didn't look good. Even with her ability to compartmentalize pain, she looked like she was in agony.
"Are you okay?" Zero asked.
Max nodded.
"Have you been hit?"
"Except for the baseba
ll bat?"
"I'll take that as a no. We need to get you medical attention."
“Pfft,” she hissed.
“We’re not far from Teldak Station. You can get treatment there.”
“We don't have time.”
“You’re not exactly in the most optimum fighting condition at the moment.”
Max’s mobile buzzed in her pocket. She slid the device out and swiped the screen. She was close enough to a relay buoy to get a strong signal.
Grant’s worried face appeared on the screen. "I've been trying to get ahold of you for the past several hours.”
Max shrugged. "I've been a little busy."
“Where are you?”
Max ignored the question. “Conrad Headley.”
“What about him?”
"He's the one behind all of this.”
“Whoa, hang on. Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“He's a pretty heavy hitter.”
“I don’t care who he is.”
“Not so fast,” Grant said. “Headley is a major political player with lots of influence. This needs to get done by the book.”
“I'm running out of time."
“Let me put together a special team of agents. Meet us at Artemis Station. We’ll move on his location together.”
“Headley's current location is outside of Federation jurisdiction. Your agents are just going to get in the way.”
"If what you say is true, Headley provides a clear and present danger to the Federation, and the president. Threats of that nature give us authorization to operate outside our normal jurisdictional boundaries."
Max pondered this for a moment. She needed all the help she could get. But she didn't need a bunch of bumbling feds screwing this whole thing up either. ”I’m just going to give you a heads up, if I get a chance to take that scumbag out, I'm going to. And if anything has happened to Riley, I'm going to see to it that everyone responsible stops breathing."
