by M. R. Forbes
As for Quark? His respective duties mainly consisted of spending hours locked in his quarters with one of the Ensigns assigned to critical systems. It was a reputation Dak had told him about during one of his breaks to check on the rest of the ship’s operations. The leader of the Riders was known in mercenary circles as both illogically popular with females of more than one species, and illogically good at his job. As Dak had put it, Abbey was the first and only mission he had ever failed.
Then again, Quark didn’t exactly see it as a failure. He had completed the mission; it was just that the parameters had changed posthumously. The technical twist in perspective made him laugh.
“What’s funny, Captain?” Quark asked.
“Dak was telling me a little bit more about your exploits while you were adding to them in your quarters,” Olus replied.
“I have needs,” Quark said.
“Not those exploits. Is it true you spent a week alone on Miner Forty-nine?”
“I told Dak, and I’ll tell you. Everything you hear is true.”
“How did you survive?”
“I killed everything that tried to kill me.”
“When did you sleep?”
“I didn’t.”
“For a week?”
“For a week. I had some stims that kept me going until the boys arrived. And really, the rumors about Miner Forty-nine are overblown.”
“Miner Forty-nine is one of the most mineral-rich planets in the Outworlds, but none of the corporations can get to them because of the indigenous life there. The rumors are overblown?”
“It isn’t my fault if the low-end talent the corps hire for jobs like that can’t get it done. They say the planet is mineral-rich, but not rich enough to hire a real crew like mine. Whatever.”
Olus laughed again. The trouble with the statement was that it was true. The corporations that had founded the Outworlds had a horrible reputation for going with the lowest bid, and there was always a fresh group of guns-for-hire looking to make a name for themselves and dying in the process.
They reached the docking interlock, with Quark waving to his Riders as they approached. Olus glanced out of the small viewport lining the corridor, to where the Quasar sat against the side of the Brimstone, hitching a ride. The ship couldn’t be described as anything other than broken. There wasn’t a metal plate in the hull that wasn’t scuffed or burned or marked, and the telltale signs of quick patching and re-seaming were everywhere. It seemed strange that a mercenary group as successful as the Riders would have a ship in such a beaten state, but Quark was convinced they just didn’t make them like the Quasar anymore.
Which was probably true. He had invested millions in upgraded tech that wasn’t visible on the surface, the cloaking system and the reactors to power it the least of the secrets hiding inside. It was another source of amusement to him, if only because it was so cliche.
“Sergeant Capper,” Quark said as the Sergeant saluted. “Are we primed and ready?”
“Aye, Colonel,” Capper replied. He was small for a Fizzig, though his wide frame took up nearly half the interlock. “Gibli is still pitching a bitch about our inception.”
“He can blame Shithead for dying.”
“Aye, Colonel.”
“This way, Captain,” Quark said, motioning to Olus.
The interlock slid open, revealing the inside of the Quasar. A familiar face was waiting for them there.
“Captain, it’s good to see you looking so refreshed,” Nibia said, smiling as he entered.
“Come to check him out?” Quark said. “I mean, check up on him.” He paused. “No, I mean check him out.”
Nibia blushed slightly.
“I think I’m a little old for you,” Olus said.
“Bullshit,” Quark said. “Have you looked in a mirror lately, Captain?”
“The Meijo gives you back your youth,” Nibia said. “At the same time, it shortens your life.”
Olus had thought he looked a little younger the last time he had seen himself, but he also hadn’t been paying much attention since he had left Earth. With Hayley. Damn it.
“You look well, Captain,” Nibia said. “And I have no issue with checking you out, in whichever way the Colonel means, but that isn’t why I’m here, and he knows it.”
“You said you needed a cover to get in close,” Quark said.
“I thought you said you were a doctor?” Olus replied.
“A witch-doctor,” Nibia said. “Who often travels the planets of the Outworlds in search of ingredients. Oberon happens to be the closest planet to pick up nightshade.”
“Nightshade?”
“It’s an Earth plant. Atropa Belladonna. Anti-inflammatory, pain relief, great for menstrual cramping.”
“We aren’t going to Oberon to deal with your woman problems,” Quark said.
“Pipe it, Colonel,” Nibia replied. She reached to her side, a small sidearm appearing in her hand a moment later. “I’ve been with the Riders for a while. I’ve learned some things.” She spun the sidearm in her hand and holstered it, at the same time a knife appeared in her other hand. “And I’ve done combat drops before.”
Olus glanced at Quark. “You risk your ship’s doctor in combat drops?”
“Trust me, Captain. Nibia doesn’t take no for an answer when it comes to anything she wants.”
“Anything,” Nibia said.
“Let’s head to the armory,” Quark said. “We’ve got to get you suited up and ready to go.”
“I’ve got a data file prepared,” Olus said. “I’ll upload it to your team’s TCUs once we’re on board the Alexa. It has detailed positioning for the cover team. Since you decided not to join me in the strategic planning, I assume you’ll follow my lead?”
“As long as it won’t get me or mine killed,” Quark said. “If shit goes sideways, all bets are off. Either way, I’ll pull you out alive. Don’t worry about that.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Olus said. “It’s Don Pallimo. You can bet Thraven is ready to wipe the neural net if we get too close. If he kills the AI acting as Pallimo, the Haulers are going to be useless to us.”
“I’m well aware,” Quark said.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Nibia said, wrapping her hands around his arm. “My crew will take care of you.”
“Your crew?” Quark said. “Who the frag runs this outfit?”
Nibia laughed. So did Quark.
Olus closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself of the stories Dak had told him, and that Quark claimed they were all true.
And he thought the Rejects were a little off.
18
Alexa was the name of the transport that was carrying Olus, Nibia, Quark, and his squad of four of his finest to the surface of Oberon. It was a small orbital hopper; a simple, unarmed vessel that made quick runs into and out of the atmosphere. It was light and powerful but not terribly maneuverable.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t need to be.
Gibli was the fresh-faced pilot of the Alexa, a teenage Outworlder whose appearance didn’t inspire much confidence in his abilities. Neither did Quark’s statement that he had done great on all of the sims. This was his first mission with the Riders, and the Colonel’s insistence that he only picked the best wasn’t doing much to increase Olus’ overall confidence.
It had taken a few hours to get the Quasar undocked from the Brimstone and positioned to release the Alexa, their communications with ground control designed to make them think the hopper had come from a nearby cruiser instead of the mercenary vessel. There had been a few tense minutes when Planetary Defense had sent a pair of Shrikes past to do a visual examination, and then clearance had been granted. Gibli was unsteady on the stick, the ship skirting vectors in rhythm to the young pilot’s nerves.
“Damn it, Shitbrains,” Quark said, giving the pilot a new moniker. “Hold it like you hold your wee-wee when you’re taking a piss. Nice and steady.”
“He probably splatters,” Cap
per said, joining the rest of the drop squad in laughter.
“Do you splatter, Shitbrains?” Quark asked.
“No, sir,” Gibli replied. “I forgot to take my meds.”
Nibia sighed. “Again? Do I need to come into your quarters and shove them down your throat?”
“You can come into my quarters anytime,” Gibli said.
“Mine too,” Capper said.
“You both know what you can go do with that,” Nibia said.
“Meds?” Olus asked.
“For Parkinson’s,” Nibia replied. “Totally controllable with the right treatment, as long as the patient takes the fragging treatment.”
“I forgot,” Gibli said.
“The stories are true?” Olus asked.
Quark laughed. “Relax, Captain. Storm before the calm.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”
“Would you prefer it the other way around?”
Olus shook his head. “No.”
“Exactly.”
“Alexa, this is Control. Update vectors to five oh eight degrees. We’re diverting you to an alternate port.”
“What?” Gibli said.
“Control, this is Alexa,” Quark said. “What?”
“Alexa, this is Control. Oberon Main is showing a glitch in gravity control. We’re sending heavier transports back while we get it straightened out, but you’re small enough to land at the Skyport instead. Or you can turn around; it’s your call.”
Olus glanced at Quark before pulling up the city map on his TCU. The Skyport was on the other side of the city, but also closer to the location he had identified as the most likely location of the Pallimo neural net. He nodded to the Colonel.
“Control, this is Alexa. Roger that. Updating vectors now. Thanks for the option.”
He tapped Gibli on the shoulder. The pilot changed course to match the new directions.
“What do you think?” Quark said about the switch.
“Seems convenient,” Olus replied. “But I’m not sure for who.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“We could be stepping right into a trap.”
“A likely scenario.”
“Or it could be that the AI is trying to help us, and sabotaged the main spaceport’s gravity control to get us shunted over.”
Quark smiled. “I like that option better.”
“How do we determine which it is?” Nibia asked.
“We can’t ahead of time,” Olus said. “We have to be prepared for both.”
“How would Pallimo know it was us?” Quark asked. “We came in cloaked.”
“Does he know about the Alexa?”
Quark tapped the side of his head for a second. “Could be. I bought her from him.”
“There you go.”
“And here we go,” Gibli said, the hopper shuddering slightly as it hit the atmosphere.
“Try not to get us killed, Shitbrains,” Quark said.
“Roger,” Gibli replied.
The hopper sank quickly, clearing the atmosphere and ducking toward a thin layer of clouds. Oberon was eighty percent Earth’s gravity, which was why it needed gravity controllers to begin with. Starship systems were calibrated to Earth, and a glitch in the controls would cause them to hit too hard, damaging the landing surfaces and potentially the ships in the process.
A modern city spread out beneath them, silver and sparkling against a backdrop of green. Oberon was deep enough into the Outworlds that it wasn’t involved in the confrontations between the Governance and the Republic, and other than contributing money didn’t have much to do with the overall politics. It was a utopia compared to most of the Outworlds, tucked away and left to prosper.
Not that the number of ships in orbit around it reflected that. It was clear Thraven’s forces were here. It was obvious they had the local government’s blessing. Were they flying into a trap or was the neural net guiding them?
They would find out soon enough.
The Skyport was a flow of activity, the density increasing as more of the smaller ships dropping to the planet were diverted there. Oberon had four main cities on its surface, spread almost equilaterally around the globe, making air travel a valuable part of their transit system.
“Whoa, three o’clock,” Quark said, pointing at an oncoming aircraft to the port side. Gibli cursed and adjusted his vector as the plane rocketed above them only a few meters away.
“He didn’t even try to move,” the pilot complained.
“You’re in the way,” Quark replied. “I said to get us in alive.”
“Sorry, sir,” Gibli said.
He guided the hopper to an empty space on the field, next to a second shuttle that had just landed. The touchdown was a little rough, but at least they survived it.
“Check your comms,” Olus said, tapping on his. “Check.”
“Check,” Quark said.
“Check,” Nibia said.
“Check,” Capper said.
The other soldiers followed suit.
“You’re up, Captain,” Quark said. “Send the signal when you’re ready for the cavalry. And don’t do anything with Nibia that I wouldn’t do.”
Olus ignored him, heading for the open hatch to the outside with the witch-doctor behind him. He adjusted his coat, making sure it was covering his sidearm. Then he double-checked his TCU. Everything was up and running.
Nibia paused beside him. She had taken the whole medicine woman role to another level, dressing in a colorful tank top and shorter pants that revealed the intricate tattoos that lined her caramel flesh. She had weaved small shells into her hair along with a few feathers, and had slung a satchel over her hip.
“You look like you’re ready for a swim in the jungle,” Olus said.
“Who’s going to buy a Koosian in a lightsuit?” she replied. “Most off worlders think we run around naked most of the time.”
“Do you?”
“The tattoos cover my whole body.”
“So it’s true?”
“No. I’m fragging with you Captain. Not about my tats, but I did that because I like them, not because I’m in the buff when I’m back home. We wear the same clothes as everyone else. Even this is a bullshit get-up to satisfy the preconceptions of uneducated idiots.”
“Like me?”
“You said it, not me. Don’t get nervous, Captain. We’re a pretty secretive culture. I get that. But we weren’t left behind ten thousand years ago. Other than having an advanced degree in herbal medicine, a little bit of Meijo, and a take it or leave it approach to modern tech, we’re just like everyone else.”
“If you have Meijo, you’re not like everyone else.”
She smiled mischievously, at the same time she changed the subject.
“We didn’t get arrested as soon as we walked onto the tarmac. That has to be a good sign, right?”
“Not necessarily. Keep your guard up.”
“Roger.”
Olus pointed to one of three flows of foot traffic away from the landing field. “This way.”
They hurried to join the flow, integrating with the tail end of the arrivals. A checkpoint had been assembled at the entrance to the terminal, where a pair of armed guards flanked by a pair of armed bots were checking credentials. Quark had provided him with fake identification, and he knew enough about it to be impressed with the quality. The encoded digital passport would indicate he was a liaison for the Koosian village doctor at his side, hired to help her navigate the craziness of the modern galaxy.
It didn’t take long to reach the head of the line, the security detail keeping the incoming passengers moving, scanning credentials without slowing for deeper reviews. It was the same for them, and they passed easily into the terminal with only a comment from one of the guards, who had wondered if Nibia’s tattoos covered her entire body.
She had angrily assured him that they did.
“So far, so good,” she said as they entered the main terminal.
&n
bsp; A loop station passed through it, ferrying individuals across the city. Olus checked his map. He had singled out a nearby power substation for further reconnaissance, mainly because it wasn’t feeding as much energy into the grid as it should have based on the model and age of the generators. It was a detail most investigators might have overlooked, but he wasn’t most investigators.
“We can walk it,” he said. “At least until we have to get inside.”
Nibia didn’t reply. She remained beside him as he angled toward one of the exits out into the street. As he did, he noticed a pair of cleaning bots pause in the middle of emptying a pair of trash bins and begin rolling toward the same location on a direct intercept course.
“Curious,” he said, subtly pointing to them when Nibia turned her head to question him.
“Very,” she agreed.
They came to a stop. The bots came to a stop. They took a step forward. The bots moved slightly toward the exit.
“Definitely tracking us,” Nibia said.
“And not following their assigned protocols,” Olus said.
“Pallimo?”
“Could be. But it could also be Thraven.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Let’s see how this plays out. You said you have the Gift?”
“No. I said I have Meijo.”
“You said the Gift was Meijo.”
“No, you made that leap based on what I said. The Gift is like Meijo, but not exactly. It’s the closest thing we have to compare it to. Meijo is like the Gift on a diet, but it won’t kill you.”
“So you have a weaker version of the Gift?”
“Close enough.”
“Can you handle a rogue cleaning bot?”
“With my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back.”
“Good enough.”
They started forward again. Sure enough, the bots moved on a precise intercept course, meeting them a few meters ahead of the open doors and blocking their path. Other pedestrians turned their heads to look on with curiosity but didn’t find the event worthy enough to linger for.
