by Watson Davis
She slumped down into a heap, unconscious.
I staggered back, stars twinkling before my eyes. I shook my head, clearing my vision. The TG-37 sat on a piece of cardboard on the ground. I bent down and picked it up, aiming it at the doorman, my finger caressing the trigger.
I came that close to killing them all like I'd been trained to do, like I'd been drilled so many times to do: don’t leave an enemy for later, squeeze a trigger, so easy, without even thinking. I considered the revenge I'd vowed to exact so many years before, and considered on whom I'd vowed to take that revenge out. Not these vile money-grubbers.
I flicked the safety on and slid my weapon into my jacket.
The New Job
"You... wow..." The social facilitator shook her head, her long red hair elaborate in its styling, piled up like a monument erected to the gods of fashion, unmoving. "Your record doesn't show any experience on the MOR units, or the flitters. Nor any mining at all, but your scores on the equipment are off the charts."
"I'm always amazed by what I pick up from reading the manual." I leaned back in the cruddy brown plastic chair, foot bouncing, arms crossed over my chest. "I didn't have anything better to do on the way over here."
"Wish you could explain that to some of the other jerk-offs we get in here," she mumbled, her head creeping forward, eyes squinting to read an HV feed visible only to her, her fingers wagging in the air as she flipped through pages of information, making selections, her mouth opening and shutting, smacking as she chewed on some gum. "I did not say that out loud."
I laughed. "Didn't hear a thing."
"What kind of position gets you interested?" Her fingers stopped moving. She considered me, studying me. "Do you want something you can throw yourself into and put in a lot of hours off-station? Do you want something where you're working with a lot of people? Do you want something that leaves you a lot of free time, maybe even an on-call sort of thing?"
"I prefer working alone with heavy machinery." I sat up, leaning toward her, trying to peek at her display. "I like to blow things up. I’d hoped to land a spot as a P-5 Scouter with demo clearance."
"You're selling yourself short." She gazed into the middle distance at the HV, blowing a bubble with her gum, scanning through jobs. "Your aptitude scores say you'd be good in a team, and a P-8 provisional team lead would pay a lot more."
"No thanks." I shook my head. "I want to be alone, work some things out in my heart, you know? Boyfriends, pfft. Can I come back later and upgrade?"
"Can't help upgrade your boyfriend," she said with a chuckle, "but as long as you don't muck things up too much as a P-5, we can upgrade you any time. I'll make a note in your file."
"Thanks." I rose from the chair. "That could come in handy."
"Give the system a few minutes before you requisition your gear, but you're good to go." She waved me away, motioning for the next person in line to approach.
I turned and strode past the line of miners, out the door.
# # #
Edmund walked into the police station, dread gnawing on his insides, his palms tingling. The onslaught of people talking, of alarms ringing, of drawers slamming shut hit his ears and he winced.
Sergeant Agar shoved a handcuffed young miscreant into a chair, glancing up and recognizing Edmund. She stopped, staring at him with her mouth open. Officers Agrawal and Parre walked toward Edmund, talking to each other with their heads bowed, until they noticed him. They stopped and parted to let him walk by, their heads turning to follow his progress.
Wendell stood in his cubicle, jabbering away. He scanned his eyes Edmund's way and paused mid-sentence, mouth open, staring at him. Wendell dropped his clipboard, papers drifting across the floor out of his cube into the main walkway. Edmund nodded to him. Wendell didn't nod back to Edmund.
From the cubicle across from Wendell, Christal said, "Wendell, what the hell, dude?"
Edmund knocked on the gray cloth wall of her cubicle, gazing down over the top of it at her—at Christal, sitting in her chair, bent over, going through a drawer beneath her desk. She looked good.
She looked up.
She stopped, still leaning over the drawer, her arms reaching out, hand extending, with her eyes open wide and her lips squished together on the verge of saying something, something already forgotten.
"Hey, Christal." Edmund shuffled his feet, averting his eyes, all the words, the introductions, the excuses, the reasons he'd planned to tell her fleeing his brain. "You look good."
She blinked and jumped to her feet, stepping back, away from him. "Odd, you look like an asshole. What the fuck are you doing here?"
He clasped his hands. "I have a soldier who's accused of terrorism, and another soldier who's gone AWOL. From what I can tell, the last thing Vanessa did was come here and talk to you."
"Vanessa went AWOL?" Christal folded her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to her left leg. "You should ask Darla where she went, instead of showing up here."
"Yeah, I did." He rubbed his hands together, peeking around at all the other officers in the precinct; all of those officers were watching the two of them like an HV show. "Can we maybe go talk in private? Maybe one of the conference rooms?"
"No way," Christal said. "I've had enough private talks with you. You can say anything you want to say right here in front of everybody. This way, I will have witnesses who will testify about how justified I am for shooting you in the face."
Edmund lifted his hands in surrender, bowing his head. "So she talked to you?"
Christal’s eyes widened. "I thought you were cheating on me with Vanessa. I couldn't believe her waltzing in here like she did."
"Cheating on you with Vanessa?" He shook his head. "Not with Vanessa, she's just a kid."
"Oh?" Christal asked, looking past Edmund toward Wendell, her eyebrows raised, her body tensing. "Not with Vanessa but with someone else? Really? Is that what you're saying?"
Edmund took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say.
Christal shook her head, her hands dropping to her side and closing into fists. "So, wait a second, you did cheat on me with someone else?"
"I'm trying to find Vanessa," Edmund said, wondering why the hell he hadn't sent Malordo to do this, remembering a moment later that Malordo had refused him. "She could be hurt. She could be in trouble. Let's try to concentrate on helping her."
"You're an asshole," she said. "That's all I can see. You are a cheating asshole. But Vanessa? Vanessa is sweet. So. Yes. For her, because she might be in over her head, I'll tell you. She came here. We pulled up some surveillance footage showing your other new recruit, Dorothea, boarding a tin can and putting in a flight plan for Orchid Flower station."
"Dorothea?" Edmund shook his head, pointing with his thumb in the general direction of FountainCorp's part of the station. "CounterEspionage arrested Dorothea for the bombing. She's being held in the brig. She couldn't have boarded a ship and left."
"That's all I got." Christal spread her hands, settling back against the wall of her cubicle. "I have no idea where Vanessa went from here if she didn't head back to you."
"Well"—Edmund bowed his head, bobbing it up and down, backing down out of her cubicle—"thanks."
"That's all I get?" she asked, stalking him out her door, fists clenched.
Edmund peeked up, moisture in the corners of his eyes, swallowing hard. "What will it take to make it up to you?"
Christal's eyes narrowed. "I don't think you can."
Edmund looked down at the ground, at the toes of his boots scraping on the floor, thinking about what Gus had said. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was a complete idiot for doing anything to fuck that up."
"Well…" Christal said, jamming her hands into her back pockets. "That's a start."
# # #
"Who's next?" A man walked up behind the counter wiping grease from his hands, the round bulges of his muscles rippling beneath the dingy red tee-shirt he wore, the tee-shirt let
tered with a music group disbanded twenty years before.
"I think that's me." I glanced around at the two other people waiting. They nodded their assent, the man bowing and indicating for me to proceed. I stepped forward, taking a place before the counter, handing out the card the woman from the commission had given me.
The man behind the counter rubbed the gray stubble on his bald head, wincing, his other hand controlling the HV, flipping through my orders. "I've got a couple of LightDream Gatoths, a FountainCorp Gilly, and an Atlas Macnally 636."
"Oh." I winced, gesturing toward the berths outside. "What about the FC-Pueblo 1774 parked outside?"
"Yeah"—he pursed his lips, shaking his head—"but you have to pay extra, and she's a little beat up."
"Yeah, we've all seen some rough times. Makes us stronger, right?" I grinned, trying to make small talk, but got no reaction from him other than a bored stare. "How much more are we talking?"
"Another 25,000 creds."
"Sold."
He snorted. "And you're going to pay for that how?"
I tapped my temple, pulled up some of the IDs from the CounterEspionage ship, checked their balances, shifted funds around, and put it all into the Jodee Stewart account. "Check again."
He blinked, his fingers jabbing into the air. "You know, I can get my gloves on an Atlas Charger. One of the new Deliplus models. Just another 25,000 and she's all yours."
"No. I'm good with the Pueblo."
"Okay, your loss." His hands moved, dragging icons around in the air, fingers wagging. "She's keyed to you. You'll receive a message with the title, the berth information, and the keys."
"And the manual, right?"
"Sure thing."
Seeing a flash in the side of my sight, I tapped my temple. "Coming in now, thanks.”
He leaned on his elbow, trying to appear casual. "Got a lead from a geologist or something?"
"Nah, just some woman's intuition. Do you have a couple of adjustable heavy suits? Female models."
"Sure, I can throw those in. You planning on some serious excavations?" His eyes narrowed, gauging me, judging my mining knowledge.
"I don't know the first thing about prospecting," I said. "I'm betting on a little beginner's luck."
"Sure, yeah, that's good." He chuckled. "Keep it to yourself, and watch your tail. Solos can get unlucky if they get too lucky, if you know what I mean."
"Aw, shucks." I smiled and winked at him, turning away. "I didn't think you cared."
# # #
Kevin and Missy escorted Edmund to the FountainCorp docks, using their IDs to sneak him past security for which he no longer held clearance. The three of them strode up to two pilots exiting a shuttle, the pair of them talking to each other and not paying attention to anything around them.
"Captain Lu?" Edmund stopped before her with his fists on his hips.
Captain Lu turned her surprised face to him. "Edmund? I heard you'd gotten your stupid fucking ass canned."
"Yeah, well, that's a fact." He shrugged, pursing his lips. "Gentili relieved me of duty until further notice."
"Okay, then." Captain Lu glanced at Kevin, at Missy, arching her eyebrows. "I'm frightened."
"It seems I have two girls who've gone missing," Edmund said.
"I heard CE locked up Dorothea." Captain Lu watched him, eyes wary. "Sorry about that. I liked her."
"Yeah?" Edmund nodded. "Dorothea and Vanessa. They've both gone and run off to a mining colony in the Nemesis debris. I think."
Captain Lu crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I'm glad you've relayed this bit of information to me. Howard and I will sleep better at night knowing that, won't we?" She turned to Howard Stemple, her copilot.
Howard sighed, closing his eyes.
"My team needs to go there, to that station." Edmund edged closer to her, lowering his voice.
"Why are you talking to me, Edmund?" Captain Lu asked. “Remember the part where you got canned? You don’t have a team. You’re not officially a part of FountainCorp Security anymore.”
"We need to hitch a ride to Orchid Flower station."
“Okay.” Captain Lu held out her arm, gesturing to the ships berthed at the dock. "Take your pick of ships, convince whatever captain runs that ship to go haring off on an unauthorized mission, and do what you need to do. Howard and I are going to go get breakfast. Right, Howard?"
Howard sighed, hanging his head.
"I need your help, Captain," Edmund said.
"You mean like that time you needed my help to cheat on your girlfriend when I didn't know you were even in a damned relationship?" Captain Lu punched Edmund in the chest.
Edmund nodded. "Yeah. Exactly like that. Dorothea and Vanessa need our help."
"Well, fuck." She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples with her thumbs. "No one's going to miss the Old Girl if we take her out, and I've got some friends who can futz around with the flight plans."
Howard sighed, raising his hand to his temple.
# # #
Vanessa Moat, decked out in her powder-blue FountainCorp casual uniform with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, held a bag in her right hand, her duffle slung over her shoulder, and trotted down the rickety ladder from the ship's belly to the gangway leading to a tall, cylindrical building that passed for the terminal on the Orchid Flower station. She strode through the shuffling throngs of people, pushing lollygaggers aside, glaring at anyone who took offense.
She waited in line until the bored man behind the screen waved for her to come forward.
He asked, "Vanessa Moat?"
She bobbed her head. "Yes, sir."
"Any other baggage?"
"No, sir."
"Any drugs or contraband to declare?"
"No, sir."
"Have work or looking?"
"Well”—she blinked, brow furrowing, and shrugged—"I mean, I'm here looking for a friend of mine."
The man sighed. "Are you here looking for work, or do you have a job lined up?"
"Oh." She grinned. "I'm here for pleasure."
He closed his eyes and licked his lips. "So, you have a job?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you currently wanted for any crimes to the best of your knowledge?"
"Absolutely not, sir."
A piece of paper slid out of the counter before her. The man said, "Take the paper, keep it with you at all times, and please, move along."
Vanessa leaned forward, snatching the paper and saying, "Like I said, I'm looking for someone, Dorothea Ohmie of FountainCorp Security. Who should I go talk to about that?"
"Anyone but me. Please move along." He motioned for the next person in line.
"Right, thank you, sir." Vanessa saluted, grabbed her bag, and followed the dashed line leading out the door into the main section of the terminal. She continued on, right out the front door, to the nearest tavern she could find on the Orchid Flower directory.
She set her bags down at the first chair. When the waitress walked up, Vanessa sent an image message to her and said, "Have you seen this person? Dorothea Ohmie?"
The waitress straightened, surprised, blinking. Her head tilted to the side, lips pursing before a smile spread across her face. "Yeah. As a matter of fact, I have."
Vanessa smiled, pumping her fist. "Awesome."
Captured
I sat on the hull of my new ship, tabbing the button on my multi-tool to reset the configuration, finished the calibration on the third drone, activated it, and sent it on its merry way to await further instructions. Raw sunlight fell across the chasm before me, rippling over the domes and buildings of the Orchid Flower station, the light stark, with a haze rising from the dark stone cliffs once buried deep within a planet's heart, a mist hugging the domes and buildings.
Small two-seater mining ships and barges, the lifeblood of the colony, skittered through the chaos of the buildings and domes rising up from the asteroid. A lazy freighter lumbered past, jets expelling puffs of exhaust, redirecting its b
loated structure toward the loading docks. A sleek yacht, carrying people with money and prestige, approached the terminal, nestling in beside a battered transport delivering more bodies to be broken.
I stretched, relaxing my neck and back, gazing out at the expanse beyond me, an expanse so alien to the dusty world I came from, alien to any world at all, the horizon so close it was not a horizon, just a border to the emptiness stretching out past forever.
I slid across the ship, hand over hand, wriggling through the void, to the fourth drone, the last of them. The monitor confirmed the new routines had downloaded and installed. With a few twists of the multi-tool, I added the new feeding mechanism, testing it once, calibrating it to make sure it worked and would work when I needed it.
"Dorothea Ohmie."
The voice blasted into my auditory nerves, bypassing microphones and channels, overriding everything, breaking in over the emergency channel; the volume a physical pain, sharp, driving into my head, I cringed out of pure instinct.
I moved before the message and the pain ended, every bit of my being sounding an alarm, shifting into battle mode. I tossed the drone aside, kicking off the hull and using my tether to flip me back to the airlock, looping through the void, my eyes scanning, detectors reaching out and finding three police flitters approaching before the tether pulled my body back. I twisted to land with my feet absorbing the blow as I slammed into the hull.
Dorothea Ohmie, not Jodee Stewart—so they’d identified me quicker than I’d expected. Unless Mercedez had remembered my name, which I doubted.
I slapped the sensor to open the airlock, and threw myself inside.
"Dorothea Ohmie. You are under arrest."
I unclipped the tether and hit the big round button with my fist, overriding the safety check and sending the door slamming down, severing the tether. The lock flooded with atmosphere, and the interior hatch swung open. I dropped down into the pilot's chair. The seat belts wrapped around me, responding to my desperate commands and securing me in the seat.
