by Drew Wagar
Stepan and D’vlin were simply staring at the woman. Stepan was licking his chops, while D’vlin had reared up on his rear legs for a better sniff and was fluttering his antennae around. Rebecca turn her attention to them, waiting expectantly. She gave them a quick impatient glance. “Yes?”
“Lads…” Hesperus prompted.
Stepan recovered first, and then they both began to gabble.
“ Oh, I er… sorry. Stepan Nil, first mate on the Dubious Profit…” he said amiably. “I’m the pilot… er… navigator… er… type person.”
D’vlin wriggled his antennae. “Me, me! Engineer! Thanks rescue! Pirates kill! Not so…”
Rebecca looked slightly pained and interrupted them.
“Pleasure,” she said dismissively. She ignored both of them, returning her cold gaze to Hesperus. D’vlin’s antennae drooped. His feelings were easily hurt.
Charming, these humans! Time to make our exit, I think. Been lovely meeting you and your attitude problem…
“ Well, on behalf of the crew of the Dubious Profit, our hearty thanks Commander,” Hesperus began, hoping the woman wouldn’t take him up on what he was about to offer. “We’ve not got much to spare, but if there is anything we can offer you in exchange for your help… ”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow and tilted her head expectantly.
Then again, I know what she needs… something to ease away her stress…
“… Are you looking for a cute and fluffy companion for those long interstellar journeys perchance?” Hesperus said, turning on his feline charm. “We have some rare, exotic and adorable creatures from the far flung corners of the galaxy aboard that would give a lovely lady such as yourself much care and affection in the dark and lonely… ”
“I know what a Trumble is!” Rebecca hissed in response. “Don’t bother. I had one once and it ate an entire crate of Lavian tree grubs before I managed pin it to my fuel scoop and went sun skimming. It took me ages to scrape the carcass out of the intakes!”
“Oh. In that case I’m not sure… ” Hesperus examined his paws, nonplussed. Stepan and D’vlin winced and exchanged a look of distaste.
“You can just do me a big favour and promise not to fly into an anarchic system again, Captain,” Rebecca continued hotly. “It was madness! Your ship is under-powered and under-spec. Your flying skills were pish. You deserved to be shot up. You got lucky this time, don’t depend on it again.” She turned on her heel and made to leave, looking over her shoulder at them. “…Most don’t get a second chance.”
Hesperus’ claws flicked out, scratching the surface of the docking port.
Ooo! Touchy! Get yourself another scratching post human girl!
Then she was gone, walking swiftly towards the airlock that led to the interior of the station, leaving Stepan with his ears sticking way up in outrage, D’vlin looking as if a missile had just slammed up his thorax and Hesperus fuming, whipping his tail back and forth in indignation.
Well, at least it didn’t cost me anything.
“Who does she think she is?” Hesperus growled, his fur bristling. It would take him ages to comb it all out again.
Stepan handed him a comm unit showing a basic ident trace.
Commander: Rebecca Weston
Credit Rating: Triple A
Legal Status: Clean
Rank: Deadly
“Rich Girl,” D’vlin clicked in awe. “Deadly fighter! Tasty human! Neat, neat!”
“You shouldn't have tried to give her a Trumble as a token of your appreciation,” Stepan added. “That’s low.”
“Cheeky, cheeky!” D’Vlin squeaked, nodding vigorously.
Hesperus almost let out a choice feline expletive at the departing figure, but then caught himself in an unusual moment of lucid thought.
The little hard-nosed bitch was right, damn her. She was right. Maybe I should rethink things a bit…
Rebecca sat in a dark corner of one of the seedier bars on the station, nursing a plastic cup filled with Anlian heavy gin. It was a peculiar distillate, which couldn’t be served in glass as it tended to react and dissolve. They said drinking it was like having your brains smashed out. Some reported strange ‘trips’ afterwards, often involving dreams of gold bricks and slices of lemon.
Rebecca liked the lower gravity here near the axis, having spent most of her life aboard ships and stations. She didn’t like looking out of the windows at the station edge either, it made her dizzy. She also liked to be left alone.
A tear dripped down her cheek. She angrily brushed it aside, rubbing it away furiously. She turned the cup around a few times without taking a sip.
The rest of the bar was cluttered with an assortment of off-worlders, felines, grubs, insectoids and a variety of humans sharing little in common other than a desire to drink too much alcohol and forget about stuff. They had all come from worlds of different gravity and surface conditions. She’d walked past a group of overweight traders boasting with each other over who would achieve the rank of ‘Dangerous’ first.
Most traders could achieve a rank of ‘Dangerous’ within about five years in space. Arguably, if you wanted the big profits, you wouldn’t last long unless you achieved a rating of that level. A great many pilots were ‘Dangerous’; it implied you were a seasoned space dog, ready for anything, though virtually all your kills would have been in self defence.
Reaching the giddy height of ‘Deadly’ required a lot more dedication. It meant you had deliberately sought out danger, witchspacing into difficult systems and facing down fierce opponents; perhaps even taking on covert military missions. ‘Deadly’ implied you were not just a trader, but a fighter as well; going on the offensive, taking big risks.
Rebecca had done all of these things. What was more, she had done them in less than two years.
That was virtually unheard of. ‘Deadly’ was a rank associated with advanced skills, a rank that indicated you were cut out for bigger things, that you might be ‘Elite’ material. It indicated a single minded fixation on killing for killing’s sake, a hunter, someone apart from normal society.
‘Elite’, of course, was something else.
Rebecca could often be found in these sort of places. Always half hidden, always alone.
She was looking for something she couldn’t find. She hardly slept, catnapping on the bridge of her ship, safely out in the void. Always moving on, never staying in the same place for long. Searching, always searching; fighting her way through anything in her path. Hundreds of pirate vessels had met oblivion under her laser and missile attacks. She was tenacious and vicious in combat, single minded and emotionless. For pirates she gave no quarter, and asked for none.
She’d been everywhere in Chart One from Tianve to Riedquat and back looking for an trace of a nameless combateer and the distinctive shape of an Imperial Courier.
She’d gotten leads, clues that pushed her onwards into different systems. Each time the trail led her away from the civilized systems into some of the frontier worlds, across interstellar space and then looped back on itself towards the Galcop core. Every time the trail had gone cold, forcing her to start again. It was like hunting for Raxxla.
The vision of the assassin’s ship witchspacing away while she impotently watched from the deck of the shattered SuperCobra haunted her dreams, both waking and sleeping. It was out there, somewhere. She couldn’t shake herself of the memory.
My father, brother, cousins, my entire family all gone, blown away…
Only an hour before their deaths she had been intending to jump ship, running to pursue her own selfish dreams of independence, leaving them high and dry without her.
He destroyed my life, and I will destroy his!
Guilt, shame and the need for atonement drove her. She’d rescued countless beleaguered traders over the last few months, savaging her way into pirate attacks and decimating them all. Traders were always falling over themselves in gratitude, but no number of good deeds was able to fill the aching void she felt every
time the last pirate vaporised in a flash of disintegrating duralium. There was never a tatty Boa, two sidewinders and a creaky old Cobra Mk1 waiting for her; only strangers like that daft cat and his motley crew. Despite their narcissistic tendencies, she had a soft spot for the feline races of the galaxy, having grown up on Tianve with its famous ‘Pulsar Cats’. It was difficult to ignore the distinctive plaintive cry of distress on the wideband.
There was only one planet she hadn’t been inclined to visit.
Onrira.
There was no point going there. It was a high tech world, crowded out with Galcop citizens, barely any crime, almost total surveillance, sky high prices and heavy regulation. No assassin could hide in such a place.
He told me not to go looking…
Jim McKenna lived on the Torus station at Onrira. ‘Harmless’ was her nickname for him. Her erstwhile partner in crime. He was the stuffy academic who had shared that ridiculous escapade over the equally ridiculous Q-Bomb.
What an idiot he was – ‘Harmless’! Lucky I was there, he’d have been dead without me!
Anyway, going to Onrira might unwitting lead the assassin to discover him again. She owed him that much. She’d not involve him in her hunt. He wouldn’t approve anyway. He’d give her another lecture.
Like I need that!
She worked alone, it was easier. She was protecting him, stupid fool. That was the reason. He was just a lab boy who couldn’t fend for himself. Nothing more than that. Onrira was just going to be a safe port in a storm one day.
Why can’t I watch the vids he sent then? No point, probably just some boring tattle about Onririan politics…
Another tear formed at the corner of her eye. Her hand shook.
He’s got class, I’m just a trader! We had nothing in common! It’s been years anyway! He’s no different from any of the others! JUST STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!
The plastic cup cracked and broke in her hand, the Anlian gin spraying across the table and splashing on her hand. She could feel the cold as the liquid evaporated, and the heat as it mildly burnt her skin.
“Good evening, Commander. I trust I’m not bothering you unduly.”
Rebecca was jolted out of her reverie and looked up into the hooded cowl of a heavily cloaked figure. She hadn’t even noticed him arrive. His face was shadowed, and he gave the impression of being hunched over. His voice was rough, as if he’d suffered some accident or disease that had affected his vocal cords. Yet the accent was cultured, sophisticated even.
“What do you want?” she snapped aggressively.
“Actually, I’m keen to discuss what you need,” he said, rather enigmatically.
“Well, you can ship out,” Rebecca replied. “I’m not buying any Trumbles!”
“Which is good, as I’m not selling any,” he replied smoothly. “Don’t take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks. I’m trying to help you. May I replace your drink, Miss Tyley?”
Rebecca was about to tell him where to stick his drink when she suddenly realised what he had called her. She stared up at him in shock.
“Good to see you’re discrete about it,” he said, with a hint of humour in his voice. “I know a lot about you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do, Rebecca Tyley,” he said dismissively. “Let’s not play games.”
“That’s not my name,” Rebecca spluttered. “I’m Weston, not Tyley. You’re mistaking me for someone else… ”
“ Rebecca Tyley,” he replied, his voice lowered. “Born in orbit of Tianve, daughter of Reet Tyley, nearly lost aboard the Boa class freighter Eclipse when it was destroyed, involved in the Q-Bomb affair and responsible for the destruction of a Thargoid…”
“Enough! Keep your voice down!” she hissed. “That’s supposed to be classified information! Who are you? Some kind of cop? I haven’t broken any of the rules I was given!”
“Calm down,” he smiled. “I’d forgotten how… Listen. I’m not with the Galactic Co-operative, I’m your friend.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, and painfully said, “I don’t… I don’t have any friends.”
The man paused, as if considering. “Oh, yes. Well. A benefactor, then. I mean you no harm.”
“Like, I’ve not heard that one before!” Rebecca almost decided to get up and leave, but she had had her curiosity piqued. She folded her arms and sat aside slightly, glaring at the man in pointed silence. He didn’t move.
Rebecca capitulated. “All right. You’ve got my attention. Gin is my poison.”
The man gestured briefly and a barkeeper provided them with fresh heavy gins after another brief spell of uncomfortable silence.
“So, what do you want?” she repeated, glaring at him.
The man put his hand into the folds of his cloak. Rebecca stiffened, her hand resting on the blaster at her side. The man pulled out a thin black wallet and opened it, turned it around and pushed it gently across the table towards her.
Inside was a picture, blurred, magnified and enhanced, but unmistakeable. Rebecca stared at it, drawing a sharp gasp.
“It’s been causing some trouble for me,” the man said. “Steps have been taken and found ineffective. This was taken by the ident computer on one of my ships.”
The picture showed a ship, angled half aside from the perspective of the camera, apparently in the process of turning in toward it. A stream of fire was issuing from the forward gun emplacement, arcing towards the camera’s vantage point. The weapon wasn’t a military laser, it was something else, something she wasn’t familiar with. But there was no mistaking the outline of an Imperial Courier.
“When and where was this?” Rebecca demanded immediately.
“I’m not prepared to give you the details yet.”
“Why is he after you and yours?”
“As yet, I don’t know. What I do know is that a one of my Elite pilots was killed by this ship. My pilots do not die easily, but we were outclassed. Apparently my colleague was killed within three seconds of being fired upon.”
Three seconds!
“What kind of gun can… ”
“Only one person has faced this assassin and lived to tell the tale,” the man interrupted. “I need your help.”
Rebecca stared at him. “Me? But I’m not Elite, I’m not even close! I got lucky!”
“There is no such thing as luck, and the rating matters less than the ability. You survived, that makes you unique.”
“So?”
“As I said, I need your help.”
“And this matters to me… why, exactly?”
The man sat back and took a long pull of his drink. He seemed to be regarding her from deep within his hood.
“We’ve been watching you, Rebecca.”
“We?”
“You’ve been travelling from one end of the galaxy to the other, looking for this ship for almost two years, without finding it.”
“Who is ‘we’?” she demanded, leaning forward aggressively.
“This ship killed your family. You want vengeance, and yet you can’t find it. We can tell you where it is. In exchange, you kill it for us.”
“Who the hell are you?” she grated out, between clenched teeth.
The man raised his hands and gently lowered his hood, revealing the face of an old, grey-bearded man. He was tall and carried himself with an air of practised authority. He looked back at her with a piercing gaze. There was something familiar about his eyes, as if she’d met him before somewhere, but she couldn’t place him.
“My dear, haven’t you guessed?” he said with a smile.
“No,” she replied annoyed. “And you can stop playing games yourself!”
“Very well,” he said, folding his arms. “You’re doubtless aware of the high profile murders that have recently taken place.”
“Of course. It’s all over the news; Triboner. Tinuviel and Neseva here on Sotiqu… and what’s his name on Diso…”
“Zerz Furvel.”
The man smiled his enigmatic smile as Rebecca stared back at him, her mouth dropping open.
“Yes. That’s right, my dear,” the man intoned. “The Dark Wheel.”
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Jim hands had been secured with energy binders and he was unceremoniously escorted below decks on the Onrira station under armed guard. He received no interrogation other than a simple DNA ID check with a morose and taciturn custody officer. He was placed in a featureless grey holding cell that contained nothing but a simple, padded bench and a toilet.
Throughout all this none of the guards had spoken a word and Jim’s demands for legal council had been comprehensively ignored by all. The rational part of his mind told him not to struggle or make a nuisance of himself, the rest of him raged with frustration.
“Damn it! This is outrageous! It’s illegal! You’ve blown your case wide open with this! I have rights! Do you hear me?”
The cell door had been locked and fused, becoming part of the cell, indistinguishable from the rest of the wall. He didn’t suffer from claustrophobia, but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling being completely enclosed in this way. He banged the door with his fists. It was futile.
How could he possibly be a suspect for murdering Zerz? He’d only met the man a couple of times and he’d been teaching at the time of the incident.
I’ve got a cast iron alibi! Twenty Sci-Ed students! They know I didn’t do this!
Two hours passed without incident, before the cell door unfused, unlocked and opened.
Two Galnavy marines gestured to him. Both were decked in dark metal body armour, with heavy fitted helmets and plastinium visors. They both carried assault rifles.
“You’re coming with us.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers!” Jim fumed at them belligerently.
“Prof,” the more senior one replied easily, “we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Either way, you’re coming with us. It’s your choice.”
