Dirty Deeds

by Mark Wandrey

  * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  The one thing about jail Murdock had always appreciated was it gave him time to think. The routine was easy, and the life uncomplicated. He’d seen the inside of the Houston Startown detention facility several times over the years. Enough times that the more hardened denizens knew of him by reputation alone. It helped his stay to be less violent, and meant his time remained at thirty days, something that usually didn’t happen.

  “See you next time,” one of the officers said when he handed Murdock his stuff at the end of the month.

  “Won’t be a next time,” Murdock said.

  “Sure, whatever.” The man laughed.

  “Asshole,” Murdock said. The jerk stuck with him while Murdock reclaimed his possessions. He considered lighting up a Bongani right there, then had a rare moment of clarity and decided against it. Just a few minutes later he left the building behind. Out on the street, he did light up, savoring the rich, nuanced smoke.

  He’d used his time in lockup to get ahold of some old friends and a few enemies. Quite a few people owed him a favor or two. Shit, some would even do him a good turn just to be sure they never had to see him again. He could work with that.

  By the time he walked out of custody, his Yack had a slightly better balance. More importantly, he had a cabin on a starship waiting for him. The only thing he spent money on was a dozen boxes of cigars. The purchase of 600 Bongani cigars cleaned the surprised dealer out and set him back 300 credits. A ludicrous expenditure. What else was a man to do? Who knew if he’d ever have a chance again?

  He thought he’d feel different this time as he walked onto the shuttle that would take him to orbit. He’d flown into space from Earth a hundred times before, always knowing he’d eventually return. In the week he’d spent looking for work after the incident with his sister, he’d decided that was enough. The merc guild didn’t want to admit he was merc, or even still alive. So fuck it.

  “Yack?” the man asked as he boarded the shuttle. He handed it over. “Ticket confirmed, sir. We’ll be lifting in ten minutes. Take any seat, we’re half empty.” He nodded and headed into the ship, taking the first open seat he saw with an empty next to it. He was a big guy, and most people didn’t like sitting next to big guys.

  A few more people boarded, including a pair of MinSha who were busy speaking in their own language. They were careful to keep the clicking sounds down to minimize the chance anyone else would overhear. They didn’t turn their multifaceted eyes in his direction as they strapped in.

  “Lifting off in 2 minutes,” the PA announced. “All passengers verify your safety restraints are in place. We will be using laser boost to reach orbit.” This was the method most ships used at larger starports like Houston. He always thought it was a stupid thing to announce, which meant it was a government rule.

  A pair of flight attendants working for the starline came back and went through, doublechecking that all the passengers understood the childishly simple restraints. Every so often you’d get some rube who’d never flown into space. This wasn’t one of those flights.

  “Standby for liftoff,” the PA said. A second later, the shuttle’s ascent engines roared, and they were pushed back into their seats. The thrust needed to get the shuttle off the ground wasn’t too much, really. Less than a G. The pilots flew the craft in a circular pattern while they awaited their orbital window. Murdock could see out the small window as the ship in front of them, a big fat freighter, had the launch laser blast up its ass, sending it roaring into the sky.

  One minute later their shuttle banked hard and then pitched, nose up. Murdock let his breath out and relaxed as another laser from the starport’s launch cluster fired into the ablative shield on their aft section. Gigawatts of energy from Houston’s fusion power plant, turned into a beam of oscillating coherent light tailored for their model of shuttle, vaporized some of the shuttle’s shield and was converted into thrust. Just over four Gs pushed the passengers back into their seats as the ship rocketed toward space.

  Murdock wondered how long it had been since the shield was replaced. Starlines liked to save money by using those shields until the bare minimum remained. Risky, but profitable. Every so often one would burn through, and a shuttle would turn into a burning meteor. Accidents happened.

  After seven minutes of firing, the laser cut off, and his shuttle’s own engines took over. The laser accelerated them to sixteen kilometers per second and an altitude of 120 kilometers before cutting off. It wasn’t efficient to use a laser past that distance in an atmosphere as thick as Earth’s. There were lasers on the moon and Mars which put ships into geostationary orbit. The shuttle’s own boosters circularized the orbit and put them on course to a transfer station.

  He caught a second shuttle at the orbital transfer station. This one never landed; it moved between stations and ships in orbit. It took him to a starship, ECS Columbus, a Comal Tramp-class freighter. They were older freighters, the first to be made on Earth seventy-five years ago. Murdock had seen a few around, though none in quite some time. When he got the ticket, he checked—out of twenty-six manufactured, six were still in service. Lucky him.

  This Comal Tramp was refitted in 2100 as the boom of outward colonization was beginning. A full two-thirds of its cargo space was refitted for passengers. Thus, Murdock found himself with 124 other lucky people, crammed four per stateroom, as Columbus thrust at a quarter G toward the stargate.

  The captain was kind enough during their 170 hours in hyperspace to put a spin on the spherical ship, which provided a modest one-fifth G for eating, bathing, working out, and amusements. The passengers used any excuse to get out of their cramped cabins, which was when Murdock stayed in and stretched out. There was little more than four hammocks, anyway; it wasn’t like a cruise ship.

  After a lifetime flying around the galaxy, he’d developed a lot of methods for dealing with the slow times in hyperspace. His personal slate had hundreds of videos and thousands of books. Lots of mercs read because it was something you could start and stop easily, and merc life was on and off. The days went by like always.

  On the morning of the ninth day since he’d taken off from Earth, Murdock got his first look at his new home—Gliese 1214b, named Valais by the Humans who’d settled it. The star of Gliese 1214 was a red giant, and the world of Valais was 87% water, with mild seasons, good temperatures, Earth nominal atmosphere, and one more bonus—it wasn’t Earth. He’d last been there twenty-nine years ago on one of those ultra-rare human-vs-human contracts.

  The fighting had only lasted a couple days, and was more of a series of skirmishes than any real slug fest, as often happened when aliens were involved. Humans just didn’t like killing each other, so when they fought, it usually turned into a draw. After the fighting, he’d spent time on a few beaches, sampled the seafood, and gotten a sun tan. He’d told himself if he lived long enough to retire, Valais would be the place.

  “Murdock, old man,” he said as he saw the planet again at long last, “looks like you did it.” The only Tri-V on the ship was in the nominal ‘rec center’ on Columbus, and it was crowded, with most of the passengers trying to get a view of their destination. A younger man he’d pegged as a merc looked over at him and spoke.

  “Oh, you here for the fighting too?”

  “Fighting?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

  “Oh, you bet,” another older man said. “It might be devolving into a full-blown conflict.”

  Murdock looked back at the planet and sighed. “Well, fuck me.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  “Yack,” the customs man asked, and Murdock handed it over. A bright green flag with a blue planet in the center hung behind the man. The conflict suddenly made more sense, down to the customs guy’s green uniform.

  “Merc?” Murdock didn’t respond. “Who you here to fight for?”

  “I’m retired,” he said. The man looked at his Yack, including the Mercenary Gu
ild logo on the back. “Check with your MLO if you want, I’m sure their data is up to date by now.”

  “What’s an MLO?”

  “Merc liaison office?”

  “We don’t have one of those.”

  “Then you’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

  “Supervisor!” Murdock rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The tantalizing smell of salt spray was coming through the door. It brought a wave of familiarity associated with those weeks of fun and sun twenty-nine years ago. “This guy’s a merc, but he says he’s retired.”

  “I didn’t say I was retired, I am retired,” Murdock said. “I was lost in action on a contract and declared dead. Being brought back to life proved impossible.” He shrugged. “Decided Valais was a good place to settle down.” He didn’t mention he’d been there as part of a merc company fighting before, it was an unnecessary complication.

  “You might realize we have a bit of a problem here,” the new arrival said. The supervisor, a woman this time, wore the same green uniform with a fancier insignia on her collar. She also kept looking at the logo on the back of his Yack.

  “Yeah, I know about your conflict,” he said.

  “I knew it,” the first agent said.

  “But I’m not here for any of that bullshit.”

  “The entire planet’s biosphere is in danger,” the supervisor said, “and we’re struggling to stop a genocide.”

  “And I wish you good luck with that,” he said. They both looked at him with obvious suspicion. He was just beginning to consider kicking both their asses and disappearing into the adjacent city when the supervisor finally nodded.

  “Entry granted,” she said, “with the understanding you are not to participate in the conflict.”

  “Fine,” he said. The suspicious look returned. “Okay, I agree, what more do you want?”

  The two exchanged looks, and the supervisor nodded again. The original agent slid his Yack into his slate and tapped an icon before handing it back to him.

  “Is there any law against smoking?”

  “Smoking what?” the older one asked. Murdock grinned.

  “Welcome to the Environmental Sanctuary of Valais.”

  Environmental sanctuary, he thought as he left the customs office, going into the early afternoon reddish sun. Isn’t that just quaint?

  There were eleven official Human colonies, nine of which were in the same galactic neighborhood as Earth; the Cresht region of the Tolo arm. Valais was the closest colony to Earth, at forty-seven light years. According to the Cartography Guild, 229,702 planets had been cataloged as habitable by humans, and another 1,903,551 worlds were marginally habitable, which meant humans could exist with some artificial means. Of course, many of those worlds came with their own native races. Life was creative and persistent. All that meant free land was pretty rare.

  The Galactic Union didn’t really care what you did with a world as long as you didn’t ruin it for any race to live on. The rule was designed to stop the sort of world-wrecking warfare that had made thousands of planets uninhabitable. Planets were a commodity, and as such, they were to be treated that way. Valais was considered undesirable due to a lack of wealth and real estate. The planet was bigger than Earth, yet only contained 13% dry land, and a third of that was swamps or mountains. Even the major aquatic races found it unsuitable, because the salinity—identical to Earth’s oceans—was too high. This turned out to be a benefit for Humanity.

  An organization on Earth obtained a colony lease from the Cartography Guild for a song, and with no resources of value, it meant little risk of alien interests trying to take it away. The colonists had free rein to do what they wanted to with the new world. Away from the increasingly draconian regulations of their home world, the colonists took advantage of the planet’s oceans.

  The original settlement was built on the largest landmass, an island they’d named Pinnacle. As the colony grew, the first settlement became the capital, and was in turn named Atlantis. Murdock’s first visit had been just after they’d chosen the name. Like most of the mercs, he’d thought it was rather corny to name the capital of a water world Atlantis. The colonists weren’t interested in his opinion.

  Released from customs, he went to the freight office. The walk wasn’t far, so he stopped halfway and lit his first cigar in a week. He sighed as he tasted the wonderful smoke. A worker stared at him in utter amazement.

  “Are you smoking?” he asked.

  “No, my head’s on fire,” Murdock said with a growl, and the man fled. He chuckled as he smoked half the stogie, then stashed the other half before heading on to the freight office. The manager was a busy woman who smelled of fish. Of course, the entire warehouse complex smelled of fish, even the refrigerated section. She looked up as he entered the office. “You don’t look like a seafood merchant,” she said.

  “That’s because I’m not.” He handed her a data chip. She looked at it for a second, then started looking through stacks of old-fashioned paper.

  “We don’t do a lot with computers here,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “No hurry.”

  After a minute, she found a slate and slid it in. She read the details, then glanced up at him. “Interesting,” she said, going down the manifest, then stopped. “Cigars? Real tobacco cigars?”

  “Yes,” Murdock said, shaking his head. These people were amazing. “Can you store it?”

  “Sure,” she said, “no problem. A locker will cost twenty credits a month.”

  “Sounds fine,” he said, and handed her his Yack to subtract the funds. He took his card back afterward. “No questions?”

  “No, why would there be?”

  “Considering what’s in that manifest…”

  “Sir,” she said, “if you got through customs, you can bring whatever personal items you want.”

  “Seems risky,” Murdock said.

  “The rules were made way back in the colonial days. The founders wanted to follow the example of the Galactic Union. Lots of people here are armed, lots aren’t. Behave yourself, and nobody cares.”

  “Sounds good to me. Can I get access at any time?”

  “Sure,” she said, “I’ll give you the gate code, and another for your locker.”

  As he walked through town, Murdock couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at how much had changed. He’d been unconsciously expecting the place he’d visited twenty-nine years ago. That was before a quarter of a million more people had moved to Valais, and most of those lived in Atlantis. He’d also hoped the fighting he’d been part of was in the past as well. Environmental Sanctuary of Valais ran though his mind. For fuck’s sake.

  The once spread out and sparse capital was now considerably more built up. Atlantis had been constructed on the gently sloping side of an extinct volcano. Pinnacle offered several thousand hectares of arable land, which was heavily cultivated in greenhouses. The volcanic soil yielded rich crops. They also had hydroponic greenhouses.

  He wandered the streets, filled with people going about their lives, and marveled at how many there were. Housing tended toward three- and four-story tenements, all with ocean views. He also marveled that he’d just jumped on a ship and come here with no plan whatsoever. In the distance was the modest downtown, including a nine-story office building under construction, with all the hallmarks of a government center.

  He turned down a street and found himself in a massive outdoor fish market, the main product of Valais. The oceans had proven ideal to a vast numbers of Earth species, and the native sea life proved an equally ideal food source for them. Everything from mackerel to tuna thrived. Vendors offered displays full of a dizzying variety of seafood. One seller had a small restaurant attached. Tanks held massive crustaceans larger than anything seen on Earth in centuries.

  “Haven’t had lobster in years,” he said, looking at a tank with one as big as a corgi in it. It waved an antenna at him, and he wished his credit balance was better. Then he saw the sign wit
h prices over the door. “Two credits?” he said.

  “Yeah,” the proprietor said behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. “Sorry, one of the big fishery fleets lost a processor ship, so prices are up.” He saw the expression on Murdock’s face. “I can take off the dessert and make it one and a half credits?”

  “That’s a whole meal?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  “Cook that fucker!” Murdock laughed and went inside. He pulled out a Bongani and flourished it. “Can I smoke?”

  “If you don’t mind eating on the patio, go right ahead!”

  Murdock finally left, going back out to the market street when the sun was dropping below the buildings. The seasons changed slowly on Valais, and the temperatures were around twenty-five to thirty degrees Celsius most days, dropping to fifteen or so in the evening. With a slight breeze running down the road, it felt wonderful. He stretched and burped. With drinks, extra sides, and a tip he was five credits lighter. Probably two kilos heavier around his waist, as well.

  “I gotta find a job,” he said and burped again. The lobster had been as sweet and tender as any dream of eating lobster ever was. Simply amazing. Shiploads of it were flowing off planet now. Some to Earth, much more to other Human colonies and alien planets. It made the powerplay underway with this environmental group doubly frustrating. Credits spoke.

  He walked for a time through the market, which was closing, and eventually came to a street of bars and nightclubs. There hadn’t been any of those kinds of places when he’d last been on Valais. The tiny colony of maybe 50,000 souls hadn’t had a lot of time for a nightlife then. A few bars, sure. For the most part, if there were Humans on a planet, there were bars. If there was anything the primates liked more than fighting and making more primates, it was drinking.