by Tammy Salyer
Strahan leans back in his chair, his lips twisted into a sarcastic grin. “That’s just beautiful, Erikson. You work for a man who wiped out a squad of thirty soldiers to escape from Keum Libre, a prison he no doubt deserved to be in, and help him steal a bomb that could potentially wipe out the population of a planet. And you make out that it’s the Admin’s fault? That’s rich.”
Bodie stares at the table, his face sagging in dismay. Desto and Vitruzzi mirror each other’s disbelief. Ignoring Strahan, I keep my mouth shut. I knew they wouldn’t want to hear this.
Finally Vitruzzi asks, “And if they call your bluff? What will you do with a weapon like that? Put it in storage? Wait for a good buyer? You can’t think something like that would be safe anywhere. Except where it is right now.”
Her tone isn’t patronizing, but my temper is starting to burn anyway. “You think leaving it at the Fortress is safe? Have you thought about why the Admin is building it in the first place? How they plan to use it?”
“None of this shit matters right now. V, Erikson and her insane plans are not our problem. We need to figure out what it will take to get that disc from Rajcik so we can help Mason and the rest.” Everyone listens to Desto, the deep bass of his voice flooding the room. My earlier comment about bargaining chips must have hit a chord with him, and I’m starting to think he’s had his own taste of the criminal world.
After a moment to consider, Vitruzzi straightens up, her eyes never leaving my face. “All right, Erikson. Your plans for the Fortress are your business. I just hope you know what you’re doing.” She punctuates this comment with a glare that says this isn’t over. “So tell me, what do you think we should offer Rajcik for that disc?”
“Nothing. He won’t give them up.” Their faces register, not surprise exactly, more like exasperation. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, and you don’t have a damn thing to lose if you toss me out the cargo hatch right now. But if there is a chance, I’m it. I’ve known Rajcik for a long time. He trusts me, as far as anyone can trust anyone.” This is a major exaggeration of Rajcik’s confidence in me, but they don’t need to know that. “He might listen to what I have to say and be persuaded. As long as there’s something to persuade with.”
“As in?” Strahan asks, but Vitruzzi answers for me.
“He needs energy just like anyone else, right?”
I nod in agreement. “Those seeds would probably draw his attention long enough to at least think about the trade you’re proposing.”
Venus’s voice sounds off over the intercom. “Captain, thirty minutes to touchdown. Brady’s on the link for you.”
Vitruzzi walks to the intercom and presses the speaker. “I’ll be there in a second.” Turning back to face the table she states, “We’re home. Erikson, we’ve got a com boost that will link you to wherever you need. That will be the first order of business when we land.” With those words, she leaves.
NINE
Venus engages the Sphynx’s backup thrusters, gliding us to our landing zone with the precision and lightness of a machine-operated feather. The landing gear slides into deployment with a mechanical hum, and in a few seconds we’re settled firmly on the earth. The kid is amazing.
My hands want to twitch while we wait for the loading doors to open, and I clench them into tight fists. They don’t need to see how on edge I am about facing a group of strangers on this unfamiliar planet.
Alone.
I’ve been working as part of a team my entire life, first in the Corps, then with Rajcik’s crew. Knowing you’re the only one who can save your brother’s life, the only family you have, is more than pressure, it’s gut-wrenching dread. He needs me. For the first time since I followed my big brother into the Corps, I’m alone in the universe, with no one to rely on but myself.
As the ramp lowers, I take a long look around. We’re inside an enormous mine, another dried-up Admin operation, yet the place is alive with activity. Giant fixtures rigged to the ceiling wash everything in a brutal white incandescence. People and ships pack the space, everyone and everything involved in different activities. I realize immediately that this colony of non-citizens is big, and organized.
Nothing throughout the cavern appears disorderly or random. A crew to the right of the Sphynx is working together to operate a giant crane. Attached to its loading chains is another ship, this one a small shuttle that is probably used for intra-atmosphere transport. Another group at the end of the cave carries supplies in and out of an enclosed area. Judging by the carts loaded with bags of chemical fertilizers some of them push, they’re working in a greenhouse or growing room. The space is filled with everything from earthmoving equipment, to generators, to stacks of building material—all the tools a colony needs to build and maintain an independent infrastructure. There are more supplies and equipment than you see in typical settlements on most of the uncivilized planets by a power of ten.
How much does the Admin know about them? From what I can see, their operation is advanced and self-sufficient, at least enough so to draw unwanted Admin attention. Not everything in this cavern could have been legally obtained, and a well-organized enclave of non-cits, no matter how anonymous or noncombative, is usually considered a threat. At least a hundred people are at work in this mine alone. Who knows how big this place is or what else they’ve got going on?
The ramp hits the dirt and the Sphynx’s crew quickly disembarks. A middle-aged man waits at the base, and I stand at the top of the ramp watching as he exchanges greetings with everyone. Vitruzzi waits next to me. Glancing in my direction and cutting her eyes toward the door, she invites me off.
We step onto the gritty floor and she and the man embrace, arms wrapping tightly around each. They hold onto each other for several tender seconds, their affection overshadowing everything around them. Up to now, her attitude had been cold, efficient, and impersonal, deep-freezing any thoughts I might have had about her inner motivations, the things that drive her to take the kind of chances she has in the last few days. This glimpse into her real life, the life not involved in kidnapping and smuggling, finally drives home how important her friends are to her, and how much she’s willing to risk to help them.
After a few seconds, she extracts herself from the man’s hug. “Patrick, this is Aly Erikson.”
His face is deeply lined by hardship and years of work. A stark white scar runs from his right temple down his cheek, neatly parting the salt-and-pepper stubble covering his jaw, and branches into two lines next to his mouth, one stopping at his top lip and the other ending at the angle of his chin. It’s a stern face but not cruel. He jabs his hand toward me.
“Patrick Brady.”
His attitude is as gruff as his handshake. I return the gesture but say nothing. The strength in his grip reminds me of how on my own I am. I feel as if I’m standing on a chair with a noose around my neck.
His eyes linger on me for a moment, sizing me up before dropping my hand. I look at Vitruzzi. Time to send the message.
“Patrick, I’ll meet you later,” she says. “We’ll be in the com room for a while.”
“Yeah. Bring her by when you’re finished. We have things to discuss.” Dismissing me, he runs his hand down Vitruzzi’s wavy black hair to her shoulder, leaning forward to kiss her. The rest of the crew is already gone, attending to other things. Brady steps back and Vitruzzi turns to me.
“This way.”
We walk through the chamber to a lift on the northern wall of the cavern. The ride up lasts a few seconds and we enter a room housing an impressive collection of satellite and radio communication equipment. I settle into a chair in front of a large video display, while her hands move over the controls, activating the necessary channels.
“All communications are scrambled, dissected, and bounced over multiple com nodes throughout the system. We’ll have to direct the message to a contact on Obal 8 who will put it back together and transmit to wherever you tell him. The shorter the message, the better, but say what
you have to.” Her dark eyes bore into mine to emphasize her next statement. “A lot of people are depending on this.”
David is one of them. Looking into the video feed, I take a few seconds to think about what to say, then switch it on. “Temptation this is Erikson. Situation stable. Need mission status and new rendezvous location. Out.” I bite back the urge to press for information about David. It’s not likely Rajcik knows anything, but it’s hard not to ask. Turning around, I say, “Short and sweet. Just tell your contact on Obal 8 to transmit to uplink 548 in Delta Alpha. If he encodes it, send the key to uplink twelve, same quadrant. Rajcik will get the message.”
She types the directions into the satcom computer and inputs the transmission code. “For what it’s worth.”
Deep lines materialize around her mouth and eyes, only pronounced when she thinks no one notices, when she forgets people are looking to her to be in charge. The lines are like a map of her burdens, but they also reveal the inner strength with which she manages them. Right now, we have a lot in common. Too much. We’re both afraid people we care for are going to die at the hands of an enemy who, reason tells us, should be anything but. She leans back in her chair, her focus on people millions of miles away. I recognize the difficult position she’s in, wanting to do what’s best for her crew, people who depend on her, and having to rely on me, a smuggler, a criminal, someone who shouldn’t be trusted no matter how much she needs to. I wish we were on the same side, as real allies instead of collaborating out of necessity.
“Now what?” The sound of my voice brings her back to the here and now.
“We wait,” she says, the lines smoothing back into calm authority. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. And I could use a shower.”
* * *
Ten minutes later we’re aboard the Rover and leaving the cave through a long, well-lit tunnel. Emerging into the brightness of midmorning, I can see the outlines of three small moons fading to ghostly circles high above, and the hot ball of Algol A. Spectra 6 doesn’t appear to be much different than any of the other outer planets I’d been too, at least in terms of climate. Dry and hot, with negligible life-supporting material thanks to its proximity to the star. The Spectras that were once rich in minerals or ore lack much else that makes them appealing or livable to people. Once the Admin took what it could from them, they were abandoned. People still manage to populate some of them, but the living is harsh and tenuous. Those who come out to the Spectras have learned to forget, if they ever knew, about nice things—things like fresh food, civil structure, and law enforcement. Like packs of hyenas, those who live here have to become half-savage and dangerous in order to survive.
For all the harshness of the landscape, the settlement is good sized. A multitude of housing structures, mostly assembled from scraps of metal and discarded junk, rise out of the coarse and sandy ground like ancient relics, cleverly built into the strange and abundant rock formations that cover the surface so that they almost seem organic, growing naturally from the earth. Though most of the materials are probably scavenged, nothing about the settlement seems accidental or derelict. It appears there have been people here for a long time, making use of whatever they found, and making the best of it. With the scarcity of anything besides rock and dust as far as I can see, I can’t help but wonder about the people living here and what it is that makes them tick.
A quick ride takes us to one of the dwellings, a sand-colored structure with an arched roof peppered with photovoltaics, and she leads me inside. The building is round and the front entrance opens into a main room with a kitchen and table and chairs. Dusty skylights nestled between the solar panels shed enough light on the interior to see clearly. It’s cooler in here, well insulated. The walls are probably filled with dirt and a fan system circulates the air inside. All in all, it’s surprisingly comfortable, another indication of a relatively advanced long-term settlement. These people are well beyond simply trying to survive out here. Brady is waiting for us, and I sit at the table across from him.
“You’ve got friends here, Erikson, so it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try and trust us.” Brady’s statement is abrupt and unexpected. He stares at me as if I’m something he might have scraped off of the bottom of his shoe. Vitruzzi sits next to him, very still, her back rigid.
Looks as if that shower’s going to have to wait. Cursing silently, I keep my features still and impassive. Why can’t anything be simple?
I shift a little in my chair, trying not to explode with frustration, and wait for someone to start telling me what Brady is talking about. I could demand answers, but it wouldn’t do any good. They have the advantage here and the only thing I have is a complete lack of options and patience. Both are excruciating.
Shoving a cup with some orange liquid and a plate of food across the table toward me, Brady continues, “Eleanor has told me about you, Erikson, and I did a little digging, too. You’re ex-Corps, like Desto and Karl—special tactical operations. It surprises me that someone in spec-ops would end up in your shoes. Usually, once those dogs get the taste for blood, they never lose it.”
Is he trying to make me angry? I sit motionless in my seat, holding his eyes with mine. He’s long past pretending to be friendly.
“But then, you haven’t have you? Just changed flavors.” There’s a harsh, bitter edge to his voice, and suddenly I understand. He mentioned I was ex-Corps, like Desto and Strahan, but not like him. The scar on his face, his obvious hatred for spec-ops soldiers—he’s a non-cit of course. Born and raised on a desolate rock in the outer planets with cancer-causing dust in the air. Treated like a machine or worse by some Admin resource extraction franchise—used, abused, then tossed when it became too expensive to keep him working or the mine dried up.
Then what? Did he fight back? Did he become a problem the Admin needed to deal with? Yeah, it makes sense that he’d hate me, or at least, hate what I was. Corps special operations squadrons are in charge of eradicating insurgent threats throughout the system. The long arm of the law. My unit’s mission is, was, to police the massive and scattered non-cit populations of sixteen Obal and Spectra planets and well over a hundred moons within the Algol system. And police them hard.
The ship David and I had been stationed on, PCA Thor’s Hammer, operated as an enforcement craft. Mostly we were put down on what the Admin termed “insurgent enclaves” to deep six all rebellious activity. We were trained to be efficient, and that’s exactly what we were. Like all good soldiers, we weren’t supposed to think about what we did. We just followed orders, and the orders were always the same: exterminate all threats, no questions.
Long-suppressed memories of those firefights begin to float up from beneath the swamp rocks I’d buried them under in my mind, as if they are the noxious contents of a broken sewer line bubbling to the surface. Soldiers with pulse rifles, grenades, missiles, and armored land cruisers deployed from orbiting long-range warships, fighting against people in rags with a few handguns and maybe some homemade dynamite. My stomach clenches as I recall the methodical ruthlessness with which we utterly squashed all the petty resistance they’d tried to mount. The way we’d killed every man, woman, and child on those planets so no one would live to tell about what had happened to them. Just folks who wanted to live without Admin interference, on their own terms. People like Brady.
His grim face is set as he watches me process these thoughts. Staring at his unflinching eyes, I remain speechless and my anger evaporates, leaving a cold and empty void. Why wouldn’t he hate me? I represent all the atrocities that soldiers like me had done to people like him.
The room is hushed and tense. Finally, Vitruzzi breaks the silence, “Erikson, we want to offer Rajcik a trade. He gets twenty kilos of solar seeds for a copy of the disc.”
Her all-business tone lets me escape Brady’s accusing gaze. “Seems like a good idea,” I comment glibly. They don’t have anything else that Rajcik would care in the least about.
“And his crew and some of us team up
in a rescue mission for your brother and our friends.”
I take a drink of liquid Brady gave me and nearly choke on it. Coughing, I ask, “You’re kidding me, right?”
No. She’s not kidding. Not joking, not pulling my leg, not having a laugh at my expense. She’s serious. Another glance at Brady confirms that they are both serious.
Enunciating my words as clearly as I can, I promise them, “That…is…NOT…an option.”
“Why not, Erikson? We up our odds with every able-bodied fighter we have. You know it. If Rajcik is as clever as we’ve heard, he’ll know it.”
“Did you forget what I was doing when you kidnapped me?” I use the word deliberately, trying to incite enough hostility that they’ll drop the idea completely. “I was smuggling. Smuggling plans to steal a weapon so dangerous it could destroy an entire planet. And you want to team up? Maybe I have some screws loose, but you people are completely nuts.”
Pausing, I read their faces, looking for an indication that they realize their idea is ludicrous. “Besides, Rajcik isn’t the group-effort type. He probably won’t even be willing to trade for the seeds.”
Vitruzzi’s expression doesn’t change from the same calm focus. Maybe I persuaded her that she’s pushing her luck with her proposal, or maybe not, but I’m willing to bet she doesn’t like what I said. Brady’s pinched stare has gone from sour dislike to outright detestation. He leans forward slowly, putting all four legs of his chair back on the ground and gets up stiffly from the table, as if he’s about to walk the plank.
Superficially, it seems like a smart move to pool our resources. I’ve seen how tightly Vitruzzi and her crew work together, and it’s apparent that they can handle themselves in a tough situation. And as much as I hate to admit it, confirmation that Desto and Strahan both share my military background makes me trust, if not them, at least their abilities. If all we had to do was break through the Fortress’s security, let ourselves in, grab David and their friends, and get the hell out, I might even be willing to go along with her idea. But this isn’t just a rescue mission. There’s a monumental payoff involved, and if I know János Rajcik, anyone or anything that tries to remap his intended course of action will be eliminated.
