Her voice carried a hint of snarl. “Drop the axe.”
He froze; sweat melted out of his face.
Click. Click. Click.
Risa smiled without looking at the woman. “I told you, the angel won’t let you shoot me. I didn’t come here to hurt you, but I won’t let you get in my way. If I close my hands, you die. Drop the damn axe.”
A trace of blood seeped into the sweat on his neck from a nick.
“W-what the hell. Comm is out, the gun is out,” said the female pilot. “I c-couldn’t even stop the doors from opening for that empty cart.”
The axe clattered to the ground. Risa walked him at claw-point to his chair. The other pilot backed into her seat, still clinging to the useless pistol. A flick of Risa’s arm cut it into several pieces with the faintest tick of the synthetic diamond on metal. Severed ammunition, blue propellant dust and projectile fragments, crumbled to the ground. The woman gasped, shivering.
Risa pointed one claw at the chair. “Sit.”
The woman dropped into her seat. Risa stared out the windscreen at open warfare. The automated guns seemed to be helping the miners, having turned on the mountainside to pin the bulk of the BMC soldiers in the underground bunker.
“My God,” wheezed the male pilot.
The woman stared in silence.
Risa stood behind them, claws hovering. “BMC is not going to help you. They would leave you here to die. Do exactly as I say, and I will not let anyone harm you. Move the shuttle forward. Put the nose through the field and open the doors.”
Hesitant, the pilots powered up the drive system. A moment later, a crowd of armed miners emerged from among drop buildings, moving toward the landing pad. Several fired chasing shots at BMC guards running for the safety of the structure built into the mountain face. The large turrets didn’t try to kill the ones who fled.
“Do it. Nudge this turkey forward.” Risa pointed at the approaching workers.
Engines rumbled, and the azure haze crept up and over the shuttle windscreen.
Raziel had not led her astray.
“W-what are you going to do to us?” asked the man.
The sight of the abused miners filled her with righteous indignation, but she could not blame these two pilots for the situation. All they did was move ore back and forth. “Nothing, unless you’re stupid. All we want is a ride to Elysium City.”
“You’re not going to kill us?” whispered the woman.
“I’m not a damn assassin!” shouted Risa. The pilots cringed. “If I wanted blood, I would have killed him. You can fly this alone.”
The woman seemed to accept that and stopped trembling.
Kal brought up the rear of the approaching throng, behind two larger men carrying a woman who appeared unable to walk. He waved his right hand around in a circle and pointed up before he disappeared beneath the tip of the nose. Risa’s Foxbat scooted into view, trailing a cloud of dust. The little driverless quad shimmied side to side, as if a first-timer operated the controls. It vanished under the nose as the woman dragged her fingertips down a control element on a holographic screen to close the cargo doors. When the rumbling ceased, she eased back on the sticks.
Engine surge vibrated in the floor and the ponderous shuttle rose into the air. With all the grace of a flying brick, it glided backwards into a rightward spin. Thrusters roared; the shuttle hung in place for a second, stopped rotating, and lurched forward. The automated guns continued firing, keeping the BMC personnel pinned down. Risa let her claws retract and kneaded her hands to work the stiffness out of her fingers. They don’t feel different, but I know they’re not real bones.
Smooth silt raced along below, broken by a handful of creeping trails left by half-ton arthropods with mirrored chitinous shells. Risa grasped the backs of both seats, rocking with each bit of turbulence. The male pilot kept glancing at her, his expression unreadable.
She didn’t look at him. “Are you checking me out, or wondering if I lied about letting you live?”
He broke out in a faint sweat and whipped his gaze around to the console.
“I’ll take that as ‘yes’ on both counts.” She glared. “If it’ll keep you calm enough not to do anything stupid, stare all you like.”
Four holo-panels on the left wall offered a view of the cargo hold, packed full of the liberated miners. She wandered over and scanned the blurry faces.
“Is there an intercom?”
Both pilots jumped when she spoke.
“Yeah,” said the man. “Amber panel to your right.”
Risa leaned over to touch the button. “Lawrence, are you down there?”
The large man elbowed his way out of the tight crowd, approaching the camera. “Yah.”
“Need you in the cockpit.”
“On my way.” Lawrence tromped to the side, headed for the ladder.
She didn’t react to the female pilot whimpering, or the color draining from her co-pilot’s face.
“Thanks.” Risa let off the intercom. “I’m going to tell him that you two are helping us because you understand keeping workers as slaves is wrong. Otherwise, the miners will probably object to letting you walk away once we land. If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to make him think otherwise.”
Clank.
They jumped at the sound of the hatch opening. Risa smiled.
“Yo.” Lawrence trotted in.
“Everyone okay?” asked Risa.
“For the most part.” Lawrence gestured at a bandage on his right forearm. “Some of us got a few scrapes.”
“Good. These pilots were willing to help get everyone out. Do me a favor and stay with them until I get back?”
“Sure.” Lawrence pivoted to grin at the pilots.
They stared at his assault rifle, forcing smiles.
Risa made her way down to the cargo hold. The air offered the stink of bodies in addition to the sulfurous reek of Martian ore. Men, and a few women, glanced over at the specks of violet light her eyes made in the dark. Some reclined on the floor, others paced, a few cried.
“Not bad for a five-minute rebellion,” said Risa, causing total silence. “We’re on our way to Elysium City. Those of you who were abducted by Benton Mining are free to go once we land. Please contact the authorities and report what happened to you. Anyone whose past complicates showing their face in public is welcome to come with me. The Martian Liberation Front is looking for recruits.”
Murmurs spread over the group.
Risa leaned on an ore carrier. “Is there a Mara Avoris here?”
A thin woman an inch or two shorter than Risa struggled to push herself between a pair of huge men. Her figure vanished in a filthy, tan jumpsuit far too big for her, and she had to shuffle to keep her oversized work boots from falling off. Her cracked lip leaked a trail of dried blood down to her chin, and her face and shoulders bore many bruises in various states of healing. She eyed Risa with a suspicious squint. Another woman in the back, without a mark on her, sat on the floor, rocking back and forth with a thousand-mile stare. Close to the wall, a third woman squirmed to free herself from a binding of electrical cable around her wrists. One man held her down.
Risa raised an eyebrow at him.
“She tried to kill herself,” said the man. “The guards… uhh… Yeah.”
Maybe Risa wouldn’t feel much guilt about the killing today.
“Why?” asked the bruised woman. “Why do you want Mara?”
“I have a message for her,” said Risa.
The bound woman ignored her, continuing to struggle and begging for death. The glassy-eyed one showed no reaction.
The injured woman took a step closer. “I’m Mara.”
She does look like that boy. Risa waved her close enough to speak so the entire cargo hold didn’t hear. “Your son is waiting for you.”
Mara raised a shaking hand to her face. She made no sound, but tears ran free. Streams of water lifted threads of crimson from the dried blood on her cheek.
“H-he’s alive?” She sniffled, sinking to her knees. “They told me…”
A spider-crawl of tingles ran down the back of Risa’s neck, invading her spine.
Send her to Sergeant Dean’s. Raziel’s presence caused every muscle in her body to lock for three seconds.
Risa squatted and took the woman’s hand. “Find a way to Sergeant Dean’s in Arcadia. It’s a bar. The man who runs the place will see that you are brought to him.”
The woman’s grief turned to ice in the blink of an eye. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Your son’s name is Caiden?”
Mara couldn’t speak, but her silence was all the answer Risa needed.
Risa pulled out a credstick and held it out. How Raziel had breathed life into an empty was beyond her, but she wasn’t going to question the will of an angel. “A friend of mine asked me to give you this to help you get going.”
She took it.
“I’m sorry.” Risa squeezed Mara’s hand, unable to look away from the bruises on her face.
“Pity the others more. They stopped fighting. They broke.” Mara clutched the credstick to her chest. “You got there just in time. You’re an angel.”
Angel of Death. “Not really.” Risa offered a wan smile. “I just talk to one.”
isa lay weightless amid the warmth of recirculated water, unfocused gaze locked upon the grimy ceiling. Walls, once metallic grey, offered a mottled patina of rust, mold, and dirt. Black spots swelled to prominence as condensation gathered filth in droplets. Some hit the bathwater, leaving congealing lances of darkness in their wake. Others traced gossamer fingers of cold across her thigh, her cheek, her calf. She gathered a handful of water and splashed it over her face.
The single LED bulb, half concealed behind a cracked dome of frosted plastic, sputtered in fitful bursts, threatening to die at any moment. Risa took air in shallow breaths, due in some part to the pain associated with it as well as the cloying stink of the trashy hotel room. Mildew, metallic dust, industrial chemicals, and the sweet stench of week-old sex infused in the walls battled for prominence in her nose.
She stared at the back of her left hand where it looked as though someone had spilled a hexagon of coffee on her skin. The ‘flesh-tone’ patch had been made on Earth. True Martians aren’t that dark. Tiny black letters spelled ‘Narcoderm Ultra’ above ‘0FCB44A0,’ likely a lot number. Is everyone on Earth brown? The meds left her a touch loopy, but didn’t eliminate her pain all the way.
Risa bit her lip as she stared at her snow-white body. I’m Marsborn. She giggled. Generations ago, someone got it in their head that people who lived underground should be pale. Genetic surgery made it so. A wave of new-age idealism brought it into the majority. Eighty-something percent of the population of Mars had skin the color of snow, but it had long ago lost the counterculture feeling of planetary solidarity it once had. She got bored staring at herself and slipped down.
A wavering waterline traced an oval around her face, the only part of her exposed to air. Her hair billowed, India ink in the water around a porcelain sylph. The ploink of a cold droplet caused her to look to the left, where the ballistic suit hung draped over a metal bar intended for a shower curtain―not that this shithole had either a shower or a curtain to hang on it. The presence of an actual bathtub dated the place at over a century old, in a room barely large enough to hold it. Risa smiled, because laughing would have hurt too much.
Soaking felt nice.
She found it much more relaxing than an autoshower tube. The best part of a tub was not standing. The best part of this place was that the general was not here.
Score one for cheap hotels.
Even more surprising than the comfort she found in such a place: the heating element worked. The water should have been cold, given the time she’d been in it, but sitting up would require effort. She cringed as she reached up to wipe another grime-laced droplet from her face. Her arm moved a second after she wanted it to, the motion leaden as though someone had replaced her bones with the sort of stiff wires used in rubber mannequins to make them poseable. The same sensation kept both of her legs immobile. She circled a finger around the purple spot on her chest where the bullet hit. It looked worse than it felt. The stimpak nanobots had mended the tissue damage, but a blotch of dead blood under the skin remained.
For a few minutes, she traced a hand over her stomach, pondering a little self-pleasure, though she found it hard to concentrate on any coherent thoughts between everything hurting and the fog from the painkiller.
Risa let her eyes close, trusting her habit of motionless sleep to keep her from drowning. Even if she did slide under, the Tox Filter installed in her windpipe would jolt her awake if it sensed water. Seconds of beautiful blackness embraced her consciousness, until a heavy pounding shattered it.
The ceiling was pink, the tub gone―replaced with a small Comforgel pad and a bevy of stuffed animals. A large man, faceless, looming, rushed through the lone door. His heavy voice vibrated the air, but formed only sounds of alarm, no words. Cold washed over her as the figure yanked away the blankets. Her tiny body, clad only in panties, flew into the air by a painful grip on both arms.
She felt no fear of this man, but shared his panic. She sobbed as the pounding became squealing. White-hot vibroblades pierced the plastisteel around the door behind him. Glowing sword-shapes wiggled back and forth, forcing their way in. Horrible, wrenching screeches cried out as though every demon from the abyss had been set loose at the door of a little girl’s bedroom. The man dropped her on her feet, pushing her down and into a freezing ventilation shaft.
One clear word pierced the warbling din: “Run.”
The banging ceased as he slammed the grating closed.
Risa lurched upright, gagging on water. She grasped at the sides of the tub and stifled the urge to cry out. Water sloshed. Her toes curled, legs twisting with an autonomic reaction to a full-body cramp. When the rush of fire left her limbs, her hands moved to her face, wiping at steam and sweat. One hand went over her head, pulling water out of her hair, lingering on the base of her neck as she shuddered.
Scratching.
The sound echoed in the prison cell-sized bathroom from all directions. Shifting to her knees, she forced her stiff legs to obey and moved to the edge. With the realization her amplified hearing could make the faintest rasp sound like rats in the walls, she froze. The nature of the scratching emerged from beneath the double dose of Narcoderm saturating her mind. Signals reached the part of her brain that identified it as someone picking the lock at the same instant the doorknob turned. Risa swiped one Hotaru-6 from the closed lid of the toilet, and slumped over the side of the tub while aiming out of the bathroom at the front door. Water lapped at her armpits, clapping against the tub.
“Whoa!” yelled a man-shaped silhouette of blur.
She tried to keep the shaking laser aimed at him; her attempt to ask who he was collided with her demand for him to leave―and came out as an incoherent moan.
“Damn, Risa what the hell happened to you?”
Her arms hung limp, the pistol dangled on one finger. “Pavo?”
He kicked the outer door shut, and tromped past the bed to a small table. “Yeah, I got worried when you didn’t answer the door. Was bangin’ on it for ten minutes. Figured I’d slip in before I woke up half the lowlifes in this pod.”
Something landed on the table with a thud.
Risa let her weapon clatter to the piteous excuse for a threadbare bathmat and hauled herself out of the tub. Shuddering, she held on to the wall as she stood, dripping. Her bare feet slipped sideways, her hands slid down the doorjamb until she knelt naked on the rug.
Pavo filled the bathroom door, folding his arms. He reached for her hand, turning it over, and stared at the patch.
“It’s flesh-toned.” She let out a weak laugh. “Looks orange on me.”
He shook his head. “What happened to ‘I’m not doing this with you high?’”
; “Narcoderm’s not illegal. It’s a painkiller. I’m not a junkie. I must look like shit. I overused the ‘ware, might’ve cooked a nerve or two.” She allowed him to help her up and held on to his shoulders. “Well, Mr. Aram, you have me at a disadvantage.” A silly grin spread across her unpainted lips. “We can fuck if you want.”
“You’re high. You look like someone kicked your ass, and you’re soaking wet.” He pulled the lone towel from the bar on the bathroom wall and wrapped it around her before carrying her over to the chair by the table. Pain like a dagger in the back sent a scream past her clenched jaw.
“That’s a nasty bruise on your back.”
“Don’t touch it.” She slumped over the table. “That hurt.”
Pavo paced back and forth for a few seconds before taking a seat on the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees. “Garrison said you’d be here. I brought you some food.”
“So that’s what that smell is.” Risa picked through a plastic bag, removing a clear carton containing a burger and fries. She popped it open and helped herself to the largest sliver of potato-shaped OmniSoy in the pile. “Thanks.” It slid like an ember down her throat, causing her to press a hand into the damp towel over her gut. “Damn, that’s hot.”
“I got it across the street.” He chuckled. “Usually don’t get OmniSoy crap, but at least you know it’s not rat.”
Risa attacked the food, not tasting much other than vaguely meat-flavored heat. Pavo rummaged around the empty dresser, under the bed, and searched the one closet. By the time she’d gotten halfway done with the burger, he’d given up on his hunt and stood scratching at his shaved head.
“Do you own any clothes at all? Did you get robbed in your sleep?”
“Nope. I got my suit.” Chomp.
He blinked. “No underwear?”
She shrugged. “That armor doesn’t breathe. They get sweaty and…” She shivered. “I stopped bothering.”
“You know, you could live in an apartment instead of the tunnels.” He frowned at the formless black mass hanging over the tub. “So what do you wear when you’re not planting bombs or rescuing enslaved miners?”
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 8
