by G J Ogden
“Don’t worry, I’m sure her winning streak will end soon,” said Hudson, trying to allay Roy the barman’s fears. Though if he was honest, having observed Liberty play, he certainly wouldn’t bet against her winning run continuing. “Besides, we’ll be heading out soon, anyway.”
“Off to discover a new portal and wreck, I hear?” said Roy, with a knowing waggle of his eyebrows. Hudson frowned, but Roy just smiled. “You don’t think a couple of celebrities like you can rock up on a station like this without everyone knowing about it, do you?”
Hudson shrugged, “No, I guess not.” In truth, he had hoped that their fame hadn’t spread to Mars yet, and Roy’s statement to the contrary made him nervous. He suddenly felt like all the eyes in the bar were probing him.
Just then he was distracted by a glass smashing, followed by the angry screech of chairs being pushed back. He spun around on his stool to see three of the card players squaring off against Liberty. Two were stocky men who looked almost identical, except one was bald and the other had a mullet that any 1980s pop singer would have been proud of. The third was a thin woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, with scars and lines on her face suggesting she had led a hard life. Out of the three, the woman looked the most menacing, wearing an expression that was worthy of a Victorian school mistress.
“I told you,” Roy said into Hudson’s ear, which was a little unsettling in itself. “I trust you’ll make good for the damages.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” said Hudson as he turned around, but Roy had already ducked underneath the bar, and covered his head with a metal bucket. That doesn’t bode well… thought Hudson, wondering how often Roy needed to exercise this drill.
The sharp crash of more glass smashing again diverted Hudson’s attention back to the poker table. Then the large, mulleted man upturned the table and threw it to the side with remarkable ease. Ordinarily, Hudson would have been afraid for whomever was the focus of such a vicious trio’s ire, but then he’d seen how Liberty fought. They literally would not know what hit them.
“You’re a filthy little cheat!” yelled the bald, stocky man, aiming a fat finger at Liberty.
“That’s right!” chimed in his mullet-wearing doppelganger, “and we want our money back.”
Liberty seemed to be remarkably unruffled by the excitement and angry accusations. “If you want your money back, turn the table over and deal the cards,” she said, calmly. She was casually folding short wedges of hardbucks and stashing them down the inside of her jacket.
“That’s not what we mean, girl,” said the older woman. “Just pay us back and we’ll call it square. No-one gets hurt.”
Hudson winced and grabbed a beer bottle off the bar, anticipating what was about to come next. The older woman calling Liberty, ‘girl’, was the verbal equivalent of poking her in the eye and spitting on her boots.
Liberty folded the last wedge of cash, pressed it into an already-full back pocket, then peered back at the woman. Hudson had seen her posture before. It had been in another bar, back on Earth, shortly before she had kicked the collective assess of two RGF cops.
“I suggest you three degenerates scoot on out of here,” replied Liberty, making a walking gesture with two fingers as she said, ‘scoot’. Then she added, with a much darker tone, “before you get hurt.”
That had been all the provocation the two larger men had needed. Both growled and rushed at Liberty, but their attacks were slow and obvious. Liberty dodged aside and kicked the bald man into his companion, ricocheting them both into an adjacent table. The table collapsed under their combined mass like a house of cards, sending hardbucks scattering to the floor. Yet, despite the presence of two startled, large angry men, other drinkers in the bar quickly piled on top of them, scrambling for the cash.
The woman attacked next, and with far more proficiency, but Liberty blocked the blows, before landing a sharp jab, and then kicking her in the gut. The woman fell to one knee, just as the bald, stocky man charged again, wielding a broken table leg. He swung it at Liberty like a caveman trying to club a sprightly gazelle, and she dodged, before landing a combo of moves. They were delivered so swiftly that Hudson could barely tell one apart from the next. A second later the man was on his back, blood gushing from his nose.
Roy the barman popped up from behind the counter, still wearing his bucket helmet. “Aren’t you going to help her?”
Hudson took stock of the fight so far, and then returned a nonchalant shrug. “The way I see it, it’s already an unfair fight.”
“Well, obviously!” replied Roy, scowling as yet another chair was broken, this time by the man with a mullet. “It’s three on one!”
Hudson shook his head, “I don’t mean unfair on Liberty. I mean unfair on them.”
The man with the mullet charged, but Liberty expertly deflected him into the woman, who had only just got back to her feet. They collided and both took out another table, making Roy clasp his hands to his bucketed head in horror. More hardbucks went flying, sending panicked card players into a frenzied scramble to reclaim their winnings, and losses.
Suddenly, Hudson saw the bald man pull a knife from his boot. Weapons were strictly forbidden on Deimos Station, so the fact this man had smuggled one inside suggested an intent to use it. Hudson reacted instantly – a spirited bar fight was one thing, but a knife changed the dynamic. He ran at the man, beer bottle still held tightly in his grasp, and clubbed him over the back of the head, before he could advance on Liberty. The bottle smashed and then the man hit the floor like a felled oak.
Liberty saw the knife fly out of the bald man’s hand and nodded at Hudson. “Thanks, skipper.”
The woman and the man with the mullet were now back on their feet. They looked hurt, but also majorly pissed off, and began to circle around the bar, staring at Liberty with murderous eyes. Liberty circled around in the opposite direction and stood beside Hudson.
“I think maybe it’s time we left…” said Liberty, with a little less composure – and arrogance – than she’d previously displayed.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” commented Hudson, though he too sensed that the direction of the fight was turning more treacherous. “It would be nice just for once to have a drink in a bar and not end up in a brawl.”
Liberty raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Just then the door to The Winchester pushed open and Hudson heard the resonant thump of boots stride in. He was partially unsighted by the mass of mullet man’s formidable frame, and so could only see the figure’s feet. The newcomer stopped briefly, took stock of the situation, then strode further inside. All eyes were on the new entrant. The bar had suddenly become quiet, amplifying the thud of each bootstep and giving them a menacing timbre. It was like they were in an Old West tavern and the marshal had just walked in. It was then that Hudson saw the figure clearly for the first time. It was a woman and it was Tory Bellona. Hudson felt flutters in his stomach and, despite himself, he couldn’t help but allow a smile to curl his lips.
Liberty looked at him and shook her head, adding an obvious and deliberate eye roll. “You’re unbelievable, do you know that?”
Hudson tried to make out that he didn’t know what Liberty was referring to, but his slightly giddy grin gave him away.
Tory stepped purposefully forward until she reached the older woman and stocky man, who had turned to face her. Both were blocking her route to the bar. Tory could have gone around them, but Hudson knew that wasn’t her style. It was then that Hudson noticed Tory’s antique six-shooter was still in her holster, in open defiance of station regulations. He tensed up, realizing that one or both of the two people blocking Tory’s path were about to make a terrible mistake.
“You’re in my way,” said Tory, looking first at the woman, then up into the eyes of the stocky man.
Mullet man was obviously still smarting from being beasted around by Liberty, and was in no mood to take shit from anyone else. “Who
do you think you are?” he asked, and then he made another fateful mistake. He shoved Tory in the chest and added, “Why don’t you piss off back out that door, sweetheart?”
Tory grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted it so that his elbow was facing her, and then struck it with her forearm. It was every bit as slick and as fast as any of Liberty’s moves, but delivered with ten times the aggression. Hudson heard the tendons snap and ligaments rip from the bone as the elbow was broken. He’d never heard a sound quite so gut-wrenching in his life, until the man started screaming.
Tory then looked over at the woman, and raised her eyebrows by the slightest fraction. However, this was more than enough to convey her message clearly, assuming the sight of the man, cradling his broken elbow, hadn’t already done the trick. The older woman raised her hands and backed away.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble, Tory,” the woman said, her voice wavering. Then she pointed towards the bar. “My quarrel was only with that no-good hustler over there.”
Tory scowled and then looked over to the bar, locking eyes with Liberty. Then she noticed Hudson, and her clinical stare instantly relaxed. The huff and tut from Liberty indicated that she had noticed Tory’s sudden change of demeanor too.
Tory Bellona continued her measured steps into the bar, while all eyes remained on her. She stopped briefly in front of them both, nodded at Liberty, drawing a baffled frown in response, then slid onto a stool next to Hudson. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, staring towards the back wall. After several excruciating, silent seconds had elapsed, she met Hudson’s eyes and said, “Well, are you going to buy me a drink, or not?”
CHAPTER 2
Logan Griff rubbed his aching neck and temples as he waited impatiently outside the office of Superintendent Jane Wash. He’d stepped off his patrol craft less than an hour earlier, after an uncomfortable one-point-five-g transit from Earth, and felt utterly drained. He had not been informed of the reason why Wash had transferred him to RGF headquarters in Gale City on Mars, and was hacked off at the order. He hated Mars, its stuck-up inhabitants and the arrogant MP military even more than he hated portal world dwellers.
The newly-promoted Superintendent Wash had recently been assigned as the commander of RGF operations in the MP region. Since Griff had been Wash’s chief source of under-the-table income while she was stationed in CET territory, he assumed this had something to do with his hasty summons. Griff had made Wash very rich already, and she no doubt intended that their arrangement should continue.
Wash opened the door and stood in the threshold, wearing her full-dress uniform. Griff’s eyes slid over her body and then he shuddered, catching himself in the act. Even Griff had standards, or at least that’s what he told himself.
Luckily, Wash hadn’t spotted Griff checking her out, as she’d looked across to the opposite side of the corridor first. Griff was glad of this; he’d hate Wash to think she had any more power over him than she already did. Wash then spotted the lounging, lanky frame of Logan Griff, slumped back on the couch, and cleared her throat, obviously. “You can come in now, Corporal,” she called over to him, before walking back to her desk and leaving the door open. Griff forced his aching muscles to lift his numb backside off the couch, and slouched into the office, leaving the door open behind him.
Wash tutted loudly, “Close the door, you idiot,” she screeched, looking at Griff as if he was a vagrant that had just sauntered in off the street. She then sat down in her plush, red leather armchair, and gestured to a plain-looking guest chair that was already set out. “And then sit down.”
Grudgingly, Griff shut the door and flopped into the chair before looking around the office. Like most Martian décor, it was clean and functional and, at least in Griff’s opinion, deathly dull. The Martians had refused to adopt Earth-based styles of design, preferring to create their own ‘brand’. It reminded Griff of a modern Scandinavian style, but with polymers and metals instead of wood. This was because the few trees that existed inside the domed habitats of Mars were far too valuable to harvest. And the Martians, being the arrogant, self-important assholes that they were, refused to import anything from Earth. Wash’s red leather chair was a rare and likely prohibited Earthly creature-comfort that spoke volumes about her general disregard for the rules.
“I said sit down, not slouch down,” snapped Wash, clearly disturbed by Griff’s disheveled appearance. “You look like a damn crack addict.”
Griff groaned and straightened up. “No disrespect, ma’am, but why the hell have you dragged me out here?” he began, starting as he meant to go on. He and Wash shared a special relationship that meant the usual stuffy, rank-based formality had been dispensed with long ago. “You know I can’t stand this red lump of crap.”
“And you know I don’t care,” replied Wash, tersely. “I’ve transferred you here so that we can continue our mutually-beneficial arrangement.”
Griff snorted a laugh, “I don’t see how forcing me to cover that traitor Hudson Powell’s quota is mutually beneficial,” he replied, folding his arms.
Wash smiled, “Perhaps you’d prefer it if I let you fester in a CET cell on one of their delightfully austere prison stations?” She allowed Griff an opening to add another snide remark, but he knew better than to fall into her trap. “Or, I can very easily arrange a stay at one of the choicest penitentiaries in the Union of Outer Portal Worlds, if you like?”
Griff bit his tongue again, knowing that Wash was perfectly able to make good on such a threat. He hated always being on the back foot against his superior officer. Wash held all the cards, all the time. This included the important ‘get out of jail free’ card that she’d used to keep Griff out of lock-up in the past.
“You know I’m grateful for you squaring things so that I stay clean,” Griff answered, reluctantly. “All I’m saying is that I’d be more motivated if I actually got to see some of the fruits of my labors. Everything I took from that asshole Powell on Bach Two just went into meeting my extended quota.”
Wash seemed to consider this for a moment then got up out of the chair, stepping over to an infopanel on the side wall. “That’s actually why I called you here,” she said, tapping the infopanel twice, which turned the windows of her office opaque. “You were the first RGF officer on site at the newly discovered portal world, Zimmer One, correct?”
Griff frowned. “The portal world that Powell and his maniac partner found?” Wash nodded. “Yeah, I was there, for all the good it did me. That pompous CET Commodore, Trent, denied me our take. And then he let Powell and the girl walk off with everything.”
“Table scraps…” said Wash, practically spitting the words. “Your petty vendetta against that man is clouding your judgement, and making you think small.” Then she activated the infopanel and brought up an image of a crystal. It was a little blurry, and looked to be a magnified part of a larger image. “Do you know what this is?” Wash asked. Then before Griff could retort with one of his characteristically acerbic comebacks, she added, “and don’t say, ‘it’s a crystal’.”
Griff hauled himself upright and ambled up to the infopanel. “I’ve never seen it before, though there were rumors of some alien crystal being found on the wreck at Brahms Three.” Then Griff’s eyes narrowed, as his addled brain began to connect the dots. “Thinking back, it was Ericka Reach – the hunter I wasted – who supposedly had it. But I searched her ship and the CET vault on the planet, and I never saw it.”
“The CET vault that Hudson Powell locked you in, after getting the better of you?” said Wash, raising one of her razor-thin eyebrows. Then after a slight pause, she added, “Excuse me, I mean after he got the better of you, again...”
If it had been any other person, Griff would have hit back, probably with his fists. However, he knew that any such act would simply incur further penalties from his vindictive commander. Wash wasn’t corrupt just so that she could get rich. She actually got a sadistic kick out of making other people miserable, and Griff wasn’t going to give
her the satisfaction.
“Yes, that’s the one,” answered Griff, trying to stay calm. “And, like I said, I didn’t see any crystal.” Then it was his turn to add a pause for effect, “And I had plenty of chance to look, before I busted myself out, without getting caught.”
Wash smiled and tapped the infopanel again. The image zoomed out, showing a camera feed of a small store, with two men inside. One was behind the counter, and the other in front of it, with the crystal object on the counter top between them.
“I acquired these images of a hacked security feed from an antiques shop in the Bayview area of San Francisco,” Wash went on. “Do you recognize either of these men?”
Griff assumed it was a loaded question, otherwise Wash wouldn’t have asked. He did recognize the store owner, though it was someone he hadn’t had dealings with for some time. “That guy is a prick called Cortland,” said Griff, stabbing his finger onto the infopanel and leaving a greasy smear. “He’s useful if you need to move stuff quickly, though I haven’t seen him in years.” Then Griff turned his attention to the other figure. “And unless you think I have intimate knowledge of the backs of people’s heads, I’m not sure what you want me to say about the other guy.”
“Look more closely, Corporal,” snarled Wash. “You’re supposed to be a damned investigator, after all.”
Griff scowled at Wash, but she had goaded him, and he wanted to prove her wrong. He studied the image in more detail, and after a few seconds, he spotted that the customer’s face had been reflected in a mirror behind the counter. Griff shook his head and sighed, “I should have guessed… Hudson Powell,” he said, speaking the words through gritted teeth. “So, that’s his trick. He somehow got this crystal from Ericka Reach and figured out what it does.”
