by G J Ogden
Liberty ran, trying to remember the route back towards the docking bay. Her best chance was to find someone there who would help her. There had to be legitimate visitors to New Providence, she told herself, remembering how Hudson had been a courier runner. It was a long shot, but the alternative was worse; stay, and be sold off by Logan Griff.
She glanced back, seeing Tory still locked in combat with the third man. She’d now drawn a knife and Liberty could see blood soaking into the man’s tan-colored shirt. It wouldn’t be long before Tory was done with him too, she realized.
Turning a corner, Liberty stumbled and tripped over a beggar, knocking the meagre contents of his tray out onto the deck. He sprang up, hurling curses at her, while a dozen others descended on the few hardbucks and other items that had been spilled onto the floor. It was like a farmer had thrown a handful of corn to a bunch of starving hens.
Picking herself up, Liberty managed to yank the gag out of her mouth, and then hurry on through the throng of people. She turned another corner and then another, until the docking bay came into view ahead. Glancing back, she was unable to see if Tory Bellona was in pursuit. Maybe she was hurt or killed in the fight? Liberty asked herself, though deep down she knew that was fanciful thinking. Tory may have been many things, but most of all, she was a warrior.
Liberty ran into the docking bay, frantic and out of breath. She scanned the bays for a ship that looked like it might be a commercial vessel, courier runner or even passenger transport. However, to her dismay, they all looked to be private ships. Glancing back anxiously again, she ran up to a nearby freighter. Its cargo ramp was down and there was a woman supervising the loading of a consignment of metal crates.
“Hey, please help me,” Liberty began, startling the woman, who then scowled at her and pushed her away.
“Back off, gutter trash,” said the woman, shooting Liberty another dirty look, before returning to her work. “If your owner comes looking, I don’t want them thinking I’m trying to thieve you.”
“No-one owns me,” pleaded Liberty, “I was kidnapped, and I need to get off this station. I can pay!”
The woman turned and shoved her back again, this time more forcefully. “Do I look like a moron to you girl?” she spat. “You know how many times I’ve heard that sorry sob story? The Council will gut me alive if I try to smuggle you out of here.” Liberty stuttered an incoherent response, but the woman turned away again. “Now, piss off, before I grab my bat and beat you off this bay.”
Liberty backed off, shaking her head. “What is up with you people?” she shouted at the woman. Then she backed into something solid and turned around to see a man staring down at her. He was wearing dirty, orange work overalls, and looked and smelt like he hadn’t bathed in months.
“I’ll help you, miss,” he said in a thick, treacly voice. However, although the words sounded innocuous enough, they were delivered with a sinister tone. Liberty recognized the danger immediately, and stepped slowly back from him.
“No thanks,” she said, while the man paced cautiously after her, “I’ve decided that I’m just fine here.”
Liberty then bumped into another body, and she spun around to see a second man in the same orange overalls. This one was thinner and meaner looking, but spoke with the same treacly accent.
“It’s okay, plenty of space on our ship for a nice girl like you,” the thinner man said. “We’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
Liberty barged him back with her shoulder, “I said no thanks. Now leave me alone.”
Then a third man joined the other two, effectively fencing Liberty into a corner. He was wearing the same orange overalls and smelled even worse than the first man.
“Oh dear, now you’ve offended us,” said the first, leering at her. “We offer to help, and you throw it back in our faces. That’s not nice, is it?” The other two men chimed in, shaking their heads and chorusing ‘no’. The first man smiled again, “I think you owe us an apology. How about we take you inside our ship, so you can give it to us?”
CHAPTER 21
Liberty was gripped by a primal, gut-wrenching terror, but her time on the streets had taught her to control her emotions. She knew that if she stepped onto their ship, she’d never leave it alive. However, she also knew she was in no condition to fight. Her reflex was to flee, but Liberty had learned to resist her raw instincts. And, despite being bound and injured, she knew the only way out was to make these thugs think she was more trouble than she was worth.
Liberty smiled at the first man, and beckoned him closer with her bound hands. “I’ll give you an apology, but not for hurting your feelings.”
“Oh yeah, then for what?” the man said, playing along and leaning in closer.
“For this!” said Liberty, suddenly swinging her hands upwards and smashing the man under the chin with the metal binders. He staggered back, but before either of the other two could react, Liberty had driven her boot into the second man’s groin. A gap opened up, but the kick had caused a shooting agony to rush through Liberty’s injured thigh. She tried to run through the opening she’d created, but she didn’t make it far before the third man had grabbed her from behind.
Kicking and screaming, Liberty was dragged back, then she felt more hands on her body, lifting her off the deck. Another hand covered her mouth as she continued to fight and struggle. She could taste the sweat and grime on the man’s skin, and fought to pry her face away, but the combined strength of the trio was too much. Then the bright overhead strip lights in the docking bay vanished, and she felt herself being carried up a ramp.
Liberty fought harder and more desperately, finally giving in to panic, before she was thrown to the deck. She fell heavily then felt a boot land in her gut, stealing the air from her lungs. Coughing and spluttering, she pushed herself up and charged at one of the figures, not knowing which man it was, barging him to the floor. However, there were no longer just three men in orange overalls, she realized; there were five. And all of them stood in her way.
“I think it’s about time we taught you some manners, gutter trash,” said the treacly voice, now thick with malice. Liberty saw him remove his belt from around the waist of his orange overalls, and begin to wrap it around his fist. Liberty spat blood onto the deck, and raised her guard as best she could. She was still terrified, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.
The man came closer, but then blood exploded from his neck, showering the deck and Liberty’s boots. Moments later he fell forward, smashing his face into the metal plating in front of Liberty. A pool of blood began to expand from a bullet wound to the back of his neck. Behind where the man had stood, silhouetted by the brighter lights in the dock, was someone new. The figure walked up the deck, and Liberty saw that it was Tory Bellona.
One of the other men took a run at her, but Tory quickly cocked her six-shooter and shot him through the heart. The power of the shot sent him pinballing against the cargo bay wall, and splattered blood across the face of the man behind. Liberty could no longer discern one orange-suited man from another, but the remaining three stood dead still, as Tory casually cocked her six-shooter again.
“The rest of you, get out,” ordered Tory.
The other men looked to one another, and then one, who Liberty now recognized as the tall, mean man from earlier, spoke up.
“This is our ship; you don’t tell us…”
The sharp crack of the revolver rang out again, and the man fell, clutching his foot.
“Get. Out.” Tory said again. Her voice was calm and level, but even so it practically dripped with venom.
The other two men scrambled to the aid of the third, then helped him down the cargo ramp without saying another word. Tory continued onto the ship, opening the cylinder of the revolver, popping out the spent cartridges, then sliding in four new rounds. She stopped a few paces in front of Liberty, alongside the man she’d shot through the neck. The pool of blood began to expand around the soles of her boots. However, Tory ap
peared unconcerned, and merely closed the cylinder of the weapon, before holstering it.
“Thanks,” said Liberty, not really knowing what else to say. Her heart was thumping so hard it hurt her chest.
“Don’t thank me, I’m still taking you to the Council,” said Tory.
Liberty shook her head, “Then you may as well have left me here,” she said, any sense of relief immediately bleeding away. “In fact, why don’t you just shoot me yourself, and be done with it?”
Tory took a step closer and peered into Liberty’s eyes. “There are far worse people on this station than the Council. You’d do well to remember that, and not try anything so stupid again.”
Liberty could see that Tory was angry – the sort of anger that bubbled just below the surface – but there was no hatred in her eyes. It was almost a reproving look, as if Tory were a big sister who had just bailed her younger sibling out of a bad situation. If Liberty didn’t know better, she could almost believe that Tory gave a shit.
“So, what now?” asked Liberty, resigning herself to whatever fate Cutler Wendell had in store.
“Now you come with me,” said Tory, still with remarkable composure. “You do what is asked of you. You keep your mouth shut. And then maybe you’ll stay alive long enough to find a way out.”
Liberty frowned, “Is that what you want?”
Tory turned around and started for the exit, pressing bloody boot marks into the deck. Then she stopped, and half-glanced back. “I don’t want you dead. But, believe me, there are worse fates than being forced to serve the Council.”
CHAPTER 22
Logan Griff was furious and near-frantic by the time Tory returned with Liberty to the main concourse of New Providence. Cutler Wendell acted with more poise, though Liberty could see in his eyes that the mercenary had also been irritated by their absence.
“Where the hell have you been?” Griff started on Tory. He threw the half-burned stub of a cigarette onto the deck. It landed beside two other stubs, that were burned down completely to the filter. “You were told to wait here.”
“There was an incident,” replied Tory, calmly. “I dealt with it.”
Griff laughed and folded his arms. “An incident? Is that what you call shooting a man on the concourse and fighting two others?”
“The body count is worse than that, Inspector,” replied Tory, with more bite, “and if you don’t back off, it’ll climb again.”
Griff’s eyes and wiry moustache twitched; clearly, he wanted to say more, but he knew better than to push Tory.
“There was an incident, and I dealt with it,” Tory said again, this time addressing Cutler. “That’s all there is to it. Now, I suggest we move on.”
Cutler nodded, and Griff threw his head back in dismay. “The meeting with Werner is arranged. If we hurry, we can still make it in time.”
Griff shook his head and then shoved Liberty forward, “Come on, move!” he yelled to her back.
Liberty wanted to spin around and lash out at Griff, but Tory’s advice was still fresh in her mind. And though she was a long way from feeling that Tory could be trusted, she doubted that the mercenary offered advice often. Hudson had repeatedly tried to convince her that Tory was not their enemy. And, as much as it pained Liberty to admit it, he might have been right.
Cutler led them into the lobby of an anonymous-looking structure. Other than an elevator, guarded by two men armed with compact sub-machine guns, and a single metal trunk, it was completely empty.
“We are here to see Werner,” said Cutler, stepping up to one of the guards. “He is expecting us.”
The guard opened the metal trunk and pointed to it with an open palm. “All weapons go inside. You get them back when you leave.”
Cutler obliged without complaint, removing his holstered sidearm and placing it into the trunk. Griff seemed more reluctant, but did the same with the spare sidearm he’d taken from his patrol craft, before Tory eventually stepped up. She removed her gun belt and holster, maintaining eye contact with the guard the whole time.
“You’ll look after this, won’t you?” asked Tory, though it sounded like a demand more than a question. The guard said nothing and watched as Tory placed the belt into the trunk. She was about to turn away when the guard raised a hand, pressing it to her shoulder to stop her leaving. Tory glanced down at the hand, then at the guard, and he quickly removed it.
“The knife too,” said the guard, a little less cockily.
Tory sighed and removed the blade from its scabbard. It was still stained with blood from the fight on the concourse. “Sorry, I haven’t had chance to clean it yet,” she said, before dropping it into the trunk. The tip of the blade dug into the foam covering on the bottom of the trunk, leaving it sticking bolt upright.
The guard closed the lid and allowed them inside the elevator, with Liberty at the front. She could feel Griff’s eyes on her, and practically taste the smoke on his breath. The door swung open and Liberty felt a hand shove her in her back, pushing her into the room. It was about ten meters square, decorated like a CEO’s office, and had a single desk about two-thirds of the way in. Sitting in a high-backed chair behind the desk was a man, maybe in his mid-sixties, flanked by two guards also carrying compact sub-machine guns.
The man, whom Liberty assumed was Werner, stood up as they entered. He was smiling warmly, as if he were a kindly uncle greeting family that he’d not seen for months.
“Cutler Wendell, welcome!” said Werner, brightly. “It has been too long.”
Then Werner looked at Tory; his smile fell away and he merely nodded. It was a curious gesture, and one that Tory returned, albeit with some reticence.
“And this must be Inspector Logan Griff?” asked Werner, his manner becoming jovial again as he turned to the RGF officer. “Chief Inspector Wash has mentioned you.” Then he corrected himself. “Forgive me, Superintendent now, isn’t it? How the fortunes have favored her.”
If Griff had not replaced Liberty’s gag before entering the building, she would have laughed. There had been little attempt to nuance the insinuation that the Council, and perhaps even Werner himself, had somehow influenced Wash’s promotion.
“Yeah, that’s correct,” said Griff. “I didn’t know you two knew each other?”
Werner smiled again. Already, the rank insincerity of the man was starting to grate on Liberty. “The Council has many allies in high places. And we have much influence too.”
Then Werner turned to Liberty. He stepped around the desk and removed a pair of black-framed glasses from his jacket pocket, before slipping them on. “So, this must be the merchandise,” he said, looking Liberty up and down. However, it wasn’t the same leering manner in which Griff or the men in orange boiler suits had looked at her. This was more like how Liberty would inspect an engine pod. “You may remove her gag.”
“I wouldn’t, she has a nasty tongue,” said Griff, but then the kindly look on Werner’s face melted away. Cutler shot Griff a look that suggested in no uncertain terms that he’d misspoken. Griff slunk back into the shadows as Cutler removed the gag, without another word said.
Liberty flexed her aching jaw, and met Werner’s eyes. Always at the front of her mind was Tory’s recent advice. She would have to fight her natural urge to be antagonistic, if she was going to survive.
“Cutler tells me you are a skilled engineer,” said Werner. The kindly uncle façade had completely vanished, and the question was instead asked with a cold clinicality. The difference was instant and chilling.
“I worked in a shipyard in Hunter’s Point on Earth,” said Liberty. “I fixed ships that should have been sent to scrap.”
Werner nodded, and removed a datapad from his pocket, holding it up so that Liberty could see the screen. “Tell me, what is wrong with this vessel?”
Liberty frowned, but then read the information on the screen. It was a standard ship diagnostic for a TX-70 Hauler, a common mid-sized freighter.
“The engine calibration i
s wrong,” said Liberty, spotting the issue at once. “Its fuel mixture and pressure ratio are off. I’d say there’s an inherent fault in the number three engine that someone had tried to cover up by reprogramming the control unit.”
Werner smiled, but it was not the kindly smile he’d offered to Cutler and Griff. It was a smile of appreciation. “And I also believe that you are trained in hand-to-hand combat?”
“I can hold my own,” replied Liberty. She was aware of Tory’s eyes on her. It was like the pressure of a teacher watching a student’s performance, and hoping for no mistakes.
Werner nodded, and turned to Cutler. “Very well, we have an accord,” he said, before sliding the data pad back into his pocket and walking towards the rear of the room. One of the guards opened a door and Werner entered it. Cutler immediately followed, with Griff trailing behind, looking like a scolded puppy. Liberty also stepped towards the door, but Tory stopped her, and held her back so that the others moved further ahead.
“You’ve done well so far,” Tory said, her usually strong and clear voice kept intentionally hushed. “Now keep your mouth shut, and you’ll have a chance.” Then, nodding towards the door, she added, “Go on.”
“A chance at being a slave, maybe,” said Liberty, but quietly enough that only Tory could hear.
There was a brief silence, before Tory replied, “That’s down to you.”
