| |
Scriver wasn't answering my calls.
I dodged into a bar a few doors down from the Elegant Air and persuaded a young lady to attempt contact with him on her personal comm module in exchange for a drink. He didn't answer her, either.
I pictured him hunkered at his desk, seeing the blinking light in the corner of his feeds, seeing the area of the station where the calls originated and not making a twitch of response.
My new acquaintance fluttered two-inch, luminous blue eyelashes at me. I lined her up with two more drinks to divert her ambitions and slipped back out on the concourse to call Saurubi.
No response there either. My message was probably lost in a multitude of game communiqués. Damn her fuzzy blue hide!
The time I used in discussion with the clown posse—my brain wouldn't let go of the image of the Frairy's clothing—left me with two hours to reach the Thief's Hand and talk over the deal to Saura. I could make it in sixty minutes if I cut straight across Spacertown. That left me a margin of one hour...
Desperate times call for desperate measures, I told myself to shore up my determination. There was one more loan shark in Spacertown, who also happened to be right on the route I needed to take. It would be painful for us if she agreed to help; Miss Patricia took her pound of flesh in a deal. But she had a reputation to maintain—that spacers could count on her. If she said yes to a loan, it gave me a second option to present to Saura. I might live to regret it, but we would have a better chance at survival with Miss Pat than with the job the MoMo and Frairy offered.
I looked at the bustling crowd, swallowed hard against fluttering panic and the knot in my throat, and headed deeper into Spacertown.
The places grow to fit what need requires and real estate allows. Downside Spacertowns are larger than ones on stations. Rim settlements might be just one shanty. No matter the size, they're all havens for everything illegal. Of course, you have to go to the Outer Rim for alien sex, but you can get what you want as long as the participants are all consenting. And there's a line between legal and illegal. Sex slaves and children fall on the illegal side. That doesn't stop some people. Sex trafficing is widespread, even though the EA tries to police it.
It isn't aliens who run those illegal operations, though they occasionally participate on the Rim as paying customers. It's Humans preying on Humans, like it's always been, though some of those traffickers barely qualify as part of our species. They prowl the deep dark, preying on low-defense ships, or striking settlements named New Bounty, or somewhere else innocently hopeful, for their flesh.
Vivi! Stop! My thoughts had me trembling so hard I could barely walk.
The sound of a station chime and the background on the digital clock in my perivision switching from light to dark didn't help my mental state. The lighting overhead dimmed sharply and my stomach lurched with conditioned horror. The Station was moving to night cycle.
Immediately the pulse of Spacertown quickened. Neon blazed brighter in the lowered light, its glow washing over dingy prefab walls. The sound of bar bands rose, their thump driving into the floor of the ring, sending vibration into the soles of my feet. Colors flashed as scantily clad stationers, thrill slumming, mixed with the bright shipskins of spacers on the midway as they moved in and out of doors and alleyways. Whoops of laughter and shouts burst like bubbles on the surface of low growls of lust, greed, and anger that eddied beneath.
God, I knew this scene too well!
I froze, suddenly seeing everything from the perspective of an eight-year-old child, with adults towering around me, their faces twisted and leering with false smiles.
"Move, you idiot!" Someone jostled my shoulder and I realized I had stopped in the middle of the concourse.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled my mind back from the abyss of memory. I had two choices here: I could let the past wrench the future out of my hands, or I could find Miss Patricia and work a deal.
The crowd from the bar on my left spilled out onto the walkway in a wave of laughter, shouts, alcohol and perfume. I moved through them carefully—getting into an altercation with a drunk would waste precious time.
"Plague ship." I heard a mutter behind me.
Icy tingles ran across my shoulders. Someone must have recognized me. But Scriver said only a few of the officers on the Jillie D knew of the Hand's status.
Don't be a fool, Vivi, I scolded. Lower rank crew had the noses to root out anything in their ship's business. And it had to be low-rank crew. The ship's officers wouldn't want to claim responsibility for the panic a leak like that could stir on a station.
Refusing to react, I kept walking.
Passed another bar.
"Hey, you. Zant!"
Damn! I recognized the loud, cocky voice behind me.
I did not have time for this.
Heads around me were turning in curiosity, people sensing trouble. There was a nervous female giggle behind me.
"Hey, Zant," the voice rang out again.
The crowd went so quiet I could hear chairs sliding and footsteps inside the bar beside me. I could envision the frozen poses, the uneasy, hungry expressions. I could imagine the furtive movements in the doorways calling out more observers with the mouthed word 'fight'. It was always the same, everywhere.
Conceding the inevitable, I turned.
Three people dressed in the red and yellow shipskins of the Jillie D stood at the front of the gawking crowd facing me. Two more red and yellows stumbled out of a bar and pushed forward through the crowd to join them, but the tallest of the first three, Dallas Ellerby, stopped them with a movement of his hand.
Oh good, we were having a fair fight of three on one.
The crowd around me, realizing that I must be "Zant", shrank back, leaving me in my own cleared zone. I could feel the tingle of their anticipation: they wanted to see a fight.
I really wished I had tried to contact Saura one more time as I flexed my muscles and balanced on my feet, feeling the drag of the station's gravity on my body. One important thing a spacer had to remember: the bigger the structure you're in, the stronger and more efficient the gravity field it generated. If I worked out diligently in the grav ring of the Thief's Hand, where the ship's gravitational effect exerted the strongest, I would still be at a disadvantage against a crewmember from a massive ship like the Jillie D. I might have something over a sedentary slob from the larger vessel—I was definitely more agile—but I was never going to beat down someone from a bigger ship by sheer strength.
There were, however, ways to gain advantage.
If you fought dirty.
"Let this go, Ellerby," I said quietly.
His mouth quirked in a cold smile. "Can't. You cost me and my friends money, Zant. We don't forget. Now we're gonna piss on you and your plague ship."
Scattered gasps went up among the crowd as they sank their teeth into the word "plague." Heads tilted together, lips moved. The fool! You didn't yell fire in crowded, confined spaces, and you sure as hell didn't say the word plague in a space facility.
Station security was not going to be in a good mood when they got here.
"Let this go for now," I said. For now: the words were a promise, on spacer's honor, that we would address this at a later time. He had a hundred witnesses.
"No. I think I want to take the inconvenience you've caused me out of your hide right now—and for as many more times in the future as I think it'll take to make up for it." He started forward, the other two following a step behind him.
The onlookers had formed a wide circle around us, the itinerant crowd pushing the stationers to the back as they leaned forward in hungry anticipation of the promised show. A figure at the back turned and ran down the concourse, probably going to recruit additional crew from the Jillie D. More people poured out of nearby joints to watch. The band in the nearest bar fell silent.
"Damn you, Ellerby," I said. "You're creating a station problem."
"Only for you."
He'd gotten close enough to take a swing at my head. His fist brushed the side of my jaw as I ducked and thrust my body forward, dropping my left shoulder and planting it in his gut. Despite the defensive hardening of his shipskins I heard a satisfying grunt of pain.
Shipskins are designed for hazardous conditions where unexpected acceleration can turn objects around you into sudden airborne missiles, or when gravity failure bumps you off fixtures. They hardened to distribute the impact of a localized blow and to protect the tissue beneath them from penetration. It doesn't prevent bruises, and it still hurts like hell.
They can't stop momentum, either.
Ellerby had three inches in height on me, but we were both spacer-thin. I drove him backward until he collided with one of his boys.
All three of us went down on the deck and the punch fest began. He got me on the side of the head a couple more times while I worked on his ribs, but the fighting was close and ineffective. We were a bunch of wet space noodles slapping at each other. Then someone kicked me in the back at just the right angle. That hurt. Before I could recover, hands dragged me up and held my arms. The preliminaries were over, and I was about to get hurt badly. It fired me to flick my fist up and back, into someone's face, loosening their grip on my right arm. I followed it by planting my elbow into their midriff, then bent my knees and spun left, dragging the other guy off balance. He stumbled into Ellerby, pulling me along with him. This time the hands that pulled me up grappled my forearms, pinning them as they turned me to face Ellerby.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and he panted, though I wasn't sure whether it was from pain, fury, or anticipation. Hopefully, the first two figured in there strongly. He punched me in the stomach, this time making a solid connection, and my knees buckled.
"You space-junk bitch," he hissed, his breath hot across my scalp.
He should never have moved in that close. I slammed my head up into his chin, sending him staggering backward. He paused, shook his head, then stepped forward and went to work on my gut with a couple of solid punches before I collapsed and he didn't have a clear shot anymore. His henchmen were trying to wrestle me back to my feet when the station security sirens went off. I took the opportunity the distraction offered and aimed a knee in his crotch. The skins would protect you from a frontal kick, but if someone angled their knee just right...
He folded like an Origami Drive engaging. The two crewmembers holding me swore and tried to twist me toward them. I took one down with a back sweep of my foot to his ankles, which pulled us all sideways and onto the station deck again.
By then I was hoping security got to us before the two fresh crewmembers did.
The guy on my left had me pinned and was flailing at me. I felt his weight suddenly lift away. A hand caught my upper arm and dragged me to my feet. I caught a glimpse of gleaming dark hair.
"Zant, you stupid idiot," a familiar voice snarled.
***
"HOW COULD GET IN FIGHT without me?"
I caught flashes of Saurubi as she stalked the passageway outside my cabin. Her ears were pinned back so tight against her head they nearly disappeared.
I shifted the ice pack from my right eye to my jaw. "I didn't plan it. Ellerby and his gang jumped me."
"Could call me." She stopped long enough to glare.
"I did!" I gave her the best dirty look I could muster through my half-swollen-closed right eye. "You weren't picking up."
"Oh." She drew a breath. "Must have been during playoff." She resumed pacing without the slightest twitch of contrition. "Look like not fight as well as expected."
I didn't do as well as she expected? We were damn lucky someone had pulled me out of the fight before station security arrived. Speaking of which...
I delicately shifted position on my bunk. "How did I get back here?"
Saura stalked past. "Scriver dumped at base of umbilical and left."
"Scriver!" An image of dark hair flashed in my memory. Of course. He was up to his neck in this. If the station locked me in a cell, we couldn't save his cargo from Big H. "That bastard! Well, at least you didn't have to post bail," I said grudgingly.
Saura stopped to stare at me again. "Why would post bail if have warm place to eat and sleep?"
That was the kind of practical thinking that made me respect my co-captain so much.
"Oh, shit! Speaking of saving money, how much time has passed?" It couldn't be long, or we'd be talking about something totally different—like how to keep in touch from different prisons in the Whooex Union—as station security escorted us off the Hand.
I struggled to my feet. "Saura! What time is it?"
"Use feed," she answered unsympathetically.
I tried to pull up the time in my perivision, but my feeds had deactivated while I was unconscious and were slow resurrecting.
A lilting series of musical notes announced someone at our stationside hatch.
Whoever stood out there, it couldn't be good for us. "Saura, ignore that!" I called after her. "Ouch." My head throbbed. "We need to talk! Now!"
There was a drone of conversation at the hatch.
Damn it.
"Saurubi! Don't—" I stumbled into the corridor in time to see several carrier bots, loaded with cartons, stomp onto the Thief's Hand and take a right, headed toward our third cabin.
"Stop," I told the scraggly dockhand that stood in the passageway. It took me three meters and two more orders to "stop" before I got his attention.
He gave me an irritated glare. "I'm warning you right now; I'm filing a complaint on this job. No one should have to transfer this much cargo up the debark umbilical of a ship and store it in a cabin. They make these cans with cargo bays and big doors."
I glared at him through my one good eye. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You said to put this stuff in the third compartment on the left."
"My partner said that." Apparently, Saura had given directions over the comm, unlocked the hatch, and disappeared into her cabin. "I'm telling you to take it all back."
His face had the same crusty sheen of dirt as his overalls. It gleamed with a guilty sweat. "This is a flash job." Meaning he'd squeeze it in between his legit work for some extra cash. "It's paid for and your partner," he gave me a skeptical look, "said to put it in the third compartment. That's it. I got another job waiting for this bot herd. It goes in the compartment and out here in the passage if you refuse to open the cargo bay. I move on. End of story. You want to send it back, the contact info is on the receipt. I give reasonable rates."
I took a step away from the pungent body odor filling the corridor: the guy obviously didn't waste his pay on a bath ration.
"I didn't order this." But I suspected I knew who had. Ice clamped my spine. What the hell? I never agreed to take the Frairy's job! I hadn't even discussed it with Saura yet.
Meanwhile, bots continued to thump past, carrying cartons into the guest cabin we seldom used for anything beyond light storage. Watching the supplies pour in, I felt the rising edge of panic. They were piling stuff in the passageway, blocking the hatch to the cargo bay, before they finally stopped.
"You should leave before a safety inspector gets a chance to see this mess." The dockworker thrust a grubby personal comm at me, and I numbly thumbed my signature.
Returning the stuff was going to be almost impossible. The cost of a bot crew to transport it back and the restocking charge would be huge. Damn that Frairy and MoMo!
Cursing me under his breath, Mr. Personality left, taking his bot herd and leaving his pungent aroma to linger. I waited until the outer hatch closed behind him.
"Saurubi!"
She slid out of her cabin before I finished saying her name. "Vivi, what goes on here?"
"I don't know!"
She regarded me steadily. "What you do?"
"Nothing, Saura, I swear!"
"Someone did—can see in expression. You did not want to happen. Did you marry someone?"
I laughed in spite of the situation. That was one solution to our lien problem I hadn't considered. "No! I didn't do anything."
"Well, someone did. Supply invoice is marked paid, but nothing came out of Hand account. Checked from cabin. Found message Big H left earlier. Said knew you could do it. Said not cut so close next time."
"I told them I wouldn't accept the job until I talked to you first." I hadn't counted on getting the crap beat out of me...
Her ears eased upright and turned outward, signaling that she was listening. "Tell."
"There's a Frairy and a MoMo working out of this quaffa bar—"
"Is joke, Vivi? Because right now not good time for jokes."
"No, really! They're there! Don't ask me how they're on the station, but they paid off people down in Spacertown, and the rest are ignoring them."
"Damn cloudheads!"
Cloudheads? She had to mean the MoMo. "Yeah, I know. Anyway, after Scriver refused to help us he sent me to an address that ended up being a quaffa bar called the Elegant Air. This Frairy hailed me by name right in the middle of the concourse with no reaction from anyone around us. His name is Thok. We went inside to talk to someone he called "His Frilliness." It was a MoMo. I tried to walk away right then, but I couldn't get past the Frairy." She gave me a dubious look. "It sounds stupid, but trust me, I said no to what they were offering until I could talk to you. It was crazy."
Her eyes narrowed and a growl rumbled in her throat. "What was offering?"
I told her.
Her eyes went even narrower. "Where is cargo destination?"
"Scylla Quadrant, at a decommissioned Proambu facility called Idwal."
Her ears shot straight up and her eyes widened.
I'd never seen her react so strongly before. "Mother Universe!" I exclaimed. "How bad is this? Do we need to report it?"
"No." Her body lost some of its edginess. "But is dangerous area."
"I didn't accept the job yet. I told them I'd get back with them after I talked to you and I left. I guess I've cut it close—"
"Close? Vivi, is past close! Have been out four hours."
Our deadline with Big H was long past!
His message...
"But," I stammered, "I didn't accept..." I stood there, staring at her, my mind churning. Then it locked on one person. Scriver. He sent me to the quaffa bar. He'd been in contact with the clown posse. And Hann Brothers couldn't retaliate against him if the cargo owners took arrangements into their own hands, or tentacles. I ground my teeth in fury. He knew I was too stubborn to accept it without seeking one last alternative and had followed me into Spacertown to make sure I got back to the Hand in time to seal the deal. It wouldn't surprise me to find out he tipped off Ellerby just to stop me.
His butt must have puckered when he had to drag me out of a fight to save me from station lock up.
The bastard had made the decision for us. A mixture of outrage and treacherous relief flooded me, making my head throb worse. The Hand was safe. For the moment.
I wasn't ready to thank him.
"Saura, I did not agree to this job! I cut across Spacertown to talk to Miss P so I could have something else to offer when I discussed this with you. I had time! Then Ellerby caught me out."
"Went to Spacertown to talk with ruthless loan shark?" Her eyes were unreadable.
"Yes." It sounded bad. We had discussed Miss Patricia in the past, shaking our heads at the tough terms the woman put on other spacers.
"If Vivi Zant enter Spacertown, then must trust feelings on offer," she said.
We looked at each other, the truth of our situation striking us at the same moment. It didn't matter what either of us thought about the job. We couldn't recall the lien payment from Big H anymore than we could afford a bot herd and the restocking charge necessary to send the supplies back.
"Is too late," Saura put thought into words. "We must do job."
"Damn Scriver! He finagled us into this!" I flung myself up the passageway to the bridge and hit a call key to the station.
His jaw was set, his eyes hard when he appeared on screen. "What?"
"Scriver! You bastard! You set me up."
"You think I'm gonna sit here and let Big H destroy my business? I have a family to think of."
Tiny arrows of jealousy that had no right to be there shot through my heart. I struggled for a response.
"You're welcome, Vivi."
"No! You don't get that. We're the ones who have to go to the edge of nowhere and put our asses on the line!"
"I know your life goes so perfectly," he said sarcastically. "But when I'm on the event horizon of a black hole and somebody offers to tow me back, I'm not turning it down. You weren't going to either, so climb down off your pretentious perch. As much as you hate it, you owe me a thank you. I saved all our asses."
"I was working on fixing things," I huffed, trying to hold on to some dignity.
"Nobody has the time for that, Vivi," he said. He glared, eyes narrow with anger, then the fire was suddenly gone. "You can take the deal or not. If you're too stubborn to accept the opportunity, I'll sue you for damages and loss of property. Nothing personal. I'll walk by the outer dock every day to check on you, all wrapped up in your rags and stubborn pride, waiting for the next junker out to work off your debt. Tell Saura I said goodbye."
"You bastard!" I screamed, chills of rage and terror running down the backs of my arms.
Too late. He was gone. I slammed a hand to cut the link anyway. "Son of a bitch!"
Saura was standing behind me when I spun around.
My anger flowed to frustration. "We're stuck."
She shrugged. "Will not be anything Tabisee or Humans cannot handle."
"Humans are capable of handling poison snakes, Saura. It doesn't mean I'm willing to do it. This may be something illegal."
"Vivi," she said gently, "MoMo do not do illegal."
I had to take her word on that; the Tabisee had dealt with the Oulunsk several hundred years longer than Humans had.
A twisted sense of relief tried to flow into me. I pushed it away, refusing to let it override my anger. There was something very wrong with this whole situation. "Saura, are you saying this just to save the Hand?"
"Of course saying to save Hand. We can do job."
"I don't want to end up in some Endar prison."
"Vivi, Endar not take prisoners. Endar annihilate."
"You're okay with that?" I asked, aghast.
Everything in her posture seemed to tighten with resolve. "Is no glory in walking safe path of old age." Her ears turned forward and tipped with anticipation. "Must check weapon systems. If trouble, we will leave scars before overcome."
Our weapons systems consisted of a pulse cannon, used for breaking up space junk in our path, a medium range laser for defense against small boarding craft, and a few handhelds we'd brought with us out of the service. None of that would win a battle against a deepspace cruiser of the type we would encounter that far out in the Vasty.
I'd heard Saurubi speak of Tabi warrior ethic before, but never encountered it firsthand in a situation involving me. "I—"
She gave another rumble in her throat I recognized as laughter. "Relax, Vivi. Ship is ours and now have job." She gave me a pat on the arm. "Am sure cloudhead sent course plan to file with Mandragala. Is false, of course, but will be flawlessly legal. Now must ready for breakaway." Humming brightly, she settled into her chair at the control boards.
I stared at her with a deepening sense of foreboding.
Saura only hummed when she pushed away from the bar at the start of a fight.