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Contrary to his statement, Renwick didn’t panic. Instead he turned to his most valuable resource.
“Yan, how many stun grenades do you have?” he said.
“Two,” she replied, then pulled up her tunic top and began shuffling around inside herself again.
“What the hell?” said Kish.
“You’ll get used to it,” said Renwick. Coil rifle fire was peppering the crates and the loader in front of them.
“We can’t take much of this,” said Makera. Renwick nodded. At least these attackers had the same older model coil rifles that the station guards had carried. With each shot the rifle had to take about three seconds to recharge before it could fire again. He and Makera had the Mark 7’s, which you could hold in one hand and that allowed them to fire in much more rapid return. Amanda/Yan handed him a stun grenade and he loaded it on to the end of his rifle, then switched the mode from laser to grenade launcher.
“I’ll need a diversion,” he said. “And someone to spot the targets for me.”
“I’ll be the diversion,” said Makera over the din.
“And I’ll be the spotter,” said Amanda/Yan.
“What can I do?” asked the disheveled Kish, who seemed to be recovering his bearings.
“Stay down,” said Renwick forcefully. “We go in three... two... one... go!”
Makera leapt up, cat like, and fired a string of semi-automatic rifle bursts of suppressing fire while she moved across the line of fire to the relative security of another abandoned loader. Amanda/Yan stuck her head out, then called back to Renwick.
“Fifty-three point nine-two-two meters, azimuth seven,” she said. Renwick rose, pointed, and fired the grenade, then ducked behind his cover again. A second later it exploded, sending a jolt of high-intensity compression waves though the chamber. At the distance they were from the grenade the effect was minimal. To those closer, however...
“Four down,” called Amanda/Yan. “The other two are scrambling.” Renwick looked out at his handiwork. The two conscious guards were indeed retreating, firing as they ran for the doorway. He was about to call Makera off when he watched in horror as she cut the two men down with her rifle, one of them was severed completely in half, falling into two perfectly cauterized pieces.
“Restrain yourself, Ambassador!” he demanded, rising with his rifle poised. She snapped around to face him, rifle leveled at his midsection. “Will you cut me in half as well?” he said. The fire of Raelen rage was burning in her eyes. “They would have gone for reinforcements. It would have put us in greater danger,” she said.
“It wasn’t necessary!” he shouted at her. Amanda/Yan stood and placed herself between them.
“The yacht,” she said. As if on cue it tilted again and started forward, towards the floor, and them. If it fell now, it would crush them. It wobbled and then steadied itself, precariously.
“We’ll finish this later,” said Renwick.
“I’ve already done that,” said Makera, challenging him directly.
“Senator, Ambassador, Mr. Kish, we need to go now!” said Amanda/Yan. She grabbed Kish by the collar of his EV suit and started moving. Renwick dropped his rifle to his side and then started running for the doorway, following as fast as he could go. He never looked back until he had cleared the work room doorway. Once on the other side he turned just as Makera came through. He watched Amanda/Yan drop Kish, not gently either, and then pick up the discarded hatch, slamming it crossways back into the door opening, the hatch embedding into the wall in a way that was almost disturbing. Behind the hatch there was a grinding sound as the zero-G suspensor field collapsed.
“Run!” yelled Renwick. They all did.
The corridor deck beneath Renwick’s feet was twisting and groaning, shifting like soft plastic as he ran. Kish stayed close on his shoulder. He was unaware of Makera, nor was he concerned for her, not after what he had seen her do in the work room. There was a coldness about him as he strode down the long corridor, waiting to hear the fate of the yacht behind him.
The crash was deafening, and from the violent vibration it seemed as though the whole arm of the station would come apart around them. Alarm claxons, alerting the station to a loss of atmosphere in the dry dock, rang through his ears. He ran wildly, with no thought or intent except to get away from the danger. As he rounded a corner he suddenly saw a lifter dead ahead.
“This way!” he turned and yelled over the din, slamming the lifter call button. To his delight the lifter doors opened immediately. Kish stopped and changed direction, coming towards him, then Amanda/Yan came around the corner. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for Makera with a combination of disdain and concern. Finally she came, running full bore, and then dove for the lifter, sliding the last five meters across the floor to land at his feet.
“Go!” she looked up and said. He hit the close control and selected the gallery deck as their destination. The lifter began to move even as the interior lights were flickering, coming perilously close to going out several times. As they moved he removed the power pack and shouldered his rifle. Amanda/Yan helped Makera to her feet while Kish peeled off his work suit to reveal plain gray coveralls beneath. A few seconds later and they exited the lifter, mingling into the crowd at the main concourse and acting as if nothing unusual had happened to them all day long.
#
AN HOUR LATER THEY were back in their berth with Kish, who was vigorously eating soup and drinking water. It had been a full day since his last meal. Amanda/Yan was scanning the auctions for more information on the sale of Lieutenant Cain. Makera was sulking in a corner, cleaning her rifle coils. Renwick, for his part, was ignoring her while scanning the news stream for word on their earlier escapade.
“Lieutenant Cain’s opening bid price is up fifty percent since yesterday morning. Her skills as a pilot are proving to be almost as valuable as her sexual characteristics,” said Amanda/Yan.
“That’s nice to know,” said Renwick, sullenly. “Looks like the whole Centaurus Arm of the station went black after the yacht crashed, according to the news reports. No video or security telemetry of our escape, either. And the yacht ended up diving into the planet before the owner could pay the station fees to retrieve it.”
“Hope he had insurance,” said Makera from the corner. Renwick ignored her.
“There will likely be telemetry data of us entering the Centaurus Arm just before the yacht incident,” said Amanda/Yan. “I will endeavor to eradicate it.”
“Endeavor? Sure you feel all right?” Renwick asked, forcing himself to try humor. “You’re not going all android on me are you?” Amanda/Yan managed a smile.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s hard to express myself in this thing.”
“Personally I find it an improvement in efficiency over your original personality,” chimed in Makera from the corner. Amanda/Yan’s response was to close her eyes. Renwick turned his attention to Kish.
“If you feel like talking, what happened out there after we left, on board the Phaeton I mean?” he said. Kish stopped chewing and swallowed hard, then spoke.
“We lost power after the last plasma grenade volley,” he said. “By the time I got the generators back online the Gataan were aboard. We had no time to defend ourselves before they were on top of us.”
“How many survivors were there?”
“Eleven of us,” said Kish.
“Eleven?” said Renwick. “There’s only three of you here. Where are the others?” He dreaded the answer.
“They weren’t deemed valuable enough, so our captors called in some ‘friends’, and sold them off, I assume to be auctioned off to the mines at Cundaloa,” Kish said. Renwick took this in with regret.
“We’ll find them,” he promised. Kish nodded acknowledgement, then continued.
“The captain, Mischa, and me were taken here on the surviving corvette. We all assumed you were dead. At least that’s what the Gataan told us. They said you slipped into the Void trying to escape and were killed. Glad that isn’t the real story,” he said. Renwick shifted uncomfortably.
“Actually, that’s not far from the truth,” he admitted. “We did end up in the Void, but we didn’t die.”
“What? How?” said Kish. Renwick sat down next to him.
“That takes some explaining,” he said. He then proceeded to catch Kish up on all that had happened since they had departed the Phaeton in the skiff. “And so now we’re here to rescue you. But we won’t be going to Cundaloa to rescue your crew just yet, I’m sorry to say. We have unfinished business in the Void.”
“Can you use an engineer?” Kish asked.
“Always, Mr. Kish,” said Amanda/Yan from across the small room, breaking her silence but not opening her eyes. “Always.”
#
AFTER SIX HOURS OF rest and recuperation the auction of Lieutenant Mischa Cain of the Unity cruiser Phaeton was pending inside the next two hours. Renwick roused his comrades, then discussed his plan.
“Based on our current credit, we have the equivalent of twelve thousand Unity crowns. Looking at the auction lists however, Lieutenant Cain has an opening bid established of nearly ten thousand crowns already. Her piloting skills seem to have outstripped her value as a sexual distraction. The current estimated sale price is between fifteen and eighteen thousand,” he said.
“So we don’t have enough money,” said Makera. Renwick shook his head.
“If we put Yan up for auction, we would have more credit, but she’d have to be detained as collateral for the auction,” he said.
“That seems like our only option,” said Makera.
“Would you be so quick if it was you on the block, Ambassador?” Renwick said, still angry with her over the killings. “I could probably get thirty thousand easily just for you. However I’d be tempted to leave you behind, and I couldn’t live with myself if I did that. So you’re not an option at the moment.”
“More’s the pity,” she said. He ignored her.
“Yan has the ability to take care of herself and escape, especially if she is properly equipped. She still has a stun grenade, and I’d like to give her a pistol,” he said, holding out his hand to the Ambassador.
“You want mine?” she said. He nodded. Makera handed it over reluctantly and he gave it to Amanda/Yan.
“You’ll have to stay here, Mr. Kish,” he said. “You’re still a fugitive, and we can’t risk exposing you, even if we did take out your paper trail.”
“Understood,” said Kish. Renwick gave him his pistol for defense along with a power pack.
“I’d like to leave you here as well Ambassador, after your exploits in the dry dock. But I’ll need backup and Yan will be indisposed for a while, so I’m stuck with you,” he said.
“A ringing endorsement,” she said. He was annoyed by her continued barbs and her lack of conscience over the killings, but she really was his only option, so he chose to ignore her.
They made final preparations and then made their way out to the gallery and down to the Auction Pits. They did a check of their repaired coms and found they could communicate with each other well enough. Renwick escorted Amanda/Yan down to the Auction Board and registered her for sale.
“How much do you want for her?” asked the selling agent.
“A hundred thousand crowns, gold,” Renwick replied. The agent looked down at him in surprise.
“She’s pretty enough, but she isn’t worth that much,” he said. “I’ll advance you five thousand against final sale.” Renwick stepped up to the podium the man was standing behind.
“My good man, I think you misunderstand,” he said. He nodded to Amanda/Yan. She walked up to a metal support beam near the door to the auction pits and pulled it out of the mortar it was encased in, then bent the thick beam into a perfect “C” curve. The agent looked impressed.
“Robot?” he asked. Renwick shook his head.
“Android. Able to simulate a human in all form and functions. All form and functions,” he said, smiling. The agent got his emphasis.
“You got your hundred-thousand,” he said, motioning for Renwick’s credit chip. Renwick handed him his card and then authenticated his code into the auction system. “Just so you know, the agency rate goes up to ten percent for everything over a hundred thousand, and I think she’ll go well over that.”
“Really, how much? I need to buy some new long-range equipment for my HD drive,” he said, using his cover story.
“Probably close to two-fifty. Mechanicals are rare, and coveted. A remnant from the days before the Void. Very much a status symbol,” said the agent.
“Great,” Renwick said, feigning enthusiasm for the sale.
“I’m moving her to the top of the next hour,” said the agent. “Generate some buzz.” Renwick looked at his watch. Lieutenant Cain would come up in twenty minutes, just a few auctions in advance of Amanda/Yan.
“That’s fine,” he said, acting casual.
“Wanna say goodbye?” asked the agent.
“Sure,” he went up to Amanda/Yan. “It’s been fun, old girl,” he said, making a show of it for the milling crowd, then he leaned in. “Our trading permit expires at twelve-hundred hours tomorrow,” he said. “We have that long to locate Captain Aybar and get her off the station.”
“Understood,” said Amanda/Yan. “I will retrieve her and meet you at the skiff ten minutes before departure.” Renwick smiled, acting out his cover.
“Thank you for your service, Yan,” he said loudly, then turned and headed back up to the pits without looking back at her.
#
HE REJOINED MAKERA in the auction pits just one auction ahead of Lieutenant Cain. The pits were accurately named, a burgeoning mass of pure capitalism teeming with energy, lust, and the desire to possess. Whatever human desire a man (or woman) chose to indulge in could be fulfilled here. The richest of the rich stayed off the trading floor and bid from one of many shadowed boxes poised over the floor.
Renwick registered himself as a bidder on Lieutenant Cain just five minutes before the deadline. The big money usually came in at the last minute, and he hoped to scare off as many potential challengers as he could in advance. He was the fifty-fourth potential bidder. One minute from the close of registration another bidder came on. In the last sixty seconds thirty-four bidders dropped off.
“That’s a bad sign,” he said.
“What?” said Makera.
“A private bidder just registered at the last minute. More than half the other bidders dropped off,” he said.
“He must be known, then.”
“Yes, and feared,” Renwick looked around the room. “Did you spot anyone you recognized?” he asked. She nodded.
“The old man from the bar was here again, but he left just before you came up. And I did notice him spying on me again. I restrained myself from challenging him, but it was difficult,” she said.
“Just because we can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not here,” said Renwick. He continued to observe the crowd but saw no one suspicious, or paying any overt attention to them.
The auction scheduled just in front of Lieutenant Cain ended and the cage was vacated. Auctions continued in the other cages at breakneck speed. An auction was only open for ten minutes. Renwick looked down to see Lieutenant Cain entering the cage. She had been stripped down to just basic coverings of her body, she was very nearly nude. Detailed digital images of her were available to anyone who wanted to see her in the most explicit detail on the station network. Renwick had avoided those. He wanted to think of her as the talented pilot of the Phaeton, and a pretty young girl. She didn’t belong here and he intended to see she got out.
Her hands were shackled in front of her and she looked terrified. The announcer read out her lot number and her listed skills, beyond her value as a pure sex toy for some sick slaver.
“This is barbaric,” said Makera. Renwick still hadn’t made peace wither her earlier actions, but he couldn’t disagree with her assessment.
“It is what the Void has brought us to, Ambassador,” he said in response.
The auction started with a bid of ten thousand. Renwick used his bidding pad to immediately up that to ten-thousand five-hundred. He watched as the bidding moved rapidly to the fifteen thousand level, then paused. He waited almost the full thirty second bid limit before going to fifteen-five. This started another flurry that pushed her to seventeen-five, where it paused again. There were ten bidders left as those who found her price too rich dropped out.
Renwick went to eighteen thousand, the projected high end of the bidding, and another four dropped out. The crowd started to buzz, Would someone go over? A roar of anticipation went up in the house as his thirty-second bid limit was about to expire. He looked at his pad.
Someone had bid twenty thousand. He went to twenty-one. The crowd cheered, then it roared, much louder than the first.
Twenty-five thousand.
“What’s wrong? asked Makera. Renwick looked frantically around the room, there were just two bidders left now, him and the late-arriving private bidder.
“Someone is gaming us,” he said. “I think we’re made.”
“The gray haired man from the bar?”
“Possibly,” said Renwick. “But I don’t see him.” Makera looked to the ceiling.
“He’s in one of the boxes,” she said. “I can eliminate him.” She started for the doors. His firm hand on her arm stopped her.
“No,” he said. The clock was ticking. He had ten seconds left.
He went to thirty. The crowd roared again. Mischa was confused by all the activity swirling around her. She started to cry.
When the bid went to fifty thousand the pits erupted. Trading was halted on the other two stages while everyone focused on the bidding on Mischa.
“We can’t win this,” he said to Makera. She gripped the handle of her rifle. From his angle he could see she had the power pack fully loaded and charged.
“I will end this,” she said. He grabbed her arm again.
“No, you can’t,” he said. “It will blow our cover and we’ll lose any chance of recovering Captain Aybar.” He had to keep bidding.
He went to seventy-five. The counter was at one-hundred. He had to go up twenty-five thousand just to stay in. He looked down at his card.
He had twelve thousand credits left.
“We’re out,” he said. “Let’s go,” he took her forcefully by the arm and led her off the pit floor as his bid expired and Mischa was sold for one-hundred thousand crowns.
“Keep your head down,” was all he said as they retreated off the trading floor, the roar of the crowd echoing behind them.