MAJA’S BONES WERE cold and her mouth was full of that dry-shit metallic taste that always came after a high. It coated her tongue in a thick mucousy carpet, gumming up her tastebuds and crawling up her nose, until she was breathing out a cloud of need. Her skin was going to start crawling next, going to shrivel and dance, doing the jig until it boogied right off her body and slinked around the dirt and rock at her feet. Something, anything to get away from the desperation gripping her insides, twisting her stomach in knots, making her heart thump and jerk in her chest.
Worse than all that, though, was the buzz in her head, the dispassionate whirl of her greyware. The input at the base of her skull humming against bone was going to drive her crazy, endlessly seeking new data to feed the fine network of military-grade processors and neural connections linking her grey matter. The magic of Imperial technology royally fucked by a little black pill.
She shivered, hugged her arms tight to her chest and tried to remember if she still had her nose or if the cold had taken it along with the heat in her bones.
Did it matter? She just had to get through this, and then it was back to the shuttle crouched behind her, the hatch open, the cargo containers stacked in the hood sucking up what little light made it through the planetoid’s dull, reddish atmosphere and dust. Then she could get out of the grit and howl of the wind, get away from the pervasive cold and Merc’s bird-sharp eyes, and sink into the rattle of the old ship’s flight system. After that... After that she could slink back to her bunk, slide her hand into the space between bulkhead and mattress, and get back to the sweet oblivion of the pills stashed there.
Her last memory of the Kid exploded in her mind’s eye, his face-splitting grin gone, bloody air bubbles instead of endless damned questions spilling out of his mouth, skinny chest crushed by a cargo crate.
She gritted her teeth and breathed, hard, her breath frosting the air under her nose. She’d promised herself. The Kid was dead and she’d promised, promised that that would be the last time she piloted while she was high, the last accident she’d cause. But the skin on the back of her neck shivered and clenched and her bones ached.
Christ, she needed a fix.
She’d just finish this, do whatever the hell it was Jonko thought needed to be done on this damn arid rock instead of the Bakr’s cargo bay, the get back to the ship and her stash and then—
‘Hey, flygirl.’ A hand, hard and calloused, cupped her chin.
Maja’s eyes snapped open.
Merc frowned at her, hard black gaze narrowed against the wind blowing its sea of grit, crow-dark hair salted with age and the lines in his dark-gold face carved by more than just time. ‘Get it together,’ he said, voice as rough as the rock under her boots. ‘We’re on.’
The hand fell away from her chin and she followed his gaze to the two figures walking toward them out of the orange dust haze, but her attention was drawn to the shuttle behind.
The ever-present haze obscured markings, but the distinct upward curve of the tail and sweep of the wings marked it as one of the early models from the outer systems; a nuggety cargo hauler designed to run unpatrolled shipping lanes. Long range. Cruise speed, FTL two point three. Two forward guns, one rear. Slow on the turn. Handled like a brick. A quick duck and roll, get in its blind spot. Aim just forward of the engine, three degrees to starboard. The sweet spot. Hold a beat, wait for the right moment—
‘There’s far enough.’ Merc’s voice cut through her thoughts like it cut through the wind, a sledgehammer knocking her back into the now.
The two figures stopped five metres away. One old, one young, both male and far enough away they wouldn’t be throwing any punches, but close enough that she and Merc’d see it if they decided to reach for the guns strapped to their sides. Not that she’d be any use if they did, with her skin starting to crawl and her hands to shake. She didn’t even have a weapon of her own; Merc’d swiped her ancient pulse gun while she’d still been jacked into the flight chair, peeling her brain out of the shuttle’s systems. The most she’d be able to contribute to a firefight was a sloppy dive behind the cargo ramp.
If she didn’t stumble over her own feet first.
‘Those the goods?’ The young one, dark and rail thin, spoke. He looked like he spent a lot of time on his hair and jacked into the nets, if the contact ports flashing on the underside of his wrists were anything to go by. He pointed at the containers in their shuttle’s belly.
The containers Jonko had insisted she help Merc deliver. Like a broken-down pilot could do a better job protecting the cargo than the three heavies the woman kept on payroll.
‘Those are the goods,’ Merc said. ‘You got the credit?’
‘Cargo’s already been paid for,’ Young and Dark said.
Merc went still. ‘That’s not what I was told.’
The older one, face hard and wrinkled, spoke now. ‘That’s because you’re part of the cargo.’
What? The thought ran through Maja’s mind even as she saw the young one go for the weapon at his side. She had enough time to wonder where he’d gotten his hands on something that looked like it came out of the Imperial armoury – long and sleek, the barrel forming around his hand before it even cleared the holster – but she didn’t move. Her bones were too cold, her brain too slow, thoughts too tangled.
Merc tackled her to the ground and behind the ramp. He didn’t tell her to stay, didn’t press the big blunt grip of her old pulser back into her hand. Instead, he disappeared around the other side of the shuttle, leaving her sitting in the dirt, alone and unarmed.
Her heart pounded. Her breath came short, and adrenalin pushed back the cold and the shakes. She drew her feet up under her until she was jammed into the crevice where ramp met rock, and shuffled over enough to peek around the edge.
Young and Dark fired. Missed.
She ducked back before he improved his aim. Closed her eyes. Listened for the crunch of his footfalls on the cold, rocky dirt. There they were. One footstep. Two. Getting closer.
She swallowed, balled her hand and wondered if she would still be fast enough, strong enough, to lay him out before he shot her. A not-so-tiny voice in the back of her head said, probably not.
Gods above, she needed a fix.
There was a thump and then the distinct bark of a kinetic weapon followed by another, louder thump.
She risked another peek around the corner.
Young and Dark was face-down in the dirt, his partner the same not too far behind him. Red stained their backs, darkened the already-red ground underneath them.
Merc crouched over Young and Dark, rifled through the man’s pockets. He found something, slipped it into his own pocket, and looked up. Something passed through his gaze when it met hers. Maja thought it might have been relief, but it was gone too fast. ‘Can you fly that?’ He gestured over his shoulder to the shuttle.
She didn’t even have to look at it. ‘Yeah.’
He nodded, rose. ‘Good. Let’s get out of here before Jonko figures out we’re not dead.’