Morning came too soon and too early. I groped for my com and groaned when the alarm didn’t stop. I fumbled it and had to hunt for it in the bedding while it continued to wail. Well, at least now I was good and awake.
I dressed and got ready as quietly as I could. I slipped the silencer and vanisher in my pockets. I hopefully wouldn’t need them, but better safe than sorry. For the same reason, I wrapped a utility belt with a blaster around my waist.
I planned to sneak out and let Ying sleep, but she was sitting up, waiting for me. “Sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m going out to find us some backup. Would you like to come along or stay here?”
“I will stay here and keep an eye on the ship and Cira.”
“Okay. I should be back in an hour or so. We have about an hour and a half until we can jump again. I’d like to be ready to go by then.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“I have my com if you need me.”
She waved me off. “Go find us some backup. We’ll be fine here. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Help yourself. There are spare clothes in my closet.” Ying was a little shorter than me and she had a more delicate build. “If you cinch them up, there should be something that will work for you.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
I raised my hand in farewell, then stepped across the passageway to the mess hall. Alex and Aoife sat at one end of the table, speaking in low tones. I nodded to them, then ordered a pastry and a steaming cup of coffee from the synthesizer. The machine beeped and I pulled out my meal. There was only a single table, but I hesitated to sit next to them. I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation.
Alex solved the problem by nudging out the chair next to him. “Join us.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you still set on your suicide mission?” Aoife asked.
“Unless new updates came in overnight. Are the gates back up?”
“No.”
Damn. I’d hoped that given a few hours, someone on Earth would take back control. Were any of the Houses even fighting back? The High Houses would be on lockdown, but based on the firepower I’d seen in the photos, that might not last long.
I sighed. “Then I’m still going.”
She muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like “whole family is stubborn as fuck.”
I ate my breakfast in silence and started mentally listing all of the things I needed to pick up. S2BAP8 was probably too small to have most of my wish list, but I’d have to make do. I dumped my dishes in the recycler and waved at Alex. “Ready?”
He and Aoife both rose, but neither of them looked too happy. I took a deep breath and slipped on my public mask. “Are you going out with us?” I asked Aoife.
She slanted a glance at Alex. “Against my better judgment.”
“After you look at the departure schedule for transport back to Andromeda, let me know what you decide on and charge the fare to my account.”
She didn’t reply, so I shrugged and the three of us left Chaos. The ship’s cargo bay door locked behind us. The landing bay was a dingy white covered in gray and black smudges. It hadn’t been painted in a decade at least. It was also oddly quiet.
The hatch into the main corridor squealed on rusty hinges as Alex forced it open. The corridor itself wasn’t much better. The paint was peeling and the overhead light panels flickered, in dire need of replacement. It seemed like the whole station needed work.
I could reach up and touch the ceiling. I tried not to think about it. Stations were built to minimize materials, not maximize comfort. Spacers—those who grew up on stations and ships—found the low ceilings and close walls comforting. Surfacers like me, who grew up on planets with wide-open skies, often found them claustrophobic. The flickering lights didn’t help.
“I paid a small fortune to dock here. They need to put some of that money to use.”
“I’m sure the station master’s quarters are just fine,” Aoife grumbled. Sadly, she was probably right.
We didn’t meet anyone in the long corridor. The airlock into the station proper seemed to be in moderately better shape than the rest of what I’d seen. It quickly cycled us through into the station’s outer ring.
I’d downloaded a station map to my com. Much like Serenity, the station was divided into ring quadrants and sectors, but it also had floor levels. We were on the main level. Most businesses were on this level because it led to the landing bays and had the most foot traffic.
Though foot traffic seemed to be almost nonexistent. The few people I saw all appeared to be station employees on their way to their shifts. They did not make eye contact.
“I’m going to wander through the market section on my way to the bar,” I murmured.
“A bar for breakfast?” Alex asked.
“You ever seen an empty bar on a station, no matter what the hour? I’ll get a drink and scope out the mercenaries. And see what kind of gossip I can pick up.” Stations usually operated on Universal Standard Time, but they rarely had a true night. Days were split into two or three shifts, depending on the task, and people were always at the bar as body clocks often didn’t match Standard.
Alex agreed with a reluctant grin.
The directions to the largest bar were displayed along the bottom of my smart glasses. Not only were bartenders excellent resources, most mercs looking for work kept at least one person stationed in the main bar because it was a natural gathering place.
I expected Aoife to break off now that we were in the station, but she trailed along behind us. Alex stalked at my side, his body a tense line. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He paused in scanning our surroundings long enough to flick a glance at me. “You ever been to a small station where there’s not a crowd of vendors, children, and pickpockets waiting to meet an arriving ship?”
I didn’t spend a lot of time on small stations, but nothing about the current situation seemed too unusual. “Maybe they didn’t know we were up and about.”
“Someone knew. I don’t like it. What supplies do you need?”
“Weapons, explosives, and people, though not necessarily in that order.” I’d also kill for some combat armor but that would be a stretch. The more of the station I saw, the more I pared my list. I might be pleasantly surprised, but I doubted it. Anything of value was long gone.
The market section was nearly empty. A few businesses were still struggling to stay open, but they were the ones that catered to the station occupants more than visitors. None sold weapons.
Unless there were specialty merchants on the upper levels that were still in business, I would have to hire mercenaries who had decent supplies. Most mercenaries should—at least the good ones—but it limited the pool of possibilities.
The bar was a hole-in-the-wall and that was saying something considering the rest of the station. The interior was dim and grimy. Rickety, mismatched chairs surrounded small, chipped tables. The patrons didn’t look much better. Many of them were deep into their cups, and for the ones who weren’t, it seemed like it was only a matter of time.
The bartender was a massive man who looked like he broke people in half for fun. He was in his forties and missing an eye. Rather than a prosthetic, he wore an eyepatch. His mouth turned down when I approached the bar. “The cocktail lounge is on level three.”
Public mask firmly in place, I gave him my sunniest smile and slid onto a barstool that threatened to wobble over onto the floor. Only a quick grab for the bar saved me from embarrassing myself. Alex and Aoife sat on the two stools flanking me. “I appreciate the tip, but I find cocktails too sweet. I’ll take a good beer or whisky any day. Got any you’d recommend?”
“No.”
I laughed. “In that case, we’ll have three beers. Whatever you have on tap.”
He pulled three beers into questionably clean glasses. He set them on the bar, but I made no move to reach for them. When I continued to watch him without moving, a grudging smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. “Weren’t born yesterday after all, were you?”
“Not last I checked. How much?”
“Twenty credits.” When I kept waiting, he added, “Total.”
It was a little high for what was going to be shitty beer, but I handed him a hard credit chip with a hundred credits on it. “Keep my tab open.”
He nodded silently. Now that the price had been settled, I picked up my glass and took a tentative sip. My nanobots would protect me from most poisons and waterborne diseases, but they couldn’t protect my taste buds. The synth beer was even worse than I’d expected. I kept my pleasant expression only through force of habit. Alex and Aoife didn’t touch their glasses.
The bartender smiled slyly. “Good, yes?”
“No,” I said, “but you knew that already.”
He didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “It was on tap, as requested.”
“Straight from the bilge system of some derelict freighter, I’m sure.”
He shrugged carelessly. “What brings you to S2BAP8?” He pronounced it stew-bap-eight. Officially, station and planet names were initialisms—each letter was supposed to be pronounced individually. But the public rarely followed that rule if there was any way to pronounce it as a word. Thus BAP Eight became bap eight.
“I need weapons, supplies, and mercenaries, if there are any around who aren’t drunk.”
“Any mercenaries who aren’t drunk aren’t on S2BAP8 anymore.”
I glanced around. I’d always been good at reading people, at figuring out what motivated them. Money was a good start, but some people craved power, status, or danger as much as monetary reward. Figuring out what drove people was the first step in figuring out how to manipulate them.
None of the patrons in the bar were the least bit interested in motivation. They hadn’t looked up when we entered and they didn’t care now that we’d decided to stay. If this was the best S2BAP8 had to offer, then I’d be going to Earth alone.
If only the destroyers hadn’t been in orbit around Andromeda. If only the gates weren’t down. If only, if only . . . A jump back to Andromeda would give me better supplies and people, but it meant dodging the destroyers for the FTL drive’s twelve-hour cooldown.
I eyed the bartender. “You’re not drunk. Interested in earning a pile of credits?”
His laugh sounded rusty and ended in a cough that rattled in his chest. “I’ve had enough of other people’s wars. I’ll stay here with the drunks, thanks.”
“What about supplies?”
“They left with the mercenaries.”
“Well, aren’t you just a barrel of sunshine.” I took another sip of my beer. It remained revolting.
“I’ve never seen anyone go back for seconds,” the bartender said, a touch of respect in his expression.
“Perhaps bilge water is growing on me.” It wasn’t, but I’d drain the glass if it got me information. I took another sip.
He wiped a surprisingly clean cloth over the bar’s surface. “What kind of supplies do you need?”
“Weapons, explosives, armor. Pretend that I’m single-handedly waging a war. I need everything for that.”
“What about these two?” He waved to Alex and Aoife.
“They’re too pretty to go to war,” I said with a straight face.
The bartender broke into loud guffaws. “You’re all right, lady. I’m Harvey. You got a name?”
I bowed slightly from my seated position. “Catarina von Hasenberg, at your service.”