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Atom trudged down the dusty road. The scent of the border world rubbed at his nose with a strange, dry rawness. Before him the struts of the second-hand suspensor-pram creaked as he pushed Margo over the rough stones of the packed dirt highway. The sound, consistent as a steam engine, lulled the infant to sleep and left Atom to walk in wind-framed silence.
Few other travelers moved in either direction, leaving the drifting warrior to his own thoughts.
The high-noon sun ticked across the sky, chasing shadows and casting a squinting glare across the hard baked soil. The air danced in the heat. It wafted in lazy swirls that kicked up more dust than relieve the heat.
As the heat intensified, Atom kicked up the power on the pram’s solar shield to keep Margo cool. Sweat trickled from his temple, but he ignored the temperature with stoic resolve. One step at a time, in steady rhythm, he pressed the pram up the slight incline cut in the desert hills.
A low rumble cut through the stillness and drew Atom’s attention. As he walked he glanced over his shoulder to find a heavily laden hauler rounding the foot of the last hill. Marking their progress, he continued on his way.
When the heavy, man-sized wheels drew even with the pram, the driver slowed the vehicle with a grinding of gears.
“Heyo, stranger,” a broad chested teamster gave Atom a friendly grin. Sun browned and dust caked, the man lifted a pair of goggles and squinted even as a hard looking woman craned her neck to see over her companion’s bulk. “Long way to the next steadholm, you plan on walking it?”
“If that’s what’s called for,” Atom shielded his eyes against the sun, but kept his long, even strides.
“Hold then,” the man braked the hauler with a quick screech that stirred Margo’s slumber. “We can squeeze in to give you a ride. No sense in keeping the little one out in this blazin’ sun longer than you have to.”
Atom stopped, but kept the suspensor-pram in motion, rocking it back and forth to keep Margo asleep. For a moment the tactic worked, but as the man opened his door with a hiss she sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and staring at the newcomers.
“I have a few yelpers running around at home,” the teamster said as he dropped from the cab and stretched his back. The skinny woman shifted over to the driver’s seat. “How old’s yours?”
“Two,” Atom displaced the solar shield as he placed a protective hand atop Margo’s head and looked down into her eyes. “She says she doesn’t like you.”
“What?” the man cocked his head to look at Margo’s face.
“She says you stink of death,” Atom spoke without taking his eyes from his daughter. “Wrongful death.
“Children are pure,” Atom locked the man with a dark glare. “They see the spirit and sense what we have lost.
The man took offense and stepped back.
“It’s him, firm,” the woman spoke for the first time, her voice harsh and low.
“Then it’s a good thing we happened across you,” a menacing smile creased the teamster’s face.
Guns flashed.
Atom remained still, one hand on Margo’s head and the other resting on the handlebar of the suspensor-pram.
“Hands where we can see them,” the man growled, his blaster staring a hole through Atom’s chest. “Move easy. The bounty’s too good to risk you.”
“What bounty?”
“For the assassin after Ronald Cheeber.”
“Cheeber? Who’s that?” Atom raised his hands as he cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.
“High Elder of the Zhenhan,” irritation crept into the man’s voice.
“The name’s still unknown to me,” Atom shrugged. As he spoke he opened his hand to reveal a small disc. Without hesitation he thumbed the disc, sending out a blue tinted pulse in a tight cove that enveloped the two aggressors and their hauler.
Both teamsters pulled their triggers only to have their blasters remain silent.
Atom flashed a cocky grin as he drew his rail-pistol and punched a hole in the man’s chest. He fired two more shots in the woman’s direction even as the bulky teamster dropped in the dust, but the woman ducked back into the hauler. Tossing the spent EMP cartridge beside the body, Atom hopped on a skid trailing behind the suspensor-pram and hit a booster to shoot back down the hill.
The woman growled a curse and clambered from the cab to watch Atom’s receding form. Throwing her blaster to the ground she reached into the hauler and pulled out an archaic grenade launcher.
“Draw on me,” she muttered as she loaded a concussion grenade into the chamber and snapped the breech shut.
Below, Atom scooted away on the back of the suspensor-pram. Margo giggled giddily as he deftly guided the careening cart of the rough road. Looking back, he noted the gangly woman sighting down the barrel of the wood-stocked grenade launcher. Without hesitation, Atom reached into his jacket pocket and slapped a small, coin-sized disc onto Margo’s head. From the disc a foam bubble sprang, encompassing the girl in a dark foamy material.
The grenade landed to the left and the concussion knocked Atom from the skids. Without a driver the pram’s core sprang to life and guided the baby cart to a slow and safe halt.
In the pram the foam retracted into the disc, leaving a startled Go staring at her father.
Atom defied natural tendencies and struggled to his feet, trying to shake the effects of the concussion grenade. His eyes swam. His ears rang. Equilibrium squirmed away like tiny black snakes as he blinked to clear his head. Somehow he managed to stagger back to the suspensor-pram and using the handle to steady himself he drew his pistol and fired a few miscalculated shots in the rough direction of his assailant.
Above, the hard woman stood with arms crossed, watching as Atom regained control of the pram and began moving back down the decline.
The effects of the explosion faded as Atom once again picked up speed. He scowled up at the woman. For a moment he kept his gun trained up the slope, debating whether to waste another round. As he deliberated an instinct twitched in the back of his mind.
The woman remained motionless, watching.
Atom spun, his pistol tracking.
A neuro-stim net slammed into him from the side. With three-g violence he flew from behind the pram, pinned to the ground. There he writhed in pain as the net fired disruptive jolts through his body.
He lost control of his voluntary nervous system.
Gasping, Atom lay against the rocky soil, his fingers spasmed, digging into the sun baked clay as his back arched and he fought against the bonds of the restraining netting. Focus drifted as his eyes rolled. In snapshots of consciousness Atom watched four hulking figures emerge from the concealment of a rocky berm and approach.
Sky above, purplish blue. Copper-oxide clouds fell to his feet.
Puffed dust of metal footfalls.
Pebbles of shattered land.
He drifted.
Pain brought him back.
The armored soldiers bent over him, weapons trained. Atom watched with helpless frustration as they deactivated the net and tossed it to the side. Brusquely they flipped him over. Wrenching his shoulders they bound his arms to his side with self constricting ties.
“Why did you attack us?” Atom demanded, his speech slurred.
“You know, assassin,” the leader of the small troop spoke without emotion. “You will be judged.”
Atom regained enough feeling in his legs to launch himself feebly toward the speaker. The effects of the neuro-stim net lingered and the captain slapped him to the ground.
“Desist,” the captain sounded bored.
Atom eyed the make of the power armor, thankful the man had eased up enough not to kill him with a servo augmented hand.
––––––––
Atom stumbled through the gate behind the captain. Two armored figures flanked him close enough to make his restraints redundant. Behind them the fourth guard pushed the suspensor-pram like an adult pushing a child’s toy with reluctance.
Glancing over his shoulder, Atom tried to judge the guard’s expression behind the heavy faceplate. Atom guessed at distracted. Something in the set of the shoulders and long, loping gait indicated her mind wandered. Shaking his head at the lack of discipline, Atom dropped his gaze to Margo, who sat in her pram, taking in their surroundings with unnatural aplomb.
A broad lawn, a luxury in the sun-parched landscape, stretched away to a fairytale chateau. Up a long drive of crushed white stone the group ambled. Atom blinked away the sweat pouring into his eyes, wishing he could free a hand long enough to wipe his sodden forehead. In vain he tried to wipe his face on his dark jacket, but succeeded only in smearing his cheek and mouth with the dust swirled mud his sweat created.
Atom grunted. He scowled into the glare of the setting sun. The mansion seemed an eternity away, but he knew his planning time waned.
Casting another glance to Margo, he flexed against the restraints, only to have them constrict. Looking ahead, Atom calculated steps, anticipating the scene set before him.
Before he would have liked, they reached the manse and rounded the corner to a sun-drenched patio where a portly man sat sipping any icy drink and talking to a young boy. The man raised his eyebrows as he looked over the approaching group. Then he waved the boy inside with a pudgy hand. Four soldiers in crimson power armor stood in strategic readiness, eyeing Atom warily.
Stepping aside, the captain of the guard halted the group.
The seated man dabbed sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief and took a sip from his drink. He swirled the ice cubes as he examined Atom with critical disdain.
“So you’re the assassin? I am Ronald Cheeber, the man you were to kill,” he rose ponderously and paced toward Atom. “Tell me who hired you and I’m sure we can work a deal.
“You do work for money?” Cheeber fingered the collar of Atom’s worn, brown jacket with distaste. “I can double your fee.”
Atom eyed the well-groomed man in steely silence. Cheeber stood a head taller, but Atom seemed unfazed. Instinctively, however, he shifted to place himself between Cheeber and Margo.
“What I offer could set you and your daughter up nicely,” Cheeber sipped at his drink again and leaned in close. “I could give you an estate to call your own.”
Atom stared past Cheeber.
“Tell me it’s not tempting,” Cheeber cocked his head like a fat bird of prey. “Just give me a name and you walk away a free man with more money than you can imagine. You could buy a new ship, or a pair.”
Margo whimpered.
Both men turned to her, distracted by her interruption.
“What does she need?” Cheeber asked.
“A fresh diaper.”
“Doesn’t your pram do that for you?” Cheeber sneered.
“Couldn’t afford it,” Atom turned his back to Cheeber and stepped toward Margo. “Plus, she only lets me change her. Otherwise she throws a fit.”
Margo began to sob.
“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll throw in a top-line pram for you,” Cheeber placed a well-manicured hand on Atom’s shoulder. “Ashland, take care of the child.”
One of the armored soldiers stepped forward and picked Margo up. Like an alarm she immediately let rip a long, wailing siren cry. For a moment the soldier held the squirming child at arm’s length and Atom watched the armored fingers closer tighter around his daughter.
“Please let me change her,” panic tinged Atom’s plea. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know when I’m done.”
Cheeber hesitated.
“Do it quickly,” he gave Atom a shove toward the pram.
At a gesture from Cheeber the captain released Atom’s bonds. The guards loomed closer, but Atom held up his hands in innocence. His eyes spoke calm as he walked back to the suspensor-pram and gathered Margo from the uncomfortable soldier.
At his touch, she soothed.
With the efficiency of a well-practiced father he laid her in the pram and began changing the offensive diaper. Focused on his daughter, Atom relaxed and grinned down into her joyous face. In that moment their surroundings faded. Atom filled with love. Finishing up he snapped her jumper and lifted the infant to give her a hug.
Bouncing the little girl in his arms, he turned his attention back to Cheeber.
“So how did you find me?” he asked, changing tack.
“We have spies in all the major systems,” Cheeber returned to the table and refilled his glass from a sweating pitcher. “Information is passed any time it concerns the Zhenhan. A message caught in our filters alerting us to an assassination attempt in play, an attempt originating inside the han.
“Now tell me,” the portly man snapped around, pointing with his glass. “Who sent you? Give me this information so I can remove the cancer from my family.”
“A message wouldn’t have happened to fall into your hands?” Atom asked thoughtfully. “A message that read—assassin traveling with small child will make attempt on Cheeber—timetable unknown.”
Cheeber’s face dropped.
“How did you know?” he whispered.
Atom remained silent, lost in thought. As he pondered, Margo clambered around to perch on his back. And like an accustomed father he reached with one hand to clip her into a harness sewn into his jacket and the other he leaned on the suspensor-pram.
“I sent it,” Atom shrugged as he triggered a hidden switch and a single rail-pistol dropped from a slot into his waiting palm.
In a quick motion he raised the pistol and fired. A single shot slammed into Cheeber’s face, blowing out the back of his skull and driving the heavy body across the patio.
For a stunned second none of the guards moved. In that frozen moment Atom turned on the captain and placed two shots into his armor, one in the shoulder joint and the other in the side of the knee. The rail slugs punched through the weak areas of armor, sheering off limbs in a pinwheel of metal and blood.
The scream from the captain drove the other soldiers to action.
Atom, however, moved one step ahead. Like a tomahawk he threw the pistol at the nearest soldier and grabbed a second rail-pistol from the pram, even as the missile cut into the armor with the help of a laser driver cunningly fused into the pistol’s grip.
Spinning he fired a pair of shots at a third guard as she raised her auto-rifle to take aim. The shots slammed home in rapid succession. One shot deflected off the crown of her helmet, gouging a chunk of tempered plasteel in the process. The second shot drove through her throat, nearly severing her head.
Blood pumped and blended with the crimson armor as the guard sank to the ground.
Atom glanced around, assessing the situation before vaulting over a decorative stone wall. The thrown pistol, now embedded in the chest of the unfortunate soldier, melted a hole through the armor and detonated with a wash of lightning blue flame that knocked the remaining soldiers from their feet and tore into the façade of the chateau.
Before the blast subsided, Atom leaped to his feet and sprinted around the corner of the house with Margo bouncing gleefully on his back.
The five remaining guards regained their feet and gave chase with assault blasters at the ready.
As their pounding, metal-shod feet announced their arrival, Atom holstered his pistol and like a monkey scaled a trellis to a second story balcony. There he crouched and scuttled along a low wall to shadow the guards. Peeking over the edge he watched them trundle past.
Not waiting for the soldiers to discover their mistake, he dropped to the ground and brought down the two rearmost.
Slapping the grip against his thigh, he slid his pistol along the ground after the remaining guards, and before they could return fire it detonated, bringing the entire stone wall crashing down on top of them.
Atom sprinted back to the pram and retrieved his final rail-pistol.
With callous disregard he stalked back to the collapsed wall and dispatched the three guards as they struggled to disengage their power armor from the stone avalanche.
A new contingent of unarmored guards rushed around the end of the building as Atom stood triumphant atop the crumpling stone heap. They came up short, startled by the devastation. Training soon overrode their shock, and they moved to surround Atom and Margo.
Atom flashed a malicious grin, a wolf at bay.
“All in a day,” he raised his pistol, letting it drift from figure to figure. “You can’t be tougher than the bokes Cheeber kept closest.”
Before a reply came, a dropship roared in over the chateau. The wash drowned out all sound and drove everyone back a step. Atom squinted up at the ship and did his best to shield Margo from the dust and grit thrown up in the air.
The ship settled on the lawn beyond the patio and an elderly gentleman disembarked. Holding his hat on his head he scurried over to where Atom stood.
“Stand down,” he shouted as the thrusters died enough to be heard. “This man is not to be harmed. He is under han protection.”
“But, sir,” one of the new guards stepped up beside the gentleman.
“No questions,” the elderly man brushed off his finely tailored suit as the dropship powered down, leaving the area in an eerie silence. “Return to your posts. This is an internal affair.”
The guard scowled, but following orders, he waved the surrounding men away.
“The House of Zhen thanks you,” the gentleman bowed deeply to Atom.
Atom nodded in reply and walked back to the battered suspensor-pram. As he made his way toward the drive Margo waved innocently to the man. With grandfatherly sincerity, the elder returned the gesture.
––––––––
“Fifty-thousand is quite a sum,” Kozue said as Atom dropped onto the metal stairs leading down to the hold and watched Margo run around the empty area.
“It’s enough,” Atom scowled. “It should buy us a full tank to fly on and a full hold to be traded away. I’m sure there’s something needed out here in the Fingers.”
“We could always jump to one of the other Fingers or even return to the Palm.”
“In time. For now, though, we’re safer out here.”
Kozue remained silent for a time, allowing Atom to watch Margo dance around the hold with her doll. He drifted to happier times and envisioned his family together once again, ghosts of his past.
“What was the purpose of your assassination of Ronald Cheeber?” Kozue’s silky tone broke the trance. “Had he crossed you prior to my programming?”
“Nothing that meaningful,” Atom blinked away the specters. “He was just a job.”
Atom smiled as he pictured Kozue cocking her head in question. “A job?”
“He was trying to indirectly take over the Zhenhan. A group of han elders contracted me to remove him from play.”
“And who was Cheeber?”
“Just a councilor to the family heir,” Atom rose to his feet without taking his eyes from his daughter. “The heir’s just a kid though. Cheeber thought he could rule through him if he removed the father. It’s never a good idea to come between a dad and his cub.
“Come on, Fiver,” he called down to Margo. “It’s time we scratch up something to eat on this crate.”
“Fiver?” Kozue asked as the little girl obediently began climbing the stairs.
“She was my fifth child,” Atom grunted as he swept Margo up in his arms. “I can’t forget the other four.”