Mary led the way back and didn’t seem to notice or mind that the Miner lagged behind. She watched Feeney’s granddaughter, flanked by three tired toughs, as she navigated back passages through a circuitous route that would probably avoid trouble. Deck six was down deep in the station, close to what she thought was Mr Shine’s territory, him and his people who called themselves Morlocks, but she didn’t see much evidence that anyone still lived or worked there.
The Miner mused as she walked, decided one option was to come back that night. 3am station time, maybe, if everyone was asleep. Explosives would do the trick. Nice empty corner of the station. Relieve the guards – they’d believe Feeney would send just her to relieve three of them, at least they’d believe it long enough for her to take care of them. Take care of the chem geeks. Set the explosives somewhere impressive but safe. Safe-ish. Work of an hour, and she’d be back at the hotel ready to help the enraged old man get his revenge on “that witch”.
The Miner didn’t ask what route they were taking, and Mary didn’t explain. She played the good little bodyguard, watching the boss’s granddaughter because the others were too tired, stupid, and feckless to. She found herself tempted. Off Mary Feeney, and it would drive John Feeney spare. From idle talk she’d gathered that his family was his one major weakness. If he thought Angelica’s goons had done her, or grabbed her, whatever peace there was would be over. Herrera would have his excuse pretty damn fast. It might solve the McMasters problem, too: either the mustachioed twerp would get steamrolled, or he’d sense the change in the wind and do his damn job.
She liked the idea, liked it a lot, and yet somehow found herself not murdering anyone. The five of them walked briskly but quietly, and all seemed to keep breathing.
Her first rationalization was that Feeney going spare might go way over the top. Might even flat-out win. But that was nonsense; she could handle him, if by no other way than through switching sides.
Her second rationalization was that despite herself, she liked Mary Feeney. The kid was too clever by half, and even kind of fun when she had a drink and loosened up. But she was also an enthusiastic and capable part of a criminal gang that had destroyed a lot of lives and livelihoods. She was more serious than her blustering and fickle grandfather, which made her dangerous as hell. Anyway, the Miner had met a lot of corrupt SOBs in her time behind enemy lines. She’d liked them too, and knew not to get sentimental. Besides, she also liked Takata and Herrera, and this was their home, too.
Her third rationalization, probably the real one, was harder to express to herself. She’d killed in cold blood before, sure. She’d killed for flag and country and other bullshit; she’d killed to survive and for advantage. And then she’d bought a ship and some mining equipment, and set herself to a life alone with plants, books, and rocks. Yeah, it was also before getting ripped off by some little toads and coming face to face with a lot of people who really had it coming. But if she wanted to just kill people, she could make a hell of a lot more money just doing that. She was giving the toads a chance, at least. It might not be a fair fight, but it never was.
She continued to ponder her ethical position, until Mary stopped abruptly with one finger in the air. All it would take is a couple more steps, pretend to not be paying attention, to be caught up short, then have her sword out and cut them down before they knew what was happening. Her sword stayed sheathed, and she halted in her tracks.
“Good news,” Mary said. She turned and smiled. “Transport ship’s in, and we managed to hire about half the crop.”
The Miner frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We made offers to everyone aboard, crew included. A bunch of them signed up.”
“How many?”
Mary smirked. “Afraid of the competition? Too many and not enough. You want to count them, get moving.” She paused, giving the Miner a speculative look. “Why don’t you take the lead.”