Takata’s angry rant trailed off after about ten minutes, after the noise outside the steel shutters finally died down. He’d variously accused the Miner, Herrera, McMasters, Feeney, Angelica, and several supernatural entities of engineering this catastrophe, singly and in unlikely partnerships. All of their rationales, however, were aimed at personally ruining him and his chances of making it off the station with two pennies to rub together. Herrera had the good graces to try to not look too triumphant, and the Miner was too puzzled to be either offended or amused.
“McMasters knew something was up,” she offered when the rant subsided.
Herrera nodded. “He had his whole crew suited up and ready to go.”
Takata waved the comment away. “He probably figured it would turn into a riot the minute anyone spilled a drink. I don’t like the sonofabitch, but I have to admit, he was prepared.”
“Mmm.” The Miner stared at the steel shutters. They weren’t the security shutters Takata used every night, but looked heavier and better-reinforced. “Are those airtight? Do we have an oxygen supply in here?”
“Yes. Both. I don’t know if there’s any oxygen in it, so maybe we’ll all die like the two of you seem to want. So, good luck with that. Anyway, they’re intended for a hull breach, but I have to admit they’re pretty good for crowd control.”
Takata poured himself half a tumbler full of something clear, and sat heavily at a table away from the Miner and Herrera. Judging by his wince at the first sip, the Miner didn’t think it was water.
For her own part, the Miner was busy thinking. She looked down at her sword, and mistrusted it for the task. The gloves were well and truly off now, and she wanted at least a sidearm if not her rifle. She tried to communicate with her ship, but the station comms were down, and she was too far for a direct link. She couldn’t even get a ping response off it.
“Why would someone have risked shooting Raj in public like that?” she wondered aloud.
“You’d have done it,” Takata said morosely, not looking up from his drink.
“’S a good idea,” Herrera contributed. “Dog-blowing little turd-fondler had it coming.”
“Maybe, but I didn’t do it. Someone had decent low-light, good aim, and a good spot to shoot from. And an accomplice, probably, to turn off the lights and defeat the anti-projectile systems. And a damn good reason.”
Takata snorted. “Trying to figure out which side did it so you can go work for them?”
“It’s not either one of those two,” Herrera said. “Think about it. Who wants to keep Feeney and del Rio fighting, and isn’t worried about McMasters picking sides?”
“Other than you two psychos? Mr Shine doesn’t care. Psycho number one here seems to think he’s the heir apparent. Maybe he didn’t like being dethroned.”
Herrera scowled. “Why does she get to be psycho number one?”
The Miner interrupted whatever Takata was about to say. “Do you think the back entrance is unlocked?”
Takata stared up at her with undisguised suspicion. He’d put a dent in the drink already, and his face was becoming flushed. “Just can’t wait to join the fun, huh? Not enough blood already? You want to get back to juggling death and destruction?” To Herrera he said, “That’s why she gets to be psycho number one.”
She let it go. A couple suspicions of her own were gnawing at her. She got up and went. The small kitchen had been emptied of “helpers” when the party started, but the bots were still out and cleaning up. The back hatch stood closed, and stayed closed when she tapped the panel.
“Looks like it’s locked down too,” Takata said behind her. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry.
She frowned at the panel. The “unlock” option was still there at the bottom, despite the lockdown. She tapped it, and heard a clunk. The door opened freely. She and Takata exchanged looks, and then before her better sense could catch up, she slipped out into the corridor.