by Jody Wallace
But would she be happy she was alive or would she be like Steven Wat, whose spitefulness and anger outweighed his greed and survival instinct? Mighty said she would. Said she’d return with the full power of Selectstar behind her. And Jenna had been with them too long for the cats to erase her memories.
“What are we going to do with you?” Briar said aloud. She tickled Mighty under the chin. “What would you give us if we let you go and how can you guarantee it?”
Jenna lifted her head from the wall and opened her eyes. “Ah. Is it finally bargaining time?”
I have an idea, Briar told Mighty, and asked him to relay it to Lincoln and Su. Cat-comm meant nobody could see you tap your chrono to send a message. While Lincoln’s impassive expression didn’t change, Su melodramatically smacked herself in the forehead. Luckily she was out of sight of the mesh door.
Su would like you to know she has an idea as well, Mighty said after a moment. It involves dumping two bodies into the Mire.
“How much were you going to give your contact for the zheng ship piece?” Briar asked. “Don’t bother to lie.”
They had led Jenna and Gullim to believe they had an AI monitoring the cell that was capable of sensing neural and physiological variations that went along with changes in emotions. Since it was a technology that existed—and the cats had pushed—they had believed it.
“Nine hundred thouuuuuuuusand DICs.” Jenna drew it out with relish. “More profit than a janky place like this sees in years. I imagine that’s why you took it from me. Good luck breaking the encryption, though.”
“Is that a good price?” Briar asked. They had indeed taken Jenna’s money—and broken the encryption—but hadn’t used it. “Like, if you return to your employers with that money unspent, would they be happy with you?”
“Moderately,” Jenna said. “I’ve been gone longer than they prefer.”
“Bad weather.” Briar stepped to the mesh door and grabbed the screen, her fingers wrapping around it. Not smart, because Jenna could bolt forward and smash her fingers.
Or she could if Mighty wasn’t pushing the hells out of her to be compliant. More importantly, Briar’s action would demonstrate to Jenna that Briar was underestimating her.
Briar regarded Jenna with her most earnest expression. It worked on clients. Would it work on Jenna? “On Trash Planet we get hailstorms that last for weeks. If you’d arrived and one of those had hit, you would have been stuck here a lot longer. That would be out of your control.”
“So you’re offering to return my money and let me go.” Jenna rose from the bed and eyed the door as if contemplating the noise Briar’s fingers would make when they broke. “Why are you negotiating with me instead of the factory owner speaking for herself?”
“Oh, Briar’s my sales manager now,” Su said, strolling into view. To Briar’s surprise, she held Pumpkin in her arms. Where had he come from? “She’s authorized to negotiate on the factory’s behalf.”
It was the first Briar had heard of it. She couldn’t tell if Su was offering her a job or needling Jenna. She leaned into Lincoln, hoping it was the former.
“But also,” Su continued with a smile. “I’m right here, and I’ll let you know if I don’t like something you say.”
“I’m aware,” Jenna said dryly. Su was the one person who had shot Jenna, and the slaver had developed a healthy reluctance to piss off the other woman. “Offer number one isn’t enough. My money and my life? You ruined my mission. Try again.”
“You want the Mozim power converter,” Lincoln said gravely. “If you receive it, will you go and never come back?”
“I will never come back,” Jenna said, straightening. Mighty Mighty and Pumpkin both stared at her without blinking. Briar could feel the whisper of their coercion in the back of her mind. “A solar storm couldn’t make me come back here. I’d choose to fry instead.”
“Will you send any of your patrols here or in any way cause them to seek out this planet?” Briar asked next. She ignored the flicker in the corner of her vision. The large, sturdy body of Boson Higgs had appeared just out of Jenna’s sight, and he, too, was staring through the wall as if he could see the woman in the cell.
“I would like to,” Jenna said. “But I… I don’t know.”
On the other side of the hallway, three white kittens appeared. The urge to leave this place and never return became so intense that Briar had to bury her fingers in Mighty’s fur to keep herself in place. The push wasn’t directed at her, but with all these cats focused on the same goal, she could feel it as clearly as the rumble of Mighty’s purr against her fingertips.
“You can keep the money,” Su said. “We don’t want slaver money.”
“So I’ll get the piece, my life…and the money?” Jenna’s eyebrows arched so high it erased the laugh lines around her grey eyes. “I’d call that a deal that’s too good to be true. What’s the catch?”
Jenna Banu might some day hear about the ship rat invasion that had happened at Tank Union HQ. She might hear that a person calling herself Jenna Banu had been present, and that Jenna Banu had had a black cat with her. She might hear that one of the directors of Tank Union had been imprisoned while another had shown up in a body bag, courtesy of a mota picker from the Mire.
And she might not.
“The catch is you can’t come back here,” Lincoln said simply. “And you can’t send your people back here. This becomes a no-fly never-fly zone for Selectstar. Just go away and leave us alone.”
“I can do that,” Jenna said in a weak voice.
Su lifted her wrist. “Bring the piece.”
Hoff opened a nearby door and sauntered toward them with a Mozim power converter in his big hand. The piece looked exactly like the one that had been stolen from Steven’s safe, but it wasn’t.
It was from the Catamaran. And it would only support another cryopod system long enough to convince whoever installed it that no trickery had happened on Trash Planet. An old piece. An old ship. No one would be at fault.
“Is that…” Jenna’s eyes widened. “You’re actually going to do it. Do you even realize how much you could get for that?”
Su unlocked the mesh door and opened it. Boson Higgs and the kittens disappeared. “We will get our peace and quiet for it. That’s more valuable than any other shit in the universe.”
“And we’ll never see your face again,” Lincoln said with his chin lowered. “Because I have changed, Jenna Banu. I have found a home I never expected. A life I never thought I deserved. And if I see you again, I will know why you’re here and I will kill you.”
“No, I will,” Briar said, nudging him with her shoulder.
Su grinned, and Pumpkin gave a satisfied little meow. “Not if I see her first.”
Jenna’s gaze shifted between all of them, and for the first time, clear-cut uncertainty washed over her features. “I think you would.”
Hoff shoved the Mozim power converter at her with all three of his hands. “Take this and fuck off.”
Mighty squirmed around in Lincoln’s arms until he was facing Jenna two meters away. “Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” he said so deep in his chest that it thrummed through Briar like thunder. Su was so startled she dropped Pumpkin, and Hoff gasped.
This is my place. My people. My world. You will depart from here and never return, Mighty roared in Briar’s head, and for all she knew, in everyone’s head. Because I also will kill you if I see you again.
Jenna Banu accepted the gift of her life, her nine hundred thousand DICs, and the Mozim power converter and fled Trash Planet as if the cats of hell were on her heels. And to this day, she has never been seen there again.
About the Author
Jody Wallace grew up in the South in a very rural area. She went to school a long time and ended up with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. Her resume includes college English instructor, technical documents editor, market analyst, web designer, and general, all around pain in the butt. She resides in Tennessee wit
h one husband, two children, four cats, one dragon, and a lot of junk.
* * *
To discover other books by Ms. Wallace, visit her website at http://www.jodywallace.com
* * *
Ms. Wallace’s newsletter:
http://mad.ly/signups/104974/join
SNEAK PEEK - Catalyst By Jody Wallace
Cat Ship Series Book 1
* * *
The low, flat mech-dolly let out a suspicious clank as it followed Sulari Abfall up the ramp that led into the unplumbed depths of the waste management stellarship from Gizem Station. The stench of oils, metals, and organic rubbish bloomed out of the cavernous bay doors. With great restraint, Su did not break into an excited jig at being first to enter, with the fifteen minute head start she’d won at last night’s pikka game.
Such behavior would be in poor taste. Even for a garbage picker.
The cold, ever-present wind in this district of Trash Planet whipped several strands of her hair free of the band of the protective goggles. As she shoved up her hood, she caught the glares of the other pickers, arms crossed, carts, dollies and assorted equipment idling behind them.
Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to bag and tag the best loot with no interference, no wheeling and dealing, and no fistfights. You had to go in alone—but it was always, always worth it.
“Halt for inspection.” The Pish Incorporated goons flanking the cargo bay waved her to a stop. She directed the dolly to idle while they sent drones underneath, tiny beeping robotics that looked like they may have been the work of a refurber here on Trash Planet themselves.
Hells, that probably meant they worked better than new.
“Arms,” directed the larger of the two goons. Su raised her hands out to her sides while he wanded up and down her body in search of weapons. He had the kind of scanner that penetrated the protective fabric of her coveralls. The drone exited the undercarriage of the dolly and shot up to scan the flattened crunch crates lashed to the top.
Guns weren’t allowed in waste ships or scrap piles after that explosion at Hazard Port. The pickers of Trash Planet didn’t agree on much, but none of them wanted to die in a chem fire that blazed for eighteen days and nights, untouched by the storms. Hadn’t been a Pish ship, but inspections on the way in and out were now routine with all the big companies.
“You’re not a very big one,” the goon commented. “How you gonna pick up any scrap?”
Su lifted her goggles to her forehead and enjoyed his flinch the moment he noticed her scar. “Stronger than I look,” she said. Which was true. Her job included heavy lifting. “Meaner, too. Tell him, Bart.”
“She’s plenty mean,” said the other guy, a Pish guard she’d gotten to know over the years. The big goon’s wand beeped at her knee, and he frowned, adjusting the knob.
“It’s metal,” she said. “You don’t wanna see those scars, too, do you?”
“Musta hurt,” he grunted, starting up her other leg. The rest of her was all flesh and bone and a damn bunch of hair, and he wouldn’t find anything illegal.
At least not that he would recognize as illegal.
“Any other implants I should know about?” The wand reached her head, and again his gaze fixated on the scar bisecting her cheek. “You mighta needed more mending after that, and I don’t want to false positive you.”
The second drone whizzed out from under her dolly, green lights flashing.
“I’m clean. So’s my dolly. And you’re wasting my fifteen,” she complained, though her head start hadn’t officially begun yet. “I got dumpsters to dive.”
“She’s safe,” Bart encouraged. “It’s a big deal, when they get to go first. Sorry, Abfall, he’s new here.”
Come find treasure, whispered a voice in her head, the embodiment of her own excitement, no doubt.
The new goon shrugged. “I’m done. Good hunting.”
Yeah, he’d better wish her good hunting. If the trash wasn’t quality, their union, Bristler, wouldn’t contract with Pish, and he’d be out of a job. Not all garbage ended up on Trash Planet. They had their standards.
She thumbed her chin in a rather insolent thanks and turned her attention to the other pickers. Hundreds of them, slavering for junk, and all watching her. Garza, the union president, lifted his wrist and tapped his chrono, his giant beard bristling with annoyance.
She could take a hint. She gave them the traditional one finger salute, and the countdown clock started.
“Goat, increase speed by three.” The mech-dolly responded to her voice with another ominous clank and zoomed up the ramp, into the loading bay. She hopped on the top of her crate stack, grabbed a corner pole, and abstained from spinning around it like a dancer hoping for big bills.
No jigs, no spins, no rubbing it in. She was all about being classy in her victory.
Because today’s treasure trove should bring her mega money. First shot always did. She’d likely earn all the credits she needed to upgrade the Moll, her small intraplanetery scow, into a stellarship capable of towing. Then she could scavenge trash on other planets and space stations on her own and not have to share.
The waste management company for today’s delivery, Pish Incorporated, along with others, contracted with various picker unions on Trash Planet to deliver the waste and scraps from other parts of the Obsidian Rim here. Not just as a dump site. The hardy entrepreneurial spirit that had enabled humanity’s survival during the deadly Oblivion War up until present day, over 1600 years later, also enabled them to create treasure from trash. Recycling, converting, refabricating, scraphacking, rewiring, composting, you name it, someone on Trash Planet did it, with what the rest of the galaxy considered garbage.
In the end, everyone profited. Recycling required specialized machinery, time, and training, and for some it was cheaper to send it off. According to the contracts the waste management companies signed, they had to allow pickers to comb their ships before they added their mess to one of the massive scrap heaps in less habitable areas of the planet. The sorta-livable equatorial band was divided in districts, and everything outside that was a frigid wasteland.
Now that Su was inside the ship, she really picked up the pace. Fourteen minutes left. Ish. She and her employees had a rep for snagging super gloss items, bartering for what she wanted from other pickers for a minimum of digital intergalactic credits, and nobody had been happy that she’d won first look.
Since Pish employed guards, they’d probably give her the full fifteen. Today she’d focus on rarer barterables because they were easier to snatch. She’d scoop up her specialty items during the later phases when she could bring helps. Some of the things she refurbished were pretty big.
Su hung tight to the corner pole as the mech-dolly sped along the immense cargo bay to the lifts in the midsection. Ship rats ran squeaking out of her path. Since they were alive, they’d either broken in during the night or life support had been maintained in the bays during the trip to Trash Planet.
Interesting. Since when did rubbish need life support?
Overhead lights cast enough of a glow that she didn’t need her lamp. Su activated her goggles to detect any radiation and hazardous waste. She wasn’t equipped for hazmat, though sometimes she refurbished the containers. Those had significant resale value to Hazer Union and other places.
She also resisted the lure of the huge plastene bins stacked along the bottom bay walls. Someone else could hit those. Probably organics, from the smell of it. Hence the rats, which could have been loaded along with the organics back on Gizem.
Nope, what Su wanted was the high-end shit. The household waste. Yeah. Pish didn’t collect peon litter. They ran jobs for royals and high rollers and all of those jazz hands. People who threw out perfectly good stuff.
Finally she reached the elevators. “Goat. Slow.”
Pish cargo ships were long and bulky and rarely had side corridors. But they did have multiple floors.
And Su went straight for the next to top floor. Alway
s the best. Always. Most said top, but too many other pickers would go for the top, and she’d have to fight or, worse, pay her way out.
And she had a feeling about today. A feeling that she was about to hit the legendary Gizem Station jackpot.
The wide industrial lift jittered upward through the levels of the ship, coming to a grinding halt at her chosen floor.
“Goat, reverse.” The dolly bumped across the uneven gap into the dimly lit bay. Heaps of rubbish, not confined to orderly bins, loomed along each wall. She smacked a perimeter beacon on the threshold, which would alert her the minute anything joined her on this floor. “Goat, swivel.”
The dolly pivoted—and clanked. Something pinged on the scuffed metal floor.
Su looked down right as one of the wheels rolled into the bay all by itself. The dolly’s go-light began to beep red, and it canted slightly toward that corner. “Well, shitballs.”
At least she knew what that clanking was all about. Each corner had two wheels, not including the spinners in the center, but the loss of one meant the dolly would support less cargo.
On her first ever head start. How could this be happening? If somebody had snuck onto the factory grounds last night and tinkered with her dollies…
Hurry up.
Yeah, her inner voice was right. No time for worrying. Sabotage didn’t matter when the clock was ticking. She checked her chrono. Twelve minutes. She darted ahead, grabbed the broken wheel, and tossed it onto the cart. “Come on, Goat.”
The dolly hurried after her with a whine as the axles adjusted to the lack of wheel. Open containers, closed containers, compacted trash, heaps and mounds of whatever—all the various forms of rubbish were tossed everywhere with barely enough room to navigate the center aisle.
Su cracked her knuckles, donned her protective gloves, and dove into a likely heap about halfway down the bay. The levels of the ship were loaded from the back by giant haulers, so the bays had to be wide and high to incorporate them. Since this was a union-friendly ship, part of the contract required Pish to leave a center aisle navigable. Otherwise you might as well be picking a planetside heap, and that required different gear and more time.