by B. V. Larson
Zaxby carried a geodesic sphere of dull metal over to a room-sized, box-like cargo module, the kind that could be filled with anything, moved by loaders and stacked easily. He opened its access door and placed the thing inside. “Ready.”
“I must fission now. When next you see me, we will be two. There is no sorrow in this, only joy.” Roentgen raised a limb and moved to enter the module.
Straker raised his younger hand in response.
Zaxby shut the door on the Thorian, and then stripped off his gloves and dropped them into a decontaminator, replacing them with thinner, finer ones. He began reassembling the warhead, now without its atomic core. “You may approach. The cargo module is lined with shielding.”
Straker walked slowly over. “Isn’t this area contaminated?”
“Mildly. Your biotech will keep you safe. Our biotech, I should say, since I also carry the Ruxin version of the Breaker Bug, of course. I confess, your sister excels in this single area of expertise—biotech, that is.”
“How nice of you to admit it.”
Zaxby focused two eyes on Straker. “My niceness knows no bounds. Also my humility.”
Straker glanced at the module. “I presume he has everything he needs in there?”
“Of course. The uranium, and sixty kilos of other materials approximating the soil of the Thorian homeworld. Roentgen will first ingest much of that. His body will process it and divide, resulting in two Roentgens, in about two hours. By that time I will have moved the module to one of the aft cargo airlocks, where both will emerge. The Roentgen to stay will be in his suit, while the one to go will be naked—the usual state of Thorians in their own environment, I might add. He will simply leap into space astern and be left behind, floating, for the vortex to pick up within seconds.”
“I can’t imagine... ”
Zaxby laid a tentacle on Straker’s shoulder, an unusual gesture for him. “I disagree. I think you can imagine—the isolation, the risk, the alienation—and that’s what bothers you. Look on the bright side. He may survive. If I were able to fission and guarantee the continuance of at least one Zaxby, I would be happy to do the same.”
“Maybe I would too.”
“You already did, with the golem.” The tentacle left his shoulder. “I suggest you leave me to my work, Derek Straker. Go have an alcoholic drink with a comrade. That’s the usual human response to emotional overload, isn’t it?”
“One of the healthier ones. Good idea. Comlink me when it’s time to... ”
“To say farewell?” Zaxby asked. “I will.”
“Thanks, Zaxby. I probably don’t tell you this enough, but... you’re a good friend too.”
“Undoubtedly I am, and you’re fortunate to have me.”
“Oh, shut the hell up.” Straker left the laboratory, surprised at how unsteady he felt. It must be the effect of the fusion, creating a strange, unique intimacy he struggled to process. His feet turned toward the wardroom rather than his office, as if of their own accord. Both places had ample bars, with access to all the mild drugs the Breakers allowed aboard—alcohol, intoxicating plant derivatives, nicotine and its variants, combinations of relatively safe designer stims—but he found he wanted company.
At least, he didn’t want to be alone.
He spotted Tomlinson with a whiskey bottle and a shot glass. After grabbing a beer, he took a seat across from the helmsman. When the man looked up, Straker knocked his bottle against the other’s. “Woman troubles?”
The lieutenant snorted derisively, clearly quite drunk already. He’d need one of Mara’s patented hangover cures on his next watch. “Woman... captain... oh mercy, mercy me,” he mumbled.
Perhaps it was Straker’s raw emotional state, but in a flash of insight, he recognized the young man’s dilemma. “Mercy indeed. She’s quite a woman, isn’t she?”
Something like horror belatedly came over Tomlinson’s bleary face. “Oh my God, sir, I—I—please don’t say anything.”
“You think she doesn’t know already?”
“Holy shit. You think she does?”
“I think she’s an exceptional captain and a smart woman, so it wouldn’t surprise me. You know... ” Straker rotated his bottle idly in the wet rings on the table. “I fell in love with my boss too, as a young man. My first crush, my first and last love, with all the insanity and intensity that goes with it.”
“What happened?”
“I married her. Eventually. It was Carla—Admiral Engels—of course. When I first met her, she was an upperclassman at Academy and I was a new fourthie under her cadet command. Later, we worked together. I was Assault Captain Straker, mechsuiter, and she was the lieutenant who flew my dropship. She outranked me too, by the way—remember, a full lieutenant in the Fleet was the same as a ground force assault-captain.”
“So how did you handle it?”
Straker chuckled. “Badly. But my crush mellowed out to respect and comradeship... and came back around to love, I guess. It worked out, as you know.”
“I don’t think I have that kind of patience... and when she looks at me that way—like I disappointed her—it’s a dagger in my guts.”
“I know. But I think you did fine today. You stood up for what you believed, expressed your best assessment. She’ll respect you more for that than for simple compliance. Within the bounds of military discipline, dissent is good. Once you get comfortable with that concept and realize disagreement doesn’t mean opposition or betrayal, you’ll be a better officer—and a better man.”
“So you don’t think she hates me now?”
“No. The most important thing you can do, young lieutenant, is to be the best man and the best officer you can. You can’t make her interested in you, even if it was proper on this mission—which it isn’t. The boss can’t have affairs with those under her command. That’d be perceived as favoritism, which is a guaranteed discipline-wrecker. The smartest thing you can do is to be a man she’d want to be with. After we’re home, you can be reassigned to another ship. Then you can express your interest freely.”
Tomlinson poured himself another shot and stared at it, and then up at Straker. “I shouldn’t drink this.” He seemed to be asking permission.
Straker refused to give it. “That’s on you, kid. You make your choices, and you accept the headaches. That’s life.” He drained his beer, stood, and set down the bottle with a clunk. “You got a friend around? Some comrades, some buddies?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes sir.”
“Then here’s my only order. Never drink alone.”
“Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” Tomlinson stood as well, grabbed his bottle and his glass, and wobbled across the wardroom to a table-full of junior officers, laughing and joking.
“Now who can the commanding general drink with?” Straker said to himself. “Can’t even follow my own gods-damned advice.”
He returned to his quarters and tried not to worry about Carla. He checked his messages, and found that at least his children were doing fine back on Utopia.
Still, he missed his wife the most.
Chapter 16
Mechrono-7, tree city of The Living.
The Devil damn all men to Hell, Chiara Jilani thought as she stomped across the green toward the only repair hangar in the spaceport. Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em.
Well, now and then she could.
And had.
They were irritating. Hardly worth the trouble. Why couldn’t they be more like women?
Unfortunately, she just couldn’t stay away from them. They got under her skin.
Loco did, anyway.
She noticed two ratlings and one spider watching her. The rats did it routinely, no doubt reporting to their inevitable crimorg. The spider was more obvious, and focused on her ship alone. She had no doubt the Arattak had been working with the Korveni crimorg, and she’d done them many injuries over the years, so she wasn’t surprised they watched her when they could. Cassiel was a distinctive ship, an old but s
tylish Proton Industries 510, commonly called a Five-Ten.
Maybe she should get a new one, a bigger, better ship, now that she was finally accumulating some wealth. The two million credits-worth of Erbaccia extract Loco’d persuaded Keller to part with was for the job, mostly—after all, her own people had worked hard for it—but the hundred-fifty kilos of rhodium they’d scored was hers by right, she figured, and that was worth millions. She hadn’t had that much money in years. Hooking up with the Breakers and getting home to Paradiso made it possible for her to stop running from everything, and maybe start moving toward something good.
If she could figure out what that something good was.
Of course, a new ship would cost at least ten mil, more like twenty if she got a Proton 750 like she really wanted. Might even cost thirty mil, with all the mods. She could get a lot for thirty mil. A real hot-water shower-bath module, for one thing.
A girl could dream.
For now, though, she’d be happy to get Cassie’s wing fixed.
Once she made a deal with the repair shop, using Breaker money of course, she walked toward the Halfer ghetto. Well, maybe ghetto was too strong a term, but only marginally. The jumble of two-or-three-story buildings looked like an odd slapdash village of prefabs in the middle of the strange parklike city. The narrow streets were muddy, the natural grass worn through to the underlying soil, and unpaved. Some had gravel laid down, but most were filthy, and she kept to the edges, hands on her weapons and wishing she had one of the badgers watching her back. She itched for a hit of Erb, but sternly reproved her craving. Not now. Have to keep the dose low. Keep it under control, girl.
Her needler came out as a female ratling with a tawny face stepped out of an alley and gestured toward her.
She approached warily.
“You are Jilani, yes?”
“Captain Jilani.”
“As you say,” the rat bowed. “I am Sliiki. I was told you would pay for certain… information.”
“Who told you this?”
“Fiss. He is my littermate.”
“Go on.”
“Not here. Follow me.”
Chiara followed warily, needler still in hand, her other fist grasping a flash-bang with a two-second deadman trigger. Sliiki led her to a low, narrow door and then into a warren of tunnels barely large enough for a human to pass.
“That’s far enough.”
Sliiki turned and gestured into a small side chamber with two stools and a small table, lit by a single bare permalight glued to the ceiling. “Here.”
Inside, Chiara squatted on a stool, holstering the needler but keeping the flash-bang unobtrusively ready. “Okay, what’s your info?”
“I have information on the location of those you seek.”
“Male or female?”
“Both.”
“I see—tell me about the males first.”
“My best information says they are indentured at an Arattak mine outside of the Living’s influence. Their recovery will be difficult especially without the remainder of the details. Details that came at great expense to me…
“Well lucky for us, we already found and rescued the males.”
Sliiki covered her eyes with her delicate hands. “Oh, woe, woe, to have worked so hard to find both! Now you would cheat me on one of the potential transactions?”
Chiara snorted. “Tough luck. Where are the females?”
“For that, you must pay in advance.”
“Five hundred.”
“No… Five thousand.”
Chiara squinted at the creature suspiciously. “How detailed is your information?”
“Location, owners, and a route. Unfortunately, nothing on the defenses. I would offer it if I had it.”
“One thousand.”
“Four,” the rat girl said firmly.
“Two would be very difficult for me,” Chiara answered with equal finality.
The ratling sighed. “Shall we say three and it’s a bargain?”
“Let’s say two and a half.”
The rat thought about it for several seconds. Her eyes shifted from side to side, obviously attempting to come up with a way to force the price higher. At last, she breathed deeply. “Agreed.”
“I want hardcopy, in Earthan, and softcopy with none of your usual malware in it. My system can clear it, but it’s always a pain in the ass with you people.”
“You people? You insult our noble race?”
“Let’s just say I’ve never been wrong about your tendencies.”
Sliiki took out a packet and laid it on the tiny table. “And you humanoids are so moral? At least we Rodentia are not over-fond of genocide and war—and we do not abuse Contractors.”
“Nobody’s all bad—not even you people. Not even the Korven, though they come close.”
Sliiki shivered and bowed convulsively—as Contractors often were forced to. Then she held up her head high, defiantly. “I will not be stereotyped that way.”
Chiara jerked in surprise at the ratling’s slip. “You’re... ”
“I am an escaped Contractor—as are many of us. You might also turn to crime if the Conglomerate used its Regulations to oppress you for life. That’s why I want to deal fairly with you. You have a saying, yes? Honor among thieves.”
Her eyes narrowed again in suspicion. Rats were endlessly clever. Misrepresenting their background in order to gain a mark’s trust or get a discount wouldn’t be surprising. “Prove it.”
Sliiki reached beneath her tunic to extract a heavy pendant. She kissed it, removed it, and placed it on the table between them. “I swear on my Family Stone that I will treat you as a littermate, Chiara Francesca Jilani.”
“How do you know my full name?”
“Our sources of information are extensive. I know you recently distanced yourself from the Yellow Foot Mob. We would like to form a relationship with you.”
“Who, exactly?”
“We are the Daughters of Resistance. We seek the abolishment of all Contracts...by force if necessary. We know you’ve worked against the worst crimorgs before. You should be on our side.” Sliiki inclined her pointed head and twitched her whiskers. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“If this is some scam or con...”
“It is not.”
Chiara let out a long breath. “Fine. We’ve agreed on a price. Let me see the information.”
“And the money?”
“I’m your littermate now, right? Do me the favor of letting me see it first.”
Sliiki slid the packet across. “Remember, favors go both ways.”
“We’ll see.” Chiara stashed the flash-bang, opened the packet and found a data stick and hardcopy. As she examined the hardcopy, her eyebrows rose. “I’m impressed.”
“The Arattak are not the best at intrusion countermeasures. We hacked their cruiser in orbit and downloaded all its data drives.”
Chiara reached into an inner pocket and extracted three kilo-credit currency wafers by fingertip feel alone and dropped them next to the pendant. “Three thousand. Quantum-locked, universal Conglomerate. Keep the change.”
“Many thanks.”
“But we’re even now. I don’t owe you any favors, got it?”
“Understood,” the ratling said. “But understand also, we are sincere. The Daughters could be of great help to you.”
“I don’t like to become entangled... at least with more than one organization at a time.”
“Ah. You became involved with something since your extraction from Yellow Foot?”
“Always fishing for information, huh?”
“It’s our stock-in-trade. We must fund our resistance activities, after all. It also helps avoid misunderstandings.”
Chiara eyed the ratling. “I’m with the Breakers now.”
Sliiki nodded. “Straker’s Breakers, the mercenaries who destroyed the Korveni.”
“Yeah.”
The ratling lowered her eyes. “I know them.”
/> “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing negative, I assure you. We are happy to see scum like the Korveni wiped from the galaxy. Will the Breakers be opposing any other notable crimorgs?”
“Do the Arattak and Korven militaries count?”
“Only as high as twelve, I’m told.” Sliiki wheezed a chuckle at her own obscure joke. “The Breakers oppose the Axis of Predators?”
“Is that what they’re calling themselves?”
“You want more information from me?”
Chiara sighed. “All right. Let’s quit adding up credits and talk like... associates, at least. If that means I end up owing you a favor, so be it. But my first loyalty is to the Breakers.”
“Of course.”
“So tell me about this Axis of Predators.”
“It began as a rumor, but the Daughters believe there is truth in it. The Arattak, the Korven, the Dicon, the Crocs and the Vulps have formed an association. In the case of the Arattak and Korven, it has become a close alliance. With the others, it is in the nature of a nonaggression pact—an agreement to stay out of each others’ way, exchange information, sometimes combine operations. However, we expect their association to grow bolder with each success.”
“Why do you care?”
“We Rodentia are an underclass. We know this. It’s due to our resemblance to various pest species, especially those which developed on Old Earth, though we are genetically unrelated. It is convergent evolution that gave us this unfortunate appearance.” Sliiki ran her hands over her face and whiskers as if grooming. “Now, they call us rats with a sneer, and we are forced to live in the least desirable places, taking the dirtiest jobs. Is it surprising we turn to crime?”
Chiara snorted. “Poor me, society made me what I am. Seems like a half-truth to me.”
“A half-truth is still half true. Yet, the Daughters seek to be better than our circumstances—or our species’ tendencies. Isn’t that what good humans wish to do?”
Chiara shifted uncomfortably. “I’m struggling here, wanting to believe you. Against that I have long experience with you rats—sorry, Rodentia—trying to con me, steal from me, cheat me.”
Sliiki placed one fine-fingered paw atop Chiara’s callused, short-nailed hand. “Not this time.”