by Cary Caffrey
"Fuck," Bins said, his mouth hanging open.
"You've still got one round in that chamber. I suggest you don't miss."
Bins turned and fired again. He was only a meter from her, but it might as well have been a hundred. Sigrid was already rolling under him, tumbling and coming up at his rear. She put her foot firmly against his backside, kicking him forward. Bins stumbled, somehow keeping to his feet.
He whirled back to face her, only to find Sigrid waiting for him with her arms folded. He was still roaring mumbled curses, but his rage was turning to confusion and panic. His hands were shaking as he fumbled in his pockets, pulling out handfuls of shotgun shells. He dropped most of them on the ground at his feet and had to bend over to pick them up.
"I'm waiting," Sigrid said, tapping an impatient foot, then mimed looking at a wristwatch. "You're not going to make it."
Spittle flew from Bins's mouth. "What the fuck are you?"
"Who, me?" Sigrid was moving slowly toward him. "Just a girl, Mr. Bins. But one who's having a really bad day."
Furious now, Bins stuffed in two more shells and slapped the shotgun closed with a loud clack.
For Sigrid, this was like a training exercise. The jacker's movements were slow and predictable; she sensed his fury and frustration as much as his intention to shred her into bloody bits. He never thought to lead his target, always firing where she had been and a fraction of a second too late. He fired both barrels, one after another, but it was like firing at a ghost, and neither shot came close.
Furious, he cast the gun aside and charged her. She saw the manic look in his eyes and his hands that reached for her like claws, ready to rend her flesh.
Sigrid let him come. She waited until the last moment before moving. Bins would never see the blow; neither would Jaffer, who was watching only a few meters away. Planting her back foot, she raised her outstretched palm and let Bins run into her. The straight-arm blow landed firmly at the base of his jaw. It hit with a resounding crack and lifted him clean off his feet. Bins sailed a good two meters back through the air to land hard on his backside.
Sigrid walked toward him. Clearly, this jacker was made of sterner stuff. His teeth were red with blood, but he was still conscious. He sat there stunned, struggling for breath. He gave his head a shake, trying to clear away the fog. The shotgun lay on the ground at his side, only inches from his fingers.
Calmly, almost gently, Sigrid nudged him back down as she came to kneel over him, straddling him and kneeling on his arms.
Bins looked groggily up. "You! I-I know you."
"I very much doubt that, Mr. Bins."
"You, you're the—" He coughed, choking out blood and several teeth, and his last words came out garbled. "—the, numph-itch."
"Mr. Bins, did you just call me a bitch? I sincerely hope not."
She didn't give him the chance to answer. The last thing Bins saw was her fist closing on his face.
"Jesus!" Jaffer said. He lifted his cap and drew his hand down his face, wiping away the sweat. "Sigrid, how did you…? I mean, what did you…?"
"Self-defense classes," Sigrid said offhandedly. "A girl can't be too careful."
"Well, I suppose… Dammit, Sigrid, those are dangerous people!"
Sigrid glanced down at the slumbering bodies of the jackers. Bins appeared to be snoring. "They don't look very dangerous."
"I know! But really. They're not all… I mean, are they—?"
"Dead? No, they'll live. And I think you can put your hands down now."
"Yeah, sure." Jaffer nodded, though his hands remained up.
Grabbing Bins by the ankles, she dragged him from the road to where the other jackers lay and started gathering up their weapons: four long serrated blades, three shotguns and one long-barreled hunting rifle. She tossed them through the open door of the truck. Tucked into Bins's belt was a heavy-caliber recoilless. It only fired 12 mm slugs, but it would do.
"Careful with that," Jaffer cautioned. "Those things can be tricky dangerous."
Sigrid promptly cleared the chamber and pulled out the magazine to take stock of the ordnance before slapping it back in.
"It's all right. I had one like this when I was little."
"Little? Where on Earth did you grow up? Wait. Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."
It was good to have a weapon again. She'd rather go without clothes than not have a good sidearm. And speaking of clothing…
Sigrid glanced down at the female jacker, tapping her chin. The woman couldn't be much larger than herself. Taller, perhaps, but she was rather on the thin side: all bones and fewer curves. Getting into the black leather pants proved a bit of a trial, but they fit all right, at least once she'd rolled up the cuffs and stuffed them into the tall riding boots. The plastic tank top fit a little more snugly across her bosom than she liked, and it was clearly designed to showcase the woman's impressive set of inkings rather than to conceal for modesty's sake.
Suko would definitely approve.
Sigrid was glad for the bandana; she used that to tie her mop of frazzled hair away from her head. But she was gladder for the armaments the woman carried. Her bowie knife and hideout pistol, along with Bins's recoilless, all fit perfectly in the weapons belt and holster she fastened around her waist and thigh.
When she threw the mid-calf-length riding jacket over her shoulders, Jaffer gave an appreciative whistle.
"You could pass for an honest to goodness jacker."
"Thank you," Sigrid said. Then she added, "I think."
"Here." Jaffer tossed a thick roll of black sealing tape to Sigrid, who caught it one-handed. She didn't need to ask what it was for. The jackers were starting to shift and moan. They would wake soon, and they were certain to be in a foul mood. Using the tape, she set to binding their legs and ankles, though not before Jaffer had stripped Bins and the others of their clothing as well, tossing each article into the ravine. Jaffer seemed to take great pleasure in it, and when it was done, he stood triumphantly over them, his hands squarely on his hips, snickering all the while.
"They'll be none too happy when they awake," Sigrid said.
"Serves 'em right. They'd have done the same to us. Or worse. Come on. Help me with this," Jaffer said as he bent to the task of clearing the chains from the road.
Changing the two mammoth front wheels took longer. It would have been impossible without Jack. "Jack" was the rig's semiautonomous lift-jack. Voice-controlled, it stood nearly as tall as Sigrid and looked like some eight-legged beast out of a clockwork nightmare. She learned quickly to stay out of its lurching path as it worked to strip and apply fresh rubber to the rig's shredded wheels.
Even with the auto-jack, it was backbreaking, sweaty work, but they had fresh rubber in place within the hour. The entire time they worked, Sigrid was very aware of the odd sideways glances Jaffer kept shooting her. Especially when she hoisted and mounted the massive lug nuts back in place. The nuts were two feet in diameter and weighed more than forty kilos, but Sigrid lifted and placed them effortlessly.
When she caught Jaffer staring, she mimed a few quick clean-and-jerks. "I work out."
"Right. All part of your, er, self-defense classes?"
"Mm." Sigrid nodded. "I had a very good instructor."
"Yeah, I can see that."
Lastly, the longspurs were rolled into the ravine. She couldn't risk having them come after them, and they'd delayed here long enough. Bins was fully awake now, and his eyes were wild with fury. He thrashed against his bonds as, one after another, Jaffer and Sigrid sent the sleek longspurs crashing down the cliff side.
Though she stopped before sending the last one over. This one belonged to Bins. She could tell, because someone had scratched the word Bins into the gleaming red metal of the thruster fairing. It was a beautiful machine, powerful and sleek. The power plant had been upgraded, and the front forks had been extended, setting the forward repulsor far out to the front.
Sigrid ran her hand over the sweeping
curve of the fuel cell. "Oh, I'll be keeping you."
"Stealing his ride?" Jaffer said, grinning. "I don't think Bins approves. Look, you can see the veins twitching on the side of his face."
"It's not stealing. Consider it compensation—for all our lost time. A fair trade, wouldn't you say, Mr. Bins? There, he approves!"
Jaffer snickered. "Come on, you can load it in the back."
With Bins's longspur stowed, Sigrid climbed the ladder back aboard. As she entered the cab she found Jaffer sitting, not in the driver's seat, but in the passenger seat. Grinning, he tossed her the rig's key, which she caught one-handed.
"You want me to drive?"
"I thought we could trade off—get more ground covered with the two of us taking turns. Make up for lost time."
Sigrid studied him dubiously. He was looking far too pleased with himself for his own good. "And what exactly makes you think I can handle a rig like this?"
The Cheshire grin widened further. "Oh, let's just say I'm starting to suspect there's not much you can't handle. Call it a hunch."
A hunch?
It wasn't a stretch to wonder what that hunch might be. Ever since leaving Alcyone, she'd become keenly aware that she wasn't like other girls. She saw the way people looked at her: uncertain, curious, frightened. They might not know what she was, but there was no disguising the fact that she wasn't normal.
Looking at Jaffer, she could tell he was already starting to suspect something was off. But rather than feelings of anxiousness or awe, Sigrid sensed only intrigue in him, an innocent if boyish curiosity. He'd already seen her dispatch Bins and his merry band of bandits, hadn't he? There seemed little point in hiding her talents. Besides, she was growing to like the big trucker.
Narrowing her eyes at him, Sigrid grasped the controls. Her PCM found the rig's schematics buried in one of her databases and fed them to her. She didn't even bother to look at the controls. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Jaffer, one of her eyebrows cocked, as she flipped on the actuating switches in quick succession as if this was something she'd done a thousand times before. One after another, she brought each of the systems back online. The reactor hummed at a perfect resonance as she fed power into the drive engines. Her final button press brought the rig's transmission from its fully automated setting back to manual, allowing for more tactile input. Sigrid stomped on the massive clutch and threw the rig into gear with a flourish.
Chuckling, Jaffer sat back and pulled his cap down low over his eyes. "Now, if it's all right with you, I'm going to catch some zzz's. Wake me when we get there."
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Crossroads
Driving Jaffer's rig wasn't like anything Sigrid had driven before. It was big, it was heavy, and the fourteen trailing intermodal containers seemed to have a mind of their own, constantly weaving behind her and threatening to pull the entire train into the ditch or oncoming traffic. Her PCM fed her constant updates, warning her if one of the trailing carriers was struggling for grip or losing brake pressure.
It was taxing, but she was loving every minute of it.
Within minutes, she had the train well up to speed, barreling along at a steady 180 kph, with Jaffer snoring soundly at her side.
The highway split here. A faded green sign showed an arrow pointing to the right along with the words "Buenos Aires, 450 km." The sign was overgrown with ivy and some wag had painted what looked like a skull and crossbones across it. Sigrid ignored it, exiting instead to the left. They weren't headed for Buenos Aires anyway. They were headed for the Crossroads—home of this Consortium, whoever or whatever that was.
Stomping on the throttle, she hauled hard on the wheel, taking the cargo train into a sweeping left-hand turn. The road was narrower here and there was only one lane running in each direction. She was barreling along at 240 kph when she pulled out to pass a line of slower-moving transports. The lights of an onrushing train flashed its warning ahead of her. Rather than give way, Sigrid pulled hard on the air horn—just as she'd seen Jaffer do. Her foot never wavered from the throttle even as the two transports rushed head-on. At the last moment, the oncoming transport veered onto the shoulder to make way. The roar of the heavy cargo-carriers whipping by thundered and shook the cab—though not so loud that she didn't hear Jaffer waking to chuckle beside her.
"Something funny about my driving?"
Jaffer held up his hands in surrender. "No! Not at all. Didn't say a word. You are the master of the helm."
By now, they were nearing their destination. It wasn't marked on any of her maps, but Sigrid saw it rising from the horizon ahead. It was the Crossroads, home of the Consortium.
The way Jaffer had gone on about the place, Sigrid half-expected some gleaming city of gold and steel, but it was hardly a city at all. Rather than a sprawling metropolis of tens of millions, it looked more like a way station. Though it wasn't without its rustic charm either. Protected by its tall perimeter walls and surrounded on all sides by the open clear-cut plains, it reminded Sigrid of an old Western trading post, the kind she'd read so often about in her histories. It wasn't hard to imagine the Crossroads full of cattle barons and gamblers, all of them arriving here in search of fortunes and glory.
All of the inbound traffic was funneled in through a single main road, and Sigrid slowed to join the queue of inbound trains. Traffic ground to a halt here. Security was tight and armed soldiers were everywhere.
Sigrid spied the uniforms and colors of several respected mercenary clans. Aldus. McClaren. The Black Watch Rangers. She counted more than four dozen soldiers manning the gates alone. There was even a squad from the Dalair Military Group—the very same organization who'd tried to capture her from the Agatsuma so many years ago. Sigrid bristled as they walked past not four meters from her window.
"What's with all the heat?" she asked—though she feared she already knew the answer.
Jaffer leaned forward and his eyes narrowed as he strained for a closer look. "Don't know. I've never known the Consortium to hire mercs before. Something big must be going on."
Big indeed. "They're looking for me."
"Bah. You're paranoid. The Consortium's got more on its plate than looking for one escaped worker. I like you, kid, but you're not worth the trouble."
Clusters of sniffer-drones swarmed the columns of waiting trains. Their scanning beams flashed over the cargo carriers and crews. Of course, they could be looking for anything: contraband, explosives, narcotics. But she doubted it. She wasn't just running from the Independents. She was a wanted criminal—a criminal with a bounty on her head of over one-point-five billion!
"This was a bad idea," Sigrid said. She sat lower, and her hand drifted to the butt of the recoilless harnessed to her hip. "I shouldn't have come here."
"Be cool. We'll get through this. I promise."
One of the drones buzzed Jaffer's rig. It paused, hovering just outside her window. Scanning beams flashed over her face. Sigrid knew the routine. Her heart rate and blood pressure would be scanned. Any suspicious behavior, nervousness or agitation would be logged and reported. Sigrid remained perfectly still, doing her best to look bored. She filled her head with thoughts of not-very-exciting things like soup and knitted socks as she stared back at the drone passively.
While the drone was busy scanning her face and features, her PCM was busy feeding back a series of false signals via her communications module. As far as the sniffer-drone and its operator were concerned, she wasn't Sigrid Novak, rogue operative, she was Camila Valentina Rodriguez! Licensed operator of a commercial transport vehicle.
She wasn't worried about the drones. The drones she could fool. But all it would take was for some overeager junior officer to look up and recognize her to raise the alarm. She wasn't out of this yet.
Nothing to see here. Move along.
As if reading her mind, the drone chirped and blinked green. Whirring and sputtering, it continued on to the next rig in the line.
Sigrid let out a breath. "That wa
s close."
"I told you. They got bigger fish to fry. But ever since Procyon, nobody wants to be caught napping."
"Procyon?" Sigrid said, sitting up straighter.
"What, your corporate jailers never told you the tale of Procyon? Something to amuse you between shifts?"
"Amuse me?" There was something in Jaffer's words, something beyond sarcasm, and it set the small hairs on the back of her neck tingling. "I know what Procyon is, Jaffer. It's a CTF naval complex and quite large." Not to mention home to their top-secret weapons works—if rumor was to be believed.
"Large? Procyon wasn't large, kid. It was massive. There were over a million people there."
"I can't help but notice you keep speaking of it in the past tense."
"Past is right. It's gone."
"Gone? But how—?"
"Nobody knows. Or if they do, they're not saying. There was a reason they called it Fortress Procyon. Procyon was untouchable. A bastion. But somehow the Independents got in. They blew the whole thing sky high. Wiped out the entire facility. Shipyards. Naval base. Weapons works. Everything. The CTF is still trying to pick up the pieces. And count the dead."
"My God, the casualties must have been—"
"Nearly a quarter million. More than twenty thousand dead. I used to be in the service, you know. I had friends there. Workers. Families. Lost some good people that day."
"Jaffer, I'm so sorry."
"Why? It's not your fault. It was the Independents. They did it. Not you. Don't be sorry for things you didn't do."
…for things I didn't do.
Sigrid wondered what Jaffer might say if he knew the truth. Miranda—even Randall Gillings—had warned her about this, hadn't they? She'd tried to stop the Independents on Bellatrix. She'd tried and she'd failed. If she had stopped them, then none of this would have happened. Jaffer's friends would be alive, and she'd be home, curled up in the warm arms of her lover. But she wasn't. She was here, and Jaffer's friends were dead. And Suko was still very far away.