Angeleyes - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Roger said, “Well, I’m guessing their logic was that warships have heavier mass shields, and no civilian ship should be in this space, and if anyone requested a variance they’d be told ‘no.’”

  “So they’re on to us,” I said. I guessed we were in a space we shouldn’t be in, and ran into the space equivalent of barbed wire.

  Juan said, “They’re on to something. But they’re using a lot of delta V and mass, not to mention operation time, to do this. Unless it was a lucky leftover from something else.”

  I didn’t want to think about suffocating to death while jilling off in the shower. Totally not my play. Would we ever be found? And what would the recovery crew think, finding me like that? What if they were serious thirty-fours? Video for the mesh? Violate my frozen corpse? What if one of the chunks hit me at flight velocity? I’d be a crimson splash. And what about the engines?

  Or was I just seriously fucking scared because I’d almost died from enemy fire without even seeing them? When would we eat a nuke?

  “One at a time, tell me what you want for food,” I said.

  I couldn’t even spread mustard or mayonnaise. I was shaking to shivers.

  Jack came in and I fed him. Teresa went out to take over. A div later, Mo went out with Sebastian.

  Jack went back out. It took that long to seal the hole outside, pull an access plate, seal it from inside as well, seal the two together, seal the inner hull, and then through the dead space behind the controls in engineering.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon ruining baked trout. The butter cooked until it was sharp and they tasted like bad lobster, not good trout. No one complained.

  Shannon said, “Next we need a clean, blended repair on each.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because if it looks like a patched hole, someone may ask. If there’s more than one, they might guess.”

  “Oh, yeah.” We’d been in a combat zone and had damage. That wasn’t good for our cover.

  “Then, three pods took damage. I don’t know of a way to deal with the inside shell or the ‘tainers in flight. We’ll have to fix the outside as best we can and go from there.”

  “Will this affect our schedule?” I asked.

  “No, because changing it would be noticeable. We’ll continue through to Earth.”

  I went out with Bast to help with one of the pod repairs, handing him tools and acting as backup and company.

  I do EVA to fasten cargo trains at times, and have done some routine maintenance. This was different. There was no one anywhere nearby to rescue us if anything went wrong, I understood if we came loose we’d stay in the same orbit as Pieper, since we weren’t under boost. Still, hanging off the tether a kilometer back from the ship, which was pretty much invisible, was enough to make me clamp down and make regular use of my suit plumbing.

  The hole we dealt with was a tear rather than a punch. It was long and oblique. He cut off the ripped poly, laid a patch over it and sealed it in place, and then buffed all the edges to blend it. He used vac paint very creatively to make it look old and worn.

  “Doing okay, Angie?” he asked.

  “Best I can,” I said.

  “Yeah, I hate it, too. Let’s crank back up.”

  Cranking back up the line was straightforward. He ran the winch, we moved very slowly toward the ship. Watching the pods move past while we rotated was gut-clenching. We only had a pair of cables and strap harnesses, not a proper maintenance cage. Pieper had a small maintenance tug, but we didn’t want exhaust wash over the pod, and those things are notional anyway. They barely hold one person, two if they’re friendly, and can let you adjust a stinger or remove jammed matter from a lock.

  I was very, very glad to get inside, and take another hot shower to warm up from radiating all my heat away.

  We coursed back toward the Jump Point and queued up, as if we’d done a legitimate delivery on a slow orbit. I knew they didn’t cross-reference schedules unless they had a reason to, but eventually, we’d give them a reason to.

  CHAPTER 18

  I’ve never liked Earth, and this was a station I’d hadn’t been through since I was new to space. The station was another blown planetoid. Earth doesn’t allow that anymore, but this one was old. We unloaded the rocks and other stuff, straight into quarantine, in case vacuum-transported rock contained something harmful to the environment of a station fifteen light hours out from Earth.

  Still, our job was done. After that, we did dinner.

  I really wasn’t impressed. This was Earth, or at least Sol system, where salmon come from. It was bland and mushy. I had a seared tuna appetizer, and that was uninteresting as well.

  The server said, “It’s never as good up here. They need gravity to grow right. Down on Earth they’re fantastic.”

  Possibly. Other systems raise them in emgee with no trouble.

  Roger was definitely looking me over. I guess seeing me naked and soapy had interested him more than before. I was sure he’d be great, too, but there were so many reasons not to cross that line.

  He and Juan were in charge of contracting cargo. I ran bots to clean the hold, including moving some of the inboard cans to dust behind them. They get filthy after a few legs, even sealed and enclosed.

  One of the other things about Earth is they don’t enforce “petty” crimes against individuals. Robbery, theft, vandalism, assault and even occasional rape don’t register. Misfile your docs and short them on your docking tariff, though, and you’ll be facing a tactical team.

  We registered as Potterite Sikhs and carried “Wands” as religious artifacts. Our wands all had one-shot stun capacitors in them, that could be yanked out the back and dumped in an emergency, such as if one had just stunned some yunk who wanted a grope inside the suit. Not me, but Mira came back one night and recharged hers. She summarized the story and let it drop.

  From the news load, I guessed those capacitors carried enough juice to stun a jump point. The guy had contact burns, amnesia and cardiac arhythmia. He wasn’t out of the clinic for three days.

  I managed to avoid using mine.

  But that was the next day. The first day, after unloading and dinner, and while looking for our contracts and open lifts, was socializing.

  Juan and Teresa came to me.

  “You’re not familiar with this station, but can you go clubbing?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “As cover or for intel? I usually do if we’re not doing an immediate turnaround.”

  “Some of each.”

  I wouldn’t mind dancing, but it was going to be work this time.

  After thinking, I said, “I can. Tell me what you need or where to find the person.”

  Teresa told me, “We’re trying to get ID and access strips for any of the mil and gov side facilities.”

  I said, “Yeah, they mostly use their implanted ID chips.”

  She nodded and held up a small stick. “We can mirror those, given a few minutes, but we need those few minutes in private.”

  “Okay. Just anyone mil or gov? Or do you have specific people in mind?”

  Juan said, “Definitely the former, and if we see anyone we do have made, I can point them out. Can you link up and get them in private?”

  I said, “Depends on if I like them or not.”

  “Of course. And you don’t actually have to seduce anyone. We just need them in private for a few moments.”

  “Would it help if I did, though?” On the one hand, I didn’t want to be a tease, on the other, I didn’t want to spread for someone just to get intel. I suddenly had all kinds of moral quandaries.

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Then I will if I can.”

  I was going to get paid a lot if I survived, and I’d promised to help them get all the intel they needed. I also might get spread and stretched in the process. I decided my moral issues about taking advantage of a fuck that way had to take a pass for strategy and survival.

  I had to fi
nd clubs I’d like. One called Rockjam appeared to be all live music. I could handle that, but it wasn’t really my type of music listed.

  The Depths, though, had lots of trancy. That I could get into.

  Juan said, “They’re also near two other clubs we might get hits from.”

  “We’ll start there, then.”

  Roger was going with me, and he was already dressed with his hair staticked up, wearing a black and silver thoracier and black kilt with edge piping. Damn, he looked smoky. With a jacket draped over his shoulders, he could distract half the ladies in whatever place we went to.

  I knew some of the others came along to either overwatch or recon. Juan gave me a very simple code to find people he was interested in, which basically came down to, “Left, right, wearing this, that one.” He was sure we could get away with that without triggering alarms. It made sense. People msged like that all the time while cruising.

  I went for skintight purple with micropanties and a gelmesh bra. I wore “tumbler” earrings—gimballed stones inside three small hoops held in place with magnets. I left my hair natural but coiled it up and back.

  The Depths was near the center of the planetoid, and there was even a large chunk of leftover regolith there. They’d built the club with it in the high overhead. G in the place wasn’t above .2, just enough to keep food and drink down, and let people dance all out. I thought I’d like it.

  I moved in, found a table facing the door and looking across the rear exit through the service passageway. I tagged it as occupied and punched for a drink. I took hard lemonade. Roger sat down with me, and I got oriented with the place.

  It had a lot of potential, with the rock and the hub struts nearby, but they’d just stuck in some lights and booths around a basic tesselighted dance floor.

  They had heavy traffic because the population was high. They had a good location and didn’t waste much effort on making it special. Having seen it, I didn’t like it much.

  The music was good, but too mainstream. I recognized every mix, and all the squirming. It was like fifty other clubs I’d walked past to get to better ones.

  Roger sat across from me, distant enough to make me available. We looked around and he nodded.

  “That one.”

  I saw the guy he meant. He was part of a group of eight males and two females. He wasn’t bad looking, just not great looking. I was distracted by the guy behind him, with a killer dreadhawk and demicup.

  Back to work.

  I said, “I can try to dance with him at least.”

  I moved to the edge of the floor and started stomping, bending, waving, and moving in. You have to stomp lightly at .2 G or you hit the overhead. It was padded, because drunk dancers, especially if from ground or lux G levels, forget about the G curve.

  It didn’t take long to get to their group, and shimmy into the circle.

  Then I made a point of not making eye contact, just keeping the rhythm going. I brushed shoulders with a couple, touched hips with one, and I didn’t even check if they were male or female.

  When I looked up, I was between him and another guy. That one was better looking, but didn’t have as much character. He was all superficial. Still, I grinned and shimmied, letting cleave spill, then turned to our target, then back. I kept the two going through two long songs, and started keeping more attention on our mark.

  Once I had his attention, I motioned him to the booth, and got another drink. Lemonade, plain, sour.

  “I’m Betty,” I said, not wanting to use anything real here.

  “Carson. You move great!” he said.

  “Thanks. I just sort of get into it, you know? Feel the music, pick up the waves, zone on the people.”

  He was good, and didn’t roll his eyes, but obviously figured me for as much flake as I pretended.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of that,” he said. “I just dance.”

  That was when Roger came back.

  “Oh, hey!” he said, swishing just enough to not be any kind of a threat to Carson. “I’m Leslie.”

  “Carson. The lady here was dancing with me,” he said, indicating me and wondering if there was trouble.

  “Good to meet you. She always finds fascinating people, jig?” He knew Earth slang, even if it was more ground than hab. Still, it made him seem more local.

  “Yeah,” Carson agreed.

  “So what do you do, Carson?” I asked, and his attention was back on me.

  “I, uh, work for logistics on the gov side.”

  “Oh, cool! I said. “I’m a loader driver. Prob’ly seen a lot of your stuff.”

  While we talked, Roger slid his cupped hand near Carson’s right. Whatever device he had was in there, and he shortly slid it away again. He nodded and I saw a thumb’s up under the table. He had what he needed.

  Another song started. Blow Me Like a Whistle.

  “I love the beat!” I said loudly. “Come on!” and grabbed Carson’s hand.

  I danced another ten minutes or so, then drifted around and out of their circle. I let a bald chick pick me up, back to the booth, and had an iced green tea. I let on that I liked women at times, and I do, but she wasn’t anything like my type. I chatted a bit, Roger scanned her, and I don’t know if he had a plan or just was hoping for luck. Two songs later, Down On You started. I grabbed her hand and went back out again.

  I repeated with Carson’s friend, Alix, to show I wasn’t playing favorites.

  Socializing is hard work. It’s easier to get spread than have a conversation.

  Two hours into it, I grabbed a crab cake sausage roll. It was a bit bland meatwise, but had enough wasabi I teared up.

  There was actually a ladder up and then down across the grav center, right through that rock. I gestured to Roger, he agreed, and up we went following a line of other people. I didn’t look up his kilt. I didn’t need any distractions. There was a turnaround near the middle, crowded with bodies, and I got groped once. Some asshole. Then we climbed down the ladder, watching out for feet and heads.

  On the other side of the core mass was The Club in the Hub. The rhyme was silly, but it wasn’t bad. They had much better decor, but it was crowded and almost too loud.

  I mostly danced while Roger milled about with a drink, seeming friendly, and apparently scanned a lot of chips.

  That four hours was very, very exhausting. I was staggering as we reached the ship, and just fell into my bunk.

  I woke and got breakfast heated. Jack and Mo had gone dockside to eat at one of the dives, but most meals were aboard even in dock. I did perch and eggs, bacon and ham for the others, and some chopped greens with wheat toast. I had rice ready if anyone wanted it, but no one did.

  “This is good stuff,” Roger said. “You do well even with prepacks.”

  “It’s mostly keeping it moist and adding some seasoning,” I said. “But thanks.”

  Really, what most people don’t seem to get is the prepacks are just bases. You add toppings, seasonings, extra meat or green, and it turns into decent food instead of just edible fuel.

  Jack and Mo came back, and decided to have second breakfast, I guess. Half the crew ate a lot more than I figured. They burned it all off in metabolism and exercise.

  I was cleaning up when there was a buzz at the lock. Mo was closest, he went to look, then came back wide-eyed.

  Behind him were three UN BuSec goons in half-suit, half uniform.

  “Who is the ranking officer?”

  “I am, sir,” Juan said. “May I help you?”

  “We need to see all the crew.”

  “At once,” he turned, spoke to the board, and the speakers said, “All crew to C-deck, now.”

  Bast and Teresa came from below. Everyone else was here.

  “These are all the crew?”

  “As manifested, yes,” he said. “Same as we’ve had the last couple of years.”

  He glanced over Teresa, looked briefly at Mira, then at me. He flashed his badge again, and reached out.

  Be
fore I knew what happened, he’d swabbed me with a probe.

  Oh, shit.

  His terminal did something, and he said, “Angloyce Kaneshiro, you are under arrest. You are charged with falsifying ID, illegal immigration, trespassing, espionage, reckless endangerment by violation of quarantine, and unauthorized slidewalk transfer.”

  That made my blood freeze. They were going to arrest me. I didn’t dare say a word, because I didn’t want to risk the others.

  Juan asked, “But . . . really? You’re arresting her?”

  “These are the charges.”

  Juan gave me a look of confusion and anger.

  I looked around as the rest backed away from me. They looked surprised, horrified and I felt completely betrayed. They knew all this. They’d helped. Were they just going to let me be carted off?

  Of course they were. They had a mission, and they’d do their best without me. They were acting outraged to separate themselves from me.

  They were right, too. The war was more important than I was.

  I teared up and started weeping.

  It was so fast I couldn’t even follow it. I hadn’t seen the other two cops come in. They were big, shaven-headed, wearing lots of gear. Each one grabbed an arm and I was turned and slammed against a dolly hard enough to sting my scalp. There were buckles around my legs under my knees, arms below the elbows, waist and shoulders, cinched down until they bit.

  Then they threw the hood over me, and I thought I was being drugged. I wasn’t, it was just antiseptic in the fabric, but it was black and I couldn’t breathe without effort.

  It was terrifying. They wheeled me out, and I couldn’t tell where I was. I was helpless, and expected to be hit any moment. I was strapped down like cargo, helpless and squishy against anything. What if they tripped and dropped me on my face?

  I was ready to throw up.

  CHAPTER 19

  I couldn’t blame Juan and the others. They had a war to fight. I was a casualty, no different than if I’d been shot. Letting me go made them look more honest.

  There were locks closing behind me, I was sure. Then I was stood upright, and the chest and arm straps removed. They were pulled, blood rushed back through the flesh, and I wobbled forward because my legs were still secured.