The Girls from Alcyone 2: The Machines of Bellatrix

by Cary Caffrey

  "I didn't say. Does it matter?"

  Apparently it did, and Sigrid's question struck a nerve with the civil servant.

  "Course it matters! I got to put something in the line item here. Can't just be leaving stuff blank. Supervisor's not going to like that. Raise hell, they will. This isn't no Independent world. We got rules here. Procedure."

  Sigrid held up her hands in surrender. "All right! Okay! I'm sorry. I didn't realize. It says right on the contract, for goodness’ sake! It's wet work, then. You can put us down for that. We do wet work."

  "Wet work?" The customs man gave a long whistle. "Well now, if you'll be forgiving me, miss, you girls don't look the sort to be doing work like that. Bad stuff, that. Brings a bad lot. Dangerous. Too dangerous for nice girls like you. Better choices to be had. Lots of brokers looking for protection work. Safe work, that. I can recommend—"

  "Wet work," Sigrid said again, crossing her arms and giving him her sternest of looks. "And I assure you, we can take care of ourselves—is all that part of the questionnaire? You're not writing that down, are you?" She reached for the form, pulling at the plastic pad, but the officer snatched it away from her.

  "All right. Didn't mean to get your knickers in a knot. I'm just saying, you look young, is all. Don't mean nothing by it."

  "Then we can have our permit?"

  The officer shrugged. "I can stamp you. But it won't make no never mind if you can't pay the Guild levies. Mercenary Guild's going to want their tribute."

  Sigrid let out a long sigh. She knew there was no such thing as a Guild tribute. This was a demand for a bribe, pure and simple.

  They had come prepared for that too.

  Sigrid signaled to Suko and Leta. The two girls wheeled over the luggage carriers, three carriers holding a total of six cargo containers. This got the attention of more of the armed customs officers. The men and women strolled over, fingers on the triggers of their rifles, curious eyes peering over the beaks of their noses to get a glimpse of the unusual foreign girls and the goods they carried.

  "We were hoping the Guild might accept this as payment."

  Sigrid opened the first of the containers, presenting the contents to the customs officer. His mouth drooped in a satisfying fashion. As it bloody well should, Sigrid thought. She was quickly learning that there were two things men enjoyed ogling: women and weaponry. The cargo container brimmed with shining new offerings. Assault rifles, pistols, the tempting gleam of steel shone from the collection of long, serrated blades piled inside. She tried not to smile as the men fought over the rocket launcher, eager to be the first to cradle it in their arms.

  "You'll see these get to the local Guild office," Sigrid said. "I'm sure they won't mind if you take some for yourselves. There's more than enough."

  The customs officer merely grunted his response, his hands busy fondling a claymore mine.

  "For your troubles," Sigrid said, tossing him a grenade. This seemed to please him; he took the gift, grinning as he stuffed it in his pocket.

  With their permits of entry stamped and their weapons retrieved, Sigrid led her team through the station toward the orbital elevator. An observation lounge in the boarding area provided them with their first view of Bellatrix. Where New Alcyone glowed a brilliant blue, lush and filled with life, Bellatrix was a dull orb of reddish-brown, barren and laid flat. But this was the domain of men and industry.

  Even from orbit, Sigrid could see evidence of the global devastation, strip mining on a planetary scale. The corporations had come, built their factories, and dredged the surface clean, eager to harvest all that Bellatrix had to offer. The machines had to be fed, and their hunger was insatiable.

  Much of the surface lay in darkness. Only a few city-centers dotted the surface. But these cities were huge, massive concentrations of population, clusters of humanity crushed together in the areas surrounding the manufacturing centers. One of these was their destination, the city-province of New Shēnzhèn.

  From the observation deck, Sigrid watched as the orbital lift rose beneath them, climbing its way up the 10,000 kilometer-long tether to dock with the station above. The lifts here weren't nearly as large as the ones in Panama, but they didn't fail to impress Sigrid's three companions.

  They had to wait for the arriving passengers to disembark before boarding. When their turn came, signs directed them down to the very lowest levels of the lift. There would be no luxury accommodations awaiting her this time, not for Sigrid and her band of freelancers. On this voyage, they were to be quartered with the rest of the third-class passengers in steerage.

  "I guess we have to share," Suko said as she stared out at the sea of quad-level bunk beds. The steerage accommodations were little more than a common room, a dormitory of sorts set aside for the third-class passengers. Several hundred passengers were already busy claiming their berths and arranging their belongings.

  Suko tossed her bag on the nearest of the bunks and leapt onto the mattress, proclaiming, "Dibs!" Then, with a leer to Sigrid, she added, "Don't worry. I'm prepared to share."

  Sigrid was contemplating a lewd reply when something caught her eye.

  "Trudy!"

  "What?" Trudy jerked her head around; she was bent over with her uniform unzipped and pulled down to her ankles, her bright red fringes dangling over her face.

  "What are you doing!"

  Trudy looked back at her, innocently. "I'm, ah, I'm getting changed. Leta said there was a pub." She wagged her thumb over her shoulder. "I thought we'd go have a look. I've never seen a pub."

  "No! I mean—your clothes! What are you doing?"

  "I wanted to put on something nice. Didn't I mention the pub? It's right over—"

  "I mean, here. Why are you changing here? In front of everyone. There's changing rooms right over there."

  "Changing rooms?"

  This appeared to be a truly foreign concept to Trudy. But of course it was. There had never been cause for such things on Alcyone. But this was a public dormitory, and Sigrid hadn't thought to brief any of them on protocols outside their enclave. Such things simply weren't done here. Although, most of the men looking her way didn't seem to mind.

  Trudy shrugged. "Aw'right."

  "Trudy!" Sigrid made a zipping motion with her hand, indicating that Trudy should button her uniform back up.

  Trudy let out a long, bothered sigh. "Wait. So first you want me to put my clothes back on. Here. So that I can go over there, then get undressed, and then dress again."

  Sigrid nodded, pleased to see the girl grasping the concept.

  Trudy continued to mumble as she shuffled off, a fresh change of clothes bundled in her arms. Sigrid could only shake her head. She had thought herself so naive, but clearly there was much they would all have to learn about life in the world outside.

  And where in the blazes did Leta go?

  Sigrid spun a three-sixty, but couldn't spot Leta anywhere.

  "She left," Suko said. "Some bloke seemed eager to buy her a drink."

  "Blast!" Sigrid would definitely have to have a talk with everyone. "I better go make sure she's all right. Do you mind stowing our gear?"

  "Sure. I'll see you there."

  "Oh, and bring Trudy. I don't want her getting into more trouble."

  The pub was up one level. Sigrid followed the signs and found it easily. Passengers were already filing in. Sigrid caught the familiar smells: the stale beer mingling with the perfumed 'smoke' of the vaporizers the spacers favored. It was hardly a first-class lounge, but not without its old-world charm. Decorative lamps lit the room with a cheerful glow. Pictures of footballers appeared to adorn every square inch of the walls. A smiling bartender greeted her as she entered.

  She spotted Leta easily enough. She was off in a corner booth and surrounded by a group of men, all of them involved in a rather raucous conversation. They jostled and vied for the attentions of the striking redhead, all to Leta's delight. Chilled glasses of ale were raised and brought clattering together, onl
y to be drained and refilled enthusiastically.

  Sigrid sighed and leaned back against the bar. Well, Leta was a big girl, and she could take care of herself.

  There was an empty stool behind her, and she took it. She was suddenly aware of a fresh pint of ale, dark and creamy, waiting by her elbow. Sigrid turned and saw the cheerful face of the bartender smiling at her.

  "I didn't order that," Sigrid said.

  He tipped his cap. "Compliments."

  "Oh…well, thank you, I suppose." Sigrid was surprised, but the man seemed pleasant enough; there didn't seem to be anything lurid or untoward behind the gesture. Sigrid raised the glass to him and took a long quaff. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

  The bartender smiled and went back to his work, leaving Sigrid alone to enjoy her ale. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed its creamy goodness. They had nothing like it on New Alcyone. Sigrid decided then, if she ever solved their supply issues, having proper ale would be part of the list.

  "May I join you," a decidedly feminine voice asked at her side.

  Sigrid turned and saw the woman standing there. She leaned against the bar next to her, a slim electronic vaporizer held in her delicate fingers. Sigrid drained the last of her ale and wiped the foam from her lips with the back of her sleeve.

  "May I get you another?" the woman asked; she signaled to the bartender, not waiting for Sigrid to answer. The bartender brought back another ale for Sigrid, and something in a tall-stemmed glass for her. It held a clear liquid—gin with the slightest traces of vermouth—and three of the largest olives Sigrid had ever seen, speared on a skewer.

  The woman retrieved the olives, plucking one with her teeth as her eyes scanned Sigrid up and down.

  She looked a few years older than Sigrid; twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven. She sported a short skirt in deep green with matching blazer, expertly tailored. Green high-heeled boots and a matching pocketbook completed the outfit. Her hair was brown, cut to her shoulders, and her eyes were wide and colored a deep emerald green. Natural, not augments.

  Sigrid didn't miss that her appearance did not match those of her much rougher steerage companions. This woman was of a different class. As to what she was doing down here with the unwashed masses was another matter. Sigrid might have thought the woman had lost her way, but she doubted that for one simple reason.

  Sigrid had seen her before.

  This was the woman from customs—the very same woman s he'd spotted being whisked to the head of the line. Sigrid knew this woman hadn't come down to the steerage pub for the atmosphere. She was here for her.

  Sigrid pushed the empty stool toward the woman with her foot.

  "Thank you. You're a dear," the woman said, taking a long drag from the vaporizer. Sigrid detected the mild narcotic, a cannabis derivative flavored with the scent of strawberries. "I hope you don't mind. Sitting alone can be a bit of a trial in these places. The men here do tend to take their liberties." She looked down at Sigrid's pearl-handled sidearms, then slowly up along the length of her dark uniform. "But you look like you can take care of yourself."

  Sigrid heard the outburst of uproarious laughter from the corner of the pub. Leta appeared to be entertaining her new man-friends by challenging all comers to a contest of arm wrestling. The latest bout resulted in several glasses being overturned; Leta's opponent was hauled away from the table, the other men finding his broken arm to be a great source of hilarity. This didn't seem to dissuade Leta's next challenger, who took up the seat opposite her, rolling up his sleeve in eager anticipation.

  The woman in green turned away from the disturbance and back to Sigrid, blowing more strawberry-scented vapor her way. "My name's Catherine."

  Sigrid took a moment to scan the ID chip pinned to her collar. Her name was, in fact, Catherine. Catherine Cartwright. Though Sigrid sensed something else—there was deception.

  "No," Sigrid said, "it's not."

  The woman looked to the vaporizer in her hands. Her cheeks flushed, caught in the lie. When she looked back up, she met Sigrid's eyes directly. "Kitten. My name's Kitten."

  Sigrid almost laughed. Almost. "Kitten?"

  The woman's cheeks reddened further, but she smiled. "I know. It's simply dreadful, isn't it."

  "I've heard worse," Sigrid conceded. As ridiculous as the nickname was, at least she knew the woman to be telling the truth. Her name was indeed Kitten.

  "You're very sharp, Ms…?"

  "Peters. Sigrid Peters."

  "Well, Sigrid Peters. What brings a girl like you to a place like this? Are you arriving home or fleeing from it?"

  "Fleeing?"

  "Nothing—an expression." The woman took another drag, blowing the vapor off to the side.

  "No, no, I'm not fleeing anything," Sigrid said. "I'm a freelancer."

  "A freelancer! Well then." The woman appeared to take great pleasure in the declaration, and let her wide eyes linger once more on Sigrid. "I'm not sure I've met a lady freelancer before—sorry, woman freelancer. Is there a term? I never know."

  "Freelancer is fine."

  Sigrid's answer seemed to please the woman, and she leaned closer. "What must that be like? Terribly exciting, I would imagine."

  Sigrid lifted her ale and took a long drink, more to give herself time to consider the woman next to her than quench her thirst. She wasn't quite sure what to make of her new companion. "It's all right, I suppose."

  The woman laughed and touched Sigrid's arm, letting the tip of her finger rest there. "Now, I know you're being modest. You must tell me of your adventures."

  "There's really not much to tell."

  "Then perhaps we shall make our own adventures—"

  "Adventures?"

  Sigrid looked up to see Suko approaching with Trudy traipsing after her; Trudy's head turned on a swivel, taking in the sights of the pub and the crowds around her. Suko had changed out of her combat outfit into a slim-fitting red dress that hugged her athletic curves in an impressive fashion—at least, judging by the reaction of the men observing her entrance. Suko failed to notice any of this, though, as her glare was fixed firmly on the woman sitting across from Sigrid.

  "Friends of yours?" the woman in green asked.

  Sigrid nodded.

  "Gear's stored. Trudy's changed," Suko said, her focus now shifting from the woman to Sigrid. "I see you've got things well in hand here. Who's your new friend?"

  "Call me Kitten." The woman extended her hand; Suko ignored it. "I was just about to tell Sigrid, I may have some work for you, if you're interested."

  "Work?" Suko asked. "What kind of work?"

  The woman turned her hands outward. "Oh, I don't know what you freelancers call it? I suppose I could use a personal guard of sorts while I'm here. I'll be touring some factories—investments and whatnot. I'd thought to go through the Guild, hire mercenaries, but that seems like so much trouble. Much easier to hire you. If you're available."

  She held out a plastic card.

  Suko took the card and stuffed it in the top of her dress. "We already have a contract." There would be no further discussions.

  "Pity. Though I'm not surprised. You girls look the type to have all the offers you need." The woman slid from her stool—she had to lean back to stay clear of Suko. "Well, I'll leave you ladies to it. I'll be staying at the Regency in Portside if you change your mind. You can contact me through my service."

  "We'll call you," Suko said.

  The woman in green left, though she did glance back one last time at Sigrid. When Sigrid turned away it was only to find Suko's eyes fixed on her in a chilling fashion.

  "Kitten?" Suko said. "Seriously."

  Sigrid held her hands up in surrender. "It's her name, not mine!"

  "I really can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

  "What? No! I was just sitting here. She came over." Sigrid swallowed. "Um…you're in a dress! Goodness. Where on Earth did you come by that?"

  "Don't try to change the subject. I saw that woman ogling you."<
br />
  "There was no ogling."

  "She was practically in your lap."

  "She was looking for a freelancer. She needed an escort."

  "I think we both know what she was looking for. Escort might be one word for it."

  "It wasn't like that. I was just—I was just sitting here. And then she…" Sigrid reached out and took Suko by the hand. "Suko, you know I wouldn't."

  Suko's glare softened. "You better not. I'm not sure what the fines are on Bellatrix for justifiable homicide."

  "Justifiable…?" But seeing the grin that spread across Suko's face, she knew she was being teased again. "You know you're the only one. I couldn't even think of looking at anyone else."

  "Well, that’s good. And I should hope so."

  "Though, it's not like I can help it if someone were to look at me—"

  "Don't even go there, Novak."

  Sigrid laughed. "Never." Her arms wrapped around Suko's waist, pulling her close. When her hands dropped lower, she got an immediate sense of how frightfully short Suko's dress really was. "Goodness!"

  Suko frowned, looking down. "I know. It's a little short. But I'm still packing, if that's what you're worried about." Suko lifted the hem, favoring Sigrid with a view of her thigh and the set of two balisong knives strapped there. "Karen made it for me. She said you'd like it."

  "Rather," Sigrid said appreciatively.

  Then Suko leaned close, whispering in her ear. "Oh, and I am going regimental. If you were wondering."

  Sigrid's eyes widened at the pronouncement; she made a show of gasping and clasping a hand over her mouth. "Now I think I like it even more. Remind me to thank Karen when we get home." Sigrid spotted a table freeing up in the corner. "Booth?"

  Suko agreed instantly, taking her by the hand and leading her toward the darkened corner. "Oh, and don't think I didn't catch you letting that woman buy you a drink, too."

  "She didn't ask. I didn't have a choice."

  "Well, just remember, while we're on this trip, I'm the one buying the drinks."

  "Noted. You know you don't have any money, right?"

  "I thought I'd borrow some—if you're in the lending mood."