Planet 9 (The Dipole series Book 2)

by Chris Lowry

  Mona Lisa waited.

  She didn’t lower the blaster or take her sights off his nut sack.

  "Hey boss."

  "You're interrupting me Harold. I do not like to be interrupted when I'm getting ready to commit mayhem."

  "I know, Boss, I'm sorry."

  "Apology accepted," said the Foreman. "It gives a minute to let the tension build inside. You can hear us, right?”

  He called out to the house.

  “You know how many times we’ve done this? Tell her Ransom. Tell her how many.”

  Ransom shrugged his slender shoulders. His face wasn’t as handsome as it had been to her.

  “Hundreds,” the killer called out.

  “Hear that? Hundreds. Because you can’t stand in our way. No one can stand in our way. I want you to think on that while this idiot tells me why he interrupted me.”

  The idiot waved a device in the Foreman’s face. He turned it around so the man could read.

  "She's wanted."

  "I know! I want her. I'm practically ripping at the seams to-"

  "No, she's wanted by The Authority."

  Foreman paused mid-turn and shot a withering glance at Harold.

  "You're interrupting again."

  "Sorry boss."

  “Did you know this?” he asked Ransom.

  The killer shook his head and stared at Mona Lisa’s pale reflection on the edge of the window. He knew she had a blaster aimed at them, but the angle told him he wasn’t in the line of sight. She was aiming at the Foreman, which was fine with him.

  If the Foreman got shot, he was next in line to be Boss.

  He was kind of hoping she would make that promotion happen, his finger on the edge of a blaster at his waist tickling to shoot first just to get her to fire back.

  "On to more important things, I suppose. What pray tell does the Authority want with her?"

  The idiot took his time turning the device back to his face.

  "I just saw her picture," he offered.

  "Then read it."

  The man’s lips moved as he read it.

  "Out loud."

  The Foreman glanced at the other members of his gang and they gave him an appreciative laugh. That made the idiot angry, and nervous.

  "Wanted for crimes against the government," he stuttered. "She escaped from prison."

  It took him a few moments to get it all out.

  The Foreman regarded Mona Lisa with appreciation laced with lust.

  "Aren't you a delicacy," he purred. "Guess we're going to get our reward twice today boys. A little fun now and a little payday later."

  He took a step toward the farmhouse, hand drifting down to his belt buckle.

  "Uh, boss?"

  "Damn it," Foreman whipped around, spittle flying from his lips.

  "Sorry boss."

  "What is it?" he demanded.

  "She's wanted by someone else too."

  This time he didn't flip the device around, just stared at it mesmerized.

  "Well, who is it?"

  "Ian."

  "Ian?"

  "That's what it says."

  "Well damn."

  "You can say that again boss."

  The Foreman put a hand on his head and kicked the dirt.

  "Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. And I suppose he wants her unharmed?"

  "That's what it says."

  "Guess he wants to do the dirty work himself," his eyes travelled from the window to Ransom and back again.

  "Ian huh? What did you do to piss him off?"

  Mona Lisa kept her mouth shut.

  She wasn't sure when Ian had the time to put word out on the net to have her found. He was in Mr. Kim's care now, and that unpleasant interlude would not allow him access to anything or anyone.

  But she wasn't going to let an opportunity pass by.

  She knew how to survive, and even if the con just bought her time, she could turn it to her advantage.

  "He's not pissed," she lied. "He's in love with me."

  The Foreman leered.

  "Can't say I blame him. Guess you don't love him back since you're way out here."

  The barrel of the blaster wavered.

  “How’s that make you feel Ransom? You being the other man to a notorious gangster? Messing with her will get a price on your head.”

  “Won’t be the first time.”

  “Guess we have a choice,” the Foreman took another step toward the farmhouse. “Which one gets you? The Authority or Ian?

  Mona Lisa shrugged, but he couldn’t see it in the shadows. She was pretty sure neither would get her. The men outside planned to kill them all.

  She had a second to wonder why they didn’t mention Buster’s orders before he took another step closer, and the rest began moving in.

  "It means different things to different people,” she called out as she lined up her shots.

  The first one was what mattered.

  Pull the trigger and turn loose hell.

  She wanted to make sure the Foreman went down with the first shot.

  His eyes met hers as he stopped ten feet from the open window.

  "I'm asking what it means to you."

  "It means you better take me back to him," she warned.

  The Foreman nodded.

  "Round her up boys," he instructed his crew. "We're going to catch a shuttle. You alright with that?"

  Ransom nodded.

  "What about them?”

  "Do what we came to do,” said the Foreman.

  The men surged forward.

  Mona Lisa felt a gurgle of rage in her stomach. She might not get them all, but she was going to make sure one of the blasts she had left was a gift right in his face.

  Or lower, she grinned.

  Right in the nuts.

  That would teach him.

  The men lined up outside began screaming as shots phewed across the barren landscape.

  It lasted for seconds followed by an eerie quiet that made goosepimples pop up on her arms.

  "It's the ghosts of Mars," the Dad muttered.

  "Uh, sure," she said.

  Mona Lisa didn't believe in ghosts.

  She peeked around the edge of the window and saw a figure stalking toward her.

  It was Bat, a smoking blaster by his side.

  He had found her, stalked her across the expanse of Mars and now he looked pissed.

  She raised her blaster and fired a beam into his chest.

  Bat flew backwards and skidded in the dust.

  Mona Lisa stared down at the blaster in her hand and dropped it. What had she done?

  She sprinted across the dirt and skidded on her knees next to him.

  "Bat!" she screamed. "I wasn't thinking."

  Tinker ran out of hiding and joined her.

  "What did you do?"

  "I shot him."

  He rolled his eyes, his fingers hovering over the scorched fabric of his jumpsuit.

  "No shite. I watched you. Why did you do it?"

  "I don't know!"

  "Is he dead?"

  Bat sat up and shook the cobwebs out of his eyes. He reached up one hand and tried to massage his chest, but the blaster was gripped tight. He set it in his lap and then went to work on the skin and muscle, testing, probing.

  "Damn that hurt," he groaned.

  "You're alive?"

  He grunted.

  "But I shot you."

  "Yeah."

  "In the chest."

  Tinker sat back on his haunches and stared at the former guard.

  "You have to admit man, that is weird."

  "I've been shot before."

  Mona Lisa reached up and moved his hand out of the way. She examined the soot stained skin, but it was smooth and unbroken. Just dirty.

  "Why aren't you dead?"

  "I feel like it," he pushed her hand away and creaked to his feet.

  The Farmer ran out of the house, an ancient first gen blaster rifle shaking in his hands. He aimed at Bat.

>   "Demon!" he screamed. "Devil."

  "Wait, wait," Mona Lisa tried to stop him.

  But he pulled the trigger.

  A red beam plowed into Bat and sent him flying backwards again. His boot clipped Tinker and sent him sprawling in the dirt.

  "What part of wait don't you understand?"

  "He was one of the ghosts!" the Dad screamed.

  The children stood in the doorway behind him, sobbing and wailing. The Farmer kept his rifle trained on Bat.

  Mona Lisa jerked the blaster out of his hand.

  Bat groaned even louder as he pushed himself off the ground.

  Tinker shrieked and glared at the kids, like it was their fault, or trying to pass blame onto them.

  "What the hell man?"

  Bat massaged his chest even harder.

  "If people keep shooting me, I'm going to get pissed!"

  Mona Lisa held the blaster by the barrel so he could be sure she wouldn't be the one to shoot him.

  "Get up off the ground," Bat told Tinker. "Gather their weapons."

  "Hold on," said Tinker as he stood and brushed off the bottom of his pants. "Are you really a ghost like the man said?"

  Bat took a breath and sighed.

  "Mars ghost!" the Farmer stuttered as he stared at Bat with terror in his eyes.

  Mona Lisa let him retreat to the shadow of the doorway where he huddled with his children.

  "You want to explain this?" she tried to sound calm, cool and relaxed.

  She failed.

  Bat flicked the burnt edge of his jumpsuit with the tip of his finger.

  "Would you believe he missed?"

  She bounced the rifle by the barrel, but didn't put her hand near the trigger.

  "I could shoot you again just to see what would happen."

  He stared at her with that poker face she hated so much.

  "What would happen if she shot you again?"

  Tinker moved next to him and tried to touch the place where he had been shot, outlined by the blackened circle of fabric. Bat slapped his hand away.

  "It would hurt."

  "That's it?" she scoffed. "That's all you're going to say about it?"

  He shrugged.

  "Are you metahuman?" Tinker gasped. "I've read about you guys."

  "I'm not meta."

  "Mostly in comics, you know. So I didn't think they were real, but you never can tell. The government did a whole lot of experiments with the colonists around here," the pilot licked his chapped lips. "Anyone use a drink? I could really use a drink about now."

  Bat stretched first one arm, then the next, squeezing the muscles on his chest to make sure they were working properly.

  "Got anything inside?" Tinker turned to Mona Lisa.

  "Homebrew," she answered.

  He turned up his nose.

  "Beggars and choosing, man."

  Tinker pushed past her and squeezed through the doorway into the house as he searched for the homebrew she had promised.

  Bat followed.

  "He can't come in," the Farmer sobbed in terror. "He'll curse my house."

  "He's not a ghost," Mona Lisa explained.

  "Then what is he?"

  She eyed him with a quirked eyebrow.

  "I don't know," she said in a soft voice. "But maybe if we ask nice, he'll explain."

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  He didn't.

  Bat accepted a glass of the homebrew, sucked it down and swiped the bottle from Tinker so he could get a refill before the pilot drank it all.

  "What was that out there?"

  "What?"

  "Don't act innocent with me."

  "Trust me, I've never been innocent."

  "Neither has she," Tinker nudged Mona Lisa. "Have you love?"

  They sat around the small table in the tiny farmer on the edge of the Martian dome. The children of the farmer sat huddled against their father on one of the two cots against the far corner of the room, staring at Bat with a mix of fear, wonder and revulsion.

  "How are you not dead?"

  "Who says I'm not?"

  He sipped the cup of homebrew in tiny gulps, swishing it around in his mouth. It wasn't to savor the flavor, but to wash the burnt metallic taste of being blasted off of his tongue.

  "Are you a robot?" Tinker blurted out. "Is that why Junebug does what you say? Do you talk to her with your robot mind?"

  "Wireless?" Mona Lisa suggested.

  "Or wired. I don't know what you're plugging in where on my ship."

  "I'm not a robot," Bat batted down their theory.

  "Then what are you?"

  "I'm human."

  "But you just took a blaster bolt to the chest that should have killed you. Two of them."

  He shrugged.

  "I'm just a prison guard."

  "You're not a guard anymore. We're not in prison," she told him.

  "Yeah," Tinker turned to her, his hand gripped around the simple clay cup. "We're NOT in prison anymore. You're not going back there. So why'd you run away?"

  She hemmed.

  She hawed.

  She took a sip of her glass to buy some time. They were both still watching her when she was done.

  “I was trying to keep you guys safe,” she answered.

  Bat motioned to the burnt fabric.

  “How’s that working out?”

  “No so well for them,” Tinker pointed to the dead bodies stiffening outside the farmhouse.

  “What are we going to do with them?”

  “Which ones?” Mona Lisa asked, she pointed to the doorway and to the trio hiding in the corner.

  “They can stay,” Bat said. “We’ll get out of your way.”

  “The Authority will come back,” Mona Lisa told him.

  “We have a mission,” Bat told her. “We can’t save everyone.”

  Mona Lisa swiveled in the chair.

  “I have an idea,” she told the Farmer.

  It wasn’t much of one, but being with Buster for so long made her an expert at thinking on her feet.

  All she needed was a kernel, and this was a doozy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Mona Lisa herded them all to the railcar she arrived in but they couldn’t get it started.

  “Go check his pockets,” Bat said.

  She took Tinker back to the dead bodies and stripped them all of card readers, cash, weapons and anything that could be pawned.

  “I feel dirty,” said Tinker as he kicked the idiot’s body over and emptied the dead man’s pockets.

  “I’ve never robbed the dead before.”

  “Think of it as payback for what they planned to do to those kids,” she grunted.

  She had never pilfered the dead before either, but she didn’t want to talk about it.

  Ransom had a keycard to the reader on his railcar, and the magnetic connections between the cars created a small convoy as they levitated back toward Musk.

  “What’s the plan?” Bat rasped.

  He was moving, though stiff, and his voice sounded like he could use a million years of sleep. He kept massaging the spot where he’d been shot, even though the skin looked whole.

  “Ian’s got a bounty out for me too,” she told him. “They didn’t get the one from Buster or things might have gone down different.”

  He nodded.

  She motioned the Farmer over and pressed a wad of credits in his hands.

  “This will last you a month if you don’t go crazy,” she told him. “Get a place, get a job and take care of your kids.”

  “I’ve only known farming,” he told her.

  She sighed.

  There wasn’t much call for Farmers in the city.

  “Go to the base,” Bat interjected.

  He took one of the cards from the man, inserted it into a computer terminal and spent a few moments typing on the keyboard.

  “Give this to the guard.”

  The Farmer turned it over in his hand, but it looked like all the others. He shrugged and
stuck it in a different pocket, then huddled back with his kids at the far end of the car, casting glances at the ghost of Mars sitting across from Mona Lisa.

  “What did you give him?” Tinker asked.

  “An introduction.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  He shrugged.

  “It’s enough for us. The rest is up to him. Why did you run away?"

  "Why did you find me?"

  Bat blinked but couldn't answer.

  "I'm serious. I'm not a prisoner anymore. I'm an outlaw, but no more than you. Why did you come looking for me?"

  The guard opened his mouth, closed it. He blinked again.

  "That's not an answer."

  "I."

  "I?"

  "I don't know," he shook his head.

  "Who would?" she snapped.

  She wasn't sure why she was so angry with him. Why she felt glad he came to find her and pissed that he even looked in the first place. And there he stood.

  "Don't just stand there like a statue," she grumbled. "Answer me."

  Bat blinked again and took a deep breath.

  "Why were you named after a painting?"

  It was her turn to blink.

  "A painting? I was named after my grandmother."

  "I thought it was the painting by DaVinci."

  "I've seen it. A holograph of it at least."

  Bat nodded. He had seen a holograph as well, since the original was destroyed by Neo-Nazi’s in a war on Earth.

  "Asking about my name is changing the subject," she told him.

  "I know."

  "I thought you had an answer for everything."

  He shrugged.

  "But none for me."

  "Not about this."

  "You came looking for me. I didn't ask you to do that."

  "I. We wanted to know why you left."

  She put her hands on both hips and glared at him. Then she adjusted her sleeves, the hem of her shirt and the cleavage that normally distracted every man away from their line of thought.

  Except Bat.

  He seemed unimpressed, unchangeable.

  “I don’t want you hurt by my mistakes,” she said, her voice pitched low so that only he and the pilot could hear her.

  “You’re part of the crew,” said Tinker. “Crew doesn’t abandon each other. Ever.”

  He said the last part with a fierce hiss that made Mona Lisa and Bat pull back.

  “He’s not wrong,” Bat added.

  She nodded.

  “I’m not going to say never again,” she told them. “I’m not going to be the reason someone tries to kill you.”