Dark Ice (Mercenaries Book 2)

by A. R. Knight

  "Parts that act contrary to their design, in my experience."

  "I'm saying that if you look for the problem, rather than ignoring it, you might find the answer," Trina flashed a grin then, and nodded towards the screen showing the waiting workers. "Also, I stand by what I said before. These are minor patients. Your presence here is unnecessary."

  Erick opened his mouth to reply. Trina was right. Decent pay, but these weren't real patients. Following their protocol for every minor accident. A medical review and clearance to head back to work.

  "I'm curious, because these injuries are well within the range of most common medical bots," Trina continued.

  "It's broken," Erick said. "That's why they asked if I could moonlight while they waited for parts."

  "Ah," Trina nodded. "It's not anymore. I fixed it."

  "You fixed it."

  "Yes. Do you want the short version?"

  "I do," Erick kneaded his temples.

  "They shipped parts from Miner Prime. Parts they could make right here, instead of waiting. Easy to reconfigure the power coupling from a light transport shuttle to work in a bot," Trina struggled with the words, resisting diving into the specifics. "It took twenty minutes."

  "It seems you've rescued me, Trina."

  "You can thank me later," Trina glanced at her comm. "This took longer than I expected. We're late."

  "Then I suppose we'd better be going," Erick said. "Did Davin say where, this time?"

  "Neptune."

  "Fascinating."

  Erick turned over Trina's comments. Look at the problem. Fix the problem. Everything with her a series of logic chains leading, inevitably, to the correct solution. What would that be for him? To go back to Earth, sit in the shade on a bright day and watch younger generations of himself laugh and jump and play?

  The tube-train that took the pair of them back towards the Jumper's assigned docking bay shot along Ganymede's surface. Looking up through the transparent ceiling, Erick could see the angry tan and red swirls of Jupiter's storms, twisting and churning. Spacecraft cut lines in the view, coming and going from the moon with parts and people from throughout the solar system. It was a wondrous view, amazing. It wasn't enough.

  5

  Precise Shot

  "I feel like we deserve a going-away drink, don't you?" Merc said, sitting across from Opal in one of the many happy-hour bars neighboring the Galaxy Forge facilities on Ganymede. Clogged with the variety of engineers, mechanics, and test pilots Galaxy Forge employed, the bar buzzed with acronyms and industry slang that made for a nice, unintelligible backdrop. It reminded Opal of the barracks, of the camaraderie in shared adventure.

  Merc leaned back in his chair, arms spread over the rests, and gave Opal a toothy grin. His eyes crinkled at the edges. Opal's pulse quickened. Hated that look. Loved that look. Ever since Miner Prime, the stick jockey had been throwing her slick smiles paired with soft asides. Constant risk of death catalyzed them close conversation to something else entirely. Before she knew it, Opal cared about the guy. And here he was, joking about going back into the same fire that'd nearly killed him last time.

  "It's still a game to you, isn't it?" Opal replied, leaning forward, elbows on the table. Merc's smile broke.

  "You see this?" Merc pulled up his shirt, showing off the circular scar on his chest from getting shot on Europa. "That's my reminder that it's very real."

  The visual brought back that day. Carrying Merc back to the ship. It'd been his breathing that was the worst. The ragged inhales, the coughing exhales. Eyes closed, fighting for his life through instinct.

  "I've never been hit," Opal said. "Snipers, we stay out of it."

  "Don't change now," Merc replied. "Telling you, it isn't worth it."

  "I know, I've seen." Opal looked at her hands. Her fingers kneaded through each other. "I don't want to see it again. Especially not you."

  "Hey, I took that hit coming to save you," Merc said. "So, you know, stay out of trouble and I'll be good."

  Opal felt blood rushing to her face, heat rising from her throat. He was treating this whole thing like a joke. Merc, who'd flown in what was really just an ornamental military role around Earth, acting like there wasn't a price to pay in a life like this. He'd never tasted the red grit of Mars as a sandstorm rolled over you in the middle of a firefight, never watched friends fail to come home, stared at the empty seat on the transport and know if they'd turned left instead of right, there'd still be a person there.

  Breathe.

  Merc noticed. Opal's pressed lips, so tight they were squeezing the blood out of them, were a clue. The fighter pilot reached out, put his hand on Opal's. She looked at it. His calloused hand, rough from gripping flight sticks. So were her's, only from rifles instead.

  "You really afraid something is gonna happen?" Merc said, the light laughter gone from his voice.

  "Just don't die on me."

  "I'll be careful, promise."

  "Better keep that one." Opal offered a small smile. "And I've changed my mind about that drink."

  "Now you're talkin'." Merc said, keying in the order.

  6

  Boxer

  The ring changed as the crowd moved, their pumping fists and shouting faces forming the walls around Mox and the three off-duty security guards who'd decided to take him on tonight. The Jupiter's Bastard had cured Mox's boredom by accepting the metal man into the bar's routine, sloppy fights. Most nights Mox could count on a crew of Galaxy Forge workers looking for something that wasn't in their corporate policy manual, a bit of betting, a bit of blood, and a lot of visceral excitement.

  The bar was a lit firework - bright points of color scattered between vast shadows. Except for the ring, where the DJ kept a floating bot covered in lights hovering over the action while swapping frenetic mixes.

  The first guard came at Mox straight up, leaning forward and stepping into a big right hook that even the drunks in the audience could see coming. Mox sidestepped to his right, dodging the punch and letting its momentum carry the first guard in between the second. Which left number three on the side with Mox.

  "Hey," Mox said, catching Three's feeble left-handed jab with his own, then whipping the man to the ground, where he collapsed.

  The crowd cheered, a few boos mingled in. The Bastard's bookies shouted new odds. Mox waited for, felt the kick hit the back of his knee. The first guard yelped, and Mox turned around to find the man limping backward. They always forgot about the exoskeleton. Shin on hard, ridged metal wasn't a good move. Number two moved up, dropping into a stance Mox didn't recognize. Legs bent, arms at right angles.

  "What're you doing?" Mox said, his own arms at his sides, head bent.

  "You're about to find out," Number two said.

  The guard moved forward and down simultaneously. Those right angles turned into a series of horizontal jabs, pinging Mox's stomach, kidneys, ribs. Strong hits, too. Mox back-pedaled away, raising his arms to block any follow-up. The crowd cheered again. No idea who they were rooting for now. The guard didn't press the attack, but settled into a determined frown. Perhaps this one, unlike the others, knew what he was doing.

  Not that it would change anything.

  Mox pumped his legs, jumping into the air. The DJ swerved the light bot away as Mox arced two meters high and came slamming back, fist first, at the guard. The man rolled. Mox's fist met air, but the suit compensated for the guard's move, stopped Mox's momentum faster than any person should have been able to. So when the guard tried to capitalize, tried to hit Mox with a high kick to the face, the big man already had his arm up to block. The guard's leg bounced off of Mox's left hand, which left the guard open for Mox's right to indent the guard's abdomen. He crumpled to the floor, groaning.

  The first guard, favoring his leg, stared at Mox from the side of the ring and shook his head.

  "Yield?" Mox said.

  "You're a cheater," The first guard said. "That's what you are."

  "Three on one," Mox replied. "M
ore than fair."

  The crowd was losing interest. Sensed the match was over. Coin changed hands and the ring fell apart.

  "You act all smug just cause you got that metal," The first guard continued. "Take that away, you're nothing."

  Mox walked over to the guard, who stood his ground and looked up at Mox. A mix of fear and defiance in his face. A look Mox figured he wore himself, before the surgeries, when he was vulnerable. Never again.

  "Yield," Mox said.

  The guard's face softened, the anger defeated by that universal desire not to get crunched to pieces. Mox had seen that one before too, on this guard and all the others before him. One thing to talk big, another to back it up.

  "Mox!" Came a voice from the crowd. Davin's. "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Yield," Mox repeated, ignoring the captain.

  "Fine, you freak. I yield," The guard sighed, limping over to his downed partner. The remaining crowd immediately dispersed to collect, or give up, their bets.

  Davin pushed his way through, looked at the pair of floor-dwelling men, then at Mox, who nodded.

  "You hurt?" Davin said, and, at Mox's raised eyebrows, held up his hands. "Only asking cause we're getting off this rock, and I prefer my crew in one piece."

  "Where?"

  "Oh, you're gonna love this one. Neptune."

  "Never been," Mox said as one of the Bastard's barmen came over with a coin chit. Davin looked at the value as Mox took it from the barman's hand and whistled.

  "Feel like you'd make more doing this than flying with me," Davin said.

  "Not as fun," Mox replied as the pair walked out of the bar.

  "And you wouldn't have me around," Davin said. "To keep things interesting."

  Mox laughed.

  "Hey!" Mox recognized the first guard's voice and turned. "You ever ditch that skeleton, become a real man, you come back and we'll see who wins!"

  "Buddy," Davin cut in before Mox could say anything. "My man Mox here would toast you even if he were naked, drunk, and missing a leg. Trust me."

  "Why's he got the suit, then, if he's so good?" The guard asked.

  "Because it's cool," Davin said.

  Only, that wasn't it. Mox stayed quiet all the way back to the Jumper. Stayed quiet as the engines ignited, Trina counting to Phyla when they could lift off. Stayed quiet and watched, from the screen in the kitchen, as Ganymede fell away and Jupiter, giant of the solar system, shrank to show the stars.

  7

  Neptune

  When you're dealing with the absolute black of space, the big blue ball of Neptune looks like an aqua Sun. Davin, rubbing his eyes at the odd hour when the Jumper's proximity alarm woke him, stared out the cockpit at the distant orb. Distant being relative. Neptune appeared to be within arm's reach, outside the glass. Still thousands, millions of kilometers away, but hey, at least they'd made it to the right neighborhood.

  “Where is it?” Davin said, glancing at the blank sensor screen. Neptune's faint rings were appearing on it, motes of dust and ice swirling around. Nothing man-made on the scanners.

  "Just about here, if their flight plan is correct," Phyla said. "Based on when they arrived and their targeted orbiting speed, they should come into range in a minute."

  Bosser had transmitted the details of the operation. An Eden freighter, Amerigo, was out floating around Neptune while a research and mining vessel, Karat, plumbed Neptune's depth in search of rare gemstone. An ice diamond. Bosser's info was light on what ice diamonds were, only saying they were valuable. And that Eden had reason to suspect someone might try to take the cargo by force.

  "At least there's nobody else here," Davin said, waiting for the freighter to show.

  "Did you read Bosser's last paragraph?”

  "Get the diamonds first, the crew and freighter second. Yeah, I read it," Davin replied. "Are you really surprised?"

  "For once, I'd like to work for someone that has a heart."

  "Hey, don't you technically work for me?" Davin asked, glancing at Phyla, an injured expression on his face.

  “Like I said—”

  The console beeped and on the edge of it a green rectangle popped up. A second later, as the freighter's identification broadcast came in, Amerigo appeared over the shape. It was orbiting high around Neptune. This far from the Sun, solar panels gathered a small fraction of their normal energy, so the freighter would have found a holding pattern that minimized energy use until the Karat finished its mission.

  The Amerigo itself wasn't the largest freighter Davin had seen, but it wasn't a tiny thing either. A kilometer long, with most of that space kept available for cargo, Eden built the freighter for minimal crew and maximum profit. The Amerigo was white, a frigid pallor that made it stand out against Neptune's deep blue backdrop,a spear thrown through the night sky.

  "Big ship for small gemstones," Phyla said. "They must think they'll get a huge haul."

  "Bosser said the Karat was full of new tech, guess they're hoping it pays off. Set course to intercept, and let's start talking," Davin said.

  "You want to call, the button's right there," Phyla said, nodding at Davin's corner of the console.

  Davin flicked his finger on the console, dragging the small icon of a phone - something that nobody still had but everyone still understood - over to the Amerigo rectangle.

  The signal shot over to the freighter. Someone on the bridge was probably panicking at the call light glowing, seeing as they were on the edge of human space. Saturn and its moons held the farthest real settlements, so this was way out here. And compared with the asteroid belt, Neptune wasn't overflowing with raw materials. Not that atmospheric gasses weren't valuable fuel, but why go out here when Jupiter could keep humanity supplied for, well, ever?

  "Jumper, the Amerigo reads you," Said a tight, clipped voice cluttered with static. "We heard you were coming our way."

  "Took a while. Sorry," Davin replied. "You didn't exactly choose next door."

  "You're not the only one wishing we were closer to home."

  "Why's that?"

  "We'll talk when you dock. Hard to tell who's listening out here."

  The console beeped as a docking route came in from the freighter, a translucent line arcing away in from of the Jumper towards Neptune. It would intersect in a few hours with the freighter, the Jumper slotting into the freighter's main bay without Phyla even having to touch the controls.

  "Aren't they a little paranoid?" Phyla said after the freighter cut communications a moment later. "Who else is going to be listening?"

  "How that guy sounded, it's like they already know." Davin sat back in the soft leather chair, looked out at the deep blue planet, and waited for everything to fall apart.

  8

  Hotshot

  The Viper looked spicy. Viola pulled herself away from the wingtip she'd been detailing. With Trina declaring they'd both go insane without work during the long trip to Neptune, it'd been one day of dismantling after another. Until they looked up and realized the Jumper was nearly there, and then it was all about putting the Jumper's guts back where they belonged. The Viper was the last piece, the small fighter a nest of wings, laser cannons, and engines. The solo cockpit occupied at the moment by its pilot, Merc, running preflight checks.

  Davin had called a moment ago, said they were closing on the freighter and wanted the Viper ready. Insurance in case something turned nasty. So Viola carried in the last few pieces of plating, Opal manned the batteries, and Merc ran system checks to find the greens. Watching those two during the weeks of travel out here, the stick jockey and the sniper, never failed to make Viola laugh. Merc ran his mouth, spilling one ridiculous story after another over meals of powdered goo, while Opal sat there shaking her head, ready to jump in with the real events.

  Viola stayed quiet at those dinners, stayed quiet most of the time. What was she going to contribute to the stories, the relived memories of firefights and frantic flights? An anecdote about a frustrating project? An unfair profes
sor or one of the endless visits to another corner of her father's factories?

  "Docking procedures initiated," Phyla's voice came over the Jumper's intercom. "Hope you're ready to make some new friends."

  "C'mon," Opal said to Viola. "He'll tell us if there's anything wrong with the fighter. We have to make sure our 'new friends' aren't the opposite."

  "What?" Viola asked as she followed Opal back through to the crew quarters.

  "You used a rifle back on Europa, right?" Opal was saying.

  "Technically, yes," Viola replied. "I don't think I hit anything, though."

  "Doesn't matter. Just don't shoot us," Opal ducked into her room, popped open the large floor to ceiling two-meter locker that hugged the far wall, and handed a stocky weapon to Viola. It had a bulbous top that ran to a nozzle, with long handles at the back and front, a trigger right near her rear finger.

  "Picked that one up while we were on Ganymede," Opal said. "Your dad's company makes some weird weapons."

  "They don't make weapons," Viola said. Because Galaxy Forge was a mining company, a materials provider. No way were they in the military business.

  "Sure they don't," Opal said, soaking the words with so much sarcasm that Viola flinched. "This one was originally for mining work, to clean off crumbly rock. But you shorten the barrel like this, make the mixing chambers compressed so the reaction is quicker, you've got something deadly that'll go right through energy shields."

  Viola heard what Opal was saying. Galaxy Forge adapted its technology to whatever profitable ends it could. Viola should have felt angry, frustrated that the noble company her family ran had a stained side. Instead, she gripped the weapon. Reality had been breaking so many of her convictions, one more barely tasted bitter.

  "Whatever you do, don't point that thing at me," Puk said as Viola, back in her room, put on a less-dirty set of clothes. Something that wasn't so covered in the Viper's oils and grime.