by Jess Granger
“I made a deal, I intend to honor it,” he argued.
“Honor.” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “You’re a smuggler.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“No.” It seemed like a cruel thing to say to a man who had just fought beside her. Then again, if they hadn’t been limping along in transwave for days on end, they probably wouldn’t have been attacked by Spiders in the first place.
“There can be honor among thieves,” he mused. “You’re free to make your choices, but I’d be very careful whom you trust.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Cyrus looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t. Instead he focused on the screen again as the planet slowly grew.
“Let me talk to my mechanic. I’ll find out how long the repairs are going to take. If it is too much of a delay, I’ll arrange for someone to take you the rest of the way.”
“Fine.”
Cyn pinged Xan’s ship, relieved to find it somewhere on planet, though the versatile L6 Accipiter must have perched somewhere outside the city. He didn’t see Xan’s ship codes in the docking logs. He had to think quickly. If he couldn’t convince her to stay with him on his ship, he’d need to find someone else who could keep her contained but still sending messages back to Azra so Palar wouldn’t strike. Why did starting a war have to be so damn difficult?
Xan could keep Yara detained, but Cyn didn’t like to rely on him for things concerning the revolution. Xan was his best friend and brother in all ways but blood. They’d fought and bled together. He’d saved Xan’s life, but as a Hannolen, Xan wasn’t particularly interested in the affairs of Azra.
Cyn didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
He needed to keep his grip on Yara. She’d agreed to give him a few hours. He’d have to work quickly on Gansai. His best bet was to get Maxen on the job. The rat owed him a favor, and there was no one faster. The man was part machine.
The dark blue planet swelled, filling the viewscreen as Cyn adjusted the ship’s trajectory to swing around to the largest land mass on the watery world.
On the edge of one of the continents, the clear ring of an asteroid impact remained on the scarred planet.
At one point it had been filled with civilization. Now the people were extinct, the remnants of one of their great cities turned into a hodgepodge collection of the culture and technology of too many planets to count. It was a vibrant port for pirates and privateers.
The Union left it to its own devices, knowing that sometimes the pirate fleets came in handy.
“Have you ever been to Gansai?” Cyn asked.
“No,” Yara confessed as the ship sank lower, skirting just above the edge of the atmosphere.
“It’s probably better if you don’t leave the ship.” He wondered what she would think of the arcades and the men who frequented them.
“I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” she insisted.
Sometimes she could be so damn stubborn.
“Can you?” he challenged. “You don’t even know what you’re facing. Overconfidence can kill you.”
“I’m not your concern. The only thing you should be concerned about is earning what I’m paying you.”
The ship entered the atmosphere, and the friction fire danced over the viewscreen.
They dropped through the burning sky into the swirling clouds. Cyn concentrated on flying the ship through turbulent air. The port city rose before them, light gleaming off ancient ruins usurped by modern tech.
The ship flew over the stark hills as they approached the city. Cyn always entered the port with caution. Things never seemed to go according to plan on Gansai. He’d nearly died there twice, almost married once before he realized he was drugged, and at some point ended up hauling a load of shit, literally shit, halfway across the galaxy.
But the stakes had never been higher. He looked at the determined lift of Yara’s chin. And his cargo had never been more unpredictable.
6
CYN LANDED THE SHIP IN A SMALL DOCKING PORT NEAR THE HONEST SIDE OF the forum. It would cost him to pay the dock security to protect the ship. He didn’t have a crew to leave behind, only Yara. And she was the one thing he was worried about.
“Bug,” he whispered as he entered his extremely complex locking codes into the ship’s systems. The hiss of the pressure vents created enough of a cover for his hushed command. “Make sure Yara doesn’t leave the ship. Get at Tuz if you have to.”
“Pip!” Bug dipped and looped, then returned to his place at the copilot seat.
“I’m going out to find my mechanic. I’ll be back in twenty,” he said as he turned to Yara. He stopped cold as he watched her pack her things into a single bag.
“You going somewhere?” He stepped down out of the control center and crossed his arms.
“The situation’s changed. I’m grateful for the passage to this port, but it’s time for us to part ways.” Her eyes darted to the side. He wanted to step into her personal space and challenge her, demand she stay, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“I’m only asking for twenty minutes. Let me talk to my mechanic. We’ll see what he says, and then you can make your decision.” He placed his hand on hers as she crammed a rolled-up pair of military issue boot socks in the bag. Her hand stilled and she lifted her gaze to his.
“Twenty minutes,” he insisted. The light caught in her irises, shining like gold in the dim interior. Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?
“Fine.” She dropped the socks and sat down on the bed.
If only he could pull out a roll of binding tape and make sure she stayed there.
He jogged to the airlock, spun the wheel, opened the hatch, then climbed down to the dusty ground before she could change her mind. Hopefully Bug would be able to stall her if he had to. He had to find Maxen, and fast.
The heat from the belly of the ship ratcheted up the temperature of the air around him as he jogged out from underneath the overheated metal.
Once out from under the ship, the cool air engulfed him like diving into a clear lake on a hot day. Blue gray clouds swirled overhead, remnants of a blanket of dust that plunged the world into a sudden ice age.
Cyn breathed in the temperate air, in spite of the smell wafting from a worn down cargo ship hauling some form of organic fertilizer. Sucker.
“Cyrus the Snake has returned,” Polarx, the dock-master, greeted. The bald man smiled through his beard as he wiped a smear of grease from his brow with the worn red scarf he wore around his neck.
His worn shirt had yellow stains from years of sweat and little care for hygiene.
Cyn logged his payment into his com with a quick set of voice commands, then transferred the payment for dock security. “You know where Maxen is?”
“He owe you money?” the old man asked, rubbing his chin. “He’s been hanging around the Dirty Link lately. Probably there.”
“Thanks,” Cyn said as he jogged into the busy street beyond the docks.
The crowded lanes of the old ruins were bustling with port workers unloading freight and hauling it down to vendor stalls in the forum. The calls of men haggling over shipments and prices rose above the hiss of pressure vents and the regular roar of ships lifting off from the docks.
Sunlight got lost in the thick clouds of Gansai, dimming the light and making the dry air feel sharp and cold. Cyn ran through the market to the arcades, enjoying the stretch of muscle and the natural light on his skin. It woke him up and sharpened his mind. He’d need it to deal with Maxen.
Nearing an old building that had been refurbished using the insulated siding of a dismantled warship, Cyn stopped and sent a quick message to Xan through his com. He nodded to a burly pirate leaning against the plasma-cut hole in the wall that served as a doorway.
Inside, drunken men lounged around, cheering, laughing, and clapping for two holographic avatars screwing like mad rabbits floating over a glowing red projector in the center of the room.
The electronic moans and wails sounded ridiculous to him, and he ignored the computerized game pieces as they thrashed around in midair.
Cyn glanced at the two men controlling the avatars but couldn’t identify them through the sensory shields over their heads. Others laughed as the players gyrated and flailed their arms around in order to make their game pieces move.
The female screamed and the crowd cheered, lifting their glasses in salute to the game. That’s when Cyn spotted him.
Maxen didn’t watch the games. Instead, he fiddled with a rusted cube of metal that seemed to be shedding small bolts and fasteners in his hands.
Cyn crossed the pub and slid into a chair at the table.
“Don’t you owe me a drink?” Maxen greeted as he continued to fiddle with the chunk of antique machinery.
“Other way around,” Cyn corrected. Maxen looked up at him through the shock of straight dark brown hair that constantly fell over his unnatural eye. The mechanical eye focused, the tiny lights and gears flickering with silver light in the artificial iris. Maxen smiled, deepening the scars at his temple and the pronounced one that cut into his upper lip.
“We can split a round and call it even,” he suggested as he placed the cube on the table.
“Don’t have time. I need your help. My converter is shot, and I got caught in a Spider’s web on the way here. My life-support systems need to be recalibrated and I need a new adjuster.” Cyn offered him the com so the mechanic could take a look at the diagnostic.
Maxen held out his right hand. The silvery metal of the artificial limb unfolded as naturally as a flesh hand, but a hole in the palm opened up to create a com port so the mechanic could pull information directly into his cerebral transplants. Cyn averted his eyes, knowing Maxen didn’t like it when people stared.
“This is a mess,” he acknowledged, though both his slanted real eye and the silvery fake one seemed to be staring off into nothing. “How long are you in port?”
“I’ve got twenty minutes.”
Maxen laughed, his gravelly voice reaching over the din of the men watching the game. “What do you think I am?”
“The best,” Cyn admitted, trying to charm Maxen into agreeing to the repair. Too bad it hardly ever worked.
The mechanic flashed a good-humored smile. “You’re insane. What are you up to?”
“I’ve got a girl on my ship . . .”
Maxen laughed harder this time. “If you think I’m going to bust my gears so your pretty ass can get laid one more time, you’d better reassess the situation, lover.”
Cyn rubbed the back of his neck in exasperation. “Listen, I’ve got to keep her waylaid and out of trouble for a little project I’m working on. Just come back to the ship and tell her the repairs will take no time. I’ll stall her from there.”
Maxen’s natural eye gleamed with good humor, but his expression darkened. “I bet you will.”
“Max,” Cyn pleaded. He didn’t have time to deal with Maxen’s frustrations with the opposite sex. He had enough problems. “Will you please just come back to my ship?”
“We have to go back to my shop and load my only spare converter onto a lift, and I’m not hauling it down to the docks without help.” Max stood and straightened his shoulders. If Cyn didn’t know the man was standing on a bio-mech leg, he never would have been able to tell.
“The faster we get going, the better,” Cyn urged.
“Fine,” he stated, pulling on the lapels of his long tanskin coat. “But this is going to cost you.”
“I figured it would,” Cyn grumbled.
YARA TRIED TO SIDESTEP THE ANNOYING LITTLE BOT, BUT BUG KEPT FLYING within an inch of her nose and zapping her with a small static charge. “Damn it, Bug, get out of my way,” she insisted, swatting at him with the back of her hand.
The bot whistled so shrilly it forced her to cover her ears. “All right, stop,” she shouted above the screeching noise. “I need some sun. Is that okay with you?”
Bug stared at her with his single black eye, seeming torn.
When Yara saw the light break through the clouds on the viewscreen, she had nearly jumped straight through the sidewall to get outside, but Bug had stopped her.
“I’m sick,” she pleaded. “I need the light.”
The glow around the bot deflated as he floated out of the way.
Yes!
Yara ran through the ship and dropped into the circular hatch, climbing through the open airlock. Halfway down, she jumped, landing hard on the ground. The shock energized her muscles as she ducked under the belly of the ship and into a patch of sunlight near one of the landing supports.
Relief rushed through her as the warm light caressed her face and lingered in her hair. She took several long, deep breaths of air that smelled like dust and steam vents, but at least it was cold and fresh. She coughed. Apparently the manure from the cargo ship docked nearby was fresh, too.
Rubbing her eyes, she stretched, tempted to take off her uniform and let the sun soak into her bare back.
“Hey, ho ho,” a man called to her. “What is this?”
Tuz landed with a thump on the ground and immediately took up his defensive stance near her foot. “Easy boy,” she warned.
“I greet you.” Yara held up her hand as a sign of peace as an old, bearded man waddled toward her like a territorial pelican in a grubby shirt. “I’m a stage passenger on Cyrus’s ship.”
“He doesn’t take passengers,” the old dock-master insisted.
“I know, not as a rule.” She smiled at him, and he seemed to relax just a bit.
Slowly a grin broke over his round face. “Ahh, that Cyrus. I understand. I am Polarx, owner of these docks. Where do you travel?”
“Azra.”
“Pah!” The man coughed out a hard guffaw. “All the way to Azra on this ship?”
“What? How badly is it damaged?” Yara’s stomach began to sink.
Polarx’s face twisted in a contemplative scowl as he pointed through the curling steam to one of the modules on the back of the ship. “The coils are shot on the converter. At least three days, and that’s only if Maxen works through the nights. You’ll probably be here a week. Ah! Would you like me to show you around?”
“A week?” She had suspected as much, but to hear it confirmed gave her a sick feeling. She looked around the busy docks. Large men hauled stacks of shipping containers on angrav lifts, shuffling through the dusty lanes like alien beasts of burden. Several ships rested in the large open area, while crumbling towers of stone gave way to a reaching skyline of patchwork metal buildings born from the cannibalized remains of old starships. “I can’t wait a week.”
Polarx rubbed his scraggly gray beard. “There’s a Bacarilen ship in port. They do much business on Azra. I think they are heading that way.”
“Bacarilen?” Yara felt the glimmer of hope spring in her chest. The Bacarilen took care of most of the shipping of foreign goods on Azra. Similar to the female-dominant culture of Azra, the Bacarilen were something familiar, something she trusted.
The old dock owner nodded. “Captain Brill is in port. Ah! She just unloaded several tons of refined morac ore from Azra and should be heading back with some light refiners from the Pasomlen.”
Yara searched her memory. Brill, the name was familiar. Eventually she connected a face with it. She knew Brill. The woman was a fierce negotiator. Yara had been tasked with evaluating a standing contract with her four years ago before taking her position as commander for the Union. The Bacarilen captain was tough, a masterful trader.
“Where is the Bacarilen ship?” she asked. She couldn’t believe her luck. This was her way out. She wouldn’t have to face Cyrus again. She had a feeling he would try to stall her, just so he could play some more.
“Not here in my dock. No.” The old man scratched his balding head, adding another smudge of grease to his already dirty face. “The Blackstock. It’s on the other side of the forum past the mineral markets. Keep going
that way.” He gave a vague wave over his head. “You’ll see them.”
“Thank you.” Yara ran back to the airlock and flew up the ladder into the ship. She grabbed her belongings off the bed and turned to leave.
Halting near the bed, she brushed a hand over the blanket, smoothing out a wrinkle.
She had to go.
After hoisting her bag over her shoulder, she trotted back to the hatch.
Bug zipped up and stopped right in front of her face. He made a low grinding noise.
“I’m sorry, Bug. Say good-bye to Cyrus for me. I left an EDI disc with his payment on it in the control center.” She tried to step forward, but the bot went ballistic, pinging around the room letting out furious screeches and whistles.
Yara ignored it, even as it tried to shock her when she tossed her belongings through the airlock. She wasn’t going to let a bot the size of her palm stop her from getting on that ship.
After climbing out of the ship, she jogged out of the docks toward the crowded streets beyond. Tuz leapt to her shoulder and balanced his weight as he sniffed the air and growled.
Yara caught a glimpse of the bot zipping over the gateway to the docks. She had to get out of there before Cyrus returned.
Cyrus.
She had to stop thinking about him. He was only attractive because he was so foreign, and she was half out of her mind with lag. Looking up, she wandered past a crowd of men shouting prices for bales of plant fiber to a trader clinging to a rusted vent pole as he pointed confirmations of orders to the other men.
Women here were in the severe minority. While the occasional female crewmate of the pirates or traders hung out of tavern windows or carried on business, the only females that seemed a part of the ragtag jumble of interbreeding foreign tech were the prostitutes waving from the only clean-looking building in the port.
Gansai was a man’s world. Money, sex, liquor. Men’s vices. She shuddered. Thank the Matriarchs the men on Azra weren’t so uncivilized. The women of Azra had tamed them.
Yara wove through the crowds until she passed the great stacks of containers for the mineral traders. To the back and left, she could see docks just beyond a long narrow street.