She looked at me quizzically.
"Air and water are expensive out here. There’s a lot that bots can do cheaper and safer. So, even in the big habs like Mundus, the bot to human ratio is ten times what you’d find anywhere else in the System."
The shuttle stopped and we emerged into a cavernous space that seemed to be a study in monochrome. Low steel-colored buildings stepped into the distance beneath a massive transparent dome. The black sky was alive with bright, hard points of light that crawled slowly overhead as Ceres rotated. The sun was rising, a small yellow-white disk that threw weak shadows in the freezing atmosphere.
Trig seemed to be developing an attachment to our bot. The stupid little bucket whizzed around her hooded head as we walked through the frigid air into the heart of the city. I’d been on Ceres before and I knew a guy. Trand’s shop was a bit of a hike, but he didn’t like to be too close to the ports. I’d met him a while back when I was in Mundus for a priv. There were things I knew he wanted. Things that were hard to get in the Belt. Things I had. He’d pay well and maybe we’d buy a new bot to tend to the boat. Then we could be off this frozen-ass rock.
Easy.
The gravity field felt heavy, but that was because it was a full gee. I kept the ship at .75 to save power. I could see Trig was surprised by the cold. The ambient temperature was probably around minus 20. You could feel it seeping into your feet, your legs. Just walking created a wind chill. With the parkas, the cold was relentless. Without them, we wouldn’t have lasted the day.
Trig’s breath clouded in front of her and, even with her hood up, her cheeks were slightly flushed. I bit down on the urge to tug her hood closer around her. What the fuck? A couple of days with this girl and suddenly I was all chivalrous? Like that made any kind of sense at all.
I hunched into my own coat and led the way.
CHAPTER NINE
Trand’s shop was way too far for my taste. Man, there was nothing about this rock I didn’t hate. But Trand was well connected and, unlike most Belters, he wasn’t stingy. We’d have what we needed to sustain us for a long while. So I didn’t think too hard about the deal we’d make and focused on navigating the endless maze of identical fused iron-silicate buildings. Funny. I hadn’t thought much about it before, but the upside of the cold was the emptiness of the streets. We only saw a few people about, all of them seemingly intent on getting to their destinations as quickly as they could. After the crush of Marajo, it felt strange, almost eerie.
We found the place and our bot zipped up to the door, tapping the entry panel with one of its extensibles. The door slid open, washing us in light and heat. A voice called from within, "Get inside before you let the chill in!"
I grabbed Trig’s arm and hauled her through the doorway as the bot circled around behind her. The door thumped shut as soon as we crossed the threshold, sealing out the brutal cold.
Inside, buzzes and clicks filled the air as a menagerie of small bots whirled through the air, tending a jumble of fabricators, decomposers and various bits of machinery that meant absolutely nothing to me. Bots and pieces of bots were scattered on workbenches, their vitals spilling from disassembled bellies. Little multi-legged machines seemed to scurry on every surface. Their zeal was obvious, their purpose utterly incomprehensible.
In the center of the workshop was a particle furnace where scrap materials were ripped down to their component atoms to be reassembled into whatever was required. The business end of the thing was carefully shielded, to avoid vaporizing everything in a hundred meters, but it still generated waste-heat like crazy. Even with its radiator fins coupled to thermal conduits that drew energy back into storage banks, the thing threw off IR like a flamer. Why the hell did Trand want the door closed?
It must have been well over 35, hotter near the furnace. Our self-regulating parkas did their best, but they were made for keeping heat in. Trig and I both stripped off our coats and I could feel sweat forming under my arms.
Belters are mostly small in stature, with big heads and spindly limbs. Their dependence on hardware for survival has made them more accepting of body modification than most. It’s not unusual for a Belter to be half machine. The figure in front of us was no exception. He was crouched atop a tall stool, at one of the workbenches near the furnace, sticking a couple of gleaming pieces of hardware together into what might be an appendage. He looked up for a second and stared right at me, but it took several seconds before he seemed to register my presence, as if he wasn’t so much looking at me as near me. Then his attention shifted to Trig and his eyes widened slightly before he abruptly dropped his head and turned back to whatever it was he was tinkering with. He wasn’t looking at us, but he was definitely watching.
After a moment, he reached down under the workbench and my reflexes took hold, guiding my hand automatically to the concealed sidearm I wasn’t supposed to be carrying in the small of my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trig stepping smoothly to her right, putting the hulk of some decommissioned workbot between her and the Belter. A palm-sized flechette pistol appeared, as if by magic, in her hand. Where the hell had she been hiding that in her skin tight outfit? The Belter glanced at us, clipped the microadjuster he’d retrieved into one of his extensibles, and went back to work.
"This looks like where bots come to die." I muttered as Trig put her weapon away.
A loud voice boomed out from the corner. "Not to die. Reborn!" Trand stepped over a stack of pitted exo panels and strode forward to greet us. He was a caricature. His left eye, an implant that he didn’t bother to camouflage, flicked over us, first me then Trig. He scanned the length of her with predatory interest. At first, I thought it was just creepy Belter lechery. But there was something more calculating in his appraisal. Something that put me on edge. Suddenly, I wanted us out of there as soon as possible.
"Trand!" I reached out and we clasped each other’s forearms, which caused our wrist ports to touch. The handshake of Confed Marines. "Mortem, Jack," I intoned. "Been a while."
"Fear me, bitch." he grinned out the ritual response. "Fuckin’-A. Been way too long."
Trand clasped my shoulder with his left hand while we shook. It was the gesture of a comrade, but I felt the subtle tingle of a neutralizer and instantly registered that my body had just been scanned for weapons. Newts used a short-range quantum effect that could shut down anything more sophisticated than a pointy stick. We'd just been disarmed.
Uh oh...
"Who’s the pretty slitty?"
Shit. He wanted Trig.
I tried to sound dismissive. "Just some entertainment I picked up in the Inner." I winked at Trand as I snaked my right arm around Trig’s waist. I could feel her body tense and hoped she’d get the gambit and follow my lead. If Trand was up to something he might know what she was. He might be prepared. Maybe even with an energy thief on tap.
Energy thieves were something relatively new. The technique was based on technologies the Confed had lifted from the Belt and blended with something they’d learned from the Irezi. I had no idea how it worked, but in the Technicians we’d had a briefing on a project called Crossover.
Ninety-six percent of the energy in the universe is out of reach. Or at least it used to be. But there were things being learned, methods developed. Wraiths were part of that. Now, so were energy thieves. An energy thief could block a Wraith’s ability to slip into the spacetime pockets some of them used to move in impossible ways. Without the pockets, their most effective means of escape was closed to them. They wouldn’t be helpless, but they’d certainly be hampered.
I took another look around the workshop. With that furnace and the amount of gear he had here, he was using a tremendous amount of power. Which made me wonder where all that energy was coming from. The guilds were notoriously stingy when it came to resources, so how was Trand paying for all this? Unless...
Trand had been a friend to the Confed. I’d figured him for an independent, but Crossover depended on Belter tech and Mundus was the
only free trade zone in the Belt.
Which meant I’d just stepped us on the mother of all land mines.
I slid my hand possessively down Trig’s hip where Trand wouldn’t be able to see it, tapping a quick sequence onto her buttock. Standard prisoner tap-code. The one we were all taught in SERE. Using my index finger, I spelled out ‘DANGER’.
I could feel her body start to shift as my hand clasped her ass – and then she froze. Message received. I held what I hoped was an easy smile and pulled her closer. Trig exhaled silently and leaned into me, placing a possessive hand on my abdomen. "Yeah, just hanging with Roy as long as he’s not too boring."
Trand smiled too. A shark’s smile.
I tried simple deflection. "So, hey, we need a bot. Ship maintenance. Nothing fancy. Figured you might cut an old buddy a deal. You selling?"
The Belter stood, moving slowly around his workbench. I couldn’t tell if he was just getting a better vantage point on his project or he had something else in mind. I noticed some of the little insect-looking bots clustering, their legs clicking together. Belters have lots of ways of communicating with bots. It felt like something was getting ready to happen.
Probably nothing good.
"Not today... old buddy." Trand grinned his shark grin and made a beckoning motion. The Belter scurried to his side, with a swarm of little bots at his heel.
"Cruase," Trand looked directly at Trig, "You know what to do."
The Belter took a half-step step towards Trig and I let go of her, dropping my right foot back and shifting my weight forward slightly. Combat stance. Trand would see it and hopefully concentrate on me.
"You’ll be the first one down." I offered the warning like it was a pint of ale.
The Belter hesitated in mid stride and Trand laughed.
"Roy," Trand said in a patronizing tone, "Do you have any idea what you’ve got here?"
The game was up, but I wasn’t quite ready to quit playing.
"Like I said, just a slag." I used the same neutral tone, conveying an unspoken offer of truce. Stop now and we can all walk away. Even with his army of bug bots and his weird little Belter, Trand knew he’d pay a price . It didn’t matter if I had a weapon, I’d still exact payment. I motioned Trig behind me. Time could be bought with blood. No matter how fast or strong they were, I’d hold them long enough for her to escape. She’d make it to the ship. To safety.
Except Trig had an altogether different plan in mind. Silently, she stepped up beside me, arms loose, her supple body flexed and ready. In her hands were two small, gleaming knives – scalpels maybe. For a second time, I found myself marveling at her ability to hide things.
Trand’s mouth opened slightly. His good eye fixed on Trig with a mixture of lust and wariness. "We can share the bounty. The slag... long as she's not dead, they're happy. They just want her biologicals."
Trig’s eyes narrowed. Just the slightest change, but I could read it. So could Trand. She was coming. Coming with those wicked little blades.
Two things happened at once. The Belter suddenly shimmered, faintly, like some weird variation of the somashells the Irezi use on the surface of Mars. And Trig disappeared. Well, not disappeared exactly. I was looking right at her and there was this tiny moment, like a single frame from a vid, where it looked like she was stepping around a corner. A corner that wasn’t there. And then she was gone, leaving a faint ‘thwwp’ sound behind her. Without knowing why, I knew something terrible had just happened. That I needed to act. So I did the only thing I could think of... I threw my gun at the Belter.
Pretty good shot too. I caught him high on the forehead, above his left eye. Loaded, that particular model weighs exactly 1.9KG. Moving at 38 meters per second, it delivered enough energy to snap his head back and drop him. The shimmer disappeared.
And Trig came back.
There was a sizzling pop and suddenly there she was, crashing into me as if she’d fallen from a couple of stories up. If there’d been time, the expression on her face would have made me laugh. Her eyes were wide with confusion, her lips parted slightly as if she’d started to speak and then realized she had no idea what to say. She hit me in the chest and we went down spinning in a tangle of arms and legs.
But we both had training. Without any conscious thought, we sorted ourselves as we fell. We rolled and came up balanced on the balls of our feet. I couldn’t help but crack a ferocious grin, thinking, Not bad little girl. Not bad at all. In a low voice I said, "Don’t jump. The Belter’s doing something to the pockets."
And then all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER TEN
The little spider bots flooded toward us from every direction. Individually, they weren’t much – a four centimeter wide carbon mesh body with six locomotors and two extensibles. But there were dozens of them.
I saw two of the little machines launch themselves at Trig from one of the workbenches. She caught the first one with a perfectly executed snap kick that crushed it in mid arc, but the other one clamped onto her extended leg before she could recover and jammed its extensibles into her thigh, just above her knee. I could hear the staccato snapping of an electric arc and Trig yelped involuntarily as her quadriceps clenched into a tetanic spasm.
If I’d been impressed before, now I was amazed. She dropped onto her other knee and rolled, grabbing the bot, yanking it off of her leg and then throwing it backhand – directly at me. Except it wasn’t me she was aiming for. It was the bot I hadn’t even seen yet, the one about to hit me from the right. Trig found her target and the two machines exploded in a shower of broken carbon fiber a few centimeters from my head. Fear me before anyfuckingthing, bitches. I got a Wraith on my side. You got...
Trand.
Marines know how to fight. Trand might have been out of the Corps for a while and he might never have been a Technician, but the motherfucker was big and he was fast. Way faster than I’d have guessed.
He charged into me, going for a grapple. With five centimeters and twenty kilos on me, we both knew he’d have the advantage in a contact fight. I rolled, twisting just ahead of his grip so that he never quite got purchase and then bounced to my feet in a low, forward-weighted stance. I wanted the hitting power.
Trand tried for another grapple. His long arms, bare to the shoulder and covered in tats, outreached me by a couple of centimeters. I threw a couple of jabs, but it was obvious I wouldn’t be able to do much damage from outside his reach. I’d have to close.
I popped another jab and shifted my weight as if I was going for a big right. I knew he’d see it coming. I didn’t know if he’d spot the ruse. I started the punch, but then continued to push my weight forward, going for his right arm, grabbing it with both hands as I levered my shoulder into his clavicle. I stepped inside with my right leg, hooking it behind his ankle. Just about as old-school as it gets, but maybe that’s why he didn’t anticipate the move. In a blink, he was toppling backward with the weight of my body carrying him to the floor.
Trand landed hard on his back, with my knee under his elbow and my elbow in his throat. I threw my not inconsiderable mass into both – which should have crushed his larynx and broken his arm. Instead, Trand laughed, "Nice try, my friend."
Oh shit. He’d gone artificial.
Trand sat up, carrying my weight as if I were a child. Human abs, no matter how developed, simply didn’t have the leverage to push a hundred kilos like that.
"We don’t need to do this, Jack." I said, deliberately using the epithet that, for Marines, was a badge of defiance, of a comradeship that nobody outside the Corps could begin to understand. "I have a hold full of stuff that’s worth a fortune out here. We walk, that cargo’s yours."
Trand didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he lit up a private channel and fed me part of a file, direct to my cuts. I saw a little girl in a gray skinsuit with the mark of St. Nicolo on the left breast. I saw the order to retrieve a renegade Wraith. I saw a bounty, worth ten times what my ship carried – including the ship itself.
I saw my death. I saw far worse for Trig.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Trand lunged to his feet and pushed past me like a G-Ball bounder making a goal rush. He slammed his huge shoulder into my face as he went by, knocking me into a pile of denuded bot frames. My head exploded in white light and I could feel something trail down my upper lip. Something warm and wet. I tried to stand, but my arms and legs weren’t getting the message and I lay helpless, watching Trand close on Trig through a darkening blur.
She was turned away from him, focused on finishing off the last of the little spider bots. Trig heard him coming and, without augments, he’d never have gotten to her. But by the time she started her turn, he was already scooping her into a brutal hug that huffed the air out of her lungs. He pivoted, swinging her like a toy, crushing her to him, planting his back against the wall.
"Give it up, Marine." His grin was a monstrosity of unfiltered savagery. "They’ll find you eventually, but you’re not my concern. Go and enjoy whatever time you have left. I have more important things to do than fight you."
Stunned by the ferocity of his assault and pinned in the vice of his arms, Trig still managed to get one hand free long enough to stab one of her knives up and behind her. It was a blind shot, but she struck true, catching him low in the right side of his throat where the carotid should have been close to the surface. The scalpel jutted from his neck and blood flowed from the lips of the wound, but the bright crimson jet that should have drained his life away in seconds simply never materialized. Not just skeletal augments then. Trand had gone full-body. He wasn’t even human any more.
Trand chuckled harshly, "I can see why you like this one. So much better when they put up a fight." He grabbed her free arm by the wrist and twisted hard. I couldn’t hear the snap, but Trig’s forearm gave way at a sickening angle and she screamed. He lifted her by her broken limb and I saw her eyes open wide in shock as she sucked uncontrollably at the air. Then her head fell forward, dark hair obscuring all but her chin. Unconscious.
The Jack's Story (BRIGAND Book 2) Page 5