Red Noise

by John P. Murphy

  “I’m pretty sure he was streaming video when he attacked me,” the Miner interrupted. “Probably got the whole thing. Don’t know if anyone was watching.”

  He flushed and she got a glimpse of a very ugly expression before he mastered himself. Still red in the face, he gave her a strained smile. “You do work fast, Jane, I have to hand you that. You do work fast.”

  “Is there a problem? I didn’t think you’d mind me breaking some eggs.”

  “No, no,” he protested. “Not at all. Only… maybe you’d better lie low for a little while.”

  She took that as a dismissal and stood. He’d just suffered a couple of blows: he’d paid her out a lot of money and lost a major asset, and if his situation was as precarious as she hoped, he was teetering. “McMasters going to be a problem over this?”

  He waved it away, but he wasn’t very convincing. “He’s my problem, not yours.”

  That was definitely a dismissal, and she took it gladly. Getting Feeney teetering was one thing, but the question was whether she’d strengthened Angelica. She considered that on the walk down from Feeney’s office, around the bend and down the stairs.

  There was a commotion in the lobby, cries of pain and anger. She strolled down the steps, hand resting lazily on her sword, watching as two of Feeney’s gang were carried in by five of their fellows. They were dumped onto the couches, leaving smears of blood down the back cushions. They weren’t dead – they were swearing loudly enough that she could be sure of that even through the mashed noses, blackened eyes, and broken limbs.

  “Ambushed.” A young woman covered in spikes came up to the Miner from behind. “Coming back from checking up on the old man’s interests down below, and some of the witch’s crew jumped them.”

  “Anybody killed?”

  “Naw. This is revenge for what you did.” She really did have a lot of spikes. Through her ears, implanted around her neck, stubby little ones in a line along her cheekbones with tattoo swirls exploring them like raked lines in a Zen garden. The Miner wondered how she slept without shredding the pillow.

  “They need to get their eyes checked to mistake those kids for me.”

  That earned a snort from Spikes. “They don’t have the guts to go after you.”

  “That so?”

  She nodded at the Miner’s sword. “You know how to use that thing?”

  “Yup.”

  “You ever killed anybody?”

  The Miner glanced sideways at her, but couldn’t read anything but idle curiosity. “Some.”

  “How come?”

  She shrugged. “You can’t like everybody.”

  “Huh.” That earned her a long side eye. “You know, we got it pretty good here. Place is a dump and it’d be better without the fighting, but it is what it is. Just don’t go psycho on them, and they’ll return the favor.”

  “That so?”

  “I’m just saying, don’t fuck it up.”

  The Miner just rubbed her chin and nodded, thinking that she didn’t have to.

  “I keep hearing this name Nuke,” she said, watching as some idiot kid tried entirely the wrong way to set a broken arm. It was kind of entertaining. “Who is he?”

  Spikes gave her a suspicious look. “Why? He’s not here anymore, so what do you care?”

  “I heard something about a doublecross. Not the kind of thing you want to hear when you start a gig.”

  She looked angry. “Wasn’t a doublecross. He was balls-out crazy.”

  “Mmm,” the Miner said.

  “It wasn’t a doublecross. I was here. He had to go, everyone agreed. Eventually.”

  If she intended to say more, she was stopped when the hotel doors slid open and McMasters strode in like he owned the place. Puffed up in his black uniform and with his neat little pencil mustache newly-waxed, he walked stiffly with his black cap under his arm like he was inspecting the troops at a parade ground. He looked like a swagger stick would be the best birthday present anyone could ever give him.

  He strode through the middle of the room, pausing only briefly to inspect the groaning bodies on the couch and sniff in disdain. He made for the stairwell just past the Miner and Spikes, up to the old man’s office. Spikes raised her middle finger like she was scratching under her chin with it, and the Miner saw McMasters’ fleeting indecision of whether to scowl or pretend he hadn’t seen it, with the latter unconvincingly winning. He looked daggers at the Miner, but said nothing as he passed.

  “Going to bitch about the fighting,” Spikes predicted. “And try to get his kickback early. You’re getting to be expensive.”

  “Is it getting around how much Feeney’s paying me?” She hoped so; it would sow discontent in the ranks on both sides.

  “Not yet, but it will.”

  The Miner nodded at that, and thought. She turned to Spikes. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

  “Mary Feeney.”

  “Huh.” She considered the likeness under the tattoos and spikes. “Your granddad calls me Jane.”

  They didn’t shake hands.

  “I didn’t agree with hiring you,” Mary said. “I think you’re trouble.”

  The Miner didn’t answer. She agreed, after all. A pair of scruffy-looking toughs came in the front door and peered at the injured on the couch. One was tall and dark, with white tribal tattoos on his forearms and a busted lip. He had an intense, excited look on his face, in contrast to the laid-back shorter guy with a bit of a pot belly and a dopey smile.

  “Excuse me,” Mary said, and went down to join them.

  FOUR’S KIND OF A LOT

  Screwball marveled at how beat-up Marko and Cassie were, and how miserable they looked, bleeding on the couches in the main lobby of the old man’s hotel. “Dang,” Ditz said, scratching himself.

  Mary was up on the stairs to Feeney’s office, standing off to the side with the new chick who had a sword now, and a pretty aggressive haircut. She looked dangerous as hell, he thought, and was glad when Mary shook her loose to come down.

  “Well?”

  “Hey, Mary,” Ditz said. “How’s it going?”

  She favored him with a smile; she seemed to like the dumbass for some reason, and when he talked about her, Ditz implied that they used to be friends. He’d been the one to insist that they talk to her first instead of the old man, and that chafed Screwball, but he had to admit Ditz just knew the politics better than he did. So they’d hid out for a little while until she came back from whatever she’d been doing down in the lower decks.

  “Could be better,” Mary said. “What did you want to talk about?”

  Screwball suggested they stand away from the annoying cries of the wounded, and the new fighter’s eyes were on them as they walked towards the little tables and stools off to the side. In low tones he explained to Mary that they’d followed Raj out to the port, and that Preston had told them he’d gotten on a ship and left. She looked stunned.

  “What ship?”

  Screwball shrugged. “Couldn’t get it out of the guy at the docks,” he said, and that was technically true, since you couldn’t succeed at something you hadn’t thought to try. “Only three ships are in, though,” he said. “Some kind of science thing, a freighter, and hers.” He gestured at the lady with the sword, who was watching them from the stairs. His stint on the welcoming committee hadn’t exactly been distinguished, but at least he paid attention, mostly.

  Mary considered that, running the backs of her knuckles along the edge of the spikes along her collarbone. He tried not to stare, so it didn’t look like he was staring down her shirt again.

  “Thanks,” she said at last, still looking thoughtful. “Three weeks, you said?”

  They both nodded.

  “Thanks,” she repeated. “That’s… interesting. Don’t mention it to anyone, all right? I don’t want it to get back to Angelica that we know.”

  Ditz pointed up the stairs. “So who’s the new person?”

  They all turned to look at the
lady with the sword, who had been mobbed by admirers. One of them, some douchebag whose name Screwball didn’t know, had his hands up in some kind of karate stance and looked like he thought he was some kind of funny shit, while the lady looked at him like he was just shit.

  “Just someone Granddad hired,” Mary said.

  “I heard she took down like eight of Angelica’s dudes,” Ditz said.

  “Four,” was her absentminded reply. “She took them by surprise, but still: four.”

  “Four’s kind of a lot,” Ditz said, and she nodded.

  “Who is she?” Screwball asked. “What’s her name?”

  “Don’t know. She has some kind of hacked bank account, so even Granddad doesn’t know her real name.”

  Screwball thought Feeney had only a hazy idea what anyone’s real name was, but kept that to himself.

  “Do me a favor, you two,” she said, again acting like he and Ditz were best buds or something. “Keep an eye on her. I don’t trust her. If she’s really that good, then what the hell is she doing here?”

  “Causing trouble, Ms Feeney.”

  Screwball jumped. He hadn’t seen that security guy with the blonde mustache approach. The guy moved like a cat. Mary rolled her eyes and turned. She didn’t say anything to him, just gave him a look like she was happy to wait until he left.

  “Your grandfather won’t see reason,” the security guy went on. He had an annoying voice, kind of nasal. “I hope you will. I won’t like to interfere in your business, but I won’t tolerate a move against your rivals.”

  “You mean you won’t tolerate anyone disrupting the status quo and cutting off your payments,” she said.

  His face got ugly, fast. He put his finger in her face and snarled. “Watch it,” he said. “Your family’s little circus only operates on this station because I let it.”

  Mary looked like she had something to say to that, but smiled sweetly instead. “Well, I guess that’s just really nice of you,” she said. The security guy stared, didn’t seem to have any kind of reply to that, and left with his little hat up in his armpit.

  “Jackass,” Mary murmured, but she was staring up at the new woman and her sword when she said it.

  LISTENING IN

  An hour later, out on the balcony in front of the hotel overlooking the galleria, with the sun lamps turned down to simulate evening, the Miner stood and rested her elbows on the railing. She’d managed to get her order in before the provisioner closed up shop; a bit of a rush job, but it would do. It might get back to Feeney, but to hell with it. She hadn’t left the station, and couldn’t really explain why. Preston would take a bribe to release those clamps, she was sure. The look Takata had given her from the front of his restaurant before pulling the shutter made her think maybe she should just leave.

  Across the way in the casino, a handful of Angelica’s toughs stared right back at her. Crazy, she thought. Two gangs headquartered right across a damn mall food court from each other. Off to her left whirred a little laser anti-artillery gadget, which would probably knock a bullet or two out of the air if anyone decided to take a potshot, but that wasn’t much. It was a stupid, tidy little war, and she was embarrassed to be part of it.

  She queued up the lousy audio playback from the bug in Feeney’s office, checking once over her shoulder to make sure nobody was coming out to join her before she got distracted.

  “So, Tom,” she heard Feeney say after some murmuring and clinking of glassware. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Mr Feeney, you seem to have forgotten our agreement. There was an altercation in the galleria today involving one of your soldiers.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Tom my boy, though I see where you might have made your mistake. Jane is one of my people, yes. And yes, she had an altercation today, a regrettable thing. A misunderstanding.”

  “She walked out,” McMasters interrupted, “started a fight, ended a fight – rather brutally – and walked back again. What’s to misunderstand?”

  “Namely, this: she didn’t work for me then. She didn’t know how things go around here, you see. So, none of my people were involved while they were my people, and four of Angelica’s were. Getting your ass kicked in public is still fighting, you know. Being bad at fighting is a poor excuse. But never you mind that, Tom, I’m willing to overlook Angelica’s breach, and I’ve taken this Jane under my wing. I’m showing her the ropes and I’ll keep her out of trouble, never fear.”

  There was silence on the bug, long enough that the Miner wondered if its juice had run out. Stupid printed batteries never lasted long, especially the little ones, and she hadn’t had any manufactured ones to use. That worked in her favor, anyway: if Feeney found a dead bug, it could have been there forever, while a live one only had a few possibilities.

  “Mr Feeney,” McMasters said at last. “That woman, Jane you called her? You should know that she came to me first.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She offered to take on you and Angelica both, to ‘clean up this station.’”

  Another silence. The Miner put her hand on her sword instinctively, then felt incredibly foolish for it. Still, she was relieved to hear Feeney say, “Well, what of it? She certainly has an inflated view of herself, but maybe she could take us both on. Makes me all the more glad she’s on my side, doesn’t it?”

  “Are you sure she’s on your side? She was very moralistic about it, very nasty. Holier-than-thou.”

  “And she offered to do this for free, did she?”

  “No, she demanded a ridiculously high fee.”

  Feeney hooted. “You see, there, Tom? I daresay you’re good at knocking heads and I appreciate how reasonable you are, but you’re no businessman. You can’t tell a sales pitch when you hear one. She’s just another mercenary. Out of curiosity, how much did she ask?”

  “Mr Feeney, I don’t think you’re taking me seriously. I’m not joking.”

  “I know, Tom, I know. And I appreciate the warning. You know as well as I do that I’ve had to learn to cut my losses when it comes to troublemakers. For Chrissakes, I cut loose my own grandson, Tom. Don’t you think I’ve gone soft now.”

  “See that you don’t. That woman is trouble.”

  “All women are trouble. Now see, you’ve barely touched your drink, Tom. Would you prefer the Balmoor? Maybe the Glencallan?”

  The Miner waited through small talk and clinking glasses and those irritating little chuckles men like that made when they thought they were being sophisticated.

  “Oh by the way, Tom,” Feeney eventually said in a faux-off-handed way. “Talking of fighting, it was brought to my attention that one of Angelica’s little goons has got hisself killed.”

  “What?”

  “You should tell her to keep a tighter rein on them.”

  “Damn it, Feeney!”

  “She attacked one of my people, Tom, and I can’t help it if they can defend themselves. She should know better than to let her little trolls out if she can’t control them.”

  More silence.

  “When was this?”

  “This afternoon some time. I only learned of it a little while ago, and here I am telling you to your face forthrightly.”

  “I told you no killing, damn it! Keep the fighting down, and don’t bloody kill each other. How goddamn hard is that? Who did it?”

  “I told you, Tom. Deal or no, I wouldn’t let that woman run me out of my business. I didn’t agree to any suicide pact. I didn’t agree to tell my people to turn the other cheek like little saints. Anyhow, what’s done is done. She’ll be mad, maybe, but it’s nobody’s fault but hers.”

  The Miner listened to the sounds of rustling and breathing. McMasters was in the chair she’d bugged, and while the microphone filtered out the worst of the noises, she could tell he was squirming. “Yes, well. I wouldn’t mind a show of good faith here, Mr Feeney.”

  “I thought it might come to that,” Feeney said brightly, and the conversation tur
ned circumspectly to money. After a lengthy dancing around, a thousand credits changed hands and McMasters finally bade him a good evening. She had seen him leave, though at the time she’d been mobbed by a little crowd of Feeney’s toughs who had wanted to know where she’d learned “that special forces shit.”

  Feeney talked to himself, the Miner had already discovered, but didn’t say anything interesting. He reiterated parts of the conversation, repeating bits that he’d said and hooting in obvious pride. She was about to turn off the recording, when there was a knock and Feeney called “Come in.”

  “Hello, Granddad,” came a woman’s voice.

  “Mary! Come give your old granddad a kiss, girl.”

  The Miner hadn’t noticed Mary slip past her, and made a mental note that there could be a back way up to Feeney’s office.

  “I’ve just met your new bruiser.”

  “What do you think of her? She’s cracking, isn’t she?”

  “She’s dangerous, Granddad.”

  “You’re the second person to tell me that. Nobody seems to think the old man can take care of himself anymore. I tell you, I’ll outlive all those sons of bitches, mark my words.”

  “I’m serious. She’s a real fighter. That sword of hers is military issue. Why’s she hooking up with us?”

  “Because I pay, child. She already touched McMasters, and when he couldn’t afford her she came to me. She’s not cheap, either, she cost me eleven thousand credits already.”

  “Eleven thousand! We don’t have–”

  “I know. It cuts to the bone. But! She flushed out a rat and she killed one of Angelica’s morons already. That’s her first day.”

  “Killed! When?”

  “Just this afternoon. And let me tell you, was McMasters steamed!” He hooted.

  “This isn’t funny, Granddad. Who did she kill?”

  “I haven’t the faintest.”

  “Raj has gone missing.”

  “Has he now.” The merriment went out of his voice.

  “Ditz and his buddy think he got on a ship and left. What if they’re wrong?”