He tipped his head to the side, obviously not wanting to believe her. “You screw me on this, you’ll never get through the gates again. You know that, right?”
“I thought that was the whole idea,” she said, resting her hand on his bicep.
“It’s still going to cost you. I won’t be taken,” he said.
“I don’t have any chits on me,” she said. “I’ll more than make up for it, though.”
He shook his head. “Not my first day on the wall, doll. Payment in advance.”
Katriona looked at the man’s desk and found a framed picture of him and a plain, unhappy looking woman. She picked it up. “I’d never suggest it. How about a nice bauble for the little lady?”
He pulled the frame from her hand and slammed it onto the desk, face down. Katriona wanted to laugh; even as he was molesting her, he felt shame and didn’t want his wife’s image looking on. “Better be worth it.”
Katriona wiggled out from beneath him and reached into the hidden pocket of her cat-suit, extracting the sleeve which held the bracelet she’d stolen. “Probably still has a locater on it,” she said, handing it to him. “It's easily worth fifteen-hundred.”
Diasev took the bag, rounded his desk and pulled a small device from the bottom drawer. Katriona’s valuation of the bracelet rose as he extracted it and ran the device over the metal. More likely it was worth twenty-five hundred credits.
“Stolen property. Just got reported,” he said. “You've been a naughty girl."
“A woman’s secrets are her own,” she said. “A man named Fazel can remove that ident. You can find him in his shop on ninety-fifth and two-twelve. He’ll do it for forty credits, but I wouldn’t wear your uniform.”
“Our deal just changed. Our date is payment for me not turning you in,” he said. “It’s five hundred each way and I better not find you’re going behind my back. Meet me tonight at 0100 at Nazim’s. Get a room under the name Almasev. If you stand me up, I’ll enter this here bracelet as stolen goods and we’ll send a DNA sniffer after you.”
“You say the most romantic things.” Katriona smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and walked out of the office.
The change from city to slum was immediate and dramatic. Instead of a panoramic mural, graffiti adorned the interior wall, and the reek of too many bodies sat heavily in Vermeer’s humid air. It took only a few moments for Katriona’s senses to adjust. After all, the hyper-clean city was much more of an oddity to her than the slums she called home.
Like most places, the slums were segregated into areas Katriona knew to be safe and others she knew were definitely not. Of the millions of inhabitants, most were simply trying to eke out a life for themselves and their families under a system that denied them the benefits of citizenship. They could own no real estate and the justice system was completely tilted to favor the citizen.
Katriona quickly put the scuffle with Lieutenant Diasev out of her mind. While she didn’t appreciate getting groped by the foul-breathed guard, she was grateful his rape attempt had been averted. That situation would certainly have ended poorly for both of them.
Raising her hand, she caught the attention of a cabbie.
“Where to, doll?” the man’s gravelly voice called from behind obscured armor glass that separated driver from passenger.
“Fortieth and one-hundred ten,” she said, giving him an address three blocks from the apartment she sometimes shared with her sister and niece.
“Can do.”
The twenty-minute ride through town at midday was uneventful and she jumped out onto the sidewalk as the cab pulled to the curb. Her first stop was the neighborhood grocery where she picked up a bag of fresh fruit and vegetables she and her sister could rarely afford. Her second stop was the pharmacy to fill a script for her niece’s treatment.
The building in which her sister lived was six stories tall, the upper limit for all buildings in the slums. Not willing to risk the rundown lift, she jogged up the stairs. Katriona enjoyed the burn in her legs as she slowed, rounded the final curve, and exited into the main hallway.
The security panel next to the apartment door would recognize her handprint, but she wasn’t always on best terms with her sister, so she knocked and waited patiently.
“Who’s there?” a small voice asked from behind the door.
“It’s Katriona,” she sing-songed back, shifting so her face was visible to the security panel’s camera.
The door flung open almost instantly. “Kitty Kat!”
As Sveta wrapped herself around Katriona’s legs, she couldn’t help but compare her niece to the girl on the train. While the two were nearly the same age, Sveta was small and frail, her blonde hair thin and ravaged from the course of the wasting disease only treatable with expensive medication.
“Is that, you, Katriona?” her sister, Irena, called from the kitchen. “I didn’t think you were coming back today.”
“Let me in, silly little imp.” Katriona laughed at her niece, who was still firmly attached. She waddled into the three-room flat, still carrying the bags of groceries. “Yes. I’m done early, Irena.”
“Katriona.” Irena was a few centimeters taller, many kilograms heavier and years older. She also had a chastising tone in her voice as she stepped into the cluttered living room. Irena’s eyes were focused squarely on the slim pistol still in its holster at Katriona’s waist.
“Take this to the kitchen.” Katriona handed one of the two bags to Sveta and the other to Irena. With hands free, she quickly removed the pistol and stashed it in her backpack.
“How did you get so much medicine?” Irena asked, unpacking the bags. “You should be more careful. I would rather have a sister alive than all the credits in the city.”
“I’ve been reading.” Katriona ignored her sister’s chastising. “Sveta’s sickness could be healed once and for all if we could get her to Mars or even Curie. Both have free public health.”
“That is nonsense. Where would we find another doctor who understands Sveta’s illness. We are very lucky Fariza doctors know how to treat this. It is very rare.”
“If it’s so rare, then why do we know so many children who have it?” Katriona fired back. It was an old argument and one which neither sister was willing to concede.
“Don’t fight.” Sveta pulled at Katriona’s hand, drawing her to the couch. The girl coughed and sagged. Both women reached for her, but Katriona already had hold of her little hand. Katriona helped Sveta onto the couch that doubled as her bed when she was home.
“You’re a scamp. Sometimes I think you pretend just to get your way,” Katriona said.
Sveta smiled knowingly.
“Where would she have learned that?” Irena asked, with a hint of disapproval in her voice.
“I got something for you while I was in the city,” Katriona smiled at Sveta. She and her sister might have different morals, but they were family.
“What?” Sveta’s feigned weakness was all but forgotten as she sat up excitedly on the couch. Katriona reached into her backpack and extracted the blonde-haired doll. Sveta squeaked with joy and pulled it to her, hugging it with all her strength.
"You shouldn't have," Irena said quietly, trying to repress the smile brought on by Sveta's excitement.
The chime of an alarm sounded in Katriona's ear and she sat up, carefully peeling Sveta's limp body away from her own. The two had fallen asleep on the couch while watching a vid. A blanket lay over the two of them, obviously Irena’s doing.
It was 1200 and she had an hour before her meeting with Diasev. Her stomach roiled as she considered options for dealing with the man. She'd grown up with the curse of being unusually pretty in an environment that jealously punished beauty. While Katriona had accepted the occasional grope from someone in power, she'd made it to womanhood without being raped by becoming smarter, faster and more vicious than those who would cause her pain.
"Don't go," Sveta complained innocently.
"Sleep, little imp," Katri
ona said, considering her niece. The child had similar features to her own, but the disease that ravaged her body provided a kind of protection from the dangers of a poorly maintained society.
Waiting in the apartment building's lobby for a cab to arrive, Katriona took a moment to verify she still held the stolen lens Marek was so interested in. From her pack, she pulled the last set of Lady Almasev’s hand-print gloves she'd ever use. The identity would be burned by the end of the evening.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked.
She gave the address for Hotel Nazim, sat back in the cab, pulled up her hood, and added dark glasses to cover her eyes. Somehow, her life had become inordinately complex and she seemed unable to slow it down. She could come up with no good end to an evening spent with Diasev. He had her trapped and they both knew it. It was the sort of thing citizens could pull on her kind without consequence.
"We're here, miss," the cabbie prompted, pointing out that the cab had come to a stop.
"Oh, thank you," she said, opening the cab door and stepping out.
"Are you sure this is where you want to be?" the older gentleman asked, obviously concerned for her wellbeing.
"I'm meeting friends." She gave a quick smile and strode off purposefully in the direction of the hotel.
A few minutes later and with the air of a visiting aristocrat, she entered the hotel and checked in using the Lady Almasev alias.
"I'm expecting a visitor," she said, swiping her palm across the signature pad.
The night clerk raised his eyebrows at the bald confession. "Are you looking to give this visitor room access? I would need at least a name for that."
"That won't be necessary." Diasev's voice startled her. She hadn't seen him in the lobby.
"Oh, there you are, dear," Katriona said and made a show of stretching onto her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. The man reeked of alcohol.
"I wondered if you would show." He allowed Katriona to steer him toward the elevator. "Keep a good attitude like this and you'll be in for a discount."
"I was hoping to talk to you about our arrangement," Katriona said when they exited the lift.
"I'm not sure you're in any position to negotiate just yet."
"I was hoping we could talk about a cash settlement. I'm not really the type who enjoys casual sex," she said, swiping the door to the hotel room open.
She saw his meaty hand well before it contacted the back of her head, slamming her to the floor just inside the room. She could have avoided the strike, but needed Diasev to believe he was in control. She turned over and scrabbled away, only to feel his rough hands grab the pistol from her waist.
"You stupid whore," he said, leveling the gun at her as he closed the door. "You could have had it all, but you're just like all the rest of 'em. Don't worry, though, I'll get you good and warmed up."
"How many others?" Katriona forced a quaver into her voice and pretended to cower in front of the laser pistol he aimed at her.
"Shut up and take your clothing off."
"I have a lot of money. I'll give you five thousand if you let me go and leave me alone. I'll never come through Portal-3 again."
"We'll talk about money after we're done," he said. "Just so you know, I like it rough. I hope you don't mind. Now, either you take off your clothing or I'll do it for you."
"You don't see any other way out of this?"
Diasev's already frayed temper exploded and he rushed Katriona as she cowered against the wall. He brought the pistol high overhead, intending to strike her, only to discover she'd rolled to her feet and danced around behind him.
He coughed in response to a sharp strike in his abdomen, spinning to face her.
"That's going to cost you," he bellowed and fired the pistol. His aim was wide, the shot sizzling where it struck the wall. He continued to fire, but only managed to enrage himself further with each miss.
"You're hurt, Lieutenant," she said, real panic in her voice. "My deal is still open. I'll call a medic and get you help right away. I'll pay whatever you want."
He looked down at his bulbous stomach where pain continued to spike. Diasev was surprised to see a knife handle protruding from his girth.
"You're dead." He threw the pistol to the side and reached into his pocket.
"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that," she said and stepped into his flailing arms. She twisted as he attempted to grapple with her. She pulled a second, wickedly curved knife from its sheath behind her back and drew it across his neck in a single fluid motion.
Diasev was the fifth person she'd killed and Katriona immediately felt the stain on her soul as arterial blood spray pumped from his body onto the wall. No matter how depraved the man was, his passing at her hands lessened her. She would not mourn him, but a part of her knew she was on a path from which few returned.
She kicked Diasev’s back as she walked past, forcing the surprised man to stumble forward and fall on the bed. Even while he writhed, she snaked her fingers into his pockets, finding and extracting the bracelet on her second try. She leaned against the wall, placing her hand into one of the bright red bloodstains. The act left a significant imprint of Lady Almasev's hand, as well as a scuff of the now-dead alias's DNA on the wall.
Katriona retrieved her laser pistol and returned it to its holster. With a quick look around the room, she was satisfied. She stepped out on to the balcony, rappelled to the ground and ran off into the night.
Chapter 6
Fools
System: Tipperary, Planet: Grünholz, City: Nuage Gros
“Nuage, this is Little Deuce registered with Curie on platform two-one-oh-five,” Luc called over a channel he’d established with Nuage Air Defense.
“Go ahead, Little Deuce.” A video image of Marie-Ange Carré superimposed the external view on one of the flawless screens along the forward bulkhead. “Oh, hi Cap …” She cut off her use of his previous title and frowned slightly. “Er, Luc.”
“Greetings, Marie-Ange.” Luc smiled, trying to set her at ease. “We’re just going to take Little Deuce here out for a test run.”
“Copy that, Luc. You’re cleared. If you leave Nuage airspace, please remember to check in again since Little Deuce is registered under a foreign government.”
“Will do Marie-Ange. Thanks for the reminder,” he replied, trying to tamp down the peevishness he felt at her spouting rules he’d enforced and repeated numerous times. He knew it was her duty, but still, it irked him.
Luc pulled back on the familiar flight yoke and pushed forward on the split throttle sticks. According to Dorian, the ship’s flight systems would accept any number of configurations of flight control inputs. Although, conveniently, the chair where he sat had already been configured with a yoke identical to the Falcons he’d flown for so many years.
He’d been careful to slowly ramp up the power and was thrilled with how smoothly the ship responded to his motions. While Little Deuce was forty times the mass of his Falcon, it responded quickly to his every action. He tipped the yoke in his right hand to the side, peeled away from the city at a slight angle, and accelerated. The lack of any real feedback during acceleration was the first thing that struck him.
“Frak,” he said.
“Problems, Mr. Gray?” Dorian asked, lounging comfortably in the pilot’s chair next to him.
“Wait one. Go ahead, Nuage,” he said, picking up the comm.
“Luc, Little Deuce is in violation of our no-wake ordinance.” Marie-Ange Carré’s face appeared once again on the video feed.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he replied. “That’s on me.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to return to Nuage Gros.”
“Is that completely necessary? Honest mistake in a new ship. I’ll settle up damages if there were any.”
“I don’t know how to say this, but Command has you flagged, Luc.”
“Ms. Carré.” Dorian joined the conversation. “This is Dorian Anino, owner of Little Deuce. Captain Gray is flying under
my direction and is therefore under the employ of Anino Enterprises. As such, you’ll inform Mr. Festove that all inquiries regarding this matter will be directed to my corporate legal team. We’ll be sure to discuss Mr. Gray’s flagging in-depth at our upcoming maintenance contract negotiations.”
“Yes, ma’am. Luc, please hold current heading,” Marie-Ange replied and froze the comms.
“Doggone it,” Luc said, pulling back on the throttle and straightening out. “Sorry for the trouble, Ms. Anino.”
“Now, I’m Ms. Anino? Let’s get back to you calling me Dorian, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than abusing my power to knock folks like Breshev Festove down a peg or two.”
“Right. Dorian. Beautiful CEO of Anino Enterprises,” Luc said, lifting an eyebrow. “A woman I can — for at least a few more moments — pretend I’m on the same level with.”
Dorian nodded. “In that I value honor and courage beyond power and prestige, I would say there is no pretense. Oh, and look at those beautiful Falcons who’ve come to escort us.”
“Standard protocol. Marie-Ange had to call them out since we’re refusing a legally-given directive.”
“Tell me, Luc, have you ever wanted to show Colonel Festove exactly what you think of him?”
“Daily. But I believe in chain of command more than personal vendetta.”
“Take us out of Nuage controlled space at full combat burn,” she said.
“The Falcon patrol will have to pursue us. They might fire. It would be within their discretion.”
“Mr. Festove has once again overplayed his hand and I need to send him a message. The fact that you are behind the stick is a joyful coincidence. As for Falcon weaponry, the best they could do is flake off a few centimeters of armor.”
Luc looked over at the Falcon that had pulled up next to Little Deuce. In the pilot’s chair sat now-Captain Alex Ouvrard.
“Greetings, Little Deuce,” Alex’s voice came over the Nuage Air Defense comm channel. “We’ll be out of your hair shortly. Please maintain your current heading.”
On a Pale Ship: A Privateer Tales Series Page 6