Unclear Skies

by Jason LaPier

  “Yes, I noticed. When the engine fired up, it set off an alarm in the patroller. A-and that’s what woke me up.”

  “Is it already docking with the superliner?”

  “Well, it does appear that the autopilot has engaged.” Katsumi’s voice trailed off.

  “Cadet?”

  “Yes, sir. The autopilot is on, but the course is – well, it’s definitely not locked onto the superliner’s beacon.”

  “What’s it locked onto? Where is it going? Can you override it?”

  “I uh, uh – no, I can’t.”

  “Okay, just stay on our ass, Katsumi. I’m going up to the control room.” He headed for the door. “Don’t go anywhere, Mister,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room.

  He closed the door behind him and considered locking it – the door lock was lit green – and he put his hand into his pocket to fish out his keycard, but then paused. A cold, damp feeling was spreading through his body and smothering the burning heat he was used to. Whatever it was made him decide he didn’t want to lock an old man in a closet right at that moment and he turned to head toward the control room.

  His momentum shifted in the hallway as the ship turned in its orientation routine and he shuffled his feet in a clumsy dance to stay upright, then he continued to jog to the opposite end. Even at double-time it took him several minutes to reach the other end, the damn Polarlys shuttle was so long, and the artificial gravity was only about a quarter-strength. When he reached the control room door, he stuffed his hand into his pocket for his keycard, and found none. He turned out both pockets. “What the hell?”

  A shadow in the shape of a big stupid top hat eclipsed the door lock and McManus spun around.

  “Hello, there, Officer. I believe you dropped this.” Frank Reezer held out a keycard.

  “How did you get this?” McManus said, snatching it away from him.

  “As I said, you dropped it. I found it on the floor as I returned to my seat.”

  McManus eyed the other man for a second, then felt the ship turn slightly. “Shit.” He reached for a pair of cuffs. “No offense pal, but you creep me the fuck out.”

  “Are you going to arrest me?” He put his wrists together in front of him. He wasn’t incredulous, more like curious, when he asked, “What charge?”

  “No charge yet.” McManus slapped the cuffs on. “Just holding you. Officer’s discretion.”

  “I mean the cuffs,” Reezer said, pulling his hands closer to his eyes to peer at his bonds. “How much is the electrical charge on these babies?”

  McManus closed his eyes and shook his head. “Enough.”

  He swiped the keycard against the lock, half expecting it to fail for some reason. But the lock went green and he slid the door open. He pulled Reezer into the room with him.

  The control room was small and windowless. These shuttles ran entirely on autopilot – they were launched from their home docks with a particular trajectory and course, where they would find the beacon of the superliner waiting to pick them up. Once locked onto the beacon, they would pilot themselves into the massive landing zones along the side of the superliner. As such, the control room was really just a bank of computers with a single maintenance terminal. McManus leaned in close.

  BEACON ACQUIRED. IDENTIFYING …

  ROYAL STARWAYS SUPERLINER #3.

  HOLDING FOR SECURITY CHECK.

  …

  …

  …

  BEACON LOST.

  …

  BEACON ACQUIRED. IDENTIFYING … ROYAL STARWAYS SUPERLINER #3.

  …

  SECURITY CHECK COMPLETED. ENGAGING AUTOPILOT.

  …

  …

  APPROACHING TARGET.

  “What the hell,” McManus muttered. “We’re already back at the superliner?” He pushed his earpiece. “Katsumi, is the shuttle at the superliner? There’s no windows in this damn thing. Not even a contact map.”

  “Negative, Officer McManus. You’re just drifting. You’re drifting away – hold on. Contact ten kilometers out and coming in fast.”

  “Are you talking to your ride?” Reezer leaned in close, causing McManus to flinch. The younger man’s face drooped for a moment, losing its smug expression. “Listen, man. I’m not a killer.” His voice was different – the act was dropped – and he continued in a hush. “But they are. If you have a ship out there, tell your pilot to stay back. They won’t hesitate to smoke a Pollie.”

  “Who won’t? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Reezer’s eyes grew cold and he looked at the floor. “I’m just giving you fair warning. They will not hesitate.”

  “Katsumi, listen to me.” McManus turned away from Reezer and headed back into the hall. “Cadet. You have to get back. Go back to the superliner. I repeat, go back to the superliner. That’s an order.”

  “You want me to go back?”

  “Yes, dammit. Go back. Don’t dock, just keep a holding pattern alongside the superliner.”

  There was a rumble and a terrible screeching sound then and McManus froze in mid-stride. He looked all around, trying to identify the source of the noise. It was followed by drumming sounds, rhythmic thumping. He crouched and listened, then stalked slowly down the hall. Halfway down, he heard scraping sounds and turned to one of the hatchways that led to the cargo hold.

  He leaned against the wall next to the hatch and unsnapped his holster. He drew the stun pistol out slowly with one hand and with the other, held his keycard to the door lock.

  The lock went green and the door flew open, and he caught sight of a large, black boot, quickly withdrawn.

  “You first,” came a voice from the adjoining corridor. There was a yelp and a man dressed head-to-toe in tan leather stumbled through the doorway. His head whipped around, and with it long, black hair. Immediately behind him came another leather-clad, this one in black, with no hair and several dozen face piercings.

  McManus decided to forgo introductions and blasted the first one, who stumbled and spasmed down the hall. The pierced one was quick and slapped the pistol away with one hand and clocked the officer in the jaw with the other.

  “Sonova.” McManus glanced toward where the pistol had sailed, but not for long, as another punch was incoming. This one he blocked and then countered with two solid right jabs to the stomach, followed by a mean left hook to the jaw as Piercings doubled over. The last blow set his target twirling a full circle before crumpling to the floor.

  The hallway spun and dipped then as McManus was tackled hard by a third assailant. His head hit the far wall and everything went blurry for a moment. He shook it off and forced himself to his feet, using the wall for support.

  “Stun gun, eh?” The voice came from a very large man, whose biceps were not a trick of any fancy clothing, because he wore only a tank-top, jeans, and large black boots. In one hand was McManus’s pistol. With an angry wink, he asked, “Do you know how much these fuckin’ things hurt?”

  McManus hadn’t known, but he soon learned.

  CHAPTER 2

  Dava watched the Pollie spasm and twitch himself into a nightmare-filled sleep. Johnny Eyeball grinned as he hefted the stun-gun. He looked up and down the hallway, seeking more victims.

  Freezer strolled down the corridor, top hat on his head and hands behind his back, and approached the unconscious cop. “Told ya you shoulda had more guys.” He turned around and crouched so he could reach the cuff control on the officer’s belt. With a ding, the bonds popped off.

  “Freezer, any other security?” Dava asked.

  The hacker was going through the rest of the gear still attached to the cop. “There’s a few guards,” he said as he rifled. “But I think they’re mostly for show. Expensive clothes and flashy muscles.”

  “Target practice,” Eyeball muttered. “Where?”

  “Aft. I can show you.”

  “And Sandiego,” Dava said. “Where is he?”

  “Ah, yeah.” Freezer stood up, tapping at a hand
ypad that he lifted from the Pollie. “He’s passenger number 485, so you’ll want to go up the stairs and hit the aftmost doors on the starboard side. Assuming the Pollie was doing his passenger checks in numerical order, then he never got to the 400s yet. They should all be sitting quietly waiting their turns.”

  “Good.” Rando Jansen joined them, taking his sweet time. Dava looked the man up and down – he wasn’t even wearing armor, just a two-piece gray suit, black dress shoes, and nothing on his neatly trimmed head. To most he would appear unarmed, but Dava picked out the subtle lump in his waistband. “Freezer, your hack will hold?” Jansen asked. “This thing’s not going to suddenly turn around and make for the superliner?”

  Freezer huffed a laugh. “I reconfigured the nav computer to lock onto our fake beacon. Someone could reset it, but then it will be blank. No autopilot.”

  “What about a real pilot?” Dava asked.

  “I haven’t seen any, but it’s safe to say someone on board is qualified.” He gestured at nothing. “No alarms tripped yet though, so if there are any pilots around, they’re probably napping.”

  “Fine. We’ll move quickly,” Jansen said. “Johnny, you and Freezer take care of security. Make sure no alarms get tripped. Dava, you find Sandiego. And remember, we want him alive.”

  “Here ya go, RJ,” Freezer said as he handed the handypad to Jansen and walked down the hall, waving to Eyeball.

  “What’s with that hat?” Eyeball mumbled as he followed.

  “It’s my disguise. Doesn’t it make me look like a rich person?”

  “Makes you look like a fuckin’ idiot,” Eyeball said, their banter trailing off as they went through the door midway down the hall.

  “Dava,” Jansen said, putting a cold hand on her arm. “Did you hear me? I want him alive. But we don’t want him slipping away, so don’t let him see you coming.”

  She pulled her arm away. “They never see me coming.”

  * * *

  The blade when through the man’s leg cleanly, but wetly.

  The populace jumped in synchrony when he screamed. Rows 470, 480, and 490 cleared quickly, flashing the shine of jewelry and top-thread clothing in the softly-lit comfort of the passenger compartment. All except for seat number 485.

  When he was able to form words through the screeching gasps, he managed, “Other leg. Other leg!”

  “What was that?” Dava whispered into his right ear. His skin was bright yellow and it clashed with the pale-green shirt he wore. “You stick out like a bloody thumb here, you know that?”

  He coughed and gritted his teeth. “The drugs … the pills are in the other leg.”

  She sighed. No one ever withheld information any more. “I know your left leg is the false one.”

  She yanked the blade free and the man screamed again. His palms went to the wound, instinctively applying pressure. “I’m sorry!” he blurted. “You have to tell Moses I’m sorry!”

  “Detach it.”

  He looked at her, eyes pleading, then at the hole in his real leg, his reddening hands holding back the blood flow, then at her again. She twirled her short, curved blade around her index finger. He quickly forgot his wound and poked at either side of his left thigh until there was the clunk of a release.

  “While you’re working on that, let’s make sure I got your name right.”

  “S-S-Sandiego.” He was crying now, as he tried to angle his body in such a way that he could pull the leg free of his pants. “Mr. Sandiego,” he blubbered, mostly to himself.

  “Mister, hmm,” Dava purred. She jerked the leg out of his hand as soon as it came free from his clothing.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Do you know who I am?” She bowed slightly into his space, and he reacted by squeezing back into his seat.

  “Y-yeah. You’re Dava.”

  “And who is Dava?”

  He coughed and swallowed. “Dava is the b-bla—”

  “Black?” She leaned closer. Looked into his eyes. Fear. Shock. Pain. Was there repulsion? “You ever see a black woman before, Sandiego?”

  “N-no. But—”

  “Does the sight of me frighten you?”

  “Assassin,” he blurted. “The assassin who works for Moses Down.” He spouted the words in gasping sentences. “Sposta have been born on Earth. Sposta been an orphan on Betelgeuse-3. Became an assassin. Sposta have killed forty men.”

  She tracked his eyes and nodded slowly. “Not all at once. And not all were men.” She ran the blade lightly across Sandiego’s leg. “I don’t know if you’ll count as a full one. Maybe I’ll only make it to forty and three-quarters tonight.”

  “I didn’t take them!” He gripped the arms of his seat, leaning back away from her. “You have to believe me!”

  Without looking back, Dava flipped the leg over her shoulder, aiming it at the direction of the clomp of Jansen’s dress shoes.

  “Are they all there?” Jansen said, taking the leg. She turned her eyes to him and said nothing. He slid away from her gaze nonchalantly. “Hey. Sandiego, right? How do you open this thing?”

  “J-just turn that part there, push down that button, and then twist that.”

  “Ah, there we go,” Jansen said, popping the top off the false limb. “Wow, that’s quite a stash. So, Sandiego,” he said. “Who gave them to you?”

  “It was Mr. Joshi. He lifted them. I’m – I was just supposed to sell them.”

  “And where are you gonna do that, huh?” Jansen lifted his head out of the leg-hole to lean his bronze face close to Sandiego’s. “This shuttle isn’t going anywhere except to a superliner.”

  “They’re designer. Delirium-K.”

  “We know what they are, Sandiego,” Jansen said evenly. “You stole them from us.”

  “I didn’t, Mr. Joshi did!” the dealer stammered. “I’m just supposed to sell them to rich people. That’s why I’m going – why I was going to the Royal.”

  “How enterprising,” Dava said, taking a moment to put eyes around the room. The passengers had begun filing into the hallway. The pushing, shoving crowd parted quickly as though a buffer of wind blew them apart, and Johnny Eyeball strode through, a strange dark and flickering cloth draped over one shoulder.

  “Look what I got, RJ,” he said, spreading what turned out to be a shirt across his chest. The fabric stretched and ballooned cartoonishly. “Pretty awesome, right? One of the guards gave it to me.”

  “Yeah, that’s great, Johnny.” Jansen turned back to their victim. “Okay, Sandiego. What happens after you unload all this stuff? Do you meet up with this Joshi guy again?”

  “Mr. Joshi.” Sandiego’s head sank and he mumbled into his chest. “I was supposed to get on the Royal for six months, move the product, and get off at Terroneous.”

  “And Joshi?”

  “Not him, someone else is sposta to meet me there.” Sandiego flinched as Dava picked at her fingernails with her blade, and his voice sped up. “Mr. Hill – I’m sposta meet Mr. Hill and give him the cash.”

  “Where?” Jansen asked. “How do you contact him?”

  “No contact beforehand. I’m just sposta go to this bar called Angry Candy. It’s in Sunderville.”

  “What’s your cut?” Dava asked, less to know the answer and more to see how much more the man could spill. She emphasized the word cut with a quick wrist-turn of her blade.

  “No cash,” he said, looking down again. “Was going to get a new leg.”

  “Ooh, a cyberleg?”

  “No,” he said firmly, raising his head. “A real one.”

  “Gross,” Dava said with a frown.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Jansen said, touching her arm. “We need to move out.”

  “Hey boss,” Eyeball said, pulling on Jansen’s shoulder, causing him to let go of Dava. A good thing, since she had been considering giving their new underboss a scar to discourage his touch-feely behaviors. “I’m thinking we get Freezer to fuck up the life support. You know, cut off the oxygen
. That way when they find this piece of shit, everyone will just be lying there dead.” He beamed a smile at Dava and nodded slowly. “Subtlety.”

  She caught herself betraying a rare smile. “I suppose it’s more subtle than blowing the whole thing up.”

  “No,” Jansen said, putting his hands out to both of them. “We’re sending a message. We leave everyone alive. Johnny, you didn’t kill those guards, did you?”

  Eyeball sighed. “They’ll live. Probably.”

  “What about him?” Dava said, tilting her blade at Sandiego.

  “Is that ModPol officer still alive?” Jansen asked Eyeball.

  “Sure is,” he beamed, showing all the teeth he still had and winking unintentionally. “I’m going to torture him.”

  “No, we leave him. We leave them both. ModPol can take Mr. Sandiego here into custody.”

  “Aww, what?” the one-legged dealer cried. “You can’t do that!”

  “RJ, you took the drugs back,” Dava pointed out. “What are they going to charge him with, being a gimp?”

  “Johnny, give me that stun gun you picked up. And give me your shirt. Not the new one, the one that says Space Waste on it.”

  “Aw, man,” Eyeball groaned. “I knew we should have just blown the whole thing up.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, they were standing outside the door to some kind of closet. Freezer locked it with a keycard. Inside were the unconscious cop, a couple of badly broken guards, Sandiego – who was holding a drained stun pistol and wearing a too-large Space Waste Summer Camp T-shirt – and some old man who was already cuffed to a shelving unit, who Freezer described as the poor sap to be scanned after he’d left a droplet of fake DNA in the finger-fed ID machine.

  “Well, that oughta do it,” Freezer said as the lock went red. “Somebody else’s problem now.”

  “Yeah, Captain 2-Bit?” Jansen said, touching his earpiece. He listened, then sighed. “Yes, this is Underboss Jansen, who else would it be?… Over!… How far away?… Yeah. … No, no. We’re leaving right now. Let them be. Right, right … over and out to you too.”

  “Company?” Dava asked.

  “Just a single patroller,” Jansen said. He waved at the door. “Just in time to find the scene we left behind.”