by S. J. Madill
It took him a moment to realise she was talking to him. "What? Oh. Yes. A general scan should be fine." He thought about that. "Probably. And keep an eye out for…" he waggled his fingers, as if trying to summon words to him. "Sensor… things. No signal return—"
"Ah," said Bucky. "Sensor holes?"
"Yes, yes. That."
Behind the Doctor, the Handmaiden stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She was keeping her eyes on the older man, only occasionally glancing at the others.
Past Lanari, in the passageway aft of the cockpit, was Ocean. He was looking from person to person, a contented look on his face. Yaella wondered how often he got bored; if she'd spent centuries floating in space, she was pretty sure the boredom would've driven her nuts.
"Okay," said Bucky, interrupting her train of thought.
"Okay what?"
"Okay, nothing," he said. "I mean, our sensors aren't the greatest, but we'd definitely be able to see an eleven-kilometre junkyard." He leaned back in his seat, gesturing helplessly at the screen. "Nothing. Not even a sensor hole. It's not here, Blue."
Dr. Munshaw harrumphed. "Well then, I guess you need to find it." He turned and left the cockpit; Lanari and Ocean stepped aside to let him pass.
"Huh," said Bucky. "Quite the charmer, huh?"
"Well," she said. "The guy's right. It's our job to find the damn thing."
"Yeah. But where do we start?"
Tal held up a hand. "Beer?"
Yaella was trying to think. She'd just assumed that the Planet Killer would be here. In retrospect, it was kind of stupid to expect it to sit and wait for them. She didn't have a plan for what to do next. "I don't know. Let's land on Canteen and ask around."
"Beer?" Tal asked again.
Yaella smiled at the hopeful tone of his voice. "Yes, Tal. Beer. Crappy beer."
* * *
Blue Guardian.
Munro had a spring in his step as he made his way along the dusty passageway. He curved left and right between the round walls of the landing pads, threading between groups of travellers and piles of crates. Normally he'd send his new assistant to greet incoming ships, but not this one.
He looked up. The sky was brilliant blue, without a cloud in sight. The sun peeked between the fabric canopies that hung heavy with accumulated dust.
Munro stepped around an autoloader piled high with shiny plastic crates. Business had been good of late; the ships full of Red Castle mercenaries were generous with the credits. He knew what they were up to, but kept that to himself; he already had enough work to do.
But all that had gone by the wayside when he saw the Blue Guardian appear on the list of arrivals. Such an innocuous little ship. Unattractive and unremarkable in almost every way. But not to him. Every time it landed in one of his bays, it had some new story to tell. Some new and interesting connections to make. There weren't many ships like the Blue Guardian that could be counted on to make his day interesting. When they came, he felt like a kid with a new toy, looking at it this way and that, trying to figure out how it all fit together.
Docking Bay Eleven. He always assigned his 'favourite' ships to the best bays. He doubted that anyone noticed his largesse, but it mattered to him. It was his own personal touch: a little something to thank them for being interesting.
He came to a stop, his clean boots kicking up clouds of dust that wafted lazily around his feet. Behind him, his half-dozen security guards — no mere mercenaries, these ones — fell into formation behind him.
The whine of Palani engines faded away on the other side of the wall. Nice and smooth; powerful, well-tuned engines. Quieter than those on the Red Castle ships.
Two long, clean chimes sounded from the top of the doors. He missed the dust-choked old horns that used to wheeze and cough to announce each new landing, but he was getting used to the chimes. They were dust-proof, for one thing, which went a long way on this planet.
Latches clicked, and the double doors began to slide open with the sound of smoothly-ratcheting metal gears.
He saw it right away. New people. Once again, the Blue Guardian didn't disappoint.
"Hey, Munro," said the blue-haired woman in front. She stood a little taller, her chin a little higher. It was like watching her grow up in front of his eyes, little by little. Good for her.
"Greetings, Captain Yaella." He gave a little nod of his head. "Welcome back to Canteen. If you will permit me, I am obliged to remind you of the rules."
As he recited his well-memorized spiel, his eyes took stock of the people in front of him. The one they called Bucky: well-groomed, with freshly-pressed clothes. He seemed less certain than before; less enthusiastic. Perhaps the time had not been as kind to him as it had been to Yaella? The young man looked like he'd rather be somewhere else.
The one they called Tal was still a rumpled mess, like any of a thousand spacers that came through Canteen. He was licking his lips more than usual: either the effect of drugs, or he was expecting to eat or drink soon. It was also possible that the young man's entire appearance was a charade, in which case it was masterful. But that seemed unlikely.
There were two new people aboard, full of connections waiting to be made. One wore all black, and his skin had an unusual pallor to it. He looked… unhealthy? Unusual in some way. The way he stared at his surroundings, as if seeing everything for the first time and yet being bored by it all. An insect — barely a speck — was moving across the man's cheek, and he seemed to take no notice. Perhaps a high level of self-control, or some sort of mind-body disconnect.
The other newcomer was an older man. White hair and beard. Once-expensive clothes, now well worn: vest over dress shirt and pants. A passenger? He gawked at everything like a tourist. Captain Yaella, of all people, should know that Canteen was no place for the unwary; no place for a soft middle-class man like this. If not a tourist — if the man was here for a reason — Munro wanted to know what it was.
"Munro," asked Yaella, when he'd finished his spiel. "What's going on? Last time we were here, the Planet-Killer was in orbit and this place was broadcasting an evacuation signal."
"Indeed, Captain," he said, stretching a smile across his face. He'd spent so much time feigning obsequiousness, it was sometimes hard to break himself of the habit. "The Planet-Killer left as suddenly as it appeared."
He watched the young Yaella shift her weight to one foot; she'd hoped for a different answer. "Oh. So how were things down here, when it was in orbit?"
Munro tried to stretch the smile wider. "I am grateful for your interest in my safety, Captain. I can assure you that the most loyal Guild employees were well looked after." And the most resourceful employees looked after themselves. His eyes wanted to linger on Yaella, but there was someone missing.
"A loyal cog in the machine, eh?" Yaella put her hands on her hips. "You look like you've done well for yourself. And what's with all the mercenaries?"
"Done well?" Munro glanced down at his new purple coat. "Indeed, Captain. The Guilds have seen fit to reward my loyal service." Though who is a cog in whose machine remains to be seen. "As for the mercenaries, Red Castle ships began arriving just after the Planet-Killer left. I can only guess as to their intent, but Canteen's businesses are thriving from their patronage."
There she is. He finally spotted her: the short woman with the dust-coloured cloak, blending in with the wall of the landing pad. There was no dust today, but she wore a face-concealing mask all the same. The last time the Blue Guardian had been on Canteen, there had been a report of a slight young woman in white, threatening some back-alley scum; apparently, she'd been armed with a segmented blade. It was an easy enough connection to complete: white combat leathers, concealment cloak, and a segmented blade? Artahel. A Palani temple commando, travelling with the Blue Guardian. Interestingly, she wasn't shadowing the young Yaella this time; instead, she stayed nearer the white-bearded old sightseer. Now that was interesting. Was the Artahel making sure he stayed safe? Or making sure he didn't try to es
cape?
"Okay," said Yaella. She brushed unseen dust off the arm of her jacket. "Thanks, Munro. If I need anything—"
He gave a practiced bow of his head "I am at your service, Captain. Please ask for me at the office, if you don't find me outside." Last time they'd been here, she'd been very generous with the credits. He made a point of never forgetting that sort of connection.
He took a step back, and made a sweeping gesture toward the shaded alleyway. "Welcome to Canteen," he said. He kept the smile on his face long after his cheeks became tired.
The comely young Yaella went first. She'd never told him her last name, and didn't have to: it was a near-certainty that she was the daughter of that Palani monster Varta. Once he'd heard the rumour of the Mahasa's daughter going missing for a few weeks, he'd known. That had been when a team of Palani had come through Canteen and shot up the old bar. That must've been the old battle-axe herself; it was too big a coincidence to be anything else.
He paid little attention to Bucky or Taliesin; they were both known quantities.
The cadaverous young man in black went by, looking like he was bored of everything around him. And he had another insect on his skin, walking along his neck. Two, in fact, with no reaction from the man. That sort of mind-body disconnect rarely boded well.
"Nice to meet you."
Munro was quick to react, smiling at the old man walking by. "And you as well, sir. Welcome to Canteen." Their eyes only met for a moment, but he saw intelligence in that wrinkle-creased face. Engineer? Scientist?
Quiet as a ghost, the cloaked little Artahel passed, staying near the old man.
As the Blue Guardian's crew headed up the alley, Munro reached inside his purple coat and pulled out a shiny new datapad. There were new questions to be asked. More connections to be made. He'd make a few calls; talk to a few people. He'd have to decide what, if anything, to tell his Guild masters. If they knew half of what was really going on in 'their' town…
He watched the Blue Guardian's crew heading into the street. There were too many sharp edges in Canteen right now. Too many weapons and too many egos. And the Blue Guardian always brought trouble with it.
* * *
When they stepped out of the starport into Canteen's main street, Yaella hesitated. She didn't have much of an idea where to go from here. For some reason, she'd assumed that the Planet-Killer was going to be waiting for them. Instead, it was long gone, and Canteen was back to normal. Normal, apart from all the Red Castle mercenaries around.
She remembered what her mom had said about mercenaries. She saw them as a particularly ugly expression of humanity's obsession with money: people who would kill for credits. Many of them were former military, but they weren't the type who believed in duty or honour or service. To Mom, mercenaries were people who liked fighting; they were small people who wanted to feel big. From what Yaella could see of the mercenaries in the street, her mom was right.
Men and women alike, with too much muscle and not enough armour. They didn't walk; they strutted. They posed and leered, and stared with predatory eyes. They worked hard to be intimidating. They didn't have uniforms as such, though they did have identical Red Castle patches on their clothes or gear. One particularly brutish-looking mercenary wore his patch on his crotch. Subtle.
The street was full of swaggering egos, all armed to the teeth. And, as Yaella started down it, there was altogether too much interest in her and her blue hair.
She spoke quietly to Bucky over her shoulder. "What the hell do these mercs want? What are they doing here?"
He sounded as hesitant as she felt. "I'd guess it has to do with money. Probably a lot of money."
The mercenaries were in groups of threes and fours. Some sat on stacks of plastic crates, while others leaned against buildings. One group had their weapons in their hands, and were walking up the middle of the street like they'd just appointed themselves Canteen's new police force. The other residents of Canteen — the spacers, the traders, and the dust-covered souls just trying to get by — gave the mercs a wide berth. Canteen's usual business continued, such as it was, but it seemed pushed aside, relegated to the side streets while these corporate thugs strutted around in the centre of town.
A cloud of dust followed Yaella and her crew, kicked up by their boots. She checked to make sure everyone was keeping up. Bucky was the closest; his clean clothes were already dusty. Tal looked like one of the locals, and Ocean appeared utterly oblivious to everything going on around them.
Dr. Munshaw wandered like a tourist. He strolled along like he was in a park, a smile never leaving his face. Close beside him, and difficult to make out at first, was the Handmaiden; she wasn't letting the Doctor out of her sight. Together, Yaella decided, her crew looked… out of place. Conspicuous. The opposite of intimidating. Far too interesting for their own good, walking through this den of predators bristling with egos and weapons.
She wanted to get out of the street, away from all those unfriendly eyes. She wanted to break into a run all the way back to the ship, but—
"Captain?" The Doctor had an odd smile on his face. It didn't match the rest of his body language, like the smile was a mask he'd just decided to wear for a moment. "The bar?"
"Yeah." She realised she'd been losing focus; having all these eyes on her was intimidating, and she needed to keep her mind on what she was doing. "The bar. This way."
The first time she'd been to Canteen, the bar had been a dilapidated collection of sheet metal hammered together into a building. That's where she'd been attacked by a slaver. She was glad that old place was gone; it had burned to the ground, and in its place was a cluster of makeshift houses. Some of the soot-blackened panels of the old bar had been re-used.
The new bar was diagonally across the street from the old one, and was a remarkable contrast. A purpose-built structure, instead of just random sheets of metal and plastic. It had even been subjected to an attempt at painting: its outside was a mostly-uniform shade of grey, with a competently-lettered sign proclaiming it to be the imaginatively-named Guild Bar.
A half-dozen heavily-armed guards loitered outside. Their armour was rust-stained, their faces dried and wrinkled from long hours in the sun and dust. As Yaella steered her crew toward the bar's door, they didn't say anything; they just looked her up and down, then stood aside.
"Good morning," said the Doctor. It made Yaella cringe.
"Uh huh," said one of the guards, in a tone that deterred further conversation. Yaella pulled the door open, and stepped inside.
She'd been here a few weeks ago, with Bucky, Tal, and the Handmaiden. They'd spent more time in here than she'd like to admit, trying to drum up business. Trying to find a job, any job, that would allow them to stay here and, ideally, find a way coreward. Some way to follow the trail of hybrid slaves into Shard space. In the end, all that time — and all those drinks she'd bought for strangers — had been wasted. It turned out she'd only ever needed to bribe one person: Munro, back at the starport.
Yaella made a face. Maybe she should just go back and hand Munro her credit chip—
"Beer," declared Taliesin, walking past her. She sighed, and followed him into the bar room.
As Canteen went, the new bar was palatial. The wide room was mostly clean, and almost too dark to see; only the oval counter in the middle was well-lit. Around the perimeter of the room, a haphazard collection of booths and small tables were occupied. Everyone with their backs to the walls, facing the room. From somewhere overhead came upbeat music that was popular back in human space, but totally out of place in this dim room full of dark figures and murmured voices.
The room smelled of spilled beer gone stale, and the floor was sticky beneath Yaella's feet. Tal was a few paces ahead of her, his head on a pivot as he searched for an open table. It was late morning, by Canteen reckoning, and every booth and table was occupied; there wasn't enough space for the six of them. Shit.
She met the eyes of one of the staff at the central bar: Keith, t
he young guy who'd been here the last time they visited. He was tall and gangly, all arms and legs. His white apron was clean — the day was young, after all — and he had his customary towel draped over his shoulder. He recognised her, and gave a wave and a smile. He looked around the bar himself, before giving her a helpless shrug. Yeah. No room at the inn.
"Hey—!"
A woman's voice filled the room, causing all the murmured voices to stop. Even the upbeat music paused for a moment.
At the back of the bar, a dark-haired woman was alone at one of the largest tables. She was waving to get their attention. "Hey!" she called again. "You're late! C'mere, already."
Yaella exchanged a smile with Tal, who offered a shrug and a 'why not?' look. She waved back at the dark-haired woman, then followed Tal across the bar, threading between the tables.
As they approached the lone woman, Yaella tried to remember her name. She'd seen the woman here before, but they'd never spoken. She was middle-aged, with long dark hair and a leather jacket even older and more weathered than Yaella's. On the table in front of her was an impressive array of empty beer glasses, and an old datapad covered in half-dried beer foam.
"C'mon," called the woman. Her movements were slow and sweeping, like there was a lag between what she was trying to do and what her body was actually doing. "Siddown." She dropped back down onto her chair, and made an unsteady flourish toward the table in front of her. "Room f'rall of you. Name's Lildwinter."
Tal slid around the back of the table. "Lildwinter?"
"No no no." She shook her head, and it took a while for her eyes to refocus. "Lil," she enunciated clearly, "De. Winter." Lil gave a wide smile, apparently pleased with herself. "When I have a drink, people get hard'f hearing."
Yaella offered a hand in greeting. "Hello, Lil, I'm—"
Lil didn't seem to notice Yaella's hand. "Siddown," she insisted. She carefully pointed out all the chairs around the table. "Sit, sit, sit."
"C'mon," Yaella waved to her crew. "Let's have a seat here with Lil."
Yaella sat beside Lil, Tal on the other side, next to Bucky and a bored-looking Ocean. Dr. Munshaw sat at the far end of the table, while the Handmaiden pulled out a chair and turned it so she could watch the rest of the room.