Authors: Ian Whates
Despite being hampered, her opponent still managed to block the next blow, which had been aimed at his kidneys, but he was too slow to avoid the follow-up, a chop to the throat with the side of her hand. Something gave – larynx, trachea, she couldn’t be sure, but it was enough to send him collapsing to the floor, clutching at his throat and gasping noisily for breath as if his very life depended on it, as indeed it might.
The other one had pulled the knife out of his arm, displaying reckless indifference to the damage that might be caused in the process. His right arm now hung awkwardly by his side and blood dripped from the dangling fingertips, but he adopted a fighter’s wide stance, oblivious to the pain, her knife now brandished in his left hand. She closed in, conscious of the weapon but watching his eyes. When the attack came she was ready for it, dodging, swaying and arching her back so that her body was outside the reach of his thrust. The blade passed a hair’s breadth from her midriff. She grabbed his arm with both hands as he started to bend the elbow and bring the weapon back. Putting all her body weight behind the action, she twisted his wrist and used the instinctive retraction, forcing the blade around to stab into his stomach.
For a frozen instant they stared into each other’s eyes – his brown orbs flecked with gold. Leesa watched as the realisation of death dawned in those eyes and then the light of life drained from them. She stepped away, allowing his body to collapse to the ground.
She held the knife tightly clutched in her fist. Crouching, she wiped it clean on the dead man’s clothing before quickly cleaning her hand.
Then she stood up, breathing hard as adrenaline receded enough for reason to put in an appearance.
Shit!
She’d just killed one of the Cellothan. Only one, thank goodness; the second looked fit to survive. The man was now on all fours throwing up, but at least he was still breathing.
On impulse she strode across and crouched, holding the knife to his throat. The man froze.
“I could have killed you as well. Remember that,” she hissed, before whipping the knife away and swivelling around to leave him there.
Not that it would make a scrap of difference. They’d still be after her and wouldn’t rest until she was dead. After all, she’d just kicked them straight in their precious
machismo
.
She hurried along the alleyway, mind racing as the realisation of what she’d just done hit home.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
If she’d needed something to kick her arse into action, this ought to do the trick. Her old pal procrastination was going to have to find a new best friend, because she was getting the hell out of here while she still could.
Leesa ran a quick inventory in her head. Virtually all her possessions she carried with her. The two men, whether muggers or assassins, had been lying in wait at the mouth of the alley, and that meant they knew where she slept. The only things back in the carriage were the old sleeping blanket and a few changes of clothing; certainly nothing worth the risk of going back for.
Once word was out that the Cellothan were after her, she wouldn’t have a friend in the world. She might have been able to smooth things out with Jamiel, though he would doubtless have demanded his pound of flesh, but
this
… This was something else entirely. Eye for an eye, life for a life; it was a maxim she understood only too well.
She headed for the spaceport, distracted, annoyed at herself for losing control like that and oblivious to the strident blare of horns as she dodged between taxis, bikes, and tin-topped vans, pausing as a tram glided across her path and swearing at the phut-phutting motorbikes that weaved through the traffic and always seemed to be in the way wherever she wanted to go next.
As she walked and dodged Leesa reflected on the irony of it – what the mind-wipe had taken from her and what the process had left her with. Fundamental things such as who she was or how she came to be on Babylon remained frustratingly elusive, but she knew that she liked steak – rare and not too much or it quickly filled her up – and she knew she liked fish and loved fruit but hated creamy desserts and loathed root vegetables. Most importantly, she remembered her skill sets, such as fighting and mechanics. And therein lay her hope.
Eventually she made it across the commercial district and into the quieter backstreets that bordered the landing field. Here, away from the bustle and commotion, she moved swiftly but cautiously, every sense straining, acutely aware of the shitstorm she had just stirred up, which would be coming her way sooner rather than later.
Leesa
had
to get off world. Head down but eyes now scanning every shadow, she made her way to the Rusty Rivet. Standing directly opposite the main entrance to the space port, the Rivet might not have been the most salubrious of the several bars that clustered around the area, but it was certainly the most obvious.
No flashing neon signs or fancy holo-displays to attract punters into the Rivet, just an open door, a homely atmosphere and cheap local beer; well, cheaper than any of its nearest competitors at any rate. Drinks still needed paying for, though, a realisation that caused Leesa to pause at the door, slipping fingers into tight pockets to fish around. Thankfully, her questing fingertips found enough coins to buy at least a couple of drinks, which could be eked out for a good few hours if she was careful.
It was nearly lunchtime and the place was already starting to fill up. Leesa nodded to a couple of familiar faces as she made her way to the bar. Being recognised had both an up and a down side. One or two of these acquaintances might be able to point her in the direction of a job if there were any going. On the other hand, some of them undoubtedly knew Jamiel and wouldn’t hesitate to sell her out for the price of a beer.
Shipees – non-permanent crew – were constantly hired and fired, taken on for a single trip and subsequently released. It was just a question of being in the right place at the right time. Leesa could only pray that, on this occasion, she was.
This wasn’t the first time she had staked out a portside bar in the hope of latching onto an outbound crew, but it
was
the first time she’d ever been this desperate.
S
EVEN
Pelquin studied the monitors intently as the ship breached Babylon’s upper atmosphere and dropped towards the planet’s thick cloud layer. The hull – that thin shell of layered metal and insulation that surrounded and protected them – was increasingly buffeted by turbulence, but there had been no recurrence of the alarming stutter the ship had suffered in transit. He remained on edge, though, expecting one, and the orange warning light only stopped winking once Anna had deactivated it on his instruction. He knew there was a problem and didn’t need to be constantly reminded of the fact.
As if that wasn’t enough pressure for any man to handle, Drake had wandered back onto the bridge as they began their approach.
The banker’s presence made him uneasy, so he did his best to ignore the grey-suited figure and get on with his job, concentrating on the monitors, watching intently as they passed through the clouds and the world of Babylon was unveiled. This really
was
his first time here and he always enjoyed the anticipation of a new world. It wouldn’t be Nate’s first time on Babylon, perhaps, but there was nothing in the ship’s memory to betray that fact.
As they dropped lower, zeroing in on their destination and quickly reaching the point where individual features were visible, the thing that most drew Pelquin’s eye was the broad river that wound its way through the centre of the city. This was La Gossa, the largest city on Babylon’s only significant continent, and the river was flagged as the Kusbah, which meant in the local language ‘brown artery’. The name couldn’t have been more apt. The Kusbah’s waters were dark with minerals and silt, while in places its surface was choked with enormous barges and cargo vessels, suggesting that the river was a major commercial thoroughfare.
Docks and factories clustered around the river’s banks, hemming the water in at every turn as it wriggled a serpentine course through the heart of the city. Vast bridges spanned the Kusbah’s expanse at irregular intervals – seeming from this vantage to be crude stitches across an open wound, holding the two halves of the city together.
As they dropped lower he lost sight of the river, which was replaced by the concrete sprawl of human habitation interspersed with an erratic grid of myriad roads.
Seconds later and they were over the landing field, buildings replaced by the metallic beetle-like forms of flitters and ships as Anna brought the
Comet
over the allotted berth and set her down.
They opened the cargo door almost at once – the most effective way to vent the staleness of recycled air, even if only to replace it with fresh urban pollution – and so had the opportunity to sample Babylon from an in-your-face perspective It wasn’t the river that grabbed their attention now so much as the smell. La Gossa stank. Of too many people crammed for too long into too little space. The heat didn’t help either. Humidity was so high that Pelquin half expected to see the air itself start to sweat.
Bren had been on the coms long before they hit atmosphere, tracking down and then hiring the medical help they would need for Monkey. It meant another chunk of Pelquin’s money gobbled up – or rather the bank’s money – but he had no choice, at least not if he wanted to avoid a mutiny. The little mechanic was popular, and the last thing he needed when heading off on the biggest caper of his life was dissent from a crew that wasn’t fully committed to the cause.
Besides, the medical emergency would provide a convenient distraction while he and Nate saw to the business that had really brought them here.
Pelquin glanced to one side to find Drake staring at him. The intensity of the banker’s gaze was discomforting, almost as if the bastard could read his mind. Pelquin resolved to be more guarded with his expressions. If anyone around here needed distracting, it was Drake.
An ambulance screeched up within minutes of their landing, which Pelquin thought pretty impressive, though Bren didn’t seem to agree. “Bastards told me they’d be waiting here for us!” she growled. Monkey, still in his cryochamber, had been loaded onto a gravsled, though not without considerable effort and cursing. As soon as the back of the ambulance slid open, Bren and Nate manoeuvred the over-burdened sled through the loading bay and down the ramp, to where a pair of green liveried medics waited.
Bren wanted to go with Monkey, but Pelquin forestalled her. “What good is that going to do?”
“It’ll reassure me he’s being properly looked after, which will do me the power of good, I can promise you,” she replied.
“The doc will see to that. I need you here.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“Help me find a new mechanic.”
“A new
what
? You’re abandoning him?”
“Of course not! You know me better than that. But the doc reckons that,” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “whatever happens, it’ll be a while before Monkey is going to be fit enough to travel, and we can’t afford to hang around. So we take someone on, temporary crew, this trip only. We bring them back here when the job’s done and pick up Monkey. By then he’ll be all fixed-up and as lecherous as new.” Or so they could all hope.
“Really? A shipee, for one trip only?”
“My word on it.”
She might not have liked it but Bren was professional enough to know he was right. She stayed and the doc went off in the ambulance. Shortly afterwards, Nate disappeared into town to start sourcing suppliers for the equipment that needed replacing.
“Anna, break out the hull scrubbers.” The hiccup in RzSpace had unnerved him, and he wasn’t about to take any chances. Despite the name, earned because the small beetle-like mechanoids
looked
as if they were cleaning the ship as they made their methodical way across its hull in tight formation, they had nothing to do with cleaning. Instead, they were designed to check the integrity of the hull in minute detail, noting any possible weakness. Hairline cracks in the heat laminate, fatigued plating, stressed cooling fins – scrubbers could spot a potential failure before one actually occurred, long before a ship’s standard systems would pick up on a problem. They were, however, something of a luxury; hideously expensive and considered unnecessary by most. The look of surprise on Drake’s face spoke volumes.
Evidently Anna had noted that look too. “The skip won them in a particularly intense hand of Black Hole,” she explained.
“You don’t think we’d have anything as extravagant as hull scrubbers otherwise, do you?” Bren added.
Pelquin chose to ignore her.
They were on a tight schedule, which gave him very little leeway. As soon as the formalities of their arrival had been dealt with, Pelquin went in search of Monkey’s temporary replacement, with Bren in tow. Drake chose to tag along as well. Nobody objected, not even Pelquin. At least this way he could keep an eye on the banking bastard.
The saying goes that if you want to find a decent bar you should follow the spacers, because no one knew more about booze than they did. To Drake, the flaw in this frequently quoted maxim was obvious: when a spacer came into port, especially after a lengthy trip, proximity generally won out over quality.
Anywhere
serving alcohol would do. He therefore had low expectations of the bar Pelquin led them to, which was just as well because the place fully lived down to his every fear. The captain’s own philosophy when it came to finding a new engineer seemed about as sophisticated as the spacers’. The Rusty Rivet was the nearest bar to the landing field – and Drake had to wonder if this was really the best that local knowledge could recommend.
The bar was busy. While it might not have been the worst establishment he had ever drunk in, Drake wouldn’t be recommending it to anybody either. Dark, over-warm and smoky, those were his initial impressions.