The Belt - Complete Series, page 31
When the outer door finally opened, Miranda found herself floating in a dilapidated, dimly lit tunnel. Ahead of her were two men looking very much the worse for wear. One pointed a handheld plasma weapon in her direction and signaled for her to open her visor.
Miranda reached up and popped the visor, and was instantly overwhelmed by a foul, acrid stink. She gagged and coughed. “Ahggg, what’s that smell?”
The two mercenaries exchanged a laugh. “Gee, we’re really sorry—we’re all out of air fresheners,” said the man with the weapon as he floated in closer, aiming higher.
Miranda took a moment to adjust her position, grabbing a handle above her with one hand and placing a foot on the airlock bulkhead. She assessed the two men. One hung back a little, letting the one with the weapon do the talking. He was no threat. However, the weapon man was beginning to piss her off. She jabbed a finger in his direction. “Here’s what’s going to happen: you take that weapon out of my face. That’s if you want to keep your arm.”
His eyes narrowed, and she could see he wasn’t expecting this response from her. He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Miranda gripped the handle tighter and curled her body up to spring.
Hand-to-hand combat in zero-gee is an art form honed by many hours of training and practice. It’s a discipline requiring a true understanding of Newton’s third law: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Miranda had the knowledge and experience to be an effective fighter in this environment, and it was obvious to her that the two men facing her did not.
She lunged forward, pushing herself off the side wall with all the force her legs could provide. She dropped her head and aimed for the weapon man’s head with the crown of her helmet. At the same time, she grabbed his arm to hold him to her as she impacted with his face. He yelled and cursed, and she let go of his arm as he lost his grip on the weapon. He tumbled down the tunnel, an arc of blood trailing from his nose. Miranda stopped her forward movement by grabbing a handle on the tunnel wall. At the same time, she reached out and gathered up the floating weapon, repositioning herself and pointing it at the second man.
“So, can we all stop dicking around now and get on with this?”
He raised a hand. “Sure, okay… this way.”
Miranda signaled with the weapon for him to go ahead of her. They moved down the tunnel to where the other man was nursing his broken nose. “Come on, let’s go.” She waved the weapon at him. He moved off, eyeing Miranda with extreme caution.
They took a small step elevator out to the rim of the torus and exited into almost full gravity. The two men remained in front of her and walked a short distance to a large operations area. It was dimly lit, yet she could see that the station had been stripped of pretty much everything of value that wasn’t essential for life support.
In the center of this area, several people gathered around a low holo-table. They looked over as Miranda entered, and surprise began to register on their faces. She handed the weapon, butt first, to the mercenary whose nose she had broken. He looked very sheepish as he tentatively reached out to accept it.
Miranda looked over at the crew assembled around the holo-table. “I’m a bit disappointed by your reception committee. I was expecting something a little more professional.”
A tall, gangly man with an exoskeleton stepped forward from the group. He had a pale, gaunt look with sunken eyes which stared at Miranda with a steely intensity. He stopped a few feet in front of her and looked at his men, particularly the one holding his bloodied face. He returned his gaze, rolled his head back, and let out a long, guttural laugh. The tension in the room dialed down a few notches, and hands moved away from weapons. “You are some piece of work, Miranda Lee. You really are. But someday you’re gonna get your ass kicked, and I hope I’m around to see it.” He jerked a thumb at the guy with the broken nose. “You—go get that seen to.”
Miranda removed her helmet. “Dain Tiber, I presume?” She asked like it was an accusation.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat all day, but can we get on with this?” Miranda moved the dial back up in the room. She was pushing her luck, and she knew it. Taking out a couple of untrained guys in the docking tunnel was one thing; there was no way she could fight her way out of this lot. Particularly when their leader had been bio-hacked with a powerful exoskeleton grafted onto him. He could crush her skull with one hand.
He gave her another cold look. “How do we know you’ve got the money? How do we know we can trust you, since you don’t have a very good track record in that regard?” This seemed to go down well with the rest of crew, and Miranda could see their body language shift into a more aggressive mode.
She moved a step closer to him and kept her voice measured. “The only reason I’m here is because the people I represent do not like being screwed with. They want to ensure the job has been done as contracted. I’m here to validate that. So, nothing happens until that happens.”
Tiber returned her stare for a second or two before signaling to one of the crew. “Take over for me. I’ll show her the goods.” He turned to Miranda. “This way.” He started out of the operations room. Miranda followed, with two of the crew following behind.
He moved with surprising grace and speed, and Miranda had to work hard to keep up. She reckoned he was doing it just to show what the exoskeleton was capable of, and that he wouldn’t be a pushover like the guy she took out in the docking tunnel. After a minute or two of navigating their way through the maze of clutter that this group of ragtag bandits had stashed in every available space, they arrived at an area with a grubby sign reading Accommodation Sector D. Tiber stopped and signaled to one of the two crew members to open the door. They unshouldered plasma weapons, and one palmed the access panel. The door clicked and they entered, weapons held out in front. Tiber gestured her to follow.
Miranda moved in front of the door, but didn’t enter. Her heart was beating fast, and she was finding it difficult to keep her composure. Therefore, she kept her distance, remaining outside in the corridor as she looked into the room.
It was dim and dank, and smelled of sweat. She saw Goodchild lying on a bunk, as well as several others she couldn’t quite make out. A figure moved out from the gloom. It was Dr. Stephanie Rayman. She recognized Miranda, and her mouth opened in shock for a second before she spoke. “Miranda, what…?”
Miranda gently shook her head from side to side in an effort to signal to Steph not to make a big deal out of it. She got the message and said nothing more.
“Happy?” said Tiber.
Miranda stepped back from the door and moved away. It took her a moment to pull herself together. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” He signaled to his crew and they withdrew from the room, locking the door again. Miranda began to move back along the way they came, more as a way of keeping herself under control—a form of action, something to distract her from her desire to lash out and take these scumbags down. But that would be the stupid move. Take it easy, she thought. Remember: you’ve still got a job to do. Don’t blow it.
By the time they arrived back to operations, Miranda had regained a little more control over her emotions. She reckoned that Scott and Cyrus had probably disabled the shuttles by now, so all she had to do was play it cool and the mission would be accomplished.
“You’ve got what you wanted, so now it’s time to stop playing games and do the transfer,” said Tiber.
“As soon as I’m back on the Perception I’ll give them the okay.”
“You do that, and you can also tell them the price has just doubled. It’s now two billion.”
Miranda wasn’t sure how to react to that. Too casual and they might smell a rat. Too ballsy and… Well, who knew what? “They’re not going to like that, Tiber. Care to give a reason?”
“Because I don’t like you. I don’t like your attitude, and Murt is pretty pissed at you for breaking his nose. Two billion. Then you get your people back.”
Miranda shrugged. “I’ll let them know.”
She was about to go when Tiber stopped her. “Wait a minute.”
“What now?” Miranda was struggling to keep it together.
He pressed a hand to a comms unit fitted in one ear. Someone was talking to him, and Miranda sensed it might be trouble, as he kept looking at her as he listened. She felt her pulse race, and she was sure he could smell her fear.
Finally, he removed his hand and moved closer to her, his face almost touching hers.
“So, are we done?” she managed.
He remained silent for a beat as his eyes drilled holes in hers. “I think you’re playing games, Miranda Lee.”
“Think what you like. I couldn’t give a crap.” She turned to leave, but Tiber grabbed her by the throat, his enhanced strength squeezing her thorax. She couldn’t breathe. His grip tightened on her neck as he turned his head and shouted over to his crew. “Bring ’em in.”
Miranda grabbed his arm and tried to twist herself free, but his strength was demonic. She swung a kick to the side of his knee, but only succeeded in hurting herself more. She couldn’t breathe, and was losing strength. She began to squirm. Her lungs burned and felt like they would explode inside her chest. Tiber was choking the life out of her, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
He released his grip.
She collapsed on the floor, gasping, sucking in lungfuls of air. Her throat felt like splintered wood; it hurt to breathe. Around her, she could hear the crew hollering and cheering—they were baying for blood. Tiber grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up off the floor so she was sitting upright. He twisted her face around so she could see the bloodied and battered forms of Scott and Cyrus kneeling in front of her, hands bound behind their backs.
“Friends of yours?”
Miranda couldn’t speak; her throat was too traumatized. All she could do was look. Scott had a gash on the top of his head, and a long streak of blood caked the side of his face. Cyrus had a bloodied mouth. He spat on the floor in front of him, panting hard.
“We found them outside, trying to screw with our shuttles. Now why would they be doing that?” He pulled her hair tighter. “Eh?”
But she couldn’t speak, even if she wanted to.
“You see, my friend Dogg here says these jokers fell out of the sky after the operation on the Hermes. Had a QI core with them, too. Thing is, he left them there to die a nice, slow death, then they show up here—with you. So, what we would all like to know is—what the fuck is going on?” He twisted harder, and Miranda felt like her scalp was detaching.
Across from her, some guy with a bio-hacked arm unsheathed a plasma weapon and jammed it up against Scott’s skull. She presumed it was Dogg. “Someone better start talking, or I’ll start frying brains.”
“They know you’re here,” said Scott, his voice labored. “They’re coming for you… You won’t get away with it.”
“Bullshit,” said Dogg. “We would know. There’s nothing on the grid. You’re lying.” He whacked him across the skull with the butt of the weapon. Scott collapsed on the floor.
Miranda coughed and tried to speak. “We were… disabling your shuttles… finding out if Hermes crew was here… before alerting Ceres.”
Tiber let go of her hair, and Miranda fought the urge to puke.
“Well now, what a team. Coming to rescue your buddies. Looks like you’ll be joining them instead. And you…” He spun around, whipping a weapon out as he did, and pointed at Dogg. “You led them right to us.”
Dogg looked stunned. “We left them for dead. There was no way out.”
“Except along comes little Miss Rich Kid.”
“How were we supposed to know?”
Tiber shook his head. “I should waste you right here, right now.”
Several of the crew went for their weapons. Miranda got the sense that there were two distinct groups eyeing each other up, waiting for the first person to pull the trigger. She hoped to God they would start a fight; maybe they could get away in the confusion.
But Tiber stuffed his weapon back inside its holster. “It doesn’t matter now.” This settled everyone down. Weapons were lowered, tempers calmed.
Tiber turned to his crew. “Take those two guys and lock them up with the rest.”
He crouched down in front of Miranda and looked her in the eye. “As for little Miss Rich Kid here, she’s Fredrick VanHeilding’s daughter. Apparently, the family didn’t want her getting caught up in the crossfire when the operation on the Hermes went down. So, they concocted a cock-and-bull story and sent a real fancy ship for her.” He looked back at his crew. “Seems the VanHeilding Corporation thinks more of her that they do about the rest of that crew we have locked up.” He stood up with lightning speed and turned to his crew. “They’re hanging us out to dry. They never had any intention of paying the rest of what they owe us for this operation.”
He spun around, looking from one to the other. “They don’t give a shit if Goodchild and the others die. They made that our problem. Well, screw them. Now we got ourselves something they do care about.” He jerked a finger at Miranda. “They’ll pay us what they owe us, or she dies. It’s that simple. In the meantime, we find out what she knows. We’ll take her to the medbay and stick some electrodes on her skull. She’ll talk.” He crouched down again, reached out, and caressed her cheek. “I do hope you’ve got something to talk about, because if you don’t, you’ll be drooling from the side of your mouth for the rest of your life by the time we finish frying your brain.”
19
EXPENDABLE
Scott’s first tentative steps toward consciousness brought awareness of pain—a deep, throbbing ache emanating from inside his skull. He slowly shifted his head and tried to open his eyes. He heard voices. Familiar voices.
“He’s coming around.”
“Scott? Scott, can you sit up?”
He blinked a few times, trying to clear his blurred vision. A mop of matted, frizzy hair came into focus and he recognized its owner as Dr. Stephanie Rayman.
“Steph?” His voice was weak, and his throat felt like it had been freeze-dried.
“Here, sit up and have some water.”
It tasted like it had just been drained straight from a reactor core, but it was still a balm to his parched throat; he felt himself starting to revive. “Steph, we’ve done this before,” he said with a half-smile.
“Yeah, back in Neo City. It’s getting to be a habit.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Good to have you and Cyrus back. I thought both of you had been blown to bits with the Hermes.”
“How you doing, buddy?” Cyrus sat down on the edge of the bunk where Scott was recuperating.
“Not great, if you really want to know.” He sat up and rested his back against the side wall of the accommodation pod. Across from him sat Regina Goodchild—she didn’t look so good either—and several others, some of whom he remembered from the Hermes. He nodded. “How are you holding up?”
“Better, now that we know you’re all still alive.” Goodchild’s voice was weak, and a faint smile cracked her lips.
Scott sat up a little further and reached up to his aching head, where he felt a bandage.
“I did a quick patch up job on that for you. Under normal circumstances I would scan for a concussion, but—” Steph just shrugged.
“Thanks.” He looked around again. “Where’s Miranda?”
“They’ve taken her for interrogation,” said Cyrus.
“Shit. Is she okay?”
Cyrus shrugged. “I doubt it.”
Scott moved himself off the bunk and stood up. He felt a little unbalanced, and reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall. “We have to get out of here and get Miranda before it’s too late.”
“Easier said than done. There are at least twenty well-armed mercenaries out there. Dr. Rayman has been digging up some intel on them.” It was Olaf, one of Goodchild’s bodyguards, doing the talking now. Scott recognized him from the Hermes.
“Yeah, they’ve been dragging me out every so often to treat Tiber. He had septicemia from that exoskeleton he had grafted onto him. It was pretty bad. Anyway, I’ve been looking after a few of them. Minor wounds, that sort of stuff. I reckon there’s around twenty, but only a few of them have military training. The rest are just scratchers. Then there’s also Dogg and his crew of smugglers. Cyrus has been filling us in on all that happened to you.”
“Are they the same group?” Scott asked.
“No, but Tiber and Dogg know each other. They go way back.” Steph looked around, lowered her voice, and leaned in a little. “From what I’ve picked up talking to these guys and from snatches of overheard conversation, they messed up the operation on the Hermes. They weren’t supposed to destroy it. Now the Seven won’t pay up, so they’re screwed.”
“The Seven have already won,” Goodchild chimed in. “The vote on Mars is over—we’ve lost it. They’ve got what they wanted, so now we’re expendable.”
“They’ve also got Aria’s core,” said Cyrus.
Goodchild nodded at Cyrus. “So we heard. Unfortunate.”
“I can’t see how that’s a big deal. Okay, it’s a QI, but so what?” said Olaf.
Scott looked over at Goodchild. “You know why, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes. You see, Aria’s core is… experimental. Anyway, the Seven must have found out, and that’s what they wanted from the Hermes before it blew up.”
“We need to stop them somehow. My guess is they’ll be leaving here soon. They’ll take the core, and probably Miranda as well. They’ll try to use her as leverage. They think she’s important to VanHeilding.”
“What about us?”
“We’ve become an inconvenience now—meaning we’re expendable.” He glanced over at Goodchild. “That’s why we need to get out of here while we have a chance.”
“How?” said Olaf.
