The Girls From Alcyone: Merchantman (2 page)

"Enough!" Captain Trybuszkiewicz shouted. "We go."

Without further discussion, the captain hit the switch opening the airlock.

Unlike Vincenze, there was no security on the docking platform waiting to greet them. In fact, there was no one in sight at all. Trash and debris littered the docking ring. Someone had left a series of incoherent scrawlings painted on the walls and ceiling, and the overhead lighting flickered in an annoying fashion, blinking out its need for repair.

"What happened here?" Sigrid asked.

"Independents,"
the captain said; it was clear he did not approve. "They wrested control of this station from the CTF years ago. Claimed the space for their own."

"They took over?"

The captain made a sniffing noise. "Before abandoning it. Revolutionaries seldom consider what will happen after their battles are over. They had no plan to govern this place. Don't misunderstand, I have no love of the Council, but at least they know how to change a light fixture. With the Independents…well, you can see the result."

Sigrid took care stepping over a collapsed support beam. "Who governs the station, then? Who's in charge?"

"In charge? If you mean the law…? Well, we must be cautious."

The docking ring led out into a holding area. This seemed to be a warehouse of some sort, the entire length filled with what appeared to be abandoned intermodal shipping containers, some stacked, some overturned, rusting and covered with even more of the graffiti. Several of the containers had been cut open, turned into makeshift residences and storefronts. Sigrid spied several vendors emerging from the shelters as they approached, eager to showcase their wares to the newcomers.

Captain Trybuszkiewicz waved them all away, his officers manhandling some of the more persistent peddlers.

"They don't get many customers on this level. Come. The place we want is just up ahead."

The lift was out, leaving their group to climb three stories up a winding staircase to the station's main level. Sigrid reasoned the station's environmental systems must have been malfunctioning here. The narrow stairwell was damp, puddled, and rank with mold. And worse. Sigrid was glad to have the ability to ramp down her olfactory sensors. She didn't envy the crew of the
Ōmi Maru
having to endure the stench.

When they emerged on the main concourse, it was to the relief of all. Much brighter and busier than the lower levels, the main concourse practically bustled with activity—if she could call the slow shuffling of Konoe's residents 'bustling.'

Passersby kept their faces lowered, heads down, too interested in staring at their own bootlaces to take notice of Sigrid or her companions. She saw the reason for this. Groups of armed youths occupied each of the corners; young men and younger boys brandished assault weapons and rifles, patrolled, and kept watch on the crowds. Sigrid scanned the weapons—mostly antiques and not well cared for.
Criminal
. One pedestrian who strayed too close to one of the groups got a boot to the backside and ordered to move along. The boys seemed disappointed when the man obeyed. She could see they were looking for an excuse, any reason to demonstrate their dominance, their power.

"Local militia," the captain explained.

"Gangs," Chief Topa elaborated. "After the CTF pushed the Independents
out, they didn't think to leave anyone in charge here. Now these thugs control everything—if one can call it control."

A scattering of brightly lit signs added minimal color to the depressing surroundings. Electronic placards and storefronts announced a variety of services: asteroid prospecting, claims services, weaponsmiths, and of course, the flesh traders were everywhere. Their destination was up ahead. Neon flashed like a beacon in the gloom. Sigrid heard the low throb of music sounding from deep inside the structure.

"A gentleman's club?" Sigrid asked skeptically.

Captain Trybuszkiewicz held the door and ushered them inside. "The location is of our contact's choosing—though I'd hardly call these men gentlemen."

Sigrid had seen such places before and thought she was prepared, but this place was nothing like the Paradise on Gliese. It was neither raucous nor festive, and no host rushed to greet them. The girls and boys that worked the room were younger than she: weary, battered, drained of life and hope. It sickened her to think that men thought to profit from their misery. Perhaps she would have words with the management…

The captain must have sensed her anger and put a reassuring hand on her arm. "We're here for a purpose, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid forced herself to unclench her fists. "Of course, sir."

He was right. Their mission was of vital importance. Her friends were relying on her.

Sigrid scanned the room. The man they sought was here, this trader, leader of the Merchantmen. He occupied a table on a raised platform to the rear overlooking the club. He was fat; rolls of pudgy flesh billowed out between the folds of his trousers and his shirt. The vile cologne he wore threatened to overwhelm her sensors from across the room. Worse odors lingered. Two girls sat to either side of him, barely aware of their surroundings. Drugged, Sigrid knew. The morphgesic cocktail in their blood stream registered heavily in her PCM. It was a miracle the girls were conscious. Tired eyes looked up at her as she approached, suspicious, leery, their thin hands clinging to the fat man at their side and the coin he promised.

Sigrid was far more interested at the four men who stood close by. They wore their sidearms in full view, their fingers never far from the triggers.

"Corbin Price," the captain said, approaching the table.

The fat man gestured to the open seats and signaled for his men to stand down. "Captain Trybuszkiewicz, I presume. You're more punctual than most."

The captain spread his hands wide in greeting. "We are eager to conduct our business. Our client expects us to return without delay."

"Not in so much a hurry to share a drink, I trust."

Corbin Price snapped two pudgy fingers, signaling over a server; the rail-thin girl, no older than fifteen, leaned over, her flimsy garment giving the trader a generous view of her wan flesh, much to his delight. Sigrid felt her fists clenching, her nails digging into the palms of her hand.

Corbin Price retrieved one of the little glasses. "A little lubricant to smooth negotiations?"

"Negotiations?" Sigrid blurted. "We have already agreed to your fees, Mr. Price. Do you wish to sell to us or not?"

Corbin Price chuckled, raising his glass to her. "Of course. I did not mean to imply any retractions on my part. I simply thought I may have other things you might find of interest. We have both journeyed far to get here. Might as well make the most of our meeting."

Captain Trybuszkiewicz took one of the offered glasses from the tray, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. With all eyes on her, Sigrid realized she was to take one too, perhaps part of some social ritual. The contents registered as tequila; the black worm seemed an odd thing, but her database confirmed that this was done. After a cautious sniff, she downed the shot, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Her eyes never wavered from the fat trader across the table.

"You'll have to forgive my grandniece, Mr. Price," the captain said with a firm look to Sigrid. "She is new to the life of a tramp trader. This is her first journey with us. I thought this meeting might prove educational."

"Of course. Then, Ms.…"

"Peters," Sigrid said.

"Ah, Ms. Peters," Corbin Price said graciously. "Your uncle must have informed you, trade is a fluid matter. Many new opportunities have arisen since our last communication. New items have come into my possession. One never knows what one might find unless one asks."

"I have been given certain leeway to negotiate any item of interest," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. "Perhaps if you show me…"

Corbin Price reached down, retrieved a data-pad from the folds of his coat and tossed it across the table. Sigrid saw the screen and nearly gasped. The manifest advertised two industrial manufacturing platforms. These absolutely massive orbital facilities were self-contained factories on a grand scale. Capable of processing raw ore and minerals, they could be programmed to manufacture any number of things: building materials, engine parts, even ship components—parts enough to build an entire fleet. One of the platforms alone was worth twelve times the price of all the goods they were scheduled to pick up. Two would be worth more than Sigrid's life contract had been to Kimura Corp.

Machines like this were the heart of any terraforming effort. Acquiring even one of the platforms could mean all the difference for their struggling colony. Yet the captain seemed unimpressed by the offering.

Sigrid felt the elbow in her side and closed her mouth.

"I'm not sure what you think we can do with these…"

Corbin Price spread his fat hands wide. "Why, any number of things, I should imagine."

Any number of things, indeed
, Sigrid thought.

"Even if my client was interested," the captain said. "I would have to contact them. This is well beyond my realm to negotiate."

Sigrid knew this was true. As vast as the Lady Hitomi's wealth had been, it had taken nearly all her holdings, all her favors and negotiating skills to get them this far. There was little left in her mistress's accounts for such extravagances.

Corbin Price bowed his head, conceding the expense. "Perhaps there are other things you can offer. We Merchantmen trade in all goods and services."

The captain helped himself to another of the offered tequilas. "Goods? Our holds are empty, Mr. Price, awaiting delivery from you. As for services, I'm not sure what you mean."

"There is no need to be coy, Captain. It serves neither of us. Not when
I
have something you so desperately need and
you
have something that would be of tremendous value to me. I see no reason why we cannot come to an arrangement."

The trader's demeanor changed in an instant. He sat up, the easy, jovial expression gone as his eyes fixed firmly on Sigrid.

"I did not get to this position by being ignorant, Captain. And I wouldn't be much of a trader if I did not anticipate my clients' needs. You are not simple
merchant sailors
. You are Kimura. Now—don't be alarmed—I am not here to make threats. I'm simply pointing out what needs to be said. You are Kimura—ex-Kimura. I know your client well, and I know your needs. And I
know
you could very much use these. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Instead, let us figure out how we both might prosper from this situation."

He was right, and Sigrid knew it. Their attempt at ruse had been foolish. The trader knew exactly who they were and what she was. Strangely, she felt relieved. And she desperately wanted those platforms.

"And what do we have to trade?" Sigrid asked.

"Your services, for one, Ms. Peters. Yes, I know
what
you are. It's quite all right. I am very familiar with Lady Hitomi's work in genetics. Although, I must admit I did assume you would be…well, taller." The trader shifted his bulk, sitting forward. "Now, you must tell me. Is it true? Everything they say about you and your kind—the things you can do?"

Sigrid crossed her arms over her chest. "I couldn't possibly answer since I have no idea what
they
might have said."

"They
say
you destroyed the Lift Complex at Panama."

"Independents did that, Mr. Price. Not me."

"What about what occurred on Scorpii? I hear you took out an entire company of CTF Marines."

"It was a battalion. But no, they were too busy fighting the Independents to worry about me."

Corbin Price laughed heartily, giving his knee a good slap. "Well said, Ms. Peters. But you
were
there, all the same. And you did blow up the Relay. They say you can't be killed."

"I'm afraid someone has been having fun at your expense, Mr. Price."

"Granted, these things are always exaggerated. But I've learned to trust in the kernels of truth buried inside. I suspect you are being modest, Ms. Peters. The truth probably lies somewhere in between."

Sigrid was eager to turn the conversation away from her, back to the industrial machines. "Exactly what
services
would you have me perform?"

The captain raised a hand in objection. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves. Ms. Peters
'
services are not negotiable."

"Wait," Sigrid said. "I would still like to know, Captain. Those manufacturing platforms would be invaluable to us."

"Invaluable!"
Corbin Price said, steepling his fingers with interest. "Well, then…"

"
Of
value," Sigrid corrected, cursing herself; she knew little of negotiation tactics. "If it is something within my power, then perhaps we might have a deal."

"Sigrid…" the captain cautioned. "I do not think it wise—" But Sigrid nodded; it was all right.

Corbin Price bowed his head. "Very well. There is a man arriving at the station tomorrow. He has stolen from us. Services were rendered, but no payment received. His
theft
hurt our organization. We cannot allow his dishonesty to go unpunished—not good for business. I want to see that he is hurt in return."

Sigrid braced herself. All her life she had been trained as a mercenary, as a soldier, and yes, an assassin. Certainly, she had taken lives and done so without hesitation. But that had been her choice. Her duty. Until this moment she hadn't truly appreciated how it would feel to have someone ask her to kill another. What was it the mercenaries said? For coin and contract?

"He carries with him something
we
would find of value," Corbin Price said. "I wish you to retrieve it and return it to me."

"Retrieve? Then…then you don't want me to kill him?"

"Kill him? Heavens, no! We are Merchantmen, Ms. Peters, not mercenaries—apologies to present company. No, I don't require him harmed; although, should you leave him bruised, possibly maimed, no one will think worse of you. Retrieving the package will suffice."