Knight's Move (30 page)

“On your knees,” the guard growled.  Sandy obeyed.  He ritually ripped her rank patch from her shoulder, then the Colonial Militia insignia from her collar.  Sandy couldn't help feeling a pang as she watched them go, even though she knew that it was all pretence.  The guard had no idea that her fake persona didn't exist and she was still a militiaman in good standing.  “Lie flat, both of you.”

Sandy felt the cuffs being removed piece by piece, grimly aware that guns were being pointed at their backs.  One false move and they would both be shot like dogs.  The guard growled a command, ordering them to remain unmoving until the shuttle was gone, then dropped a pack besides them and walked off.  Moments later, the ground shook as the shuttle blasted off towards orbit.  Sandy rolled over just in time to see it vanish in the bright blue sky.  They were alone on a very unfriendly world.

Jess stood upright, then picked up the pack and opened it.  As they’d planned, the pack contained their false IDs – including their shipping guild records – a handful of supplies and several sealed bottles of water.  Sandy took the food and checked it quickly; she wouldn't have put it past the guards to spit on the food when they had a chance.  But everything seemed to be fine.  She opened one of the bottles and took a long swig, then checked the credit chip at the bottom of the pack.  It had enough money loaded on to keep two young women alive for a couple of weeks.

By then, we’d better be successful
, she thought, grimly. 
Or find a way to send a message back to Dauntless for recovery
.

Jess patted her shoulder, encouragingly.  “You call this a hot world?  Back in Boot Camp, we had to walk for miles under the blazing sun, stark naked.  Half of the men had their balls burned off ...”

“And then they ate nails for breakfast and iron bars for dinner,” Sandy grunted, as she hefted the pack onto her shoulder.  She suspected that most of Jess’s tales were exaggerations, although she knew that Marines had endured far more than any spacer while fighting the Dragons on the ground.  “We’d better find some cover before it gets any hotter.”

She glanced down at the remains of her shipsuit.  The grey uniform was standardised, shared by both the Colonial Militia and most commercial organisations, but the missing patches would be enough to show casual onlookers that she was currently unemployed.  And the fact that they had clearly been torn away would worry potential employers, if they hadn't already heard that they’d been dumped on Dawson by armed guards.  Somehow, she doubted that it would be easy for anyone to find legitimate work after arriving in cuffs and chains.

Jess led the way towards the edge of the spaceport –there was no fence so it was hard to be sure when they’d crossed the line – and headed towards the city.  The sun seemed to grow hotter as they walked; Sandy felt sweat trickling down her back, staining her uniform and making it harder to think clearly.  She’d thought that she was in good shape, but it was clear that she'd allowed herself to waste away.  Jess, irritatingly, didn't seem to have any real problem with the hike. 

She blinked under the intense glare of the sun as a handful of primitive vehicles drove past them, their drivers hooting and wolf-whistling.  None of them stopped to offer them a lift.  All of them, she couldn't help noticing, were carrying weapons, some of them clearly of Dragon manufacture.  Jess muttered something to her about taking a look at the weapons, once the vehicles had vanished into the distance.  Humans rarely used Dragon weapons and vice versa, if only because they were designed for very different sets of hands and claws.  Whoever had reengineered the weapons for human use had to have gone further than any weapons master she knew.

It was a relief when they reached the edge of the city, although it was really more of a small town.  There were a large number of stone buildings, several more clearly prefabricated from basic colony supplies ... and a handful of shacks, made out of whatever material came to hand.  In the distance, she could see a handful of larger mansions, built out of bricks.  The locals were definitely rebuilding after the war, she decided, but there was something oddly impermanent about it.  Naturally, she told herself; one day, the forces of law and order would probably come calling at Dawson.  On that day, half the population would probably try to flee.

She glanced up as she heard a flight of shuttles passing overhead, heading towards the other side of town.  There was another spaceport there, according to the maps she’d downloaded into her implant, one that handled most of the planet’s traffic.  Jess caught her arm and pulled her into a bar.  Sandy shivered as she felt the cold air blasting out the moment they opened the door, then sagged in relief.  After the heat outside, actual air conditioning was a gift from God. 

“Sit down,” Jess ordered, pushing her towards a table placed against the far wall.  “I’ll order drinks.”

Sandy obeyed, then looked around the bar.  It was larger than she’d realised, but with fewer patrons than she would have expected.  A handful of men eyed her with expressions ranging from curious to lecherous, a couple of women studied her with ill-concealed interest ... and a single alien, sitting in the far corner, ignored her completely.  Sandy couldn't help staring at the alien, fighting down an insane urge to giggle.  Even on Earth, where the idea of aliens being equal to humans was most prevalent, it was vanishingly rare to see an alien socially, at least outside diplomatic functions.  But here, on a world of criminals, the alien was accepted as an equal.

The alien probably has money,
she thought, as Jess returned with a pair of tall glasses and placed them in front of her. 
Who cares about race when money is involved
?

“The Spacer’s Union is on the first floor,” Jess said, shortly.  “We’ll go up there once we’ve had a drink.”

Sandy nodded, silently thinking God that she’d brought Jess along.  If the heat alone was enough to reduce her to a wreck, Sandy would have been in real trouble if she had tried to complete the mission without Jess.  She took a sip of her glass and winced at the taste; Coke Cola might be popular on every human-settled world, but
this
version wasn't anything like the original.  It tasted rather more like syrupy medicine.  But it was cold and wet, so she drank it, despite the odd taste it left in her mouth.

“Drinkable,” Jess pronounced, once she’d finished her glass.  “Better than the crap they fed us at ...”

“Boot camp,” Sandy said, rolling her eyes.  “And what else did you do there?”

She finished her own glass, then obediently followed Jess as she stood up and headed for the stairwell.  A couple of women and a single man wearing nothing more than shorts gave them curious looks, then looked away when it was clear that the two spacers were going to the Union.  Somehow, Sandy wasn't surprised to discover that the Union had a branch on Dawson.  The Union could be found everywhere that spacers might need assistance in finding work.  An armed man at the top of the stairs eyed them suspiciously, then motioned them into the next room.  A middle-aged man sat at a desk, reading a datapad.  It didn't look as if he had much work to do.

“Good afternoon,” Sandy said, taking the lead.  She dropped her ID down on the table; Jess added hers a moment later.  “We’re looking for work.  Any kind of work, as long as it gets us off this mudball.”

The man grunted – Sandy couldn't help wondering what sort of crime
he’d
committed to be dumped on Dawson, as he looked rather out of place on the isolated world – and took the ID chips, inserting them into his reader.  Sandy looked around, but the office was bare, apart from a set of pin-ups along one wall.  Nude girls smiled back at her, all famous stars from ten or twenty years ago.   It said something about the Federation, she decided, that movie stars had still occupied popular attention when the war at its height.

Maybe they did it deliberately
, she thought, ruefully.  The colonials had never had that option; everyone had known the danger facing them. 
They didn’t want the population panicking when the Dragons reached Wolf 359
.

“Your records are ... poor,” the man said, without looking up.  “I do not believe that you could find a long-term contract.”

Jess leaned forward.  “But there has to be something you can do,” she cooed.  “We’d be
ever
so grateful.”

Sandy had to fight to keep a straight face.  The Marine she knew was gone, replaced by a seductress who seemed willing to do anything, anything at all, just to get off Dawson.  But the man would understand, she knew.  Without a regular source of income, they would eventually have to prostitute themselves to make ends meet.  And, at that point, they would fall into the clutches of the pimping gangs.

“The records you have do not inspire confidence,” the man said.  He didn't seem to be affected by Sandy’s display at all.  “No skipper wants to take a pair of thieves onto his ship.”

“The money was just resting in our accounts,” Sandy protested.  The record stated that they’d embezzled money, then resorted to threats against the purser when he’d discovered the truth in hopes of saving their skins.  “We ...”

“Most legitimate skippers are unlikely to accept such claims,” the man said.  There was still no hint of emotion in his voice.  “There are skippers who might become desperate enough to take you on – and I will add your details to the database – but I feel that it is unlikely.”

He looked up at Jess.  “There may be calls for someone with your skills,” he added.  “You could make a living here.”

“Put our details on the database,” Jess said.  “We’ll see what happens.”

The man snorted, but obeyed.  Sandy couldn't help feeling a flicker of sympathy for him as she followed Jess down the stairs and out into the sunlight.  Most spacers who ended up marooned were unlikely to get any work that might take them off the planet, no matter what they said or did.  Jess, at least, would be offered work on Dawson itself.  A former Marine would make a great bodyguard for a local criminal.  No doubt the man would already be passing her details to potential employers.

They found a place to sleep for a few days – a tiny hotel, so dirty that it would have been shut down on Fairfax – and then started to explore the city as the sun set in the sky.  It was astonishing just how cool the air became once the sun was gone, or how quickly the city came to life.  Hundreds of people thronged the streets, all clearly intent on enjoying themselves or taking money from people who wanted to enjoy themselves.  Roadside stalls spring out of nowhere, offering cooked food and hot drinks; prostitutes moved from spacer to spacer, offering them their bodies in exchange for a pittance.  Sandy overheard one bargaining session and winced at just how little the girl was asking.  Unless the cost of living was much lower than she thought, it wouldn't be enough to keep a roof over the girl’s head for a day.

“We have company,” Jess muttered.  “Four people, all young men, have been following us for the past ten minutes.”

Sandy resisted the urge to glance back; instead, she kept her eyes on Jess.  “Are you sure?”

“We’ve been walking a random course,” Jess said, patiently.  “These guys have stayed with us all the time.  Question is; what do we do about them?”

They stepped into an darkened alleyway, almost tripping over a man lying on the ground, a bottle pressed to his lips.  Sandy thought fast as they moved into the shadows, trying to decide what to do.  If the people following them had bad intentions, evasion was the correct answer ... but if they were potential recruiters, they didn't want to avoid them.  She gritted her teeth as she heard their shadows entering the alleyway behind them.

“Hey,” a voice called.  “We want a word with you.”

Jess turned; Sandy followed her lead.  Their shadows were young men, wearing spacer uniforms without rank patches.  She didn't recognise the insignia they wore, although that proved nothing.  They might well belong to an independent freighter that was currently in orbit.  Or they might be raiders.

“And what,” Jess asked, “would you like a word with us about?”

“Quite a few things,” the leader said, with a leer.  “But I’m afraid the conversation can't be held here.”

“Really,” Jess said.  She didn't sound too eager; it was quite possible that the men had rape in mind, instead of recruitment.  “And do you think us foolish enough to go with you?”

The leader held up a stubby weapon.  Sandy recognised it, too late, as a stunner.  Jess started to move forward, but there was no way she could snatch the weapon in time.  There was a flash of blue-white light and the world faded away into darkness.