Codename: Night Witch (10 page)

Stomping on the throttle, she hauled hard on the wheel, taking the cargo train into a sweeping left-hand turn. The road was narrower here and there was only one lane running in each direction. She was barreling along at 240 kph when she pulled out to pass a line of slower-moving transports. The lights of an onrushing train flashed its warning ahead of her. Rather than give way, Sigrid pulled hard on the air horn—just as she'd seen Jaffer do. Her foot never wavered from the throttle even as the two transports rushed head-on. At the last moment, the oncoming transport veered onto the shoulder to make way. The roar of the heavy cargo-carriers whipping by thundered and shook the cab—though not so loud that she didn't hear Jaffer waking to chuckle beside her.

"Something funny about my driving?"

Jaffer held up his hands in surrender. "No! Not at all. Didn't say a word. You are the
master
of the helm."

By now, they were nearing their destination. It wasn't marked on any of her maps, but Sigrid saw it rising from the horizon ahead. It was the Crossroads, home of the Consortium.

The way Jaffer had gone on about the place, Sigrid half-expected some gleaming city of gold and steel, but it was hardly a city at all. Rather than a sprawling metropolis of tens of millions, it looked more like a way station. Though it wasn't without its rustic charm either. Protected by its tall perimeter walls and surrounded on all sides by the open clear-cut plains, it reminded Sigrid of an old Western trading post, the kind she'd read so often about in her histories. It wasn't hard to imagine the Crossroads full of cattle barons and gamblers, all of them arriving here in search of fortunes and glory.

All of the inbound traffic was funneled in through a single main road, and Sigrid slowed to join the queue of inbound trains. Traffic ground to a halt here. Security was tight and armed soldiers were everywhere.

Sigrid spied the uniforms and colors of several respected mercenary clans. Aldus. McClaren. The Black Watch Rangers. She counted more than four dozen soldiers manning the gates alone. There was even a squad from the Dalair Military Group—the very same organization who'd tried to capture her from the
Agatsuma
so many years ago. Sigrid bristled as they walked past not four meters from her window.

"What's with all the heat?" she asked—though she feared she already knew the answer.

Jaffer leaned forward and his eyes narrowed as he strained for a closer look. "Don't know. I've never known the Consortium to hire mercs before. Something big must be going on."

Big indeed
. "They're looking for me."

"Bah. You're paranoid. The Consortium's got more on its plate than looking for one escaped worker. I like you, kid, but you're not worth the trouble."

Clusters of sniffer-drones swarmed the columns of waiting trains. Their scanning beams flashed over the cargo carriers and crews. Of course, they could be looking for anything: contraband, explosives, narcotics. But she doubted it. She wasn't just running from the Independents. She was a wanted criminal—a criminal with a bounty on her head of over one-point-five billion!

"This was a bad idea," Sigrid said. She sat lower, and her hand drifted to the butt of the recoilless harnessed to her hip. "I shouldn't have come here."

"Be cool. We'll get through this. I promise."

One of the drones buzzed Jaffer's rig. It paused, hovering just outside her window. Scanning beams flashed over her face. Sigrid knew the routine. Her heart rate and blood pressure would be scanned. Any suspicious behavior, nervousness or agitation would be logged and reported. Sigrid remained perfectly still, doing her best to look bored. She filled her head with thoughts of not-very-exciting things like soup and knitted socks as she stared back at the drone passively.

While the drone was busy scanning her face and features, her PCM was busy feeding back a series of false signals via her communications module. As far as the sniffer-drone and its operator were concerned, she wasn't Sigrid Novak, rogue operative, she was Camila Valentina Rodriguez! Licensed operator of a commercial transport vehicle.

She wasn't worried about the drones. The drones she could fool. But all it would take was for some overeager junior officer to look up and recognize her to raise the alarm. She wasn't out of this yet.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

As if reading her mind, the drone chirped and blinked green. Whirring and sputtering, it continued on to the next rig in the line.

Sigrid let out a breath. "That was close."

"I told you. They got bigger fish to fry. But ever since Procyon, nobody wants to be caught napping."

"Procyon?" Sigrid said, sitting up straighter.

"What, your corporate jailers never told you the tale of Procyon? Something to
amuse
you between shifts?"

"Amuse me?" There was something in Jaffer's words, something beyond sarcasm, and it set the small hairs on the back of her neck tingling. "I know what Procyon is, Jaffer. It's a CTF naval complex and quite large."
Not to mention home to their top-secret weapons works—if rumor was to be believed.

"Large? Procyon wasn't
large
, kid. It was massive. There were over a million people there."

"I can't help but notice you keep speaking of it in the past tense."

"Past is right. It's gone."

"Gone? But how—?"

"Nobody knows. Or if they do, they're not saying. There was a reason they called it Fortress Procyon. Procyon was untouchable. A bastion. But somehow the Independents got in. They blew the whole thing sky high. Wiped out the entire facility. Shipyards. Naval base. Weapons works. Everything. The CTF is still trying to pick up the pieces. And count the dead."

"My God, the casualties must have been—"

"Nearly a quarter million. More than twenty thousand dead. I used to be in the service, you know. I had friends there. Workers. Families. Lost some good people that day."

"Jaffer, I'm so sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault. It was the Independents. They did it. Not you. Don't be sorry for things you didn't do."

…for things I didn't do.

Sigrid wondered what Jaffer might say if he knew the truth. Miranda—even Randall Gillings—had warned her about this, hadn't they? She'd tried to stop the Independents on Bellatrix. She'd tried and she'd failed. If she had stopped them, then none of this would have happened. Jaffer's friends would be alive, and she'd be home, curled up in the warm arms of her lover. But she wasn't. She was here, and Jaffer's friends were dead. And Suko was still very far away.

Blast that Harry Jones.

"I don't think the Independents much care who or how many people they kill," Sigrid said bitterly. "Sometimes I wonder if they even know what they're fighting for."

"Freedom?" Jaffer said, with a shrug. "Self-determination? A chance to live a life without being indebted or beholden to someone else?"

Sigrid turned to him in surprise. "Don't tell me you
sympathize
with them—after what you just told me? It's one thing to attack a military target, but, Jaffer, there were civilians there! Innocents! Tens of thousands! You said it yourself."

"Hey, I didn't say I sympathize. I just said I understand."

"They're killers, Jaffer. Murderers! They're terrorists!"

"They're fighting for their homeworlds. They're fighting for survival. They're desperate. And desperate people take desperate measures."

"Oh, I think you're being far too kind. I've read the histories, Jaffer. The Council offered the Independents federated status decades ago.
They refused!
If they find themselves shut out of trading, it's their own fault."

Jaffer shook his head and chuckled. "Federated status? That might not mean what you think it does, sweetheart. Mineral rights. Water rights. Seed rights.
Oxygen rights!
Federated status means giving all that up—and just so the CTF can privatize it and sell it right back at a premium! And it doesn't stop there. Oh, no! Now you got to buy from them—manufacture what they tell you, when they tell you. Don't produce enough? They charge you a penalty. 'Equalization levies,' they call it. And it's all for one purpose: to drive us deeper and deeper into debt. Which is exactly what they want. The more indebted we are, the more beholden we are to the corporatocracy."

"You make it sound like a conspiracy."

"Isn't it? Look, all I know is
people
built those worlds. Real people, like you and me. Not corporations. People built them from nothing. They fought for them. They
died
for them. Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't fight just as hard to protect your own?"

The last question came with a certain sting. Wasn't Sigrid doing everything she could to protect her own homeworld, her sisters—Suko? How many had she killed to keep them safe? Was she any different?

No, she
was
different. The Independents destroyed her home—murdered and tortured her friends. While Sigrid had killed her fair share, she wasn't about to start rolling bombs into shopping malls just to make her point. No, she wasn't like the Independents. She wasn't like them at all.

"To tell the truth," Jaffer said, "I'm a little surprised you're not more on board. You of all people."

"Me? Why me?"

"You're a lifer! A slave. At least, you were. No offense intended."

"None taken."

"You were indentured. You've been on the inside. You know what it's like! Independents want to put an end to the bureaucracy. No more trade barriers. No more Council. No more servitude
.
You of all people can understand that!"

"But without the bureaucracy, who would run things? How would anything get done? I've
seen
Independent-run colonies, Jaffer. It's chaos. Freedom sounds lovely—until you run out of food and water and clothing and electricity."

Jaffer chuckled. "Now
you
sound like a Federate."

Sigrid crossed her arms across her chest. "Well, I certainly am not. Can't I be neutral? I hate the CTF. I despise them! And I'm no fan of the Independents either."

"To tell the truth, being neutral might not be a bad idea in these parts. You never know who might be listening in the Crossroads. The Consortium does what it can to keep the peace, but this is a land divided, and we're smack right in the middle. Ah—there we go. There's a space opened up. Move the rig ahead."

The cargo train ahead of her completed its unloading. Sigrid waited until the berth was vacated before pulling in. She was just getting the train rolling when a tall man in a flapping orange bib came running out. He strode directly in front of her with his hand raised, forcing Sigrid to stomp on the brakes. He had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a rather prim look plastered on his face. If he was concerned that she'd nearly run him over, he didn't show it.

The ID tag pinned to his collar identified him as Franco Alvarez, port master to the Crossroads. He walked over to the driver's side door and made a rolling motion with his hand.

Sigrid lowered the glass and leaned out. "Is there a, um, problem?"

Seeing her, the man's disposition changed in an instant. The prim look was gone, replaced by a sparkling smile. He hugged the clipboard to his chest. "Why,
hello
."

"Hello, yourself," Sigrid answered back.

"You're not Jaffer."

"No," Sigrid said, leering down at him over the rim. "I'm not."

"I can tell. You're much prettier."

"Yes, but with fewer tattoos."

"Pretty
and
charming. On behalf of the Consortium, may I welcome you to the Crossroads?"

"You may. Though I'm not sure about the pretty part," Sigrid said, giving a twirl to her tangled mess of hair. "You're not exactly catching me at my best."

"Nonsense. The road is a harsh mistress. But such beauty and grace cannot so easily be obscured as to—"

"All right, all right," Jaffer said, stepping down from the cab. "Easy, Franco. She's half your age. And way out of your league."

"Jaffer," Franco said, sounding perhaps disappointed not to be talking to Sigrid anymore. "My old
friend
."

"Franco."

"What? Is that all I get?"

"You want a hug?"

Franco sighed, as if to feign disappointment. "I suppose your signature will have to suffice." He thrust the clipboard toward Jaffer. There was a contract pinned there. A real printed one, Sigrid noticed, not electronic.

Jaffer proceeded to read it, his lips moving in time as he muttered his way through the fine print.

"It's all standard," the port master said, trying to pry it back, but Jaffer held up his hand.

"Wait! Nine thousand? Nice try, Franco. But that's not even half what you owe me."

Franco squeezed his shoulders together and glanced skyward. "I'm afraid it's the going rate these days. I'm sure you can see we're getting a bit backlogged," he said, gesturing to the towering stacks of intermodal containers. "I'm sorry, but nine thousand is the best I can do."

"It's robbery and you know it. I had to pay twice that in Punta Arenas to pick this lot up—
for you
, I might add."

"It's a buyer's market. What can I say?"

Jaffer shifted back and forth; he ground his teeth together so hard Sigrid could hear it from her seat in the cab. "You're a real piece of work, Franco. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"My mother. Every Sunday at brunch. Sign here. Initial there—"

"Wait. Don't sign that."

The two men turned as Sigrid slid down the ladder and strode toward them. She stumbled briefly in the boots that were too big for her before regaining her composure. Approaching them, Sigrid snatched the contract from Jaffer's hands.

"Jaffer, he's bluffing."

"Bluffing? I would never dream of it."

Sigrid stared up at the taller man. The port master was good. Very good. But not good enough to fool her. Despite his reserved manner, his eagerness registered fiercely in her sensor nodes. "He'll pay three times what he's offering you, Jaffer. Isn't that right, Mr. Alvarez?"