Fort Liberty, Volume Two (2 page)

“Petra!” Clara calls out, and she hears it, the spike of panic.

The world cracks with light, an explosion in the deep cold, the track disappearing in a thermal flash. Shrapnel sings past. Something hits her suit, snapping the ribbing, and punching her ribs. She buckles with the force of it, the sound of life support alarms distant as she collapses to the ground.

The point aircraft hovers above her, lights burning, guns gone silent.

Auto-sealant is hissing. Her suit is punctured.

She fumbles for the rifle, but her hands refuse to work, no feeling in her fingers, nothing but a dumb and desperate thought to survive.

Shapes appear from the thermal glare, a ghostly outline of visors, the feel of rough hands dragging her up without care for the pain, without concern for anything at all, as if she’s already dead.

 

In the haze, it seems like it’s Clara’s talking, as she does, always clucking away in her chair, whether they’re rolling across coppery plain, with the sun pearled in a brown sky above them, or they’re deep in the blackness of space, between Earth and Mars, faces highlighted by the blue glow of holo screens.

She talks and talks, a million miles of chatter, this way and that, until Petra starts talking too, just to abate the insanity, talking about the food they want, and the men they don’t have, stories and jokes that side-step all the hurt they’ve seen, finally lapsing into a quiet moment where each knows the thoughts of the other, and nothing’s said.

Petra.
Where are you, wild thing?

“Where?” Petra murmurs, confused.

Got to wake up now. Got to be strong.

She blinks, straining to open her eyes, or just focus them, the ceiling coalescing from a blurred haze.

Where are you, wild thing?

Hold onto it. No slipping away.

It’s an aircraft, an old-style transport, the biggest aircraft on Mars in its day, its cargo racks removed, thick insulation cut through, exposing dulled pipes, and electrical conduits. A life support unit hisses at full output but the air smells stale and human, like there’s too many of them packed close together, body heat and breath, voices low, words she can’t quite hear.

She’s in the cargo area, laid flat on a bench, with her wrist locked in a plastic restraint, and anchored to a pipe. They’ve cut the suit off her body, and also removed most of what was underneath, blood leaking from wet bandages pressed to her naked stomach, a tourniquet squeezing her leg at mid-femur.

She stares at the damage in confusion.

And it comes back, a light in the sky, the rattle of gunfire…

“Pretty Petra,” a male voice says. “Told’em you were hard to kill. We gave you something for the pain, and something to help wake you up, clear your head. Won’t last long though, so we need to talk.”

Pretty Petra…
It’s a nickname from the old days, from long ago and faraway, back when she took orders from criminals, instead of giving them such.

She presses her lips together, straining to turn her head his way.

The man sits on the bench beside her, his posture lax, as if he’s been there a while, big shoulders slumped forward, meaty hands resting in his lap.

He’s an Earthbounder, older generation, his black hair streaked with silver and grown long, tied at the back of his neck, pirate style. He’s seen rough years, but still looks younger than he is, because of that rounded face, babyish, with dark brows drawn to far-center peaks over almond shaped eyes.

“Kazak,” she says, voice barely above a rasp. “You real?”

He looks gratified. “So you remember me.”

“Never forget a supplier, especially one that double crosses.”

“Never crossed you.”

“Plenty you killed.”

“As if you’re an angel,” he rebukes softly. “It’s a dangerous business.”

“Your business is Earthbound, and blacklisted too… selling advanced Martian tech to the terrorists in the Bounder army, not welcome in Red Filter. No way they let you through.”

“I’ve got a contract for Mars work.”

“Not a legal one.”

“Profitable, however. I got a powerful friend. Could be your friend too, if you’re set to be reasonable.”

Petra narrows her gaze, trying to see him more clearly. He’s never been this close before, never in the flesh though they traded often in early times. He was always reliable, good at loading merchandise onto Earthbound cloud punchers for her to pick up at orbiting docking stations.

Also always overpriced, but he had access to good tech, unique tech, R&D from before the mother world’s descent into chaos. It was only later she learned he was sending men to their deaths to get it, forcing them to scrape around old military research centers, areas so contaminated that a fifteen minute visit will make the lungs bleed.

She sucks in a pained breath. “What do you want?”

“I need a favor.”

“
Favor.
”

“I want to you to use that secure link you’ve got, and call that Assaulter friend of yours, Colonel Voss. Tell him you’re a hostage now, and can be exchanged for that girl they got.”

“What?”

“I brought sixty men across big sky with me for this job, all of them experienced Assaulter hunters from Earth ghettos, finest in my employ. We need that girl. You know the one.”

Petra stares at him, lips parted but unable to reply.

He grins, like the charming psychopath he is. “My powerful friend wants the girl dead before her big scientific debut, which means we’ve got to hit them today. Voss has been ordered to take the girl down-canyon to the BIOSTAT station for indoctrination, and we’re going to hit them hard when they get there… liquidate that whole place. My friend gave us backdoor codes, and we’re already into the BIOSTAT system, already shutting down comms like they’re errors, nice and subtle, already fucking with them. We’ll fly right past the defenses, no problem, but Assaulters could still manually fire a rocket at us from the hangar, or try to take us out before we can land… which is why we got you.”

“Voss doesn’t care about me.”

“He cared enough to give you a secure comm link.”

“Wants to track me. Doesn’t mean he’d die for me.”

“Who says he intends to? When he finds out we’ve got you, he’ll let us land, thinking he’s going to kill us all, and surprise… there're enough men and firepower on this vessel to vaporize half of Red Filter. He can surrender, or die.”

“He’s not going to let you land.”

“Depends on how convincing you are,” Kazak says, leaning forward and spreading his fingers in the light, as if it’s a magic trick. “And we both know you’re plenty convincing when you want to be. I’ve heard that the only reason you’re free, and alive now, is because you caught the colonel’s eye. Pretty Petra, eh? Just like old times. Men would give you anything, and count themselves lucky if they lived to tell about it. So what’s different now? There’s good profit in this venture, I promise you. You’re a good trader. One of the best. You get us into that facility, and you’ll never have to work again. Now’s the time to name your price.”

“You don’t know Voss.”

“Oh, I know enough. You know how we kill Assaulters on Earth? We just capture one of them. The rest of them will all die to save that one, a member of the team. Works every time. They’re surprisingly sentimental.”

“I’m no Assaulter, no member of any team.”

“He likes you though.”

“So?”

“So… you can convince him. We connect, and you tell him that we’ll exchange you for Niri---like that’s all there is to it---and you beg him to save you, tell him you need help. He’ll believe it. I mean, look at you… full of shrapnel. You’ll die soon without someone’s help. You’d die now if I loosened that tourniquet. Assaulters would never turn their backs on such as you, even if President Wexler ordered them to. It can’t fail.”

“Can’t it?” she asks, mouth parched, tongue like sandpaper.

“C’mon, don’t play coy. My powerful friend has doubts about you, suspects you’re loyal to Voss, but I said ‘no, that’s not her’. It’s all about price. Don’t waste time pretending it’s not, because there’s a lot of blood here, and maybe you haven’t got much time left. Help us out, and we’ll make you rich, and we’ll get you the med care you need… right after the connection’s made.”

“Your powerful friend’s going to give me a contract too?”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, why not?”

“Maybe,” Petra says, concluding he’s not really all that smart. Can’t be, if he thinks she’s this stupid. “Always up for profit.”

He slaps his knee. “There you go!”

“But I don’t like the thought of killing that girl.”

“It’ll be quick.”

“I mean… what if she’s more valuable alive?”

He looks away, shrugs, conceding the point. “I see what you’re getting at, but my friend is not anyone you’d want to cross.”

“So you say.”

“It’s the truth. This individual’s got strong opinions, and deep pockets, deep enough to have funded that original militia of ‘subversives’ who tried to kill you before, and then hire me to do this part after they failed… not cheap. This, right here… this is not part of a business plan. This is an insider attack on the system, on the NRM, and the Block 12 corporations, and their research projects, which maybe pose a threat to us all. It’s a reset on the balance of power in Red Filter.”

“Set to kill the innocent.”

“Cruel world.”

She swallows, energy drained, pain seeping up through layers of analgesics, the sting strong enough to bring tears.
Show no weakness. Keep him talking.
“Can’t bargain your life on the word of the powerful, especially not in Red Filter. Keep the girl alive, and we’ll have something to negotiate with.”

He considers it again, taking longer this time. “Been trading tech a long time, got my hooks in everywhere. Girls like her have been born on Earth for decades, always hush-hush, something new, something engineered, and extracted by Assaulters when they’re old enough, or when they’re compromised, and brought to Mars. There are rumors about why they’re crazy. The Bounder Army learned to hunt them, found out that they’re not so human, after all. And this Niri… she’s the newest, the latest version, and my Red Filter friend believes she needs to die, or else she’ll give power to the wrong people here, change everything in on this world, and by extension, Earth, where I make my modest livelihood. We all got something to protect, Petra. And maybe killing this girl is the best way to do that. It’s in your interest too, I think, to keep things the way they are. Guard your profit. Let the powerful have their wars.”

Petra tries to hold his gaze, the pain spreading hot needles under her skin, making it difficult to draw breath though such desperate emotions tend to make lying easy. “My price is high.”

“Smart girl.”

“I’ll open the channel, and say what’s got to be said. And you’ll make sure I live, and your friend pays me equal to what you’re getting, minus crew and material expenses.”

“Done.”

“Get me my suit helmet. Locator makes the connection.”

“Not yet, but soon. I have them dose you up to keep the pain bearable, and keep your head clear. Won’t be long.”

Petra keeps her voice steady. “What happened to my crew?”

He shrugs, smile never wavering. “They’re alive… for now. They’re aboard our other ship, which will come in and extract us after we’ve met our objectives at BIOSTAT. The extract ship has taken a different route to obscure our full presence on the SAT system, but they’ll arrive at the extract time and provide whatever support is needed. We put your crew on that ship, and they’ll be safely returned to you at the end of this operation.”

Lies…
Petra returns her gaze to the ceiling, knowing what men like this bring with them, knowing what their promises are worth, and how it ends. She’s been at the mercy of such before, men who’ve got the coldest hearts, and the brightest smiles, men who will deceive the dying just to get one more ‘favor’, one more concession out of those they’re busy killing in one way or another.

Of course, the deal to call Voss is false on both sides, because she’s going to use that connection to warn the colonel of exactly what’s heading his way. She probably owes him that much.

And because it needs to be done. And because she wants to.

Maybe there’s a chance of her surviving, but it’s slim, and to hold on too much just brings on desperation, when anger is what’s needed to avenge the injury, and tip the scale in a friend’s favor.

Sometimes, it’s the idea of the future that’s got to be let go.

And anyway…this is something like the end she expected, having earned as much, as both smuggler and killer in her right, though her reasons were maybe purer. This is what’s been sown.

She presses her lips together, steeling the words inside.
One warning, Voss. From me to you, gonna be time for one warning. For the sake of all you’re protecting, you better take it.