Black Hole Sun (5 page)

Keep walking, sister. I close my eyes and let my head roll to my chest.

“Regulator,” she says. Her voice is raspy and sharp.

I let out a deep breath. Snore.

“We're wanting to hire a Regulator.” When I don't respond, she pokes my shoulder. “Where I come from, ignoring somebody is reason for whipping.”

“Where I come from,” I say, eyes still shut, “waking a Regulator from a sound sleep is reason for killing.”

“Good thing,” she says, “you've not been asleep, right? Folk said this cantina was the place to go for hiring help.”

“Got money?”

“Some. Not much.”

“That's my answer about wanting work—some, not much.”

She pulls away abruptly. “Suit yourself.”

“Always do,” I say.

She waves for the two men to follow her, which they do, giving me a wide berth, as if
dalit
is a disease you can catch. I watch them scoot inside the pub. Miners in Ares's—could they possibly make a more stupid, dangerous choice?

Yes, as it turns out, they could.

Jaisalmer District, New Eden
ANNOS MARTIS
238. 4. 7. 09:43

Sighing, I follow them to the second floor. Inside, Ares's pub is a sauna of body odor, pipe smoke, and the ubiquitous red dust. There's a U-shaped bar in the middle of the room, a half ton of polished steel and iron that was once the wing manifold of a Manchester, a mining rig that stands three stories high and can process a ton of ore in a minute. All of the Manchesters were decommissioned once Mars reached Phase Blue. Their parts show up in all sorts of interesting places. Like a smoky pub in the armpit of Jaisalmer District.

Seated around the bar is a ragtag collection of mercenaries. Most of them are freelance Regulators, like Jenkins and Fuse, who are sitting in the back corner. Their table is a steel cable roll turned on its side.

Vienne leans against the back wall, a metal cup in hand. Her focus, though, is on the room. Always vigilant. I catch her eye. Then move to the opposite end of the bar, near where the miners are talking to a decommissioned Regulator
turned freelancer named Ockham. He looks to be an age-twenty-five, maybe older, with graying temples, a balding pate, and a diagonal pink scar that runs across his nose and empty left eye socket.

“You want me to do
what
?” Ockham roars with laughter. “For how much? You miners, I never knew you derelicts had such a sense of humor. Always got your heads stuck in the ground. Thought of you as a dour lot, I did. But no, you say with a straight face that you want a Regulator to travel a thousand kilometers south to protect a worked-out mine. Ha!”

He pounds one of the men on the back. The miner's knees bend, and he absorbs the blow by falling to the floor. No wonder the miners need help, if this is the best they have to offer.

“We're serious,” the man says, getting up from the floor. “Sorry you've decided not to be.”

Ockham shakes a fist. “You've got a lot of nerve waltzing into a pub and insulting your betters.”

Idiots. Absolute
piru vieköön
idiots. I can see the next steps in this dance: The girl miner insults the soldier. Said soldier chooses one piece of his arsenal and kills all three of them. No tribunal will convict him. He's a Regulator, and they're just miners.

“Damn,” I curse under my breath. “Mimi, any advice?” But there's no answer—she's in sleep mode. Then, because I can't help myself, I do something predictable. Yet stupid.
Predictably stupid. “Ockham! You old son of a moon dog! Let me buy you a drink! No, two!”

Elbowing my way to the bar, I wedge myself between the girl and Ockham. As I ask the owner to set this fine soldier up for another round, I touch the side of my nose to let Vienne know that trouble's coming. She nods, then smiles.

“There's a fair suck of the salve!” the miner girl complains at me for butting in. “Aren't you the rude one?”

I turn my back on her and raise a glass in salute to Ockham. “To the Corporation!”

Ockham looks befuddled for a second, but a free drink gets his attention. “To the Command!” He clicks my glass. “Smooth, that was. How about another?”

“Another!” I shout.

“Another!” he echoes.

Then Vienne is beside me. “Get the miners out of the pub,” I whisper to her. “I'll meet them outside.”

“Yes, chief.” She crooks a finger, signaling the miners to follow her. “Not a word. Let's go.”

But the girl shakes her head petulantly, refusing to leave, and the two men can't figure out which one to listen to. So they do nothing. What a bunch of stubborn fossickers. They'll ruin everything.

The next round of drinks comes up. I raise a glass.
“Sláinte!”

“Sláinte!”
Ockham's remaining eye blinks twice. “Do I know you, boy?”

“We've met a few times. Here, you know. And there. Mostly there. Some heres. A couple of theres. But mostly—mostly heres?”

Ockham squints. Leans closer. Takes a long look at the hand wrapped around my glass, concentrating on my pinkie finger. Then his eyes widen.
“Dalit!”
He slams the full glass on the bar. “Never thought I'd take a drink with the likes of you.”

“Me neither, Ockham.” I down my
aqua pura
and pay the tab. “But times are hard, and you do what you have to.”

“You pimple-faced brat.” Ockham slaps a thick, calloused hand on mine. “Don't think you're walking that easy.”

I slip my hand from under his. Grab his thumb and twist it. He grunts. His face reddens.

“Actually, Ockham,” I say with a pretend grin. “It's going to be real easy. Or messy. Take your pick.”

Fuse stands. “If there's to be a ruckus, chief, me and my cobber here have got your back. Innit right, Jenks?”

“Huh?” Jenkins scratches his head. “What's right?”

“That you and me have got the chief's back.” He winks at Vienne. “Just say yes, Jenks.”

“Yes, Jenks.”

“There you have it, chief.”

Vienne rolls her eyes. Ignores them and puts a hand on the butt of her armalite.

Ockham acknowledges her with a wink of his missing eye. “There was a day,” he says, trying to ignore the death
grip I have on his thumb, “when you all'd be nothing but a pool of piddle under my boot.” He cracks his neck and works his shoulders. “Now, you boys still would be. But you, young lady, you move like you know which end of the armalite to shoot, which is more than I can say for the big man there.”

“Huh?” Jenkins says. He peers into the barrel of his gun. “It shoots from this end. Right? Oy, Fuse. Right?”

“You made my point, big man.” Ockham laughs. With his free hand, he downs another drink. Slams it on the bar, shattering the glass. Moving like a blur, he presses the jagged edge against my jugular. “Here's a lesson for you, boy. A smart Regulator doesn't have to beat a whole davos to win a fight.”

Vienne draws. Drops to one knee. Firing position. “Say the word, chief.”

Damned miners. Right now, I'm wishing I hadn't put Mimi into sleep mode.

“Mimi, wake mode, please.”

Thirty seconds. That's all it takes to wake her. But thirty seconds is about twenty too many.

“You're wondering,” Ockham says, “if I'll do it. That's not the question you ought to be asking. What I do doesn't matter, young chief. It's what you do that counts.”

“Actually,” I say, “I'm wondering what.”

“What
what
?”

“What to do with your thumb when I break it off.”

I give the thumb a twist as I yank his hand off the counter.
He swings the glass again. I duck and sweep his legs. Then jump back and watch him hit the deck.

He's not down long. With a quick kip up, he's back on his feet, showing great flexibility for an oldie. I drop into a defensive stance, ready.

Instead, Ockham pops his neck. Rolls his shoulders. Drops the broken glass on the counter. “Nice move, boy. Next time it won't be so easy. I owe you one.” He pats me on the cheek. Walks past the others, laughing loudly. “Drink up, piddlers.”

Without looking back, he hits the door.

Good riddance.

“You're bleeding,” Vienne says.

I touch my neck. Find a red stain on my fingertips.
Der scheißkerl!
The old fossicker cut me.

“Look what you've gone and done.” The miner girl gets chummy with my personal space. “Chased off the only Regulator who'd talk to us. How're you going to make amends?”

“Amends?” Vienne spins the girl around and sticks a gun barrel up her nose. “That little brain of yours needs more oxygen. How about I open an airhole?”

“You'd not dare!” the girl gasps.

“Yes, she would,” I say, and start walking toward the back of the pub. “Vienne, stand down and follow me.”

“Yes, chief.”

“You, miners. Let's talk.” Seconds pass. The miners don't move. “Last chance, people.”

The two old men look to the girl. She strikes a pose, hands on hips, trying to sashay in a pair of grungy overalls. She grabs the rest of my drink and downs it.

“Blech!” She wipes her mouth her sleeve. “What is that rot?”

“Water,” I say. “The real stuff. Coming or not?”

She stamps the floor. “Yes, damn it!”

The three of them file past me. I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand, trying to block the radioactive glare Vienne's giving me.

“Good morning, cowboy,” Mimi says, and makes a sound like a yawn as I close the door behind us. “What did I miss?”

Jaisalmer District, New Eden
ANNOS MARTIS
238. 4. 7. 10:11

The miner girl slaps her coin on the table. “That's our price. One hundred coin,” she says. “We need a Regulator to show us how to fight the Dræu. We'll want you as soon as you can book passage to Hell's Cross.”

I pull up a chair. Lean back and put my boots on the table. “You're getting ahead of yourself here. I never agreed to take the job. I'm just trying to save your stubborn hides from getting flayed. This is New Eden, not the mines. You can't go about insulting people of rank.”

The girl puts hands on hips. She blows a sprig of hair from her face, frustrated. “Didn't know the oldie had got the full boot on.”

“She means,” one of the other miners cuts in, “we meant no offense. We ain't used to the way of surfies.”

“I know what she meant,” I say.

The girl pouts. Then she shifts her weight to favor her
good leg. I can see why. Bloodstains on her coveralls. She's been wounded.

“Damn the surfies,” the other man says. “They don't care a whit about miners. Why should miners care about them?”

Miners are the poorest of the poor. It wasn't always that way. Once upon a time, the mines were invaluable. On Earth, they learned how to heat up—and destroy—a planet with pollution. On Mars, our grandparents' grandparents put those lessons into effect, purposely creating a greenhouse effect that sped up terraforming by decades. As the colonies grew, Fisher Four, which rested under a perpetual cloud of dust, was the most crucial part of the second phase of terraforming. But to the residents of the outpost, Fisher Four was Hell, even before it became obsolete, because their lives were short and painful. If the Manchester machines or a chance encounter with a Big Daddy didn't kill them, rust lung disease would.

“You've got a point there,” I say. “Except you happened to pick a surfie who was armed.”

“You're headed down a bad road, cowboy,” Mimi warns me.

“It's not like we haven't been there before.” I sit up. Take my boots off the table. “Tell us why you good miners have gone looking for Regulators.”

The girl flashes a satisfied smile. “Like I said. To teach us how to fight the Dræu so we can defend ourselves next time.”

Next time? “The Dræu attacked you before?”

They all bow. If the Dræu really did do half of what rumor says, it's no wonder the miners are looking for help. I catch Vienne's eye. She shakes her head. We're thinking the same thing—as fighters, the miners aren't up to snuff.

“The mines aren't worth anything,” I say. “Why would the Dræu be sniffing around?”

“They demanded,” she answers, “six children. You've heard of the Dræu. You know what they do with children.”

Eat them, I say to myself, because it's too heinous to say out loud. The exploits of the Dræu may be exaggerated, but there's one thing that's true: They are cannibals.

Vienne catches my eye this time. As far as the Tenets are concerned, I have no choice but to accept. When a lesser people are in mortal danger, a Regulator is honor bound to help them. We must serve with one eye, one hand, one heart. If
dalit
don't uphold the oath, what good are we?

“We'll take the job,” I say, looking at Vienne, who smiles. “But you're going to need more than a two-Regulator crew to fight the Dræu.”

“Fight?” the girl says. “We said nothing about fighting. Training is what—”

“Will get you killed. Every last
chùsheng
one of you. No, what you need is a whole davos of well-trained Regulators to defend you.”

“How many Regulators in a davos?”

“Ten,” Vienne says.

The first man blanches. “Ten?”

“At full strength,” I say. “We can make do with eight. Maybe fewer, if they're good.”

The girl picks up the coin from the table. Shoves it into my hands. “Hire all you want. If you can get them for a hundred coin.”

“A davos of Regulators can't work for so little,” I say.

“That's all we've got,” the girl says.

Of course it is. Trouble always finds me, and it's always dirt-poor. I sigh. “It's a contract.” Then we shake hands to seal the deal. “I'm Durango. That's Vienne, my second.”

“My name is Áine Phelan,” she says, holding onto my hand a few seconds longer than she should. “He's Spiner, and the other one's Jurm.”

“When will you be leaving for Fisher Four?” Spiner adds, “We need to catch the next TransPort.”

“Tomorrow morning,” I say. “At the earliest. I've some personal business, and it'll take time for us to round up more Regulators.” Then I suggest they catch their TransPort as scheduled. Vienne and I will follow with the recruits. If we can get any recruits.

“How'd we know that you'll do as promised?” Jurm asks. “A pretty boy like you'd be prone to fickleness.”

“Care to repeat that?” Vienne snarls.

Jurm does just that. “A pretty boy—”

“Jurm,” Spiner says. “No need to be so ornery.”

“Don't blame me,” Jurm grumbles. “She the one who asked.”

Áine offers her hand to me. “See you soon, chief. Spiner, Jurm, let's go.”

As the miners leave the room, taking a wide berth around Vienne, Áine hands me a slim metal case.

“Here's directions to Outpost Fisher Four,” she says. “And half the coin. You get paid the rest when the job's done.”

“What, exactly, does
done
mean?” I ask.

“It means either that the Dræu pledge to leave us be or that the Dræu are all dead.”

I shake my head. “The likelihood of either of those things happening is minuscule.”

“Then,” Áine says, her voice breathy, “minuscule is what you've got to look forward to for payment. Chief, pleasure doing business with you.”

When they've gone and the door is shut, I ask Vienne, “What do you think?”

“Clumsy.”

“She's been wounded.”

“I meant her attempts to flirt with you.”

My ears start to burn. “Oh. Yeah. Well. Except when I asked
what do you think
, I meant, what kind of davos do you think we can get together?”

“No Regulator worth a lick is going to work a hundred-coin job.”

“We are,” I say.

“We're different.”

By different, she means better. “Well,” I say. “If worse
comes to worse, I already have a couple of Regulators in mind.”

She glares at me. “I said,
good
Regulators.”

“One's a carking good demolitionist, and the other one's…well, he must be good for something.”

“No, not them, chief. Please.”

I flash a cheesy grin. “Come on, Vienne. It'll be fun.”

“You and I,” she says, hands on hips, “have completely different definitions of
fun
.”