Space Cowboy (Chapter 2 Excerpt)

“Some pointers? Avoid eye contact, don’t respond no matter what anyone says, and never act surprised,” Lady says.

Mareida wonders if this is a good idea. She and Caden are obvious in their NEBULA uniforms; if anything, they’re sitting ducks. The port is just at the edge of Union space and at least a quarter jump from the nearest planet. The nearest Union planet is a jump away. If there were ever a place to beat the crap out of a Union kid and get away with it, this is it. They could even be kidnapped by some disgruntled far-space settler looking to earn coin.

Not that NEBULA or the Union would trade for them. She and Caden willingly volunteered for the work study- they’re not really the school’s problem anymore, so to speak. It’s not comforting to think about.

“You’re worried. Good,” Wulf says, pushing past her into the exit port. “here.”

She takes the coat, skeptical. There’s a patch sewn on the arm with a blue circle, pieces chipped away like old paint at the bottom, sewn against a starry background. She wonders if all bounty ships have logos, or if the Captain just likes to distinguish her ship from others.

“How is this going to cover up the uniform?”

“It won’t,” Caden answers, straightening his jacket as he joins them.

“It’s not a disguise. It’s a message,” Wulf says, adjusting leather gloves before hitting the button. Mareida wonders just what kind of message it is.

The port door hisses, retracting into the edges of the opening. A platform extends, unfolding quietly to the ground. Separate uses, she thinks. Just in case one or the other gets damaged. It’s smart- and telling. She wonders how often the ship gets shot at that they need, in essence, two doors. It doesn’t bode well for her health and safety. It makes her question whether some people are just crazy enough to be bounty hunters or if their pay is just really, really good.

“Keep up and keep quiet,” Lady reminds them, flicking her wrist.

Something ripples- a band, Mareida realizes, except it was camouflaged. It shines with blue light and then there are other lights burning to life on Lady’s odd assortment of holsters.

“Whoa,” Caden murmurs.

That’s a lot of guns, Mareida thinks. All camouflaged. She wonders if Lady took them on board at NEBULA. She honestly wouldn’t be surprised at all. The real question is how they managed to get them past security. Whatever the guns are made of, she suspects the materials are not sanctioned- not that they need to be, in far space. It’s a hotbed for otherwise illegal activity, electronics included.

“So, what do we use in a fight?” Caden asks.

“You don’t. Fight,” she adds, offhandedly, “You get beat up.”

“What-,”

“Morning, Reno,” Lady says, smiling as they approach the elevator.

It’s guarded by a man. Or a mountain, really. He’s easily seven feet tall, with strangely perfect features. He’s also carrying an equally giant gun. And…is he…?

“Hello, Lady. Stand by for ident.”

He’s an android, Mareida realizes. Some of the most hotly contested beings in the galaxy. There are only a handful in the galaxy and production had been banned by a Union treaty. It’s no wonder one of them is in far space, she thinks, considering most Union citizens’ beliefs about androids and artificial intelligence.

It’s a curious contradiction that the Union is so close-minded about things like AI. With the focus on private companies and keeping planet resources on the planets they belong to, one would think that cutting-edge research and development would be encouraged. It’s against their morals, however, since ‘creation of life’ is something the Union likes to go back and forth on. There are so many citizens arguing about the responsibility of acting as a creator that companies and independent researchers would have to navigate an absolute minefield of regulations to get anything done. The field had died almost as soon as it had appeared, with only a few units made and fewer yet surviving past the ban.

“Cleared. Your new crew needs to be registered,” Reno says. His voice is even, with barely enough inflection to pass as human. No determinable dialect.

“They’re provisionary at the moment. We’ll see about registration after their first gig,” Lady smiles, patting the giant’s arm.

The lift they enter is a metal cage, dirty and floored with bullet-bent metal. The pulleys screech as they ascend, rattling uncomfortably. It’s nothing like the elevators or freight lifts at NEBULA. Mareida wonders how old the thing is; she’s sure it’s a health hazard. Not that anyone is regulating anything out here.

When the lift stops, it opens to chaos. There are people- and aliens- everywhere. Yelling and chatter and laughter flood the open market, whatever sun the planet has burning down with a vengeance. There is some sort of dust in the air, cloudy and gritty against her skin. It seems to circulate like oxygen. It’s more variety and more people than she’s ever seen in one place. Lady pushes her way into the crowd, somehow navigating the crush, and Mareida hurries to keep up.

It’s hot. Hotter than anything she’s felt before. There’s a solar screen, something that looks rigged, above the market. It may keep the radiation out, but it’s doing nothing for the heat. She sees plenty of face masks and slapped-together breathers on the people milling around. The vendors have more elegant contraptions, a bare shimmer over the bottom half of their faces betraying their investment in health. Their breathers are likely working in tandem with implants, an almost-invisible net filtering particles as they stand in the heat all day.

“Watch it,” someone says.

She reminds herself not to look, keeping pace with Lady. There are other voices- catcalls and insults and angry accusations. She can feel the pressure mounting in her head. It makes her want to scream- the closeness and mass of bodies. Even the most crowded assembly hadn’t felt like this. At NEBULA, the ship was designed to accommodate all students with enough extra room to assure mental stability. Feeling like a sardine in a dehydrated food pack isn’t good for mental health. She’s starting to appreciate the foresight.

“Hey!”

Someone grabs her arm and she jerks, surprised. It’s a woman, she thinks, in dusty overalls. Her eyes are fiery.

“Let go,” Mareida says, firm.

The woman pulls at her, maybe about to speak, and then Wulf appears and snaps the woman’s wrist back. The woman is barely spared a glance as she moves away, screaming, and Mareida freezes. What the hell-

“Keep moving,” Wulf reminds her, ducking under someone carrying a crate. The alien is completely nonchalant. She starts to wonder whether it’s an alien thing, or if the Blue Moon is just a magnet for bizarre characters. She’s leaning towards the latter.

It’s a relief when they make it to their destination. It’s a small stall at the edge of the market, shaded with dirty blue cloth. The table displays are ancient screens, heavy glass that’s cracked with bullet holes. Is everything here bullet-ridden?

“Lady,” a voice acknowledges.

Thank god, a human, Mareida thinks. She’s starting to feel out of her depth around aliens. She is becoming painfully aware of her lack of training surrounding aliens. At least Caden’s better, she thinks. His Helm program is preparing him for diplomacy as much as tactical maneuvering. She’s starting to wish Navigators had the same kind of rounded education.

“Jo. How’s business?” Lady smiles.

“You don’t care,” the man reminds her, arms crossed over his coat.

Only his eyes are visible. They’re an odd grey, startling against the browns of the planet and his clothing. Mareida gets the sense he’s smiling under the cloth covering his mouth and nose. A faint shimmer through the threadbare cloth tells her he’s wearing a breathing apparatus. The rag, it seems, is just for show. She’s not surprised, given the bounty hunters she’s already met. Is everything here for show?

“Be nice, Joseph. We’ve got kids.”

“Not my fault you brought ’em here,” he says drily. “What do you need?”

“Just the regular. Cap liked the last gift, by the way. Sends her regards- and a present.”

“She shouldn’t have.”

“You’re telling me. Damn waste of whiskey.”

The man’s eyes light up. Whiskey. Not that she knows anything about alcohol. She may be legal in the Union, but she has no current interest in drinking. She’s seen enough drunken mishaps in the dormitory during holidays to know drinking is best done in confined spaces, where chances of embarrassment are low.

“I’d marry that woman,” Joseph says cheerfully, extending his wrist towards Lady.

“Get in line,” she says, tossing payment across their bands. “Appreciate it, Jo.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he mutters, unconvincing, “Just don’t bring the fight to my table.”

“What fight?” Lady asks, sharp.

“Well, I know you’re not shaking hands with Newman-,”

“Newman’s here? God damn it-,” she hisses, rage burning in her gaze.

“What, no one told you? You’re kidding me,” the man growls, ducking beneath his table. “Lady, he’s been here a week.”

“The fuck’s he been here a week?”

“Why do you think?” Joseph says, handing her a small device. “Just get your ass out before he sees you. Last thing we need is a fight in the market.”

“We should drop his ass,” Wulf says. “while we have the chance.”

“I know you think you’re gods among men,” Joseph starts, but Wulf interrupts.

“You know we have majority, Jo. No one’s stopping us. Newman’s making the rest of us look bad.”

“He has connections.”

“Even they don’t like him. He’s a loose proton cannon. We take him now, we get bounty and the chance to clean up our good name.”

“What good name?”

They’re still arguing when Caden taps her shoulder. She turns, a question on her tongue, but he quiets her with a finger to his mouth. Look, he indicates, guiding her gaze towards a stall a few yards away. There are five men there, all angry and all staring them down. They don’t look like the run-of-the-mill vagrants that had been harassing them earlier. These men are stocky, with streamlined suits and dark gazes.

“I think we found Newman,” Caden says.

Lady turns, sharp, and sighs.

“Fuck. Bye, Jo. Nice seeing you,” she says, grabbing a pistol from her waist, “be safe.”

“Stay close,” Caden says, tugging at Mareida’s elbow.

“I’ll be fine,” she says.

As soon as they move she sees the other men bolt. Lady practically vaults a table, incredibly fast as she leads the way to the lift. Mareida ducks when something whizzes past her, popping her ear as it goes. There’s a shrill ringing and she blinks, a little off balance. They’re shooting at us, she realizes, wondering why she’s surprised. They’re not the compressed air guns or stunners she’s used to seeing on ships; there’s no danger of damaging a hull here. It’s all open planet surface and warm targets.

“Go!” Lady screams, shoes screeching as she skids to a halt. Mareida would be impressed if she had time.

Her gun is raised and she shoots a few rounds- Mareida can hear things falling, people screaming and yelling. Caden is leading the way, pushing the crowd apart, and Mareida feels a little sorry for the people hitting the ground. Only a little, though, because they’re not the ones being shot at.

Someone wheels in front of them- one of the men- and Caden narrowly ducks a punch. Mareida sprints past them, hitting the call button for the lift. The clanging is barely audible amongst the din in the market. She can tell Lady has already dropped two men; Caden’s fighting a third. That leaves two. One of them is moving her way. She’s prepared to fight when Wulf descends from who knows where, snarling inhumanly, landing on the man’s shoulders.

She turns away when Wulf slams the man against a wall. They fight dirty. This is not the combat from the simulations at school. There are people everywhere and disorganized stalls. So many places to hide or use to an advantage. It’s like the guerilla warfare of First Contact, she realizes, even though they’re all too young to have lived through it. They know it, though. How?

“Mareida!”

Lady’s scream brings her back into the present. She hears a shot and feels something warm hit the side of her face- don’t look, don’t look- and then someone grabs her from behind.

“Don’t move, or I snap your neck,” the man says.

He sounds injured. Out of breath. She thinks Lady’s shot hit him somewhere. He doesn’t have a gun or knife, she realizes. Her mind races, categorizing. He’s not even using an efficient hold. It would be easy- her legs are wide and her body is turned a little. Easy.

She’s used to being underestimated. Her biology and gender presentation, from an evolutionary point of view, make her seem like an easy target. A girl won’t fight. Her NEBULA training was even stricter than her male classmates’, though, by virtue of her smaller stature and different body composition. In short, she knows both how to use her body in a fight and how to use her surroundings to scrape up an edge against typically stronger adversaries.

Lady seems to know. She barely acknowledges the man holding Mareida, already slipping out of her combat stance.

“I don’t think you can,” Lady sighs, holstering her pistol.

“He can’t,” Mareida agrees, shifting her weight minutely.

The heat blade slices out from her band, cutting into the man’s wrist. His scream is loud in her ear and she turns quickly, taking advantage of the loosened hold. Fight dirty. She pulls him by his neck, quick, and snaps her knee up to connect with his chest. He falls to the ground, winded and injured.

“Very nice,” Lady smiles, crouching next to the man. “You just got dropped by a kid, Newman. How’s it feel?”

Well, I feel good, Mareida thinks. It’s adrenaline, she knows, the jittery after-effect of a fight. Her muscles are still shivering in anticipation. It takes her a second to realize she’s actually feeling the reaction. It’s nothing like the combat practice; there’s a real, chemical reaction happening and it’s making her heart pound.

“Cap. Got a present for you,” Wulf says, holding a button on his band.

“Is it small and cute?”

“It’s small,” Wulf grins, “Cute’s a matter of taste.”

“Thank you, Wulf. Hypo. We’ll secure the cargo when you return.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Mareida is surprised at the smile she can’t control when Wulf saunters over to Newman. The alien looks immeasurably pleased, reaching into a pouch at his waist for a needle. He’s already snickering before he bends down.

“Wait-,” Newman starts, twisting on the ground, trying to raise himself.

“Night-night,” Wulf sings, stabbing the needle into the man’s leg.

The man slumps onto the ground, completely out, and Wulf sighs. Caden raises an eyebrow at Mareida, reaching to pull the doors on the lift open. She tries not to feel insulted by the way he looks vaguely impressed.

“Oh, you’re going to let us do the work,” Wulf snorts.

“Leave him alone,” Lady says, grabbing the unconscious man by his collar and dragging him. “Newman’s not heavy. His head is completely empty.”