Cyborg Legacy: A Fallen Empire Novel Page 7

  “A thousand,” McCall said. “Don’t forget to send bones. Meathead likes bacon too.”

  She cut the comm.

  “Looks like we’re going to Dustor, sir,” Jasim said.

  “My favorite place,” Adler said, his tone making it clear that it wasn’t.

  No, Dustor wasn’t anyone’s favorite place. Jasim doubted even the crime lords and mafia thugs who ran the sandy desert planet liked it.

  “You said you have transportation?” Adler asked. “My wife needs to deliver her next cargo.”

  He looked toward the room Jelena had disappeared into—engineering? Soft bawks came from beyond the hatchway. Were there more chickens back there? The ones in the coop squawked in response.

  A young man in a black robe walked into view, a netdisc in his hand, a tool belt at his waist, and a dozen chickens following him along as if they were sheep and he the shepherd.

  “Is that a Starseer robe?” Jasim asked, remembering the offhand comment from earlier.

  “Yes.” Adler nodded at the young man, but tapped his armor case, then pointed toward the airlock tube. As he headed into it, ushering Jasim ahead of him, his case—and its five stickers—floated after them. “Where’s your ship?”

  “Down that way,” Jasim said as they came out of the airlock and into the crowded promenade. He pointed past a couple dozen casinos and hundreds of people. “But it’s not technically mine, and the pilot may need to be convinced that it’s a good idea to make a side trip to Dustor. As far as I know, we don’t have anything that needs to be picked up there.”

  “Convinced with force or money?” Adler asked as they walked into the crowds.

  “I wouldn’t recommend force. Money, maybe. But actually… yes, I saw a booth on the way over here. Follow me, sir. I have an idea.”

  Chapter 6

  “How much for that shimmery rainbow string?” Jasim asked, pointing toward the back of the booth and pretending he couldn’t feel Adler’s eyes upon him, wondering why they had stopped to shop.

  “String?” The tattooed woman manning the booth propped a fist on her hip. “If you don’t know that it’s called yarn, then let me direct you to an already finished product. How about a nice beanie for you or your hulking friend? It can get nippy out there in space.”

  Adler faced the promenade and the people walking by rather than the booth, but he did glance back for this comment.

  “I don’t think he’s the type to wear a beanie,” Jasim said. “He likes getting nipped.”

  “Only by my wife,” Adler murmured.

  Jasim hadn’t meant to make a joke and didn’t know how to respond to that. He turned back to the shopkeeper. “What I’m interested in is your yarn. It’s for a friend who knits.” A friend he needed to bribe.

  The woman grumbled but reached for the yarn he’d pointing out. “Do you want a hank, skein, or shall I wind it into a center-pull ball?”

  “Uhm, yes?”

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  Adler slapped him on the back. Jasim thought it might have to do with his knitting ignorance, but he tilted his chin toward a group of men in black snagor-hide jackets riding black thrust bikes down the middle of the promenade. Was that allowed on a space station? Granted, the promenade and locks area was wider than most sports fields and several stories tall, but most people were walking or using the moving sidewalks rather than riding vehicles. The men on the bikes were looking directly at Adler, scarcely noticing when they bumped into people, or knocked them over.

  “I’ll take one of each of those,” Jasim said, pointing quickly at a couple of types of yarn, “and some of those there too. Wrap them up nice, please. They’re a present.” He eyed the approaching bikers, hoping Adler was just being careful and the gang wouldn’t be a threat to either of them.

  “Such a polite hulk,” the woman muttered, grabbing more bunches of yarn from her display.

  “How reliable is your skip tracer?” Adler asked as the thrust-bike riders continued toward them. He pushed his armor case toward the canvas wall of the booth where it would be out of the way. If those men had trouble on their minds, there wouldn’t be time for him to don his armor.

  “She’s always dealt straight with me,” Jasim said, “but my boss is usually the one paying her, and he’s not someone you betray.”

  “Are you?”

  “I hope not,” Jasim said before realizing that didn’t sound very tough. He supposed this wasn’t the right time to mention his degree in education and that he had never intended to become a professional thug, that he was only working for The Pulverizer because nobody would hire a cyborg to be anything that didn’t involve pulping, or outright killing people. Nobody had laughed in his face when he’d applied for teaching positions, but there had been a lot of startled and concerned looks prior to the rejections.

  The group of bike riders pulled up in front of the yarn booth, revving their engines. There were eight of them, all men, except for one in the back with long hair and voluptuous curves. Though she was dressed similarly to the men, her skin didn’t look quite real, and she had the silvery eyes typical of androids. That likely made her more dangerous than the men, even if she wasn’t a combat model.

  “Your kind aren’t welcome here,” a burly, mustached man said, taking a hand off the handlebars to draw a sawed-off blazer rifle from a side holster.

  Jasim was positive weapons weren’t allowed on the station. It was a tourist mecca, after all. Where were the enforcers or whatever this place had when one needed them? Surely, there had to be security cameras in all the casinos. But he supposed whoever watched over those cameras wouldn’t care about altercations taking place outside of their establishments.

  “Primus 7 is a neutral station,” Jasim said. “Anyone’s welcome, or so the greeting transmission says when you fly in.”

  “Mechs aren’t anyones,” the man said, smirking at his wit.

  All Adler did was stare at the biker, his eyes cold, but his relaxed stance supremely unconcerned. Jasim wouldn’t normally be concerned about this group, either, but if the android jumped into a fight, she could balance the scales against him and Adler. There was also the possibility that these men had been sent as a diversion or to get them in trouble, perhaps detained in the station jail. What if McCall had sold the information on their whereabouts, and what if that Terrance person and his poison needles lurked nearby even now? Or was waiting at the jail facility?

  Adler was positioned so he could see up and down the promenade while keeping their visitors in sight—maybe he, too, was thinking this might be a setup. Jasim stepped up beside him, puffing his chest out and flexing his shoulders. These fools had to know they would get hurt if they picked this fight.

  “What’s the matter, old man?” the leader asked, his finger massaging the trigger of his shotgun. “Your tongue not as muscled up as the rest of you?”

  “Old?” Adler asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “Back to back?” Jasim murmured, judging a fight inevitable. He also judged it inevitable that the smug leader would walk away from Adler with at least some of his teeth missing.

  “Surround them,” Adler said out of the side of his mouth.

  “Just the two of us?”

  More of the men were reaching for weapons. Shoppers and casino-goers took a wide berth around the burgeoning confrontation. Some turned back the way they had come. Jasim didn’t see anyone running off like they intended to call security.

  Jasim leaned forward, deciding that he and Adler should attack first, before the bikers were ready.

  “Don’t pull a weapon,” Adler murmured, “and make sure they’re down or fleeing before that spy box reports to the local enforcers.”

  Spy box? Shit, Jasim hadn’t even seen it. Where was it?

  He followed Adler’s quick glance. Ah, it was in the shadows between two booths and not painted in the cold black the empire had used for the spy boxes that floated all over its cities, recording footage and reporting trouble. This on
e blended into the gray surroundings of the station. He hoped it was reporting the situation to station security now, and that numerous competent and well-armed people were on their way.

  The leader looked at the spy box, too, but his smirk only deepened.

  “Now,” he told his men and jerked his blazer up, pointing it at Adler’s chest.

  He fired without hesitation, but Adler moved too quickly. The crimson energy bolt streaked through the air where he’d been standing and pierced the sides of the canvas yarn booth.

  Jasim only hesitated long enough to push the shopkeeper, who was cursing instead of screaming or crying, down to the ground behind a trunk. Then he ran around the outside of the group, in case Adler had been serious about wanting them surrounded and also because that android in the back would be the more dangerous foe.

  He grabbed one man’s blazer on the way and threw his elbow into another, striking him hard enough to knock him off his bike. The one who’d tried to shoot Adler was already flying across the promenade as his bike skidded away in the opposite direction. Blazer bolts flew as the bikers fired wantonly, whether they had a target or not. People shouted and scattered as the fight began in earnest. Someone hollered, “Security, security!”

  Too late now.

  The android female spotted Jasim coming and sprang off her bike toward him. He dodged, but with her machine-given power and speed, she moved as rapidly as he did. Her fist clipped the side of his jaw, and even that glancing blow would have sent him spinning, bones breaking if he’d been a mere man. But his sturdy jaw accepted the blow, even if pain lanced through his skull from it. He lunged in closer instead of reeling away.

  He pummeled her abdomen, driving her back against her bike. It was like punching a wall, a wall that hit back. Her hand snapped up, and she reached for his face, fingers curling like talons. He whipped up a block, deflecting the grab, and slammed his forehead into her face. Synthetic cartilage crunched under the blow, and she tumbled backward, falling over the bike.

  Before he could feel any satisfaction, something slammed into his back, and something electrical zapped him, charging up and down his veins and rousing pain in every part of his body. Gasping, he almost tumbled over the bike after the android. He managed to brace himself and whirl around as a man wheeled his bike back toward him and swung his shock staff for a second time. This time, Jasim ducked the blow, coming up after the weapon swept over his head, ruffling his hair. He punched the wielder in the side of the face. The man dropped the staff as he flew backward, landing on his ass and skidding several feet to crash into a potted tree. It wobbled in its planter, then tipped over.

  Jasim grabbed the staff and thought about lunging after the biker and using it on him, but the man was already out cold. Besides, Adler had said not to draw a weapon. Aware of the spy box recording footage, he snapped the staff over his knee instead, and hurled it onto the top of a booth dozens of meters away.

  A roar sounded to his side. He spun, expecting to see another biker bearing down on him. To his surprise, Adler had claimed one of the thrust bikes. He stood astride it, weaving through the skirmish as he punched opponents or simply knocked them away. His eyes gleamed, as if he was enjoying the hells out of this fight.

  Something zipped in toward Adler from the side, a two-foot-wide spherical bronze object. Not an object. A drone.

  “Look out, sir!” Jasim warned.

  He stepped forward, intending to intercept it, but the android jumped to her feet. Cursing, Jasim leaped over her bike and grabbed her. Before she could fully reboot her wits, he threw her across the promenade, into one of the massive pylons supporting the roof. She crashed into it, bounced off, and dropped onto the kiosk of a robot vender selling sausages on sticks. The robot did not bat an electronic eye, merely continued lifting its wares into the air and calling out the specials. Atop the now-dented kiosk, the android’s boot twitched. The rest of her did not move, so Jasim hoped she was out of commission.

  He whirled back toward the skirmish, looking for the bronze sphere and expecting more opponents to leap toward him at any second. He didn’t see the drone. The bikers were all unconscious or groaning on the floor. Several weapons lay bent and broken among them. Jasim didn’t think any of the men were dead, and he was glad for that, even if they’d wanted to rid the station of cyborgs. He had never believed his commander, as aloof as Adler was, to be one of those men who enjoyed killing and gleefully did it whether required or not. He was glad to have the notion reaffirmed.

  Adler was looking toward a kiosk next to the yarn booth. He stopped the bike he’d taken and hopped off. Blood trickled from a gouge in his jaw, but he did not otherwise appear injured. Jasim started to ask what they should do next, as he worried there would be repercussions for successfully defending themselves, but Leonidas turned his back on him and walked toward that kiosk. The drone, now severely dented, lay next to it.

  He started forward, wanting a look, but stopped because two more thrust bikes were heading their way, these painted silver and blue. The two androids riding them wore uniforms that Jasim recognized: the station security enforcers.

  Adler picked up the drone gingerly, using only his fingertips. He turned slowly, looking all around the promenade with narrowed eyes as he held the thing.

  “What is it?” Jasim asked, keeping an eye on the androids but moving closer to Adler. Unease crept into his stomach.

  Adler continued to study the drone. He didn’t appear to push anything or even move his fingertips, but something abruptly sprang forth from the dented sphere.

  Jasim leaped back. With his heart thudding in his chest, he stared at a needle on an articulating arm now thrusting from the surface of the drone. A patchwork of lines suggested other compartments, other things that could spring out. Like tools for cutting out cyborg implants? His mouth went dry. Blessings of the Suns Trinity, was he looking at the drone—or perhaps one of many drones—that had killed and cut up the other cyborgs?

  “I presume the bikers were hired as a distraction,” Leonidas said, then his tone turned bitter. “Four cyborgs’ worth of implants would easily finance such things. And more.”

  “But how did he know we were here?” Jasim whispered.

  “He might have only known one of us was here. The Star Nomad doesn’t publicize its flight routes, but it does file them through the legal channels. Or…” Leonidas eyed him. “Your skip tracer is getting paid by two different parties.”

  Jasim swallowed. “I don’t think—”

  “Brawling on the promenade is not permitted,” one of the androids said, he and his partner stopping their bikes as they reached Adler and Jasim.

  “Then it’s good that you’re here to put an end to it.” Adler nodded at them, as if they were colleagues and on the same side. He said nothing about the dented drone in his hands, not even looking at it as he faced the androids.

  Jasim said nothing, too busy pondering the myriad concerns whirling through his mind. Could McCall have betrayed them? She wasn’t known for that. As far as Jasim had heard, bounty hunters and repo men weren’t the only ones who hired her for her services. So did law enforcement agencies. She made good money—why would she need to betray her clients? If she did betray them, surely that would have gotten around.

  Leonidas’s suggestion that the Star Nomad had been tracked seemed more likely. If McCall hadn’t been willing to work for Dufour, then he could have hired another skip tracer. If the man was systematically going down his list of Cyborg Corps men, as he seemed to be, then he must have been searching for Adler for a while. So maybe he’d moved quickly when he’d found him. Maybe he’d already had an operative on Primus 7 for some reason, so it had been easy for him to act, to have his operative program the drone and release it to target Adler. And the fact that Jasim had been along… maybe Dufour hadn’t anticipated that. Maybe that was why he and Adler had succeeded in downing the bikers—and the drone—without being hurt. How much harder might this confrontation have been if Adler had been
forced to fight everyone off alone? Would he have seen that drone zipping in from the side if Jasim hadn’t been here to warn him?

  “Damages have been done and humans injured,” the android announced. “It is standard station procedure for all parties related to the skirmish to be detained.”

  “We were merely defending ourselves,” Adler said.

  Without waiting for further comments, and without letting go of the drone, he turned his back on the androids and walked over to get his armor case—it still rested next to the booth. Alas, the booth walls had numerous scorch marks and holes through them now, and the yarn display in the back had been destroyed, leaving charred bits of string dangling everywhere.

  The android enforcers scrutinized Adler—he’d paused to pull out a comm unit—and one waved the spy box over. It flew around, collecting footage. Calculating damages? It paused in front of Jasim, and he bent over to adjust his boot, hoping it wasn’t recording their faces, but that had probably already happened. The enforcers would get their identities, if they hadn’t already, and likely send charges to his or Adler’s ship. Or worse, Dufour might get ahold of the footage and know Jasim was helping Adler. Might he even suspect they were coming for him?

  Jasim sighed and headed into the yarn booth.

  “Ma’am?” He peered around the trunk, hoping she hadn’t been hurt.

  “Here, here,” the woman said, skittering out from behind a stack of baskets. “Your yarn. No charge, take whatever you want.” She pushed a bag at him while glancing toward the sausage kiosk and the crumpled android on the dented rooftop.

  Jasim stared bleakly at her, not wanting the yarn for free—hells, he ought to pay for all the damages to her store, even if he hadn’t started the fight. He also didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He wasn’t the thug here, not this time.

  “Ready, Antar?” Adler asked from the front of the booth.

  The two androids had their heads tilted, conferring silently, probably through the sys-net. Adler’s nod toward them seemed to suggest that it would be a good idea to leave before they decided that anyone who had been involved in the fight should be arrested. Jasim agreed with the sentiment—and hoped the station’s space traffic controller wouldn’t keep the Interrogator from leaving its airlock—but he hated to leave the yarn seller in this state.