It was the sound of the ship's intercom that woke him up.
Strange, that. He had never been one to be woken up by incidental, even trivial noises. A light sleeper, undoubtedly, but that had been natural-long, long before...all that. Guai, he had once slept while a cruiser he was on navigated its way through an asteroid belt near Jiangyin. And by navigate, he meant blast the tumbling rocks with repeater cannons until a path was cleared, a process with no short amount of noise. Yet here he was, being woken up by something as prosaic as a fizzle and a crackle.
Well, things hadn't exactly been ordinary. Not since the Miranda broadwave. Not since his faith had shattered utterly and he was cast adrift into the 'Verse, with nothing to call his own but what he had stowed in his onboard locker. He always did like to begin the day with cheerful thoughts. Though, technically, there was no day. Just the black.
The sound of the captain's voice came over the intercom, fuzzy due to poor wiring and made even worse by his addiction to pahn xu leaf. He would recommend an immediate withdrawal and a check-in at the nearest Alliance medical facility, but the captain was a stubborn man, and didn't belief in taking charity from the same bei bi shiou renwho had doomed an entire planet. He didn't exactly blame him. The same went for anyone who spurned their government in this new age. Whenever he tried to muster up the slightest bit of indignation, it felt like ashes in his mouth and he quickly buried it. Pulling himself away from these thoughts, he kept his eyes closed, but pricked up his ears.
"Attention all passengers, this is Captain Demanski. We'll be touching down on Clearwater in 'bout thirty minutes, give or take a couple. Re-entry couplings are playin' up a mite but no cause for frettin', s'all natural. I'll be wantin' all of you outta your rooms in-"There was a brief bout of coughing, and he smiled briefly in amusement-"no less'n ten. Make sure y'all take your belongings with ya, 'cause we ain't stayin' long. Over 'n' out." A brief burp of static, then nothing.
Giving breath to a short sigh, he rose up from his uncomfortably stiff bunk bed and stretched his arms, almost hitting the ceiling. Accommodations aboard Big Dipper weren't exactly luxurious; then again, he was used to the martial style of the various Alliance cruisers he had toured on. This wasn't all that different, although the sanitary conditions left a lot to be desired. A few suspicious stains had made him forfeit the use of the spare blanket, despite the central heating failing time and again, leaving him wracked with cold.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he washed his face in the small sink next to his bed and then caught sight of himself in the mirror. No matter how many times he tried to avoid it, inevitably he would be drawn back to his own reflection. It was like a recurring nightmare.
Dark eyes, even darker skin. His usually neatly trimmed black hair now lank and unruly. A prominent nose, unusually defined cheekbones. Lips that might have once quirked into a smile, now continually set in a grim slash. To some, he had been an ally; to others an enemy, but all had feared him. Feared him in his former occupation as a ruthless Operative of Parliament. This was the face that had been the last thing for many in this life to see. Self-disgust and self-loathing had given way to a morbid kind of fascination with his image, of what others might see when they look at him…
A knocking on his door, and a soft voice. "Mr Dresden?"
The former government man stiffened. That was not, of course, his real name. That had been discarded, forcibly forgotten by dint of Alliance mind-wiping technology. But prior to his departure from Persephone, a certain ship's captain had given him the name of a deceased smuggler he had been acquainted with, along with the clothes he currently wore. Yet more mercy he knew he didn't deserve.
In a melodious and deep voice, he asked, "Yes, who is it?"
There were a few seconds of a silence, then the voice again. "It's Miss Randall, from C-Dorm. We met in the mess yesterday…" She trailed off. He thought back to the previous day, and nodded to himself. Courtney Randall, 26 years of age, hailing from the now dead colony of Haven. She must have left before he ordered the Alliance to wipe the place off the map. Working with decommissioning yards on the Border, she had shipped out here, hoping to start up her own business. Somewhat shy, but with a clear idea of what she wanted.
He hadn't lost his razor mind for detail.
Dresden raised his voice. "Yes, I remember you. What is it?"
If he didn't know better, he could've sworn she blushed. "Well…I was thinking, since we're both getting off here on Clearwater, we could look for accommodations together. Help each other out, ya know?"
He sighed. This was not what we wanted. He wanted to be anonymous, secretive and secure. Not mingling with every other person on this boat. But what could it hurt? "I suppose, "he said reluctantly.
"Great!" Her enthusiasm was evident, even through the steel door. "I'll see you when we hit dirt, then." The sounds of footsteps, which soon died away.
As the red light above his door dinged, he began collecting his meager possessions. A bag filled with clothes, amenities and a few other things-money, his ident-card and a long, leather-wrapped object, the last link to his former life. It wasn't something he wanted to flaunt-who went round wearing a sword these days? No, it was far safer and more common to wear this. From beneath his pillow, he grabbed his personal sidearm. Sleek and black, the Redmond E4CE Personal Defense Weapon had a long barrel and larger-than-normal iron sights. About the length of a Cortex-remote, it was occasionally hard to conceal, but was a good weapon in a pinch. Best of all-it relied upon bullets, and not sonics, EMP or stun rounds. A pragmatic mentality that he had come to appreciate. Holstering it on his right hip, he collected everything and left the room which had been his de facto home for three weeks now.
Entering the small sub-corridor which would connect to the ship's main passageway, he exchanged nods with the various other passengers that were exiting their rooms. One of them was Terence Paruto, a former Alliance SpecOps soldier that had left the ranks as soon as he heard the broadwave. A lot of them had done that of late. He and Paruto had established not a friendship, but a mutual understanding, and that was more than anything else he had aboard this ship.
Or not, He remembered Miss Randall's soft voice, her shy smile, brown eyes-
Enough. He caught Paruto's eye and nodded. "All well, Terence?"
The ex-soldier shrugged diffidently. "Same old same old, Dresden. Can't say being stuck aboard this floating rat-trap has done wonders for my disposition." He cleared his throat, and spat to one side.
Though he had yet to see any vermin on the Big Dipper, Dresden chose not to contest the point. "Indeed. Soon we'll make landfall. New opportunities await planetside, I am certain."
Paruto laughed grimly. "You think so? First time out to the Rim for you, I reckon. I served a tour or two of peacekeeping out here, and it ain't pretty. People can barely keep skin and bone together, scrapping over bits and pieces. You want opportunity, head back to the Core. Just ashes and dust what thrive out here."
Dresden was sourly amused by this. "So why have you come out here?"
Paruto snorted. "Hey, so long as I'm not back under the heel of the Alliance, I don't care where I end up. Got some cash to hand, a few old contacts. I'll make something of myself, you can be sure. What about you, then?"
The question caught him off guard. His mind raced-what exactly did he intend to do? "Find a job, and do it. That's what an old friend once told me." If Malcolm Reynolds could be considered a friend.
His current acquaintance grunted. "Well, good luck with that. Me, I'm burning my uniform ay-ess-ay-pee. You'd wanna do the same." He moved on ahead, rucksack on his shoulder. The corridors were starting to fill up now, with men, women and even a few children. Luckily he was taller and more broad-shouldered than them, so movement wasn't difficult.
There were certainly more people on board than he had given credit for-and in all shapes, sizes and colours. He spotted a few men that could have been his brothers, with their midnight skin. A small family struggled to stay ahead of the pack, toting larger suitcases than most. They must have moved wholesale from their previous home. One of the children, a small girl no older than three, stared up at him and smiled with pearly white teeth. She had her right hand clenched firmly in her mother's, but the other one she used to wave at him. He quickly returned her smile. It felt odd.
Dead children lying sprawled in the dirt, bodies ridden with laser fire.
Haven in flames.
He shook his head, and continued moving.
The main common room was packed, and many pushed eagerly towards the doors that led down to the hangar bay. Stern-faced crewmen guarded these vigilantly, using fierce glares to ward back the unruly crowd. On one side, however, was a small desk, and a place he needed to go.
There had been some small duties aboard the ship that required manpower or simple know-how. Most people didn't want them-cleaning and maintenance at best, the bilges at worst-but a small fee was given for series rendered. He had pulled no fewer than fourteen jobs voluntarily. He needed all the coin he could lay his hands on.
He moved up the line quickly, and when it was his turn, the gap-toothed young man behind the desk looked up with disinterest. "Name?"
Without the slightest tremor or quirk of speech, he said crisply, "Kalam Dresden." He handed over the ident-card, his face now in place of the late smuggler's.
The card went into the slot, and beeped as it returned a result. The crewman's eyebrows raised slightly-he probably hadn't been expecting a person who wasn't hired to have done so much work. "Alright then…..that comes out to about twelve platinum. There ya go." He sprinkled a handful of silver coins into his lined hands, and he felt the comforting weight of money. This would get him a room and a meal-of course that was by Border standards and here he was on the Rim. He turned to go.
A pugnacious looking man, standing in his way, sneered down at him-he was at least a head taller. "Why do you get so much?" he demanded in a nasally voice. "What've you done to become all moneyed-up?" He bunched his fists, and the liquor on his breath was evident.
Almost instinctually, Dresden found himself shifting into a fighting stance. But any confrontation would see his money confiscated and getting hauled up in front of the captain-and that he couldn't have. So he simply sidestepped the massive man, putting a large hover-trolley pulled by a puffing old man between them. Crisis averted.
The ship began to noticeably shake, and a few people cried out in shock. Dresden himself was unmoved-it was simply the effects of re-entry. Wedging himself between a pair of bulkheads, he grabbed a small handle designed for these situations and waited for the uncomfortable descent to finish. Everyone else scrambled to do the same.
After a few minutes, the captain's voice came over again. "Demanski speaking. We've bulled through the atmo and commencin' descent into Karachi Station. All hands, start preppin' the hangar bay and let these folks off soon as we land. Over and out."
With that, the guards placed on the doors began pulling the steel doors open, and ushering people through. Getting through the crush, he descended the winding steps leading down to the cavernous hangar bay. Doubling as the cargo hold, it had massive "drawers" that could be recessed into the walls of the ship, allowing for more human movement. This was the primary aim at this time.
A team of six men stood at the forefront of the doors, the first mate among them. A bearlike man named Selt, he began barking orders at the crowd, telling them to form several disciplined lines. Dresden and Paruto straggled their way into the third and middle one. Towards the front, he spotted a flash of chestnut hair. That was Miss Randall, he was sure of it.
The fluctuations began in his stomach as the artificial gravity started fluxing around with the real gravity, and he struggled to stay upright. The effect rippled across the bay, and a few bangs sounded as people's possessions hit the floor. But eventually, they stabilised. And in less than a minute, there was a cacophonous bang. They had landed. Crewmen dashed to open the cargo doors, while the passengers shifted impatiently. They wanted to get off this stifling, cramped ship.
The gargantuan doors groaned and shuddered, but slowly parted like the petals of a flower, and they saw real sunlight for the first time in weeks. The next thing they felt was the hot wind common to Clearwater, a wind that whipped across the length of the planet. Sometimes it rose into tornado fury, other times it was a mere breeze-but it was never entirely gone. Yet another atmospheric quirk caused by terraforming instability.
At least this one won't kill thirty million people.
The lines of people began to move out onto the tarmac of Karachi Station Landing Pad K-2L. He was one of them, and he blinked in the harsh light, lifting a hand to shield himself. From here they would go to the customs office, and then wherever they pleased.
Dresden sighed. This was going to be a chore. Still, it would be bearable. He was just another passenger looking to make their fortune-
Then he saw it and he stopped cold.
Off across the sand-coloured expanse of Karachi Station, above the mudbrick and plastacrete buildings, there was another landing pad. And just touching down on it were several Alliance security sloops. The broadwave had meant the long arm of the law was not as feared as it once was, but they now had a tendency to pop up in unexpected places. Judging from their markings, these ones had pulled in from the Silverhold system.
One of the crewmen out on the pad was staring at him strangely. "Everythin' alright?"
Dresden jerked his gaze away, cursing inwardly. He couldn't give himself away now. "Yes, yes. I'm fine. It's just the heat." That at least was true-the sun was baking everything it touched.
The guard nodded understandingly, and motioned him onward. Dresden joined the snaking line of people moving down the slope towards the customs building, thinking furiously. It was a long shot, but if there was so much as one official aboard those sloops, then he would be compromised. He would have to blend in, be unobtrusive.
A thought occurred to him, and he smiled grimly. Parliament-sanctioned or no, he was still feared in many circles. Most men would know what he was capable of-and consequently not antagonise him. And if they did…a few judicious killings might not go amiss.
He didn't like it at all. But perhaps it was time to be an Operative again, if only for a short time.