Chapter 8
The Present—February 13th, 2945—Spider, Cathcart.
Whatever else Crossways might have been, it was always full of life in its most elementary form. In between the shady dealings, the occasional bouts of violence, and beneath the cacophony of heavy machinery, there was a whole civilization in microcosm bumbling its way through day by day. The two former carriers' subdecks were a labyrinth of living quarters, commissaries, rec pods, and hydroponics bays, with the concession of a single massive shaft tunneled out amidships from hangar deck to hangar deck—a grand avenue between port and market.
Because the passage was not original to either ship's design, there was little order or sense to the flow of traffic; in the fifteen meter wide shaft, there were interconnected walkways running up and down the sides where the builders of the 'station' had kludged together some old grav plates to permit normal movement. Other outlaw ports built in similar fashion had all manner of contrivances for dealing with different gravitational planes, ranging from lifts that inverted halfway down their shafts to zero-gee access tubes and even cable slings... Crossways had a simple set of curved ramps at either end of the shaft which allowed one to walk normally from the deck of one ship, into the shaft, and then out on the other side. It was an elegant solution.
It was also disconcerting as hell. Gravity got weird in the space where plates met at angles; if you weren't ready for it, the nausea could be overwhelming. Then there was the small matter of standing on the edge of a fifteen meter wide, sixty meter deep pit... and then walking right over the edge. Penny was no stranger to Crossways, and she tried to play it straight, but couldn't hide a grimace as she stepped over the threshold. Novel though the design was, she much preferred her gravity to only pull in one direction at a time, and it took real work to keep lunch heading through her guts the way it was supposed to.
Sennek, to his credit, didn't even flinch. Maybe it was some quirk of his alien physiology, or just a determination to not look weak in front of the human. He followed along silently, but Penny noticed that his hand never left the knife she'd given him. Tough guy or no, he'd never been in a place like this before. Too bad he was focusing on all the wrong things.
Penny's dealings with the station rats made them more or less safe from pickpockets and their ilk, but there were still plenty of people who'd take advantage given half a chance to—visitors from off-station, or thugs who were looking to gain a little cred by picking a fight with the biggest, baddest thing they could find. Sennek didn't even notice the half dozen or so menacing figures step out of the shadows towards him... only to back off again when they saw who he was with.
In a world where reputation was something more than words, Penny had the ink to back up her swagger. Everything she'd ever been, everything she'd ever done, everyone she'd ever killed—it was all written on her skin for anyone to see, if they knew what they were looking for. If they didn't? There were many cruel outlaws in the 'Verse, and many who were greedy or arrogant... but the stupid ones never lasted long. If they didn't get scooped up by the Advocacy, they invariably got consumed by their own kind for crossing someone they shouldn't have.
When they reached the bazaar, rather than heading directly to Taz' dock, Penny took Sennek shopping. She had nothing worthwhile to trade, and no money to speak of, but there was still plenty to see and do within the cavernous marketplace... and anyone following them would have a very difficult time staying hidden long enough to find out where they were ultimately going. Reputation cut two ways: there were plenty of lesser scumbags who'd steer clear, but there were also a few who'd recognize not just a set of tattoos, but the identity of the woman wearing them. Penny and Matt had burned far, far too many bridges when they went legit, and there were bound to be a few people with scores to settle even if they didn't know about the price on her head.
Sennek, nervous in this den of thieves but blissfully unaware of those deeper dangers, stuck to Penny's heels like an overgrown puppy. From time to time, he glanced around, as though his untrained eyes could have spotted a threat even if there was one. In a way, Penny understood—for the first year she'd spent working for Uncle David, she'd felt the same way every single time an Advocacy ship popped up on her sensors. Every trip into Quasi became a run through the Gauntlet as she ducked around cameras and cops that she had no real reason to fear. She'd actually drawn more suspicion on herself acting that way... just like Sennek was doing right now.
Only when she was well satisfied that nobody was following did Penny elbow her way out of the crowd and head for the upper decks. As old as the former carrier was, none of its lifts worked... but their shafts remained, empty, and as with the central inter-ship access a trick of gravity allowed them to still be useful. In this case, it was the complete absence thereof—there was a dead zone about three meters out from the shaft Penny selected where the plates had been either disabled or removed. A crude arrow painted on the wall pointed up—but, as with any attempt at imposing order in the Spider, it was ignored constantly: just as the mismatched pair were about to swing into the shaft and kick off, a large crate came tumbling past the other way, followed closely by a pair of suited handlers.
Penny shook her head and motioned Sennek inside. "C'mon, buddy—before traffic picks up. Unless you wanna climb up ten more decks' worth of ladders." Sennek said nothing, but shook his head slowly as he launched himself up the empty shaft. They only made it seven decks before a blockage caused by competing travelers forced them to exit, but three ladders was a far more tolerable climb.
Activity dropped off sharply towards the top of the old bridge tower—Crossways' command and control was handled from the other hull, so most of this space had been turned into offices and, for a few enterprising and wealthy souls, penthouse apartments... but the actual bridge deck remained unclaimed, likely by design. While its systems were dark, the breakers and relays showed power; the facility could be reactivated on a moment's notice if something happened to the main bridge. There was no one standing watch, however, condemning the expansive CIC to an eerie silence.
Taz' ship was docked to the old flag airlock, aft of the superstructure. The docking gallery, large enough for the old carrier's entire command staff to stand for inspection, afforded an excellent view of the Merchantman that served as his home, office, and studio. The thing was ancient, by human standards—likely dating back before the Tevarin wars, it had belonged to Taz and his ancestors as far back as they could trace their lineage. The hull was painted a vivid blue and adorned with symbols representing all of the stars whose light she'd bathed in over the centuries, with the heraldry of Taz' house given pride of place on the vessel's prow.
Penny made to punch up the intercom, but drew her hand back and smiled as the gallery lights came up full and the airlock's inner hatch whirred open. As if anyone could drop in on him unannounced, she thought. If she knew Taz, he had his tendrils running all throughout Crossways. In all likelihood, he'd pegged the Chance on approach to the port. It was nice to feel welcome sometimes.
"Well," she said, motioning Sennek into the airlock. "It seems we're expected."
"Indeed."
"Listen, Sen—play it cool, alright? Taz can be a little... intense."
The Merchantman's inner door irised open. Their host, a Banu of roughly average height for his kind and festooned in gaudy silks, threw his arms wide in welcome and promptly exploded into his own special broken version of human conversation as he ushered them into his ship.
"Nels! Good see you not good you here but good see you! Too long been too long you gone how you have been look good!" He clapped his hands on Penny's shoulders, twisted her this way and that, and examined every inch of her while she tried not to burst out laughing.
"All the same, man, all the same. Couldn't stay away forever, y'know?"
"But you know I tell him you here!" Taz meant her father—which was confirmation enough that they were still on speaking terms, in spite of the distance. So much the better. I can probably ask him to just call direct instead of screwing around with message drops.
"That's the idea, right? I need to... see him about something. Business."
"Not like Hess no? Not help with that you and Dad best of my work you two I not help you with that."
"I wouldn't ask you to. I'm not looking to settle with him—not that way. He's got something I need."
Taz nodded quickly, an undulating, bobbing motion that no human neck could have matched—then he finally acknowledged Sennek, even though Penny knew he'd been aware of the big guy all along. He turned to the much larger being, puffed himself up to his full height, and began rapidly poking him in the chest.
"Nels who this? Who are what you want here? Tell fast or I add head to collection!"
That, naturally, was when Sennek noticed the collection. It filled the entire docking lounge of Taz' ship, from the deckplates to the overhead around all four bulkheads—a grisly array of lovingly preserved and polished finger bones, excised patches of skin bearing tattoos 'reclaimed' from their former owners, and a truly impressive number of skulls. There were twenty-seven humans, five Tevarin, three Banu, a Xi'An, and a Vanduul. The Xi'An and one of the humans were new since the last time Penny had been aboard, but apart from them she knew exactly how each and every one of the others had come to be mounted on Taz' wall.
Penny had never seen a Tevarin look ill before. She was torn between laughing and offering some kind of reassurance, but somehow she didn't think "hey, it's okay, they all deserved it" would be terribly comforting, so instead she caught Taz' eye and waved him off.
"Relax, Taz, he's with me. Bit of a long story."
The energetic alien bobbed his head in acceptance and bustled over to his desk. On a 'normal' day, he would have one of his several loyal retainers stationed there to greet any visitors—and ensure that they saw the entire gallery before they met the boss—but it seemed that Taz himself was the only one on the main deck. That spoke volumes about his trust in Penny, especially when she'd brought a stranger into his home.
"Story I must hear sometime," he said, rifling through a stack of old-fashioned ink-and-paper sketches. "Where Matt? Have something for both you love need get my kit. You kill Grinder everybody know it! Come here I must paint this for you tell Matt I paint him too."
Penny's stomach tried to leap up her throat. It somehow had never occurred to her that Taz didn't know. He was so well connected in so many places, she'd never entertained the notion that Taz didn't know everything. She found a chair and flopped into it, stunned. What do I even say? Taz and Matt went back ages. Hell, Matt had introduced her to Taz! The alien inker considered Dorian Hess a mortal enemy; he'd been only too happy to put his mark on the kid who took him out... that had been the first transaction in a partnership with the newly-renamed Clairmont Syndicate which was evidently still going strong. Penny shook her head, slowly. All that history, and he didn't know.
"That face I not like when see that face. Nels tell me tell me what happen."
"Taz, I... Matt... he's gone, man." She lost her voice for a moment, and it was barely a whisper when she found it again. "It was the fucking Vanduul, Taz. They killed him."
Inevitably, conversation led from Matt's death to Sennek dropping into Penny's life, her decision to join Operation Pitchfork, and ultimately what she needed from her father to make it happen. Taz fell into that odd mood he always did when he was analyzing new data—he was no stranger to the whole Pitchfork subculture, although he was not involved with it himself. On that much, Taz and Matt shared a lot: survival, and if possible comfort, were their highest priorities. Well, Penny thought with a little mental shake, not quite the highest—right, Matt? Sorry you didn't make it to fat, old, and grinning... but that's the point of all this, isn't it?
Taz clucked at the suggestion that Penny's father would part with any of his ships, but that wasn't his business—he only had to set up a meeting; what father and daughter discussed was up to them. In any case, the number of hulls had shrunk considerably; when last she spoke to her father, he was in possession of three spaceworthy but stripped-down Vanguards, a Starfarer Gemini, and a milspec Retaliator—none of which he could use, as they'd been captured from a Navy deep space patrol and the UEE was still searching for them.
"Fighters refitted," Taz explained. "Tanker sold for parts good money good hardware milspec no damage. Bomber still no good maybe he make deal. No use for big bomber too loud not quick like other ships but said he might turn into command ship think that not happen already got one now."
"Damn." It had probably been far too much to hope that Quentin Clairmont would have sat on that many ships for so long without finding a way to turn a profit with them. "See what you can do—just this once? I just want him to hear me out."
"So you really go really go? You know what he want."
Yeah, Penny thought, I know. That was another thing she wasn't going to let Sennek in on—not yet. Hopefully not ever, unless it came down to that. She was pretty sure she could find a way around paying a blood price, but her father was definitely going to demand something big for an apology before he'd even talk with her. There was no better way, though; she needed that bomber. She didn't have the money to sink into buying the bare hull legit then retrofitting it and arming it, let alone the total impossibility of someone like her getting the permits for the weapons themselves. She needed a fully intact, operational fighting ship, and she needed to pay for it with something other than cash.
"I guess I do," she said at last. "Been running away long enough, Taz. It's time to settle it. Maybe we both walk out." She hoped they would, anyway—she wasn't entirely sure what would happen if the meeting ended in violence. Without any way to gauge her father's current disposition towards her... Plan B, as it stood, was to run away really fast and probably throw more grenades. Maybe frags this time.
Business concluded, Taz changed subjects so abruptly it took Penny a moment to catch up. "Okay no more that. Still need to paint! Come with me give you nice art for Grinder." His expression sobered and he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe something else too."
"I was thinking the same, man," she said when she'd collected herself. "Already got something for it, y'know? Not your usual stuff, but... think you can make an exception?" She pulled up the image on her MobiGlas and set it to project onto the one blank piece of sketch paper lying on Taz' desk. He looked at it, glanced back at Penny to see if she was serious, then back at the page—and dissolved into a fit of laughter. It was a flaming death's head.
"He not like that at all! Nels you always know him best he laugh his dumb hat off at that! We put it... here!" He tapped a spot right between Penny's shoulder blades. It was a good pick—somewhere that nobody would see unless she wanted them to. Once, long ago, she'd broached the subject of death with Matt, and told him that she'd get inked to remember him after he was gone. He'd flatly rejected the sentimentality of the notion, so the design got more and more cliche and further over the top the longer they talked—the better to get under his skin.
Joke's still on you, asshole. I wouldn't have it done if you hadn't gone and fucking died on me.
Several hours later, Penny walked out of Taz' studio with a pair of bandages covering fresh ink: a death's head on her back that Matt would have hated, but found hilarious, and a caricature on her left forearm of the Grim Reaper using his scythe to cut the command pod off a Drake Caterpillar. Penny thought it was one of Taz' best ideas ever—and squikking Grinder had been really satisfying. Couldn't have happened to a nicer sonofabitch. She smiled when she imagined Dad's likely reaction to seeing that one—Grinder had been one of his top hitters, and the Wendigo had been one of his favorite ships. Guess I'll see the face he makes soon enough.
Sennek was still standing right where Penny left him, sweeping his head slowly one way, then the other, making eye contact with every skull along the way as though their long-dead owners would spring from the void to attack him... but his eyes kept coming back to that lone Vanduul skull, and every time they did there was a flash of well-tempered rage. As calm as the big guy's demeanor was, there was a hunger inside him waiting to be set loose.
This is really happening, isn't it? We're gonna hit those bastards. This was the first step—real progress. More than just words spoken over a few drinks in some bar. For the first time, Penny felt committed to the wild cause she'd pledged herself to, and seeing the way her new partner glared at that Vanduul skull just drove it home. Now it was time to get back in motion—time to take the next step, and the next. Keep on moving 'til the job was done.
"Well Taz, been fun. Tell Dad if he tries anything I'll throw a real grenade at him this time."
Taz laughed and slapped her heartily on the back. "You always have belly full of guts Nels! Hope you keep them inside don't want to put your ink on Dad's arm do I?"
Penny smiled back, more or less sincerely. "I'll try not to make you do that."
"I put word you not there for fight—all I can do."
"Couldn't ask more, man. Stay breathing, hey?"
"You same Nels you same."
"Why does he speak that way?" asked Sennek, barely twenty seconds outside the airlock from Taz' ship as they walked back through the old carrier's bridge. And thank the bloody stars he held his fucking tongue in there! The crafty Banu was probably still listening, but this way he'd just get a chuckle out of that; face to face it would have been an insult. Taz didn't kill for insults like some people on the underside of the 'Verse, but it was never wise to upset a man who could ruin your life with a single word in the right ear.
"He's got a translator," Penny said with a shrug, "if that's what you're asking. I think he just likes the way human words sound when he says them. You don't exactly talk normal yourself, y'know."
"I speak very well, Penny."
"Yeah, I guess you do. Could learn to mix it up a little. Toss some contractions in there, little spice..." Sennek sounded like a textbook in a grammar school class. Always proper, always precise. It was... actually sort of annoying.
"I prefer to be clearly understood." He showed Penny his devil's grin. "I. Don't. Do. Fuckin'. Vernacular. It. Ain't. What's. Comin'. Outta. My. Mouth. I. Can't. Stand. It. " It was as though he'd thrown a sentence into a blender and turned it to 'puree.' The man wasn't kidding—that sounded awful beyond any possible description. If it was possible for a language to scream in unholy agony, then it surely just had.
"Eegh. Forget it. Talk how you want. Maybe never use contractions again. Ever." Then maybe I'll find whatever prick taught him to speak the language and wring the life out of his sorry ass. Tevarin on the whole, Penny found, tended to be meticulous about whatever they did, but most of them just didn't talk unless they had something very important to say. Sennek, on the other hand... the big guy almost never shut up.
"I thought I might find you here." That was most definitely not Sennek talking. It took a second for the name behind the voice to register, and a second longer to figure out where it was coming from, and then her head whipped towards a shadow that was just a little longer than it should have been.
Shit. That was not a voice Penny had ever wanted to hear again, especially not in a place like this. Maybe when she was on the safe end of a plasma caster sighting down on the smug bastard, but definitely not like this! Reflexes took over; she found the nearest hard cover and planted herself behind it, swinging her shotgun up to ready even as her ass hit the deck.
Zan Vargas stepped out of the shadow—then crossfire lit up the whole compartment.
Fuck me! We walked right into it! No armor, no shields... but grenades were another matter entirely. Penny instantly regretted grabbing flashbangs instead of frags, but snapped one off all the same, arcing it over towards where she thought most of the shit was coming from—then plugged an ear with her free hand and squeezed her eyes shut tight. The concussion hurt plenty—something warm and wet dripping down her left ear told her it was ruptured, but that was way easier to fix than bullet and laser holes.
Penny took a quick glance back to see where Sennek was, and to her great relief saw him hiding behind a nearby console. She popped out and hammered off a few rounds unaimed, but there were just too damn many of the fuckers to put down like that! Especially since... oh you have got to be shitting me! Sennek was nearby alright... nearby and clutching his knife.
"Sennek, you shithead, fucking shoot them!" She didn't know if he could even hear, so she demonstrated the technique, hoping the big idiot would get the picture but utterly devoid of hope that he'd be providing any meaningful cover fire.
"You should have brought some real backup, girl!"
"Suck shit, Vargas!"
"Come out and I'll make it quick!"
Penny answered with her shotgun, and was rewarded with a scream and a curse. Not Vargas, but a hit was a hit. Lucky the flashbang had broken up their coordination, though sadly the leader of this merry band of assholes was clearly unaffected. He was also clearly not trying to take her alive.
What the fuck? Either Dad's changed his mind, or...
"Bossman know you're here, asshole?"
"What do you think?"
Shit. That was a no. That meant he was here for blood, not to collect a bounty. That cut a few options off the menu. Giving up would have weakened her negotiating position with Dad, but word would have gotten back from Taz before anything really bad could happen and then the meeting would have just been moved up a bit. But Vargas wasn't here for that. The only possible explanation was that he was getting ready to split with the Syndicate and figured it was time to settle up on an old debt... and the bastard was just arrogant enough to think he'd get away with it.
Laser fire raked the projector table she was hiding behind, as though just to make the point. Penny sent a few more flechette rounds back the other way and just barely ducked return fire from somebody's slugthrower.
"I'm going to make you sorry, bitch, for every time you humiliated me! You can't hide behind your old man anymore!"
"Well shit, look who finally grew a pair! Con-grats, man, that's great for you!"
Penny knew she couldn't stay where she was much longer. There were enough of the bastards that sooner or later one of them was bound to grow a brain and flank, and she did not trust Sennek to be on the lookout for that. He'd clearly never been in a real fight like this before—though, to his very small credit, he was at least firing his bloody weapon now.
Just one left, Penny thought, yanking the pin off her second and last flashbang with her teeth. She waited until she thought a few of them must be reloading, then hurled it across the bridge and took a flying leap towards the starboard bulkhead. The landing was less than graceful, but if anyone saw it to laugh at it, either they would be dead in a minute or she would, so her dignity could take the hit. Sennek, the damned idiot, had stayed right where he was, but his tactical ineptitude was not high on the list of priorities right now.
Penny leaned out with the shotgun—incredibly, the bad guys were still shooting at her old position, so the flashbang must have done its job in hiding her movement. She finally got a look at them: there were five in total, including Vargas and one who was nursing a wounded arm, and they looked like a bunch of thugs he'd just grabbed and tossed some money to on the promise of an easy kill. So much the better. Penny took careful aim and blasted one in the knees, dropping him in a screaming heap and causing the rest to flail around wildly looking for the source of the shot.
The shotgun was almost dry. Not wanting to waste the last few shells and hoping to play the opposition for suckers, Penny switched to her holdout pistol and peppered their position with a few quick laser bursts. There were a few curses, then a sharp laugh and the sound of boots on steel—but Penny was already bringing her street sweeper back up as they rounded the corner. A quick burst laid two out dead with great ragged holes in their bodies, and suddenly the odds were even.
"You should have brought better backup, Vargas!" she yelled, parroting the smug shit's words right back at him. Her backup might barely know which end of the gun went boom, but at least he had enough of a brain to stay in cover! Vargas swore a streak up and down four different languages and raked the room with automatic fire.
Sennek's voice cut through the ozone-tinged air: "Penny! Watch out!" Now he chimes in?! Something clanked and rolled beside her. Ohshit! She was tumbling over the comm station in half a heartbeat, landing headfirst on the chair and crashing to the deck just as Vargas' grenade went off. Unlike hers, this one was a frag; a sharp sting in her calf told her that some shrapnel had found a meaty home.
Head ringing like the gong at a street fair, Penny scrambled clumsily to find a new place to hide, but came upright and found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. The fourth thug, the one she'd only winged, stood over her with his slugthrower, grinning.
Her brain refused to comprehend what happened next. A massive, thundering blast—then everything was red. Her eyes stung. She rubbed them; they were covered in blood. Not her blood. That was good. What was left of the thug's upper body slumped over and hit the deck with a meaty plop.
"Nels! I sorry I make mess all over had no choice would have shot you!"
"Taz—what? What?!" She wasn't sure if she was more surprised at the sudden rescue—or that she could still hear on at least one side after the grenade and... whatever that was.
There Taz stood, next to an awestruck Sennek, wielding the biggest damned gun Penny had ever seen. She looked at Taz, then the gun, then the remains of the thug, the massive puddle of blood and chunks of meat, then the bulkhead behind him... of which a meter-wide patch had been scorched black. Oh. Okay. That makes sense, I guess. It was definitely better than the other thing that could have happened. She swiped an arm across her face to get rid of some of the gore and only succeeded in smearing it around.
"Uh... yeah. Vargas?"
"He ran away," offered Sennek helpfully, pointing towards the companionway.
"Ah." Figures. Tossed a grenade and took off. "Um, Taz?"
"Yes Nels are you hurt what you need?"
"A shower would be nice."
