Fallen Empire 1: Star Nomad (6 page)

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to stop squeezing Beck’s neck until he passed out—or worse—Alisa stepped forward, coming in from behind him so she would catch Draper by surprise. She pressed the muzzle of her Etcher against the side of his head, suspecting he would ignore her without the authority of a weapon behind her words.

“Interview’s over,” she said, keeping her voice as calm and full of steel as she could. “Let him go.”

Draper eyed her, his hands still around Beck’s neck. Beck’s face had turned from red to purple.

Draper sneered. “You ever shoot anyone, girl?”

“Eighty-seven enemy pilots during the war,” Alisa said, meeting his eyes, “and the asshole in the junkyard the other day who also thought women wouldn’t kill.”

It had been easier out in space, with distance and a cockpit keeping her from looking into the eyes of the person she was targeting, but she could kill in self-defense, and she could do it to keep this creep from murdering someone at her feet.

“Get off my ship,” she said. “I won’t ask again.”

Seconds passed as Draper scrutinized her face—and her gun, probably thinking he might be able to knock it away before she could shoot. In the end, he released Beck. Alisa stepped back so he could get up, but she kept her Etcher trained on his head.

Draper rose to his feet, a knot swelling at his temple. Beck was the worse off, with his split lip bleeding as he wheezed for air. At least he could get that air now. He sucked in deep breaths as he rolled away from the other man.

Alisa, keeping her eyes on Draper, nodded toward the hatch. “Thanks for applying for the job, but you’re not hired. Beck, you’re hired.”

Draper curled his lip. “What, because he didn’t look at your tits?”

“Among other things,” Alisa murmured.

“I’m the better fighter. You let womanly sentiment decide who you hire, and you’ll get screwed by the first pirates you run into.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“Stupid bitch,” Draper grumbled and headed to his case of armor.

Alisa gritted her teeth, half-tempted to shoot him in the leg, if only because letting him disrespect her would make her look weak in front of her people. But this wasn’t the war, and he wasn’t an imperial soldier molesting innocent settlers and supporting an oppressive regime.

Draper slapped a button on the side of his case, and it floated into the air. “Follow,” he said, and walked it out the hatch, not looking back.

Alisa let out a sigh of relief when he disappeared from sight. Beck found his feet, his breathing returning to normal and his skin back to brown instead of red or purple.

“Ah, thanks, ma’am,” he said, wiping his sleeve across his bloody mouth. He wore a sheepish expression, and she could tell she wasn’t the only one concerned about coming across as weak in front of the others.

“You’re welcome. Grab your gear, and I’ll show you where to stow it.” Alisa turned toward the doctor, intending to take him to his cabin at the same time—he had fished out a small pouch of physical currency and was presumably ready to pay.

Movement at the top of the stairs leading out of the cargo hold caught her eye. The cyborg. How long had he been watching from the walkway up there? She didn’t think he had been up there when she had first walked in—maybe the sounds of the fight had drawn him.

He walked down the stairs, his expression as chilly as ever, especially when he glanced toward Alisa and Beck.

Beck stirred, his gaze locking on the cyborg’s uniform—on that patch that proclaimed what he was. The cyborg strode toward Alisa. Beck drew a blazer.

Alisa flung up her hand. “He’s not—”

But Beck was already pointing the blazer, and the cyborg blurred into action before she could finish her sentence. She knew he was fast from her own experience with him, but watching from the side was just as alarming. In the split second it took Beck to raise his blazer, the cyborg burst across the distance between them, disarmed him, and rammed his back against the bulkhead.

“Shit,” Alisa muttered and jumped over to stop the incident before it could escalate, before poor Beck ended up with a hand wrapped around his neck again. “Cyborg,” she said, wishing she had gotten his name, “this is Tommy Beck. I just hired him to help with security, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mangle him.”

Those cool blue eyes turned toward her. Beck tried to knee his assailant in the groin, but the cyborg easily deflected the attack by shifting his leg. He didn’t even look at Beck, his eyes remaining fixed on Alisa.

“This ship doesn’t need security,” he said. “It has me.”

It. The ship. He hadn’t said that
she
had him. That was certainly no promise of loyalty. Alisa would not point out that the main reason she wanted to hire security was to handle
him
if he decided to betray them. Even if he hadn’t done anything to bother her or Mica so far, she couldn’t forget what he was, someone who had sworn himself to the empire and the imperial fleet, accepting all those implants in exchange for a lifetime of service. What would happen if they ran into ships loyal to the empire? Or even pirates who had been imperial soldiers and were now reduced to surviving by preying on others? She couldn’t know that he wouldn’t turn her and her people over to former imperials if given the chance. It wasn’t as if he had wanted to share this ship with anyone. She just wished she had a Starseer to use against him instead of Beck, who, as polite as he was, had now been bested twice in as many minutes.

She sighed, fearing Draper might have been right, however much of an ass he was. Maybe she was letting sentiment overrule logic.

All she said out loud was, “You’re getting off at the first stop, right?”

The cyborg kept staring at her, and again, she had that uneasy feeling that he could read her mind. Yes, a Starseer would have been the ideal opponent to keep him in line, but those people were rarer than Teravian diamonds, and they didn’t hire on as security on rusty old freighters.

The cyborg released Beck, taking the man’s blazer with him when he stepped back. He clasped it with both hands as he stared Beck in the eyes, then flexed his forearms and bent it in half with a pitiful squeal of metal. The cyborg dropped the broken lump onto the deck and strode back to the stairs leading out of the cargo hold.

“Fucking imperial mech,” Beck growled, glaring after him.

Alisa noticed that he didn’t say it very loudly.

She rubbed a hand down her face and glanced toward Mica and the doctor again, wondering what their passenger’s expression would be this time.

Alejandro was watching the cyborg’s back as he climbed the stairs, his dark eyes closed to thoughtful slits. Alisa couldn’t read the expression, but almost thought there was recognition in it. That made her uneasy because it implied that their passenger might have been associated with the empire. What if he’d been a doctor—a surgeon, he’d said—for the military, and he had seen many cyborgs?

Alisa shook her head. What did it matter now? More than seventy percent of the system had been loyal to the empire, or had at least kept their mouths shut about the draconian laws the empire had imposed. Only fifteen or twenty percent of the system’s population had joined the Alliance openly and fought to put an end to imperial rule. Alisa was proud of what they had accomplished, as were many, but she would have to keep in mind that many people she encountered in the future would not be. She would have to be careful going forward, and it might be smart to stop wearing her uniform jacket.

“Captain, I, ah—I appreciate the job,” Beck said, “especially considering…” He stepped away from the bulkhead, frowned down at his broken blazer, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you haven’t seen my best yet, that’s for sure, but I’m a decent fighter, especially in combat armor. Got a mind for all the connections and wiring in the helmet. My superiors always said so. And I’m decent with a wrench too. You won’t regret hiring me. Oh, and just wait until you taste my barbecue.”

Alisa blinked, looking away from the doctor. “Pardon?”

“I’m an excellent grill master.” Beck managed a smile, though his puffy lip made it lopsided. “Make my own sauces and marinades. Brought my portable grill along too.” He pointed his thumb at a duffel resting beside his armor case. “If you can provide fresh meat, I can work magic on it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Beck.” She patted him on the arm. “Grab your gear, and I’ll show you and the doctor to your cabins.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As she walked away from Beck, she told herself that this would work out. He was polite and respectful and wouldn’t likely be trouble as long as she could keep him from plotting the cyborg’s death. Those traits were worth more than all the fighting prowess in the universe.

When she approached Alejandro, he tossed her the coin purse. Alisa caught it, feeling like they were back in medieval times on Old Earth. She looked forward to returning to a planet with a decent banking system and checking her account to see if she had any money in there. The Alliance hadn’t had much to pay its troops with, but she and Jonah had both had regular jobs before the war.

“Glad to have you aboard, Doctor,” she said.

“You can call me Alejandro,” he said. “As I said, I’m mostly retired. Research, you understand.”

“Of course.” She hoped she could talk him into serving as a medic for them if they ran into trouble. If nothing else, Beck’s lip could use some attention. “I’ll get your bag.”

She reached for the duffel at his feet, but he rushed to step in front of her, blocking her from it.

“Not necessary,” he said quickly. “I’ll get it.”

“Uh, all right.” Alisa quirked an eyebrow at Mica, who shrugged.

As the doctor shouldered the duffel, someone else walked up the ramp, a woman in boots and a simple green dress. She rolled a wood and brass trunk behind her, the sides plastered with stickers featuring everything from razorback ducks to garden plants to DNA double helixes and diagrams of elements from the periodic table. A few customs stamps from different planets were mingled in.

“Is this the
Star Nomad
?” she asked, pushing one of two long, black braids behind her shoulder.

“Yes, I’m Captain Marchenko. Need a ride to Perun?”

The woman glanced over her shoulder. “I do, indeed.”

The crowd had thinned out on the promenade as the last sun dipped toward the horizon, the desert temperature already starting to drop. Alisa didn’t see anyone following the woman.

“I’m Yumi Moon, a traveling science teacher seeking employment. How much is the fare?”

“Two hundred tindarks. Physical coin.”

Yumi hesitated. “Tindarks? Not morats?”

“Imperial money’s no good here.” Alisa couldn’t imagine that there were many places left where it was.

“I have one hundred tindarks,” Yumi said. “Will you take the rest in trade? I have merchandise worth well more than you’re asking.”

She patted the side of the trunk and smiled hopefully. She looked to be a few years younger than Alisa, in her late twenties perhaps, though her smooth, bronze skin made it hard to pin down.

Alisa almost asked what kind of merchandise, but did she truly care? She would have taken Yumi on for a hundred. Still, a good businesswoman ought to haggle, right? “One hundred in coin and one twenty in trade, since I’m sure it’ll take me a while to find a buyer for whatever it is you’ve got.”

“Probably not that long. Your crew may even be interested.” Yumi smiled again. “But I agree to your terms.” She stuck out her hand, but paused before extending it fully. “Providing you’re leaving soon?”

“Taking off by midnight.” Alisa could have left that moment—nobody here wanted to hurry to Perun more than she did—but she would wait a little longer in the hope that a few more passengers wanted rides. However unrealistic the wish, she hoped someone had taken her up on her offer to haul a load of cargo, too, as freight was easier to manage than people and rarely required food and fresh towels.

“That should be fine.” Yumi rested her trunk on the deck and fished out a few coins. “Here. I’ll be right back. I’m going to get my chickens.”

“Ah, chickens?” Alisa asked.

“They’re absolutely fabulous in space. Did you know chickens came across the expanse from Old Earth? They’re one of the chosen creatures. Their droppings make wonderful fertilizer, and we’ll have eggs every morning. You’ll be delighted.”

“
Chickens?
” Alisa asked again, horrified at the notion of them running around the cargo hold. Or worse, getting loose and pecking at wires in engineering. Had chickens ever caused a catastrophic engine failure?

“You’ll be delighted,” Yumi repeated and trotted down the ramp.

“They better not fertilize my ship,” Alisa called after her.

All she got for a response was a cheerful wave over the shoulder.

“Chickens?” Mica asked, coming up beside her and gazing out at the reddening sky over the city.

“Looks like we’ll have a cargo, after all.” Alisa grimaced, hoping the woman only had a
few
chickens. She could fence off portions of the cargo hold in a pinch, but was already wishing she’d haggled and demanded even more of a payment. After all, chickens were passengers too. “Any trouble getting people settled in?” she asked.

“Not really, but Beck refused to bunk next to the cyborg—you get his name yet?”

“No.”

Mica raised her eyebrows. “Are you going to?”

“If he wanted us to know, he would have offered it.”

“Mm. You didn’t mention to the passengers that there’s going to be a ten-day diversion, did you?”

“I thought I’d wait until after we’re in space and their money is in the vault.” Alisa gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m a touch desperate right now.”

“I wasn’t judging you.”

“Are you sure? Your nose wrinkled dubiously.”

“I have a nervous tic.”

“You’re nervous about something right now?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Alisa thought about mentioning what quirky people engineers were, but decided to let it go. “At least things are looking up. We might get more passengers tonight. One more, and we could even turn a profit on this trip.”

“You have a lot of patches that should be swapped out for replacement parts,” Mica said. “Expensive replacement parts. If you want to keep this barge in the sky, you need to sink some money into it.”