Chapter 2

GT-701 is a mining colony. There is nothing special or even remotely interesting about it. GT-type planets are like that. They are a resource. The designation itself tells you everything: G for the geological survey that found something worth digging up, T for the terraforming that made it just about survivable and a number because nobody could be bothered with a name. Once the deposits dry up the planet is discarded and everyone moves on to the next promising rock. No one makes a place like this home unless they have no other choice.

To me it has been a good place. I got a lot done here. Got my head straight at last. A mining colony is a good place to be nobody. Everyone is busy, everyone is tired and nobody looks at anybody else for very long.

Still, I will not miss it.

A pretty holographic face pops up out of nowhere as I round a corner. A motion sensor must have picked me up. It’s an ad.

“New Eden - The Paradise, Rediscovered! The highest standard of living on the most luxurious planet in the Galaxy! New Eden - you deserve it!”

I wave it away so it stops blocking my path. The ads are annoying but GT-type planets have no consumer protection laws. There have been cases where a malfunctioning hoload got so persistent it drove its target to a full psychotic breakdown. It would follow them from street to street, wake them up at night, whisper the same slogan through the walls of their sleeping pod.

Talk about marketing gone wrong.

The irony is not lost on me. Eden is exactly where I am going. I have a house there, bought through three shell identities. I have credits enough to never work again. I have a beach I have only ever seen in a projection and a plan to run along it every morning until my legs give out and then sit and watch the water. Paradise, rediscovered. The ad has no idea it is preaching to the converted.

I am almost at the center of the station now and breathing hard. The station covers this side of the planet like a spider web with the operations center at its heart. Classic mining setup. All roads lead to the docks. It’s the only way in and out and every operation starts and ends here.

From space it must look like a tick. It’s here to suck the planet dry and when there is nothing left the tick and everything that came with it will detach and float off to feed on some other rock. It’s not a heartening thought and it annoys me that I am having it. I should be feeling happier. I am almost where I need to be. I just have to make this flight.

The main entrance is just ahead. I spot the skinny man with the precision goggles and the dock uniform. He is the one I spoke to remotely. He is supervising the last of the shipment containers being stowed. I wait until there is no one else around and walk up.

“I am the off-manifest guest.”

He looks around and answers fast.

“I don’t think so. No rats on board this time around.”

“We had an arrangement.”

“Security is too tight. Some important cargo or whatever. The manifest is cipher-locked so there is nothing I can do. You can wait for the next round or we could work something else out… but no cabin.”

I feel the storm rising inside and I dump the emotion the way I was taught. There is a place at the very back of the mind where you put things you cannot afford to feel right now. You put them there and you close the door and you come back for them later, when it is safe. Now is not the time to lose it. For once I have too much to lose.

I can see what he is doing. He knows this is the last ship off the planet for a long time and he is gambling I am desperate enough to pay more for less. If anyone here is a rat it isn’t me. But he is right. I am desperate.

“How much?”

“I told you, the manifest…”

“Just tell me what I need to do to get on that ship today.”

“Well, there might be a way.”

There always is.

“The chief of security has been on my back over this shipment and really my life would be so much easier if he missed this flight altogether. How that happens is up to you. If he isn’t on board I’ll see to it that you are. He isn’t here yet so he must still be in the barracks, upper floor.” He shows me a holographic picture of the man. Square jaw. Regulation haircut. Eyes that have never been surprised by anything. “Get it done and I guarantee your ticket off here.”

I don’t trust the Rat but what choice do I have?

Cooped up on long flights people don’t always get along, especially those flying on the Corporation’s dime. Most of them don’t have the luxury of doing anything about it. It fascinates me how much time, energy and money is spent just on making other people play nice. Whole industries. Whole professions. Mine included, if you want to look at it that way.

I make my way to the barracks. Thankfully the walls along the way have been scoured clean of holoads. I have had my fill of them for one day.

I keep my head down. People come and go around the base at all hours so there are no checkpoints. Everyone on this rock is here for the same reasons and those who aren’t get found out soon enough. Corporate HQ never spends more than is absolutely necessary on a GT planet and security is money. I simply walk in.

The barracks are Corporation Standard. I could walk them with my eyes closed. Same corridor, same doors, same smell of recycled air and cheap disinfectant on every rock from here to the Rim. The chief’s room is at the end of the corridor. I knock and call out that I have an urgent message from the docks. No answer. I try a couple more times. Nothing.

I look around and pull out a universal lock opener. On a standard issue door like this one the internals are most likely years out of date. The thing whirrs and I am in within a second.

Inside the place is a wreck. Signs of a struggle. Stuff scattered everywhere. A bottle of something broken on the floor and next to it a body, also broken and still. That Rat. He played me.

Old habits. Before I have even decided to move my eyes are reading the room. Bruising on the knuckles, so the chief fought back. The angle of the neck, so whoever did this knew exactly where to apply pressure and how much. Not a brawl. A professional job dressed up as one. Somebody wanted the chief dead and the Rat wanted a stranger to be standing over the body when the door opened.

I can already hear voices coming down the corridor. The door must have been monitored. Some sort of trip switch.

No time for a better plan. I lock the door behind me and clip the opener to the lock with its settings turned to scramble. That should buy me a little time before they decide to break the door down. The chief’s pass is on the floor under his body. It should get me into the cargo hold at the very least. I still have to make it out of here alive.

I open the window, activate the powergrip on my boots and step out. I have to climb all the way down to the next level.

The unmistakable hiss of an oxy-torch being lit on the other side of the door tells me I’d better not waste any more time.

It’s not my lucky day.

The torch must have been industrial grade because I am only halfway down when a couple of heads pop up at the lip. They spot me immediately and open fire.

Shooting downwards in the rain is not the easiest thing to do. The water throws off the aim, the angle throws off the eye and the body naturally wants to lean out over the drop, which is the last thing a shooter should be doing. With my luck I can take no chances though. I climb and dodge the blasts at the same time. Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot. A blast scorches the wall where my head was a second ago.

There is no one waiting for me on the ground. If “lucky” applies to any of this.

I jump down -

and sprint for the docks.

When I get there the Rat is nowhere to be seen. Probably a good thing. I don’t have time to deal with him and when I do it won’t be pleasant. The engines are already firing up. I can feel them through the soles of my boots, the deep hum that means a ship is done with a planet.

I use the chief’s pass to get into the cargo hold and lock the door behind me. Moments later I hear the final seal being activated. Talk about cutting it close.

Standard safety rule: the doors stay sealed until we reach the Hub. After that none of this will matter. I drop my stuff and slide down against the door. Finally I can rest. It has been a long night and I can’t quite believe it’s over.

In seconds I am asleep. I don’t dream. I never do when I am tired enough. It is the only reliable way I know to keep the red dust out.