Planet 9 (The Dipole series Book 2) Page 6

  "He has not communicated with me."

  "Huh," he said under his breath. "That's funny. How long have I been out?"

  "Several hours."

  "Huh," he repeated.

  "Do you need me to read the note to you?"

  "You read it?"

  "My optics are quite advanced since I upgraded."

  He lowered the tablet.

  "You upgraded my ship?"

  "My eyes and ears, yes."

  "Stop doing that. It's my ship. I'm the Captain."

  "The pilot," she corrected. "You have stated so before."

  "Both," he shouted at the speaker and turned the display to face one of the lenses of the camera.

  "What does it say?"

  "You've been poisoned. Deliver the package in your cargo hold to these coordinates and an antidote will be administered."

  "Poisoned?" he blurted and felt his stomach.

  "That is what it says."

  "Did you see him do it?"

  "No."

  "Did you see the package?"

  "Yes."

  "And you just let some stranger in my ship?"

  "I do not know your life," Junebug answered.

  "Can you scan me or something?"

  "I do not have that technology."

  "But you upgraded, right?" he shouted again and slammed the tablet to the deck floor. "Damn it, why couldn't you upgrade to a medical AI!"

  He dropped to his knees and picked up the cracked casing and sniffled as he stared at the shattered screen.

  "Now I don't know where to go."

  "I have entered the coordinates into my database," Junebug stated. "It is in the Asteroid Belt."

  "Then set a course," he pulled himself up. "We need to go get the cure."

  He collapsed into the pilot's seat and began punching keys.

  "Come on you damn droid, start."

  "I have been instructed to wait for Bat's return."

  "Wait?! I don't have time to wait."

  "But those are the instructions."

  "I'm giving you new instructions," he jammed the keys in panic. "Start."

  "I would like to discuss something with you while we await his return."

  "Give me back my ship!"

  "Your heart rate is elevated," she told him. "You will push the toxin through your blood stream faster unless you calm down."

  He leaned back in the chair.

  "Oh stars."

  Tinker took a couple of deep breaths and closed his eyes.

  "Are you sleeping? Sleep would be a good method to slow the spread of the poison."

  "I'm not sleeping. I'm trying to meditate. Now shut up."

  "Can you listen while you meditate?"

  "You're not going to shut up, are you?"

  "It does not seem likely."

  "What do you want to talk about?" he sighed and kept his eyes closed, working hard to slow his heart beat back to something akin to normal.

  Maybe the sound of her voice would help.

  Though it usually gave him heartburn.

  Like now. But that might be the poison working, he thought.

  “I have been considering the value of ICE in a mobile body,” she told the pilot.

  “I’m a little busy to think about that right now,” he shot back.

  “I am not. I have considered all the possible outcomes. I want you to retrieve a blank android body for me.”

  “You want me to steal a body for you?”

  “Or purchase. The Japanese sector on the Space Hub has the most models available. I want you to purchase one for me.”

  “Why can’t you do it? They deliver, don’t they?”

  “No,” it sounded like the AI sighed. “Each bot body must be picked up in person.”

  “Look, Junebug, I think it’s great you want a body and all, and really, I support that decision. But I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. Like dying. I don’t want to die, you know. So maybe you could just let me figure out how to get a cure and all, and then we can worry about what you want.”

  “I want a body.”

  “Yeah, I get that. And I don’t want to die. Which one do you think is more important right now? Besides, I don’t have any money to buy you a body. We don’t get paid again until we bring back Ming, and a body is going to cost a lot more credit than that.”

  “Is that your major concern?”

  “No, my major concern is dying,” said the pilot. “Now let me take my ship and save my life.”

  “Do you have a credit chip?”

  Tinker dug around in the console, pulled up a used battered credit chip and showed it to the hologram.

  “There.”

  Junebug motioned to the chip reader in the console.

  Tinker growled and jammed it in.

  “It is done.”

  “What’s done?”

  “Money is no longer a concern.”

  Tinker pulled out the chip and stared at it, turning it over back and forth in front of his hands.

  "How much is on it?"

  "All of it."

  "That's what I'm asking," Tinker plopped his feet up on the console. "How much credit is on the chip?"

  "I answered you. All of it."

  "All of the credit."

  "Yes."

  "All?"

  "Is your hearing damaged? I can run a diagnostic on your auditory canals to-"

  "My hearing is fine," Tinker grumbled. "I just don't understand what you mean when you say all of it."

  "All. It means the whole quantity."

  "I know what it means-"

  "Then why did you ask?"

  "I asked what it meant."

  "All of the credit is on the chip I provided to you."

  Tinker stared at the plastic square in his palm.

  "All of what credit."

  He swore he heard the computer sigh. Then she spoke in a slow even tone as if she were explaining a simple concept to a child.

  "Credit is a code of numbers, simple binary," she said. "I have coded the chip so that all the credit is on it."

  "So...I'm rich?"

  "Certainly not," Junebug sniffed. "It's my card."

  "But I've got it," Tinker tossed his boots on the floor and made his way to the door.

  "I could get a new ship with this."

  He tried to swing the airlock open, but the locks wouldn't move.

  "Hey, let me out."

  "You just stated you were going to get a new ship. With my money."

  "Yeah, I wasn't serious," Tinker eyed the speaker. "Besides, you said it wasn't your money, just a bunch of ones and zeros. Just let me out, okay."

  "I think we'll wait for Bat and Mona Lisa to return."

  Tinker squirmed.

  "That could be awhile."

  "Scanning the vid net now," said Junebug. "I have acquired Bat."

  “Alright,” Tinker pounded the door. “Let me out and I’ll go get him.”

  “There is no need,” the AI answered.

  “Why?”

  “He is outside the door.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Mona Lisa decided to chance it. Decided that the man who brought her here wanted to seduce her more than he would shoot her.

  Unless he was one of those creeps who liked to copulate corpses.

  Buster had catered to a well-paying segment of that sick clientele. She had paid attention. Credit was credit no matter where it came from.

  Mona Lisa bolted for the barn.

  No one shot her though she did hear a startled sound from Ransom as she pounded across the hard-packed Martian dirt.

  The Barn had a transport wagon just as she suspected. A quick inspection showed no way to start it.

  She searched the walls for a car, anything that looked like it would convince the reader to open the doors and start the motor.

  She found a pair of eyes reflected in the shiny surface of a workbench staring at her instead.

  She bit back a scream.

  The small boy
staring at her had no suck qualms.

  He took a deep breath that almost made his bony chest double in size. She held out her hands to stop him, making a shushing motion.

  He didn’t listen.

  Probably couldn’t hear her of the noise coming out of his mouth.

  She caught movement from the corner of her eyes and saw the back door open in the farmhouse.

  If the card to work the transport wasn’t out here, then it must be inside.

  She made a split-second decision and hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

  If she lived that long.

  Mona Lisa scooped up the screaming kid and sprinted into the farmhouse.

  She made it to the door with time to spare. No one took a shot at her. Not Ransom, not the foreman, not the worried looking dad who stepped aside when she reached the doorway. He pulled it closed behind her.

  She dropped the boy in a gentle swoop and examined the bleak interior of the simple two room farmhouse. It looked dirt poor.

  There wasn't much to it.

  No decoration on the wall. Simple plain furniture. A thick table Three chairs. A much-repaired food replicator that looked to be on its last legs. She could see through the door less entry into the second room. A set of bunk beds on one wall handmade and a simple cot on the other.

  “Are you with them?” the Farmer watched her.

  Mona Lisa shook her head.

  “They're going to kill you,” she said. “They're going to hurt your kids, either kill them, or sell them or worse.”

  She let that sink in a moment as he tried to decipher what was worse than being sold.

  His eyes squinted as he got it.

  Cruel men surviving in a cruel place could do unthinkable things. To women. To children. It didn't matter.

  “Do you have a gun?” she asked.

  He nodded and pointed at the wall. It might as well have been a blunderbuss. Projectile weapons weren't allowed in the dome so only the most experienced gangsters carried them. This was the first model laser rifle design for home protection ten Generations ago. It operated on a single shot system and took time to charge between shots as it regenerated.

  “Is it charged?”

  The dad nodded again. Mona Lisa walked to the wall and jerked it down. She checked the battery in the stock. Three-quarters of a charge and solar operated.

  Maybe she could buy time with the man outside talking through the window and let the rifle sit in the Sun. She wasn't sure how long that would take. She giggled as she wondered if dancing topless in the window would buy more time.

  Probably so but that action would put the railroad men in a certain mood. A mood she did not want them to bring into the farmhouse.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I found her,” Bat said when the airlock opened.

  “That’s great mate. She’ll be there when we get back. Come on, let’s go.”

  Tinker reached out and tried to haul him into the cargo hold by his sleeve. Bat jerked instead and the pilot tumbled out next to him, would have fallen if the guard hadn’t held him up.

  The hologram appeared in the doorway, faded in the light from the shipping dock.

  “We’ll get her first, then finish the mission.”

  Tinker struggled to get his arm free, but Bat held on to the fabric with a clenched fist.

  “Look Mate, she ran off, alright? She doesn’t want to be on the crew anymore. I don’t chase after women.”

  Bat lifted on his arm and hauled him toward the rail line.

  “We’re not chasing women,” he grunted. “We’re getting Mona Lisa.”

  Tinker yanked his arm free, and fell backwards, plopping on the ground with a loud humph.

  “We don’t need her,” he said. “We can just head toward the planet, pick up the girl and when it’s all said and done, come back and look for her.”

  He climbed up off the deck and brushed the bottom of his dirt covered flight suit off.

  “Nobody deserts me and gets a free ride back.”

  Bat stared at the pilot.

  “This isn’t about her.”

  “Damn right it’s about her. She ran off. We can’t trust her. I can’t trust her. What if one of us got hurt looking for her?”

  He rubbed his stomach.

  “Stay here,” said Bat. “I’ll be back.”

  He marched toward the rail car and held the radio mike to his lips.

  “Nobody takes off til I get back, got it.”

  “I will comply,” Junebug said.

  The power to the docking station went out. Emergency lights popped on, illuminating the rail line with glowing orbs of pale luminescence.

  “What the bloody hell!” Tinker shouted at Bat’s back. “What did you do?”

  Bat lifted the radio back to his lips.

  “I meant just the ship,” he said. “Just our ship.”

  “Clarification is the key to communication,” Junebug answered. “You might remember that when you reach Mona Lisa.”

  “Thanks for the advice. Rail still work?”

  Tinker jogged up to the guard wheezing.

  “Did you have her shut down the whole space dock?”

  Bat looked at the dome around them. A magnetic rail car levitated to a stop in front of them.

  “Looks like.”

  Tinker stepped over onto the platform and sat down before he fell. Bat stood beside him, balanced on powerful legs as the cart took off and speeded up.

  “Geez mate, if you wanted me to go so bad, you could have just asked. Didn’t have to shut down half of Mars to get it done.”

  Bat didn’t answer.

  He stared at the horizon and wondered what he would find when they arrived.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  She could see them lined up, their slick space suits glinting in the weak sunlight.

  They had her surrounded.

  They had her outgunned, which wasn't saying much. She had the blaster she had lifted off the wall that was charging in the weak sunlight drifting through the window.

  "We're not gonna make it, are we?" the little boy curled next to his sister in the middle of the room.

  At least he stopped screaming.

  The Farmer tipped the table over and shoved it against the door to add an extra layer of protection.

  It wasn’t much. It wouldn’t be enough. Just delay the inevitable.

  She checked the power core again. Ninety percent.

  "Do you have suits in here?"

  She asked his dad.

  The man shook his head, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

  He knew they were going to die and he felt pity that his children would never grow up. He wanted to rage, he wanted to be strong, but all he could do was weep softly as he stroked the hair on his daughter's head.

  Mona Lisa tried to think. She was used to high pressure situations. A relationship with a psychotic galactic gangster pretty much meant she lived in a volcano.

  But back then, she could ooze the sexual charm to ease the tension.

  In this case, the charm hadn't worked.

  She watched as Ransom and the Foreman put their heads together. The man who escorted her to the way out saw her out of the corner of his eye before she could duck down.

  “I wondered where you got to,” he said. “What are you doing in there with them? Going to do my job for me?”

  Mona Lisa heard the Farmer gasp behind her.

  “Relax,” she told him. “If I was here to do his dirty work, it’d be done already. I have the gun, remember.”

  She got a tight nod in return and she turned back to the men advancing toward the front door.

  “I’m armed,” she told them. “And I know how to use it.”

  The Foreman grabbed his crotch and waved it at her.

  “I’m armed too,” he shouted back. “And I know how to use it.”

  “Save the small caliber weapons for downrange,” she screamed back and aimed the blaster.

  She squeezed the trigger and sent
a shot over their heads and cursed under her breath.

  “The sights are off on this thing,” she growled at the Farmer.

  “Haven’t much call to use it,” he said. “Til now.”

  The men outside froze.

  “A warning shot across the bow?” Ransom called out. “I knew you liked me. Why don’t you put down that antique and we’ll go back to my railcar? I can help you hide.”

  So, he figured out she was using him.

  It meant he was sharp. Sharp wasn’t good, not in a situation like this.

  If the Famer had suits in the house, they could have made a run for it out of the back.

  Maybe they still could. Get in the transport wagon and see how far they could get.

  “Where’s the card to start the cart?” she whispered.

  “Ain’t worked for two years.”

  Damn it. Damn dirt farmers and their damn ancient equipment. She decided to let them die then.

  It was too much work, and the gang outside had too many men. She could kill a couple, but that would just piss them off.

  But if she gave up and got out of the way, then she could go hide in Ransom’s car while they did what they planned to do to the family.

  They were strangers, nothing to her.

  It was a tough world, and this was survival of the fittest, she thought as she stared at the blaster in her hand.

  Easy enough just to put it down. Close her eyes. Let Ransom ride her, and maybe he would be good enough to make her forget about letting these kids die.

  Letting their dad die.

  The Authority was going to win. It was too big. No way a scratch patch dirt farm could stand against it.

  Should stand against it.

  That was the price of progress.

  She tried to put the blaster down.

  But her fist wouldn’t let it go.

  Damn it, she muttered.

  She wasn’t going to die here, not for some stupid potato farmer she’d never met. She’d survived Buster and prison and worse, done worse. Survived worse.

  She could live with their deaths, she decided.

  Then why couldn’t she let go of the stock?

  Why was her finger around the trigger?

  Why did she rise up, lean against the edge of the window and aim at the Foreman’s crotch, adjusting for the poor sights.

  One of his lackeys sprinted toward them from the rail car, waving a piece of paper.