CHAPTER 13
Bishop TransPort Station,
Outpost Fisher Four
ANNOS MARTIS 238. 4. 9. 15:22
By the time the TransPort train reaches the end of the line, we are the only things left in the baggage car. Despite Mimi’s repeated reminders, I’ve gotten little to no sleep. Par for the course these days.
Vienne is first out of her seat. “Ready, chief.”
Fuse and Jenkins are still asleep in the seat in front of us. Jenkins’s snores sound like he’s sucking his soft palate through his nose.
I grab my bag from the rack. “Hop to, Regulators!”
“He’s awful bossy,” Jenkins says, yawning and stretching.
“Because he’s the chief,” Vienne replies.
Jenkins pauses to cogitate that one. His eyes glaze over.
“Aw, look what you’ve gone and done.” Fuse snaps his fingers in Jenkins’s face. “His brain’s overloaded. You can’t push a terabyte of data through a transistor, lov—duck—Suz—Vienne! Yes, Vienne.”
“File out!” I say. “Don’t make me say it again.”
“Bossy britches,” Jenkins grumbles.
Fuse pops him in the head. “Sorry, chief. He’s a might peevish after a long haul. He’ll be more pleasant once he’s had a walkabout.”
On the landing area, the first thing I notice—the whistle of an arctic wind outside the dilapidated station, followed by the slap of frigid air on my face. The second thing I notice—no greeting party.
Just an empty station that’s seen better days. The way an ancient ruin has seen better days. Tiles fallen from the ceiling. Platform covered in rat droppings. Paint peeling from the walls and handrails. It’s a disgrace the way the TransPort company has let the station go downhill from neglect.
“It’s carking cold here,” Jenkins complains, obviously still peevish. He drops his duffel and begins hopping around. “Where’s our ride? I’m freezing my ass off.”
“I’d be your ride.” A miner steps out of the shadows as the TransPort train pulls away. It’s Spiner, part of the crew that hired us. Never thought I’d be happy to see such an ugly face.
“Welcome to Hell’s Cross, Regulators. My name’s Spiner.”
I offer a hand in greeting. He looks at it like it’s infected with plague. “Nice to see you, too. Mimi,” I say, “scan the area. Find out what he’s up to.”
“Attempting scan, cowboy,” she replies. “Acoustic resonances here are complex. Give me thirty seconds.”
“Fifteen.”
“I’m an AI, not a time machine.”
Jenkins raises his hand in greeting, a gesture that Spiner also ignores. “When do we eat, Ruster?”
“When you get hungry, I s’pose,” Spiner says.
“No, I mean,” Jenkins huffs, temper rising, “when’re you going to get us some grub? And a bed, while you’re at it.”
Spiner scratches his concave belly. “I’d not known dalit was allowed to sleep in beds like decent folk.”
“Decent folk? I’ve had about enough of that rot!” Jenkins grabs the miner by the straps of his overalls and lifts him up like a scruffy puppet. “Don’t no mud puppy talk to me like that!”
“Put ’im down, Jenks!” Fuse barks. “How many times’d I tell you about that?”
Jenkins plops the man, who is swinging and kicking wildly, on the ground. “Ah, it don’t hurt him none.”
Fuse steps between them. “What Jenkins means in his own imbecilic way is that it’s been a long time since we bugged out of New Eden, and we’d like a chance to tuck in and have a lie down.”
Spiner looks as if someone asked him to solve integrals in three dimensions.
“Stand down,” I say. “Jenkins, put away the knife—I’ll handle this. Spiner, what’s the next step here? We’ve been in the open too long.”
Spiner nods, oblivious. “The old woman says I’m to carry the six of you to the Cross.”
“Six?” I say. There are only four of us. “Mimi, where’s my scan?”
“Completed,” Mimi responds. “I detect a total seven biorhythmic signatures. All human.”
“Yes, six,” Spiner says to me. “You four and the Regulators behind you.”
I do a double take. Regu—
“Very interesting,” Mimi says. “The other two signatures are in my data banks. You’re not going to like this: One is Ockham—”
“Ockham!” I say. “I know you’re here. Show yourself!”
The old Regulator steps out from the shadows. Now I know why Spiner was so out of sorts. Ockham is the last Regulator he ever expected to get off that train. Me, too.
“You messed up my little game,” Ockham chuckles, leaning against a support column and cleaning his nails with a survival knife. “How’d you know it was me?”
“X-ray vision,” I say. “Why are you here?”
“Doing the same job that you’re doing. Thought you and your three little Regulators could use a hand. Even up the odds, you might say.”
“What about your fee?”
Ockham winks with his one eye. “Found a private investor. You can split up that little pie. I’ll keep the big all to myself.”
On cue, a boy dressed in the collarless uniform of a CorpCom inductee steps from behind a concrete column.
“Jean-Paul Bramimonde,” I say.
“Regulator?” Jenkins says to Spiner. “You said two more Regulators. That boy ain’t no Regulator. He ain’t big enough to pick up a—”
“What game are you two running?” I interrupt.
Jean-Paul squares his shoulder. Lifts a proud chin. “You refused to be my master, so I hired Ockham instead.”
“You took money to be this boy’s master?” I ask Ockham.
“Which is my right,” Ockham says. “According to the Tenets.”
“We’re on a job!” I yell at him. “You didn’t ask permission to do any training.”
“That’s just it,” Ockham says as he grabs his gear and leads Jean-Paul away. “I don’t need your permission to do nothing. Do I, dalit? Come on, young Bramimonde. Let’s take a look at this famous South Pole they gab so much about on the nets.”
“Chief?” It’s Vienne’s way of asking if I’m going to allow this to happen.
“Let it be. For now,” Five Regulators is infinitely better than four. Even if Ockham is a presumptuous gasbag. “Regulators! Roll out! We’ve got work to do.”
Vienne wrinkles her brow but falls in line. Fuse, taking his cue from her, does the same.
“I don’t like it,” Jenkins huffs. “An old man like that horning in on a job. I saw Regulators like him in my old CorpCom. Two years I spent taking their guff. Do this, boy, do that, boy. I’m almost a nine-year. I ain’t taking orders from no walking fossil.”
“If you’re fobbed about it,” I say as we follow Spiner down a path that cuts through the permafrost, “think how the miners are going to feel.”