Blast from the Past
03 Mar 2019Dixon-Phyre
Another station. Another bar. Another beer.Mikael crossed his legs under the table and gazed out of the window at the slowly turning starscape. Okay. Not just 'another' station. Angus Manwaring, Eta Cassiopeiae; it had more or less become his home base now. Money made from trading and a little exploration meant he had himself a sweet little Cobra Mk3, Shard. And he had more money than he could ever have dreamed of. Made legitimately. Most of it.
Damn, he thought, why did no-one tell me about the pilot life before?
He had no particular aim in mind; he was quite enjoying flitting around the bubble, trading as he went. When he got tired of the endless routine of launch, jump, dock, he refitted Shard for exploration and nipped off out into the black. Combat was the least of his concerns right now. The Cobra was fast enough to run from anything he couldn't take on. Actually, it had been gratifying when he'd had pirates run from him - not expecting a Mostly Harmless Cobra to be packing the firepower that Shard did. Yeah, things were not bad at all. He sipped his pint of IPA, picked at the bowl of vegetable snacks on the table and watched the stars go by.
The glass was nearly empty when a lithe female figure slipped into the seat opposite him. Hair wound into purple cornrows, elaborate facial tattoos - real ones, not skinprints - decorating a narrow face.
He looked up and gazed at the woman without surprise.
"Anmarie," he said shortly, "fancy seeing you here."
"Hey, Mikey," she said, smiling, "heard you'd been sprung. Nice surprise, eh?"
"Yes. It was. And what of it?"
She looked at him with one raised eyebrow.
"You know, I thought you'd be a bit more happy to see your girl after so long..."
"Seven years, to be precise," he replied, "bit too long. Got a new life now, Anmarie."
"So I've heard. Doing well for yourself, Mikey."
He emptied his glass, uncrossed his legs and sat up. "Get to the point, please."
"Ooh, listen to you, little Mikey! Too good for me now? Too good for the Anlave Plaguerats? With your fancy new clothes and your cool shades?"
He leant forward until his face was a few inches from hers, and lowered his dark glasses. Saw her flinch and jerk back when she saw his altered eyes.
"You've got no clue what I've been through, on the inside," he growled, "and now you come skipping in like nothing happened. I suppose you want me to come back?"
She narrowed her eyes. "The Plaguerats are going places, Mikey. We need pilots, people with connections."
"Bullshit," he replied, "you don't need pilots, you just want access to my money. Wasn't that always the Plaguerats way? Everyone shares everything. Money. Dope. Women..." He stared at her, saw her face colour. "Not jail time of course. Four of you fucked off and left me to the Feds that day."
She glared at him. "Better one went down than five. We appreciated your sacrifice!"
"By abandoning me. Yeah, little Mikey, the gang mascot, the good boy gone bad. Going places, my arse," he continued, "we were nothing more than a street gang in a agri-world city. Never amount to anything."
"Oh so you're all reformed now? Law-abiding citizen?"
"Just chosen a different path, that's all." He rose, slowly. "Thank you for dropping by, Anmarie. Look after yourself."
He turned his back and walked away.
"We were your family, Mikey. Don't forget that. You don't piss off your family!" she called after him.
"Wouldn't be the first time," he called back. Headed for the door, raised a fist facing backwards, gave her the bird. Walked out, no backward glance.
He wandered aimlessly for a while, upset and angry. Hell's teeth, why couldn't his past just leave him alone? He let out a long sigh, and began to make his way to the docking ring. Best to just leave, lose himself in routine, cool off. He stepped off the monopod, entered the chill, floodlit docking ring. Before he had taken three steps, there was a low boom nearby. The few other people around stopped and looked around, startled; then red emergency lights began to flash and the PA system came to life.
"Warning! Explosion detected in docking ring! Emergency crews en route! Repeat: explosion detected in docking ring. Bay Fourteen."
Mikael froze and an stab of fear shook him. Bay Fourteen.
Shard.
He made his way into the smoke-filled hanger, coughing and cursing. The Cobra lay at an angle on the pad; as he got closer, he saw the rear left landing gear leg had been blown off. Automatic fire suppression systems had kicked in, spraying foam on the stricken ship and damaged landing pad. He scrambled up the access ramp, staggered along the central corridor, into the cockpit. Quickly powering down as much of the ship as possible. Shaking, he made his way back out again, just as the damage control team were entering the hanger. He spoke briefly with them, before leaving the bay.
He knew exactly who had done this; hardly difficult to work out. And he also knew that her sadistic streak meant she wouldn't be far away, wanting to see the aftermath. He stood for a moment in the cold boulevard, looking straight ahead but flicking his eyes side to side. There. A movement by the entrance to the next hanger along.
He turned suddenly and broke into a sprint. A slender figure shot out from the doorway and ran for the access ramp to the rest of the station.
"Aww, did poor Mikey's ship go bang?" came her mocking call.
Mikael did not reply, pure hate fuelling his stride, lips peeled back in a feral snarl. She saw his expression, her face dropped and she fled.
Into the main corridor now, they ran furiously, Anmarie barging through the more crowded areas, scattering people and drawing shouts and curses. But it also meant Mikael had a clear run, and was slowly gaining. He knew she could run faster, but he also knew he had the endurance. But it would be all too easy to lose her in the maze of a Coriolis-class starport.
The treatment for his damaged eyes had not only involved progenitor cells, to heal damaged tissue and nerves. Fibre-optic nanotubes pierced the milky white covering, giving everything he saw a harsh new clarity. Yet the faces of the crowds became blurs, and the figure of his quarry became focused. As did -
a station technician, working in a removed wall panel, his toolbox open beside him -
Mikael's hand shot out and grabbed something that protruded from the box.
"You'll get it back!" he yelled, as the man shouted in protest.
A long-handled wrench. He swung his arm back, and hurled the tool at the retreating back of his former lover. Anmarie gasped as the wrench hit her, knocking her to the ground. Mikael caught up, snatched up the wrench...
...sent it skittering away behind him, towards the pursuing tech. Anmarie rolled, came up and staggered as Mikael grabbed her sleeve. He swung at her, missed. She grunted and produced a small, cruel knife from inside her jacket. Went for his eyes; he deflected the blow and the blade went into his right cheek instead, from mouth to ear. He hissed as he felt the sting, then the burning. Stepped back and turned, putting both fists together, swinging round and smashing them into the side of her face. Anmarie hit the floor again, still holding her knife.
Mikael, blood pouring down his face, half-jumped and brought one booted foot down on her wrist, feeling the bones crunch and shatter. She screamed, knife spinning away. He turned again, the other boot slamming into her solar plexus. She curled into a ball, howling in pain. He was about to kick again when his peripheral vision saw the crowds scatter as four uniformed figures charged through.
The red mist dissolved, he stepped back and sank to his knees, hands on head, even before the words "Federal Security Service! Freeze!" were shouted.
"No sudden moves, buddy!" warned one officer as the cuffs clicked on.
"Complying," he replied.
Mikael nodded at the fallen Anmarie, also being cuffed.
"It was my ship that got bombed. She's the bomber."
Crowds gasped and twittered as the two were dragged away.
He lay on the bench in the cell, foetal position, staring at the door. His wounded face throbbed under the dressing.
"Fuck my luck," he muttered, "back behind bars for you, Dixie..."
A bland FSS interview room. Mikael sat silently as a tall female officer entered. Lined face, grey hair cut short, intense green eyes. She carefully set two mugs of tea down, one in front of Mikael.
"Detective-Sergeant Muller," she said by way of introduction and took the chair opposite him. He nodded and gratefully took a mouthful of tea.
"Commander Dixon," she said, "unusual circumstances." She also took a drink.
"The female has confessed to the bombing, and will be going to court in due course. As for you..."
Mikael took a deep breath.
"...we cannot condone violence in any circumstances, but it's clear you probably weren't totally compos mentis at the time. And we almost certainly wouldn't have caught her if it wasn't for you."
Mikael held her gaze.
"So, as a result, we are releasing you without charge." She smiled thinly at the relief on his face. "In addition, station authorities will cover the cost of repairs to your ship. The workshop is fabricating a new landing leg right now; should be all done this time tomorrow."
He stood at the edge of the pad and watched the technicians make final checks. Shard was propped up on mobile hydraulic jacks whilst the new landing gear was fitted. One tech held a console, leads ran up into the gear hatch. The tech tapped his screen; the leg flexed, folding away and extending again, separate from the others. The techs nodded to each other, began to disconnect their equipment and lower the jacks.
"She's all yours, Commander!" shouted the female lead tech. Mikael nodded and saluted them, before making his way into the ship.
Sat down in the pilots chair. Let out a long, trembling sigh, then got down to business. Filled the hold with canisters of beer, set a course for a nearby industrial world. One thing he had learned - if in doubt, trade beer.
As Shard soared out of the station, he smiled darkly. He now had a definite goal in life. It would take time and money to achieve, but it was doable. Good boy turned bad turned good again was going to be turning badass, if he had his way.
"Reformed? Ha!" he spat, remembering Anmarie's taunts, "just you wait. All of you, just you fucking wait!"
Laughing throatily, he slid the throttle forward and Shard leapt into witch-space.