"There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility lies in being superior to your former self."
Ernest Hemingway
Cody Roseburg
The sky was broken again. Grey ghosts of pixelated clouds occasionally flashed, briefly, into existence on the massive screens bolted to the ceiling above the docking bay; a poor man's imitation of a planetary sky. Cody Roseburg frowned and tugged at the straps securing his body armor. Localized power outages weren't that uncommon aboard Barrier Gate, but it was rare to see one in a docking bay. After all, working bays bought trade, and trade bought credits and credits payed for people like Cody.
Cody stood with his companion atop a dockmaster's viewing platform, overlooking the steady stream of craft that frequented Barrier Gate. Maintenance staff, or whatever freelancers Barrier's few permanent members had hired on to stand in for maintenance staff, had rigged up a bank of floodlights beneath their platform, white light compensating for the failing screens. The raised floodlights bought the added advantage of effectively blinding anyone looking up at platform from ground level. Cody was quite proud of that touch. Animal or man, it was never wise to alert prey before the situation required it.
Dozens of people in a dizzying array of clothing worked beneath the flickering light, ferrying cargo from freighters, the odd curse of laugh drifting to Cody's ears; his rifle's magnification helpfully flagging vitals as the crosshairs drifted over them. No-one fought, of course. They knew better then that. Barrier Gate's maintenance may have been lax, but the Free Station's security operated with horrifying efficiency - and outside the boundaries of house law. There were no laws in the Barrier, only heavily-armed suggestions, and today Barrier's private security had the biggest gun.
A hand tapped his shoulder and Cody pulled his head back from the scope, turning to face the man crouching beside him. "Enjoying the view?" His companion raised an eyebrow in mock-query - the motion performed as if to highlight his most distinctive feature, the military-grade bionic eye nesting in his left socket. The man was an old friend, and the best spotter Cody had ever met. Cody shrugged. "A little less then I was last time you asked." The Bretonian girl on pad four had left fourteen minutes ago, leaving Cody with a marked lack of anything attractive to rest his scope on. He sank to his heels, sinking to meet Harris' good eye. "Any word on the body?" Cody asked. His companion nodded. "Recce drone just flagged a signature from Cortez. Looks like our appointment. Got a Humpback alongside, probably pulled an escort job on the way." Harris said. "Any idea who this one pissed off?" "I didn't ask." Harris nudged a datapad with the tip of his boot, an auburn-haired woman glaring back at him from the screen. "That's all Sato gave me. If you want to go back and ask for seconds, be my guest." Harris never quite smiled, but Cody had known him long enough to recognise the raised eyebrow that served as his stand-in. "I'll pass, thanks. The air in central's rubbish anyway." He hefted the rifle from its position atop the railing, lowering it to the carefully-prepared ruts in the floor. A Detriot AM-4, the base weapon itself was expensive enough to bankrupt the population of a small station. Cody owned two. "Eight minutes to touchdown." Harris scooped the datapad from the floor, concreting the girl's image in his mind. "You calling this one?" Cody pressed his eye to the scope, blinking away the influx of information. "No. Sato's got go/no go." Harris raised a hand for silence, listening to the voice in his earpiece. "Platforms Four and Five." Cody echoed the statement, pivoting his body to face the appropriate pads. "Seven minutes."
Puffs of compressed gas shot from the Greyhound's nose as it settled into the bay, steadying the fighter's decent. Cody's scope helpfully labeled it as unregistered, though docking permits had been lodged under the name Mostly Harmless. A Humpback, Weisbaden, settled beside it a few moments later, engines fading to a dull yellow glow. Harris' drones had been right, for once. A faint red overlay settled over the Greyhound's cockpit, sight centering on the blurred figure moving beyond the reinforced window. Starship armor was thick, even with shields disabled. A weapon like the AM-4 could punch through anything short of a military-grade gunboat, but the ricochet made precision difficult. Cody stretched an index finger along the trigger guard. He could wait.
He didn't need to wait long. The cockpit lifted away soundlessly, the face from the datapad springing in to sharp relief. Auburn hair hung to her neck, clinging just below the medulla. Convenient. She was taller then he'd expected, scrambling from the cockpit without need of a ladder. The weapon hummed in his hands, servos rotating to track her as she waited ahead of the Humpback. Payment, probably. It was rare to find a merchant who paid prior to arrival and if she was as hard-up for credits as the ship suggested, she wouldn't leave before she got her money. Desperation was useful like that. It made people predictable.
"That's our girl." Harris' voice hissed in his earpiece. Cody didn't respond, not trusting speech to keep the weapon steady. A man, barely more then a boy, had left the Humpback and was speaking to her. No credits changed hands. Cody frowned, risking speaking. "Who's her friend?" "No idea. Nothing on local records." Harris tapped the pad, shifting Cody's cross hair a millimeter to the right. Brainstem. "Does it matter?" Harris asked. Cody already knew the answer. He resettled behind the weapon, finger settling on the trigger. The pair were walking now, moving to the docking office. They vanished for a moment behind a Raven's Talon before stepping back into his sights. He let his breathing settle. Any moment.
"What?" Harris' voice again, irritation seeping into the word. "Fine. Understood. Out." He didn't speak again for a long trio of heartbeats. The pair had almost finished paying. Cody already knew what was coming. There were only a handful of sure ways to annoy Harris, and Cody had learned this one a long time ago. The spotter's voice could have cut glass. "No go. No go on the shot."
Cody tugged the earpiece out, letting it hang. Payments were by deployment, the shot itself was secondary. It made no difference to his check if he never squeezed the trigger. Harris though, he took it personally. The spotter swept to his feet, snatching the datapad from the ground like a cat swiping a particularly irksome mouse. "Get your kit together. Surveillance." He practically spat the word, loosening the platform door's electronic locks in a flurry of taps before vanishing into the room beyond. Cody shouldered the rifle and followed him.
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
The dead man's apartment was surprisingly comfortable. Two bedrooms branched off from a spacious central living area, gilding a kitchen outfitted with the latest in stolen appliances; relics from a time before the Vagrant Raiders had, at least in polite company, relinquished the second half of their name. Nothing had really changed though. People rarely did. Sure, they put on new faces and tried out new names, but a wolf was still a wolf, regardless of how many layers of wool it taped on. Kane's words drifted through her mind, unbidden; I think I've got something for you in the way of living arrangements for however long you need. Used to belong to an... associate who is thankfully no longer with us, in multiple senses of the euphemism.
At least he was honest. Somehow, she didn't think Alex would appreciate the virtue.
The young Rheinlander walked beside her, bag slung easily in one hand. The pair had barely spoken since they touched down on Barrier Gate. Sarah didn't mind. Freeports were infamous for their surveillance, and Barrier Gate was just a Freeport without the diplomatic niceties when you got down to it. Sarah dumped her own bag atop a bench with a clatter and turned to face him. "Your room's on the end there." She nodded toward the fork. "Pick either one. I'll probably sleep aboard Harmless anyway. Things can get a little... Hectic here, but you should be okay if you want to have a look around later. Just don't buy anything from a Junker. Or talk to anyone. Or make eye contact if you can help it." Slim shoulders rose and fell in a shadow of a shrug.
"Other then that, you'll be fine. Most of the people here are too busy worrying about their own secrets to try and figure yours out." Her bag's strap groaned in protest as she slung the fabric over her shoulder again, fighting to avoid toppling over. Packing light was a myth, as far as she was concerned. If you left things out, how could you possibly be ready when the excretion hit the extractor? "I'm going to grab some sleep. We're due at Buffalo tomorrow, so I'd do the same if I were you. Oh, and- " She dropped the bag again, fishing around for a moment before she found what she was looking for. She tossed the handgun to Alex, magazine and holster following it a moment later. "Might want to start wearing that now. I figured you'd bring your own, but just in case." Sarah buckled a second pistol to her hip. "It's more an accessory around here then anything. People'll start to ask questions if you're not carrying something. Trust me, I tried it once." She picked up the bag with a grin vaguely reminiscent of a coyote. She was home. "Welcome to the Barrier."
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
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