Chapter 2: Plausible Deniability

Boyd hid in an alley between two prefabs, the cloak and scarf he had bought for a few plastic tokens from a stall obscuring his suit and his features, PDF patrols in groups of three or four walking the streets as the syndicate’s goons searched for him. He had to ditch the gun, it was too conspicuous, there was nowhere he could have concealed it. Stealth was his only weapon now, he had to get off this planet, and he had to get the information he had learned back to the UNNI. There were no transmitters on his planet that could send a signal that far out, this hellish colony was too remote, he needed a ship.

He made his way towards the spaceport, or what passed for one on this planet, more of a cluster of landing pads out in the desert with a rudimentary terminal nearby. He stayed hunched, mingling with the crowds and hoping that if he stumbled a little it might throw them off his track. The soldiers were looking for a man in the prime of his health, not a shuffling cripple.

He met no resistance on his way there, but when he arrived at the port, he saw that the door was guarded by two PDF soldiers with rifles slung across their chests. They were checking the few people who came in and out, asking for ID by the look of things. There wasn’t much traffic, only half a dozen ships on the landing pads, nobody had any reason to come here after all. He doubted that he could steal one, they would just shoot him down with the EMP warheads they had bragged about stealing, he would have to either book passage or stow away on a clean ship. He needed something foreign to Hades, the syndicate would own all of the pilots and captains who operated out of the colony, maybe there was a cargo ship that would let him ride along for the right price. He was running out of scrip, and while he had enough UNN credits to buy a goddamned yacht, that might draw the kind of attention that he was trying to avoid if he flaunted it.

He had to get into the spaceport first, but he had a plan to get past the guards.

He slipped between two buildings, leaving the crowds of similarly robed people as he reached into a pocket of his suit for his wallet. It was still there, good. He would have needed it to prove his identity after all, if he had turned traitor and agreed to the syndicate’s terms.

He pressed his finger against the fingerprint reader embedded in the leather, the microcomputer inside activating to display his UNNI identification.

“Computer,” he whispered, “randomize ID.” He held the device up to his face at arms length and waited. After a moment, the familiar holographic badge faded, replaced with a fake name and ID number along with a photograph of his sand-blasted face. Not many people out here would have holographic ID cards, but it wouldn’t be so unusual as to turn heads, at least he hoped. It was his only chance to get into the spaceport in any case.

He pocketed the wallet and rejoined the throngs of people, making his way towards the building. He shuffled up to the door, and was stopped by one of the PDF guards, stepping in front of him with his hand hovering over his rifle.

“ID please.”

Staying hunched over, Boyd fumbled beneath his shawl, careful to keep his suit hidden under the ragged fabric as he withdrew the wallet. He pulled the scarf back enough that the man could see most of his face, slipping his finger over the reader so that the fake ID flared to life. He passed it to the guard, who held it up beside his face for a moment, then returned it and waved him on without another word.

It had worked, and Boyd hid his relief beneath his scarf as he shambled into the spaceport.

It was small, there was a counter staffed by a handful of employees who sat in front of computer terminals, and a few chairs and benches where the pitiable number of travelers might sit while they waited. This was obviously not for use by the general public, the colonists who came here did not have the means to travel, the port was merely here to accommodate the few private traders and shuttles that might arrive to ferry goods or VIPs to and from the surface.

He took a seat on the nearest bench, his eyes open for anyone who looked like they didn’t belong, anyone who might not be on the syndicate’s payroll. He saw more PDF patrolling the port, a couple of men in flight uniforms sitting at a table as they ate shrink-wrapped sandwiches from a vending machine, and a handful of guys who looked like corporate engineers. The ExoCorp employees had a decent chance of not being compromised, but that was a gamble that could cost him his life.

Then he saw it, his ticket out of here.

A giant alien walked across the room, heads turning to watch it as it marched along, snow-white fur patterned with dark rings and spots protruding from beneath its form-fitting jumpsuit. It wore no shoes, its digitigrade legs ending in cat-like paws, a long tail poking out from a hole in its suit. It was female, that much was obvious by her ample chest, her figure humanoid despite her odd features. It was a Borealan of the Polar variety, about eight feet tall, it stuck out like a sore thumb. What the hell was it doing here? The heat alone must be driving the poor thing insane.

The feline alien stopped to talk to one of the women manning the terminals, and she tapped on her touch monitor, relaying some information that Boyd couldn’t hear clearly. The alien left and began to walk to one of the exits to the landing pads, and he rose from his seat to intercept her. There was no way this alien was native, the chances she was on the payroll were as low as he could possibly hope for, it was time to take this chances.

He hurried to catch up with her loping strides, foregoing his limping gait and hunched posture as he accosted her, stopping her in front of the exit. She looked down at him quizzically with blue, reflective eyes, Boyd loosening his scarf to expose his face.

“Are you a pilot? A ship captain?”

“Is there something I can do for you, stranger?” Her accent was odd, sounded Russian, but at least she spoke decent English.

“I need passage off-planet, and I’m willing to pay well for it.”

“So book a flight with a passenger ship, why is that my problem?”

The promise of cash did not appeal to her then, he would have to try another angle, if her ship was UNN he could pull rank and commandeer it.

“Is your ship UNN?”

“No, it’s a Russian Federation survey vessel, now are you going to tell me why you’re acting so shifty before I call the security guards over?”

Damn it, at least that explained the Russian accent and her presence here, the Polar Borealans had established a colony in Siberia and were members of the Federation. They had started showing up in government and military positions lately.

She wasn’t going for it, he would have to try a new approach, maybe concoct some kind of sob story to gain her sympathy. He couldn’t tell her the real story, that was far too risky. She might not have believed him anyway...

“I can’t charter a flight through normal channels, please I need your help, the people who come here don’t get to just leave of their own accord.”

That seemed to peak her interest, and the round ears that protruded from the top of her head swiveled to focus on him.

“And why is that?”

He lowered his tone to a hushed whisper.

“Criminals own this planet, organized crime, the corporation that founded the colony knows about it but they don’t care what happens to the colonists as long as the mines stay open and the cash keeps flowing. I sold everything I own to a black market dealer to get some UNN credits, they only pay us in phony plastic tokens, I can’t buy passage off-planet with those. They don’t want us to leave, we’re basically slaves here, either we fall in line and work the mines or they make us disappear. Now I have the credits to buy a seat on a ship going anywhere, I don’t care as long as it gets me off Hades, but you’re the only person I’ve met who isn’t in their pocket. I can trust you because you’re just passing through, the next guy I ask might just turn me over to the gangsters. Please, you have to help me.”

Just enough truth sprinkled into the lie to make it believable, and she seemed to be believing it, her pink nose twitching as she considered.

“Listen, I’m just a cartographer, I’m not the captain or anything. My job is mapping the planets we survey and then identifying exploitable resources. It’s not my choice to make.”

His face fell, but she cut him off before he could speak.

“But ... I can put in a word with the captain and see what he says. No promises.”

“I would be eternally in your debt, and if I get off-planet I can raise the alarm about the conditions here, maybe I can help everyone else too.”

“Well ... wait here a while, I’ll be back soon.”

She exited through an automatic door, Boyd taking a seat by the nearest window and watching her walk out across a ramp to a spaceship that was resting on the landing pad. The harsh winds blew at her fur, and she held up a long arm to shield her face. The vessel was larger than the shuttles that were docked adjacent to it, though still on the short side, it wouldn’t carry more than half a dozen crew members. It had four large engines on stubby wings that looked as if they could pivot, a blocky and angular craft without any of the aerodynamic curves that UNN vessels usually exhibited. If it was jump capable then the drive must be small and short range, it may have been towed in by a larger vessel and dropped off nearby. There was Cyrillic lettering down one side of the craft that he couldn’t read, his computer could probably translate, but better to avoid drawing attention right now.

He tried to look inconspicuous as the PDF patrolled nearby, keeping his head low, starting to think that maybe he had gone overboard with his disguise and that street urchins shouldn’t be sitting in the spaceport.

Finally the Polar returned, entering through the automatic door and shaking her fur like a wet dog, sending a cloud of dust and sand falling to the floor. She muttered something in Russian that sounded like a complaint or a curse, then spied Boyd. She marched over to him, leaning down to his height to break what must be good news, judging by her expression.

“I brought it up with the captain, and he says you may ride with us, on the condition that you pay for the resources you consume. Food, oxygen, water and so on.”

Boyd made a show of his gratitude, which seemed to satisfy her, cutting the display a little short after drawing a look from a guard.

“I am in your debt,” he said, “can we leave soon?”

“We can go now, I was about to leave when you cut me off. You’re lucky, if you had come a few minutes later you might have missed me.”

He followed her out of the spaceport and into the blowing winds, the noise of airborne particles hammering against his clothes almost drowning out the sound of spaceship engines. Her vessel looked larger close-up, and they mounted a landing ramp that descended from the starboard hull, taking refuge from the sandstorm as their footsteps echoed on the deck. There was a mechanical whir as the motors closed the ramp behind them, then a hiss as the bay was pressurized, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the relative gloom. They were standing in a small landing bay, a few crates and loading machines scattered about, the interior of the ship was narrow and industrial with naked metal surfaces and hanging wires. It looked old, pre-Coalition maybe, a rust bucket by any modern standards.

“Welcome to the Zemchug,” the Polar said, her voice carrying through the corridors. She shook herself again, showering him in red sand and dust. “It means ‘ pearl’, at least she was back in her day. She has lost her luster, but she flies as well as she ever did, follow me rebenok.”

He tailed after her as she walked through the corridors, the ceiling too low for her giant frame in many places, forcing her to duck. It was a miracle she could fit at all, not only was she tall and broad, but she was portly too. Boyd didn’t know if it was her fluffy fur that gave that impression, or if she really was as heavy as she looked, but there was considerable weight on her chest, butt and hips. She had to turn sideways to pass through some of the more narrow doorways, the ship had clearly not been modified at all to accommodate her.

She led him through the spine of the vessel, one claustrophobic passageway that spanned the length of the ship, doors branching off to the left and right of them into various cabins and rooms. Even at a standard human height, Boyd found the hanging cables and protruding pipes to be a hazard, ducking and dodging out of the way of them as they walked. Everything smelled of engine oil and metal, musty and poorly maintained, like the ship belonged in a scrapyard rather than on a landing pad.

The corridor opened up into a more spacious cockpit, holographic readouts and banks of switches taking up much of the space, with a large transparent window occupying the forward wall. There were two men in pilot chairs who swiveled around to greet them, one wearing an archaic captain’s hat, and the other consoles were manned by three other people in civilian dress. They exchanged greetings with the Polar in Russian, then turned to Boyd.

“Is this him? Welcome aboard, Mister...”

“Jones,” Boyd said, stepping forward to take the captain’s hand. He was thinking on the fly, he would have to change his ID to reflect that later, in case they wanted to confirm his identity. “I appreciate this, captain, if you can get me to the nearest UNN controlled planet or outpost I will be happy to transfer any funds that you ask.”

“That is quite alright, Mister Jones, I ask only that you compensate me for the resources you use during your stay. I have to say, I do not usually pick up hitchhikers, but your furry benefactor made quite a case on your behalf.”

“Thank you both, I’ll try to keep out of your way.”

“You can bunk in the boiler room,” one of the others said, a man wearing engineer yellow who was sat behind a console to his left. “We’ll put a mattress in there for you, it isn’t the Metropol, but it should do just fine. If you get hungry there are rations in the mess, just ask Sibirskiy and she’ll get you what you need.”