The Mechaneer

Chapter 3: Rudy

Chloe surveyed the landing bay. Her father stomped past in Gosling One, unloading the crates she'd filled, but she didn’t see her mother.

All she saw was the underbelly of the Mother Goose, fifty meters of once-gleaming composite, worn and battered with two decades of dust and heavy use. She recognized a long dark stretch where a pirate mecha’s laser had scoured the hull two years before. Further on, the indentation where a hulk’s engines had flared to life during a salvage, ramming it into the Goose. Near the tip, numberless pockmarks from such asteroids and space junk as punched through the ship's gravitic shields.

Chloe remembered every single one – at least of those scoured in the surface since she’d joined the ship.

She realized she was crying.

Stupid, she thought. It’s just a machine.

Trust your machines, trust your family, trust yourself. Chloe had grown up with those principles drummed into her head. She did her best to live by them.

If she trusted herself now, though, she'd leave machines and family behind. If she didn't, she would lose both.

And if her mother found her like this…

“Chloe?”

She froze.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, trying, and failing to keep her voice even.

Ellie had emerged from behind the ramp while Chloe’s eyes searched the ship. She had to have seen the tears.

All she said was, “Are you going out, dear?”

“Um,” said Chloe. Get control of yourself, she thought. She had to act casual, just like her parents when they ran a bluff. She’d seen them in action often enough. When she spoke again, her voice sounded strong and clear. “I wanted to get a look around the port village. Maybe I’ll find a shop we can sell that haul to.”

“I hope you do,” Ellie said.

Chloe was as used to reading hybrid expressions as human, but she couldn’t begin to guess what thoughts ran through her mother’s mind. Did Ellie know? She had to. Chloe was doing a bang-up job of hiding her feelings now, or so she hoped, but she hadn’t even been concentrating. Or was the light under the Goose so bad even felid eyes couldn’t see the tears that had been rolling down her face?

She knew better.

Silently, she padded down the ramp and embraced her mother. “I’m coming back, Mom,” she said.

“And when you do,” Ellie said, “you'll stay.”

Chloe didn't answer.

“You don’t have to leave,” Ellie said. “After Wellach, we’re going to the Periphery.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. Visions of space station ballrooms filled with elegant noblewomen and even more elegant noblemen danced before her. Then she cocked her head. “Dad agreed to go?”

“Not in so many words.”

Which, Chloe knew, meant he would agree… he just didn’t know it yet.

At least, her mother thought so.

Chloe said, “I still want to look around town. If nothing else, maybe I can find a good shop, right?”

“I hope so. Evidence indicates you’ve got better eyes than most for that sort of thing.”

Chloe managed a wan smile. Eyes had nothing to do with it.

Still, she felt almost cheerful as she drifted from the hangar. The Periphery was a legend to Chloe, as to most people, but unlike most people it was a legend she looked forward to visiting. Somewhere out there, she supposed, she had living relatives. Even if she didn’t, they’d only have to take a sample of her genetic code and she’d be admitted to the houses of the mighty, or once-mighty. Most people figured the last of the old aristocracy wiled away their days in planet-sized estates. Dancing – romance – leisure –

Chloe shook her head. Look at yourself, you little hypocrite, she thought. You’ve won't even call the people who gave you life “parents,” but give you a shot at living like a queen and suddenly you’re all for laying course for the Periphery.

“It’s just a silly dream is all,” she muttered.

Silly, above all, because whatever Ellie might believe, Chloe didn’t think even her mother could persuade her father to lay course for the Periphery.

Chloe shook her head as she walked from the hangar complex and into a street considerably busier than she’d expected. She eventually followed the placidly trundling people-movers to a pair of huge, tubular gravlev lines to Wellach City, the planetary capital. People in a mix of festively colored groundling clothes and nanomachine-laced flight suits like Chloe’s packed both lines. The groundling clothes struck Chloe as vaguely scandalous – short shorts or skirts, loose tops. Wellach was muggy and hot, so she supposed she couldn't blame them. Shouldn't, anyway.

At the moment, she didn’t care to wait for another gravlev train. She walked as much to clear her head as to get where she wanted to go. Besides, even a spaceport village might have a memorabilia shop.

She turned on her heel. Mechaneer’s instincts compelled her to duck back before she slammed into the massive figure behind her.

“Watch where you’re going, girl,” he snarled. At first, Chloe took him for an ursid, but he lacked the shaggy, somewhat elongated face and thin fur of that hybrid breed. He glowered down on her with purely human eyes set into a broad, flat face.

Chloe glowered right back. After facing down an Animus Hunter, this guy didn't rate. “When a cruiser bowls into a transport,” she said, “who’s not paying enough attention?”

The guy narrowed his eyes. “You smarting off to me?”

“I’m not giving you the time of day, if that’s what you thought.” She sidestepped him.

He stepped right with her, graceful despite his bulk. He moved like a mechaneer. Like a mechaneer who wasn’t afraid, or unwilling, to hit his ‘salvage’ until it stopped moving.

It occurred to her that a pirate might be a lot less dangerous than an Animus Hunter, but, by definition, he didn't pay even lip service to the law.

Chloe Rina Hughes, she thought, you really are an idiot.

Surely the guy wouldn't hurt her in the middle of a crowded plaza. A tourist planet had to enforce the Feds’ laws and have plenty of its own if it wanted to get people to visit, right?

Her father had taught her the best defense was a good offense. From the way he carried himself around bullies and thugs, she’d often taken that to mean giving offense.

She wasn’t half the talker Jack Hughes was.

She sure wasn’t close to half the brawler.

For all he was a world-class fast-talker, about a third of the time her father smarted off to somebody tougher- or meaner-looking, he ended up proving the other guy wasn’t either of those, fist first, on foot or in mecha.

“I don’t like little girls who give me lip,” the guy looming over her said. “Apologize.”

Never back down, Jack Hughes taught.

Never let them see you sweat.

If all else fails, pray.

Merciful Principle, Chloe thought, grant a pacific pattern to my days.

“I’m not a little girl,” she snapped. “And even if I were, I’m not going to apologize to somebody who goes around threatening those who are!”

His lip curled.

But he scowled and brushed past her without swinging one of his ham-sized fists. He didn’t exactly vanish into the crowd around the gravlev, but with the way he shoved through, he made good time toward the platform.

Once he was out of earshot, Chloe released the breath she’d been holding.

She glanced at a trio of kids, two girls in yellow sundresses and a boy in similarly colored shorts. They stared at her with something between awe and horror.

Chloe cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”

One of the girls shot a glance in the direction of the gravlev lines, then skipped over to Chloe. “Are you a mechaneer, Miss?”

“Me?” Chloe laughed. “No, little girl, I’m –”

She grinned. She knelt beside them and, whispering conspiratorially, added, “– I’m not just any mechaneer, I’m the Invincible Titanian Battle Princess!”

The girl’s mouth opened in a perfect ‘o,’ her eyes almost as wide. Her friends joined her, forming a ring around Chloe. The first girl, who seemed to be the leader of her little band, said, “Are you here for the tournament, Titan’n… Ti… Your Highness? Are you gonna beat up Rocket God Gil?”

“Tournament? Rocket God Gil?” Chloe forced herself to shrug. She’d heard of Gil Bartlet, of course. He was a big fish in the comparatively small pond that was the Mother Goose’s usual run of star systems, a tournament mechaneer and some-time salvager – and some-time pirate, depending on who you asked. Her parents didn’t seem to care for the man, so Chloe adopted a similar attitude.

She tossed her hair. “They’re hardly worth my time.”

The trio answered with a chorus of giggles.

Chloe ruffled their hair again and got to her feet. She thought about sending them off with something pithy, but nothing leaped to mind. She waved, and they darted into the crowd.

Invincible Titanian Battle Princess, huh? Chloe chuckled. Too bad she wasn’t really. Somebody like that would have no problems with a debt collector. Or an Animus Hunter, for that matter.

Neither scared her at the moment. Invincibility on the mind, she strolled back to the port village feeling better than she had in months. She didn’t even mind when another guy brushed past her, close enough to make her almost lose her footing.

He said, “You should be more observant, Your Highness.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. She spun around.

He looked nothing like the last jerk. A head shorter and probably only half the weight, he nonetheless sported lean muscles beneath a garish crimson flight suit. His spiky hair was almost as red as his suit, setting off the olive skin of his slim face.

Aside from the flight suit, he wore only a cocky grin. He said, “I figured an ‘Invincible Battle Princess’ would have better reflexes.”

“You heard that, huh?”

He nodded. “When you told off that ass Gil, I thought maybe you were for real.”

“Gil?”

The redhead tossed a thumb toward the gravlev station. “Rocket God Gilbert Bartlet. Big guy, bad attitude, five Wellach Cups in six years? You did know that’s who you were pissing off back there, right?”

“Oh.” Chloe tried to hold her smile. Never let them see you sweat. “Well. Sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“You think so?” Chloe turned her nose up at him. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I’ve already seen. You failed the test.”

“Huh?”

The redhead's electric blue eyes twinkled with mischief. He pulled his left hand from behind his back and held up a wad of bills – mostly small change, Federal hectomarks.

At first, Chloe didn’t understand. Then, her eyes widened and her hand flew to the pocket at the back of her flight suit. Its seal peeled open when the heat of her fingers passed over it, but when she felt inside, she didn’t feel her cash.

The redhead tossed it to her.

For a wonder, she managed to get her hand out to grab the wad of bills before it hit the wet ground.

“You move like a mechaneer,” he said, “but your situational awareness is crap. If you’re here for the tournament, you better back out before you get hurt.”

Chloe’s shoulders slumped. So much for running a bluff. “I’m not really a mechaneer. Not a combat mechaneer, I mean. I just wanted to give those kids something to smile about.”

“And Gil?”

“Didn’t recognize him,” Chloe said with a sigh. “Thanks for giving my money back, anyway.”

“Keep it in your breast pocket when you’re on a tourist world. Otherwise you’re just asking somebody to rob you.” He patted the line marking his. He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Unless you’re so clueless you can’t see someone grab you right in front of your face.”

She fought back a blush and ignored his answering chuckle, turned her back to him and stuffed her marks into the recommended pocket. Over her shoulder, she called, “Who are you, anyway?”

“The Invincible Titanian Battle Prince, of course.”

She could just imagine the mocking grin. “Give it a rest, would you?”

“Fine. Call me Rudy.”

“That’s better.” She turned back to him and shook his offered hand. “I’m Chloe. Guess I should thank you for the tip, huh?”

“That’s twice you’ve thanked me. Do I look like a nob to you?”

She cocked her head.

“This is the Federated Stars, Ms. Chloe. We expect to be paid for services rendered.”

Chloe yanked her hand back and stepped away from him. “You want me to pay you for advice I didn’t ask for? Or is this some kind of protection racket? I may not be a combat.mechaneer, but I'm not such a pushover as to go quietly – and my father is, and a Civil War vet.”

Rudy spread his red-gloved palms. “Take it easy. I’m not asking for marks. If I’d wanted that, I could have kept your cash. Money doesn't have to change hands for us to have equivalence, though. I do you a favor, you do me a favor. Everybody wins.”

Chloe took another step back. She didn’t feel nervous around Rudy, but her hunches came and went. She thought about contacting the Mother Goose. Not yet, though. She didn't want to worry her parents if she didn't have to. Principle knew they were worried enough already! “What kind of favor?”

“Judging from the way you tensed up, I get the impression you’re not interested in the personal kind,” he said, winking. “Fortunately, I don’t go for the leggy noble type.”

“N-noble?” Chloe’s free hand brushed at the base of her bleached blonde hair. Had she missed a spot? “What are you talking about?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I was kidding, actually, but now that you mention it, you've got a nice pair of stratosphere blues there.”

Chloe fought the urge to close her offending eyes. Principle, what was wrong with her? If she'd played it cool, he never would have known his joke was anything but. Dark blue eyes, like the dark curls she kept fastidiously dyed, might be associated with the mechaneer-aristocracy, but they weren't exactly impossible outside it, either.

She wondered how big of a mess she'd made by all but admitting her heritage to Rudy.

She figured she could run if she had to. Might buy her parents a few more seconds to respond to her call for help, assuming she couldn’t outrun him. She doubted she could. He looked fast, with an athlete’s build and confidence.

“If you don't want people to think you're a nob, Ms. Chloe,” he said, “maybe you should wear tinted contacts, too.”

“What do you care,” Chloe snapped. “Racking up more debt?”

“You bet. And I don’t intend to let you get yourself killed until you’ve paid me back.”

“I don’t have anything to pay you with.”

“No? You’ve got information, don’t you? How about telling me what you’re doing here on the wrong side of Etemenos? If you're concerned about hiding that you're a nob, I figure you must be off your Limiters. Aren’t you worried about Animus Hunters catching your noble self?”

“Stop calling me a noble,” Chloe said. “I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

In trouble with everyone if they find out I spent the whole time talking to you, she thought. Even leaving aside this business of being pegged for a noble, she shouldn't do such a thing. Spacer families frowned on their children spending too much unchaperoned time with apparently eligible groundlings. Especially groundlings who winked and joked and implied things that just weren't polite in mixed company. Even if Rudy said she wasn’t his type.

She wondered what he really wanted.

She wondered if he would sell her out.

She wondered how one even went about selling a noble out to the Animus Hunters. It wasn’t like they posted their communications frequencies.

“You’ve got a point about calling you out,” he said. “There’s no reason to draw attention to you. Hell, I don’t think the Animus Hunters will even cover your debts if they catch you. They’re… touchy that way.”

“You’ve met an Animus Hunter?”

A shadow crossed his face. For a minute, he seemed to look straight through her.

Then, his eyes widened.

A shadow crossed Chloe’s face, too, and the rest of her as well. She looked up, expecting to see a cloud drifting by. Sure enough, something above and behind her had blocked out the afternoon sun.

But hadn’t her father said he’d seen clear skies for a hundred kilometers?

She turned.

Her eyes got even wider than Rudy’s.