Escape From Perdition

Chapter One: A Rescue Mission

That damn day had started with all makings of a turd stew. Given all that had occurred, I should have expected to be lying there, cowering behind a watering trough, shooting it out with assassins over a pretty redhead. And there I was.

Hell, I knew as soon as she stepped into The Palace Saloon earlier that day, screwed up her pretty face and squinted to see through smoke, that she was looking for me. She was the kind of woman that I always fell for. The kind that always brought trouble.

She was tall and willowy with coppery hair that fell over her shoulders in waves, and her full lips were pursed in a sultry pucker of concentration. She wore a long, fancy lounging coat that hugged her curves, and leggings with heeled shoes—clothes better suited for traveling on one of those fancy Pullman cars than venturing around on a frontier scab like Perdition, here on Planet #1.

I also knew that the four hooded bad-asses whispering at the opposite corner table were waiting for her. They sat up straight when she entered.

You see, the Palace was my home away from home. I knew all the regulars. The redhead wasn’t a regular. The four goons weren’t regulars. If you weren’t a regular, chances are you were looking for someone. And if you were looking for someone in the Palace, like as not, you were looking for me.

The man who walked in beside her wasn’t quite so out of place as she. He wore a patchwork of armor and traveling clothes—combat boots, a fatigue shirt under an armored vest, and a Webley Revolving Particle gun strapped to his thigh.

What I didn’t know that night was that this hottie-of-a-dark-skinned guy would make my life damn miserable. Right then, he was about as interesting and sexy as she was. I felt a heat rising in me that was, unfortunately, predictable. I like the boys. I like the girls. These two could have come here to kill me tonight, and I’d still have fallen all over myself, trying to get a taste first.

Of course, I was sitting at my regular table, an old vinyl booth wedged into the darkest corner of the dive, sipping a stein of my favorite blonde and smoking a P3 Sweet—a divine cigar, laced with just a hint of Black Scog—little brother to the addictive hallucinogen, White Scog. I probably wasn’t what they were expecting: long blue-dyed dread locks hanging to my ass; old army jacket; Colt slung low on my hip; tits pushed out for maximum effect on the horn dog population.

I raised my mug and waved the two over, drawing an interested glare from their four shadowy tails. The redhead weaved her way through the crowd, held out her hand, and said, “I am Rochelle Dubois.” Her voice sounded like honey. Her liquid green eyes, visible now through the heavy smoke damn well mesmerized me.

I pulled my glance away. Gathering myself, I put down my cigar, tapped it against the old brass ashtray for a drama-filled moment, then reached out and took her hand, pressed it into mine and shook it.

Rochelle had a firm grip: Strong hands.

“Nice to meet you, Miz Dubois,” I said.

“This,” she continued, after I released her digits, “is—”

“I’m Johnathon Riften,” he said in an angry tone. He ran big hand over his close-cropped head, fingered his square jaw and sneered a bit.

He might have been an ass, but he was sexy and that went a long way with me.

“Just so you know, I didn’t want to do this. It was entirely Miz Dubois’ idea. And a fool one at that.”

“More than happy to bow out, guy—” I said, then cast a glance toward the four hooded goons following them. “Your friends too, might be agreeable to that.”

*

Ms. Dubois elbowed beefcake in the ribs and gave him a gorgeous, pleading glare. “No. Not at all. Mister Riften . . . ahem . . . Johnathon . . . is a touch overprotective—Aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Do you mind if we sit, Miz Caine?” The look on the Riften guy’s face was anything but respectful. I Nearly throat punched him, but, thought better of it.

I dropped myself into the vinyl and they did likewise. Ms. Dubois smiled perfectly. Mr. Riften grimaced, kept his hands under the table (—gripping his Webley, no doubt.) You see, people on the frontier don’t trust one another. We all like our freedom out here on the frontier, but damned if we don’t look out for ourselves. Threats of gunplay was the way contracts were negotiated, oft as not.

“Okay Miz Dubois—Red: May I call you Red?” I asked, as much to gain a bit of control (I felt myself melting under those emerald greens), as to poke fun at her fancy name.

“You’ll call her—” Beefcake Riften began, before she interrupted him with: “Sure. Red is fine. I’ll take Red.” The beauty smiled big and batted her eyes. Riften harrumphed. I couldn’t help the blush rising in my cheeks.

“Okay, Red. What’cha need a hired gun for?”

Ms. Dubois slipped two packages across the table to me. The first was a bag of chits. I picked up the other. Opened it. Inside was a picture of an old coot and a little girl—maybe six years old. Pretty. I recognized the geezer as a Party member, big shot in the Collective.

I sat back and whistled, looked Red in those emerald greens. “Defection job?”

“Need to know, Lady,” said sexy ass-hat Riften.

I’m not generally one to take kindly to this dude’s particular brand of crapola in my own place. But for Ms. Dubois, I’d put up with it, I supposed at the time. “I need to know,” I snapped at him.

This dude was defensive, shoulders shifting, making room for a fight. On edge beyond what was reasonable. I should have seen it at the time, but bein’ the fool I am, I was too damned entranced by his partner to notice.

“You pull that Webley, and I’ll dust the floor with you, pretty man. Then me and Red here can go about our business.”

Red rested her hand on his arm, following with an imploring gaze.

He came down off whatever edge he was on.

“This a defection?” I repeated.

“Far as you’re concerned,” said Riften the Pretty.

“I thought we’d been over this.” I rose from my chair and tossed a half-chit on the table to cover my drink.

“Yeah,” Red said. “It’s a defection. We help defectors. That’s what we do.”

“Work for the Corporation, do ya?”

“Not so much,” Red said. “More freelance.”

The two were flesh smugglers and I said as much.

“You could say that, I guess,” she responded, cheeks flushing at my accusation. “I’m more of a finder. Mister Riften here does security. But, we don’t traffic in—”

I stopped her by raising my hand. Better I not know. I liked Red; liked her smile and pretty much everything else about her. Didn’t want to complicate what looked to be a simple mission. I’d done a hundred of these simple escort jobs. It was easy cash, even though running defectors was a far sight more difficult than running meat out to the mines on Planets #16 and #12.

“It’s simple,” she said. “We need to get our people to the Wells Fargo tomorrow morning—no more than a few kilometers.”

Damn. She didn’t say that. I’m a superstitious bitch. Saying things like that had a tendency to turn fate against you. “You just jinxed this mission, Miz Dubois. When folks handing me a wad of cash, dodging four torpedoes, tell me jobs are simple . . . things have a tendency to go to hell right quick.”

*

An hour later we stepped out of the darkness of the Palace and onto Center Street, the muddy main drag running the length of Perdition. The street stretched away straight before disappearing among the raggedy buildings. Old, rotten wood and rusted steel was the hallmark of Perdition. Composite structures and quality supplies were scarce out here where Corporate or Collective interests didn’t give two hoots.

Still, Planet #1 was closest to Lassiter’s Gate, the Wormgate that led to civilized space. If it was this bad here, you can imagine what the rest of the frontier was like. But Perdition was still worth the trouble to those with my damn independent streak. Here were no rules but what we made, and no government telling us how to live. It was a no-man’s land ruled by gangsters and ruffians and local constabularies willing to face them.

We liked it that way.

This day on this particular part of the planet, the clouds were thick and dark; it was raining that oily, shitty deluge that Planet #1 is famous for. I slid my hat from my utility pocket and tucked my dreads up through the hole in the back, letting them fall in a pseudo ponytail down my back. I pulled on my gloves, then gathered my field jacket close around me, making sure my Colt remained accessible on my hip.

Outside, an old Ford hover-truck sat motionless by the front door of the saloon, and two horses were tied to a nearby trough. We passed them and took to the street.

I considered taking the boardwalk, but then some gun-happy jackal might back-shoot us from a window like Earthers did to Virgil Earp back in the day. The street gave me more room to move and a better line of sight.

I wasn’t so sure how trustworthy my new associates were—especially Riften—but I’d have done about anything for Red by then. Funny, that: I didn’t even know her.

I’d been put in a bad spot by a pretty girl before. But, here I was. Again. I always trust the pretty ones.

I figured their tail would follow us out, so I took a circuitous route to Old Town where they said their defectors were holed up. Unfortunately, that meant walking the less populated, seedier portions of Perdition. All the rain made it hard to hear, and the coming darkness made it harder to see . . .

I was sliding down my sighting monocle when I was surprised by the first of the four. This one stepped out in front of us—surprised not only by the rain and the dusk, but because I’d miscalculated: I didn’t think they’d confront us before we found their prey for them.

Learn something new every day. Some assassins are purely stupid.

He stepped from a darkened alleyway into the street about ten meters in front of us, carrying a scatter-blaster in black-gloved hands, face hidden in a dark gray cowl that emerged from his particle-absorbing vest.

No chest shooting, then. No problem. Just gotta take my time with the shot.

“Give it to us,” the hostile called above the pounding rain.

“We’ll never give over—” responded Red, retreating a step behind me.

“You’d best be getting gone, friend,” I shouted as I dropped my hand to finger the Colt. I’d rather have had my Sharps, but the automatic pistol would do.

To my left, Riften threw his arm around Red’s shoulder and hustled her toward the boardwalk, preparing to run like a cow to the dinner bell. Half of me wanted to stop Red and her beefcake, say something to the Riften dude. Half of me wanted him to protect her, exactly like he was doing.

Coward’s gonna make a run for it.

But I couldn’t deal with that now. I didn’t know where the other three hooded fuckers were, and I sure as hell wouldn’t wait for them to make the next play. If I went after this one, I’d be done for. And with Riften on the move, I’d lost his Webley for the coming gunfight. Just me and the baddies. Just the way I like it. They’d be regretting it soon enough.

My monocle zeroed in. I let out a breath of air, held it.

The would-be assassin’s thumb twitched.

Slicker than shit, I drew the Colt and blew a hole through the scatter gun guy’s face. He dropped like a bag of beans onto the muddy street. Figuring the other three had me sighted, I immediately dived for a nearby watering trough.

And none too soon. Another blast of crackling energy came from my left, hitting the ground nearby, spraying me with mud and street-goop.

Red and Riften made it to the boardwalk and crashed through a door into Al’s Mining Gear.

I breathed a sigh of relief. In the doorway, I could see Red cowering, holding onto her gun-toting beau. He’d drawn this big revolver and uselessly covered the doorway with it.

I dropped low as low could be, and cursed my boobs for keeping me from getting lower. A blast of hyper-charged particles tore into the horse trough in front of me, ripping through the rusty steel structure and vaporizing much of the liquid within. The next round would go clean through and deliver me into hell’s waiting room. I had to find a way out or be quick about killing the ambushing sons of a bitches that were right now trying to vaporize my shit.

I crawled behind a nearby flatbed roller just as another shot from my right, then one from my left, took out what was left of the trough. These ambushers were damn good. They kept hidden, ducking and moving after each shot. Hard to get a bead.

But not impossible.

These fuckers were trying to flank me. They took their shots from positions further left or right each time. But this wasn’t my first ambush, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I had to get to ’em, get where I could get at ’em. But, I couldn’t let them get to the girl—and that damn pretty-boy bodyguard of hers—hidden in the general store so close by. Getting her killed wouldn’t really set will with me. It’d be the kinda thing that would eat at me for the rest of my existence. That . . . and the chits.

I’d lose the job: lose the payer, lose the payday.

I heard one of the sumbitches to my right: a tiny creak on the rusted boardwalk told me one of the bastards had crossed to my side of the street, trying to work up a sightline to finish me. I slid in Red’s direction, keeping low and as hidden as I could.

Just as I did that, an assassin stole onto the walk: a female, from the sway of hips and cowl. That murdering bitch was as surprised as I was when we laid eyes on one another.

But it so happened that I was the better shot. Although I can’t take all the credit. Much of that belonged to well-calibrated cybernetics.

My sighting monocle zeroed and I fired at the same time she did. But I was already rolling.

Her shot burned a path along my utility pants.

Mine took her in the throat. She gurgled, hissed and fell back into the muck.

I rolled over just in time to see the other ambushing bastard pitch something into the general store, followed by a terrifying flash.

My heart jumped into my throat. The thought that clients of mine would be killed off this early in my engagement would do my rep no good. I rose up quickly, leveled the Colt and shot the fucker in the back, while he made ready to enter the store with his machine pistol.

Everything went quiet, ’cept the rain pounding into the mud.

I heard a moan come from the building.

Alive!

I sprinted across the street and found my two charges hunkered down behind a wheelbarrow shattered by the flash-bang. I kicked it over.

Riften lay atop Red, barely conscious, blood leaking from his ears. I pushed him off her and pulled her to me. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled wide.

My crazy-soft heart soared.