“Any Royal Sentries?” I asked, knowing Alter would already be watching the scanners for their tell-tale signature.

  She didn’t answer right away, needing a few seconds to confirm. “No,” she said at last. “We’re clear.”

  I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until I exhaled, glad to hear we had one major monkey off our backs, at least for now. The fading tension allowed me to focus my sights on Furion, still a few hundred thousand kilometers off the starboard bow.

  I had looked the planet up in the ship’s datastore during our transit to get a better feel for its complete history. A preliminary look at the world in pictures and video had undersold the real thing. Once an Earth-like planet in the habitable zone around its parent star, a massive collision with an unknown object had knocked Furion out of its original orbit and closer to the star, while also leaving a massive crater on one side visible from our position.

  Of course, moving closer to the star had increased the intensity of the sun’s radiation, raised the temperatures, and evaporated a good portion of the water on the planet. The only good news was that all of that had happened thousands of years before humans had settled the planet. It still wasn’t clear to me why anyone wanted to live there, though the reddish-gold veins that lined the lighter brown sediment and occasional bursts of vegetation would have made for an incredible Instagram.

  “I’m opening a comm to Orbital Control,” I said. “I’ll pipe it through the speakers so you can listen along back there.” I used the augmented reality menu to open the comms and switch it to external. “Orbital Control, this is Fergus, requesting permission to queue for landing at Birilli Spaceport.”

  “Fergus?” Druck asked in the background.

  “Ben’s golden retriever,” Matt replied.

  “What’s a golden retriever?”

  “You don’t have dogs in the Spiral?”

  “What’s a dog?”

  “Nevermind.”

  “Shhh,” I said, waiting for Control’s reply.

  “Fergus, this is Furion Orbital Control. I have you registered in the drop zone. Permission to join the queue for Birilli Spaceport is granted pending a one thousand electro landing fee. You’ll be second in line. Please be aware, we’re experiencing slight delays as we’re on heightened alert status at this time. All incoming ships are required to be boarded and searched by our customs teams.”

  My jaw went slack as I glanced over at Alter, my initial reaction to seek her advice on the matter. I didn’t need it. I already knew that anyone who came close enough to Head Case to board would also be close enough to scan the ship’s immutable identifier. It might take a little time for that ID to be translated and connected back to the ship’s given name, but it would happen fast enough to put us in deep, deep shit.

  “Heightened alert, Control?” I said, doing my best to hide my sudden nerves and hoping the woman at the other end didn’t notice the quiver in my voice. “That sounds serious.”

  “Apparently, the Royal Guard is looking for a ship that escaped from Kasper over a week ago. Since they don’t have a Sentry nearby, they asked us to confirm all first-time arrivals. I don’t see you anywhere on our registered dataset.”

  I didn’t answer right away, unsure of what to say. Matt unbuckled his harness and leaned in over my shoulder, putting his face next to my helmet.

  “Orbital Control,” he said, “this is Captain Morgan. Can you please repeat that? I thought I heard you say we aren’t on your registered dataset.”

  “That’s correct, Captain,” Control replied. “Customs will be along within an hour or two once you move into the queue. Unfortunately, this directive is putting a lot of unexpected strain on our resources.”

  “Control, I’m sorry to give you a hard time, but I’m afraid there’s been some kind of mistake. I’ve been to Furion multiple times before, Birilli in particular. I’ve especially enjoyed the nightlife there.” He paused for effect. “I’m also a big fan of the markets.”

  “I see,” Control replied. “How much do you typically spend planetside? That information will help me verify whether you’ve actually been here before or not.”

  Matt glanced at Alter. She mouthed an amount.

  “At least a million electro per visit. I’d have to check my logs to give you a specific amount.”

  “An estimate is fine, Captain. Did you know the typical size of expenditures is approximately ten percent of that?”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Matt said. “That seems like a pretty fair amount to spend for a refuel or resupply.”

  “It’s very fair,” Control agreed. “Let me check on that dataset issue for you. It won’t take long.”

  At the same time, a separate comm popped up on the center console. Tapping on it revealed a payment identifier. I tapped on the ID and entered ten thousand electro, and then tapped the send button.

  “Ah, I think I see what happened,” Control said a split second later. “I believe one of the other controllers here entered your ship’s name incorrectly. I don’t know how they derived Atomsmasher from Fergus, but it is what it is. I’ve corrected the error, and I apologize for the inconvenience. Since you don’t need to wait for Customs, you’re cleared to land immediately.”

  “Thank you, Control,” Matt said. “I appreciate your diligence on this matter.”

  “Any time, Captain. Please follow the transmitted markers to Birilli Spaceport. Orbital Control out.”

  The comm disconnected. I looked back at Matt, who had a big smile on his face. “That was awesome,” I said. “How did you know they’d go for the bribe?”

  “I didn’t, which is why I phrased the offer so vaguely.”

  “Well, it worked. And you were worried about being useful.”

  “Yeah, I guess my talents have some play here after all.”

  “Please fasten your seatbelt and return your tray table to its upright position. We’re going in.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Touchdown on Furion’s surface was relatively uneventful, as long as my gawking at the massive metal platform suspended over a huge reservoir that served as the spaceport’s landing area didn’t count as an event. I put Head Case down smoothly at the far corner of the platform, between a pair of smaller wedge-shaped starships with glistening metal hulls that reflected the black tarmac. Four other ships dotted the landing area, nearly filling in all of the available space. Birilli wasn’t even close to the most populated of the settlements on Furion. In fact, as one of the smallest, it had a certain autonomy the others lacked. A freedom that helped support an economy unavailable anywhere else on the planet.

  “I’ll meet you in the hangar,” Alter said, jumping out of her seat as soon as our skids hit the metal. “Make sure you stop by the armory on your way.”

  “Should we expect trouble?” Matt asked.

  “One of the ships out there is Niflin-made,” she replied.

  “You think Sedaya’s goons are here?” I questioned.

  “Better safe than sorry.” She hurried off the flight deck by the time I removed my flight helmet and got to my feet.

  “Well, that was strange,” Druck said, watching her go. He was still in the same process we had gone through earlier, aware that Alter changed her entire form and demeanor but unable to figure out how or why. He had asked me to explain it to him a couple of times already, but what would be the fun in that?

  “Come on,” Matt said. “You heard the lady. We need guns. Lots of guns.”

  We left the flight deck together, taking the elevator down to Deck Two. A quick stop at the armory put a blaster on my hip and a knife against my thigh. Matt went with a similar loadout, while Quasar attached two plasma pistols to her utility belt and added a couple of micro-explosives to the attached pouches for good measure. Druck went a little bigger, slinging a pulse rifle across his back and holstering a more conventional ballistic sidearm to complement it.

  By the time we reached the hangar, Alter had shifted to her Enigma form.

  “Looking sharp,” Druck said on seeing her. “I like what you’ve got going there a lot better than the greasy coveralls.”

  Alter ignored him. “Ben, what’s the plan?”

  “Were you able to get in touch with your contact?” I asked.

  “No. He doesn’t have a personal hypercom device. I left a message for him at the saloon. There’s no way to know when he might drop by there to pick it up. We’re better off visiting him in person.”

  “That’s fine with me,” I said. “But let’s make sure all of our resupply needs are taken care of first. That way Matt and Druck can take care of receiving them while we pay your guy a visit.”

  I didn’t really want to put off seeing the doctor about a cure any longer than I had to, but efficiency was still important, especially since we were still escaped cons. We might have been able to bribe Orbital Control for the unimpeded landing, but that didn’t mean we should linger here any longer than necessary. It would take only one individual to identify us and take action to ensure we had a really bad day.

  To that end, all of us were wearing something to help cover our faces. Captain Marvel had replaced Quasar’s red, white, and gold superhero costume with shades of black and dark blue. It still stood out a bit in a crowd, but it wouldn’t draw a spotlight directly to us.

  I had gone with a black cloak made from Niflin mercenary armor, which would offer me some protection against attack if one came. In my opinion, it also made me look pretty damn cool. An inside pocket gave Shaq a place to ride where, if needed, he could spring into action at a moment’s notice, yet have some cover from any fire we might draw. Matt had chosen a regular hood attached to his waist-length jacket, and Druck covered his face with an odd beret-type hat and large dark glasses. Of course, Alter didn’t need to change a thing.

  “Remember,” I said. “Once we’re off Head Case, Matt’s in charge.”

  “I am?” Matt replied, surprised by the move. I had planned it since our earlier conversation, and for good reason.

  “I’m only the Captain because I’m also the pilot,” I replied. “You still have a big stake in all of this. It’s only fair.”

  “I don’t think fairness matters right now,” Matt answered. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but this isn’t a game.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I agreed. “We both know I’m not near your level in a shootout or a melee.”

  “The rules of engagement don’t change just because we’re on the ground. You know how to maneuver.”

  “I’m also nowhere near as charismatic, or as quick-witted,” I added.

  He smiled. “That’s true.”

  “Can we get a move on?” Alter asked.

  I gave Matt a pointed look, waiting for him to take charge.

  “Let’s go,” he said, putting a friendly hand on my shoulder before leading us to the bay door. “Levi, open up.”

  The smaller outer door slid open and the ramp extended to the tarmac. We exited the ship and started across the platform. Hot, dry air buffeted my face as a stiff wind kicked across the landing zone.

  “Let’s start with the basics,” Matt said. “Food, water, and any types of fuel or parts we might need to keep everything functional.”

  “We can procure all of that at the bulk commissary inside the spaceport,” Alter replied. “Prices will be higher here than at one of the larger cities, but the sellers know how to keep their books and mouths closed tight.”

  “What about alternate equipment?” I asked. “Personal, discrete comms, for one.”

  “Military surplus is sold at the underground bazaar, along with almost anything else you might want. I can lead you there.”

  “How do you know so much about Furion?” Druck asked. “I mean, obviously you’ve been here before, but you seem to have more than tourist level knowledge of what to find where.”

  “The problem, Emil,” Matt said. “Is that you don’t know who you’re working with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Matt looked at Alter, silently asking permission. She hesitated a moment before nodding. Matt returned his attention to Druck. “Does the name Enigma mean anything to you?”

  “Enigma,” Druck said, thinking about it. “Where have I heard—” His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he took a step away from her. “No freaking way.”

  “Yes freaking way,” I replied.

  “You…you’re a legend. A ghost.”

  “In the flesh,” Alter said.

  Druck smiled. “Shit. No wonder nobody could ever catch you, the way you quick-change into different outfits and stuff. You change your whole appearance so well, it’s like you’re a totally separate person.”

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Matt said.

  “Of course you would know where to find black market stuff,” Druck continued. The way he looked at Enigma had changed in an instant. Where before, he seemed to see her as an attractive but untouchable woman, now he looked at her with total, professional adulation. Surprising to me since he was a mech pilot, not an assassin. But I guess her reputation preceded her. “Did you kill anyone important here?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” Alter said. “I’m retired from that line of work.”

  “Oh, sure. Well, I think you’re pretty amazing.”

  “There’s nothing amazing about killing people for money,” she hissed back.

  “Are you kidding? That’s what people like you and me do. That’s how we make a living.”

  “I’m nothing like you, Druck,” Alter whispered, barely keeping herself contained. “Besides, we don’t kill anyone for money. We kill only if we have to. In self-defense. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “Druck, stop being such an asshole,” Quasar said, stepping between them. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk about her past?”

  “What?” Druck said, motioning to Matt. “He’s the one who brought it up.”

  “So you would trust her ability to navigate,” Matt said. “Not so you could interrogate her. Just drop it, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He stared at Alter again. Her harshness hadn’t diminished his admiration at all. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to pry. I’ve just never met anyone famous before.”

  “I’m not famous. I’m no one. Nothing.”

  He winked and smiled. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Come on,” Alter growled. “The commissary is that way.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Buying resources for the assembler was easier than I expected. In Birilli, nobody cared where you came from, where you were going, or why you were there. As long as you had electro to spend, it was as simple as transferring payment and arranging the delivery. I didn’t know it, but material was sold prepackaged based on the type of assembler and its purpose. While Asshole was an older model, the machine accepted standardized packs, and we ordered a full complement of basic necessities. Food, most importantly. But also raw material for all sorts of textiles. Ten thousand electro for the haul seemed cheap, but Alter told me my perspective had been skewed by the amount we had been paid for our first job. We had made a good haul for not that much actual work, and all it cost us was a week in prison and the notice of the Royal Guard.

  We would find out soon if the exchange had worked out in our favor. In and out of the commissary within thirty minutes, we boarded a shuttle headed downtown.

  Nothing on Furion was especially new, and particles in the air made for a harsher than normal environment. I had read that the material was generally safe to breathe. Riding on the long, floating barge that carried us toward a mottled collection of domes and mid-height buildings about a dozen kilometers away, I noticed most of the other passengers wore breathing filters of various kinds, from simple cloth wraps over their mouths to fully concealed heads and clear face masks with tubes on either side, feeding into a small machine around their necks. An air scrubber of some kind, I assumed. Having suffered from allergies, I could only hope my body wouldn’t react to the dust.

  While I observed the passengers, none of them did the same with us. They kept their heads and eyes down, staring into their laps or browsing their personal hypercoms. The visitors were easy to pick out from the natives based solely on dress. The true Furians reminded me of the middle-east, most of them dressed in long, once colorful robes faded by the environment. It wasn’t only the air that was harsh. Once we moved further away from the spaceport and the body of water the huge landing zone blocked from evaporation, the intensity increased enough to lead to an instant sweat and more labored breathing. Druck looked especially uncomfortable with the rising temperature. Beads of sweat began rolling down his cheeks right away, his shirt becoming damp as if he were part of a time lapse.

  Fortunately, it only took a few minutes to reach Birilli proper. The small city occupied a few square kilometers at the edge of a large mountain range, the miles-high cliffs towering above the western end. No doubt, the formation would block the afternoon sun, limiting exposure and helping to prevent the heat buildup from becoming too unbearable. While the interiors of the buildings were sure to be climate controlled, the outside wasn’t as hospitable.

  The shuttle dropped us off at the edge of the city, and we piled out onto the side of a wide thoroughfare. The roads had been defined by smoothing the natural stone surface, making it flat for the small wheeled vehicles and spindly six-legged alien horses the residents used as pack animals. There were no fancy hovercars here. There was nothing fancy at all. It felt like what I imagined the Old West to be.

  “This way,” Alter said, leading us along the wide street.

  While the shuttle riders had ignored us, the pedestrians weren’t as disinterested. They didn’t seem to care that we could see them staring, their eyes drifting from our shrouded faces to the weapons on our hips, likely pegging us for foreigners that were either potentially dangerous or easy marks. I made eye contact with a little girl standing with her mother, who reminded me of Eunice, the girl from the hospital pharmacy. Meeting her seemed like a lifetime ago. The girl smiled before turning and rushing into the building next to her. Her mother gave me a stink-eye before following her inside.