Carson Mach 1: The Atlantis Ship (3 page)

A tall thin fidesian wearing a leather waistcoat hurried behind the bar, serving people as quickly as she could, perhaps sensing things were about to hit the fan. The fidesian glanced at Mach; her ruby red eyes glinted under the lights, as though they were miniature nebulae as seen through a Hoffberg telescope. Her head, like the rest of her body, was almost bald. She, like all of her race, had a fair, almost transparent thin layer of hair on her skin, which under the right kind of sun had a hint of green to it. It was a look that appealed to Mach greatly.
 

He liked the tall, lithe bodies of the fidesians, their shape the result of their home planet, Salus Prime’s lower than the average human world’s gravity.

Her slight, thin mouth tensed at the edges.
 

Mach knew this look; it was the disapproving look she had given him just that morning when he asked her to stay in bed for another round of copulation. That word always made him laugh; the fidesians loved their euphemisms almost as much as they loved to
copulate
.
 

“I asked you a question,” Ralex rasped again. This time the big creature stood up from his stool, knocking it back, making a group of younger fidesians dart out of the way.

Mach ignored the horan and took another gulp of his drink, finishing the bottle. The sweet buzz of the genetically modified alcohol spread throughout his body and limbs, loosening up forty-three-year-old muscles that had seen more combat and action any human had any right to.
 

The Stinger vibrated gently against the leg of his GraphTech fatigues, letting him know the molecular disruption module was fully charged. Mach would only have two shots at this. If he missed, it was unlikely he’d beat the horan in hand-to-hand combat; they were just too big and powerful, even with Mach’s varied prosthetic upgrades.
 

Even a human with advanced tech couldn’t regrow limbs or benefit from having three compartmentalized hearts like a horan. And it was those differences, among others, that made the horans think they were superior to the CW species.
 

The bartender saw Mach empty his bottle. She swiped it away from the bar and gave him a knowing look that said, “Don’t do anything stupid,” but copulation aside, she didn’t really know Mach all that well; being stupid was what he did best.
 

“You really are ugly, even for your kind,” Mach eventually said with a growl to his opposition. The hush in the bar seemed to get heavy as the varied patrons sucked in their breath at the insult. From the corner of his eye he watched as most of the bar emptied. A few others stayed, hiding in shadows to watch the fight.
 

“I’m serious,” Mach added. “Were your parents experimenting or something? They must have either laughed or cried when they saw what crawled out of their egg. It’s no wonder you were chucked out of the Axis Combine.”

Through his temperature filter, he saw the horan’s body continue to enflame. Ralex pushed away from the bar, swiping the barstool violently to one side with his thick, barbed tail.
 

This was what Mach was hoping for; he spotted the black matte blade attached to the end of the tail; the bastard was equipped with a stun knife. One hit from that, and Mach would be paralyzed.
 

Better make this one quick
, he thought.
 

He turned to the bartender. “You better duck for cover while you make me a cocktail. I’m gonna need a drink after this,” he said in Salus Common, an amalgamation of English and Fidesian that had become the majority language all across the Salus Sphere.
 

She blinked her beautiful eyes and did as he suggested, moving in her elegant way. She really was quite a special one and the sole reason why he had spent the last six standard months drinking away his gambling winnings here… totally nothing to do with forgetting about his court-martial with the Commonwealth Defense Force, and totally nothing to do about his broken, now nonexistent marriage, and least of all the loss of pension and earnings.

Letting the Gasmulch help with his denial, and sheer stupidity, Mach picked up a shot glass and threw it with his cybernetic right arm toward the horan. As soon as the glass left his hand, Mach rolled to his right, falling to the ground.
 

Ralex roared as the glass struck him on the face. The horan leapt up onto the bar with the spring of a Salusian wildcat, smashing his tail left and right, the stun tip sparking as it struck against the wall of bottles, each one smashing, sending fragments of glass spraying around the bar. His robe, although looking thin, was a mesh of graphene and deflected the shards as though they were nothing more than seeds in the wind.
 

Coming out of his roll, Mach rose up on one knee and pulled the Stinger from his hip holster. The horan likewise had raised a weapon: a small laser blaster from a hidden compartment on his forearm.
 

“Sneaky fucking lizard,” Mach muttered as the scenario started to slow down for him, the BuzzKill stim finally reacting to his adrenalin. He got off a shot before the horan could aim the laser.
 

Both men fired… and missed. Mach’s blast flew over Ralex’s left shoulder. The horan’s laser bolt struck a fidesian somewhere behind Mach in the shadows, the yelp telling him it was a young male.

Ralex leapt off the bar with a low hiss.
 

Mach staggered back and ducked below the swipe of the tail. He dodged to his right, rolling over a table and firing his second blast from the Stinger. The shot hit this time, catching Ralex on the ribcage. The blast sent the horan crashing to the ground, clutching his wound as the disruption bolt ate away at the muscle and sinew.

A loud explosion erupted from behind Mach. He swung around to see three massive silhouettes appear in a nonlethal cloud of paralyzing gas.
 

Shit, Invidian security droids!

Although not unexpected, they were quicker than he had hoped. Someone must have set him up; they didn’t normally give a crap about bar fights, or… anything, really. The planet Invidia was the place that let anything go, which was one of the many reasons why Mach liked it here… well, like was a strong word, but few planets would allow the likes of Mach to stay around for long. He was the portent of trouble, after all; the Ill Wind, some factions had called him; Bleach, by others for his ability to go in and clean up a situation no matter how dangerous or risky it might be.
 

Just like this one
, he thought.

Before the droids could open fire, Mach used his heightened senses to locate the exits now that the droids had cut him off from his previously planned route. There was a door to the staff office in front of him and behind the horan that stood in his way, now even more furious.
 

Mach noticed that the effects of the disruptor blast hadn’t lasted; Ralex’s system was already repairing the damaged tissue and the horan was stalking Mach with murderous intent.
 

This really wasn’t going to plan, but when did it ever?

Mach hit a button on the smart-screen wrapped around his left forearm. He had earlier spent two eros on a jukebox playlist. The blaring sounds of space metal, his favorite fighting music, drowned out the sounds of screams and droid servos.
 

The pounding beat and the driving riffs helped the BuzzKill stim to further enter his system, slowing time down further, making his reactions borderline impossible. He would pay for this in the morning, but right now he didn’t care.
 

He had a big damned horan wanting to rip his face off, a group of droids sent by god knows who, and great music pounding into his ears. Bliss! This was goddamned bliss.

Without looking behind him, he unclipped an EMP grenade from his GraphTech utility belt and tossed it somewhere toward the back of the bar. The bright blue flash and the fizzing sparks told him that the droids hadn’t yet been upgraded to defend against nanopulse technology.

With a big grin on his face, Mach crouched down to receive the charge from Ralex. “Come on, bring it!” Mach yelled as he dropped his Stinger and pulled out his combat knife.

There was nothing technologically special about this thing, just a sharp piece of metal that could cut through granite given enough force.
 

Ralex bounded into Mach, slugging him around the face with a heavy, scaly fist. Mach didn’t feel the pain, but the physics of it sent him flying two meters back into the bar. His head hit the surface, making his vision blurry.
 

The horan stepped closer and whipped his tail around.
 

Mach just about managed to fall out of the way. As he did so, the creature’s momentum brought him close enough that Mach was almost laying directly beneath him, between Ralex’s pair of thick, powerful legs.
 

The music hit the chorus and a chugging riff blared out as Mach grinned as wide as he had for months. He slammed the knife upwards, driving up with as much strength as he and the various stims in his blood would allow.
 

Ralex’s tail whipped frantically, but he wasn’t articulated enough to be able to reach down to hit Mach.
 

Green blood poured from the horan as Mach twisted the blade and jerked it forward, splitting the alien apart. Ralex’s innards flopped out, bringing with them an acidic stench that made Mach want to gag.
 

On some worlds, these would be cooked into a delicacy. He never bothered to try and this would likely put him off forever.

With a piercing yell that was audible even over the jukebox, the horan slumped back onto his own tail, the stun tip striking his back, sending the beast into a frenzied spasm.
 

Mach rolled out of the way and pulled himself up to his feet, leaning against the bar. He reached over and grabbed another bottle of Gasmulch. He took a long draw and watched as the horan continued to jerk and twist, all the while trying to reach for his varied organs that now lay in a slump on the floor.
 

He turned the volume of the jukebox down by tapping the control program on his smart-screen. The bartender stood up from her hiding position below it. She eyed Mach with that disapproving look again.
 

“I’m sorry,” Mach said to her. “I’ll pay for it.”

He held out his forearm and let her swipe the transaction rod over his smart-screen. It transferred thirty eros for the bottle.
 

“Thanks,” Mach said, recognizing she had given him a discount.
 

“I never liked Ralex,” she said, her thin lips showing the barest hint of a smile. “You better finish him off and go collect your bounty before more Invidian security turn up. You’ve caused quite the mess.”

After slugging another shot, Mach placed his hand on her shoulder, mostly to steady himself. “They’re not damaged… much,” he said, nodding to the pile of inert droids. “A reboot and they’ll be fine… mostly.”

“You better put the horan out of his misery. He’ll be like that for days, trying to regenerate.”

With a sigh, Mach nodded. “I suppose you’re right, but given what his lot did to our people, a little bit of suffering is due, don’t you think?”

Under her breath she said, “I do, but Carlo Laverna didn’t offer the bounty for suffering, did he?”

“No, he didn’t. Oh well, I guess fun time’s over.”

“For now,” the bartender said with a wink as she headed to the other end of the bar to serve a group of fidesians wearing a nice shade of panic and shock on their faces.
 

Mach staggered over to the writhing horan. He bent over its body. “Ralex, my old buddy, I bet that stings? Well, I can help you with that.”

The horan gurgled something deep in his throat in response.
 

Bored with the situation now, Mach reloaded and fired his Stinger to put Ralex out of his misery. Using the smart-screen sleeve, he scanned the body for signs of life; there were none. He took a photo of the corpse and a recording of the scan and sent it to the head of the Lavernan crime syndicate, Carlo:

Scans and evidence of the completed job—as promised. I’ve attached my secure eros account transfer credentials. I’d prefer cryptocurrency on this one. Don’t want it coming back to me if we get audited by Central Accounts.

Within two ST—Salus Time—minutes, he received a response notification:

Impressive work, Mach. When you want some more jobs, you know where to come. Funds have cleared. Enjoy your hangover.
 

Mach smiled as he read his account notification. The Lavernans were many things, but they always paid what they promised, and in this case it seemed they’d given him a bonus. The job should have paid three hundred thousand eros, but they’d thrown in an extra fifty grand.
 

They were trying to keep him sweet. The Lavernan Syndicate had been trying to recruit him for years, ever since he got court-martialed from the CW Defense Force. But these days, he preferred to be a freelancer; non-affiliation kept his options open.
 

It also meant he knew who his enemies were: everyone.
 

He waved goodbye to the bartender and exited The Tachyon into the sunny evening of Invidia. They’d only get two hours of darkness tonight and he intended to make the most of it. He decided to head for the beach and drink cocktails until he either passed out or got arrested.
 

Just three steps away from The Tachyon he walked right into an Invidian security droid. With the BuzzKill stim wearing off, he had the reactions of a slug and couldn’t avoid the blow to the head that sent him crashing to the ground as the blackness of unconsciousness took over.

Cold air wafted around Mach’s bare limbs, making his skin crawl. The bright light beyond his closed eyes made it seem as though he were behind a red curtain. At least that was an improvement on blackness.