A Murder - A Maker Pt. 02

I used my newfound freedom poorly. I stood, hand on crate, staring at the sealed ship before me until at last a robot responsible for the dock came over and ushered me outside. The bay's doors closed resolutely behind me, leaving me in a small awning that opened out to the bustling throng of people on the thoroughfare. Reddish dust caked the broad roadway, cemented in place by feet and wheels and propulsion fields. Mars had become an agricultural breadbasket for the extraterrestrial colonies since its habitation, but any dirt not held down by crops had a tendency to drift and invade everything.

A few dour looks from passers-by brought my focus back and I realized both that I needed to find lodgings and that I was incapable of doing so. I had no money whatsoever, and even more concerning, I had no identification. Virtually every living person had a unique identification that tracked their finances, possessions, legal issues, and any other number of things. The closest I had was a tattoo around my neck linked to a number in the Voss Technologies database that proclaimed me the possession of another.

Anxious, I stepped out onto the road and allowed myself to be drawn along with the stream of foot traffic moving for the markets arrayed in the town's center. A mix of humanity crowded the path, ranging from darkly clad men ferrying their own cargo to and from the market to small families ambling their way unhurriedly along. Every so often the crate floating at my side garnered more attention than I would have liked, and when I spotted the welcome sign for a hotel a few blocks away from the market I gratefully ducked inside and away from prying eyes.

The lobby was scrubbed clean, white metal surfaces dimly reflecting their surroundings. A few unoccupied couches sat in a cluster off to one side, and a bored-looking attendant stood behind a counter opposite the doorway I came in. He stared at me with utter disinterest, and I had to force myself to square my shoulders to fend off the awkwardness pressing down on me as I slunk across to the desk.

"Yes, hello," I said. "I might be back later to book a room later. I was hoping..." He continued staring. "... You could tell me the rate for a night?"

He gave a barely-perceptible sigh and straightened, bored expression replaced with a professionally-amiable guise, though the feeling of awkwardness did not subside. He keyed at the screen embedded on his side of the desk.

"You're lucky we have any vacancy, this time of year. Five hundred units for the night. That's seven meters by seven, one room. Need to be out by eleven no matter when you check in."

I reached up to adjust the dark shades over my eyes, nodding slowly.

"Right," I apologetically mumbled. Before I could say anything else his gaze lowered to fasten on the screen again, and I licked my lips uneasily. "That's all I really needed," I reasoned aloud, starting to backpedal. "I'll just get out of your hair."

Relieved to be away from the desk attendant, if discouraged by the price he had set, I rejoined the throng of people traveling outside and began to consider my options. It was already evening, and the sun was beginning to take on a reddish cast where it hung some distance above the horizon. If I wanted to stay safe and mostly inconspicuous, I would have to come up with five hundred units in the span of a few hours. My gaze fell to the container silently floating along at my side, then down the road to the markets just coming into view. My best bet, likely my only one, would be to sell some of the my possessions.

"That'd be easier if I had something worth selling," I breathed to myself.

The central square of the town radiated out from an expansive section of durable metal tiles. Nearly a hundred yards at each side, it remained almost entirely unadorned save for a small memorial in the center, though I was too far to read its details. Mobile stalls, made of plexiglass or ceramic plates or canvas, crowded the entirety of the square, composing a network of tight avenues and knots that barely adhered to any form of order. The crowd drew together all the tighter as I approached one of the mouths leading into the sprawl. Shoulders knitting, I instructed the shipping crate to follow close in my wake.

The merchants I passed fielded an unimaginable array of products - from food to jewelry, to holographic novels to animals. I wanted to oblige them all, but pressed on through the crowd deliberately. Eventually I caught sight of a hawker selling fine clothing and fought my way over. Nearer, I leaned forward to shout over the din,

"Is it always this busy?"

He flashed a grin. "Traveler! No, this is our Founding Day, our anniversary! Everyone is here." He gestured to the garments surrounding him and inquired, "You like what you see?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but before any words came out my gaze lifted to scan over the array of dresses placed together behind the merchant's right shoulder. They were gorgeous, I thought.

"I need money," I said, forcing my attention back and leaning forward to be heard. Gesturing to the crate and guiding it back to my side, I continued, "And I have some things you might sell? Would you be willing to trade?"

His eyes narrowed as he listened, a calculating look surfacing as he glanced between the crate and me. "Only legal trades here," he replied, spreading a hand on the counter of his booth and squinting down at the crate. "Give me your ID. What do you have to offer?"

"I don't have one," I admitted, a sinking feeling in my gut. He stared at me with renewed interest, eyes widening in disbelief. There was only one section of society inside the asteroid belt that voluntarily went without registered identification, and I had neither the rangy build nor the near-white, platinum hair to blend in as one of that eclectic tribe. His eyes pried at me, and I was on the verge of tendering a halfhearted explanation before he said,

"I can't just acquire new wares, girl. Each sale's taxed, and without an ID you'd be ducking the system. We have licenses to sell here, you know. Licenses." He gestured in a broad wave, as if to encompass the whole dizzying buzz of activity around us. "You won't find a single person willing to risk that just to make a deal with you. Now buy something, or you're just taking up space."

I gave a little nod and slipped away. Starting to wring my hands, then stopping myself with a tense breath, I slowly made my way through the milling people and, finally, out the other side of the market. The scent of heavy spices and meat hung in the air, and now that my prospects had become even more dour the smell was torture. Pace quickening, I set off down the streets and bit back a sudden rush of anxiety. I took turns without thinking and, as I gradually worked my way further and further from the city center, the surrounding buildings degenerated. The roads narrowed, trash and wear became more apparent along the walkways, and the sun - long since hidden behind the buildings rising on every side - gave in to the dusk.

A hand clamped down on my arm, jarring me out of my pace. I reflexively let out a yelp and spun, stiff-arming the man emerging from a narrow alley beside me. He let out a surprised grunt and stumbled back, freeing me to dart a few steps away.

"Relax," he rasped through strained lungs, looking at me with clear surprise. He was tall, at least a head higher than me, with a beefy frame and dirty, worn-out clothing. The intensity of his gaze made me uneasy. There was an oily quality to the man, permeating the smile he offered me, and a beadiness to his eyes that the disarming spread of his hands did nothing to mitigate.

"What do you want?" I asked, reaching out to check the crate beside me. It had trouble with rapid movements, sometimes.

"I was just saying it's not a good idea," he answered, advancing to match my slow backpedal. "Being alone, with some cargo, at night. What've you got in there, huh? No reason you've got to get hurt, doll." The friendliness he projected wavered, then gave way to dark avarice.

"You can't," I said, the hairs on my nape rising, a wretchedly apologetic lilt to the reply. "I need..." I trailed off and took a longer step backward. The man leaned forward, muscles tensing, and just as I pivoted away to run I saw his eyes flick from me to something just beyond. I had barely finished turning when something slammed into the side of my head in a white-hot flash of pain.

***

"Here now, get up, girl," a voice commanded, distant and muffled. Coming to groggily, I pushed up to sit. It was cold. I was sitting on a set of wide marble steps, only a few high, that led from a street to a sealed door behind me, and a pair of men in gray uniforms loomed over me. I glanced around, hazily taking in the scene, and as one of them asked something indistinct things came back to me.

Something had hit me hard. In fact, reaching up I felt a crusty smear of dried blood, beneath skin tender enough to make me jerk my fingers away with a wince. I came to only a few minutes after the blow, if that, but by then there had been no trace of the man or whatever else had accompanied him. The crate had vanished. My jacket, too. I had risen soon after and wandered back closer to the square, aimlessly, and when hunger and cold had both numbed enough to ignore I had simply found a quiet empty space and slept. Not empty enough, it seemed.

"Well?" the man nearest me demanded patiently.

"What?" I croaked in answer, fighting back a cough and looking between them. "I... Sorry, what?"

He stared down at me for a few seconds, then glanced over at his companion. Looking back, he said,

"You can't sleep here." A lazy gesture with the truncheon dangling from one hand to indicate my face, and, "You can't bleed here, either. What happened to you?"

"Mugged," I explained, glancing down. I scrunched my face up, clearing my throat, and reached up to gingerly probe my temples.

"Uh huh," came his unenthused reply. "And where did that happen?"

I paused, looking up, and examined the men more closely. Their matching uniforms had a crest I didn't recognize upon it, and the one speaking to me had an intricate symbol decorating his right shoulder. The farther one, lounging against the building I sat before as he watched, bore a similar but less complex decoration.

"Down... I don't know," I admitted uncertainly. I couldn't remember most of the turns I had taken to and from the market, nor even where I was now. The pair looked comfortable, and I wanted to smooth things over with them. They were almost undoubtedly the colony's police force, or what passed for it, though, and that was a problem.

"Got hit trying to steal from one of the merchants and barely ran off, more like," the second one grunted. I stirred a little more at that, straightening, and shook my head.

"No, " I insisted, "I promise I didn't. Th-"

"Yeah," the first interrupted, splaying his free hand out in a gesture to quiet me. "We'll get it settled. Where's your documentation?"

My gut twisted. I don't have any. "I... It was stolen, too," I eked out. Seeing the disbelief on their faces I hurried to add, more insistently, "I had a crate with everything I have, supplies. I haven't even been here a day. Everything in it."

The first man stonily watched me. After a long pause following my response he eased the truncheon into a belt-loop and flipped open a wide container by his other hip. He pulled a flat, black device out of it, couching it in his palm and thumbing a button to extend a narrow probe from one end. He looked at me expectantly for a moment, and at my blank stare back he growled, free hand opening,

"Give me your hand."

I complied, stripping off the glove and watching as he set the probe against my index finger. Something in it pricked my skin lightly before it retracted back into the device, and he flipped it around in his palm before offering me the keypad. I rubbed a drop of blood away and looked the keypad over, then up to him. Nearly every person from earth to the most distant colony could supply a code in accompaniment with a tissue sample to offer their identification and a general profile - one of the few details handled universally by the loose confederacy of humanity, and not left to the rule of local governments. I couldn't.

I confessed, "I'm not registered," unable to think of anything else to add.

He sneered and tucked the device away, then clapped my wrist in a hand and wrenched me up from the steps.

"Always think that'll stop it," he muttered. He twisted me about, slipping a pair of magnetic cuffs around my wrists that quickly bound together. "Have it your way, girl. We're going back to the outpost."

The second man took my arm and the pair ushered me out onto the street, and after a few minutes of walking we came to a gracile shuttle occupying one half of the street, bearing the same unfamiliar emblem on their uniforms. Opening a back panel separate from the cockpit, they strapped me in place on a hard plastic bench and settled into the front of the shuttle themselves. A wire mesh separated us, providing a clear view between the front cabin and the bench I occupied. The plastic was anything but comfortable, and my knuckles began to ache, trapped between the seat and me. The shuttle lifted with a noisy rattle, wobbling briefly then taking off in a more stable flight to weave around the tallest of the settlement's buildings. The men were relatively quiet, only occasionally speaking to one another and not at all to me, so I contented myself with staring out the view ports and watching the terrain slip by far below. We crossed from one side of the town to the other and beyond, passing over a narrow band of field land before spiraling down to a wide landing pad adjoining a squat building.

"Goddamn dust," the second man grunted after the landing. They both stepped out and in moments I was wrenched out onto the landing pad and barely given time to catch my balance before being shoved into a march toward the building. The wind had picked up since we boarded the shuttle, and I ducked my head against the flakes of reddish dirt whipping by, mouth clamping shut. We reached the broad double doors facing the landing bay, waited as the first guard struggled with a keypad for a few seconds, then ducked inside.

The door we passed through opened into a battered lobby, filled with plastic chairs and lit dismally my ancient florescent lights running the length of the ceiling. The first man stepped across to a desk on the opposite side, and as he working at a terminal I took a few steps across to drop heavily into one of the plastic chairs. My head throbbed at that, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Listen, bitch, did I say you could sit down?"

The harsh words jerked my head up again and I looked over in alarm as the second guard advanced on me, truncheon in hand and drawn back to strike. I curled up protectively, shifting in the chair, but before he could lash out the first man glanced over his shoulder and said,

"Lay off it, Collin. She hasn't caused any trouble."

The other man halted, looking me over balefully. He turned away with a final sneer and slid the truncheon back into its holster, marching his way over to the desk.

"Fine. Where are we going to put her?"

"Eighteen, looks like. Others are full," the first answered. He looked up, giving his companion a humorless smile. "Go ahead and process her. I've got some other shit to do." The other man protested, but the first only answered with a snort and in the span of a few seconds had slipped out through one of the other doors.

Collin turned, muttering a string of words I was grateful I could barely hear. He gestured at me irritably and moved for another of the doors leading out of the lobby, and I rocked forward to vacate my seat and quietly make my way after him. The door opened onto a narrow hallway, and after a short trip we turned into a smaller room with a steel table, metal bins, and a long row of lockers pressed against the back wall. He glanced at me, sneered again, and stepped around to manipulate my handcuffs. The manacles stayed on, but suddenly the grip binding them together was gone and I could move my arms once more.

"Strip," he ordered, moving away to open a locker on the wall. I stared at him.

"What?"

"Strip," he repeated with rancor, turning from the locker. I could barely see that it was empty. "Everything off," he continued, jabbing a hand at the locker. "And in there. Undress. Take off your clothes. Get naked. Is this fucking getting through to you, bitch?" I shrank back at the venom in his tone and glanced away, reaching up to unzip my jumpsuit. It was a struggle to get the cuffs off and around the powered-down manacles, but eventually I managed and continued stripping, doing my best to avoid the scenarios my imagination was beginning to come up with. Carefully tucking the gloves deep into a pocket, I piled my belongings together and reluctantly eased off the shades hiding my eyes, head ducking habitually. After filling the locker I slid the door shut. There didn't seem to be a code or lock.

While I undressed, Collin moved to another side of the room, pulling out a battered gray container and tossing it onto one of the tables. He pulled out a yellow one-piece uniform that had once been garish but now boasted so many wear marks and so much grit permeating the material that it had faded to a mustard-like tone. A set of leather boots thudded down atop it, and he looked up to study me.

"You look a lot better when you're not dressed like shit," he leered. He stepped around the table my new uniform lay on, moving forward until I turned and he caught a glimpse of my eyes. That gave him pause, surprise overtaking the crude superiority on his face. "What fucking biomods do you have to look like that, freak?" he scowled, taking a step back and snapping a hand out to indicate the table. "Get dressed."

My heart thundered anxiously. Keeping an eye on him, I furtively slipped over to the table and took up the uniform, turning away from him to step into each leg before pulling it up. There was a simple zipper in the front, from groin to throat. I stepped into the boots and tightened them, but suddenly Collin was behind me as I straightened and he took my arms, wrenching one behind my back and twisting it hard enough that I let out a scream and arched upward, balancing on my toes. He shoved forward, pinning my thighs against steel table, and leaned in to growl,

"You aren't going to get out of here alive, freak."

He eased up, bringing both of my hands together and locking the manacles to one another. I gasped in relief, sinking down and trying to fight the sudden shakiness that followed. Before I had a chance to turn he whipped me around and the side of his truncheon connected with my cheekbone. The blow was hard enough it sent me back onto the table and I bounced over it, tumbling to the ground in a heap. My vision spun, and when I coughed flecks of blood spattered across the floor.

I struggled onto my knees as the pain set in. Wrists fighting against the restraints, I pushed up onto my feet, tottered, and twisted to face where Collin stood on the other side of the table. There was a sadistic gleam in his eyes, body coiled as if to lash out at me again. But instead he turned for the door we initially came through, waving me after him with a dismissive,

"Get moving."

I slipped forward after him, frightened to get in arms reach of the man and even more so to make him angry by taking too long. Not that he needs an excuse, I thought, blinking a few times to try and sharpen my focus again. The whole left side of my face throbbed, and the coppery taste of blood kept coming back. I probed along my upper lip with my tongue as we made our way through the complex, passing through intersections and empty corridors until finally stepping into an elevator. I cleaned a split on the left corner of my mouth, and Collin slipped a card of some sort into the control panel before pushing a button that started us on long descent. Something seemed to satisfy him with the mute, hunched-shoulder posture I offered him, so I kept my gaze lowered and to the side, vacantly fixed on a corner of the elevator.