Express Delivery

Slowly, Najali took her old form. "When you came back in here, I really thought you'd be gone before he showed up."

From outside, there was the sound of rapid gunfire. Even behind the wall panel, I could hear Nemex howl. "Find them! They have to be in there somewhere! Tear down every fucking bulkhead if need be!"

Najali made a face. "And that probably spells the end of this particular Bodyshop clinic. And all of its employees." Her eyes lasered the both of us in turn.

"That's horrible!" Jenala hissed. "Can't we do anything?"

"I will not open that door for you to go out there and get yourself killed. Because then all my colleagues and customers would have died in vain." Najali shook her head. "We will very quietly slink down this maintenance duct, cross into the station's air circulation system and get you the hell off this frisbee."

"What about you?" Jenala asked.

"What do you think? I will have to find another convenient accident victim and cause another medical miracle, like I have done to the poor doctor here. She ran afoul of the Gravon bouncer of Stardust. Didn't survive eight hours of him alternately beating the shit out of her and fucking what was left. This way."

* * * *

Two hours later, we were commando crawling through the air ducts above the docking ring. The station was on high alert, with regular announcements declaring a state of lockdown. No ships were to launch until we had been apprehended. Nemex obviously didn't give two shits about his front blowing up around him if only he could get his hands on us.

"I wish my dossier had included a psych evaluation of this maniac," I muttered.

Najali, crawling ahead of me, snorted. "If you want to gauge Nemex's mental health, just look at his main export. Felinoids 2.0."

Jenala piped up behind me. She had been awfully quiet the whole time we crawled, climbed and stealthed our way through the station's air distribution and maintenance systems. "What's the difference between them and the normal ones? I mean, besides the obvious."

"The difference? They are not bred, they are bodysculpted, often against the victim's wishes, with everything it entails. Illegal body mods, tampering with the victim's brain, new conditioning, you name it. Nemex has turned back the clock and decided the old ways are the best. Besides making them look sleeker and more dangerous, he boasts he can have one made to order with all kinds of combat cybernetics and/or sex implants in just three weeks.

Those abominations are the reason why I am here in the first place. What was your bay again?"

"Lucky thirteen." Suddenly, Thayris' strange behavior, which had been so different from the cheery, playful furballs I've known at Misty's, made an awful lot of sense. There had been something desperate in each of her actions, as if her whole being had struggled against its own body.

Najali cursed softly. "Just perfect."

"What is?"

Despite the narrow air duct we were crawling through, Najali managed to turn around so I could look at her face instead of her -- admittedly very shapely -- butt. Being able to 'flow' into position without having to worry about pesky things like a rigid skeleton obviously helped. She wriggled backwards, allowing me a glance through a ventilation grate. I squinted past the bars. A six-man squad of heavily armed and power-armored Station Securities had gathered at the mouth of the boarding tunnel. And they were expecting big trouble, going by the hexagonal barrels of their plasma rifles. They were not here to have a stern talk or maybe drag us back to the precinct. We were practically dead the moment they saw us.

"That's a whole lot of firepower down there. How are we supposed to get to the ship?" I whispered. There was hardly a chance they would hear us over the still impressive noise levels of the docking ring and repeating announcements but you never knew.

A moment later, something small touched my hand. Najali had grown two slender, fleshy tentacles from her shoulders, barely more than a straw in thickness. One had attached itself on the back of my hand, the other one slithered past me. Jenala squealed softly in surprise as the tentacle made contact.

Now we can talk without being overheard. Najali's voice simply was... there, right in my head. Before you ask -- I can't produce another time dilation field, not so soon after the last one. I'm amazed I managed to keep the first one up as long as I did.

I could feel her unease through the mental connection. Shutting down the whole combat area and the adjacent Bodyshop clinic, even for less than ninety seconds had nearly killed her.

"Then we need another plan," I mouthed. "Unless you happen to have some allies which could cause a diversion."

Najali laughed quietly. My handler is within comms distance but even if I sent out a distress call now, it would take days for the relief crew to arrive.

"What kind of armor are they wearing?" Jenala asked. Through our shared connection, I could feel her itching for a fight.

That's Light Tactical Power Armor, Najali cautioned her. Built from the same Armorgrade material ship hulls are made from. Shrugs off anything below a plasma rifle or armor-piercing micro-missiles. The Faceless grimaced. When I was still part of the hive mind, we were cautioned not to approach head-on. It would take at least five of us to even scratch the paint on one of those puppies. The wearer enjoys a massive strength boost, an enclosed atmosphere and heightened mobility.

"In short: Forget a frontal assault," I muttered. "Even if your sword can cut Armorgrade."

"Haven't tried yet," Jenala said. "So, if a frontal attack is out of the question, what do we do instead?"

"We can't board and leave with these guys breathing down our necks. We don't have the firepower to get rid of them -- and I would feel rather shitty killing them. Do we know if they're Nemex' men or just some simple grunts doing their job?"

Can't help you there. The thick helmets make it hard for me to read their minds. I see your point though. Let's try and avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

"Nemex and his crew didn't seem to have any such compunctions," Jenala spat. I wasn't quite sure if she really was that furious or if the alcohol tinged her words.

"I may not be the most law-abiding citizen this side of Norwan but I try to keep the body count to a minimum," I muttered. "Smuggling high value goods is one thing, senseless killing something entirely different." I exhaled slowly. "Besides, if I were to kill everyone who even posed a mild inconvenience, I wouldn't be much different than Neira or Nemex."

There was a sudden rush of heat through the connection. Did Jenala just blush?

Well, as much fun as discussing philosophy might be, we won't get you off the station clogging up the air duct, Najali thought. I might have a solution to our conundrum. More tentacles flowed past me. I craned my neck to see what was happening. Najali dissolved before my eyes and "swam" backwards, past Jenala. When she reformed into a humanoid shape, she was a perfect copy of my client, down to the blood spatters on the arm of her robe.

Can you get the duct open when the sentries are gone?

I pulled one of my multi-tools from a pocket. It looked like a simple handle without any tool bits but a simple press of its business end against any screw, nut or bolt would prompt the tool to nano-form the matching bit. Their resource tank was good for maybe three to five applications and they were not exactly cheap but they spared me the trouble of carrying a whole toolbox around. In a pinch, they worked as knives as well. "I'd be a lousy smuggler if a simple vent grate could stop me," I said.

"Alright," Najali said with Jenala's voice. "I'll clear you a path. Wait until the party begins. And don't stick around."

"You won't be coming with us?" Jenala sounded shocked. No wonder. You don't get to see a Faceless copying you, down to the tiniest mole or irregular strand of hair, every day. Most victims never see it happen. Or wake up after they made contact with a Faceless. At least when "Fading Stars" was concerned.

Najali shook her head. "Maybe I can salvage this wreck of a mission yet by finding another donor body. At the least, I will get the sentries off your back. So, good luck and don't get yourself killed. I'd hate having wasted so much biomass just to see you die." She crawled backwards and down a maintenance hatch.

For a moment, my mind was awash with images of Najali and Jenala in my cabin, long, fleshy tentacles connecting the pink-haired Nor doctor to me and Jenala. The silver-haired -- what had Nemex called her? Seeker? - alien had two of them buried in both pussy and ass, causing her to gurgle happily around my rod. A third tentacle was slithering up my butt crack.

I shook my head and willed the images to dissipate. I saw one last tentacle slither into the maintenance duct, accompanied by a low chuckle.

Jenala's hand closed around my shin. "I'm glad she... it is gone." Her voice was unsteady. "That was creepier than anything I've ever seen."

"Welcome to our end of the galaxy," I said, inspecting the grate. Of course the bolts had been screwed in from the outside and the spaces between the bars of the grate were too narrow for my hands to fit through. I dialed in a cutter blade and prepared to deal with the first eyelet.

Suddenly there was movement beneath the grate. Four of the six troopers jogged off. A moment later, four more showed up, sprinting to form up with the others.

"Attention! Fugitive found on the Docking Ring between Bays fifteen and sixteen. All units, converge!"

I groaned softly. "Okay, we're not using this grate."

"Why not?" Jenala hissed.

"Still two guys down there. The moment the grate comes down, we're toast. Let's back up and use the next maintenance duct, get to floor level and maybe find some cover."

Jenala grumbled something unintelligible then I heard her rustle backwards. I followed suit. Eventually we reached the same ladder Najali had used. There was a new, neat hole in the side of the duct leading into a loader bay. Two Hercules loading mechs stood forlorn in maintenance frames, their drivers off on a break. Inspiration struck. "We'll use one of these," I said, jabbing my thumb at the immobile, yellow-and-black machines.

"Not much in the way of armor, don't you think?" Jenala asked. "Also, won't they be locked down or the like?"

I brandished the multi-tool. "Hotwiring one of these is laughably easy."

"If you say so." Jenala took cover behind a row of tool cabinets, nervously eyeing the shutter leading to the docking ring proper while I climbed up the scaffolding and into the roll cage which doubled as the mech's cockpit. Hercs were built as cheaply as possible, their most important parts their power core, the lifter arms and of course their legs. Everything else was secondary, including sturdy cockpit paneling or high-end security. Most mechs I had driven merely had mechanical locks, just enough security to make sure no kids would ride off in them. This one had a four-digit keypad ignition lock, which was only slightly more annoying. I didn't even need to think of a code-cracking approach. Four keys had been used much more often than the others, encrusted with oil, dirt and maybe food crumbs, cutting down on the number of possible combinations.

On my second try, the mech shuddered to life. I activated the leg hydraulics and pulled the machine up to its full height. This particular version had articulated hands instead of the long pincers on Zeeris' machine, back on Earth. I slipped my hands into the control harness which were parts of the arm control joystick and made a fist. Flexible rings around my fingers translated the movement into electrical signals which then caused the mech's fingers to mirror my movements. I placed my feet on the pedals and gently took a few steps.

There were a few replacement corridor panels stashed in with the mechs. Square sheets of Armorgrade, three meters to a side, with stabilizing framework in the back. A wicked grin tugged at my lips.

"Jenala, now might be a good time to try if your sword does cut Armorgrade." I pointed at the outermost panel. "Cut a viewport into that, will you?"

Robes flapping, Jenala sprinted through the mech bay. She drew her sword as she went, the blade pulsating in the same angry purple as before. She took aim and performed a wide arcing slash. I was pretty sure the blade itself didn't even touch the metal but, a moment later, a faintly glowing gash, almost three feet in length, had appeared. Jenala exhaled slowly then followed up her initial attack with three more quick slashes, each one seemingly causing some form of energy to arc between the weapon and the wall panel. Four straight cut marks formed a neat rectangle, held in place by thin burrs.

"The rest is up to you," she said. "I'd kick down that panel piece but I shouldn't put too much strain on my ankle."

"Good job!" I gave her a warning-striped thumbs-up. "Now hop on." For the first time in ages I whispered a prayer. The next few moments would decide if we'd get out of here in one piece. Jenala used the handles on the Hercs' limbs to climb up into the cockpit. When she had joined me, I picked up the wall panel and used the other hand to push the piece of metal from its burrs. Falling from almost five meters, the Armorgrade rectangle rang off the floor like a bell.

"They heard that back on Earth," Jenala said, scowling.

"Let them. Oh, and hold on to something. This might get bumpy."

I grabbed my makeshift shield by the center strut in the back, raised it to cover most of the cockpit and floored the pedals. The Herc burst through the shutter, scattering flexible plastics everywhere. I saw a floodlight to my right and swerved hard, tearing the long, heavy rig from its mooring. Now I not only had a shield but a heavy bludgeon as well.

Two plasma bursts hit the shield, one above and one to the right of the viewport. For guys face to face with an armored and armed loader mech, they were dreadfully composed. Swinging the uprooted flood light like a war hammer, I advanced on the boarding tunnel. Both sentries had dropped to one knee, carefully aiming.

"Mind hitting the flashers for me?" I asked Jenala. "Big green button next to my elbow."

"With pleasure." She slammed her palm onto the button. The Herc's horn screamed and the searchlights mounted to its waist flared up. Even with flash compensation, the sentries would be distracted for a moment. A moment was all I needed.

I forced the mech into a lurching run and cleared the corridor with a low, wide swipe. Like action figures in a raging kids' wake, the suits of power armor crashed into the wall opposite the boarding tunnel.

"So much for 'avoiding unnecessary bloodshed,'" Jenala snorted.

"They'll be fine. Ringing ears, maybe a concussion and a few bruises. Their armor systems-"

A burst of incandescent plasma slammed into the shield on our side, liquefying parts of the support framework. I looked into the rearview. Four more sentries were heading our way from behind, shooting wildly. Another shot missed the cockpit by mere inches and took out a corner of the shield.

"Alright, time to go," I said, hitting the emergency shutdown. The Hercules folded in on itself, hunching on all fours and dumping us out of the cockpit in the process. Two more shots hit the mech's crotch and rear. I heard liquid metal splat onto the floor behind us. Jenala was already coming to her feet, stumbling towards the boarding tunnel. I ran as if all the Sand Dragons of Zuthras were hot on our trail. Another plasma shot missed me by a hair -- which still set my vest ablaze -- and punched a head-sized hole into the boarding tunnel. All hell broke loose, with hull breach alarms going off and the fierce rush of air escaping through the hole. Nuts, dirt, debris -- everything kicked up and flew towards the hold.

I praised the Maker and every other deity in earshot for the lucky break. Visibility had just dropped to fuck all and I hoped the shock of punching a hole into the station exterior would give the shooters at least momentary pause. Tearing off my smoldering vest, I dashed along the boarding tunnel, holding my breath as I stumbled past the gateway into the void. Jenala waited in the airlock, hand on the cycle button. I had barely cleared the threshold when she slammed her fist down. The outer hatch hissed shut just in time to block another plasma blast.

"What are we going to do about those docking clamps?" Jenala asked, hugging herself to me. She was shaking.

I shot her a dirty grin. "This isn't my first time leaving a hostile space station in a hurry." I tapped my comms. "Consuela, querida, would you please dislodge the boarding clamps?"

A double beep was all the acknowledgment I got. Unlike most shipboard artificial intelligences, the AI on mine had no speech routines. Or rather, I paid a computer expert to have them disabled. Most solo pilots formed an unhealthy relationship to their bird-brains, treating them like a living, breathing person, often preferring them to actual people. Most tasks I needed an AI for could be accomplished without back talk, so speech routines were unnecessary. There was the sound of the ship's power core awakening then a double screech of metal on metal.

"What happened?" Jenala asked me.

The inner hatch slid aside and I dashed towards the cockpit.

"Docking clamps only exert a certain amount of pressure -- enough to keep the ship steady. The contact points on Consuela are able to shed the outer layer of armor. It's like slipping out of your jacket if someone grabs you in a street fight." Dropping into my seat, my first glance went towards the contact scanner. Of course the patrolling ships had been alerted. Thankfully, it would take Phase Wolf squadron or their replacements a few minutes to arrive. Time I intended to use well. Consuela had used the maneuvering jets to get us away from the docking clamps, tearing off the boarding tunnel in the process. We were still within the blind spot of the station's cannons.

"Have you ever used a gun turret?" I asked Jenala, firing up Consuela's engines. The next few moments would be critical.

"No. The weapons on my old ship were mounted on fixed hardpoints, with maybe ten degrees of travel on each axis." She shot me quizzical look. "Why would you have gun turrets on a single-seat ship?"

"Three-sixty degree field of fire, for a start," I said. "Contrary to a fighter craft, I'm the one running away, so being able to shoot aft is important."

After my unfortunate run-in with the pirates at Waystation 63, I had thought long and hard on how to keep myself safe in the future. When Neira's contact had offered me the custom-built hull of what later would become my ship, I had several ideas. First, the ship had to be fast enough to outrun anything it couldn't handle. Next up on the agenda was armor thick enough to withstand a serious beating. And finally, I had crammed the biggest, baddest weapon systems into Consuela's narrow hull my funds and the limited space allowed. The aft gun turrets, normally folded away, sported twin particle beam cannons each, able to project massive lightning blasts with devastating force. Usually, they were mounted as point defense systems on space stations, the sheer brunt was often enough to discourage close-in attacks. The front guns had once been built into a frigate like the one steadily closing in on us, twin mass drivers able to launch two 30-kilogram projectiles made from reaction mass with enough force to punch straight through light ship armor. And then there was the aft torpedo tube for the ultimate deterrent. Normally, only capital ships about four times the size of mine had them but by sacrificing about fifty percent of her original cargo capacity, the engineer responsible for Consuela's construction managed to cram a three-round magazine and launch tube into the ship's rear.