Backdoor Boogaloo
Enceladus cut a white ring out of the black universe, and the sun ignited plumes of ice from the geysers beneath it. Saturn hung low off the bow—a slim blue-gold crescent. Its rings threaded across the horizon like thin wires in the oblique light.
The Fénix matched rotation with the storage ring and backed toward an inky blotch on the hull where none of the exterior lights were on. Through the cameras, the arc-jet thrusters pulsed blue against the shadow—a flare with each correction.
“I can’t see a damned thing, can you turn on the dock lights?” Carlos complained.
“Already on, cameras are having trouble with the glare off of Enceladus. Wait a minute until we’re in the shadow of the ring.” Mariem said.
“Mierda!” Carlos spat.
When the ring’s shadow finally swallowed Enceladus, the port shapes blurred up on the cameras. Dim—but enough. He watched the AI begin threading a solution.
Carlos tapped auto-dock and sat back. Klang! The Fénix met the docking port, vibrating the deck beneath their feet.
“Lock it down, Gallagher,” Carlos called over the intercom.
Another klang vibrated the hull. “Clamps locked,” the intercom buzzed.
Carlos followed Mariem back to the cargo bay. Tim was at the airlock panel, jabbing at it.
“Okay, now, this section hasn’t been pressurized in awhile, so expect some discomfort,” Tim said, and opened the door.
Air rushed past Carlos and his ears popped—then the compressors kicked in under the deck, a low hum climbing as the bay pressurized.
Mariem stepped up to the open hatch—pitch black beyond the throw of the bay lights. “How did you find this place again?” Mariem asked.
“I saw it in the cordon files,” Tim said. “Was gonna bring a date here once, but she was scared of EVA.”
“How romantic,” Mariem said, flicking on a torch and stepping through. A pale cone of light danced in front of her as the darkness collapsed behind in a wake of shadows.
Tim clicked his torch three times before whacking it against his leg. It came on, but Carlos stopped him before he stepped through.
“I’m going to stay here and keep the engines warm. Here,” he handed Tim an over-ear comm-piece, “I’ll be in your ear. I want to get the hell out of here as fast as possible when the shit hits the fan.”
Time put it in his ear and nodded. “Sure thing—”
But Carlos grabbed his arm. “Hey, hermano, some advice. Mariem—you gotta look her in the eyes, not at her tits. She sees your eyes, you’re a tiger. Anywhere else... eh, a lizard. Mariem only wrestles with tigers, comprendes?”
Something pulled at the corner of Tim’s mouth—not quite a smile. “Thank you, Carlos, for the bestial imagery.”
“Hey Tim, are you coming sometime today?” Hollered Mariem, her cone of light like a pencil tip in the frame of the airlock door.
“Yeah, good talk.” Tim turned and stepped into the darkness.
“Pendejo…” Carlos growled. He turned back to the bridge.
Mariem held her smartcomm out, the lidar carving shapes on the screen as she moved—blobs resolving, dissolving. Simonee’s message had put the exchange somewhere on the far side, B deck. Somewhere.
The ceiling was somewhere up there—ten meters, maybe more. The far wall hadn’t resolved yet. The station positioning system was offline here, so her smartcomm had to adjust trajectory as the lidar fed in new images. She was only a little sure they were even heading the right direction.
Squiggly shapes resolved into forklifts or scattered crates as her torch lit them up.
Tim’s huffing breath came up from behind. “About time,” Mariem grumbled.
“Carlos...” He didn’t finish. She didn’t need him to.
“There’s not even a case file for this section, just labelled active probate.” He said instead. “It’s like it slipped between some lawyer’s couch cushions.”
She grunted. “And you were going to bring a girl here?”
He shrugged. “I thought she was into haunted stuff, like ghosts and shit.”
She gave him a side-eye. “Mmm-hmm.”
The lidar drew a ramp up to the next level, where the letter B appeared on the wall under Tim’s light, stenciled in black. That level was darker—she couldn’t say why, just darker. And then the smell hit her: sweet, with something eggy underneath.
“Up there?” Tim asked.
“Looks like,” She said.
“Creepy.”
Mariem swept her light as she climbed the ramp. It hit something lumpy. “I think we found the Ledas family closet.”
“Why do you say tha—” Tim retched before he could finish.
“These must be their skeletons.”
Along a lattice railing overlooking the darkness below, bodies lay neatly piled in a row. Some were desiccated husks, while others looked fresh.
“I think I recognize that one,” Tim said, one arm over his nose, the other pointing sideways at a woman’s body at the front of the pile. She lay next to a shirtless man with a scar across his chest and a mohawk with long red spikes that sagged like the arms of a dead starfish. “She was reported missing a couple weeks ago. Dolly Laredo, I think.”
Mariem turned away. She swung her torch at the far wall—it took a second to find it, a dozen meters or so out. Patches of dim light outlined an airlock door, and another black stencil: B1-B25.
An access panel glowed pale blue on the wall to the right of the door.
Tim tapped the activator. The door groaned open and pale light flickered on inside—she pocketed her torch and stepped through. The door groaned shut behind them. Mariem tapped the activator for the inner door, but it just buzzed red—AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED flashing on the panel.
“I got this.” Tim pulled out his security ID and squeezed around Mariem—close.
Then he looked up at her—eyes wide, pupils blown black in the dim. He stopped there. And she almost forgot a moment what they were supposed to be doing. Her cheeks warmed a bit and pulled tight.
“Tim?” she asked.
He swallowed. “Uhh, yeah?”
She tilted her head at the hatch. “Are you going to open the fucking door or what?” But the snark felt soft.
Tim turned to the door. “Right.” He swiped his card.
The door creaked, but stopped, leaving a gap. Tim swiped again. Tapped the activator. The door shuddered and the panel buzzed—DOOR JAM flashed on the panel.
“Dammit.” He reached down and pulled on the door—grunting, groaning, wheezing.
He stood and wiped his brow. “It’s stuck, now what?”
She cracked her knuckles. “May I?”
Tim backed away, their bodies brushing again. He caught her eye again and Mariem felt it in her cheeks again. Tim grinned—and she shoved him out of the way. Not hard. Gentle, almost. He barely stumbled.
She crouched and grabbed the door with both hands. Knees out, back straight—she lifted. It didn’t move—much. She groaned. The door groaned—and then screeched. Five centimeters, ten, and then the jam came loose. The door launched up into the pocket of the frame. Klang! Echoed out into the corridor beyond.
She turned to him, her mouth up at one corner. “You’ve gotta lift with your legs, not your back.”
Tim’s jaw was on the floor. “Wow, yeah, that must have been my problem.” He stuck his head out and scanned the corridor. “I hope nobody heard that.”
They were alone in the corridor—the waypoint blinking to the left on her screen. Her nose crinkled—the air tasted faintly metallic, like a circuit about to blow. The hairs on her arm stood up.
Tim sniffed. “That smells like—”
The air in front of them wobbled.
“Well, you two certainly get around,” Mason said when the wormhole evaporated. “And you found our hidey-hole. This won’t do at all.”
He had a new coil-gun on her—smaller than the one that had exploded, but her chest didn’t care about the difference.
Mariem held up her hands. “We’re just here for Simonee. The rest is none of our business.”
“Yes, well, technically it is his business. And with a regime change near at hand, I don’t like the idea of a cop anywhere near our little party.”
Mason gestured with the coil-gun. Mariem turned—caught Tim’s eyes as he did too, and he nodded slightly.
“How did you do it?” she asked. “How did you get Simonee to buy in?”
Mason hummed. “Oh, it didn’t take much really. Once she realized my cousin was in on it the entire time, she played right along.”
“Your cousin… Dalia? So…” Tim said.
“Ragana Ledas is my mother,” Mason chuckled. “Why else would I let a bunch of rubes like you inside my apartment unless you served a purpose?”
Mariem glanced back. Mason was rubbing his bandaged hand against his other wrist. “Though, I have to admit, I didn’t expect her to blow up my gun.”
“And what happens to Simonee when this is over?” Mariem growled.
“Well, she’ll be for Dalia to deal with, though…” Mason grinned. “I very much doubt either will live long enough to worry about it. We can’t have a competing heir change her mind and challenge our rule. Especially if anything untoward became her father.”
“So that’s your plan,” Mariem snapped. “First you kill us, and then you kill Simonee?”
Mason tsked. “It sounds so dull when you say it. Now, in you go.”
Mason looked up at the door frame and shook his head. “You people really are lousy when it comes to stealth.”
At the opposite door he said, “Since you broke that door, this one won’t open with an override. You,” he nodded at Tim. “Enter code 67345.”
Mariem glowered at Mason, but Tim followed his instructions. The door opened and Tim nodded at Mariem, and winked. Her brow sunk, but she stepped through into the dark hangar. Tim followed then stepped to the right. She turned to Mason as he stepped out, gun at the ready in his good hand and a flashlight held loosely in the other. He clicked on the torch with a wince. The hangar floor went yellow under his flashlight beam.
Mason looked at her and frowned. “Where’s the other one?”
“Right here, puto!“ Carlos came out of the shadows—Juicy Lucy already swinging. The crack of it against Mason’s arm, the coil-gun spinning away into the dark. Mason cried out, his hand hanging wrong at the wrist. Tim came out of the dark and hit him low; Mason went sprawling.
Mariem dove—but Mason rolled, and the flashlight spun with him, slicing the dark in wild arcs.
She lost him for a second. Then a weight hit her shoulder and the deck came up hard against her knee. Her flashlight bounced away and stopped, its beam pointing at a coil-gun on the floor.
She reached. Mason reached. He got there first—bandaged hand shaking, but the muzzle pointed at her head.
His chest worked. No hat. Bald head slicked with sweat. “I should have known you were up to something.”
“Hey.” Tim’s voice came from the corner. Quiet. “You dropped this.”
Something arced through the air.
Mason caught it in the crook of his arm. Looked down.
“Oh, bollocks.”
The light around him wobbled—and he was gone.