Chương 38: Lunch Plans

Hector crumpled the burrito wrapper and tossed it into a large, beat-up, graffiti-covered recycler. Standing just a few meters from the RMC admin office on the edge of Tent Town, he could already see a line of men and women, clutching hard-hats and lunch bags, hoping to get hired on for the day—longer if their crew boss liked how they performed.

He knew that was what they were doing because an old-timer had stood next to him in the food-cart line and yammered on about how it had taken him "four seasons" to get hired on semi-permanently. He drank the rest of his coffee, tossed the cup into the chute behind his wrapper, and then walked over to get in line with the others. The guy in front of him turned and looked Hector up and down.

"You gotta have your own safety gear, you know." Hector shrugged.

"That vest ain't gonna do you any favors down in the pit." Hector looked past the man, counting the people in line, trying to gauge how long he'd have to wait. He figured ten minutes. Meanwhile, his helpful neighbor grumbled something and turned around. Hector wasn't trying to be rude, exactly; he just had more important things to think about. Ever since speaking to the peacekeeper, his well-honed sense of paranoia had been asking questions: why did the PK wait until morning to talk to Hector?

What proof had he offered that Britt was all right? Even if the PK and the corpo-suit wanted Tacitianus dead, what was to keep them from hanging it all on Hector? Had Britt talked about the thing Paul had stolen? Did Janus even care about that? Britt had seemed leery about involving Logan; he just hoped she stayed cautious. His thoughts, winding down avenues of what-ifs, kept him so occupied that he hardly noticed the time pass as the queue in front of the RMC office dwindled.

Soon he was the next one up to the window, and he approached, not really surprised to see a barebones synth, more robot than person, standing behind the plastiglass barrier.

"Applying for a day contract?" Hector shook his head.

"Registering for the fight."

"Ah, a change of pace." The synth's features might have been machine-like, but its voice and inflection were far more human than the one Hector had met at the clinic. It tapped its royal-blue synth-flesh fingers on a crystal-glass display as it continued, "I can get you registered and arrange passage on the next shuttle to the rim, but you'll need to check in at the central RMC office for evaluation and tier placement."

"I thought it was random brackets."

"Well, yes, within tiers. We don't want first-timers to get slaughtered by vets, do we?" Hector frowned, imagining how long it would take to weed out the less-experienced fighters in the early brackets.

"Thought this thing took place in one night." The synth's eyes flickered as its speaker grille emitted a laugh.

"Oh, it does. Your first time, huh? These fights are quick and brutal, and there are four rings going at once." The synth tapped the crystal-glass again, then added, "I've scanned your retinas—you're already in the system, so I added you as a contender. Go ahead over to the shuttle station. There's one heading up every fifteen minutes or so."

"Right, so—" The synth held up a hand, and its eyes flashed red.

"Sorry, chum, love to fill you in with more detail, but there's a line. They'll answer your questions up top." Hector nodded and walked away from the window. He'd seen the shuttles coming and going down the long paved lane that ran up the ridgeline, so he walked in that general direction. As he skirted the administrative building, he saw a well-weathered awning beneath which ten or fifteen people sat on long benches. He walked over, wondering if he ought to buy another burrito before heading up.

As he leaned against the side of the awning, he looked down at the woman nearest him on the bench. She wore cream-colored overalls with an RMC logo emblazoned across the shoulders. Her hair was tucked into a matching company cap, and a heavy-looking tool bag sat beside her on the concrete.

"They have food up there?" She squinted up at him, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun.

"Up at Central? Yeah, there's a cafeteria." Hector nodded.

"Thanks." She looked at him for another couple of seconds and then asked, "You working security?" He hooked his thumbs around the edges of his vest and shrugged.

"Nah, that was my last job." She tilted her head, smiling in a way that went all the way to her eyes, the corners crinkling in tiny crow's feet.

"So, you walked off the job in your armor and came here?"

"Something like that. Going to the fight."

"Ah! That explains the general disheveled look. Is that blood on your neck?" This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Hector rubbed his throat above the vest's collar. Sure enough, some crusty dried blood met his touch.

"Should've showered, but the morning got away from me." She smirked.

"There's a locker room up there. The fights are a big deal around here." She shifted her hand, trying to block the sun better, so Hector moved, throwing her into the shade his body cast.

"Thanks." Fidgeting with the top button of her overalls, she asked, "So? Are you any good? Should I bet my next paycheck?" Hector made a show of thinking about it, then nodded.

"I would." The sound of her laugh reminded him of someone he'd known a long time ago—someone from the Guard, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"I like your confidence!" He gave her his half-smile, but then the sound of a humming motor caught his attention, and he turned to see a boxy gray shuttle van approaching.

"Our ride?" She nodded, stooping to grasp her tool bag and then standing with a grunt.

"Time to see what's wrong with environmental conditioner B17." She led the way to the shuttle, and Hector followed her through the front door and sat beside her on the long bench seat that ran the length of the vehicle. As the AI announced its departure, and the shuttle van pulled out, he asked, "Worked for the company long?"

"Just a year." She tilted her head to look at him more squarely.

"My name's Miranda, but my friends call me Mira."

"Hector."

"So, if I'm placing a bet, that's the name I look for?"

"Yep." She narrowed her eyes, fidgeting with her overall button again.

"You weren't teasing me, right? Are you really gonna win?"

"That's the plan."

"Right. I mean, I guess most fighters think that way, huh?" It was Hector's turn to tilt his head and contemplate.

"Maybe some do. I think a lot are scared up to the last minute." He wondered what the hell had gotten into him; what had loosened up his tongue? Maybe the Aura System messing around with that damn Berserker archetype. Maybe it was just Mira's unassuming prettiness. She definitely reminded him of someone.

"You're not from Redwick, are you?" Hector shook his head.

"You seem young, but you talk like you've seen a thing or two." He smiled, shaking his head.

"Nobody told you not to judge a book by its cover?"

"That's a funny one, isn't it? My mom always said it, but I've never owned a book." Hector chuckled.

"You got me there. I don't own any either." Mira nodded.

"I guess people keep saying because it's so true." The van didn't take the long, steep road slowly, and he had to grip the seat's edge to keep from sliding into her. When he looked past Mira, out the window, he got his first clear view of the mine pit. The edge started about half a klick from Tent Town, and the massive hole in the ground stretched to the horizon. He couldn't look away as the shuttle continued to climb, and he saw deeper and deeper into the yawning abyss.

"Damn," he breathed. He'd seen things humanity had done to moons and planets that boggled the mind, but that gigantic damn hole was hard to wrap his head around.

"Hah! That's how I felt the first time I saw it. You can sign up for the tour. They'll fill your head with all kinds of crazy facts—how much dirt they move every year, how many tons of hematite and aluminum they pull out of there every day."

"That's what they're mining out here?"

"Well, those are the backbone of the business, but they get a significant amount of titanium and REEs, too." Hector shook his head.

"I think I'll settle for the view."

"Well, there's a deck up at Central near the cafeteria. You can sit out there and get an even better look." She paused, hesitated, fidgeting with her overalls again, then, in a rush, said, "I'm due for lunch after I see to this environmental unit. I could meet you." As she spoke, a ringing sounded in Hector's ears, and he felt a wave of heat rise from his neck and into his scalp. His head started to spin, and he closed his eyes, gripping the edge of his seat to steady himself.

Mira's words had smashed open a window in his mind, opening up glimpses of memories that felt like déjà vu. He saw another young woman's face—brown eyes, short hair, a Guard uniform buttoned to the top, collar almost too tight. She smiled shyly, blushing as she gestured to an empty spot at the mess hall table. Gwen. Even as he grasped the memory, he heard Mira saying something, but he couldn't hear her clearly—a rushing, roaring sound filled his ears, and he felt like the world was tilting wildly.

His hands strained as he squeezed his seat, hunched over, waiting for the spell to pass. Evie… what… is… this? //Breathe deeply. This Berserker archetype is a bit more intrusive than anticipated. // Hector forced his breathing to steady, inhaling, exhaling, and after a few seconds, the roaring quieted, and the spinning world settled into place. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Mira looking toward the other passengers in the shuttle.

"…anyone with medical training?"

"Fine—" Hector cleared his throat and tried again.

"I'm fine, Mira. Sorry about that."

"Oh my gosh! You scared me! I expected you to maybe say no, but I didn't mean to…" She shrugged, chuckling nervously. Hector forced a smile, shaking his head.

"Nah, it wasn't that. I, uh…" He tapped his head.

"Head injury. Nanites are still working on things."

"Oh, well…" He could see she wanted to ask him if signing up for a fight was a smart idea, but she bit back the words. Hector appreciated that.

"Lunch?"

"I have to register. If it doesn't take too long, I'll look for you at the cafeteria." Mira smiled.

"Perfect." Hector leaned back in his seat, looking out the other window. He saw the sides of the mine-tailing mountain as they climbed, and it was hard to believe that it had all been dug out of that hole. Grass, plants, and trees—large Martian-engineered pines—covered the stony ground. He knew they'd planted them so the root systems would keep dust from blowing, but it also did a lot to make the environmental sin being committed in that massive pit more palatable. Or some people might think that.

He glanced at Mira, and when she smiled, he smiled too. What the hell are you doing? Think you can have a little roleplay session over lunch? Think it's good for that girl? What's she gonna do when you murder half a dozen people and skip town? Hector ignored the angry voice, twisting to look over her shoulder again, out into the pit. He watched as it grew deeper and more unbelievable with every meter the van climbed. As angry, guilty thoughts fought for his attention, he pushed them aside, focusing on the view.

There wasn't any need to argue with himself; he already knew all the answers. He knew none of it was good for him or Mira, but just because he was hell-bent on revenge and murder didn't mean he couldn't have a nice lunch with a pretty girl when he had the chance. Hell, I have to eat, don't I?