Chapter 49: Chapter 39: A Familiar Place

The Stardancer crew knew they’d arrived at their destination when guards appeared with fresh utilities and personal cleaning wipes. The demeaning act of stripping in their cells was outweighed by the refreshing feel of clean skin and clothing.

Dash covertly observed the activity from his cell. Heavy footsteps and raised voices outside the brig hatch meant the prisoners were destined for imminent departure. Wherever they were going, it was important they were somewhat presentable.

The hours of scrubbing decks and bulkheads, and ferrying crates from one compartment to another, left his entire body aching. He hadn’t been smoked like that since boot camp. Well, beside that one time Boran punished him with a well-deserved shift cleaning the air scrubbers.

His suspicions were confirmed when Rakton entered the brig looking as put together as he’d seen her. Her clean black utilities lacked their typical accoutrement of food crumbs and grease stains. The hoarder nightmare that was her harness had been stripped down to a single pistol. Rakton was looking to make an impression. On whom, Dash wasn’t sure.

She walked the lines of cells. Her gaze unsettled Dash. It reminded him of a farmer appraising livestock. Rakton studied them one final time, licked her lips, and said to Mylo, “Prep them.”

One at a time, the prisoners were released and bound in hand restraints. Milia was first, Dash behind her. Gaius and Wesley were next, then the ops crew. Then the restraints were attached to one long cable. The prisoners were bound as one.

Milia kept her gaze forward as the prisoners snaked through the corridors and compartments of the Terran for the final time. They passed by the fruits of their forced labor. Polished decks, scrubbed handholds, cleared viewports, hatches opening without a squeak. Their boots landed heavily on the deck. The sullen march of a defeated army. There was no rush to leave the ship. It had been a miserable existence, yet it held one advantage: they knew they wouldn’t die. What came next, they could only guess.

The deck hummed beneath their feet. The ship’s comm squawked. A voice said, “Brace for docking.”

Dash grabbed a guide rail he’d polished himself as the deck shifted underfoot. A hollow thunk pulsed through the ship as something, a tug or docking arm, latched onto the hull. There were several grunts and curses behind him. He released the handhold and noticed a polishing paste upon his fingertip. A spot he’d missed on the back of the handrail. One of many things he’d missed lately. He wiped his finger on his utilities.

“And people complain about my flying,” Gaius muttered from behind Dash.

“Keep it moving,” Lon grunted from the rear of the line, and ushered the prisoners along with forceful waves.

The procession reached the cargo hold. The guards lined the prisoners up facing the airlock. Rakton stood at the front of the formation, talking quietly with Mylo and Jido, while the other scavengers whispered among themselves.

Dash used the distraction to steal some glances at the scavenger crew. It wasn’t only Rakton who’d dressed up. All of them wore clean utilities. They were armed, but not overly so. Pistols, some stunners and knives. It almost seemed like pirate formal wear, for lack of a better description. All save the pilot were present. Dash knew this because he’d counted them over the duration of his imprisonment. He’d done it out of boredom, but he supposed it might prove useful.

Wherever Rakton was taking them, she was going in full force.

“Docking complete,” the pilot announced over the ship comm.

Rakton didn’t bother keeping her voice down in her reply. “Finally. Get over to that junker and dock it at the next berth down. We’re already late. When you’re done, you know where to meet us.” 

The pilot acknowledged the order, though Dash could sense the underlying resentment in his tone. Dash then stole a glance at Rakton. Hearing her so casually treat his ship like it was a trash heap made his blood run hot. He believed there was a chance she would tear it apart with the Terran and sell the scrap. He wondered if Tinker would be part of that deal. Thankfully, the bot was still aboard the scavenger ship, performing maintenance. It might be the only thing of the Stardancer that survived in the end. He ached to know the truth, but knew better than to ask or beg Rakton. Not only would she say no, she’d more than likely vivisect the bot in front of him out of spite.

His anger must’ve been obvious. There was a gentle tug on the cable attached to the small of his back. He rotated his head enough to see Gaius offer a reaffirming nod.

The airlock status panel beeped and flashed a message for a successful docking. The inner hatch then opened. Jido entered first, Rakton right behind. Another handful of the scavenger crew went in, and then the prisoners were ushered forward. They walked through a short docking bridge and emerged into a partially constructed boarding gate. It easily fit the entire group. Judging by the faux-stone flooring and expansive but closed viewports, it was intended for business use. Probably executive docking berths. The materials and paint had seen little wear, yet they held a sliver of grittiness. 

“That’s a whole lot of rock,” Draug said as it emerged from the bridge.

Dash missed the one viewport that was half-open, the shutter stuck in place. He stepped behind the nearest scavenger for a better view and saw a handful of similar berths protruding out from what appeared to be a massive asteroid. He looked around the gate again. A sense of familiarity tickled his spine. His mind grasped at the nebulous memories floating just out of reach, but he couldn’t pull them together into a cohesive thought.

Rakton glanced away from her conversation with her entourage and noticed the loose cluster of prisoners. She snapped her fingers at the rest of her crew. “What is the matter with you? Get them lined up already.”

The berated scavengers grumbled under their breath and jostled the prisoners into a line. Dash was pushed to the front beside Milia. A palpable tension filled the narrow space between them. Some part of him ached to lash out at her, but he said nothing. There was no need to twist the knife, even if it could be his last chance. She already knew it. All the mutineers did.

The lone hatch in the gate parted, revealing three men and a stretch of terminal leading farther into the station. Dash noticed their uniforms, then the badges worn by the two on the flanks. Security officers.

He stared at them, fighting a spat of lightheadedness as he pondered if they were a figment of his imagination. He exhaled sharply. The fear and dread that had built inside him, like an overflowing waste tank, found sudden relief. The forces of good had appeared out of nowhere and would bring justice to Rakton and her crew. Even the ops crew and Milia for their mutiny, when it was all sorted out. Dash, Gaius, and Wesley—the flight crew was safe. They’d lucked out and survived the ordeal.

Then some part of his mind took stock of the numerous armed scavengers surrounding him, the temperament of their leader, and the overwhelming numerical advantage of the pirates. The prospect of an imminent skirmish at point-blank range compelled him to action. He dropped to the deck, awaiting the hail of gunfire to erupt overhead. 

Seconds passed with no shooting or yelling. He peeked upward, and saw a mixture of confused and annoyed faces peering down at him.

“They’re not going to shoot each other, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Milia said without looking at him.

Dash glanced between the officers and the scavengers. No one had their weapons out, nor postured in any sort of threatening manner. His gut churned with angst that something sinister was afoot. Security wasn’t there to arrest Rakton—they were there to meet her. That meant they were in on whatever scheme she had planned.

Then he noticed the fine layer of dust on the deck. 

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He touched it and rubbed it between his fingers as the nearest pirate yanked him to his feet. The fleeting thoughts finally connected into a cohesive image, like atoms coming together to form a molecule. His eyes rose to the faces of the security officers, fearing what he would find. He recognized the men. Worse, the men recognized him. 

His mouth moved on its own accord, spitting out the word as if he needed to vocalize it to accept the truth. “Terminus,” he said, as officer Boci leapt atop him.

Everyone stared dumbfounded at the unexpected sight of a security officer strangling a prisoner. Rakton snapped out of her stupor and shouted, “Stop him!”

Lon and Jido wrestled Boci away. Galo rushed in to help his partner.

“Stand down!” Porter bellowed over the ruckus. The melee ceased. Dash coughed and rubbed his throat.

“Why are you trying to kill my prisoner?” Rakton said to Boci.

Boci pointed at Dash. “That’s the scum who trashed our dockyard with their junk hauler!”

Porter focused on Dash until recognition dawned on his face. He pointed at Dash. “You’re going to pay for that stunt in your cargo hold. That tug is still out of commission. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt one of us, or I’d have you shot right now.”

Rakton pushed Porter away. “Nobody’s shooting anyone until I get some answers, so start talking.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Boci said.

Rakton ignored Boci and glared at Porter. “You better get your bootlicker officer under control.”

Boci opened his mouth to speak, but saw Lon and Jido aim their hollow stares at him. He shrunk back beneath their gaze.

Porter met Rakton’s challenge. His nose and mouth twitched as if he was composing himself to respond. “As Officer Boci already stated,” he said in a firm, even voice, “your prisoner here is wanted for a multitude of crimes on Terminus.”

“Oh, please. So he scraped one of your shiplocks as he skipped out without paying any of the garbage fines? Big deal.”

“Try destruction of property to start. There’s also assaulting a Terminus security officer. Then there’s the multiple murders he is most likely involved with,” Boci said. The scowls on Lon and Jido’s faces deepened, and Boci slid behind Galo.

“Really?” Rakton said, and looked at Dash with newfound appreciation. “Maybe I underestimated your feistiness. You sound like a real troublemaker.”

“No, your previous statement was accurate,” Dash said.

“Shut up, hauler scum,” Porter sneered at Dash. He then addressed Rakton. “I don’t know where you got him from, but I don’t care. We’re taking him to Security.” His eyes, burning with maleficence, shifted to Dash. “We have unfinished business.”

Rakton shook her head. “He’s not going anywhere. If you want him that bad, then you can bid on him like the others.”

Porter frowned. “That’s not how this works.”

“Yes, it is. What are you going to do if I don’t cooperate? Arrest me? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re badly outgunned.” In solidarity with Rakton, her crew placed their hands on the grips of their weapons. 

The Terminus officials didn’t flinch, though Porter’s chubby neck noticeably tightened as he swallowed. “I can change that with one comm with management.”

“No, you can’t. You start making a fuss, and they get involved. If the higher-ups get a whiff of the scheme you’re running here, you’re as good as dead. They’ll want their hands wiped clean.” She jabbed a stubby finger into his chest. “So, stop pretending you’re stupid enough to implicate yourself.”

Porter’s face flushed hot with rage. Rakton tilted her head and wait for him to reply. When he didn’t, she said, “I’m glad you see it my way. Our guests are waiting for us. Let’s get to business. You want your cut or not?”

Porter simmered a moment longer, then glowered at Dash. “This isn’t over.” He spun around and signaled for his subordinates to follow.

Rakton turned to her crew, her lips pursed in a grin. “Let’s go make some cred,” she said, and followed after the officers. The scavengers murmured happily and ushered the prisoners forward.

Dash watched the Terminus personnel—scum-sucking traffickers that they were—and echoed Porter’s sentiment.

It wasn’t over.

He promised himself, in that moment, no matter what, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

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