Codename: Night Witch (8 page)

"Like I said," Sigrid said with a long sigh. "It's propaganda."

"Maybe. But it worked."

Sigrid opened her mouth, but before she could speak, they both heard the loud rumbling. It grew in volume, rising into a screaming crescendo as two Thunderhawks shot by directly overhead. They came in low. Low enough for Sigrid to see the twin chevrons of CY-M—Cheung-Yoshida Multi-Planetary—splashed across their bottoms.

The gunships streaked ahead, less than a dozen meters off the road. Searchlights swept across the tarmac and flashed over the rig's windscreen. The lights nearly blinded Jaffer, who held up a hand to shield his eyes.

Sigrid held her breath, waiting. She half-expected to see the gunships swing about, and she waited for the bark of ordnance and explosive shells, but nothing happened. The two Thunderhawks kept going until they disappeared into the swirling blizzard.

"It's all right. They're gone now," Jaffer said unnecessarily. Probably for his own benefit.

Sigrid stared after the gunships. They were gone, but they would be back. After six years, her captors were not about to give up the hunt so easily.

And Sigrid didn't doubt that hunt was only just beginning.

CHAPTER SIX
Highwaymen

Despite her worries, the two Thunderhawks
never returned, and Jaffer drove his train of cargo carriers steadily north. For Sigrid it was a sobering journey, as she was constantly reminded of the changes around her.

Jaffer was right. This wasn't the same Earth of six years ago. The markings of war were everywhere. Some of the telltales were subtle, things only a professional warrior might spot: strings of abandoned houses, fallen power lines, cars left to rust in ditches. Other signs were more blatant: entire townships flattened and laid to waste. Where houses and structures had once stood, only blackened beams remained. They looked like stick figures on the horizon, burnt and crumbling.

The few people they passed looked dazed and lost, milling about, as if wondering what had happened to their homes and their miserable lives. What few belongings they had—scraps of clothing, bits of tableware, framed photographs; anything that might prove practical or simply remind them of what they lost—they carried on their backs or pulled along in carts. Where they thought they were going, Sigrid didn't know.

And where was
she
going?

Lost and alone, with no money, no friends and fewer prospects, Sigrid supposed she wasn't that different from these refugees. Except they weren't being hunted by every faction in the Federation.

It stopped snowing sometime around five in the morning, and the snow gave way to the mist and fog of predawn. The road swung further east. There were more patches of green by the side of the road and less and less white. Not far to the east, she caught her first glimpse of the sea as the rising swells of the southern Atlantic breakers smashed against the shore.

The rain hit sometime before noon. At least that hadn't changed. On Earth, the rain always came. It came suddenly, a torrential downpour that threatened to swamp the road and wash the entire train of cargo carriers away. It made for a nail-biting ride, but Jaffer was the perfect stoic, and his foot never let off the throttle.

Twice, she glanced out her window in time to see the wrecks of two cargo haulers. They were piled along the side of the road, bent and mangled. The last one was still in flames. Each of its containers had been scavenged and picked clean, like meat torn from a carcass. Perhaps this was the work of the "jackers," the highwaymen Jaffer had warned her about.

The further north they went, the more isolated things felt. The roads were silent. There were no trucks. No cars. No
people
at all. Highways that were normally stacked with vehicles were all but empty. The road was theirs and theirs alone, leaving Sigrid feeling even more exposed.

In time, the shadows grew longer. The sun set behind the hilltops to the west, and evening stretched into night. It was well dark when Jaffer finally stopped for the night. There were no rest stops or lodgings to be found, not this far out in the wilderness. Instead, Jaffer pulled up next to a line of transports that sat parked and idling at the side of the road. There, they stayed huddled together like some giant herd of buffalos, guarding each other against the night.

Exhausted from nearly eighteen hours of driving, Jaffer crawled into the sleeping compartment to the rear of the cab, where he fell promptly into a rumbling, snoring sleep. Sigrid, however, remained fully awake, staring into the darkness.

The rain let up some hours later and even the clouds made way. The moon hadn't yet risen, and Sigrid stared up at the star-filled sky. She knew exactly where to look and she found it in seconds. It was there, hovering above her: Pegasi, the sunlike star of her home, smack in the center of the constellation Pegasus.

Seeing the light of her home star brought little comfort. If anything, it only brought frustration. How on Earth was she going to get back? It was right there. Fifty-point-one light years. A stone's throw. It was staring her in the face, and there was nothing she could do about it.

No warp travel.
Not for five years
. That was what Jaffer had said. She was trapped, and no amount of feeling sorry for herself was going to change that. She had to get home. She had to figure out what the Independents had done to her—and she had to learn why Hitomi had sold her.

More than that, she had to find Suko.

Cursing, Sigrid pounded her fist on the dash. She hit it hard. Hard enough to dent the metal and rattle the cab.

While Jaffer snored noisily behind her, Sigrid sat in silence in the dark. The only lights in the cab came from the dim lights of the dashboard. Outside, the night remained black, but not nearly so black as Sigrid's thoughts.

~ - ~

It was hours later. The sun was fully risen, and they were following a canyon road that wound its way through a series of steep hills and sharp turns. A deep ravine to the right of the road provided a spectacular view of shale cliffs and rushing water far below. At least, it would have been spectacular if Sigrid was paying any sort of attention, which of course she wasn't.

They were coming around a sharp bend in the narrow, twisting turns of the canyon road, barreling along at 172.7 kph. She was still mumbling to herself, plotting her escape and her journey home, when her PCM blasted its alerts, shattering her stupor and yanking her back into a heart-pumping reality.

There, just ahead of them and too late to do a bloody thing about it, Sigrid saw the source of the alarms: four lengths of heavy spiked chains drawn across the road. It was a trap, and one meant for them.

"Jaffer, look out!"

Her shouted warning came too late. Jaffer's eyes bulged wide. He grabbed the wheel hard and geared the rig down fast. With a flick of his thumb he triggered the emergency brakes. Fourteen more alarms sounded—on the dash and in her own PCM: brakes overheating and failing. She hadn't thought it possible for something as massive as the cargo train to slow down like that, but it did. The G forces—more than five-point-five—sent her hurtling from her seat to crash against the dash.

Amazingly, Jaffer slowed them in less than a hundred meters, but it wasn't enough. The front wheels hit first. The spikes of the chains tore through the three-meter studded tires, tangling themselves amongst the wheels and tearing them to shreds. Unable to stop, they missed the turn completely, plowing headlong into the soft shoulder and barreling straight toward the drop-off and the ravine beyond.

Jaffer stood harder on the brake pedal. The cliff loomed before them. He practically tore the handle from the emergency brakes in his desperation. The back wheels dug in—all 140 of them. The rig shuddered violently, and still they carried forward.

The front wheels were off, hanging in empty space. The cab dipped forward, lurching downward. The rocky floor of the ravine filled the windscreen.

And then they stopped. Hanging there.

With Jaffer's help—slowly, carefully, fearing any sudden movement might send them over—Sigrid pulled herself up off the floor. Staring down through the windscreen, she swallowed. A winding river thundered below, the roar of rapids loud enough to mask the rumble of the rig's engines.

The two mangled front wheels continued to spin lazily in the air. It was only the great weight of the fourteen flatbed carriers behind them that kept them from going over.

"Hang on," Jaffer said.

He threw the shifter into reverse, starting the rig rumbling back the way they came. Inch by inch, Jaffer nudged the train backwards. It was a painstaking, nail-biting process as the heavy rig kept sinking into the soft gravel. Then, with a jolt, the two front wheels hit the ground, bouncing hard.

Minutes passed, and it was all the two of them could do to sit there staring at each other, cold sweat dotting each of their foreheads.

"We need to get out of here," Sigrid said at last. "Whoever set those chains…"

Jaffer nodded. "Yeah. You may be right. But we'll need to get those tires changed—"

Sigrid heard it first: the high-pitched whine of thrusters. Four longspurs appeared, blasting over the rise. The spiders had arrived to see what flies were wriggling in their web.

The longspurs sped toward them at incredible speeds, not six inches above the road. They
were sleek, open-air repulsor craft. The riders rode on top in the open, saddle-style seats. There were no restraints and no crash protection—which was exactly as the riders liked it. Longspurs were built for speed, nothing as mundane as practicality.

They came in fast, heading straight toward them. Their engine cowlings, painted with red and yellow flames, stood out from the gloom. Eyeless black skulls adorned their front repulsors. The riders were no less impressive. They were all dressed in worn riding leathers painted with the colors of their clans. Long scarves wrapped around their necks protected them from the wind as much as it hid their faces. Only their black eyes were visible as they peered through the twin lenses of their riding goggles.

The four longspurs circled Jaffer's rig once, then twice, before coming to a stop in front of them. The leader raised his fist and waved it in a series of circles over his head. His men revved their engines in time, the crescendo growing to a deafening roar that shook the rig's windows.

The leader made a cutting motion and the roar died away.

"Bloody hell," Jaffer said, sounding more annoyed than concerned. "Hang on. I'll take care of this."

"Wait!"

"Don't worry. They're harmless. Mostly."

Before she could stop him, Jaffer had his door open and was climbing down the ladder, leaping the last few rungs to land on the graveled shoulder. Sigrid leaned forward, peering over the edge of the dash to watch.

All four of the riders dismounted. They took up positions around the front of the rig. Three men and one woman. They were all of them armed.

The largest of them strode toward Jaffer. He was immensely tall and broad shouldered. Sigrid thought he looked like some Viking warrior with his matted black hair and long braids. A shotgun rested casually on his broad shoulder.

Standing before Jaffer, he drew the scarf down over his chin to reveal a scruffy beard and grime-covered, bloodshot eyes. He looked Jaffer up and down and smiled.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Jaffer."

"
Bins,
" Jaffer said, in a way that made the man's name sound more like a curse.

"Almost didn't think you were going to stop in time. Not many people beat the spikes."

"You didn't exactly give me much of a warning."

"Yeah," Bins said, scratching his head with the muzzle of the shotgun. "Sorry about that. If I'd known it was you…I'd have moved 'em closer to the edge."

"You're a real stand-up guy, Bins. A man among men."

"Just trying to make a living. So, what's your cargo?"

"Sea greens. Fresh."

"Fresh?" Bins said, and gave a whistle. "Expensive."

"And perishable. So if we can move this along—"

Bins held up his hand. "Not so fast. There's a lot of hungry people around these parts. I might have to take some of those containers off you."

With his interest piqued, Bins moved past Jaffer to stride down the length of the rig toward the cargo containers. Jaffer had to run to catch up. He stepped in front of him and put a hand on the jacker's chest.

"You're not taking my cargo."

"I might."

"Look, we both know how this goes. You shake me down and I pay the toll; then we both go on our merry. So unless you brought along something bigger than those longspurs, I doubt you'll be towing much of my cargo away."

"Hell, Jaffer," Bins said, and his grin widened, "we can always take your rig."

"Don't
fuck
with me, Bins," Jaffer said, stabbing a finger into his chest. "You know who this cargo's for? You really want trouble with the Consortium?"

"Don't try to scare me, Jaffer," Bins said, shoving him right back. "Your pals in the Consortium have more to worry about than one lost cargo rig. Have you been north lately? The war's not going well. Between the Independents, the pharma-cartels and the CTF, I think the Consortium has its hands full."

With a smug grin plastered on his face, Bins half-turned to his men behind him. "Prep the rig, boys. We're taking the whole load. We'll head west."

"West?" Jaffer said in disbelief. "You think you're going to sell this to the Cabal?"

"At least the marquis pays. Unlike your lady friend in the Consortium. Once again, Jaffer, you picked the wrong side." Again, Bins called over his shoulder, though he didn't take his eyes off Jaffer. "Hey! Guys! Come on! Let's shake a leg! I want to get this on the road before sunset."

Bins turned around, perhaps to see what was taking his men so long, but Jaffer grabbed him by the collar and spun him back around.

"You're
not
taking my damn truck, Bins."

Bins took one look at Jaffer's fist clutching his coat, then thrust the twin barrels of his shotgun into the base of Jaffer's nose.