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  It was seconds before he responded.

  “You think you can beat me.”

  “I know I can,” she said.

  “All right. We’ll see.”

  Flannigan sent the message, Ceola verified the content and sent it to her own ship, storing it in the computer. Then she sent a signal to the Maat to start up the cameras. She wanted a digital record of the duel. She changed oxygen canisters, using one of his, put her helmet back on, and left the Argo.

  What she was doing was really stupid. Flannigan really could beat her. She could die, just when she was soon to be comfortably wealthy. What was she trying to prove?

  For one thing, she wanted everyone to know she wasn’t someone to mess with. More importantly, she didn’t want to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life.

  Ego. Stupid. Survival?

  She also knew she couldn’t simply shoot the man or leave him to die, gasping for air. As angry as this whole thing made her, it wasn’t in her to do that. Not yet, at least.

  Flannigan watched as she approached. His wide stance and upright posture projecting confidence. Her own attitude was ambiguous, feeling neither fear nor anger. Both would cloud her judgement. Even so, she fluttered the fingers of her left hand, the only sign of impatience.

  “Again?” she said.

  They took their places, back to back. He began counting. “One.” Get on with it.

  They stepped apart. He counted the steps. At five she turned and raised her pistol.

  He had already turned, his finger pressed the trigger. Ceola sprang to her right and raised her own weapon. Having moved her left side more into the line of fire, her right hand jerked slightly as the beam hit her. A slight shudder in the pistol penetrated her glove. The beam would have crackled slightly if there was air. In the vacuum surrounding them, a flash was all they saw. She dropped to one knee, fired a second time.

  ***

  The airlock opened, and the figure in a p-suit stepped inside. Air cycled and the inner hatch opened. The ginger tabby approached, meowed, and Ceola removed her gloves and stooped down to pet him. She moved to the locker and took off the suit, hanging it up carefully. Before moving to the first aid locker, she checked the patch on the suit. It was a clumsy bit of work but had kept too much air from escaping. She closed the door and moved to the first aid locker.

  The wound, having been hit by a single pulse, wasn’t bleeding badly. Had Flannigan been able to hold the trigger down longer, the wound would have been much worse. She applied an antiseptic cream containing aloe, covered the wound with a bandage, and swallowed pain pills.

  She stumbled to her bunk. Lying down, she closed her eyes, clearing her mind, lying there for some time, not sleeping, not thinking.

  Why did she feel so little? She’d just killed a man who wanted to kill her, not out of anger, but for money. Cold-blooded. That was how she felt now. Cold-blooded. Dispassionate.

  Oscar jumped up on the bunk, and startled, she cried out. He crouched, frightened. She stroked his head, reassured him, and eventually he climbed onto her stomach and stretched out. She winced at the pressure of his weight but didn’t move him away. Purring, he began kneading with his claws pulling on her T-shirt. She scratched the top of his head and his ears and fell asleep a moment later.

  The first memory when she woke was of Flannigan falling slowly. The helmet hid his expression, whether of pain or surprise. His death still had no effect on her. Perhaps a slight sense of satisfaction. Her search of his computers showed he was a well-known assassin in certain circles. To her, he was a faceless automaton sent to kill her. His self-confidence had made him careless.

  Martin Exeter would be surprised.

  What to do about him?

  She had all the proof she needed to have her former lover arrested for attempted murder. But he would eventually be freed and would remain a threat to her.

  ***

  It was late when the door chimed. Martin Exeter wasn’t expecting anyone, and it irritated him for someone to be at his door uninvited and unannounced. He thumbed the switch for the viewer covering the entrance. A figure in a dark hood and jumpsuit stood waiting.

  “Who is it?”

  “Flannigan.”

  “ID.”

  The figure inserted a chip into the reader on the door. It verified the assassin’s identity.

  Exeter pressed the button to open the door.

  “Come in.”

  A sense of anticipation spread over him. He would have enjoyed shooting Ceola himself, but he was a man who knew how to delegate. At the moment, though, the appearance of the assassin at his door lessened his pleasure. Their contact was supposed to be by comm only.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, as the figure entered.

  “I wanted to see your face,” a familiar voice said.

  “Ceola?”

  “In the flesh.”

  ***

  She raised the same pistol she used in the duel, pointing now at Exeter’s head. He looked surprised, then angry. She smiled.

  “You shouldn’t have sent an assassin,” she said.

  “I can call for help and you’ll be shot down like the bitch you are.”

  He believed he could still bully her. Looking at him, a slow smile spread across her face. She’d loved him, feared him, hated him. He was the one always in control, making her do what he wanted. He actually thought she would stand there and argue with him.

  She pulled the trigger. This time she saw the look of surprise turn to one of pain.

  Ceola went to the control panel and turned off the video recorder as he slumped to the floor. Next, she erased the latest recording and went out to the wheeled vehicle she rented. Within moments, she had a large black body bag and an antigrav unit from the boot.

  Back inside, she wrapped him in the body bag and using the anti-grav, carried him to the vehicle. It took only another moment to lift it into the boot and slam it closed.

  He’d changed the security code on his computer, but she had lived with the man for four years. She knew him like no one before or after. With a little guesswork, it gave up everything it held on her ex-lover in two hours. She spent the night, slept in his bed, and considered what she should do.

  Next day, she gleaned more information on Flannigan and Exeter, until it seemed there was nothing else to learn. Flannigan was a wealthy man in his own right, with credits stashed in banks on several worlds, safeguarding his earnings from most prying eyes. And she had his ship and his ID, giving her access to everything he owned.

  Exeter’s ID was in the safe in his bedroom closet. Cracking it proved a bit more difficult than the computer, but she came up with the combination, thanks to information stored on his computer.

  Exeter’s holdings were vast and, unlike Flannigan’s, consisted as much of property and investments as credits. With the earnings from the samples and doing the mining herself, she could live a good life. With the money Flannigan left, and the vast holdings Exeter controlled, she could live a fine life. As long as no one knew the two were dead.

  Next morning, she drove to the landing where Flannigan’s ship sat on a pad off to one side, away from other ships. Keeping the ship between her and cameras and other surveillance equipment, she got the body into the storage hold. She closed it up and drove the rental to the lot. She checked the boot one more time for blood. The body bag was airtight, but no use in taking chances.

  She stood beside the vehicle for a moment. A few spaceport personnel worked on one thing and another; pilots and crew walked to and from ships and the terminal. It was a small town and a small port. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and walked toward the Argo.

  “Hey.”

  She didn’t turn to see who yelled.

  “Hey.” A hand was laid on her shoulder.

  She whirled around. “What do you want?” and continued walking.

  The man stopped dead. “Whoa. I just wanted to ask about your ship. Never seen one like it. I’ve heard of
one called Argo. Didn’t know there was another.”

  “This is the Argo.”

  “Doesn’t it belong to a fella named Flannigan?”

  “Belonged, yes. I bought it from a miner in the Magellan sector. Heard the original owner was killed.”

  “Have you changed the registration?”

  “Not yet. I’ve only had it a short while. You know how much it costs.”

  “You a miner?”

  “Nope. This ship isn’t designed for mining.” They had reached the ship. They stood awkwardly for a moment, not looking at each other. “I have to do the pre-check.”

  “Yeah. Nice ship.”

  It was possible the man didn’t believe her. Did he know Flannigan and was pretending he didn’t to see what she said?

  He backed away, turned, and walked rapidly toward the terminal. She opened the hatch and climbed inside. Waiting for clearance was the worst time, what with the fear of being caught with a body stowed in the back. Was the stranger telling officials in the terminal someone had stolen Flannigan’s ship?

  With only half of her mind concentrating on the pre-check, she finished it. To be safe, she double-checked a couple of settings and asked for clearance to take off.

  “Hold your position, Argo. We have traffic coming in.”

  She had half a mind to take off without clearance, which would bring unwanted attention. Nothing appeared out of the sky. She concentrated on breathing slowly, trying to be calm.

  “Argo, you are cleared for liftoff.”

  Scanning the port, there was no sign of a ship having come in or landing. What changed?

  “Thank you, control.”

  Did the man question the ownership of the ship? If so, was it finally decided everything was in order? What if someone was going to follow her?

  She started the engines and the ship lifted. The acceleration was smooth. Everything about it was first class and the newest technology. Losing it wasn’t in the cards as far as she was concerned.

  Getting back to the asteroid took five days, one day longer than the trip out. She didn’t go straight to the asteroid, instead taking several gates to ensure no one was tracing her route. It cost a bundle, but she had it to spare. Most of “it” in Flannigan’s and Exeter’s names, for which only she knew the codes.

  She landed the Argo near the Maat, her ship’s systems coming to life at her command. Flannigan’s body, still wearing the p-suit, lay propped up against the rocky outcrop she used for cover during the duel. She deposited the black body bag beside it.

  Oscar was glad to see her. He was accustomed to being alone for long stretches but didn’t like it much. At first, he wouldn’t come near her, making sure she understood his displeasure.

  For several days, the Maat was quiet while she planned and researched the men’s finances. A myriad of accounts and holdings needed to be identified and accessed. She’d already looked through some of Flannigan’s during the trip to find Exeter.

  Then there was the amazing array of electronics in the Argo, and on the belt of Flanigan’s p-suit, including a Personnel Cloaking Device, or PCD. It was such a rare piece it had taken her hours to find out what it was. She settled back into the work of processing the ore. In less than a month, she completed filling the hold and was ready to lift off.

  When she finished up with the ores, she went back to the Argo to seal it up. From that point on, headquarters for Ceola Blain would be on this asteroid, with periodic visits to the nearest settled worlds to sell the ores. Eventually, for pleasure, she would use the Argo to visit those worlds where the two men owned property and lives. With three identities, and the fortunes in each name, she would want for nothing.

  Before sealing the Argo, she rechecked the comm link. Several messages waited for Flannigan, rich people willing to pay for his services. She could continue his work, she thought, choosing as targets people like Exeter, deserving to die. Having killed twice without remorse, it was possible such a career suited her. But the two men would have killed her, given the chance. That was different.

  But why would she work at anything? Mining was necessary to keep up her own persona. She had no need for more riches. Perhaps she could work against evil people like the two men whose lives she was usurping, become an avenger. It was an idea. For now, though, she would enjoy life, spend money, eat, drink, and be merry.

  The Maat was readied for liftoff. With Oscar on her lap, she headed for Primus IV. She would complain about how the buyers were trying to rip her off, sell the ore, and decide which of the three lives to enjoy next.

  Next time she was on the asteroid, she might dispose of the bodies.

  THE END

  © Copyright 2019 by Cary G Osborne

  About the Author

  Gary G. Osborne

  Cary G. Osborne has lived in several states and for two years in France, and is now settled in Oklahoma. Cary is also the author of ten published novels in several genres, including science fiction, fantasy, and mysteries, and two dozen or more short stories, in the same genres, plus horror.

  Synth

  Luke T Barnett

  CLANG!

  Kelsey jerked forward as her pod ship slammed into the side of the freighter.

  Gotcha!

  She unstrapped her harness and checked to make sure her blaster pistols were still strapped to her thighs.

  “Come on, Tracks!” she shouted at the bot resting in the copilot’s position. The mammoth bot unlocked its powerful treads and turned to follow her as she pulled a heavy blaster rifle from the wall. Normally designed for use by the heavy-duty war bots like the one that now followed her, the weapon would be unwieldy in the hands of the average human soldier. In Kelsey’s hands, it weighed next to nothing.

  It wasn’t her weapon of choice. But these were some pretty nasty aliens she was about the face down. She needed all the firepower she could get, which was also where TRX-33 came in. At seven feet tall, covered by a coating normally reserved for outer hulls of starships, heavy blaster turrets mounted on each arm, and a radar HUD that was as good as any shock trooper’s, the thing was a beast of a machine. Still, even with the bot rolling behind her, they were in for a fight. But Kelsey had never been one to back down. Not now, not ever.

  She reached the rear of the ship, the part now lodged inside the freighter. A display confirmed the seal integrity around the insertion point.

  She hit a button and raised her rifle. The end of the ship irised open in the blink of an eye. Kelsey didn’t blink. Her rifle found its targets and fired two bright, cyan blaster bolts, taking down first one, then another humanoid in light armor. TRX-33 picked off six more from either side of her and the two advanced into a three-way intersection inside the freighter. Once they were out, Kelsey slapped a device on her belt closing the portal behind them.

  “Where’s the cargo hold?”

  “Three hundred meters aft of our current position,” the bot rumbled. Kelsey marched down the hall, TRX-33 falling in behind. “Of course, if you had aimed for the cargo hold like I suggested in the first place, we would be there already.”

  “I can’t control where we come out of hyperspace relative to the ship,” Kelsey said as she took out two more men before they could get in range. “And you said there were Carapaces on this ship.”

  “I will be sure to file a complaint with my intelligence-gathering program.”

  Kelsey shook her head. The bot never seemed to miss an opportunity for either satire or sarcasm, even in the middle of a firefight.

  Two hundred ninety meters and fifteen humanoids later, they came to another intersection. Kelsey gestured to TRX-33 and the big war bot detached a small spherical bot which hovered around the corner. Kelsey tapped the side of her head and a black visor materialized over her eyes.

  The spy bot was immediately shot down, but it transmitted the information she needed. Two Carapaces guarded a large cargo bay door. They were huge insectoids with humanoid torsos where an insect head would normally be. Their exoskele
tons acted like natural armor plating, even against heavy blaster rifles. As far as she knew, there were only two ways to kill them with that type of weapon.

  Kelsey pulled a gray sphere from a pack on her belt and rolled it around the corner. The dumb creatures shot it, causing it to explode in a cloud of gray smoke. Kelsey and TRX-33 rounded the corner, their separate HUDs tagging each of the Carapaces through the smoke. They opened up on the nearest, focusing all their blasterbolts center mass. The combined firepower punched through the thing’s armor.

  As she turned to take out the second, an enormous claw slammed into the side of her blaster, knocking it from her grip. Kelsey jumped clear as another came down into the floor, leaving a huge gash in the impervisteel. She was still close enough that she could see it through the fading smoke.

  Its back suddenly lit up with a salvo of blaster bolts coming from TRX-33. The bot’s shots did little to damage, but did plenty to grab its attention. And that was the point.

  As soon as its back was turned, Kelsey pulled her dual pistols and charged up the thing’s thorax. Full volume blaster bolts from both barrels, at point-blank range, slammed into the soft tissue under the Carapace’s head plating. Its body stiffened and pink goo oozed as the bolts ricocheted around inside its head. Kelsey jumped to the ground, the enormous alien collapsing in a heap.

  Holstering her blasters, Kelsey drew a slicing strip from her pack and slapped it over the control panel next to the door. Number sequences scrolled past her vision, her internal hacking program narrowing the possibilities as it ran its algorithms.

  “I’m detecting more Carapaces inbound,” TRX-33 said. “And they have heavy blasters with them. Joy.”

  “How long?”

  Just a few more seconds.

  “At their current rate of speed, I’d say—”

  A blaster bolt struck the cargo bay doors.