Chapter 3 - Old Dog

  Taut straps dug across Dobson’s chest. Her head swam. Reluctantly, she eased her eyes open and took stock of the damage. The train car was upside down, flipped like a turtle on its back, with Dobson dangling in the air over what had formerly been the ceiling. The cell was pitch black except for the channel of dull, red light filtering in from near the damaged sliding door.

  Dobson blinked hard, but her vision refused to make the shift. She gave her internal hardware a helping hand by smacking the side of her skull, forcing it to jumpstart. Her dark vision reared to life with a whirring protest. The inside of the upturned train car slowly shifted into focus. Despite the buckled walls, the cell had survived the worst of the destruction. The sliding door was stuck partway open in the track, allowing a channel of light to spill through, illuminating the cell in a faint, red glow. Deputy Boyd was sprawled across the upturned ceiling, unmoving.

  Misty stirred in the harness beside Dobson, groaning. Her long hair swayed back and forth like dry prairie grass in the breeze. She performed a quick once-over, double-checking that all of her appendages were still intact. “Well, I’ll be,” Misty said with a relieved whistle. “Wasn’t sure I was going to survive that. Thanks for your help, Dobsy. Knew I could count on you.”

  “You say that like you were expecting this.” Deputy Boyd’s gun had slipped out from under Dobson’s foot during the crash. She performed a visual sweep of the area below for its whereabouts.

  Misty evaded Dobson’s accusation with practiced ease. “You doing alright, pumpkin? Still all in one piece, yeah?”

  “All vital systems are functioning.” Not at full capacity, of course, but that wasn’t something Dobson was willing to disclose to a snake like Misty.

  Dobson spied the firearm below and leapt into action, eager to claim it for herself. With her ankles and wrists still shackled together, the only way for Misty to reach the ground was via free-fall. Dobson wouldn’t put it past the cutthroat queen to try, thus doubling her urgency to be the first to reach the ground—in one piece, preferably. Wrapping the chain around her wrist for leverage, Dobson calculated the bare minimum strength required to complete the job and then pulled. The metal eyelet held fast for several heartbeats before it gave way, ripping free of the wall with an agonized screech.

  Misty hung suspended in the air beside her, aghast. “Goodness gracious, Dobsy. Are you still juiced?”

  “Tapped dry.”

  That would have to be corrected, and soon. A cyborg could only rely on natural stamina for so long before the strain proved too much. Running all systems without biomechatronic enhancement serum was like trying to maintain a fire without fuel. A cyborg only lasted as long as it took for their body to break down. After that, you were donezo. Up until this point, Dobson had been careful not to overextend herself, knowing she’d only have one good push before the whole internal system went belly up.

  That time was now. Provided she reached the ground, of course.

  Dobson punched the harness release button. The straps went slack and withdrew back into the wall like a slithering serpent, simultaneously dropping Dobson’s bulky body into a free-fall. She shoved off the wall with her feet and flipped midair, allowing gravity to carry her the rest of the way. The cell spun for a split second before she landed soundly on her feet, with her knees bent to absorb the impact. The train car’s metal roof shuddered beneath her.

  Head still spinning, Dobson bent and collected the firearm without fanfare. She turned the pistol over in her hands curiously. As far as pea-shooters went, it was surprisingly decent. More than decent, in fact. Far better quality than the usual standard-issue. At three times the cost of a basic pistol, Dobson was left to wonder who exactly Deputy Boyd had stolen it from. There was no way he could have afforded something so luxurious on his meager salary.

  “Good thinking. Best to secure that,” Misty called from above, still hanging upside down. While her words were sugary-sweet, her eyes betrayed her trepidation. “Now, how’s about you help a lady down, what’dya say? I’ve got a lot of expensive hardware in my head, and I’d like to avoid landing on it, if possible.”

  Dobson didn’t flaunt her prize. There was no need. Oftentimes, the best threats were the understated ones. She double-checked the safety and then stuffed the pistol into her boot and stood, arms held slack at her sides. “Actually, I believe you were just about to explain what is going on, yes?”

  “Right now?”

  Dobson hated common adages. Sadly, even she had to admit they were useful in getting her point across as succinctly as possible. “No time like the present.”

  “For crying out loud, I’m upside down, Dobsy! All the blood’s rushing to my head. You’ll be lucky if I can still string coherent words together much longer.”

  Dobson lifted one massive shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Then I suggest you start talking while you still can.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Misty narrowed her eyes as the skin on her tanned cheeks took on a red hue. Whether the redness was due to anger or the blood pooling in her head, Dobson neither knew nor cared. She merely waited, knowing Misty’s only options were either spilling the proverbial beans or falling headfirst to the ground and risking a broken neck.

  “Alright, fine!” Misty relented with a snap. Her infamous smile packed its bags, allowing an uncharacteristic frown to settle in its place. “In case you missed it, it appears that our ride was unexpectedly derailed.”

  “By you, during your brief trip to the navigation room.” Dobson had already pieced that part together.

  Whereas Dobson’s modifications favored enhanced strength and physical prowess, Misty’s upgrades were less visible to the untrained eye. Complete with full neuro links, memory banks, and an internal hard drive, Misty was one of the few mercenaries capable of infiltrating the enemy from the inside. She’d started her career as a back-alley chop shop modifier. According to legend, one bad deal was all it took for Misty to go from a wheeler and dealer to a cold-blooded killer. Misty’s unique skillset enabled her to claw up the syndicate ladder in ways no one had seen before. Stillwater’s transportation network must have been child’s play in comparison.

  “They stripped your parts.” Dobson indicated Misty’s missing left hand. “But they didn’t get everything, did they?”

  Misty allowed the question to hang in the air for several tense seconds before her smile returned, as bright and unnerving as ever. “Oh, alright, Dobsy. You caught me. My secret’s out. Yes, the law de-armed me, so to speak, but they missed some of my better qualities. I can still tap into a network lickety-split. I’ve been keeping it under my hat, thus far, waiting for the right moment to pounce.”

  “And you chose now? Why?”

  “This here is a company train, you see. Owned by Stillwater, just like everything else on this forsaken hunk of moon rock.”

  Dobson stared up at Misty and patiently awaited more.

  Misty licked her lips nervously. “All I had to do was override the safeguards and speed the train up a little.”

  Dobson continued to stare.

  “For lamb’s sake! You really are going to let me hang here until I give every last detail, aren’t you?” Misty relented with a sigh, “Fine. If you must know, while inside, I happened to notice the train was on the same network as everything else. Everything’s interconnected. So, me being the little dickens I am, I tapped into a piece of heavy machinery nearby and rerouted it onto the tracks the same time the train’s brakes mysteriously stopped working. Easy peasy, pumpkin squeezy. Stillwater really ought to look into better cybersecurity, but who am I to complain?”

  “To what end?”

  Misty’s sugary-sweet smile beamed bright. “I didn’t derail the damn thing just anywhere, you know. We crashed on the outskirts of a civilian mining settlement. Misery Gulch, according to the schematics. As I was perusing the network, I noticed they had a second train stationed here. Runs on its own separate tracks and everything. I figured I’d borrow it for a quick trip to the surface.”

  “And why did you involve me?”

  “Revenge, Dobsy! Why else? Ever since I first learned that you and I had been put on the same train to hell, I knew it had to be fate. You and I were crossed by the same advisory. Your enemy is my enemy. Together, we escape and make them pay.”

  Misty spoke of the Gritstone Coalition, one of the big three syndicates with its dirty fingers in every pie spread across the Nevlar Galaxy. A sudden shift in power had sent ripples throughout the organization. Anyone loyal to the old boss was ousted without warning. Dobson, like Misty, had been on the wrong side of the conflict when the coup happened. They, along with a third of Gritstone’s contracted hitmen, were sold out to the law in short order.

  If nothing else, Misty was right about one thing. Gritstone would pay for their betrayal in blood.

  “So?” Misty said pleadingly, as her face turned bright tomato red. “What’dya say? Will you lend a girl down on her luck a hand?”

  Dobson uttered a heavy, bone-rattling sigh before stepping over to help her down. Planting her feet, she extended her arms from her body in the universal sign for ‘jump and I’ll catch you’. The gesture was halfhearted at best, but Misty accepted it all the same. She released the harness and plummeted, headfirst, into Dobson’s awaiting arms.

  “Blasted nerves.” Misty shook like a dog caught in the rain as Dobson set her on her feet. “Tapping into the network raw nearly did me in. I’m gonna need some borg juice soon. I know I already asked, but you for sure don’t have any left, right? Not even a few drops?”

  “Tapped dry,” Dobson repeated her previous answer. Her attention shifted to the shackles cinched tight around Misty’s wrists. “I assume you have accounted for this.”

  “Oh, don’t you fret, Dobsy darling. I made sure to swipe the key from Deputy Boyd when he wasn’t looking.” Unclenching her hand, Misty revealed a silver key nestled in the center of her palm. “I might need your help, though. This is a two-hand job and this grimcrack prosthetic they gave me ain’t gonna cut it.”

  Reluctantly, Dobson indulged her. She plucked the key from Misty’s open hand and had the right shackle pried open with a simple jam and twist maneuver in no time. Dobson was about to do the same to the prosthetic when a yell rang out from beyond the cell, muffled by the distance.

  Dobson swiveled her head in the direction of the broken door. “Do you hear that?”

  Misty’s prosthetic pincers opened and closed impatiently. “Many hands make light work, pumpkin. Chains first, and then we’ll investigate.”

  Dobson freed Misty’s left appendage as quickly as she had the right. The locks around Misty’s waist and ankles remained. Dobson pressed the key back into Misty’s hand. “Your hands are free, as requested. Finish the rest yourself.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Don’t go getting yourself into trouble. Not without me.” Misty’s disappointed scowl followed Dobson to the damaged door. “You’re gonna need me, you know.”

  “I’m not starting anything. I’m only taking a look.”

  “Famous last words.” Misty fumbled to unlock the chain looped around her waist, grumbling under her breath. “You’re an old dog, Dobsy. Gonna have to learn some new tricks if you hope to survive this.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me,” Misty spat. “Your official-unofficial partner in crime.”

  Misty’s self-appointed title sent an involuntary shudder down Dobson’s spine. Noise first, she told herself, crouching to inspect the broken door. Escape second. Decide what to do with her supposed partner afterwards.

  An eight-letter word that rhymes with orange…

  Dobson winced, mentally adding, ‘find what rhymes with orange’ to the list.