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  Danny turned to the north and found the second dune up from him still unoccupied. “Mr. Blue, it’s almost showtime. Report.”

  A labored wheeze filled the comm. “Just parked my snowcat, and I’m almost to the top.” Doc panted between breaths. “I’ll need another minute of prep time once I’m there.”

  “You’re holding up the train, old man,” Danny said.

  A second gunman topped the northern dune.

  “My humblest apologies, Mr. Black.” Doc huffed. “But unless you want Mr. Red stitching you up after your next fight while I recover from a stroke, I suggest you lay off and let me work.”

  “Ouch.” Reegan grimaced aloud. “Mr. Red on med duty. Now there’s a frightening thought.”

  “What?” Shotz protested. “You idiots act like I’ve never manned a suture kit before. Remember that job on—”

  “Heads up, everyone,” Reegan said. “Our guests are arriving at the party. Repeat, guests are arriving at the party.”

  Danny snapped alert. “ETA, Mr. White?”

  “They just crossed the final checkpoint,” Reegan said. “You should have a visual in roughly thirty seconds.”

  “Mr. Red, you posted up for cover?”

  “Roger that, Mr. Black,” Shotz said.

  “Mr. Blue?”

  “I’m set,” Doc said.

  “Mr. White, this is Mr. Black. Garbage Team reports full green to move. What’s your status?”

  “Good to go, Top,” Reegan said, ship’s engines whirring in the background. “Dumpster One is live for pickup, and Mr. Green reports full ready from engineering.”

  “Copy that, Mr. White.” Danny returned his focus to the south in time to see three distinct splotches of light pierce the veil of his infrared vision. Enhance by zoom factor eight. The armor did as asked, first tightening the frame then clarifying the image.

  The splotches were three headlight bars, two of them belonging to Alystierian escort trucks, the third to a haulercraft. They were all in transit to port from the new imperial-owned ice refinery on the southern straits.

  Danny chinned his comm. “Garbage Team, I have eyes on our guests.”

  “Copy that,” Reegan said. “Head count?”

  “Stand by.” Danny tracked the vehicles for life signs, but they needed to get closer. His eyes turned to the rumbling haulercraft. Long, box-shaped, and covered from tail to down-sloped nose in weathered-gray armor with a gunnery turret on the back, the vehicle reminded Danny of a mechanized milk carton on treads.

  The interiors of all three vehicles sparked with color in Danny’s thermal display. Nine, ten, eleven…“Party of twelve. Repeat, we have a party of twelve.”

  “Placement?” Shotz asked.

  “Three a piece in the escort trucks; six in the hauler,” Danny said. “All armed.”

  “Roger that,” Shotz said.

  Danny shifted back to Doc. “Mr. Blue. Anything I need to know about this new juice you’ve got me on today?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no,” Doc said. “The P32-R is almost identical to the P32, so I don’t expect any adverse effects beyond the usual. With any luck, and if my data’s accurate, you should get another ten to eleven minutes of bridge time out of it.”

  “Excellent.” Danny liked the sound of that. Eleven extra minutes of maximum suit performance in a firefight was huge. “All right, everyone. Plan stands. I’ll take point and engage the convoy. Mr. Red, you’re on cover from the south; start with the gunner. Mr. Blue, you’ve got the north; Dumpster One is on standby for evac. Everyone, watch your zones and wait for my signal to move in.”

  “Acknowledged,” they agreed in unison.

  “Mr. Black out.” Looking down from his cliff, Danny saw the single-file convoy draw ever closer to their position. It was almost in range. Go time.

  Danny turned and started the awkward trudge over the flat ground behind him until he’d achieved the ten meters of running space he’d need to clear the summit. His arms and legs moved like crap; the armor was losing its responsiveness. Definitely time for a recharge. Danny grimaced in anticipation of what he knew came next and returned to his HUD. Access juice reserves; key full dose. Release on my mark. He winced again. Man, I hate this part…mark.

  Danny bit down hard as the latest batch of Doc’s performance cocktail ignited in his veins like acid. Son of a…He recoiled, almost losing his dinner, then fought to steady himself for the fifteen seconds of agony that followed. A migraine rocked his skull like a thunderbolt, his joints burning as if on fire, his stomach seizing like a vice around his spine. Intense as it was, though, the pain still paled in comparison to that of his first experience in the suit ten months earlier. At least that was something.

  Danny’s jaw tightened, teeth rattling in its clench. Just a little bit longer.

  Slowly, the violence within him subsided, and Danny’s faculties returned along with a freshly resynchronized link between his mind and the armor’s operating system.

  “Bridge Sync Complete,” the HUD flashed in bright green letters. “Link integrity at one hundred percent.”

  Nice. Danny took his mark in the snow—the suit now in perfect sync with his mind—and readied himself. “Mr. Black has the ball.”

  “Go get ’em, sir,” Reegan said.

  Danny smirked under his mask. “For the umpteen billionth time, Mr. White, I’m not your CO anymore, just your employer. You can drop the ‘sir.’”

  “Oh, right.” Reegan fumbled his apology. “Sorry.”

  A burst of speed exploded through Danny’s legs as he sprinted for the peak—muscles pumping, turbines thrumming in his artificial extremities—until he’d cleared the gap between his starting point and the cliff. He hit it in full stride, planting his foot in the snow and pushing off, thereby launching himself into the air some forty meters above the passing convoy. Whew!

  The haulercraft gunner jerked alert then keeled over in his nest.

  Thank you, Mr. Red. Sighting in on the lead escort, Danny reared back with his right arm and plowed, fist first, through its hood. The vehicle soared airborne, toppling end over end, then nose-dived into the snow amid a mushroom of fire, rubber, and steel.

  “Halt!” someone screamed from the haulercraft.

  The vehicles complied, nearly wrecking each other in the process. Nine men jumped out, weapons drawn, their faces rife with panic, looking around in confusion. Their gunner had yet to fire.

  Their expressions turned to terror when they caught sight of the three-meter-tall monster, clad from head to toe in jet-black Kurgorian armor, looming in the chaos before them.

  “Morning, gentlemen.” Danny’s voice boomed deep and low in a thick digital haze via the armor’s external speakers. “Nice weather for a stroll, isn’t it?”

  One of them gulped, motionless. “Dear gods, it’s him!”

  Key fire controls. Danny found the man in his crosshairs.

  “Oh, slare me!” The soldier murmured something else. “It’s really him!” The two beside him gawked with looks of equal fright though they opted to let their rifles do the talking.

  Danny stood there, unfazed and unimpressed, as round after round bounced futilely from his chest. Really, guys, how many times do we—another migraine slammed an ice pick to his brain, this one far worse. He wrenched hard and screamed. Geez, Doc, it hasn’t even been five minutes yet! All he could do was grit his teeth and ride it out; meanwhile more soldiers opened up on him. Danny clutched his helmet and whirled away from them. Come on!

  Another fifteen seconds passed—it might as well have been hours—before the pain relinquished its hold.

  Danny reacquired his senses in time to see the Alystierian unit draw down on him. He glared at them. Okay, you impotent little shits, you wanna play rough? Fine. Let’s do this. He returned to his fire controls and selected the ERG-212-XL anti-aircraft weapon—the one mounted on his gauntlet—from his arsenal. Half-second burst should do it. He raised his arm and sighted in on the original two guards who’d star
ted the fracas. Good night.

  A high-pitched electronic whine pierced the air when the XL’s massive barrel spun to life, obscuring the air around the two men in a dense fog of snow, ice, and ricochets. There were no screams, however, as neither man had time. Only crimson snow remained after that.

  Danny turned to the others. “This is the part where I’d normally make a crack about punks feeling lucky today. But honestly, guys, I’m just not up to it.” He gestured his weapon toward theirs. “Now, if you’d—”

  Seven Alystierian rifles hit the ground at once.

  Well, all right then. Danny chinned his comm. “Mr. Red, Mr. Blue. At your leisure.”

  A series of light wisps zipped through the picture, and six of the seven soldiers toppled face-first into the snow, their necks having been pierced by the same orange-feathered darts as the ones in their gunner.

  Doc and Shotz slid down their respective dunes and joined Danny on the ground, each of them wearing a ski mask and cold-weather tactical gear. They took up blocking positions to the north and south of the convoy.

  “I saw the second migraine hit.” Doc kept his voice low as he approached Danny from behind. “How bad was it?”

  “Later.” Danny returned to the final guard—a slim-faced sergeant, per the markings on his sleeve—who was a statue next to the hauler. “I’d like to introduce you to some friends of mine. This is Mr. Red.”

  Shotz gave a wave.

  “And Mr. Blue.”

  Doc nodded.

  The sergeant glanced at both of them but said nothing.

  Shotz took a step toward the bloodied snow, a frown showing through the cloth of his mask.

  Danny waited to see if he’d say anything. They drew first, Shotz. Per our deal, all bets were off at that point.

  Shotz didn’t push the issue. Instead, he stepped to the sergeant and held out a bear-sized paw. “Come on, Sarge. Hand them over.”

  The sergeant’s expression flashed incredulity.

  “I suggest you do as the man says.” Danny pointed to Shotz. “My associate here has a bit of a soft spot for you imperials, and he’d rather not kill you unless he has to. Me, on the other hand?” Danny gestured to the blood that was vanishing in the snow. “I don’t have that problem.”

  The Alystierian thinned his lips.

  “Tick, tock.” Shotz pointed to the timepiece on his left gauntlet.

  The sergeant muttered a curse and rammed his hand into his pocket. He froze stiff when two rifles and a minigun halted inches from his face.

  “Easy there, champ.” The word ready flashed in Danny’s lower right field.

  The sergeant swallowed and opened his palms.

  Oh, wonderful. Danny frowned when his HUD went bright yellow around the man’s trousers. Out of all the grays to deal with out here, I draw Mr. Peebody. He sighed. “Okay, stud, let’s try this again only slower this time.”

  Visibly relieved in more ways than one, the sergeant eased into his pocket and fished out a set of keys. He handed them to Shotz.

  “There, see?” Danny lowered his gauntlet. “How hard was that? Mr. Red, you’re up.”

  Shotz tipped a casual salute then trotted to the back of the haulercraft while Doc stayed with Danny. A few jingles of the keys, and the cargo door swung open.

  Danny heard sounds of rummaging from inside. “You got it?”

  “Not yet. I need a minute,” Shotz called back.

  Danny rolled his eyes. You know what you’re looking for, you damn merc. Stop digging for buried treasure, and let’s go already. “Kick it in the ass, Mr. Red.”

  “Oh, for the gods’ sake, relax.” Shotz hopped back out and dropped a long, rectangular crate into the snow. He knelt down over it and popped the latches then lifted the lid.

  Danny whistled. “And there it is.”

  “You got that right.” Shotz pulled a pen-sized measurement device from his coat pocket and plunged into the frozen white contents of the crate. After a few seconds, he pulled it free and checked the results. “Man, talk about pure.”

  “How pure?” Danny asked.

  “Ninety-eight percent contaminant-free.” Shotz got to his feet. “By the look of that cargo hold, I’d say there’s plenty to go around, too. Way more than we thought.”

  That caught Danny’s attention. “How much more?”

  Shotz’s gleeful expression practically radiated with credit signs. “Three, maybe four thousand kilos at least.”

  Doc’s brows pulled upward under his mask. “That’s more than double the processed ice we expected.”

  An uneasy feeling churned in the pit of Danny’s stomach. The good news was that a bigger take meant a bigger cut for everyone. The bad news was what this represented—a budding imperial asset that was apparently way ahead of its growth schedule.

  Danny gave the sergeant his full attention. “This shipment’s bound for Thoraland Station in the belt, right? For the new shipyards there?”

  The sergeant turned up his nose.

  “It’s bound for Thoraland, right?”

  The sergeant remained mute. He did, however, let out a yelp when the butt of Shotz’s gun slammed against his temple. “Yes, you slaring oaf,” he said, “it’s bound for Thoraland! Yes!”

  “Where else?” Danny pressed. “Out with it, Sergeant. You and I both know that an ice shipment this big is headed for multiple sites, so where are they? While you’re at it, what’s your production rate? How often do you ship: weekly, biweekly, or monthly? What’s your port of call? Which ships are handling distribution? Come on, talk! What’s Masterson planning?”

  The sergeant muttered another curse, and Shotz reared back with his rifle.

  “All right!” The Alystierian threw up his hands. “Two shipments per week. We’re still a new facility, so that’s all we can manage right now. And no, it’s not all bound for Thoraland. Some of it’s headed to the mining op on Vendale 2, the rest to our new shipyards in the Kyma and Gault systems.”

  Danny’s eyes widened slightly. “You’ve got a yard in the Gault system now? When did that happen?”

  Shotz loomed over the man.

  “It just opened last week. That’s it—that’s all I know! I swear!”

  Danny chewed his lip. He’d known of the shipyard in orbit around Kyma 4, but his contacts in core space hadn’t mentioned anything about the Gault plant. That was news. The empire was ramping up production on its new ships. That meant it needed supplies, and refineries like this one were providing the water.

  The ice house had to go. But how?

  “What’s the call, Top?” Shotz asked.

  Danny weighed their options. They’d planned for a raid, nothing more. That meant a full-on strike of the place was out, for today anyway. Next time. “We stick to the plan and take this stuff to market.”

  “Yes!” Shotz clapped his hands. “That’s what I like to hear!”

  The sergeant glowered up at Danny. “And here I thought you were supposed to be some kind of freedom fighter. The notorious Rogue, just another petty thief.” He snorted. “How pathetic.”

  “Who says I’m not both?” Danny signaled to Doc. “I’m done with this guy.”

  A single air-compressed pop discharged from the old man’s weapon, and the sergeant face-planted into the snow.

  “So, now they have a plant in the Gault system.” Doc shouldered his tranq gun. “They’re expanding.”

  “One thing at a time, Doc.” Danny looked to the haulercraft. “Hey, Shotz? You see anything else in that hold worth taking?”

  “A few odds and ends, yeah.” Shotz nodded. “Food rations and basic supplies, mostly, though there were a few crates of arms and some med stuff we might could sell.”

  Doc perked up. “What kind of med stuff?”

  Shotz climbed back into the hold and tossed out a pill bottle.

  Doc caught it and inspected the label. “This is Zurasapan.”

  “Zurasa what?” Danny asked.

  “Zurasapan. It’s an antibiotic. Th
is is the good stuff, too. Not the generic knockoff.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Danny said. “Between the ice, the arms, and the meds, we ought to have a pretty good day when we get back to Detron.”

  “Yes, about that.” Doc lowered his voice. “I want to give the lion’s share of the meds to our contacts on Fyndahl.”

  “Ah, give it a rest, Doc!” Shotz had apparently heard that. “We’ve got bills to pay, and in case you haven’t checked the ledger lately, legit work hasn’t exactly been easy to come by since parliament started nationalizing everything. This is high-end stuff we’ve got here!”

  Doc threw a crinkle-eyed glare at the big man then readdressed Danny. “You and I both know how badly those people need this. Ever since the empire retook that region, they’re lucky to get basic preventatives much less quality meds like these. Take it out of my cut if you need to.”

  Danny had long since learned the futility of arguing with the old codger on matters like this, not that he would’ve anyway. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Top, you’ve got to be—”

  “Decision’s made, Shotz,” Danny declared. “Doc’s right. The folks on Fyndahl have sheltered us on more than one occasion lately. This is the least we can do for them. Besides, the ice alone will keep Overlook in the air for months. Now, let’s get this crate loaded back up and move.”

  Shotz grumbled something else then snatched up the crate and tossed it into the hold.

  “Thank you for that, Danny,” Doc said. “You’re a good man.”

  Danny huffed. “Whatever. I just think we need to—”

  “Mr. Black, I need a copy!” Reegan sounded frantic.

  Crap, what now? “Go for Mr. Black.”

  “We’ve got a massive energy spike roughly three klicks north of your position. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s a—”

  “Incoming!” Shotz dove for cover as the hellfire let fly.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 2: Competition

  A loud crash rocked the ground to their north, followed by a pillar of smoke and debris that’d been Doc’s snowcat.

  “It’s a ship!” Reegan blurted.