Reputation, Part II

Reputation

Part II 

It was during the fifth job of the year that Tirai decided to make things more interesting. The work had been treating her and Quenn well enough, but when she overheard people talking about her in bars around the system, there wasn’t any of the hushed fear that Orin Leung had received. It was a straightforward single-head, dead-or-alive on Thales Christopher, himself a former bounty hunter.

    A brief high-orbit chase had gone planetside in a hurry, and now the shapes of a vast city coalesced on the horizon. Christopher was a decent pilot, but not enough to trouble a tracking computer; three times Tirai had him firmly in sight, three times she’d waited until he broke away and grazed him.

    “Tirai, dearest,” Quenn asked from the pilot’s seat, “could you please explain to me just what the Hell you’re doing?”

    “Oh, you know, just building the anticipation a bit. Don’t want this to be too easy, do we?”

    “Actually, I--damn it!” Quenn’s teeth clenched as Christopher’s ship released the last of its mines, the sphere falling backwards for a split second, then bursting into flames, casting shards of shrapnel off in all directions. The androgyne’s augmented reflexes saved them, a swift change of thrust direction banking their ship far enough from the mine for electromag shielding to cope with it. Quenn let out a clipped sigh.

    “As I was saying, too easy is exactly what I want. Now let’s finish this off before he--”

    Sensing an opportunity, Christopher bore down towards the city at full speed.

    “--does that.”

    Perfect, Tirai thought, grinning.

    “Let’s go, let’s go,” she shouted. She could just feel Quenn’s worried gaze, but ignored it in favor of the tension building in every muscle of her body. She abruptly jumped out of the gunnery seat and ran out of the cockpit.

    “What the--where are you going?”

    “He’s going to land somewhere in the city, I’ll have to chase him on foot. I’m suiting up.” Tirai bolted out the doorway, Quenn’s objection muffled, indecipherable as she ran to the armory. It was a giddy feeling, rushing to put her armor on, speeding through the systems checks as the ship hummed and pitched through the atmosphere. In the beginning, there’d been a few jobs like this, before she knew her business, before Quenn knew how to cover for her screw-ups. Shots were missed, covers blown, routes miscalculated, and everything had to be settled on the ground. Sometimes the other guy’d gotten away, and they’d had to go on empty stomachs until the next job. That tenacity had won them a rep, and work.

    I’m different now, she reminded herself, fixing the helmet onto her armor and heading for the deployment ramp in the aft. It’s not just a rep anymore. Quenn’s voice came over the intercom as the ship’s humming began to lessen, and the ramp slowly opened to reveal a landing pad, suddenly in disarray as Christopher’s ship settled, crushing the small civilian speeders beneath.

    “All right, I’m going to swing around lower to drop you off, make sure you’re careful, though. We’re keeping the channel open until you get back on-board in one piece, understand?”

    “Roger that,” Tirai said, staggering her stance. She could feel the armor’s neural mapping fully attuned to her will, her awareness of it apart from her own body dwindling with every second. Christopher’s own deployment ramp opened, and she saw three grey-armored figures burst out, arm-mounted chainguns blazing to clear the way. One of them looked up, saw the ship looming over head like a bird of prey, and fired off a small missile from a shoulder-mount.

    She knew her suit too well to feel fear at the sight. Responding to her instincts, her own shoulder-mount activated, striking the head of the missile with a small laser, piercing its thin heat-shielding in microseconds. The small explosion hid them from her view, but she’d had all the time she needed to make the required calculations. She crouched down, and even as Quenn was shouting something she hardly noticed, leapt from the ramp and into the fire. Falling through the other side, she landed on top of Christopher’s ship with a satisfying thud. The man himself was already booking it towards the public plaza, but his two buddies had turned back to look. That was a mistake.

    They leveled their chainguns at Tirai, but she was quicker; an electromag grenade had already left her hand, releasing a small pulse as it rolled to their feet. She was pleased to see the two suits slump forward and start shambling awkwardly, their systems out for the time being. It took plenty of practice to work the mechanical microarticulators without the suit’s help, practice her two victims didn’t have.

    “Tirai, are you all right? The explosion--”

    “I’m okay, Quenn. Stay here and watch their ship, all right? I’m going for the prize.”

    “I--wh--okay. Yes. Got it, go.”

    Tirai leapt from atop the ship, landing just between the two immobilized suits, hoisted them up from under the arms and slammed them abruptly into the ground. For good measure, she tore their helmets off, revealing two gruff men, wincing as they prepared as best as possible for having their heads pancaked by huge metal boots.

    “You just stay here like good little boys while the adults settle things,” she said through her speakers. No sooner did she take off after Christopher than she heard Quenn’s voice, even sterner than before.

    “Not that I don’t mind a lower body count but . . . what are you up to, Monoure?”

    Ouch, I’ll be paying for this later, then, Tirai thought. “Don’t worry about it, I just wanted to try something different. Just make sure our new friends are kept uncomfortably aware of how exposed their heads are.”

    Silence.

    Christopher’s mistake was hedging the bet on his escape by putting on powered armor. While a normal person running through a crowd creates little disturbance, she had no trouble following the gap left by people sidestepping in a panic, gaping after the giant metal form that had just barreled past. Unfortunately, that also meant she’d be racing the local police for the bounty before too long. She pushed her suit’s speed to its limits, catching sight of him on a ramp further down into the city.

    Thanks for clearing a path. Tirai willed a small burst of thrust from her jump jets, clearing half the distance in a second, loping ahead with the momentum. As she bore down on him, she knew his onboard systems would alert him to her charge. The smart move would have been to take a leap off the ramp, or take a hostage. But Christopher wasn’t too smart.

    He faced her and opened fire, chaingun thundering as the bullets issued forth. Her magnetic shielding slowed them to a crawl, her armor shrugging them off effortlessly. By the time he thought to reach for a vibrosword, she was already squared off in front of him, throwing her great metal fist straight into his helmet.

    He reeled back, but quickly detached his chaingun to free up his hand and started swinging the sword. Tirai’s better instincts tried to draw her own weapon; the rest of her instincts raised her arms in a high guard and threw another jab for Christopher’s head. The pounding sound it made was satisfying, exciting, and she felt a certain freedom ducking and dodging his attacks, knowing one wrong move could shift the balance. He swung wide, she dove in, grabbed his shoulders and drove her knee into him with a little help from her jets. His whole suit rattled, and he could barely catch himself from falling forward.

    “Crazy bitch,” Christopher groaned through his speaker. Tirai only laughed, starting to shift her weight from leg to leg with as jaunty a bounce as her armor allowed. Her one-two punches flew true, leaving a deep dent in the front of the man’s helmet.

    “Shut up and keep it coming. It’s just starting to get fun,” she shouted. By now the fear had subsided enough that people were poking their heads out from behind cover. Her scanners even picked up a few brave souls walking out to get a better look. Somewhere up above, she knew the cops had to be watching. The audience would do.

    Christopher snarled and went all in, lifting his blade skyward and slashing it down with all his strength--a great cleaving stroke effortlessly swatted aside by a well-timed push on his elbow, the tip of the vibrosword chewing into the pavement. Tirai wished he could see her grin as she came in low, driving all her armor’s strength into a ferocious hook that dug into his side, caved in his armor, and sent him tumbling to the ground. He made a weak attempt to get up, but it was over.

    “It’s done, Quenn, I got him.”

    “Are you in one piece?”

    “Better than that, I--”

    “Good. Wrap him up, bring him back and let’s go.”

    Tirai sighed and trotted over to Christopher, knelt down and proceeded to rip his armor open. He was already disconnecting from the suit when she could see him, scrambling to get away, but her suit’s firm grip on his shoulder stilled him. He growled, sounding more annoyed than angry. She bound him in heavy wire from a wrist-mount and slung him over her shoulder, savoring the walk back up the ramp as cheers from the crowd washed over her.

    “You’ve been a big help, you know. This is going to make a great story,” Tirai said.

    When she returned to the landing pad, the local law had shown up, grounding her ship and arresting Christopher’s two goons. Quenn was patiently walking the skeptical officers through their licensure and the bounty parameters, news crews lingering overhead.

    Quenn nodded towards their ship. “Go ahead and toss him in the holding cell.”

    One of the three officers pulled a face, looking over his shoulder at Tirai. “Now just hold on a sec--”

“Sergeant, eyes front and center. You were just in the middle of recognizing our credentials.”

Even in her armor, Tirai felt the urge to shield herself with her shoulders and skulk off from her partner’s evident frustration. She hoped, as she led Christopher into his new accommodations onboard, that Quenn didn’t lose cool with the law and get them stranded here and stripped of their right to bounty. A few minutes later saw the pilot walking up the aft ramp and straight for the cockpit.

“Tirai, with me,” Quenn said sternly. Christopher seemed to take in the situation readily, and chuckled as Tirai removed her armor.

“Knowing my luck, you’re going to cut me in half so you can split the bounty when you split up.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, boyo, it will take a much bigger job than you to do that.”

With that, Tirai jogged through the ship to the bow, where Quenn was programming their ship’s route with unusually stiff, rapid finger movements. No sign of acknowledgment, just a simple gesture at the gunner’s chair until the work was done.

“So, you’re upset.”

“Mhm.” The androgyne took one last look at the console, then turned to face Tirai, sighing.

“Look, I’m not that upset, I was just surprised. Care to explain what all that was?”

    “Just a little theatre,” Tirai said, grinning.

    “You put both of us in danger.”

    “Danger? Were you looking at what I was?”

    “Okay, yes, Thales Christopher is not exactly a looming threat,” Quenn replied, eyes rolling, “but you get my point.”

    “I thought you would have been happy with me not dusting the guy.”

    “Monoure, we both know you haven’t gone pacifist, so just . . . tell me what’s up, okay?”

    Tirai wanted to ignore it, but Quenn’s worried eyes were disarming; just plain unfair.

    “I’m just trying to keep up the reputation, that’s all. We’re on top right now, but that doesn’t mean we can slack off,” Tirai said.

    “That’s exactly what it means. Easy bounties for rich people who want things done quickly: we were just about drowning in them back on Marduk. It’s bad enough you still want to risk your ass out there but--”

    “Quenn, Quenn,” Tirai said, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around the androgyne’s delicate hand. “Listen, you know this is what I love doing, right?”

    “Yes, of course, but--”

    “And I’m good at it?”

    “That’s hardly the iss--”

    “And you like doing this? With me?”

    “. . . yes.”

    Tirai smiled widely, leaned in and kissed Quenn softly.

    “Then trust me on this. Let’s take risks, build a real rep. You just know they’ll be talking about me taking a guy down with fisticuffs for months.”

    Quenn laughed, looking skeptical.

    “You punched him into surrendering?”

    “Damn right,” Tirai said, jumping up into a boxing stance and throwing a few quick jabs. “Marcus of Greensborough rules and all.”

    “Marquess of Queensbury.”
    “Sure. He called me a crazy bitch, too.”

    “He’s not wrong,” Quenn said, smiling. “All right, fine. I’ll let you play your little games, just promise me you’ll give me some warning and . . . that you’ll keep coming back to me in one piece.”

    “Of course,” Tirai said, resting both her hands on Quenn’s shoulders, resting her forehead against her partner’s.

    Ah, that’s right, she thought, firing her jump jets sideways to dodge the monster’s advance. Countless different system alerts beeped at her through her helmet, and she felt the suit’s own fatigue as the jump jets cut power and she tripped forward onto the ground, the monster’s footsteps slowly approaching. She groaned and dragged herself up onto the palms of her hands, crawling away as best as she could, her tired legs shaking, every fiber burning.

    I should have let up then . . .