Welcoming Committee

DATE: Year 308-B, Sol 450

LOCATION: Venus High Orbit

Once upon a time, the Venus Sky Cities were the crown jewels of the inner solar system, one of the so-called Ancient Wonders. There were nine of them, domed cities floating in Venus’ atmosphere, pockets of habitability on an inhospitable planet, evidence that humans could make the entire solar system livable, just like they had done on Earth.

That was before the Rip. Several of the cities were destroyed within the first few years, and most of the others were lost to wars, mismanagement, neglect and looting within a few generations of the Rip. Venus Sky City 7 lasted more than a hundred years before one of the cracks that had been monitored diligently grew too big and the atmosphere of Venus started seeping in. Residents tried to salvage it, and even today Sky City 7 is where most humans on Venus live, though there are squatters in almost every other sky city as well, with most sporting at least one make-shift domed settlement on their former grander grounds.

The Mighty Sparrow led the formation, with the massive, rusted bulk of the Marley fleet trailing a few kilometers behind.

Phoenix sat in the pilot’s seat and watched the proximity alarms. The warlords who ran the Sky Cities didn’t know how to use the old planetary defense system, exactly, but did know how to get information out of it. The proximity alarms always gave them the jump on visitors, a formidable advantage. They weren't blinking red yet.

Phoenix looked at Market, who was slumped in the co-pilot seat. He looked terrible. The geometric scars on his chest were pulsing with a slow, steady rhythm, but at least he wasn't hallucinating anymore. He looked burned out.

Phoenix still hadn’t figured out what the Black Box drive was doing to Market, though through Hap he surmised it had somehow plugged in to Market’s nervous system as a means of self-preservation during the MTC attack in the Halo.

-They are waiting, Market whispered.

-Who? Doremus?

-No. The squatters.

Ping.

The radar lit up. Dozens of contacts.

Rising from the upper atmosphere like angry hornets were twenty small, jagged ships. They looked like they had been welded together from scrap metal and mining drills. They were.

They swarmed around the refugee fleet, locking weapons.

-Unidentified Convoy, a voice came through over the open channel. It was distorted, static and aggressive.

-You have entered the authority of the Venus Sky Cities. This is Sky-King P and you are trespassing. Cut your engines or be vaporized.

Phoenix signaled for the fleet to brake.

-This is Captain Lyons of the Mighty Sparrow, acting escort for the Marley humanitarian fleet. We are requesting sanctuary and docking rights at Sky City 7.

A loud laugh burst through the speakers.

-Sanctuary? You brought us rust and mouths to feed. We’ve enough of both. Turn around, Captain Lyons.

On the scope, the Warlord ships powered up their weapons. They were targeting the Marley’s fuel tanks.

-They’re going to fire! Bit yelled.

-Don’t say that, Phoenix yelled back.

He reached for the dashboard. He pulled up the file Murray had sent from Mars.

HANDSHAKE PROTOCOL 77-V (WMR DIPLOMATIC CLEARANCE)

-Sending the pass, Phoenix said.

He punched the transmit key.

The buoy flashed green.

On the dashboard, the Sparrow’s status indicator flipped from UNAUTHORIZED to GUEST.

-System anomaly, the Warlord voice screamed over the radio. Why is the perimeter buoy reading you as Green?

-Because we were invited, Phoenix said. Apparently by someone more powerful than you. Watch out or the buoys might shoot you.

It was all a bluff. The perimeter drones were dumb machines; they probably wouldn't fire on Sky-King P unless he shot the buoy itself. But Sky-King P was a squatter. He didn't know how things worked, only what they did that was helpful to him.

The Warlord ships drifted, hesitant.

-You’re lying, the voice growled. You’re flying a garbage scow. Diplomats drive luxury yachts. We’ve seen diplomats.

-It’s undercover, Phoenix said. We’re carrying sensitive cargo. Now, Sky-King P. Docking permission?

The lead Warlord ship, a jagged interceptor painted with a red skull, burned its thrusters and pulled up alongside the Sparrow.

-You have my attention, Scavenger. But codes can be stolen. You don't land until I see what you’re carrying.

-We have refugees, Phoenix said.

-I don't care about the meat, the Warlord spat. Where’d the key come from? Prepare to be boarded.

Phoenix looked at Hap.

-Hap, look scary.

-I WILL ACTIVATE MY INDUSTRIAL CRUSHING CLAWS, Hap buzzed.

Phoenix checked the scope again. The red blip of the Forager was gone, but Phoenix knew Doremus wasn't far behind. Probably watching. The MTC loved to watch.

The head Warlord ship extended a docking tube.

-Here comes the toll collector, Phoenix sighed.

The airlock cycled.

Three men stormed onto the bridge. They wore exo-suits cobbled together from different eras, MTC chest plates, miner legs, pirate helmets. They held kinetic rifles that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in years.

The leader, presumably Sky King P, pulled off his helmet. He was scarred, with a cybernetic jaw that clicked when he breathed.

He looked at Phoenix. He looked at the rusted cockpit. Then he looked at Market, still glowing faintly in the co-pilot seat.

Sky King P smiled, revealing metal teeth.

-Well, well, he rasped. You didn't bring supplies. You brought treasure.

He pointed his rifle at Market.

-That’s a Modification, Sky King P said, squinting at the scars. Looks high-end. I haven't seen bio-luminescence like that since the old pleasure bots at The Tumble.

-It’s not a modification, it’s a disease, Phoenix said, stepping in front of Market. Infectious maybe.

-Yil! That’s a mod bod, Sky King P insisted. The MTC pays a lot for unregistered mod bods.

He raised his gun.

-I don't buy your diplomatic code, rat. You stole it. Which means you stole him too.

-Take the ship. Dump the refugees. We keep the glow-boy.

-He’s not for sale, Phoenix said, his hand inching toward his laser cutter.

-We’re not buying.

Before Phoenix could move, the radar screamed.

CONTACT DETECTED. HIGH VELOCITY.

A railgun round slammed into one of the Warlord ships drifting outside, vaporizing it instantly.

Sky King P spun around, nearly losing his balance as the Sparrow shook from the shockwave.

-Who is firing? he screamed.

Phoenix looked at the scope. A massive shadow was rising from the clouds below them, cutting off their escape.

It was the Forager, and it had brought reinforcements, including the Able Judge, an MTC warship.

-Now it’s an auction, Phoenix mumbled.

The radio crackled.

-Sky-King P, Doremus’s voice boomed. This is the MTC. You are in possession of stolen corporate property.

-Hand over the Interface and the Pilot, and you can keep the refugee fleet. Or refuse, and we will burn your settlement out of the sky ciy.

Sky King P looked at Doremus’s massive ship on the screen, then back at Market. He lowered his rifle slowly, his mechanical jaw clicking.

-You brought the heat to my doorstep, Sky King P hissed at Phoenix.

Then he tapped his comms bead.

-Make me an offer, corporate.