Running the Rapids

[Jayce]

---

An LPI-marked Grizzly settled onto a landing pad aboard Newark Station, spindly legs holding the hefty freighter steady. Aboard, three Manhattan miscreants filed towards the cargo bay doors, while a fourth shuffled into the cockpit. Her matted, platinum-bleached hair stood in stark contrast to the well-pressed station maintenance uniform she was wearing.

"Thanks for the lift, Roscoe." She said, slipping the last few credit chits from a pocket into the Officer's outstretched hand. "Hey, and remember, we were never here, yeah?"

Roscoe cocked an eyebrow. "Huh? I've never met you in my life, girl." The Sergeant said flatly, before cracking a crooked grin. His teeth matched the ragged nature of the woman in front of him. "Knock 'em dead, Milly."

"Will do, Boone. Don't bite it, 'cause you're 'bout the last good badge in Liberty." Clapping Roscoe on the shoulder, Millicent 'Milly' Malone hustled to join her crew on the pad. Roscoe hollered back in response soon after.

"Oh, I won't!" When his 'cargo' was out of earshot, Roscoe shook his head, and fired up the aging Grizzly's engines. The ship protested with a burble, before finally lifting off the pad. "You prob'ly will, though. Fuckin' tweaker."

The bay depressurized slightly once the freighter breached the atmo-shields, causing Milly's ears to pop. Trotting up to her team, she coughed once, and when they failed to respond, she coughed again... Then a third time, before sighing and slapping the largest of the three on the back of the head. "Lock it the fuck up, retards. We're here on business, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, Malone. Whatever. Just another jackin', nothing special." The man she'd just slapped spoke up, cradling the back of his buzz-cut head.

Milly rolled her eyes, just before her tattooed face took on a more serious expression. "No, Cueball, it ain't just another klep-job. This is the real deal. We're goin' big-time."

"'Big-time'? What are we calling 'big-time'?" A lanky, obviously-malnourished, near-as-makes-no-difference kid with greasy, black hair said, his speech slurred just slightly. This was the newest addition to the crew, affectionately (or maybe not) nicknamed 'Slime'. "I thought we were just going to boost a freighter and pawn it off to the Junkers for parts. Again."

"Nuh-uh. We're on some primo fuckery this time around, bud. I got plans, see. Roscoe hooked us up." Milly nodded, reassuring herself just as much as the rest of the crew. "That's why we're rockin' these piece-of-fuck corpo uniforms."

The final member of the group spoke up, a hot-pink faux-hawk peeking out from under the safety hood of her stolen uniform. "I was wondering what was up with the look."

"That 'look' is how we're gonna' boost a Train. No shitty Rhinos or Humpbacks or whatever. A Crane, too. Leather seats." Milly's eyes shimmered with delight. "We're about to be set for life, long as you guys do your fuckin' jobs. Everyone brought their iron, yeah?"

There was a flurry of patting and toying with zippers as every member of the team felt themselves up, making sure they did actually remember to pack heat. Jesus, these kids were dumb.

"Yep."

"Yeah."

"Always."

Satisfied, Malone nodded to the group. "Alright, here's the deal." She glanced down at her watch. She'd never had a watch before, but thought it was appropriate for their little 'mission'. The novelty had yet to wear off. "In about 15 minutes, there's an Interspace Train fixin' to fuck off to Kusari. Called 'Roanoke Rapids', whatever the fuck a 'Roanoke' is."

"I think it was a-" Slime was quickly interrupted by their leader.

"Cool, give us a history lesson after we're out of Liberty. As I was sayin', Roanoke Rapids. Roscoe said right about as soon as it's jettin' off, all the security guards in the transit tunnels hoof it to their next job. We go in nice and quiet, hustle through the doors, then find somewhere to lay low."

"Why bother hiding? Shouldn't we haul some ass straight to the bridge, zap the crew, and book it to Rochester, like normal?" For once, Cueball asked a question that wasn't stupid as fuck. The revelation left the team in stunned silence for a just a tick.

Milly took slightly longer to recover from the shock of the dumb muscle actually catching on than Stripes did, so she was the first to respond. "I think the plan is for us to keep this big fuckin' ship, right?"

Shaking off her withdrawal-fueled jitters, Malone offered a nod of approval. "Yeah, exactly. So, here's the deal: Interspace doesn't actually own this Train, they just insure it. It's like... You know, when your noodle cart pays protection money, or whatever, and then you sell it to some other goof. Long as they keep payin' protection money, the boss doing the protectin' don't even notice the change. We keep payin' the note for insurance, and Interspace won't mark the difference."

"And what about the missin' crew? We are gonna' zero 'em, right?" Another stunned silence. Milly's watch kept silently ticking, counting down the time until the action happened... And lots of it was being wasted as the gang dealt with the ramifications of Cueball not being as stupid as he looked, or sounded, or dressed. Shiny, gold-colored puffer jackets, all the goddamn time. What the fuck?

"Uhh... Yeah, flatline the crew once we're in Galileo or something, then dump the bodies in a cloud. That's what Roscoe's for. Paid him off to zip the families a note sayin' the investigation didn't find shit before it even starts. The Police is so fucked up with calls on 'Hattan and Houston, they won't give a fuck about ten or twenty missin' corpos." Ten or twenty... That's what their info-guy had said, anyway. Admittedly, the last time they boosted a ship, it was just supposed to be one dude. Turned out it was three, the pilot and two bodyguards. Jason was a royal prick, but he was decent in a gunfight, and this job was going to be a bit rougher without their fifth pair of hands. "Whatever. Listen, time's about up. Let's fuckin' make history, yeah? But let's do it right. Listen to my calls, and we're all gonna' walk away stacked."

"You got it, Milly." Stripes spoke up, one hand hidden in her jacket pocket, wrapped tightly around the butt of a Detroit 'Eviscerator' shot-pistol.

Millicent turned to regard the other female member of the squad. "Knew I could count on you. Queens of the galaxy. Slime, Cue, you all good?" Turning her attention to the Y chromosomes, Milly's eyes darted between both men. She really needed to lay off that good shit, but, fuck, she couldn't even feel bad without the stuff, much less good.

"Ready as we'll ever be, I guess." Slime spoke up for the both of them.

"Alright, tunnel's this way. Rock 'n' roll." Pulling a paper filtration mask up over her face, Milly took the lead, glancing around the deserted bay to ensure the quartet weren't being tailed. Reaching one of the elevators that would take the team to the mooring spars, she flashed a cobbled-together RFID badge towards a scanner. It wouldn't pass muster under close examination, but it was good enough to get her and hers where they needed to go... In theory.

---

---