“You think the police shuttles will find Monkey Boy’s stealth craft?” he asked.
Rhea nodded. “Eventually.” The mask muffled her voice somewhat, so she transmitted her words at the same time.
“Too bad we can’t stake some claim on it,” Will said.
“A ship like that would be useful,” she agreed. “Though I have a feeling it would have room for only one passenger, who would have to remain seated for the duration of the voyage. We’re talking weeks at a time. Not something a human would take very well to.”
“No, I suppose not,” Will said.
She glanced at Horatio. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve disabled most of my eternal senses,” Horatio said. “Because let’s admit it, having your body twisted into a pretzel doesn’t feel very good.”
“No, I suppose not.” She instinctively glanced at her left arm, which hung lifelessly at her side. Horatio wasn’t the only one who needed repairs. But they would come soon enough.
She glanced at Will. “So, what do we know about these ‘Emerald Highlands?’”
“Can’t you forget about that for now?” he replied. “You just survived an assassination attempt that nearly killed you. Chill for a while, Dude.”
She turned her head toward her other companion. “Horatio, what do we know?”
Will sighed. He was the one who answered. “I’ve checked my offline map data. Apparently these Emerald Highlands are known for the vast cave system they house. It was once a precious gem mine, but apparently fell into disuse after the Great Calming. No one really goes there anymore, mostly because it’s a known bioweapon haunt.”
“Known?” She arched an eyebrow. “Known how? You mean from the crowdsourced sites that track bioweapon locations in the Outlands, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” he admitted.
“The Black Hands, Veil’s minions, have been known to manipulate these crowdsourcing sites,” she said. “Opportunistically redirecting vulnerable air traffic their way, so that they can shoot down innocent travelers. There’s no reason why the Black Hands couldn’t similarly manipulate the crowdsourcing data to keep travelers away from certain locations as well. Like their den.”
“Very true,” Will agreed. “There might be no bioweapons lurking in the Emerald Highlands. Or there might be an entire army of them. Veil could have chosen the location precisely because of the bioweapons. Maybe she intends to kill you with them. Or use them as a distraction in some way.”
“We just won’t know until we arrive, will we?” Rhea said.
“You’re really intent on going, aren’t you?” Will said.
“If I don’t, I’ll be hunted my entire life,” Rhea said. “Veil sent an assassin halfway across the solar system to kill me. More will come, eventually. There’s no hiding. When we return to Earth, we’re not going to linger in Rust Town. We’re going to head directly to the viper’s nest.” She sat back. “Until then, I can ‘chill,’ as you say.”
Will didn’t have the parts on hand to repair their damaged armor and servomotors, but the Centaar government was more than happy to contribute, and at no cost—they just wanted Rhea, this draw for assassins across the solar system, to leave.
With these parts, Will fixed her arm, and restored her armor to tiptop condition. He also hammered Horatio’s body back into shape and was able to restore the robot’s forearm rifles to working order. However, Will didn’t have the tools and materials necessary to repair her X2-59.
“It’s a damn shame,” he said when he revealed the news. “Considering all the work it took to pull that damn blade from Monkey Boy’s head.”
“It’s just as well,” Rhea told him. “I plan to use the Ban’Shar as my preferred weapon going forward. Don’t worry, you can still sell the blade as salvage.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I intend to, don’t you worry. What did you think I was talking about? Giving it back to you? Ha. I can charge a very profitable price on this moon, considering how rare the materials are here. I would have got an even better price if I could repair it, but alas it’s simply not to be.”
“Wait until you get to Earth?” she suggested.
“Yeah, but then I have to have it shipped back here, negating any profits from the sale,” he told her.
“Then sell it on Earth…” she said.
He crossed his arms. “Where it’s worth a pittance? Nope. Going to unload it here. My little reward for sticking with you through thick and thin.”
“You deserve a far bigger reward than that,” she said.
“And don’t you forget it,” Will agreed.
The next week passed without incident. It helped, she supposed, that she stayed mostly inside the short-term rental and rarely ventured out, especially not beyond the dome. She was trying to keep a low profile until Targon arrived.
Will had the usual parade of beautiful women bounding up to his room. Rhea complained that any one of those women could be an assassin, to which he scoffed: “Yeah, assassins are going to use a dating app and flirt with me, right? Sure. Trust me, I screen them extensively. If they’re putting on an act, or catfishing me, I can tell. Only a select few make it through to the in-person meet. Are you sure this little hissy fit of yours isn’t out of jealousy?”
“Please,” Rhea said. “And I’d hardly call questioning whether or not it was appropriate to allow random people into one’s apartment a hissy fit, especially considering our current circumstances.”
“They’re not random,” Will insisted. “Like I said, I screen them. They have to chat with me holographically, and then I send a remote drone to check them out, before I invite them up.”
Rhea didn’t bring it up again. She did keep an eye on every one of the women, but none turned out to be assassins. She had to wonder if jealousy indeed played a part. Somehow, she doubted it.
She rented a small drone and spent most of her days exploring the city remotely. She also chartered drones to remotely explore some of the lost Ganymede domes for her, and had the footage transmitted to
