“I already am, apparently,” she said. “At least in some quarters.”
“Well your fame is only going to grow by leaps and bounds,” Targon said.
“And yours as well, I’m sure,” she told him.
The merchant smiled. “I can see the viral video titles even now: ‘Targon smacks down the Warden in a classic Robot Wars reversal.’ ‘Targon whoops the Warden’s arse in a Battle Royale duel to the death.’ Targon—”
“Dude, you’re going to have to work on your video titles,” Will said. “I’d hardly call those viral.”
“We’ll see, Dirt Hair,” Targon said.
Will growled over the comm.
Targon turned to Rhea. “Who knows? If this pans out, maybe I’ll be able to get back into streaming full time.”
“You’d really sell your ship?” she said.
“In a heartbeat,” he replied.
“I thought you loved this life?” she pressed.
“Don’t mistake me, I do,” he told her. “But I love gaming, and streaming, more.”
“Good luck to you,” Rhea said, clasping his forearm with her palm.
The merchant returned the gesture. “And ye as well. I hope ye find what you’re looking for.”
She entered the hatch and clambered aboard the passenger shuttle. There were other people present, suited up, and she took one of the free seats. Horatio and Will joined her, and the hatch closed.
She eyed the people suspiciously behind their faceplates, but no one looked like a cyborg assassin.
“Interesting guy,” Will sent as the two craft separated.
“Who, Targon?” she asked.
“Uh huh,” he replied. “A bit eccentric.”
“Aren’t we all?” Rhea said.
The shuttle reentered the atmosphere, landed at the Aradne space terminal, and the passengers debarked.
She noticed the heavier gravity immediately. She had grown accustomed to the weightlessness of space, and the lighter gravity of Ganymede. There would be no bound walking here. The mind-machine interface automatically compensated and ramped up the power output of her servomotors. She could only imagine how bad it must feel for the humans, however. She glanced at Will. His legs seemed rubbery.
“I’m going to have to hit the gym at this rate,” Will said.
“Don’t worry,” Horatio told him. “A few hours walking in this will be more than enough of a workout to restore your strength.”
“If I’m not huffing and puffing in the first two minutes…” Will said. “This spacesuit feels like it weighs a ton.”
A man passed. He wore a spacesuit equipped with external servomotors that whirred loudly—obviously augmenting the occupant’s strength.
“Lucky bastard,” Will said.
“That one will merely take longer to adapt,” Horatio commented. “So ‘unlucky’ might be the more appropriate label.”
Rhea and the others walked into a processing tunnel and a conveyor belt carried them through a scanner that flashed different lights at them.
A voice told her she had passed the contagion check and could open her helmet. She did so and removed it entirely.
“Man, it’s good to breathe fresh air again,” Will said. “You get used to that recycled stuff, but the smell really builds up in your nostrils, you know? So that you smell it all the time.”
The air definitely had a fresher quality.
Doors opened at the end of the tunnel, and Rhea entered the receiving area of the terminal. She went to the counter to clear customs.
She filled out the digital form, listing all her belongings and their value. She wasn’t sure what to put for the Ban’Shar, so she listed it as a farming implement, with a value of twenty credits. She didn’t want to admit what it really was, worried that customs would seize it.
“Your weapons and drone will be conveyed to the city gates, Entrance C,” the customs robot explained. That was the southernmost entrance, which led directly into Rust Town. “They may be retrieved at your earliest convenience when you leave Aradne.”
A trolley-style robot conveyed a crate to the counter from a back hall. The main robot opened the crate and laid their belongings out on the table before it. Rhea grabbed her sack, while Horatio and Will retrieved their salvagers’ backpacks.
The other weapons and the drone had already been removed from the crate, but not the knuckles of the Ban’Shar.
The main robot lifted the pair from the case. “Farming implement?”
“Yes,” she lied. “It creates a plasma field I use to scythe wheat.”
The robot gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and then returned the knuckles to the crate. “It could be used as a weapon in the wrong hands. I will have it conveyed with your other belongings to Entrance C.”
She was relieved the robot hadn’t tried to confiscate it. That meant the device likely wasn’t in its database of prohibited items. Or perhaps it was, but the robot had failed to make an ID match.
Rhea watched the trolley carry the crate away and hoped her Ban’Shar made it safely to the gate.
They changed out of their spacesuit rentals and were given the usual treatment for radiation, then proceeded on their way. She raised the hood of her cloak, hiding much of her face.
As they left the customs area for the main terminal, they found Miles, Brinks and Renaldo waiting for them. Renaldo immediately made a show of scanning himself and the others for mind-jacking chips.
When they came up clean, the three Wardenites gave her hugs in turn.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Miles said. “I was convinced you were going to stay on Ganymede.”
“I thought that too,” Rhea told the albino. “Until I realized, this is my home.”
“You’ll always be our Warden, no matter where you go,” Brinks said. The short, squat man seemed leaner than the last time she saw him. No doubt he’d been actively participating in the reconstruction efforts across Rust Town.
“Thank you,” Rhea said.
“So how was it, by the way?” Renaldo asked. “Everything you dreamed of?” The Wardenite’s skin was even darker than the last time she saw him, as if he had been spending ample time lounging in the sun. She thought he’d put on weight, too, which lent
