Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel George Ellis (book series for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

The market area was filled with protein-meat stalls, drink carts and booths with freeze-dried foods of every variety, from produce to ice cream. Vendors sold goods and items from around the verse. Walking among the stalls, I could smell the liquor in the air. It mixed with the scent of recycled oxygen, which always seemed to me to have a stale odor to it, probably from the charcoal dampers.

There were people everywhere. Kids. Families. And some blue suiters.

I tugged Jiang’s sleeve and we all ducked into a clothing store to avoid a trio of fed soldiers in their navy blue uniforms. They passed by without seeing us. Judging from their darting eyes, they were looking for someone, however. It’s possible their missing comrade had them all on high alert. I began to wonder just how smart it was to have come to the station in the first place. Perhaps sensing this, Jiang put a calming hand on my shoulder.

“We’ll get you guys fueled and stocked up, and safely back on your way,” he said, with sincerity and conviction. “Of course, I’d still recommend you keep your head down and out of sight of the facial recognition eye in the sky.”

He grabbed a sport cap with a large bill – some people still called them trucker hats – and swiped his handheld across the tag, buying it. He then placed it on my head with a smile.

“Thanks for the tip,” I said, instinctively curving the bill of the hat into more of an upside down u-shape. “Been a minute since I’ve worn one of these. My uncle used to have a whole collection.”

“I bet Erwin did,” he said. Jiang had admired my uncle. They were both self-made men and had eclectic senses of taste.

We slid back out of the store, followed by Jiang’s two young associates. They didn’t speak much, just took our lead and followed Jiang’s orders. Must be nice to have your crew listen to you, I thought.

I tried Edgar again and this time, I got through. “You said three hours,” he answered, annoyed. He was shirtless and I could see his naked female companions (twins) on the bed behind him, vaping.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, but we have a fed problem. The Burnett is docked at the station and Batista has already had a run-in with them.”

“No you’re not,” Edgar said.

“What?”

“You’re not sorry. Interrupting the fun is what you do.”

“That’s not — look, this isn’t the time to debate that, okay? Get dressed and meet us in quad five by the bridge.”

“No, by the loading docks,” Jiang corrected me. I gave him a confused look, but he nodded.

“Scratch that, the loading docks,” I relayed to Edgar. He sighed and clipped the transmission.

“Not much of a talker,” Jiang commented. “I guess she prefers other methods of communication as well.”

Jiang motioned across the marketplace, where Batista was using her fists to talk with a pair of fed soldiers. So much for sneaking out of the station undetected.

There were four blue suits around her. Two men. Two women. One of them tried to pin Batista’s arms behind her, but he got a broken nose courtesy of a brutal head snap, the back of her skull cracking the ridge of his nose. Even from 50 feet away, I saw the blood spurt out of the poor guy’s nose as he dropped to the deck in pain.

I hustled over to join the fight. Not because she needed my help. I just wanted to get the scuffle over with more quickly, so we could vacate the area. The eye in the sky – a drone camera – was hovering over the action. That meant not only were the EMG going to be arriving shortly, so were more feds, as they had informants inside the EMG who would immediately alert them to Batista’s presence.

I pulled my hat down further, as if it mattered. We were already blown. If Batista was on the station, they would know I was, too.

My boot connected with the back of one of the blue suiters. The force sent her flying into a nearby recycling bin with a loud clang. Batista grunted as she whirled around to her next opponent, the largest of the bunch. He was a tall, wide soldier, not unlike Edgar. But he wasn’t built for this kind of scrap. Before he could produce his gun, Batista had landed a crushing knee into his groin and followed that up with a forearm to the side of the head. The guy tried to keep his balance, his shaky hand still reaching for his weapon, and for that effort he was rewarded with a kick in the chest that sent him backward into the female soldier by the recycling bin who was stumbling to her feet.

They both went down in a heap.

Batista looked at me, Jiang and the teens. “I had it handled.”

“And now they have you on camera,” I noted, pointing to the drone above our heads.

Batista shrugged. One of the teens fired some kind of glowing pellet at the drone. It stuck to the drone and immediately brought it down with a thud.

“That’ll stop it from transmitting and scramble any old footage that hasn’t been viewed,” Jiang said. “Probably too late, though. We need to get to the docks.”

Batista gave one last kick to the big soldier as she passed, scooping up his weapon along the way. We all followed Jiang away from the gathered crowd. Once we turned the corner, we slowed to a nonchalant walk just in time for a pair of EMG guys to pass us by, heading toward the commotion.

“Were you even trying to stay under the radar?” I asked Batista.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You like to fight.”

“You’re saying I got spotted on purpose?” she asked.

I didn’t say anything else. I’d made my point. She smoldered as we followed Jiang into a maze of large ship carcasses and parts. We were in the junkyard exchange, where you could barter for various parts you