Day of the Damned by David Gunn

careful.’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘Later,’ he says. ‘Let’s talk about it later.’
    ‘Don’t leave it too long.’
    All this sloping around in disguise is getting to me.
    A dozen faces stare at us and then slide away. I’m not sure what the senator told his men before we went up, but a room is ours. Anton asks me which watch I want to take. Way I’m feeling, the answer’s easy . . .
    ‘I’ll take them all.’
    Sleep is fine, but I need less than others and I want to clear my head. Grabbing a bottle of beer from the bar to help that process, I button my coat against the wind and head for the door.
    ‘Sir,’ says the owner.
    He lets go my arm the moment he sees my face.
    ‘You don’t need to keep watch. I lock the courtyard every night and your bikes will be safe . . .’
    ‘Bring me food,’ I say. ‘In about two hours.’
    My order means he’ll have to stay awake or risk my anger. And he’s seen what I did to the man who didn’t open his door.
    ‘On second thoughts, send her.’
    He follows my gaze to a girl collecting plates by the far wall. Large hips and full breasts, with dirty blonde hair tied back into a sloppy ponytail. She’s doing a good job of avoiding sly hands and slyer comments.
    ‘Your daughter?’
    ‘My wife’s niece.’
    Thought he was taking it better than expected.
    ‘Stew,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid that’s what we’ve got.’
    ‘Of course it is.’ It’s all anywhere like this ever has.
    I’ve eaten stew on three different planets, and in five different cities and half a dozen scuzzy little garrison towns, and it’s always that week’s leftovers, diced small and boiled to a tasteless pulp that even chillies do little to improve.
    ‘And send out more beer at the same time.’
    He nods, glances at me and goes to tell his niece the bad news.
    Leona heads inside with my warning in her ears. She’s ex-militia if anyone asks. Invalided out. I’m her boss and Anton’s my boss. That’s all she’s allowed to say. No one in that bar is really going to believe her.
    But then we don’t believe they’re mercenaries either.
    Senator Cos’s own little private army, is my guess. This prompts several questions. Like why does he think he needs an army firstly? And what is it Anton’s not telling me?
    The Icefelds are where we left them.
    Sergeant Leona’s armed all their security systems. So I stand these down and go over each bike. No new bugs that I can see. No little transponders telling anyone where we are. The clips are full. Our batteries are charged. The gyros work perfectly. We’ve even got the right pressure in the tyres.
    ‘Haven’t seen one of those for a while,’ says a voice. ‘Didn’t know that model was still in service.’ Sergeant Toro drops to a crouch beside me, and runs his hands over a fusion unit.
    ‘They’re not.’
    ‘Where did you get them?’
    ‘Stole them.’
    He looks at me. ‘You serious?’
    ‘Yeah. Completely.’
    ‘And their owners didn’t object?’
    ‘Hard to object with your neck broken.’
    Leaning close, I watch him trace Anton’s optic to the S&Ps, and smile. When I sit back on my heels, it’s to discover he’s offering me another cigarillo.
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘No problem. You happy in your job?’
    ‘Why . . . You offering me another?’
    Maybe he hears something in my voice because his face stills. ‘It’s possible . . . I have friends looking for . . . experienced operators.’
    ‘You mean assassins?’
    ‘I mean anyone who’s seen real combat.’ He sees me grin and nods. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I know. We’ve both seen that. So, what do you think?’
    ‘Already got a job,’ I tell him.
    He jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards the bar.’ Babysitting some trade lord in disguise?’
    ‘There are worse ways to earn a living.’
    ‘True enough,’ he says. ‘And there are better ones.’
    Not sure what he’s got me pegged as. But it’s got to be more than Legion. You can pick ex-Legion up cheap, pretty