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Faint Premonition	By : ehiltebe Category: M through R > Pitch Black Views: 2132 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: In no way do I own any part of Pitch Black, its setting, or its characters, and I make no money from this work. I just get to play with them.

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Faint Premonition

A Pitch Black Alternate Universe

Chapter Two

Though it is by no means a tourist attraction, Icarus Station deals with a lot of space traffic. It’s the only refueling, reloading, and transfer center between the Conga system and the Tangiers system, along one of the major routes spanning the length of the Orion Arm. Few civilian vessels have the fuel capacity to go straight through and skip the station.

That meant, of course, that almost every one of the multitude of berths was occupied at any given moment, and the promenades swarmed with people.

I had to practically fight my way through the crowd, following the half-sensed pull of my subconscious. The terror was building inside me again, a fear born from knowing that death was staring me in the eyes. But it wasn’t my emotion, and it wasn’t happening yet. So I moved faster, still unable to fall into the long, swinging stride that was my preferred walking pace.

When I finally got into a more open area, I very nearly panicked. Two dockworkers wielding blowtorches were just sealing an exterior hatch, and my heart clenched until I spotted another one still wide open toward the bay door. The ship showed wear and tear, battered from years of service. An older pod-style hauler, a type that didn’t often carry passengers anymore because newer ships were faster, and you spent less time in cryosleep. My heavy sigh—both of relief that I’d arrived in time and resignation that I’d be going through the ordeal that was cryo for me—got the attention of the two men.

“At least you haven’t locked everyone in yet.” The hearty chuckles nearly masked the sound of approaching high heels. Anyone with normal hearing would have missed it entirely.

“May I take your ticket, please?” The woman wore a uniform consisting of a too-tight blouse and a too-short skirt. She even held her tablet up to her chest like a shield.

“Don’t have one, but I can pay for my passage.” Setting down one of my unremarkable bags, I rummaged in a pocket. Other small objects kept me from finding the flat, rectangular bank card right away. She snatched it from my hand, ran it through the reader on the digital clipboard, and then cracked a little smile as she handed it back.

“Thank you for choosing New Oslo and Alliance Shipping. One of these… gentlemen will find you a cryo-locker and get you and your belongings secured for your trip.” The moment she finished speaking, she turned and vanished into the crowd outside.

“I think there’s one locker still open.” One of the men pushed up his welding mask to look me up and down. I could almost see him mentally measuring and estimating how much space I needed. Then he nodded toward the other hatch and began walking, with me tagging along like a child.

We entered at the rear of the passenger pod, and I scanned faces as I moved forward. Who would survive? The heavyset man with Irish features? The dark-skinned man in Muslim robes and the three browned boys lined up beside him? The skinny, balding fellow with the old-fashioned corrective glasses? The pair of prospectors?

I paused momentarily, looking at another kid. The clothes said boy, but the slightly elfin features told me otherwise. No Adam’s Apple, either. A sound tactic, in principle; young boys traveling alone were less likely to come to harm than young girls.

Shaking my head, I caught up with the dockworker just as he reached the forward bulkhead. A heavily reinforced locker had been retrofitted into the space, shoving the last chamber tightly against the wall. The large door bore a warning: ‘No Early Release.’

The man trapped inside needed the large space. Having his hands and feet bound to the sides and floor with thick manacles and chains apparently didn’t suffice to hold him. He’d also been blindfolded and fitted with a device known as a horse-bit, which was precisely what it sounded like. With his face half obscured and mouth distorted, I couldn’t tell who he was. And when his lightly stubbled head turned just a little toward me and his nostrils flared, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Everyone else appeared to be deep in cryosleep, so how could he possibly move?

A glance over my shoulder put me almost face-to-face with the person who had probably caught him. Tall, blond, wearing a dark blue uniform and a shiny badge, he looked like a legitimate officer of the law, a poster boy for them, even. But I knew that no sane cop would put a criminal on a transport with civilians. He had to be a bounty hunter, a merc. I scowled as I stepped into the vacant locker next to the prisoner, strapping myself in tightly. My duffels fit nicely on either side of my legs, and I lowered my eyelids as chemicals entered my bloodstream. Not all the way closed, just far enough that my lashes would shield my eyes.

“All exterior hatches sealed, sir.” With my vision essentially disabled, my other senses worked even more strongly than usual. My hearing easily picked up the woman’s voice. “Port Control has cleared us for launch.”

“Take us out, Pilot.” This time, the male voice bore clipped tones, every sound pared to its shortest understandable length. He sounded like a career spacer.

“Aye aye, Captain.” Vibration built all around me and continued for several minutes.

“Course plotted and locked in, sir.” A younger man’s voice, probably the navigator.

“Initiate auto-pilot and lock down.” The pitch of the engines shifted into my range of hearing, and heavy footsteps echoed from the command module. “No fooling around this time. We don’t have enough spare atmosphere for you to waste it on personal affairs.” I raised a mental eyebrow; it was an interesting way to dress down a crew for making time while the rest of the ship was on ice.

“Yes, sir.” The woman sounded like she wanted to sulk, but knew she wouldn’t be allowed to, while the navigator was all business. One hiss signaled that the captain’s locker had closed, and two more followed soon after.

The vessel sailed into the black, the hum of its engines all that kept it from being as silent as a tomb.

One Locker Over

They say most of your brain shuts down in cryosleep, all but th’ primitive side. Th’ animal side.

No wonder I’m still awake.

Transportin’ me with civilians. Sounded like forty, forty-plus. Heard an Arab voice, some hoodoo holy man. Probably on his way to New Mecca.

But what route? What route?

Smelled a woman. Sweat, boots, tool belt, leather. Prospector type. Free settlers, an’ they only take the back roads.

Th’ other woman, though, th’ last to board… Ain’t never caught her scent before, but it’s so fuckin’ familiar. Well-worn combat boots she must’ve gotten surplus; th’ Company ain’t big on girl soldiers. Gotta learn more about her…

And here’s my real problem: Mr. Johns, the blue-eyed devil. Plannin’ on takin’ me back to slam, but this time Johns picked a ghost lane. A long time between stops.

A long time for somethin’ to go wrong.
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Faint Premonition