Read Carson Mach 1: The Atlantis Ship for Free Online Page B

fortunes. Few ever did, really. It was one thing vending drinks and stims to the locals, it was another to deal arms and ships with unaffiliated factions. That’s where all the real money was—and bounty hunting, of course.  
    But then that took a special kind of stupid—the brand of stupid that Mach had made his own since leaving the stifling regulations of the CW.
    Dart-shaped ships whizzed by overhead, their atmosphere fusion drives whining above a low almost subsonic bass thump. Street racers were at it again. He counted in his head, five, four, three, two, one…
    The sirens of four sec-bot interceptors peeled out around him, echoing against the polymer-fronted buildings of the financial district. He smiled as the flat disks flew overhead in pursuit of the racers. They wouldn’t catch them; Mach knew those engines were non-regulation, he could tell by the smell of sulfur in the air. They would mix a potent range of powders into their fuel to max the KPH of their crafts.  
    A dozen or so passersby watched the proceedings before returning their gaze to their forearms, their smart-screens delivering them the news of the day. He ignored them and crossed a small bridge that arched over a bright blue stream. Below the bridge he saw the manic movements of a school of yellow piper fish frantically swimming against the tide, snapping at any smaller morsel that passed their hungry mouths.  
    Carlo had once used them to torture a rival.  
    They tasted great with fried Sol potatoes.  
    At the end of the bridge, he headed across a grassy area until he came to a glass building constructed to resemble a huge arc. The glass was tinted a metallic blue today, reflecting the rich tones of the cloudless sky above.  
    He waved his forearm across the door scanner, entering his credentials. The door opened and he walked inside, stopping at a telepresence concierge. The holographic fidesian wore a pink silk scarf around her head, covering her hairless pate. She smiled at him. “Welcome to the Invidigroup Motel, Mr. Kain, what can I do for you today?”
    Kain was his pseudonym that he used for his everyday work. An old friend of his, Kingsley, had created a hacked ID chip that allowed Mach to set up to twelve different names and identities. Perfect for staying off the grid and out of the CW’s watchful eye.
    “I’d like a room for an hour,” Mach said.  
    “I’m afraid as it’s a holiday today, Mr. Kain, our rates have gone up. And I’ll have to charge a full day’s rate.”
    “What? I’ve been here hundreds of times and booked rooms for a few hours at a time. So what, it’s a holiday, do loyal customers not get some preferential treatment?”
    The downside of dealing with a telepresence meant that he couldn’t bribe it without the appropriate hacking software packages, none of which were currently available for this model of holographic concierge. It was an arms race these days between telepresence companies and hackers.  
    The concierge started to waffle on about rules and regulations when Mach’s attention was taken away from her by the sound of a ship landing right outside the motel on the grass. Most unusual .  
    Mach exited the motel and waited a second for his vision to adapt to the change of light. His prosthetic eye scanned the ship and delivered to him the recorded specifications from its public serial ID number.  
    Of course! A CW ship.  
    This one was a Phalanx-E—the E standing for executive . It measured twenty meters from bow to stern and five point five at its widest part: the two stub wings that flowed toward the stern with a slight bow curve.  
    It looked brand new to Mach, with its black curved windshield and spotless matte silver hull and wings. A tail fin rose ten meters into the air, the base of which held the two swollen pill-shape fusion motors. It was as dull to look at as it was to pilot. He’d used them before when he was an officer and had to escort CW dignitaries around various