Tropical Punch (Bubbles in Space Book 1)

by S. C. Jensen

  “Free drinks!” someone hollered and the crush pressed on. For a ship full of cush-drunk wastrels, there was a whole lot of hubbub about diluted gratuity cocktails.

  The woman’s slim, brown leg disappeared around a corner up ahead and I pressed myself against the wall to slide past the suffocating mass of people swarming into the corridor from elsewhere in the casino. I was about to follow her out of the throng when something tightened around my neck. A woman had grabbed the back of my fuzzy pink hood and slapped at my face with long clawed fingernails.

  I grabbed her wrists and shouted in her face. “What’s the ruckus?”

  The verbal excrement spilling out of her prettily painted lips made even my toes curl. She wore a dress like an upside-down cyclone of gauzy grey lace, loose and flowing at the bottom and wrapping in a tight spiral around her neck. The whole thing glittered with mirrored flecks of precious metals and gemstones. Above the getup, her eyes flashed a dangerous bloodshot red. Her unfocussed gaze swung wildly from me to the other people in the crowd. Beneath my fingers, her skin felt cold and clammy. Her pulse hummed in her wrists as she tried to twitch away from me, still screaming.

  “Security!” I tried to flag a powder-blue uniform over the heads of the crowd. The girl stumbled and slipped off her platform shoes, falling forward into my arms. Frothy white saliva pooled inside her mouth and spilled out over her glitter-painted cheeks. Her eyes rolled back into her skull as if to check out what her brain was up to in there. Then her entire body convulsed, contorting her limbs toward her torso like the legs of a dead beetle. “Medic! We need a medic!”

  A small circle of space formed around us as the other passengers attempted to avoid getting involved. A few stuck around to watch. A woman in a pink robe stood at the back of the crowd. Between the shoulders of the people in front of her, a glimpse of her blank, smiling face gave me chills. There was something seriously wrong with those cultists.

  I crouched next to the girl, alone, as she danced out the last of her life on the psychedelic carpet with an army of polished shoes and high-heels shuffling hastily past. The woman in the silver dress was long gone by the time a paramedic unit arrived. I watched numbly as a man in a red medic uniform tugged away the tall, geometric lace of her collar to take her vitals. I still held her wrists in my hands, as they announced her time of death. And when the paramedic took his hands away, I saw a clear teardrop shaped gem glinting against the pale white flesh of her throat.

  Clear? Or empty?

  What was in the necklaces?

  The Patti sim hadn’t seemed to know about the others. But the dead girl’s behaviour didn’t rate for a tech-reaction to Tropical Punch. I backed away from the girl slowly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. But the paramedics were preoccupied with trying to haul the girl’s body onto a maglev stretcher. When I got to the corner, I ran. The crowd was thinner here, and I was able to keep up a respectable pace for someone who sneered at exercise unless it was to chase the Kreme Kween doughnut cart down the street. The woman in silver had at least a ten-minute head start, though, and I had no idea what direction she’d be heading in this ship the size of a city.

  “Hammett?” I tried to connect to gambling hog as I huffed down the corridor. “Where is she going, Ham?”

  “This is so exciting!” a piggy voice squealed in my tubes.

  “You’re not the one running,” I snapped. “Which way did she go?”

  A pinging noise came through the earpiece and cheers broke out. “Sorry about that. Which way did who go?”

  “The silver dot, you useless swine.” My brain throbbed behind my eyeballs and all the patterns and blinking lights weren’t helping. “I know she came down here, but I don’t know where to turn next.”

  “She’s still sitting at the table in Fortune’s Favour.” Hammett snorted. It sounded like a laugh. “I told you I’d keep an eye on her. Why are you breathing so hard?”

  I stopped dead. “Say that again?”

  “This is so much fun, Bubbles. You’ll never believe what—”

  “The silver dot is where?”

  “Still at the table.” Hammett snorted impatiently. “Now let me tell you what—”

  “No time, Ham.” I snapped. “Stay there. Keep and eye on the dot. Let me know if she moves.”

  “I am, but, Bubbles—”

  “Meet me back at the room in one hour.” I rolled my eyes and said, “I’d like a bacon sandwich. I’m going dark, Ham. Ping me if she moves.”

  I didn’t wait for the response. I killed the default connection to the ship’s navigation systems and turned off all comms except basic transmissions between me and the SmartPet. I ducked into a dark corner where some of the ship’s stranger architecture overlapped into a cluster of broken lines and geometric vomit. It didn’t go anywhere, but it made a nice little hidey-hole. I flipped another connection back on. The tattler made a sing-song chime in my ear tubes that wouldn’t be heard by anyone else, and I waited for the other line to pick up.

  A sketchy ’gram hovered in the air above the tattler in my upgrade. It was mostly blue static, but it looked like it was looking at me. I said, “Rae?”

  “Bubbles?” The audio came through okay. “Where are you? Your connection is terrible.”

  “I had to drop off the ship’s grid, Rae. I’m surprised we got any connection at all. I need your help.”

  “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “Please tell me this new rig you got me has plasma rockets or EMP grenades or something. I’m up against something big here. I need backup.”

  “I specifically chose that prototype because it doesn’t have any firearms.” Rae’s voice kicked up a notch and the static buzzed angrily. “What is going on?”

  “I can’t tell you. I’m being monitored somehow, and I don’t know how much they can see or hear right now. I’m afraid to even think what I think I’m thinking. What can the arm do? Give me a rundown. Maybe I’ll come up with something.”

  “Well …” Rae trailed off, suddenly much less confident than her usual badass self. Her face came into focus for a moment, and she blinked at me from behind her big-framed glasses. “It’s a bit bourgeoisie, really. It was never intended for … whatever it is you do … I was mostly excited by its potential. I didn’t know you were going to run off to outer space and get yourself into trouble with some international drug cartel.”

  “International what?” I said. “What in the name of sweet cush are you talking about?”

  “It’s all over the feedreels down here,” Rae said. “Swain’s out for blood. He’s pegged you for being one of Punch Blanco’s henchmen … henchwomen … people …”

  “Forget Swain,” I said. “He’s got a bug up the wrong bung hole. I’ll deal with him later. Right now, I need to know what I can do with this hunk of metal besides grab and punch.”

  “That’s usually all you need!”

  “There is nothing usual about his job, Rae. I’m in serious danger of taking the big sleep up here, along with everyone else on the ship, so make with the goods.”

  Rae sighed. “Well, you’ve got instant access to all the buzz networks, feed reels, socials, that kind of thing. It live vlogs to a preset channel, so you don’t even have to have your own accounts—”

  “I can’t afford those kinds of connections! Am I going to get a bill for socials next month? I don’t even know how to use that trashtech.”

  “Not while it’s registered as a prototype,” she said. “Libra’s picking up the tab. But that’s not all. There’s a heartrate monitor, and a calorie tracker that logs consumption and expenditure automatically, a hydration monitor. You can scan food and beverages for a true nutritional profile and list of contaminants before you even put it in your body. It comes equipped with an entire array of guided meditation simulations that you can use with your visilenses. I’m getting a data-stream from you
right now. You need to drink more water. Your blood pressure is a little on the high side …”

  I rubbed my eyeballs and tried to push them back into my skull. “I’m about to have a rage stroke, Rae. Is that all it does?”

  “What do you mean by all? It’s got state-of-the-art biometrics. Celebrities use that kind of equipment to stay in shape. Since you quit drinking, I thought—”

  “What, that I might want to start my own feedreel channel and vlog my personal journey to health and wellness? If I don’t come up with a plan here, I’m going to be torn apart limb from limb and hand fed to Swain like Grit District sushi. How’s that going to be for ratings, do you think? Please tell me there is something else on this thing. Some kind of weapon, please.”

  “Well, there’s the grapefruit knife,” she said. “Oh, um, your blood pressure is—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. Thank you for the lovely gift. If I somehow manage to survive this holiday, I’ll take you out for meditation and grapefruit, and we can laugh about that time I almost died of not being bougie enough to understand my upgrade.”

  “I’m sorry, Bubbles. I thought—”

  “I know. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. If you see Dickie, please tell him to stop giving my business cards out to drug dealers. It’s not helping my rep with Swain.”

  The blue static fuzzed into focus long enough for me to see a well-arched eyebrow peeking above the thick frame of Rae’s glasses. “You have business cards?”

  “Goodbye, Rae,” I said. “In case I don’t make it out of here … Jimi didn’t die in vain. He was trying to do the right thing for the wrong—”

  A shadow crossed in front of the entrance to my hidey-hole and a powder-blue uniform blocked my exit to the corridor. I killed the transmission and blocked the comms again and pushed myself as far as I could into the dark recess. The man’s back was to me and he had a hand up to his right ear as if he were receiving instructions. He planted his feet wide and looked like he planned to stay for a while. Great. I crouched low and peered between his legs, but I didn’t see any other uniforms in the corridor.

  I pounced on the man’s back and wrapped my upgrade around his throat, pulling him into the darkness with me. His legs thrashed and his fingers clawed uselessly at my arm, but he didn’t make a sound. Once he was out, I pulled him the rest of the way into the recess and pulled out his communication implants. Lucky for me, the admiral hadn’t sprung for the internal wiring. If I was right about the thing I was afraid to be thinking, it was probably lucky for the admiral too.

  This guy had the clean-cut look of a legit Island Dreamer security goon, unlike the flakes that hit me on the holobeach strip. I considered relieving him of his uniform, but it was too big for me, and I’d stand out even worse as a phony blue boy than I did as a badly dressed socialite. So I checked his pulse to make sure I hadn’t done any lasting damage, tucked him in carefully out of sight from anyone walking by, and slipped back into the corridor.

  The silver dress was nowhere to be seen, of course, but I had an idea where to look. Not having access to the holomap made it nearly impossible to get there, though. I’d have to come up with another plan of attack. Taking a wild guess at the right direction, I turned another corner and found myself in a disorienting tunnel of swirling holographic colours. Rainbow vapours twisted round the edges of the tunnel like the outer lip of a whirlpool. Not many people traversed the kaleidoscopic path.

  A young man with purple-black skin in a startlingly white leotard stood in the centre of the aisle, laughing as the colours swirled over this clothes and skin. The fabric might have been applied with a paint brush for all the coverage it offered, tucking into every nook and cranny like a Grit District pro skirt sucking up holocreds A faint white stripe of hair split his otherwise clean shaven skull into two neat halves. A gauzy silver fabric connected his wrists to his shoulder blades, and trailed out behind him like the ephemeral wings of an intergalactic fairy.

  “It tickles,” he shouted. “Like little fish nibbling.”

  “Told you he was he was holding out the glow.” Another three passengers, decidedly less glorious, shook their heads and made for the main casino. His friends, I supposed. A pale woman in a dull yellow blazer with nothing underneath but some sub-dermal piercings grazed me with her elbow as she passed then glared at me for getting in her way. She snapped her shaved head back and called, “Drift, you cosmic vetch, we’re going to be late for the opening!”

  The trio disappeared around the corner, leaving their friend spinning in the hololights. White eyeshadow swept all the way up to his eyebrows and an iridescent pink sheen glistened on his pouting lips. Strategically placed glitter highlighted his cheekbones that could have been made from cut glass. He was like an anthropomorphized galaxy dancing in the rainbow holotunnel. He ignored the trio as they disappeared around the corner and headed for the high-stakes rooms.

  I advanced toward him cautiously in case he was on something more volatile than the usual euphorics, but he spun to face me with a sharp, lucid look in his obsidian eyes. He flicked his gaze over my body, left to right, up and down. Then he grinned with big, white teeth to match the rest of his outfit.

  “Hush,” he whispered to himself. “A vision approaches.”

  I cleared my throat, trying to remember how to talk to normal people. As if this guy was normal. “I like your lipstick.”

  “The confection speaks.” He fluttered his eyelashes at me. “Thank you. I made it myself.”

  “Hey.” I stepped a little closer. “I’m having trouble with my holomap. Can I—”

  “The oldest play in the book.” He reached out his gauzy winged arms and touched my cheeks with long, unpolished fingers. Colours danced over him like watery butterflies. “If you want my autograph, all you need to do is ask, poppet. For you, I’d do anything.”

  “Autograph?” I stepped back, scanning my brain for a memory of his face but the old flesh file came up with nothing. “No, I just need to get out of the casino. I’m looking for—”

  “For a way out.” He ran a finger along the inside edge of his plunging V of his neckline which dropped dangerously low. “Out of this place, and out of those clothes …”

  “Never mind.” I waved him away and made for the other end of the rainbow tunnel. “I’ll find someone else.”

  “Sweet,” his throaty whisper followed me. “A shy one. Don’t worry, my little bon-bon, I’m offline. I always unplug when I’m on a vay-cay.”

  He grabbed hold of one of the pink fingers on my upgrade. I grabbed back. I twisted his finger and yanked him toward me with a sharp jerk so that his arm bent behind his back and his glittering wings crumpled up between our bodies. “Who are you?”

  “Okay, the hard-to-get act was cute.” He whimpered. “Now you’re just being mean.”

  “I’m serious.” I twisted the finger a little harder. “I’ve had just about enough of surprises today. Who do you work for?”

  “Ex-squeeze me?” He wound himself up into a tight little knot in order to glare at me with his immaculately painted eyes. “I’ve been a hustler my whole life, baby. From the grotty Grit strip to the Highbinder Haciendas, you know? Cosmo Régale works for no one but himself.”

  I let him go. “As in Cosmo Cosmetics?”

  He rubbed the circulation back into his hand and narrowed his eyes at me. “You’ve got my brand smeared all over your ungrateful little mouth, and you didn’t even recognize me?”

  “Blood of my Enemies.”

  “A personal favourite of mine.” He wrapped his fingers around a jutting pelvic bone and cocked his hip at me. “I thought you were a fan.”

  “I am, actually. I just didn’t—”

  “I know how it is. The fawning dwindles when the live feed dies.” He turned away from me in disgust. “But I need time to myself, too, you know. I can’t be on 24/7. There is still such a thing as privacy, isn�
��t there?”

  “Sure,” I said. And, not knowing what else to say, I was honest. “I can’t afford the vlog reels. I had to save up to buy a single tube of BoME.”

  Cosmo gave me a sidelong glance. “That pack of poseurs thought I wouldn’t notice that they were wearing Valentia knock offs.”

  “Good riddance to cheap trash, then.”

  He crossed his arms in front of his body like he was warding off the plague, scorn dripping from his diaphanous wings like liquid silver. Then he waved them away and held his hands out in a cup for the holographic rainbow to pool inside. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

  I help out my fingers. The colours tingled across my skin faintly. I said, “It is like little fish.”

  “Good.” He snapped his long fingers. “You pass. Come with me.”

  “Pass what?” I said. “Where are we going?”

  “You want to get out of here.” He sashayed out of the rainbow tunnel. “I’m done with this scene myself. As if I want to go to Valentia’s opening after all that dizzy vetch has done to me. ‘Stargazer’ my immaculately waxed assets. I could use someone like you, you know.”

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” I said.

  He beckoned over his shoulder, and I followed. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Back to my room.” I fell into step beside him, having to hurry to keep up with his long, elegant strides. “I have to meet—”

  “I’ll take you there myself.” He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow at me. “If you ask me nicely I might stay a while.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “No, don’t think. Nothing good ever comes of it.” He stopped suddenly. “But first, I need you to do something for me.”