by Josh Busch
***
The walls that had seemed so tight only moments before shot outwards now, erupting into an enormous, cavernous room. There were ships of every make and model from a hundred different colonies, each with its own spin on aesthetics and functionality. In the distance, Dickson could see the false outline of the Punjab Lasso’s cloak – the ship it was hiding was slightly smaller, much more heavily armed and instantly noticeable by everyone who’d heard of it. He’d heard rumors that battleship commanders had nightmares about seeing the Lasso sneaking aboard and detonating their life support systems.
That was, of course, hogwash. He may be a pirate, but he didn’t need to kill other humans – unless, of course, they were trying to kill him. Then all bets were off.
He slowed to a halt when he noticed Vena doing the same. It looked like thousands of people were milling around the various parked ships on the deck; maintenance workers, mostly, but he could see the uniforms of various science and military installations going in and out of their respective vehicles.
Even a few of the dreaded Interstellar Piracy Police were on watch in their pale yellow garments. That wasn’t too much of a shock, though, considering the ship-wide announcement. Dickson supposed he should be lucky they hadn’t dispersed throughout the station looking for them yet. He only hoped his crew, wherever they were, wouldn’t run into them.
“Shila,” he whispered, knowing that she would hear his softest voice. “Where are Vena’s ships?”
She didn’t respond for a moment, and he was about to ask again before the voice popped up in his ear. “The Christine is the big one at about 11 o’clock: the one with the orange stripes and bubbled viewing platform.” Dickson saw it immediately; he found himself impressed by the sleek, smooth exterior. It looked fast, judging by the multi-phase engines on her rear. How had she gotten the cash to afford a thing of beauty like that? He didn’t know if he could afford a ship as beautiful as the Christine.
Shila had continued talking, oblivious to Dickson’s internal praise. “The Daaé is the smaller one that’s straight ahead…about four ships up, there in the middle. It’s the one that looks a little like an egg with the white and grey stripes over its black hull. You see it?”
Dickson saw that one too, and was considerably less impressed. It was exactly as she had described – small, fragile, egg-like. The ridiculous paint job made it look like one of those painted Easter eggs Hopo had shown him a few months ago. It stood out like a sore thumb among the bigger, stronger ships – especially compared to the Christine. Why was one ship so beautiful and the other so hideous?
To avoid distraction, Dickson knew. It was her getaway car, of coruse. If she took the Christine, everyone would know she had left in a hurry. If she took the dinky little egg, however…
“Shila, is it common knowledge that she owns the Daaé?”
A pause. “Not as far as I can tell. All official documentation that’s public record declares the Christine as her primary ship. She’s only required to list one ship, though. The closed dock records are the only place she’s listed as the owner of that thing – nowhere else.”
So she was going to try to sneak out. Typical – she was good at that. He saw Vena begin to walk casually forward, ignoring the civilians in the docking area as if they didn’t exist. There was no doubt she would reach her ship without a problem unless something drastic happened to stop it.
Drastic, however, was easy enough. He could work with drastic. He shoved the sidearm into its holster and turned to the wall beside him. A large lever was in place, with a similarly sized plaque on its face that read: “Emergency Deck Depressurization Device. WARNING: Only for use in emergency situations (e.g. loss of deck pressure) and not to be otherwise tampered with. Offenders will be prosecuted by GI2 Commander of Security.”
Dickson pulled the lever.
A hundred things seemed to happen at once. Enormous, grey doors began to slide out of the wall near the airlock; they blocked the gaping opening to the station in less than a minute. Loud claxons blared out of the communications panels on the wall nearby, and the crews working on the parked ships took to their feet and were running for safety.
Out of the metal plating came a dozen or so little bots that frantically searched the deck for any breaches in the hull that might account for the decompression. It was a valid concern – if there truly were a concern, any living creatures in the vicinity had the chance of getting sucked out into the suffocating grip of space.
Vena, however, wasn’t fooled by the side show unfolding before her. She had stopped once she’d heard the alarms sound and had watched the emergency doors slide into place with only passing interest. Once they had clanged together in a loud boom, she turned to face Dickson – who was glaring right back at her.
“Are you proud of yourself?” Vena sneered. She gestured with her hand over her shoulder. “It costs them thousands of dollars to reset that thing every time some punk messes with it.”
“I just thought we needed to spend a little more time together,” Dickson replied with a shrug. He had taken his sidearm out, but he didn’t dare fire it – the cops had evacuated the deck, but he was certain that if they started firing at each other, they would attract their attention pretty quickly.
Vena still had her weapon out as well, but she didn’t make a move to fire it. She must have had the same idea. Dickson wondered about that for a moment – what was her relationship with the Piracy Police? Had she gotten honest work since she ran off from the group, or was she simply pirating on her own?
He heard the sound of heavy footfalls from behind him. Taking a glance backwards, he saw Gallagher and Gaileen catching up. Hopo was bringing up the rear, his substantial size holding him back. He cautioned them with a hand to stay where they were. Vena was like a wounded animal – he would have to careful and deliberate with how he approached, and the others would only serve to frighten her away.
Indeed, when Dickson turned back to Vena, she’d vanished. Most likely not far – behind one of the nearby ships, no doubt. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to go until they got those decompression doors back down. He gestured for Hopo to stay put, and he positioned Gaileen and Gallagher on either side of the stairwell leading into the flight deck. She certainly wasn’t to get away the way they came in.
“It’s just one artifact,” Dickson called out as he walked out along the path of starships. They were staggered into rows that ran up and down the length of the gigantic flight deck. The area, fortunately, was still empty – no one had yet realized that the deck wasn’t actually decompressing. “After you hand it over, things can be like they were again. Don’t you miss the old times?”
There was no answer. He wasn’t even sure whether or not he was expecting one. “You wouldn’t even have to work if you didn’t want to. I’ve got more than enough money…we were actually planning on retiring. Tonight was our farewell party, believe it or not.”
Only silence met him. The deck was eerily quiet, though occasionally some of the older ships creaked a bit as the station moved beneath them. Dickson decided to try a different approach. “Vena…I miss you. I really, really want you back. Please…just do this for the crew so we can be together again? I have faith that you’ll do the right thing. Come on out…please?”
When no response met him, Dickson realized that the situation was hopeless. Vena had no incentive to come back to him - she had the artifact she loved so much. What could he, an old, retiring pirate, offer her?
The hand that connected with his right cheek came out of nowhere. It struck Dickson hard and fast, sending the surprised man spiraling to the deck. He lied on the floor, stunned. The only person who would have hit him right now was Vena - had she gotten that strong?
In answer, she came into his line of vision just then, cradling her right hand in her left. Vena kicked Dickson's sidearm away, and it dropped into an open floor vent nearby. He hoped he w
ould be able to get it back later; assuming Vena didn't kill him first.
"You just couldn't let it go, could you?" she growled.
"I could ask you the same question," Dickson replied. He then shot his hand up, trying to knock her off balance.
The sidearm was out before he could blink, and a bolt of red light struck him dead in the chest. Unlike before, however, this bolt penetrated his skin and sent liquid fire up and down his bloodstream. He could feel the searing pain from the tips of his hair to the ends of his toenails. He wanted to scream, to shout, just make the agony stop - but he couldn't.
She'd hit him with the 'incapacitate' setting, which was just below 'full stun'. It was the strongest option the firearm had on it that still kept the subject conscious. Dickson realized, with whatever small part of his brain still had rational thought, that she had either realized that she'd had the weapon at a weak setting and adjusted it accordingly...or she'd simply had enough of being nice.
The look on her face suggested the latter. Her mouth was set into a sneer, and her eyes blazed with some emotion - anger? Frustration? Disappointment? He wasn't sure, but she didn't give him a chance to find out. She returned the sidearm to her waist and sat down on top of Dickson, straddling his chest.
"I tried to give us a chance," she whispered, leaning close in so that he could hear her over the ringing in his ears. "I wanted us to be together again - not even the whole group, I don’t care about them…I mean you and me. I've missed you every second we've been apart. I would have traded everything else willingly for the chance to come back without being hated by you and the others.
"So really," she continued, pulling a silver chain out of her blouse, "was this so damned important to you?"
If Dickson had still had the ability to speak after the incapacitation, he would have shouted. As it was, all he could do was widen his eyes and moan against his useless mouth. Hanging from the glittering chain around her neck was the small, green gem with the interlocking gold spirals dancing around it - the Balec artifact. She'd had it on her the whole time.
"I love you, Andrew, and I always will. That hasn't changed. I just don't like you very much right now." She knelt down and carefully connected the jewel around Dickson's neck, tucking it under his shirt. It was warm to the touch. "Since you want it so badly, you can have it back. I just hope the Piracy Police doesn't hang you when they find you with it. That would be a waste of a good man."
She slammed the sidearm against his left temple, sending new, throbbing pain down his spine before everything went black.
