Copyright © 2019 M. D. Cooper
Aeon 14 is Copyright © 2019 M. D. Cooper
Editing by Jen McDonnell, Bird’s Eye Books
Aeon 14 & M. D. Cooper are registered trademarks of Michael Cooper
All rights reserved
Killian’s
STELLAR DATE: 02.11.8920 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Killian’s Bar, Junta Station
REGION: Cipira System, Dominion of Kyra
Cheeky took a long look at the barstool.
In a place like Killian’s, on a station like Junta, it was hard to know exactly what you were about to put your ass on. This particular stool had a decidedly sticky sheen that Cheeky did not want to feel up close.
It was times like this that Cheeky wished she wore clothes. Well, to be fair, Cheeky was wearing clothes, but her skirt didn’t make it down her thighs very far, and wouldn’t offer her much in the way of protection from whatever had dribbled off, down, or out of the last few patrons to grace the stool’s hard plas surface.
She looked at the other seats. None appeared to be in any better condition—many were considerably worse.
The bartender, a deathly pale woman who must not have seen anything other than the station’s artificial lighting in…well…ever, was talking to another patron a few stools down.
“Excuse me? Hey! You have anything I can use to wipe this down?” Cheeky asked the woman, gesturing at the stool while raising her voice over the general din of the bar.
The woman turned to Cheeky, blinked slowly, shook her head, and then turned back to the man she was talking to.
Cheeky blew out an angry breath and waved her hand. “Then get me two shots of vodka. Straight up.”
That got the bartender to move, albeit with the type of lassitude that a sloth would envy, as she ambled over to where Cheeky waited, reached under the bar, and pulled out a pair of shot glasses.
The two glasses clinked together as the bartender dropped them onto the counter. The woman heaved her shoulders as though she were performing the most arduous task imaginable as she turned and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Cheeky would have complained that it was bottom shelf swill—which it certainly was—but this place only had one shelf.
Cheeky replied.
Once the bartender had splashed a reasonable amount of the (thankfully) clear liquid into the glasses, Cheeky dropped a hard credit chit—the last of her disposable income—onto the bartop.
The woman wordlessly pulled the chit off the counter, stuffed it in a pocket, and walked back to the other patron, where she resumed her conversation.
A stack of napkins sat nearby, and Cheeky grabbed one before pouring the first shot over the barstool’s seat. She let the vodka soak into the scratches on the stool’s surfaces for a minute, and once satisfied that the stool was as sterile as it was going to get, wiped it off with the napkin.
Cheeky tossed the napkin on the bar, hooked her right heel on one of the stool’s rungs, and lifted herself onto the seat. The second shot raced down her throat a moment later, adding the necessary courage to stay at Killian’s long enough for her meeting.
A meeting that couldn’t happen soon enough, even if it were likely to end in disappointment.
It wasn’t that Cheeky didn’t want to meet with the captain of the Sabrina. She wanted a job, and if she were honest with herself, just about any job would do. Driving tugs and hauling ships in and out of the Junta Station docks was killing her spirit.
Before her stint at Junta, Cheeky would have considered herself to be someone replete with an abundance of spirit—but not so anymore.
Generally buoyant spirit or no, Cheeky wasn’t sure she’d be a good fit for the Sabrina and its captain.
Cheeky had checked the ship out before coming to Killian’s—working for the Junta Port Authority had some small perks. She didn’t recognize the configuration of the Sabrina, but it was obvious that the ship had once been a pleasure yacht of some sort. It was too sleek and smooth to be a freighter by design, and its limited cargo space meant it wasn’t a bulk freight hauler.
However, it did look fast. Too fast. All of which painted the Sabrina as the type of ship that hauled cargo for people who needed items of dubious provenance moved quickly and discretely.
Cheeky laughed.
Who would smuggle things in a ship that was so obviously used for smuggling? Cheeky shook her head. Maybe it was all about hiding in plain sight.
Of course, at a station like Junta, no hiding was necessary at all. So long as you paid your docking fees and didn’t kill any of the wrong people, no questions would be asked.
Not that it really mattered. The events that had all but stranded her here marked her as nearly unhireable. Cheeky expected this meeting to be short and disappointing. Still, she had to try….
“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” a sultry voice asked from her side.
Cheeky started; she’d been so lost in her ruminations, she hadn’t even heard anyone approach. She turned, ready to dismiss whatever undesirable suitor was attempting to gain her attention, and blinked in surprise as she recognized Captain Sera of the Sabrina.
“Uhh…” Cheeky stammered before coming up with a witty rejoinder. “Waiting for a girl like you to show up. Mission accomplished.”
Captain Sera was even more stunning than her profile picture had suggested: long dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a clear appreciation for leather. She wore tight black leather pants, a shimmering blue shirt that showed only a minimal amount of cleavage, and a long burgundy leather coat.
Captain Sera laughed. The sound of it was strong and sure as she swept her long coat out behind herself, and settled onto the next stool over before Cheeky could suggest wiping it down first.
“Am I that late?” Sera asked, giving a pointed look at the two empty shot glasses.
“One was disinfectant,” Cheeky said with a grim smile. “This place could probably use a date with a pressure washer…for a week.”
“I feel like I should have selected a better location for our meeting,” Sera said with a grimace as she shifted, her leather pants making a sticky sound as they peeled off the stool. “I just looked for the place with the fewest recent reports to station security.”
Cheeky chuckled. “Yeah, that’s because no self-respecting criminal would ever come in here.”
“Noted,” Sera said, as she waved a hand to catch the bartender’s attention, pointed at Cheeky’s shot glasses, and held up four fingers.
Several minutes later, after Captain Sera had cleaned off her stool and pants—something that Cheeky enjoyed watching—they got down to business.
“I looked over your creds,” Sera said, smelling the contents of the third shot glass before downing it with a slight shudder. “You have a good record; flown some pretty big birds in your day. How’d you end up in this backwater?”
Cheeky really didn’t want to tell the story. It was more than a little embarrassing, but it was the first question out of nearly every prospective employer’s mouth.
“Ship I flew was here on Junta,” she began with a sigh. “Making a delivery, and picking up some ca
rgo for an outsystem haul,” Cheeky began. “It was supposed to be four-day layover, so I found a good place to hole up and have some fun.”
“And by that you mean…” Sera asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Uh…sex, drugs, loud music, more sex,” Cheeky replied. That wasn’t the part that ashamed her—though some captains had cut her off right there, citing the need for a more responsible pilot. Cheeky figured that was for the best. Anyone who couldn’t handle a good party wasn’t a fit for her anyway. By her reckoning, you only lived once, and if you found something you enjoyed, you should do it.
Cheeky did things that she enjoyed a lot.
“I suspect I know where this is going,” Sera replied. “You got left behind.”
Cheeky nodded. Sera was quick. Any captains that didn’t end the interview after they saw her mode of dress and confirmed her party-girl lifestyle usually left once they made that connection. She was a pilot—a damn good one, if her record was all a potential employer looked at. The problem was, good pilots were like gold, and you didn’t leave gold behind.
Yet here she was.
“That doesn’t hold water,” Sera said, an eyebrow arched quizzically. “What else were you up to?”
A flush reddened Cheeky’s face. “Well, the captain was supposed to pay us crew once he sold the cargo we brought in. Problem was, he ran into some trouble and buggered on out of the Cipira System. I had been counting on that pay, and got stuck with a rather sizable bill.”
It was the truth, but most captains assumed it to be nothing more than a lame excuse. Cheeky had to admit that she would have assumed the same.
Captain Sera didn’t respond right away; instead, her dark eyes bored into Cheeky’s. Then she ran a hand through her hair. “Your record with the Port Authority says you’ve been here over a year,” Sera said. “What kinda partying were you getting up to, to rack up a bill like that?”
Cheeky laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh, it was a good time, but not that good. I had to resort to asking a local shark to lend me the cred to settle up. Let’s just say that his interest rate has outstripped my pay.”
Sera’s frown deepened, and Cheeky expected that this would be when the interview ended. She was ready for the inevitable dismissal, when Sera asked something new.
“And this was Captain Henshaw, of the Endless Sea?” Sera asked with what looked like anger in her eyes. “Has he returned?”
“Uh…yeah, that’s the dung heap who ran off. And no, he hasn’t come back.”
Sera’s look of anger turned to one of compassion. Cheeky wondered what the captain was playing at. These questions have nothing to do with my piloting ability, or what I would bring to a crew….
“Well, Cheeky, I can promise you one thing. No member of my crew would ever get left high and dry like that. Even if I did have to run off with my tail between my legs, I’d send someone for you.”
Cheeky was dumbfounded. That was the furthest thing from the response she expected—from the responses she had always received.
Most of the captains who came through Junta Station considered it Cheeky’s own dumb fault that she was in this situation. They looked on her as a hapless young woman who couldn’t manage her own affairs well enough to stay out of trouble—which meant she certainly couldn’t be trusted at the helm of their ship.
Still, here she was, praying that Sera would give her a chance.
“Who’s the shark, and how much do you owe?” Sera asked.
“Uh…guy named Genni; he operates out of a pawn shop not far from here, a place called Genni’s Pawn and Loans, surprisingly enough.”
“And the amount?” Sera asked with a raised eyebrow.
Cheeky wondered why this woman was asking for these details. Is she building up ammunition for my eventual dismissal? Will it involve mockery?
“Six thousand,” Cheeky replied dismally.
“Huh, not really that much. Are you on a bond not to leave the station? Other than for your work, of course,” Sera said.
Cheeky nodded. “Yeah, I have to stick around. Problem with the debt is that the interest rate is one hundred percent, and it’s assessed weekly.”
Sera tossed a credit chit onto the counter and rose from her stool. “Cheeky…” she began.
Cheeky braced herself. She’d been strung along for long enough. Then Sera surprised her yet again.
“Let’s go see Genni and take care of this little debt you have. Seems to me that six thousand is about the right amount for a signing bonus.”
Genni & Chur
STELLAR DATE: 02.11.8920 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Killian’s Bar, Junta Station
REGION: Cipira System, Dominion of Kyra
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
“Wha…what?”
Sera grinned. “Cheeky, you have a good record. One that the Port Authority won’t release unless they’re pressed—I don’t think they want to lose you. You hit some hard times, which is something I know all about, but that doesn’t mean you should be punished forever,” Sera paused and put a hand on Cheeky’s shoulder before continuing. “I think it’s time you got a second chance.”
Cheeky rose from her stool, staring intently into Sera’s eyes, looking for any sign that she was being played.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“I already told you,” Sera said. “You need a job, I need a pilot; you need a hand, I have hands. Now let’s get out of here before we stick to the floor.”
Sera walked out of the bar, and Cheeky hurried after her and out into the corridor.
“Captain Sera…I…”
“Just ‘Sera’. Or I guess you can call me ‘Captain’; together…no, makes me feel old.”
“Um, OK, Sera. That was the weirdest interview I’ve ever had,” Cheeky said.
Sera let out another of her confidence-filled laughs. “I already knew I was going to hire you, Cheeky. Stars, for your name alone, I would have probably given you the job.”
Cheeky wasn’t sure if that was an insult or not, but she bit her tongue. She could take a few jokes about her name—especially if that’s all it took to get her off Junta.
Sera continued speaking as they walked. “I’d checked you out quite thoroughly before I ever stepped foot in that hole in the wall. All I was doing in there was seeing how honest and forthright you were. I don’t have room in my life for backstabbers, double dealers, or smooth talkers. I want truth, raw and unvarnished. You gave me that.”
“I do tend to be unvarnished,” Cheeky said with a smile, warming up to Sera and her forthright manner. She was the strangest smuggler Cheeky had ever encountered—either that, or she wasn’t a smuggler at all.
“If by ‘unvarnished’, you mean unclothed, yes, I can see that. Don’t you get cold?” Sera asked.
Cheeky shrugged. “You get used to it. My mods also keep my metabolism running high to keep me warm. Clothing is so…antiquated.”
“I didn’t see where you’re from, originally,” Sera said. “Is it one of those back-to-nature animal places, or one of those cerebral, we’re-beyond-all-this-shit places?”
Cheeky laughed. Where she was from was certainly neither of those. “I was born on a ship. Grew up there, too. People onboard were pretty normal—ridiculously normal, to be honest. I needed some variety in my life. So I left to see the stars.”
Sera nodded. “Sounds familiar. Ah! There it is, just down on the left. Genni’s.”
A holosign featuring a rainbow and a pot of gold hovered over the establishment’s entrance, with Genni’s name flowing out of the pot and into the ether over and over.
Cheeky thought it was the dumbest sign she’d ever seen, but Genni had been enthralled by it.
Sera marched under the sign without a moment’s hesitation, and pushed open the door to Genni’s establishment. Cheeky followed after, excited, but a little scared of what might happen next.
So far, the Sabrina’s captain had been fair and honest, but
Cheeky didn’t want to put too much hope in the woman’s generosity. She could still just be playing Cheeky for a fool, messing with her to get a rise out of a poor pilot down on her luck.
Genni’s was filled with the flotsam and jetsam that those who were down on their luck had traded for a few cred. A lot of it was junk—only valuable to the person pawning it—but there were some gems in the place. Like the plasma sword that hung over the counter, or the rare, first edition Star Killer full-immersion sims in a case on the wall.
“Hello?” Sera called out into the empty establishment. “Anyone here?”
The sound of something falling came through the back door, followed by a string of curses. Once the speaker—Genni, of course—had exhausted his limited repertoire, he ambled out, squinting at Sera.
“Buy or Sell?” he asked.
“Neither,” Sera replied. “I’m here to pay off Cheeky’s debt and ensure her bond is cleared.”
Genni was an unassuming man. Neither slovenly nor preening, he wasn’t really noteworthy in any way; he exuded a sort of…unnoticeableness. That was until he smelled the opportunity to make money. Then his eyes lit up, and his fingers began to curl and uncurl with excitement.
Cheeky found it rather unnerving.
“Cheeky, you say?” Genni spoke slowly, stroking his chin as though he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with Cheeky and what she may or may not owe. “Let me look her up and see what her current balance is.”
“6,042 credits,” Cheeky offered.
Genni glanced up at Cheeky as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Oh! You say so, do you? Well, let’s just check to be sure.”
He bent over a holo terminal and made a great show of flipping through records while hemming and hawing. A minute later he nodded, and looked up at the two women. I’m afraid Miss Cheeky has somehow mistaken her level of indebtedness. She currently owes me 18,501 credits.”
“What?!” Cheeky roared, unable to contain her outrage. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Genni looked down at his terminal as though it were responsible for the excessively large number and he had nothing to do with it. “Well, there are early payoff fees, late fees, debt transfer fee—”
Galaxia Page 56
