by George Ellis
Edgar sat on the edge of his bunk, wearing just a towel around his waist and legs. The man was more muscle than water. I didn’t know if zero percent body fat was a real possibility, but if it was, this guy had it. At the moment, he was admiring busty women in red swimsuits as they ran across the beach in slow-motion.
Baywatch.
He had access to thousands of classic TV shows and movies courtesy of my uncle’s entertainment selection, and of course he chose Baywatch.
“So wholesome,” he noted. “It’s nothing like the Purples.”
The Purples were short pornographic videos strung together and organized by theme. Heterosexual. Homosexual. Videos of feet. You name it. If there was a style or fetish, there was a Purple for it. The videos got their name from the low-grade beam quality that made them easier to download and view while hurtling through space at a few hundred thousand miles per hour. The compression often gave them a purple hue that somehow made them even more depressing to watch.
The idea of entertainment as art had mostly died in the 21st century. Now the great majority of the video diversions available were either Purples, sports or news. Occasionally an industrious rich person would commission a movie to be made, but if people felt the need to spend time in front of a monitor, it was usually for porn or gaming.
“There are actually much better shows in the system,” I told him. “You should check out The Wire. Or Goonies.” I snickered to myself, thinking he was more like Sloth than Shrek.
He waved a hand. “This is perfect. Why are you bothering me?”
“Uh, because it’s my ship and I can bother you in your quarters if I want.”
“Thought maybe you came by to make sure I was settled in. Or to thank me for saving your life.”
Smartass.
“So I guess that’s a no on the thank you? I’ll remember that next time,” he said.
He didn’t even look at me when he was talking. Just kept his eyes glued to the monitor on the wall.
“It was good work,” I managed through gritted teeth.
Edgar nodded, accepting the meager compliment. He knew it was good work and didn’t need my validation or lame version of a thank you. “Anything else, captain? As you can see, I am trying to appreciate the on-board amenities for the short time I’m on board this heap.”
“Heap?”
“Fine, maybe it’s not a total heap. It has certain qualities I like.” Edgar motioned to the monitor, then he looked at me. “And some I could take or leave.”
I thought about telling him to undo whatever hacking wizardry he’d used to disable my security clearances, but I figured bringing it up would only encourage him to further compromise my authority, merely out of spite. So, I let it slide.
“Crew meeting in the kitchen in ten,” I said, turning to leave. He grunted a version of maybe. Walking out the door, I heard Hasselhoff warn the other lifeguards about a possible traitor in their midst. I understood the feeling.
* * *
I wasn’t used to providing meals for more than me and my cat.
When I towed other ships, their crews and passengers usually stayed on their own vessel for the duration. That was barring uninhabitable conditions, like the time I towed a leisure cruiser that had sprung a core reactor leak. All 29 people on board had to cram into the Stang for eight grueling, smelly days. It was better than radiation poisoning, of course, but the way some of them complained about eating freeze-dried protein packs twice a day, maybe they’d have preferred a slow death from internal bleeding.
The point was, I hadn’t stopped for supplies since a few weeks before picking up Batista, so rations were already spread thin. Now I had yet another mouth to feed. The size of the man it belonged to made me even more concerned that the fridge, freezer and pantry would soon be empty. Given the bounty on our heads, I had no idea where the next safe port would be, meaning we might have to stretch supplies until Jasper Station. Six more days. The coffee maker whirred and sputtered out a pot of soybean substitute. Edgar had just sat down and he eyed the brown liquid with contempt.
“Bad news: I ran out of the real stuff about a month ago,” I explained to him. Batista was also at the table, but she already knew the deal. “Good news: this soybean crap is the one thing we won’t run out of. A freighter couldn’t pay me a couple jobs back, so they gave me two crates of the stuff.”
“I don’t work on barter,” Edgar noted. I handed him a cup anyway and sat down. The three of us looked at each other for a few moments. Batista and I sipped the soy-coffee. Edgar just watched us. It tasted like hell, but it did the trick – what the stuff lacked in flavor, it made up for in caffeine.
I settled into my chair and considered my crew. We were three loners, somehow thrown together on a mission that none of us understood. Well, at least I didn’t.
“I’ll start,” Batista said, unable to wait any longer. She turned to Edgar. “Why are you on this ship?”
“Same reason you are, babe,” Edgar replied.
“I’m done. This is pointless.” Batista shook her head and stood up. She began to leave the kitchen.
Edgar smiled at me.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Guess she didn’t tell you that your brother was alive,” he said, matter of fact. Then he downed half his coffee and sat back in his chair, content.
I turned my gaze to Batista, who was frozen in place by the door. I could tell by her body language Edgar wasn’t making it up. She’d known all along.
“It’s not that simple,” she explained.
“It’s not? Then explain it to me,” I said. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and knew I was turning crimson. I didn’t care.
Batista kept her eyes averted from mine. She glared at Edgar. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”
“Maybe. Least I’m an honest piece of shit. You heard the captain. Explain why you’ve been lying to him this whole time.”
Hard to believe, but I agreed with him. Batista owed me a damn good explanation.
“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” she said.
“Try again. Only this time, tell me the real reason or I’ll drop you off at the next port, even if it means risking being caught,” I said.
“Denver, let’s not get crazy,” Gary butted in.
“Stay out of it, Gary,” I warned.
Batista mulled over her options and decided she had no choice but to come clean. She sighed. “Avery made me promise not to tell anyone, especially you.”
I felt a hollow ache in my gut. My brother and I had been many things, but we were never enemies. The idea that he would let me believe he was dead seemed beyond cruel. It didn’t mesh with the usual state of our relationship, as rocky as it was. Then I suddenly felt a gnawing concern.
“Is my father even dead?” I asked her.
Edgar answered first. “Yup. Floating somewhere a few hundred thousand clicks off Mars.”
The big man then got up and moved to the cabinets. “Hungry,” he muttered to himself. We may as well have been talking about Baywatch, for all he cared. Death meant nothing to him. He grabbed a candy bar I knew I should’ve hid and leaned on the counter, slowly unwrapping it.
I wasn’t sure if I should feel sad or relieved about my father (still) being dead. I’d come to terms with my old man being gone. Having to re-engage that part of my life would have been painful, even if it meant he was still alive. I quickly examined my feelings on the matter and realized, yes, it was easier this way.
Great, another thing to feel guilty about.
I pushed those thoughts aside for the moment and focused back on the matter at hand.
“Why do you need to get to Jasper Station?” I asked Batista. “And why the deadline?”
She eyed Edgar, then moved back to her chair and sat down. She looked at her mug of coffee. “I think we’re all gonna need something harder than this.”
I wasn’t in the mood to hand out any alcohol, so after a quick glance at Edgar, she p
roceeded.
“Are we sure we can trust him?” she asked me.
“Right now, I trust him more than you,” I said.
She nodded and leaned forward to meet my eyes.
“Your brother is on the Roxelle Baker,” she told me. I already knew this, but didn’t bother to interrupt. “I assume you’ve heard of it?”
I nodded. Edgar continued munching on what was probably the last candy bar on the Stang. He tried to keep a relaxed look about him, but I could see his interest was piqued. Perhaps he hadn’t expected Batista to know that part.
“When Silver Star had your father killed, they gave your brother a choice. He could join your dad or join the crew of the Rox. Avery might not be the mechanic you or your father was, but he had other skills.”
“Such as?”
Batista threw another look at Edgar, but she had no choice except to answer. “He was the best scout I ever saw.”
Scout was a nice word for thief. Often, killer. On a ship like the Rox, a scout’s job would be to throw on the space suit and sneak onto enemy vessels in close proximity. And there was only one real reason to do that: to board the other ship or sabotage it. Calling that person a “scout” was suggesting their main job was reconnaissance, which it usually wasn’t. When we were teenagers, Avery and I snuck off our dad’s ship plenty of times to cause mischief. I was never fully confident floating in the vastness of space, nothing between me and the vacuum besides a few layers of nylon and aluminized kevlar, with nothing to guide myself but dinky little pressure packs. Avery was fearless. Because of that, he was also faster and more willing to take risks. He used to call it floating the line, but I often felt he crossed over the line in hopes he might not make it back.
As a scout on the Rox, he lived on the other side of the line.
“He’s good, but I’ve seen better,” Edgar interjected.
“I don’t remember asking your opinion,” Batista snarled. “And I never said you hadn’t seen better. I said he was the best I’d seen, which still makes him pretty damn good. Got it?”
Edgar put up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender.
“How do you know all this?” I asked her.
“He finds ways to leave me messages,” she replied. She didn’t offer any more detail. Fine. We’d return to that later, I decided.
“And one of those messages was about Jasper?”
“The Rox will be there in six days. They’re going to destroy the federation ship guarding the station, and then they’re going to destroy Jasper itself.”
That was a ruthless move, even for the Rox. I had no love for the Believers, but there were kids on that station. Perhaps reading my mind, Batista nodded.
“He didn’t tell me why,” she said. “He just said to get there so I could help him stop it.”
“Why not just tip off the feds?”
“I tried that. Didn’t work. So then your brother told me to get your help.”
My help? What was I supposed to do? Sure, now I was involved thanks to Desmond, but my brother couldn’t have predicted that…I didn’t think.
Edgar moved back to the table, licking the chocolate from the candy bar off his fingers. “I couldn’t care less about Jasper or the people on it.”
“Touching,” Batista said.
“They’re all loons and you both know it. Verse is better without them. I’d blast them to pieces myself if it wasn’t so much trouble,” he shrugged. “Now the Rox? That ship’s actually worth a damn. Especially now.”
“Setting aside the fact you just placed more value on a band of soulless mercenaries than thousands of innocent people,” Batista growled, “What’s so special about the Rox right now?”
Edgar smiled, showing the nougat and caramel stuck in his crooked teeth. He had no intention of fully answering the question, but he knew he’d piqued our interest.
“Let’s just say in a few months, the rest of us will be struggling to keep up with them,” he teased. “Unless Desmond captures it first.”
I wanted to press him, but there was no point. The big man wasn’t going to spill. Not willingly, anyway. Batista came to the same conclusion and decided to set aside her curiosity for the time being.
“Bottom line. We help Desmond, and the Rox doesn’t destroy Jasper?” she asked.
Edgar spread his hands and looked down his nose at Batista. “Probably. It’ll distract them at least. You a Believer?”
“No.”
“Then why do you care about Jasper?”
“Preventing mass murder isn’t reason enough?”
Edgar shook his head. “I’m gonna go with no.”
Part of me suspected the same thing: Batista had some other motive here. Stopping the Rox was noble and all, but there was a missing piece. They’d already described the kind of person my brother was these days, so his reasons might not be so pure, either.
“Maybe they’re after what’s on the Rox, too,” I offered.
Batista looked at me with a mix of surprise and anger. But I saw past that and recognized I’d hit pay dirt. I was right.
“Tell me what it is,” I demanded of her. Or Edgar. Or even Pirate, who had just sauntered into the room and was mewing near the fridge, hoping for a second dinner.
“Maybe…” Batista admitted, tentatively. “Maybe for Avery. He hasn’t told me what’s on board, though. It must be important because he usually doesn’t hide things from me.”
Edgar whistled. “You do know you’re breaking the captain’s heart, one lie at a time, don’t ya? And you’re already nailing his brother. It’s sad –”
Before Edgar could finish his sarcastic remark, I saw a black blur cross in front of my face. It was Batista’s boot. Somehow she’d flashed her leg out and kicked Edgar right in the jaw with a vicious roundhouse (from a seated position). Her steel-toed boot connected flush with a loud crack that sent Pirate screeching out of the room.
It merely stunned Edgar. For a nanosecond. He flinched and shook it off at the same time, then caught her leg as it recoiled. With a flick of his wrist, he yanked Batista out of her chair and onto the floor. She rolled with the momentum and got her leg free from Edgar’s grasp. Suddenly they were both crouched, facing each other. They began to circle.
This all happened before I could put down my coffee.
“We don’t need this right now,” I said, trying to sound authoritative. They both ignored me. It was a sight that defied logic: a hulking beast of a man squaring off with a slender woman maybe a third his weight. He wasn’t taking her lightly, though. The lightning quick kick must have instilled a bit of respect.
“I was wondering how long it’d be before we tango’d,” Batista hissed.
Edgar blinked. He had no idea what a tango was. Instead, he lunged forward and tried to grab one of Batista’s arms. She spun away from the attempt and came back with an elbow against his forearm. It looked like it hurt her more than him. They both had smiles on their faces – apparently this was what passed for fun in their minds. I wasn’t quite so amused. I stood up and stepped toward them.
“I’m not taking responsibility for your health,” Edgar warned.
“Ditto,” said Batista, just as she twirled to the ground and swept the big man’s legs out from under him. He went down, hard. The guy actually dented the corrugated steel floor where his shoulder landed. But pain was even more foreign to Edgar than it was to me, and he kicked back – right into Batista’s gut. She flew backward four full feet, slamming into the cabinets with a thud. As tough as she was, that one hurt. She labored to get back up as Edgar calmly rose to his feet and looked down at her.
“I’ll admit, I’m impressed,” he said. “But don’t mistake that for pity. I will break you in half if I feel like it.”
“Nobody is breaking anybody in half!” I shouted. That got their attention. “Either this stops now or everybody is going to sleep.”
Batista knew what I was talking about, but Edgar screwed his face into a genuinely confused grimace. “What
, like a curfew?”
“Tell him, Gary,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Halothane vapor mixed with penthrane,” he said cheerily. “You may know it as sleeping gas. Holy fog, Batman!”
I looked up and saw the chemical fog pouring out of the kitchen vents. Before I could stop him, Gary had flooded the room with the stuff. Batista fell to the floor within two seconds, but Edgar’s body fought the gas for a full five seconds, during which he stumbled toward me with fists clenched. Luckily, he came up a couple feet short. He landed with another clang that left an even more pronounced dent in the floor.
I sighed.
“I said to tell them, not show them.”
“You have a weird way of saying thank you, Denver.”
“Now it’s your turn –”
“But I was trying to help you!”
“Sleep. Now.”
I sat back down and took a sip of my coffee. Pirate slunk into the room, sidestepping Edgar and giving Batista a concerned sniff. Once he decided she was okay, he hopped up onto the table and began eating the crumbs from Edgar’s candy bar. I’d also had Pirate’s immunity altered so he wasn’t affected by the knockout gas. I checked my handheld and saw the ship only had 12% of the stuff left. That was good enough for one contained blast of it in an emergency.
What was Gary thinking? He didn’t usually freelance like that, at least not on important decisions like using the gas on two crew members. It’s possible he was just growing more bold (and cranky) these days, but something poked at the back of my mind. A vague, growing concern that hadn’t fully taken shape yet. I didn’t think Gary had a virus…but something was different. I had to keep an eye on it.
As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.
