Jake didn’t miss a beat, apparently catching Clint’s drift about the danger of remaining on the planet. “My officer’s correct; we’ve got to lift off now. I believe we’re outside your official jurisdiction anyway, detective? Maybe your warrants cover the slavers, but you don’t have authority over us.”
Browlarr raised his eyebrows. “It’ll take me time to get clarification on the issue. Couple hours at least. Guess you’ll be well underway by then, right?”
“Absolutely.” Jake nodded to Red and Jayna. “Get Clint on his feet or carry him—I don’t care but move out now.” He activated his comlink to alert the shuttle pilot. “Shane, we’re leaving.” Behind them the engines of the Zephyr’s flyer revved.
Mira stayed close as his fellow security officers half carried Clint to the shuttle, settling him as gently as possible in one of the seats at the front. Sinking into the cushions next to him, she reached for his hand. “I’ll never be able to thank you properly.”
“Guess we’ll have to wait a bit longer for that dance,” he said, shifting his nearly-immobilized leg in an effort to get comfortable.
“Line’s gonna dock your pay for that wrecked groundcar,” Jake said, punching Clint in the shoulder as he passed them on the way to the cockpit.
“A small price to pay,” Clint murmured, gazing into Mira’s eyes.
She scooted closer and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I’ll help,” she murmured. “We’re in this together, right?”
“I like the sound of that,” he said. “So you’ll give a guy a second chance? I’d really like to make amends for the other night at the club.”
“Saving my life wasn’t enough apology for you? The gesture sure worked for me—I’m not mad at all any more.” Smiling, Mira settled in beside him, her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her protectively and leaned his head against the seat, pain meds kicking in. The shuttle left the planet in its wake, heading toward the Zephyr and a future of possibilities Clint was eagerly anticipating.
Veronica’s Note: I was excited when Linnea Sinclair invited me to contribute a story to Dealer’s Choice, since I was going to be a co-host of her Interstellar Bar & Grille event at the 2016 RT Booklovers Convention. Who could refuse a chance to be in an anthology with one of the scifi romance greats? The story had to revolve around a casino and although I have a gaming establishment on the ‘A’ deck of the Nebula Zephyr from the STAR CRUISE series, the story that came to mind was a play on the Old West tropes. A gunslinger rides into town, gets involved with the local troubles despite his best intentions, and ends up defending the dance hall girl. Or in this case, the retired Special Forces operator heading home gets stranded on a remote space station, gets involved with the local miners’ troubles and…yup, there’s a dance hall girl!
THE GOLDEN TOKEN
After the performance ended, the pounding of hard boot steps in the corridor leading to her dressing room told Rose that it had only taken Mr. Barker, the manager of the space casino, ten minutes to realize Rose wasn’t out mingling with the customers. She’d been hoping for more time to herself and sighed at the sight of him. Holding up one hand in an attempt to forestall his complaint, she said, “I saw Jak Cade in the audience nursing his drink before we started the finale. I still have the bruises from our last encounter, and I’m not going out there. Not until you have the bouncers throw him out.”
Barker snapped his fingers. “Already done. I don’t need that kind of trouble in my place. Although he’s just a young hothead spaceminer who drinks too much, who doesn’t, these days? With the mines closing down right and left?” Cocking his head to the side, Barker gave her a sly smile. “You usually charm guys like that out of their credits with no problem.”
“Yeah, I don’t date them either,” she said. “I never should have broken my own rule and made an exception for Cade. He’s one smooth talker all right, until he gets drunk and possessive.” Shivering, she drew her embroidered red robe more closely around her shoulders. “You only pay me to dance on the stage and then lure a few customers to buy your watered down feelgoods for me, remember? Nothing more.”
“You went out with Cade on your own time,” he reminded her. “Wasn’t my business until he created a scene in my casino.”
She shrugged, not wanting to discuss her unruly ex-boyfriend any further. Turning her personal AI toward the boss, she crooked a finger. “Come look at this—I had an idea for a supernova new number. I’ll rehearse the girls on it next week, on our downtime in between miner shuttle arrivals. Do you think we could afford new costumes?”
Although the manager stepped closer to where she perched cross legged on her battered chair, Barker closed the AI screen down without even glancing at the animated dancers twirling through an intricate pattern. “We need to talk.” He looked for a chair for himself.
Forewarned by his grim tone, Rose swallowed hard. “We’re not going to lay off any more of my dancers, are we?”
Seating himself as if his leg muscles had lost their strength, the boss ran one hand through his thinning hair. “Worse.” He glanced over his shoulder, plainly making sure they weren’t overheard. “This is strictly between us, but management is closing down the casino in two weeks.”
“Closing it down? What do you mean?”
“We’re not breaking even most months any more. No miners with fat paychecks, no credits for us. The company is all about the profits, so I’m only surprised they waited till now. The good times for this Sector are long over and you know it too, Rose.” He patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you and I, and a few of my other top employees are going to be transferred. Everyone else—your dancers, for example—is getting laid off. No severance pay, just transport back to the primary planet.”
Shocked, she licked her lips. It took her two tries to find her voice. “Transferred where?”
“No idea as yet. The big boss’ll tell us when the time comes.”
“Will we all be reassigned together someplace?” There was a buzzing in her ears as the idea of being relocated sank in.
Barker shook his head. “Probably not. The company spans the Sectors so they could send us anywhere.”
“But this Sector is my home—I don’t want to leave.” Rose wrapped her arms across her stomach, fighting nausea.
He stood, shoving the chair away. “You signed a contract. Fine print says the company can employ you wherever it needs you. And there’s no demand for your services in Sector 47 any more if there’s no Hall of Good Fortune. I knew you’d probably need some time to get used to the idea, which is why I’m telling you now. Call it a personal favor from me to you. Not a word to anyone else.”
“Sure, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Thanks.”
“Take the rest of this shift off,” he said magnanimously. “But I expect you to mingle with the customers after the next performance tonight.”
Head swimming, Rose nodded. “Of course.” She caught at Barker’s pudgy hand as he shifted stance to walk away. “You—you’ll let me know when we have more details of where I’ll be assigned, won’t you?”
“Of course. Might even be better for you and me than working here has been. Look on the bright side, I always say.” He laughed and went on his way.
Rose took a deep breath, fighting not to cry. She opened the AI and erased the rudimentary choreography she’d been so happy about a few moments before. Sector 47 might be a dead end, and the station a rundown slum, but it was home. At least here she knew people, knew how to take care of herself, who had influence, who to avoid, who could cause her trouble. Being completely at the mercy of the avaricious company management, to whom she was just a number, not a person with worth, was terrifying. She’d be trapped. And as for the rest of the dance troop, the idea of their being dropped into some completely unknown place, to start over, made her heart beat so fast she thought she was going to pass out. Yeah, she’d seen that clause in the employment contract but who would ever dream the company might use their power? The only good she
could see coming out of this was that at least Jak Cade wouldn’t be stalking her any more. But that wasn’t enough.
He was the only one waiting in the air lock to debark. Charlie glanced at the ship’s Second Officer standing by the controls. Smiling, she thumbprinted his ticket. “Thank you for traveling with us, Mr. McBrire. If you could move along into the exit tunnel—”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the passengers?” He hoisted his kitbag.
A puzzled frown crossed her face. “There isn’t anyone else. Sector 47 Station isn’t a normal stop for us, but ICC regulations require we serve stations with no scheduled service, if there’s a passenger.” She leaned close. “You should have heard the captain complaining. But the law’s the law and you’re ex-military after all, so the Line insisted.”
“It’s that isolated?” He was surprised, but then he hadn’t been in this area of the Sectors in a long time.
“The travel agent who booked you is going to get reamed, but his screw up isn’t your problem. Are you staying on the station?” Her tone suggested sympathy if he was.
He shook his head. “Passing through, making a connection with a freighter going my way. I won’t be here long enough to breathe much of their precious air.”
“Kumisarc Corporation’ll hit you up for the oxygen tax anyway,” she said.
He walked into the tunnel, barely clearing the portal at the end before he heard the sound of the grav clamps disengaging as the spaceliner cast off. While following a trail of blinking green arrows, Charlie examined his surroundings. If this corridor was anything to judge by, the facility was huge, built for a time when the Sector had been on the frontier, the mining colonies active and the immigrants flocking to the opportunities to strike it rich. Civilization had passed this place by in the last few decades. His footsteps echoed as he trudged past closed kiosks and arrival/departure airlocks. The air was cold, metallic in his lungs.
A promising cluster of lights gleamed at the end of the hallway and he soon arrived at the only desk where a living being sat. The man barely glanced at him. “Travel docs?”
Handing over his ticket, Charlie said, “The place always this deserted?”
“You’re on the inter-sector arrival deck, not much action. You taking a census?”
“Just curious.”
Rubbing his jaw, the clerk said, “Maybe a couple of freighters a month for me to deal with. I’m normally assigned one level up, where the miners arrive to burn through their paychecks. Up there, yeah, we see a lot of traffic. No other place to spend credits and blow off steam in this Sector.”
Now Charlie was afraid the guy was never going to shut up. Apparently he didn’t get much chance to talk to another human, and one rhetorical question had opened the flood gates of information on a subject Charlie didn’t care two pieces of space debris about.
He plucked his ticket from the man’s fingers, taking a glance to see how much oxygen tax he was paying. “Wait, there’s some mistake here. I’m not staying on the Station.”
Tongue between his teeth as he concentrated, the station agent reviewed the information on the screen before him. “You’re hopping a ride on the Centauri Dawn to your destination in Sector 46, right?”
“Yes, but she’s supposed to be docking later today.”
The clerk shrugged. “Updated info as of an hour ago. Ran into some rogue comets. She won’t be here for three days. Be glad she’s coming at all, would be my advice.” A small alarm sounded and the man held up one hand. “Hold on, this could be your lucky day.”
“I fail to see how.”
“Says here you’re arrival number one hundred for this cycle and entitled to a golden token, redeemable at the Hall of Good Fortune.” He handed Charlie a large, fake gold coin, embossed with a dragon on one side and blank on the other.
Astonished, Charlie flipped the coin over. “You must be kidding me. Nobody uses metal money these days, not even in a backwater Sector like this.”
The clerk said, “That’s for gambling at the Station’s casino, up on Level A. Only place to get drinks, gamble, have some fun. Depending on your preferences, of course. The menu’s not as extensive as it used to be in the old days. Kumisarc Corporation’s always cutting back.”
In an effort to stem the tide of the now-garrulous agent’s information, Charlie asked, “This station got a hotel?”
“Temporary housing only for non-residents, rents by the day. I can reserve you a unit.”
Charlie scanned the lobby. There were a few seats on the far wall and he knew he’d seen some in the arrival area.
“Security don’t allow vagrants,” the man said as if reading his mind. “No camping out in the waiting areas. Even with a valid transfer ticket.”
He stifled a growl of irritation, drumming his fingers on the counter. So far this station was a racket, trying to separate him from his credits and doing a good job of it. “How much for the room?”
Not surprised to be quoted a predictably exorbitant price, Charlie set the useless coin on the counter while he transferred the credits, got his code key strip and picked up his bag, ready to make the best of his unexpected layover.
“Hey, don’t forget the token.” The clerk held it up before tossing it to him. “This plus a few credits’ll get you a drink or a spin of the roulette wheel. Not good for much else.”
Charlie made a one-handed catch and slid the disc into a pocket on his utility pants.
“No open carry weapons, by the way,” the clerk said, leaning over the counter. “Gotta keep them stowed in your baggage. Security does a body scan before anyone gets into the casino. They get real upset if they see weapons. Had a few incidents with hotheaded miners over the years, trying to settle their personal grievances with blasters. Tempers are short these days.”
Raising one hand to signify he’d heard, Charlie made his escape.
The rental units were a level down from the terminal. As Charlie navigated his way there, his impression that this was a facility with marginal maintenance was reinforced. Dents and patches in the hull, a gravlift that was like swimming in glue, refuse gathered along the edges of corridors—Sectors Station 47 was not a happy place. Not as bad as some he’d been in over the years, but not anywhere he wanted to linger. The few people he passed had the same pasty, pinched look the desk clerk exhibited, intent on their own errands, virtually ignoring him.
He walked through the housing corridor, noting how many of the door indicators showed green for unoccupied. This place had fallen on hard times, judging by the vacancies. He found the number he’d been assigned and pulled the key from his pocket. The casino token came with it, rolling to the deck with a clink and wavering away. Charlie kept his hold on the kitbag and tried to get the archaic key strip to work. The loss of the flamboyant token wasn’t even a minor irritation to him right now, not worth chasing.
“See a penny, pick it up and all the day you’ll have good luck,” said a melodious voice from his left. “I think this must be yours, stranger?”
He half turned, finding himself facing a woman as tall as he was, dressed in the standard beige, one-piece Station uniform but wearing an incongruous pair of red stiletto heels. Her hair was lavender and aqua, massed curls bouncing as she walked toward him, token held in well-manicured fingers.
Automatically he extended his own hand. “Penny? Is that what it’s called?”
Green eyes sparkling, she laughed. “Who knows? My granny taught me the saying when I was a kid. Said it was an Old Terra proverb from before credits were invented. I like the rhythm.”
“You can keep it if you want,” he offered. “You found it.”
“Employees aren’t allowed to gamble or drink with those. For the paying customers only.” She dropped the coin onto his palm. Leaning closer, she said, “Basically it’s a scam to get you into the casino.”
“You work there?” A whiff of her exotic perfume made his head whirl. He made up his mind he was paying the place a visit. He ventured a safe gues
s. “Dealer? Which table?”
Laughing, she edged past him in the corridor. “Come and find out. I’ll be…on duty, in an hour.”
The view as she walked toward the gravlift was the most appealing thing he’d seen since arriving. He raised his voice. “I’m Charlie by the way.”
Not bothering to glance back, she waved one shapely hand. “Nice to meet you, new neighbor Charlie.”
The rental unit was three small rooms, cleaner than he expected, which made the price less outrageous but it was bigger than he needed for a seventy-two hour stay. Charlie set up some personal security measures, made sure his kitbag was protected with antitheft deterrents—a man learned a lot of things in the Special Forces that even in retirement he didn’t forget—and headed out to reconnoiter the station.
Casually he took note of the emergency exits, maintenance doors and lifepods. Who knew if any of the safety features had been properly maintained? Even a broken down lifepod was better than being in space unprotected, should an emergency strike. As soon as the gravlift deposited him on Level A, he was assaulted by loud music, the sound of slot machines for counterpoint, and nearly blinded by the lavish glow of an elaborate but outdated holographic display. The Hall of Good Fortune was flanked by holo dragons, the projected façade resembling a temple of some kind. He passed the two eight-foot, scowling hologram warriors and entered the casino itself. Glancing around, Charlie thought all the credits expended on maintenance and upkeep at the Station must be invested here. The décor was lavish, though a bit threadbare if examined too closely.
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