by A. R. Knight
“Classy place,” Puk stated as Viola reached for the door.
“Didn’t hear you suggesting anywhere else,” Viola replied.
The human manning the desk looked like she was coming from, or about to go to, a party Viola would expect at a place called Cosmagora. She wore suit full of sharp angles and flashing color, flipping hues whenever she moved. It took Viola a few seconds of staring to realize the receptionist was already talking to her.
“A room?” the receptionist said, her voice full of placating boredom.
“If you’ve got one,” Viola managed. When the receptionist leaned to check her console, the entire suit flipped to shades of blue, from ocean depth to cartoon teal. Viola bit back the urge to ask where she could get one of her own.
“Right now,we’ve got plenty. You walk in an hour ago, you’d have to leave,” the receptionist replied.
“It’s like you’re begging us to ask why,” Puk said.
The receptionist glanced at the bot, raised an eyebrow. Then looked back at Viola and waited.
“Why?” Viola said after a moment’s awkward silence.
“Changing of the guards. Literally,” the receptionist said. “Guess people aren’t fans of murder, so we’ve had a lot of cancels.”
“Shocking,” Puk said.
“Murder?” Viola asked.
With each drip-fed detail, Viola’s eyes crawled wider and wider. Exploding space ships, new arrivals burned alive in a bay by their own bodyguards?Perhaps Europa hadn’t been the best choice.
The walk and elevator ride up to her room was like taking a psycho-active trip through a madman’s mind. Viola couldn’t make sense of the random artwork, picked from heaps of scrap metal and blasted with colors designed to clash with each other as possible. The room itself wasn’t much better, its bed a sprawling mess of intermingled sheets, wrap-around pillows, and a ceiling screen that showed a time-lapse birth of the universe on repeat. Viola turned that off first. Then, after dropping their stuff, they fled.
“What next?” Puk said as they stood on the boulevard again, the local time now edging into the deep night hours. “We going to steal a bunch of stuff? Try to meet ruffians?”
“Ruffians? Who taught you that word?” Viola asked, walking the boulevard, away from the bays.
The street wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty. Wandering pockets of people shifted in and out of the mixture of starlight and multi-colored lamps posted. Conversations carried, but their words washed each other out, like murmurings across a cafe. The occasional burst from a ship lifting off bled light throughout the boulevard for a few seconds at a time. Most people, Viola included, were wearing coats, her breath misting with every exhale.
“I’ve been on a classic literature phase lately,” Puk continued.
“But, don’t you know every book ever written?”
“I back-up the book I want to read, then go through it nice and slow, re-installing it to my live memory. Then delete the backup.”
“How long does it take you?”
“I’ve only finished five today, with all our crap going on.”
“Glad you’re paying attention.”
Ahead, across the boulevard, an aggressive series of sapphire letters formed The Bitter Chill along with outlines of cocktail glasses. Her father never took her to the working bars on Ganymede, for Galaxy Forge staff. Parties happened, sure, but to go into one of these places? By herself?
“Terrible plan,” Puk said, following her look.
“Why am I here, Puk?” Viola replied.
“Because you’ve made a horrible mistake?”
“You’re no fun,”
“You programmed me,”
“So what will you do now?” Viola said, starting towards the bar. It took a few steps, but then Viola heard the little bot, jets whirring behind her.
“If anyone looks at you funny, I’m just going to start shooting,” Puk said.
12
First Mate, First Round
Trying to find a booth big enough to fit Mox was a frustrating exercise. It was why, months ago, Phyla had asked the owners of The Bitter Chill to tweak one for the Nines. In exchange, Phyla promised they’d stop by multiple times a night to provide security. That the Nines weren’t the peacekeepers of Eden Prime anymore hadn’t filtered to local news yet, which meant the five of them could have at least one more night throwing back beverages and forgetting their problems.
“I can’t believe you didn’t see the engines coming,” Merc was saying to Opal, leaning back in the booth with a beer in hand. “Classic maneuver to fry your opponents.”
“Classic maneuver?” Opal countered. “It’s a suicide move. That bay could have exploded. Everyone dead and the base heavily damaged.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Merc said.“Those guys clearly had nothing left to pull.”
Opal's squinted eyes said she wanted to take the fighter pilot and choke him right there. Merc was trying to use that idiot grin of his to disarm the comments. As though slapping a smile on a problem made it go away. Cadge and Mox were talking about something to each other,while Davin was at the bar getting another round.
“Merc,” Phyla interjected. “Stop being stupid.”
“Think that’s impossible,” Opal said.
Merc threw up a hand, took a sip from his beer.
“So,”Cadge said, returning to the table’s talk. “Now that we’re a free band again, what’s the next job?”
“Captain’s at the bar,” Mox said.
“He’s the only one that gets a say?” Cadge replied. “Thought this was a group effort. The way Davin told it, we’ve got a day to get off-world. I’m just looking to know where we’re going.”
Cadge looked at Phyla, the others following his glance. Surely the Jumper’s pilot would know their next job. What the back-up plan was in case the contract fell apart. Problem was, there wasn’t any back-up plan. No reason for one, with the indefinite contract from Eden Prime staying active as long as they wanted to keep locking up drunks and banishing scammers from the frozen frontier.
“We’ll figure it out,” Phyla said, hating that she didn't have an answer.
“Now that’s what I’m looking for,”Cadge said. “Choices. Allow me to vote for the most violent one.”
“Cadge, the hell’s wrong with you?” Opal said. “Give me another job like this. Where I can breathe.”
“Just because you sucked red sand and shot innocents doesn’t mean the rest of us have to die of boredom,” Cadge replied.
“They weren’t innocents,” Opal said, her voice a knife’s edge. “You were there.”
“Clean-up crews don’t make the messes.”
“Cadge,” Phyla said, holding up a hand towards the man, whose face had an evil little smile that showed he knew he had a sore spot and was ready to pick it.
“That’s a good idea,” Merc said. “Mars. It’s still a mess, right? They'll need help.”
“You don’t want to go there,” Opal replied.
“We know, thanks to this guy, that Luna’s off limits,” Cadge said, allowing Mars to slip away. “Which means, what, we try Earth?Bounce to Saturn and see what’s there?”
A tray set on the table, the crowded mugs on it clanking together. Davin, his eyes showing wandering redness from an order that came with a couple extra shots, shots that didn’t make it to the table. Cadge and Mox shifted, giving Davin room to collapse onto the plastic cushion.
“Team,” Davin said, casting his eyes around to each of them. “As your captain, I hereby order all of you to drink.”
“You heard the man,” Merc said, laughing.
Phyla took a gulp from the mug. True to the bar’s name, the beer was bitter. Cold. It ate its way through her throat and into her stomach like swallowing an ice cube.
“Davin,” Phyla said. “They’re wondering where we’re going togo.”
“Don’t think there’s another barin Eden Prime,” Davin said.“Unless another one opened and you�
��ve been holding out on me.”
“Hah,” Mox said.
Silence. Eyes moved to Davin as he took a long drink.
“The thing is,” Davin said. “I’ll have an answer for you. Tomorrow. There’s somethings that I’m working out. Calls I’ve made. We’ll see what comes through.”
Phyla was about to ask Davin what calls, but held back. She hadn’t seen Davin back at the Jumper since, a few hours ago, he’d come back to say Marl canceled their contract. There wasn’t anywhere else Davin could’ve sent transmissions off-world. Not without paying for it.
As for what Davin was working on, Phyla’d heard that one too. A favorite tactic of Davin’s when he didn’t know what the hell they were going to do. But the rest of the crew sipped their drinks, moved on to other conversation. Phyla met Davin’s eyes, the captain gave her a slight nod.
“Now, you see that? Icould use one of those,” Merc said, looking across the bar. A woman had walked in, on the young side to be here. Followed by a small floating bot, buzzing around her head like a moon.
“You be real nice to Trina, and maybe she’ll make you one,” Phyla said.
“That girl doesn’t belong here,” Opal interjected. Phyla agreed. Too many questions on that girl's face as she looked around the bar.
“Don’t worry, guys,” Davin said, standing.“I’m on it.”
Phyla watched the captain stand up and walk, tottering, away from the table. Escape one problem by jumping right into another. Just what they’d always done.
13
Two for One
The Bitter Chill had a vicious set of neon surrounding a double-door that looked pristine. New. Hanging next to those doors, laminated and plastered to the wall, was a short one-sheet that started with THINK. Below, a pair of paragraphs stated that doing stupid things on Eden Prime, like fighting, killing, or just being a nuisance could get you kicked off the moon on the next freighter. No court, no trial. A clause at the end stated this was Eden’s standard policy for all of their locations, no matter which world.
“Sounds fair,” Puk said. “Not open to abuse at all.”
“Ganymede is the same way,” Viola replied. “Gotta love the Free Laws.”
Through the door there was, somehow, more neon hues spiraling around the interior, casting bubblegum pink, grape purple and lipstick red shadows along the curving roof. The bar, sitting central, was a cascading waterfall of blues. Bass vibes interlaced with wandering instrumentals accompanied the light show, backdropping to the constant chatter coming from a collection of tables and the long loop of a bar.
Viola hunted for an empty seat, but they were all taken by a motley arrangement. Some looked like Viola’s father, business sharks waving cocktails, while others looked like they’d stepped out of machining parts and into the place with nowhere in between.
The only opening was at the bar itself, a lone small-backed stool, next to a pair of men in thick work suits that looked like they'd tromped from a clean-up where the mess won. Viola wasn’t sitting for over ten seconds before a bartender locked eyes with her and, without a word, asked what she wanted.
“Something strong,” Viola said, aping a line from a movie she’d watched a year ago.
“Good move,” Puk buzzed, hovering a centimeter from her ear. “Asking for a stiff drink when you’re alone on a moon you’ve never been to is a smart decision.”
“I didn’t know what else to say,” Viola whispered. “I've never done this.”
“Hi, I’m Puk. I have literally a million recipes and reviews of various drinks at my beck and call. How may I serve?” Puk replied.
Viola rolled her eyes and settled for staring across the bar at nothing in particular. She’d made it here, but what did that mean? Sure, it was more interesting than sitting at home imagining being here, but still…
“That your bot?” said a man whose palm appeared on the bar between Viola and the zoned-out workman.
Puk whirred to the other side of Viola’s head while she looked at the man. He was pressing hard on the bar counter, depending on it to keep him up. He rocked back and forth. But the bright eyes and sloppy smile looked genuine.
“Puk’s a friend,” Viola said.
“Have some of those myself,” the drunk replied. “Friends. They’re good in a pinch, you know?”
“In a pinch?”
“Yeah,” the drunk paused, blinked a couple times, Viola wondering just how far his train of thought had derailed. “You won’t judge me, will you?”
“Judge you?” Viola said. “I don’t even know you.”
“Fair enough,” the drunk replied. Then,to the workman, “You mind moving over a seat? Else I might fall on you.”
The man didn’t argue, shifting over a spot with a nod and giving the drunk a chance to flop on the stool. The bartender slipped Viola’s drink in front of her, a tumbler full of something a pale shade of brown.
“Don’t trust him,” Puk buzzed. “He’s drunk.”
“Really,” Viola replied.
“So anyway,” the drunk said, resting his elbows on the bar. “Here’s the deal. Today, I lost my job.”
Viola caught the man’s eyes flick towards her, judging the reaction.
“And?”
“It was boring as hell, so I don’t mind.”
“Okay.”
Viola took a sip of the drink. Cool at first, but the liquid torched its way to her stomach. Viola found herself sweating. Holding back a cough. Every ounce of concentration went into keeping the drink down, to not blowing it here, in this bar full of people who probably guzzled this stuff by the gallon. You can do it, Viola. This is the real world.
“Here’s the kicker, and this is why, as you might be able to tell, I’ve been a little… liberal with the drinks tonight,” the drunk said, waving his finger in a circle towards the bartender. “Two people died today under my watch. Burnt to a crisp.”
What was she supposed to say to that? Her father had talked about accidents in the plant. She’d had relatives who’d passed away. Didn’t sound like that’s what was happening here. The hotel receptionist and her comments about murders floated back through Viola’s mind. Was this guy involved?
“And now my crew and I have, oh, 22 hours or so to get ourselves off this moon,” here the drunk leaned in, as though compensating for Viola’s caution. “But here’s the thing. I’m pretty sure she was in on it. The two people that died.”
“She?” Viola asked.
“Marl. The woman running this place,” the drunk said, then lapsed into silence.
“The bar?”
“Eden Prime,” the man said, attempting to spread his arms and nearly knocking over his glass. “Marl’s a nasty piece of work. Don’t go near her, is my advice.”
After another sip’n’shudder of her drink. Viola examined the drunk, noticing that he wasn’t wearing the same workman’s clothes as the others in this place. Not a suit, either. More accessories. A belt with an empty holster. The comm on his wrist a higher-end model. Who was this guy?
“So what are you gonna do?” Viola asked.
“Leave it,” the drunk said.“Take off in the morning, tell Europa to go screw itself and never come back.”
“You’re not going to try and figure it out?”
The drunk started, took a drink, then turned to Viola with his hand stretched out. Viola took it, and the drunk gave her hand a single shake.
“Davin Masters, captain of the Wild Nines,” the drunk said. “I happen to like living so no, I will not be trying to figure it out.”
“Viola Allouette,” Viola replied. “And that sounds like you’re being a coward.”
Davin laughed.
“You look over there?” Davin gestured across the bar to a corner table where five others sat drinking. “That’s my crew. They’ll go where I tell’em, but that means I got responsibility. They die, it’s on me,”
Davin leaned in again towards Viola.
“That’s why,” Davin whispered.“There’s g
oing to be no grand investigation.”
A hand tapped Viola on the shoulder. A frosted-over pair of hard faces stared at her, greedy eyes bubbling up beneath their glowering looks. Both seemed to have just walked in from a survival expedition, sporting visible nets, batons, and guns on their hips.
“Your name Viola Allouette?” the trapper asked.
“What’re you doing, Whelk? More importantly, what are you wearing? You look like a homicidal dog catcher,” Davin interrupted.
“And you finally look like the trash you really are, Davin,” Whelk said. “But I’m not here for you, especially now you’re just another drunk like the rest of us. I’m here for her, and the reward.”
“The reward?” Viola said.
“Daddy wants his little girl back home,” Whelk said.“And we’re taking you there. Now.”
“How much coin?” Davin said.
“A hundred thousand,” Whelk replied. “Don’t even try to step into this, Davin. You’ve got no right anymore.”
Davin slid off the stool, looked at Viola, then winked at her. Everyone saw the punch coming. Davin’s drunk swing flew wide left, and Whelk’s companion pushed Davin back into his seat. Whelk, shaking his head, stepped towards Viola and reached for her.
Puk flitted from Viola’s ear and, near Whelk’s arm, shot its laser. Whelk yelped, just in time for Viola to throw her drink at him. The glass shattered, spraying booze into Whelk’s face, causing him to stumble back.
Then Whelk’s companion threw Viola off of the stool and she hit the ground, hard. The breath left Viola’s lungs in a rush. Her head exploded in pain as it bounced off the floor. Viola struggled to breathe, to roll away, to stop hurting. The club lights glowed down at her, a dizzying rush of color. As Whelk's friend bent down to grab her by the shoulders, Viola only had one thought:
Leaving home was a mistake.
