Centauri Bliss

by Skyler Grant

  That lie wouldn’t hold up forever. They’d send a salvage team and discover there was no wreckage, but that should be enough time to lose their cargo and get off-world.

  Quinn eased the Kathryn up out of the canyon and stayed low for another half-hour before easing up into the atmosphere. They’d circle and come back down towards the port as if just arriving in the system. Like a new arrival.

  “You blew out one of the port maneuvering thrusters,” Melody said, looking over the damage displays.

  “Good thing we have an engineer then. You get that taken care of and I’ll let the autopilot finish getting us up and back down,” Quinn said, leaving his seat.

  For most purposes the flight computer did a fine job. It was situations well outside the software’s expectations that posed problems, like suicidal flights through canyons. For that sort of thing you needed the human touch.

  Quinn made his way back into the cargo hold and found Taki struggling to unload the heavy crates.

  “Let me help you with that,” Quinn said, hurrying forward and together they wrestled one to the ground.

  “If we’re going to keep pulling jobs like that, we need more people, sir,” Taki said.

  “We can barely keep fed the mouths we’ve got and that’s with Mel considered,” Quinn said.

  “Ship wasn’t made to work with three crew and neither were we. It’s been years, you remember how it used to be,” Taki said.

  Quinn did. Large sections of the ship that used to teem with life sat dark and silent. His luck had never been what one would call good, but for awhile it had seemed good enough.

  Quinn was silent as they unloaded another crate, placing it with the first.

  “I think she’d want you to move on, sir,” Taki said.

  “I imagine that she would. Imagine there are a lot of things she’d want were she still here. Don’t mean I’m ready for them. I know you mean well, but I’m just not ready and that is the end of discussion,” Quinn said.

  “Yes, sir,” Taki said carefully, her features fixed in an expression that revealed nothing.

  Quinn knew that she disagreed, knew that she was a better friend than he probably deserved. Taki was the only remaining crew from those days. There had been others who survived, but they’d all drifted away over time. Melody was the only one they’d replaced, the ship needed an engineer. However much he might have wanted to sulk in darkness and alone, the Kathryn would always have what she needed to keep flying, including crew.

  3

  At the Corono docks landing fees went up the closer a craft was to town. Go the cheap route and you could be sure of a long haul for your cargo. The exception to that being the most remote and desolate landing docks, where small bidding wars between smugglers could raise the prices. With no such smugglers here now the Kathryn was soon touching down unchallenged at the outer perimeter of the port.

  The parts they’d stolen had already been repackaged and gift-wrapped, sparkly paper and a pretty bow added. Quinn tucked it under one arm and went. Blond hair and six-foot-tall, he had features that were handsome enough, although he could have done with a haircut. Today he wore a faded suit, nothing too fancy. It was best to blend in.

  The docks were about as colorful as Corono got, the crew of a few freighters wearing exotic attire from off-system. The locals were a dusty, shabby bunch and what nice clothes they wore were usually oldand somewhat ragged. Hope had died in the colony some time ago.

  The buildings of the settlement were all a dull red, the bricks made from the local mud.

  The Broken Mug wasn’t the only bar in town. It was definitely the seediest, the sort of dim and miserable place you came to in order to drink your life away. Fun was for other places. The bartender was a sharp-faced, older woman who nodded to Quinn as he came in, then jerked her head towards the back.

  Through the door a pair of guards met him, one remaining behind while the other escorted him through dark winding corridors to a room that was a contrast to the bar, brightly lit with festive art on the walls—art of a particularly tacky variety. Colored animals cavorted with bodies of glittering metal and too-human grinning features.

  “Well, well. If it ain’t the fuckup of the fucking hour,” said a man seated behind a desk at the fair end of the room. Much like the room’s decor he was dressed with an excess of extravagance and a complete lack of taste. He wore a suit of too-bright purple and a hat adorned with a glittering gold band. A holoviewer against a far wall quietly read an out-system news cast. An out-system data feed was an expensive luxury, and much like everything else here it was more a matter of showing off.

  “Now, Monk. Doesn’t have to be that way. Got you what you wanted all nice and pretty, and only a little shaken up,” Quinn said, holding up the package.

  “Check it,” Monk said, looking off to his side.

  A dark-haired woman, lithe of build and with a serious expression, stepped forward to accept the package. Her outfit was unflattering and all in grey. Monk didn’t like anyone drawing eyes but him. Taking the package to a table in the corner she moved a light close and opened it up, inspecting the parts with a skilled eye.

  “It’s all there, just like you wanted,” Quinn said.

  “What I fucking wanted was a job done by a god-damned professional. Like the parts didn’t get stolen, but weren’t ever on the shuttle in the first place and everything is clean. The Empire screwed up like the big lumbering beast it is and nobody is surprised, and nobody cares. You crashed the shuttle. You had a shootout on the governor’s estate,” Monk said, his voice rising with each word until he was shouting at the end, standing up and his face growing red.

  “Everything is here. No damage I can see,” said the young woman.

  Quinn forced a smile. “See, Monk? Now, I know there were some unfortunate complications and I’m not even going to bill you for those. Just the cost of doing business.”

  “Un-fucking-believable,” Monk said.

  The holoviewer let out a screech, flashing red for a moment and the volume increasing from a whisper. “This is a critical news announcement. News from the palace on Onyx, Emperor Octavius passed away in his sleep last night. While we are still awaiting confirmation, it is expected that as next in line Prince Constantine will be taking the throne. All Imperial officials and naval officers are instructed to report in via proper channels. We recommend all citizens to mourn at home for the time being.”

  Monk stared at the viewer for a long moment, then hit a button on the desk. The screen blinked off. Everyone in the room looked shaken.

  “How long was his rule?” Quinn asked.

  “Eighty-three years. Damn fine man. Finer than scum like us, and with his gifts he was supposed to outlive us all,” Monk said, looking much more subdued, like some fire had gone out of him.

  “Didn’t know you were such a patriot,” Quinn said.

  “Imperial Marines before all this,” Monk said, with a gesture around the room. “Mekara Campaign. Ever heard of it?”

  “Can’t say I have,” Quinn said.

  “These fucking bird things. Talons that could tear a man in half, if he weren’t in armor, and these sonic weapons that would just scramble you on the outside. Get hit with one and you’d be pissing and vomiting blood till you died,” Monk said, and shook his head.

  “How’d you wind up here?”

  “A long and tortured tale of none of your fucking business. I’ll give you a quarter of what we agreed to. Wouldn’t take them at all, but with every patriot sobbing into their beer the next few days I’ve maybe got a chance to unload them before heat comes down,” Monk said.

  “You’re a rich man, Monk. A fine and proper dandy, and you know you can sit on them until the heat passes. Three quarters,” Quinn said.

  Monk sat back down and laced his fingers over his chest. “See, what I’m asking myself is why a captain such as yourself with a reputation for getting things done screwed the pooch in such a daring and dramatic fashion? Now, I see two possibil
ities. Either you are a complete and total fuckup who don’t deserve his reputation, or you found something else on that shuttle and got greedy.”

  This wasn’t Quinn’s first negotiation. He made sure his expression was fixed and didn’t give anything away.

  Quinn said, “Or maybe the shuttle just had a problem? Little moon like this doesn’t get the Empire’s best equipment. Problems happen.”

  Monk shook his head. “Whatever you got would have to be valuable. I figure you need a buyer. Depending on what it is, I might be willing to overlook this disaster in exchange for a cut of that.”

  Monk might have been a patriot once. Quinn knew he was nothing but a common thug now. If he knew about the seeds he’d go right for the highest bidder and he’d do the deal fair, but that deal would be with the governor. The farmers just didn’t have the money to match what the governor would offer—simply to keep the seeds out of their hands.

  “Three quarters. It’s a good a deal. It makes you money,” Quinn said.

  “Half. Half, and you take my advice and get off this little moon. Whatever you took has the governor riled and I don’t want trouble darkening my door,” Monk said.

  Half of the agreed price wouldn’t even top up the Kathryn’s fuel tanks. They could make another system, perhaps two, but Quinn had been hoping to do that and pick up some cargo that might actually make some legitimate cash on top of the crime.

  It wasn’t really optional. Monk could be vicious when he felt he had to be, and this was pushing him.

  “Half,” Quinn agreed.

  “Pay the man,” Monk called to the woman at the table. Quinn watched as she counted out fifteen bits. Each had a self-contained power supply and data node holding a unique signature. Completely anonymous and convertible into any currency of choice at the Galactic Bank. The preferred legal tender of those who had everything to hide.

  Quinn checked each with his scanner, confirming each signature. They were legit. He hadn’t actually thought Monk would try to cheat him. Kill him, maybe, but not cheat him.

  The disks were slid into a bag and tucked into a pocket.

  “Wasn’t a pleasure, Monk,” Quinn said.

  “Captain, we have not seen eye to eye on the particulars of this little bit of business and I’d very much like to punch you in the fucking nose. I also gave you the best advice you’re ever going to get. Get off this moon and get out of this system,” Monk said.

  “You know something I don’t know, Monk?”

  “Worlds, boy, worlds. You think you’re clever and you are, enough to get by most days. But you don’t have that killer instinct. The old man emperor was all that was keeping things together,” Monk said. “Things are going to get bad, now he’s dead.”

  Quinn nodded and a guard led him out. They couldn’t leave, not yet. They had to unload the seeds first and fuel the Kathryn. As soon as they did that it might be wise to take Monk’s advice.

  4

  Quinn opened a commline to Taki as soon as he was clear of the bar.

  “Was your present appreciated, sir?” Taki asked.

  “You know how it is. My affections were only halfway returned,” Quinn said.

  “Guess you need some charm lessons, sir.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Thinking we should be leaving sooner rather than later. Why don’t you hit up the locals and see if you maybe have better luck,” Quinn said.

  “Salad again, sir? I’ll see what I can do. How aggressively do you want me to negotiate?” Taki asked.

  It was a fair question. The farmers might well bankrupt themselves for those seeds. The seeds were their chance for freedom, but even at best they wouldn’t have much to give. Yet, tempting as it might be to be charitable and just give them away, getting them had put the Kathryn’s crew’s lives at risk and cost them a chunk of their expected payout. They couldn’t afford to get nothing.

  “Tough, but not for everything they’ve got,” Quinn said.

  “Softie. I’ll get on it, sir,” Taki said.

  Quinn closed the commline. It was best he be seen somewhere else while she was working on those deals. While they wouldn’t be able to afford any goods to trade off-world themselves, they might be able to get a transport contract for something else. That meant a visit to the Crooked Goat.

  The Goat was near the docks, a bar catering mostly to ship crews including those looking for work, and the first place one went to hire them. There was a main room that was brightly lit, and multiple shadowed booths if you needed to discuss more illicit business. A display on one wall listed open contracts. Currently it was blank, legit business was lacking on Corono.

  Quinn headed for the bar and ordered a drink. Off-world beer, because the local stuff was intolerably bitter. Nursing it gave him the chance to study the occupants without attracting too much attention.

  It didn’t look good. The scruffy men and women in foreign clothing would be the captains or crews of the other ships in port. Two young men and one young woman were plainly locals, teenagers. Probably looking for a way off this rock and a different future. Not what Quinn was after and not his problem. A card game in the corner held possibilities.

  There in the back corner, someone who really didn’t belong. The woman looked to be in her twenties, with olive skin and long black hair that came to shoulder-length. Her lips were ever so slightly pouted, and she was devastatingly beautiful. It wasn’t the beauty that set off Quinn’s internal alarms although he always preferred to keep in mind that the most beautiful things in nature were usually the deadliest. This woman was dressed in the latest Imperial business attire, a collection of straps that was both intricate and left a fair bit of skin exposed.

  Quinn understood the basics of the outfit. The straps placement was no accident and revealed the woman’s education, profession, income, and even hobbies if you knew how to read the language of them. A language of fashion meant to indicate at once to the wealthy and powerful that you really deserved to be there.

  Whatever the woman was into, it would be dangerous and Quinn had enough heat at the moment. Well, if there was no business to be had, then there was fun. Quinn headed for the card game.

  The variant of poker was one Quinn hadn’t encountered before. An hour later he was down as he learned the rules. Three hours later when the game finished he was modestly up.

  Nobody had won or lost to such a degree that the game ended in hostility. Quinn was putting away his winnings when the woman from earlier sat in the seat across from him.

  “If you wanted to gamble you should have come earlier. Game’s all wrapped up,” Quinn said.

  “I’m not here to gamble. I’m here because I think we can do business,” the woman said. Her accent matched her looks, clipped, upper class, educated and entirely too sure of herself.

  “This is a bar, not a brothel,” Quinn said. He really didn’t want to get tangled in her business and the easiest way to get rid of a woman like this was usually to offend her. There were others who’d take her money.

  It didn’t work. The woman smiled faintly at him. “Good thing. As a whore you’d be struggling for business. Quinn Jade, captain of the Kathryn, a first-generation Imperial Doxon class light freighter. You’re an independent trader who hasn’t delivered on an official contract in the past four months and yet is still flying. A smuggler then, and probably a thief.”

  Quinn settled back in his seat, letting his hand drift closer to the pistol at his waist. This was already way more than he liked someone knowing about his business. A basic data feed to connect to galactic news sources that had that kind of information was expensive enough, but a portable unit that would have let her identify him? On a well-developed world in the heart of the Empire they’d be commonplace, but here were anything but.

  “And here I didn’t even get your name,” Quinn said.

  “Tamara Cross, of Delecrox, Miller, and Steele,” Tamara said.

  A lawyer then. Quinn might frequent hives of scum and villainy, but even so he tried to have
some standards.

  “Not good enough to make partner?” Quinn asked.

  “That probably struck you as a clever line. Sad,” Tamara said, frowning slightly and then shaking her head. “Still, as we already established, I don’t want to hire you for your looks, or now your sense of humor. You’ve a fast ship and the kind of moral flexibility that I require, and that is enough.”

  Quinn really didn’t like this woman. It wasn’t just a distrust of beauty, or the resources she had. When you were in his line of work you learned that most people were like Monk. They’d taken a few wrong turns and wound up on the other side of the law, but were fundamentally decent. There were a few though who’d do anything without a qualm. Get too close and your instincts just told you they were bad news. Tamara was bad news.

  However, Quinn also had a ship he could barely keep fueled and nothing else going for him.

  “You can make your pitch,” Quinn said.

  “I don’t make pitches. I make offers. Two thousand bits for the safe transport of myself and another to a destination of our choosing. Obviously, there is the likelihood of serious complications,” Tamara said.

  Trouble. There was trouble all over that deal.

  The price was too high. Quinn had just gotten fifteen bits for stealing parts. Two thousand would do more than top off the Kathryn’s tank. That would mean Melody could stop jury-rigging failing systems and do some proper repairs—with enough left over for some real cargo, to try going legitimate again.

  It was tempting, but the vague “serious complications” said it all. A woman this well-connected and fancy was on a backwater moon in the middle of nowhere and looking for transport. So whatever trouble she had was probably even more well-connected and had more money, forcing Tamara into hiding.

  Quinn liked the occasional risk, and appreciated danger, but you had to know where to draw the line.