Off Rock

by Kieran Shea

  Jimmy slapped a palm against his forehead. “Oh, damn. I totally blanked on that.”

  Jock tsked and shook his head. “Ah, you’re lucky your partner is here to remind you.”

  Jimmy hurried back to his toilet. Returning a moment later, he handed over a second sample he had taken from Fifty-Seven. The sample was almost the same size as the first piece of gold he’d showed Jock and was wrapped in a blue washcloth.

  Jock said, “Say, what happened to the tumbler?”

  “Oh, that. I needed to return it to the ASOCC equipment stores,” Jimmy explained. Leela had actually returned the tumbler after their fallout. “Company property, you know. Figured we’ve filched enough already. So, uh, what’re you going to do with that? Are you going to make sure it goes in with the rest on the tender docked in Armadillo Bay H?”

  Jock unfolded the blue washcloth. He gave the sample a superficial look but didn’t seem to notice any difference. “Nah. Best we eighty-six this wee tidbit with the rest of your belongings.” Jock dropped the second sample and the blue washcloth into the open burn bag.

  “Kind of a waste, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, but it’s a pittance comparatively. No second thoughts now, you hear? Don’t be taking that along with you as some kind of souvenir.”

  “I won’t.”

  Jock peered at him. “Hey, are you feeling all right? You don’t look so hot.”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I feel kind of bad about using Leela.”

  “Oh, you’ll get over that minx soon enough, I reckon. In no time with your end you’ll have ladies crawling all over you.” Jock pointed a finger gun at him and dropped the hammer. “Well, I’ll leave you to clean up your clutter, then. See you at the final assembly, okay?”

  Once he headed off, Jimmy counted to sixty before he poked his head outside his quarters to see if Jock was really gone. Not seeing him in the corridor outside and closing the hatch, Jimmy slipped back toward his bunk. He hooked a foot beneath and slid out his strongbox. Stooping down, he tapped in a ten-digit succession of numbers on a keypad on the container and lifted the lid. Inside the strongbox was his rucksack.

  Jimmy went back to the burn bag. After finding the sample in the washcloth Jock had disposed of, he stuffed it into his rucksack with the three and a half kilos of gold he’d taken from Fifty-Seven.

  Jimmy sealed his strongbox.

  32. PARTY TIME, EXCELLENT

  Later, at the pre-liftoff assembly, all station personnel including Piper and her freelance team convened in a restless, murmuring mob in the middle of the shipping hangar. All twelve of the ASOCC management team, including a ghastly-pallored Dickerson with a sick basin on his lap, sat in folding chairs on a slightly raised, skirted temporary stage. Each member of the management team, taking turns, presented an exhaustive forty-eight-minute review of the Kardashev 7-A operation. A quartet of giant, projected holograms displayed qualitative pie charts, graphs, area diagrams, and allocated time-series summaries of the SPO’s mission, and as was usual the presentation was a lethal-grade, soporific snoozefest.

  All the while Jock stood in his kiosk and surveyed the gathering. Already well into his cups and taking nips from a flask of gin, he noticed Jimmy enter the hangar and sail casually over to the set up food and drinks tables. When Jimmy finally looked up he gave Jock a succinct nod in his perch. Alas, Zaafer was nowhere to be seen. Further relieved his cyanide-laced Whiplash Pogoes had done the trick, Jock chuckled to himself.

  When the longwinded speeches and critiques at last concluded, the quartet of projected data holograms consolidated into one, large image of Azoick’s arrow-in-midflight logo. The concluding applause was half-hearted until someone cued the music.

  The pre-liftoff party began with a violent screech of gnashing Kryp-Bop guitar.

  33. PRIMED TO A-GO-GO

  Seated on their packed-up equipment crates, Piper observed Stormkast elbowing Østerby in the ribs as Østerby pointed at the food tables. Next to the ten tablecloth-draped buffet tables there was a massive, heavily stocked bar replete with three help-yourself taps of dreg stout, ale, and pulp cider. The two men stood and started for the gathering when Stormkast stopped and looked back at Piper.

  “You coming?”

  Piper studied her nails. “In a few. You two run on ahead. I’ve still got to submit our final situation report on our work out there.”

  Stormkast grinned and he and Østerby joined the party.

  Looking around, Piper saw the hangar bash was quickly turning into about what she had expected: a moiling, drunken bee full of phony camaraderie commemorating the completion of the station’s long-haul objectives. What a joke, she mused. Jovial loudmouths taking self-satisfaction in their so-called skills, most of which could have and should have been handled by robotics if Azoick wasn’t so stingy. Sadly, a blind squirrel knew the score. While people might have sufficient brainpower to fix routine issues, the real reason men and women were still utilized in abundance for deep space labor was because they were cheap and replaceable. Perhaps in her freelance capacities Piper was part of that stone-cold equation, but she, of course, had other and more lucrative concerns.

  Now all she had to do was get Jock Roscoe alone so she could pull together the right kind of accident.

  The method of Roscoe’s demise was up to her, and the only caveat The Chimeric Circle insisted upon before she agreed to the contract hit was that there should be no overt suspicion of foul play. Shouldn’t be too hard to arrange. Nevertheless Piper did find The CC’s stipulation a little peculiar. One would imagine a criminal organization like The Chimeric Circle would relish taking credit for eliminating someone who so willfully bucked their collection efforts, but it was not the case. The CC knew speculations had an insidious way of forming all on their own. They realized Roscoe’s misfortunate death by accident would be strong enough to demonstrate a message.

  Piper floated a look across the hangar. Leaving his vantage point in his kiosk, Roscoe descended the adjacent stairs along the structure and swaggered into the gathering like a drum major.

  Showtime.

  “Hey, you…”

  Getting up, Piper did an about-face. It was the pintsized firecracker from the gym, the one with the tight buns who had the mother from India who sent her drum files.

  “Oh, hey. Leela, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Leela. “So, did your parasol setups out on the surface go okay?”

  Piper breezily motioned to the packed-up equipment around them. “Just like we planned. All I need to do now is send along the summary situation report to your station management group and execute the launches once the station lifts off. Busy work at this point, but you know how that goes. I take it everything is still on schedule?”

  “Yeah,” Leela said, looking around. “In a few hours all the loaded cargo tenders will be released from the armadillo bays and once the tenders safely rendezvous with the Adamant there’ll be a station-wide announcement with a two-hour countdown. I understand you’ll be joining us in ASOCC for your remote parasol implementations.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Guess I’ll see you there, then.”

  Leela moved off, squeezing her way through the rabble, and Piper watched her as she steamed straight toward that guy who’d been talking with Roscoe just after Piper’s arrival—Jimmy Vik. It was strange. Unlike the rest of the clods throwing back drinks and stuffing their faces, Leela’s ex-beau wasn’t wearing a bright yellow Azoick jumper.

  Piper dug his black leathers, though.

  34. CONFRONTATION

  “Jimmy?”

  Swallowing a mouthful of foamy ale, Jimmy mopped his lips with the back of his wrist. “Oh hey, Leela,” he said. “Need a drink?”

  “Not now, thanks.”

  Jimmy took another sip. “Suit yourself.”

  Leela grabbed his arm gruffly. Jimmy rolled his eyes at some fellow coworkers, who laughed and booed as he clownishly puckered his lips and allowed himself to be dragged
away. When the distance from the rest of the party seemed adequate, Leela gave his arm a stiff, downward wrench.

  “Whoa, take it easy!”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Jimmy shook his arm. He waved to someone and took another pull of his drink. “What am I doing? Well, let’s see. Right now I’m taking in some suds and then I plan on saying a few goodbyes. Anyway, all my stuff is cleared out of my quarters and my strongbox is on the transfer module out at ASOCC, so once I’m done here you can relax. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  “Jimmy, look at me.”

  “What? What do you want me to say? You fired me, Leela. Sheesh, you want me to grovel, is that it? You want me to moon on and on that I’m grateful you didn’t report me over a tiny little piece of nothing that wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone, let alone Azoick? All right, fine. I’m grateful and I’m sorry. Satisfied?”

  “Goddamn it, stop being glib. Whatever it is you think you’re doing, just use your head and think for a second.”

  “Think? Think about what?”

  “Jimmy, I may be mad as hell at you right now, but even so that doesn’t mean I want to see you get into trouble.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Leela got right up in his grill. Her lips were drawn tight and her brown eyes searched his. Oddly, the anger from before had been supplanted with a look of genuine worry and concern.

  “That gold wasn’t the only piece you found out there, was it? You dumb son of a bitch. Are you and Jock up to something?”

  Oh shit.

  35. DANCIN’ FOOL

  The volume of the music intensified as someone took Piper’s wrist from behind.

  “Hey, there you are, blondie. I believe you owe me a shimmy.”

  God, that accent…

  Piper spun around and stretched her sunniest thousand-watt smile. Jock slipped a cup into her hand, and she glanced down at it. “What’s this?”

  Jock’s nose twitched vigorously. “That, is a Jock Roscoe specialty. I call it a Selectron Shooter. It’s just the right bevvy to put you in a social mood, missy.”

  Missy?

  No way.

  Did he actually just call her “missy”?

  “Mmm,” Piper replied, taking a sniff of the drink. “Smells kind of fruity. Can I ask what’s in it?”

  “Ooh, this and that. Just about everything.”

  Piper let out a disingenuous giggle. “I have to tell you. I’m really not much of a drinker.”

  “Oh, well, you’re still up for some dancing later, right?”

  Ugh.

  Dancing on your scumbag throat, maybe.

  “I don’t know,” Piper shied with a roll of her shoulder. “This garish Kryp-Bop music isn’t exactly my taste. It’s way too loud.”

  “What?”

  “I said this Kryp-Bop music isn’t my thing.”

  “Oh, so what kind of music are you into?”

  “Something a little softer.”

  Jock exhorted, “Hey, me too!”

  Double ugh.

  Still, Piper thought, it was high time to get on with killing this prick, right? She hipped forward and narrowed the social space between them. Reaching out, she then pitter-pattered her fingertips on the crown of his head. “Gosh,” she purred, “up close your ink is really incredible. Such craftsmanship. And these raised markings along your neck, they’re so colorful. What are they?”

  “Aboriginal hieroglyphics.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got some of that feral bush blood in me somewhere, so I thought I’d tip my hat to the ancients.” Jock held up his own cup for a toast. “Down the hatch.”

  Piper faked a requisite taste from her drink. Hell, given the unspecified contents of the concoction and Roscoe’s overall lecherous air, who knew what kind of elephant tranquilizer the little chimp might have slipped into the drink. It was always a delicate balance beguiling the weaker sex. Certainly Piper didn’t want to come on too strong, but seeing that Roscoe was already looking loaded she forced herself to conjure up some compulsory misdirection. Picking up her portable CPU, she let out a long, fatigued sigh.

  “Well, thanks for the drink, but I need to shove off.”

  “Shove off?”

  “Yeah, I have to submit my parasol summaries to those in charge.”

  “But things are just getting started.”

  Oh, look at his crestfallen face. This was too easy.

  “Duty calls,” Piper professed.

  “Yeah, but can’t duty take a back seat for once? I mean, you really should stick around. You haven’t had anything to eat yet. You need to try some of the pointy fried dumplings.”

  Piper placed a hand on his shoulder, leaned in, and spoke in his ear so Jock could feel her breath’s heat. “You know, I think I’m going to head over to the canteen. With everybody carrying on here, it’ll be much quieter there. If I finish things up, maybe I’ll come back for a dance later.”

  She handed Jock her drink. Jock finished it in a single gulp, finished off his own, and flipped both drink cups over his shoulder. “Hey, you know what? I think I’ve a better idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. If you’re really after some peace and quiet to get your work done, you ought to hit the observational bubble.”

  “The observational bubble? Where’s that?”

  “Over near ASOCC. The observational bubble is quiet as a tomb usually and has a terrific three-hundred-and-sixty view too.” Jock crooked out his arm. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  “I really don’t want to be a bother.”

  “It’s no bother at all. I insist.”

  For real? He insists?

  This was way, way too easy.

  Rubbing her neck with just the right amount of dalliance, Piper took Jock’s arm.

  “Well, if you insist, why not? Lead on, my liege.”

  36. BLINDSIDED

  Meanwhile, aboard the Adamant, ninety-seven percent of the freighter’s complement were busy making its final preparations for the Kardashev 7-A cargo tender transfers. The captain and Azoick’s envoy, Yaser Shalad, were playing another epic game of backgammon in the captain’s ready room when a lone ensign assigned to orbital watch interrupted over the comm.

  “Captain? Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

  “What is it, Ensign?”

  “Well, um, I really think you should come to the bridge, Captain.”

  “Is it an emergency?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s the De Silento, sir.”

  “The De Silento?”

  “Yes. She’s—oh. Oh. Oh my. Um, you really need to come to the bridge now, sir.”

  Looking up from the game board, Envoy Shalad said, “Mind if I tag along?”

  The captain threw the envoy a stony look. What the hell, the mincing twerp was rolling doubles like it was going out of style and betting one hundred credits. It was time to stop the bleeding.

  “Whatever floats your boat,” the captain said.

  37. MANY OUT OF UNO

  In the inky realm of space, one could observe all sorts of astonishing phenomena.

  Vast supernova nebulae with magnificent bruise-like clouds expanding across unspeakable rips of gravity…

  Flawless planetary rings shaped by magnetic-electrostatic forces and gargantuan, eternal quasars, angelic and pulsating…

  On the bridge of the Adamant, however, what the captain, Envoy Shalad, and the ensign bore witness to were none of these things. The transfixing spectacle was a tableau vivant, inexplicably defined by diabolic treachery and ruin.

  Like a husk peeling apart and remodeling in on itself, one by one the De Silento’s component parts reassembled in an efficient, mechanized progression. Seamlessly reconfigured, the Omega-Class core spread out and the exploratory craft took on a resemblance of a large wedge or boomerang. There was a momentary pause prior to a sequential separation as the De Silento subdivided into seven distinct sections—a wing forma
tion. Each section in the new alignment propelled forward in the direction of the Adamant at an alarming rate of speed. Dropping out of formation, the flanking three sections on either side of the largest core banked off toward Kardashev 7-A and commenced thruster burns. The largest core section did not alter its course and accelerated.

  The captain looked at the ensign.

  The ensign looked at the captain.

  Somewhere behind them an alarm went off and Envoy Shalad wet himself.

  Sensors advised immediate disengagement of the vessel’s operative orbit, but it was too late.

  Like Michelangelo’s iconic fresco, the captain reached out for the ensign’s hand in cold comfort and Envoy Shalad screamed.

  Everyone aboard the Adamant met oblivion.

  38. YIKES

  Jock was nowhere to be seen in the hangar.

  “Jimmy? Answer me.”

  Jimmy looked down at Leela and finished the rest of his ale in three huge swallows.

  Oh man.

  Jimmy dropped his cup and took off running toward ASOCC.

  39. SCHMOOZE AND LOSE

  As they navigated the passages and ramps out to the residential spider, Roscoe kept yammering and shamelessly snuck glances at Piper’s breasts while she coolly stared straight ahead.

  Goddamn, Piper thought. What a disgusting little motor-mouth. Jock went on and on about his past work postings, his varying malcontent sentiments on a broad range of topics, and did his utmost to regale her with his rather wearisome knowledge of the Kardashev 7-A station. Piper strove to appear enthralled and took extra care to concur with each of Roscoe’s bigoted opinions and laugh at every single one of his crass jokes. It was an excruciating ten minutes, but at last they arrived at a caged ladder leading upward into an overhead duct. Jock let go of Piper’s arm and bowed chivalrously.

  “Is this it?” Piper asked.

  “Yes, indeedy-do,” Jock said. “Observational bubble. Up you go, ladies first.”

  Piper looked up the duct and handed Roscoe the portable CPU.