Pirates of the Outrigger Rift

by Gary Jonas

  Louie Rocco was the proud new owner of a yacht listed in the records as the Swan Princess. Chandler reasoned that Rocco was not one to purchase a ship legally for full price, and if he could examine the ship, he might be able to prove it was the Aurelius and connect another dot leading back to Helen.

  The problem was that, after spending a few million credits, an owner wasn’t likely to admit that the ship might be stolen. In order to get close, he’d have to get creative.

  Chandler knew the ship lay dry-docked at the Atlas Ship Yards awaiting renovations and that Rocco needed a designer to help him remodel and refit. Chandler figured he could fit the bill, so he set an appointment.

  Louie Rocco conducted business from the upper floor of his pleasure dome on the Tarkus Mining Station, floating a safe distance from a deposit-rich asteroid field. The miners came to the station to sell their ore and spend their profits at the gambling tables, in the bars, or in the pleasure suites. Fortunes passed from their fingers into Rocco’s pocket in a never-ending stream.

  After grabbing a quick shuttle from the station’s small port, Chandler stepped into the Gold Digger Lounge. They cranked the music up so high that the beats slammed into his chest like clubs. The smells of unwashed bodies blended with tobac, spilled drinks, and piss filled the air.

  Filth-covered miners, who looked and smelled like they’d never bathed, crowded the dance floor. Their clean, scantily clad male and female escorts didn’t seem to notice the stench. Money was the ultimate deodorant.

  The dance floor occupied the middle of the room, bordered by the gaming area. Off to the left stood a row of blackjack tables and off to the right were nova tables. The bar wound around the outside edge of the room in a squared U.

  Chandler carried his notescribe in one hand and a handful of swatches in the other. He approached the bar, catching the bartender’s attention. “Hey, bud, I’m looking for Louie!” He shouted to be heard over the roar of the music.

  The bartender glanced at him and jerked a thumb back toward a staircase carpeted in red velvet. Chandler nodded and moved through the crowd toward the stairs, where a large man wearing exo-armor stood guard. He held up a hand as Chandler approached.

  “What’s your business?” the man asked.

  “I’m here to see Louie about his new yacht.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Elray Pinchon, the decorator. I called earlier.”

  “Hmm. He’s expecting you.” The man scrutinized him. “You don’t look like a decorator type to me. They’re usually more artsy.”

  “How do you know I’m not? I’ve got artsy coming out of my ears.”

  The man raised an eyebrow and then waved him on, speaking into a comlink on his wrist. “Got one coming up.”

  Chandler climbed the steps to the second level. A white-haired man in a green suit met him at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Pinchon?”

  “That’s me,” Chandler said.

  “Come this way.”

  The man led Chandler past the rows of doorways to the pleasure suites. Signs hung above each door indicating whether or not they were in use. Chandler thought the signs were redundant since the howls of pleasure could be heard clearly through the thin walls.

  They arrived at an ornately carved door featuring a debauched scene that Chandler tried not to notice. The man in green touched the palm lock, and the door opened.

  Chandler set the notescribe and swatches on a table and looked around. To say the room was colorful was an understatement. Striped lizard-skin rugs covered the floor. Red velvet wallpaper accented with gold trim stretched around the room. On every wall were at least three portraits of Rocco.

  The man himself sat behind a gold and leather desk, smoking a stubby tobac cigar. He was engaged in a heated debate with an obese woman whose clothing exposed entirely too much flesh. As soon as he looked up and saw Chandler, he waved her to silence. “Whoa, whoa, get the hell outta here, what’s-a-matter with you? Can’t you see my appointment just walked in? Go away.”

  “But what am I gonna do, Louie? They’re draining me dry!”

  “Believe me,” he said, “you can afford to miss a few meals! Now, I dare you to talk to me again. Get the hell out.”

  The woman gave Chandler a dirty look, flipped her hair back, and walked out of the room with her nose held high.

  Rocco stood and threw his arms into the air. Rings flashed on every finger. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. I got a friggin’ yacht sitting in dry dock waiting for a refit. So far, I can’t find anybody who has any friggin’ taste to redecorate the damn thing!”

  Inwardly, Chandler cringed. What a pig, he thought. But he kept the appraisal off his face. This was going to be fun. It was all about rapport, so he threw his arms up and just went for it. “Yo, Rocco, I’m your man! I got taste out the wazoo! You don’t want one of those namby-pamby sissy boys messin’ with your boat. You need someone with class,” he said shooting him an O with his index finger and thumb. “Like yourself. I can tell just by looking at you that you’re a man of refined taste.”

  Rocco slammed an open palm on his desk. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell these bozos! What do I care about this classic color coordination crap? If I wanted to live in the lobby of a friggin’ doctor’s office, I would buy one!”

  “Exactly!” Chandler said. “What are all those colors for, if you don’t use them? This office, for instance. I don’t mean to pry, but whose work is this? I have never seen such a fine application of design technique.”

  Rocco grinned and nodded. “You’d never guess if I told you.”

  “Probably not,” Chandler said.

  “Yours truly,” Rocco said. “Me, myself.”

  “Really, with talent like this, why would you hire someone else to decorate your yacht?”

  “Well, you know, takes a lotta time, doin’ what I do. I mean, I gotta check out the new girls and I gotta make sure the older girls are still qualified. Of course, collections, that’s a nightmare of its own. So I don’t have time to oversee the job as closely as I might like. Therefore, I need to find some guy—or broad, I ain’t picky—who shares my artistic vision.”

  “How’s this?” Chandler said. “I see the master bedroom done in striped black-and-white fur, but the bed is like this orange that kinda jumps out at you. The bedroom, it’s gotta be a place of excitement. You know what I’m saying?”

  “I hear ya!”

  “The ceiling is like a big holoscreen where you can show whatever you wanna show, while lying back and enjoying the ride.”

  “I like that.”

  “Okay, before I go any further here, you and I both know everything boils down to money. How much do you intend to spend on this project? Are you a man who limits art? Or are you a man who feels that art should be allowed to develop free of constraint?”

  “I figure I can afford about a hundred and fifty K worth of artistic freedom,” Rocco said.

  “Well that might be okay, I guess. I could cut a few corners, but a job like this should really be two hundred K.”

  “One seventy-five.”

  Chandler shrugged. “Fair enough. When do you want me to start?”

  “Right now. Let me give you a deposit.”

  “No need,” Chandler said. “I am an artist.” Chandler paused. “Then again, now that I think about it, I will have a few expenses. Say, twenty thousand credits. Let me take a look at the ship. I’ll make a few sketches and get back with you.”

  “Done,” Rocco said extending his hand.

  They shook hands and Chandler started to leave the room.

  “Oh,” Rocco said. “Feel free to enjoy the facilities. On the house. About an hour’s worth of the facilities and then I’ll have to start charging you. But stay away from my A-list girls—they’re extra.”

  Chandler smiled, but he planned on running as fast as he could back to the Marlowe to head over to the Atlas Ship Yards before Rocco wised up. But first, he was itching to take a shower.r />
  Helen Randol was not settling well into her new surroundings. The cell was dimly lit and stank of human waste. Food came regularly, but it consisted of some tasteless muck that she ate only to keep up her strength. She was determined to escape and she needed energy to do so when the opportunity arose. And it would soon.

  As far as she could tell, her captors were imbeciles—uneducated brutes who did what they were told and didn’t have any ambition beyond making easy credits and getting laid. Although she didn’t have access to her finances, she did have ready access to her charm. But that was like playing with explosives. She didn’t want a flirtation to win a few favors to turn into an invitation for a rape attempt.

  She still didn’t have a good handle on the limitations the guards had been given. She was certain there would be no hesitation to beat her. She had seen another prisoner beaten unconscious the day before. But she imagined that the powers that be probably frowned on sexual fraternization, as it would compromise both the guards’ resolve and her value as a hostage. It might make them hesitate to do what needed to be done to an uncooperative prisoner. That was good because it might help protect her from molestation, but bad, in that it might also work against her attempts at manipulation.

  It was almost meal time. If things went as they had in the past two days, a single guard would hand a bowl and a cup through the bean-hole in the cell door. She worked on untangling her hair as best she could without a brush or comb. The shapeless pullover shirt and loose pants weren’t very appealing, but she had torn a deep V in the collar of the shirt so that her cleavage could be clearly seen. When the guard arrived with lunch, she was going to strike up a conversation. A smile here, a hair flip and a heavy sigh there, and she might be able to gain some extra favors that might lead to a mistake and an opportunity. If nothing else, perhaps she could get him to break a simple rule so she could threaten to expose him and gain some leverage. The discipline appeared to be severe, and that could work in her favor.

  She heard footsteps, so she arranged herself at the edge of her bunk, lounging, facing the door, propping her face in her hand and draping her hair along her shoulder and down her elbow. But the guard who came to her door wasn’t the same as on previous days. He was taller, and he had a sharpness in his eyes that was surprising.

  “Lunch is served,” he said with a smile.

  “What are we having today?”

  “Well, I have to be honest and tell you that I have no idea what this is supposed to be,” he said.

  She made a show of stretching herself, then slowly rose and stepped to the cell door. “I don’t suppose there’d be any way of me getting something else, maybe?”

  The man smiled. “Hello, my name is Angus Brock, and you are?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Again, I have no idea. I just got here. I’m still learning the ropes.”

  “I’m Helen Randol, daughter of Lord William Randol of House Nebulaco.”

  Brock nodded. “That’s a mouthful. It also explains your unfortunate position.” He handed her the bowl of muck and a cup of water. “Here you go. I’m sorry about your situation. If I could do something without dying in the process, I would certainly make it better for you. I have nothing against you, and I actually think this is horrible. However, I want you to clearly understand that neither your social status nor your obvious feminine charms are going to make me step one hair outside my orders concerning you. Besides, if you got out of that cell, you’d have no possible method of leaving the station. That being said, if you have a request that I can fulfill, I will go out of my way to make it happen. Does that work for you?”

  “Well, I …”

  “Not that it matters. I just want us to be clear.” Brock smiled. “For the moment, let me give you some sincere friendly advice. I would suggest you eat. It will help you keep up your strength, and you’re going to need to stay healthy during this ordeal. I understand that they’re going to come interrogate you. I don’t know what information they’re trying to get, but they will get it. They are primitive here. They don’t use mind probes. I know for a fact that they’re capable of carving you up. There’s no way that you can avoid telling them what they need to know, so just do it straight away and save yourself from mutilation.”

  Helen smirked. “You’re just telling me that to get into my head. Manipulate me.”

  Brock sighed. “I can see how you’d think that way, but you’re a smart woman. If you sit and consider my words for a while, I think you’ll come to the conclusion that I’m right. At least I hope so for your sake. Bon appétit, milady.”

  Stunned, Helen watched Brock walk away. Her feelings were evenly divided between frustration at this new, incorruptible guard, and relief that there might at least be one human being on this rock with whom she could have an intelligent conversation.

  Either way, it complicated any hope of an escape attempt.

  “You can’t be serious,” Sai said, following Hank out of the cockpit into the galley.

  “Serious as a case of Vegan Clap,” Hank said. He opened drawers and ransacked through his belongings. “Elsa, have you seen that outfit I bought on Dar Es Salaam?”

  Elsa didn’t bother answering.

  “But why?” Sai said. “Wouldn’t it be smarter just to get out of here?”

  “Maybe, but the state he’s in right now, I guarantee he’d report our location to Security and they’d get a good fix on us. I’ve gotta see if I can head that off.” Hank turned away from her and tore into another pile of clothing. “I could have already found it, but you went and cleaned up the place. I had everything organized. This pile here was for … well, I don’t remember, but I know these socks don’t belong.”

  “How long will it take you? What do I do if you don’t come back?”

  “Aha! I knew it had to be around here somewhere.” Hank grabbed an armful of white cloth and stepped into the airlock, changing. “It should only take me about twenty minutes or so. Elsa, finish the refuel and get us ready to get out of here.” He stopped and looked at Sai. “I don’t have time to explain this right now, and I’m not sure you’d understand anyway. Tazi Lippman, he’s not really a bad guy. He’s just in a tight spot right now. And like most of us, he’s his own worst enemy. I think I can talk him out of informing on us. If so, it will be that much less we have to worry about. If not … well, we won’t be much worse off, will we?”

  “What if you paid him the money? I have some. I’d hoped to buy a new life, but I won’t have a life if Security finds me.”

  Hank nodded. “Best case, Tazi would convert that money to stims and kill himself. Problem is, I’m not convinced that he wouldn’t report us anyway. I need to talk to him and get him to see reason.”

  “But what if something happens before you get back? What if Security shows up?”

  Hank smiled. “Elsa knows what to do. Don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Elsa said. “I know, but still, Hank, I think she’s right. And, for your information, Tazi used to be a good man. Now he’s a piece of filth.”

  “See? You two are starting to see eye to eye after all.” He grinned, but his smile soon faded when he realized that he had failed to lighten the mood. He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, this is just something I have to do.”

  “Fine. If you’re going, I’m going, too.”

  Hank shook his head. “No, you have to stay here. There’s a price on your head, remember?”

  “There’s a price on your head, too.”

  Hank shrugged and finished changing in his cabin. He came back into the galley wearing a long white thobe and a ghutra to cover his face.

  “You look ridiculous,” Sai said.

  “I look like a local. No sense making it easy to identify me.” Hank opened the cargo ramp and waved as he walked outside. “Keep it locked down until I get back. Be ready to dust off fast.” He stepped off the ramp and keyed it closed.

  The door shut in Sai’s face. She trudged back to the cockpit and fell in
to the copilot’s chair. “Terrific. Here we sit while he runs off on a fool’s errand.”

  “Try not to be too hard on him, Sai. You have to understand; Lippman used to be Hank’s partner. They had a falling out and went their separate ways. Hank has kept his head above water, barely, and Tazi couldn’t. I think he feels responsible.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “He knows that. That’s why he won’t admit it, even to himself. But I know Hank.”

  Sai shook her head. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, Lippman is a prick.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Sai laughed. “Sorry I was so rude before. I’ve been through a lot in the last few days.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Elsa said. “We girls have to stick together.”

  “I suppose we do.” Sai looked up at the viewscreen, which displayed dockworkers loading a ship adjacent to theirs. “Elsa, you know what I am.”

  “Yes, how could I not know? You were wriggling your way into my brain with your nosy cyber-psi skills when you first came on board.”

  Sai shrugged. “Sorry, just habit. Most people look around the room, look at the pictures on the wall. I also do a sweep to see what kind of computer systems and hardware are working. It’s a survival skill. It’s saved me before.”

  “I forgive you, Sai. I know you didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “You actually remind me a lot of Dirion. He was once a man who became more. You were once a physical entity, a flesh-and-blood human as well?”

  “In some ways it’s a shame that your Dirion couldn’t have made the transition. I was lucky. Hank saved me.”

  “I am glad you feel that way. I’m not sure how I’d feel if I lost my body but kept my mind.”

  “Hank and I knew each other when I was flesh. We knew each other well,” Elsa said.

  “How well?”