“Ok, let’s talk about this, then,” Taryn said. “You don’t look like no ho I ever seen. And you sure don’t talk like one neither, so I’m guessing the old man ain’t looking for a bed warmer.”
“Nah,” Cass said with a chuckle. “Don’t be silly. Mr. Zorgama is super nice, and doesn’t try any funny stuff with any of us. He’s just looking for a new trainee, and he thinks you’ll fit in.”
“Oh? Someone bail on him?”
“Not so much. Mr. Zorgama got Jaxon a new position. He does it all the time for the people that work for him. Trains them up, then helps them get a better job. I’m supposed to be next. Makes me a little sad to leave, but also super excited to see where I’ll go.”
“And you do...what? Exactly?”
“Oh! I’m Mr. Zorgama’s legal assistant and contract negotiator.” The perky smile was plastered across her face. Taryn wanted to slap it off, but had a strong feeling Cass was an expert at hiding behind her ditzy facade. “I make sure all the t’s are crossed, and the i’s dotted.”
Probably with little hearts.
She glanced out the window as the flyer began its descent.
“Oh good, we’re here! I’ll let Mr. Zorgama give you the specifics about the position.”
While familiar with the location, Taryn had never seen it from this angle. She couldn’t help a slight gasp at the organized chaos below her. San Francisco Intergalactic sprawled below them, separated into sections for various classes of ship. The freighters commanded the largest space, naturally, their sheer size requiring the most room for maneuvering, servicing, and loading/unloading. Passenger transports came next, the number of ships making up for their smaller size. These were the planetary shuttles, moving people from the surface to an orbital staging area for the larger luxury liners, colonial cruisers, and transport ships for mercenaries on shore leave. The smallest section of the spaceport, set away from the bustling main area, was reserved for the private yachts and cruisers of the wealthy. Their pilot flew toward it.
A sliver of hope wormed its way through Taryn’s comfortable blanket of cynicism: This may be her ticket off this rock. Whenever she had the chance, she’d sneak up to the roof of whatever building she could get into and watch the ships lift off. Once, she and two friends had attempted to smuggle themselves on board a small cargo ship. That’s when she discovered no matter how crappy the outside may look, most captains poured a lot of credits into security. She had a lot of time to think about her assumptions during the resulting stay in Juvy.
This, though...if this Zorgama guy was on the level, this might be a way out. Even if he wasn’t, he had to port in somewhere besides here, right? It shouldn’t be too hard to slip away, even with the stupid tracker on her wrist. She’d need to keep her eyes out for something to take with her, though. Something valuable, but small. Possibly several things.
“You still haven’t put those bottles back, Taryn.”
As she slipped the liquor back into the bar, it occurred to her that when she did lift something, she’d need to make sure Cass was nowhere near.
* * *
Cass turned as the car lifted off, striding purposefully toward the large ship 50 meters away. Taryn had to admit, she was impressed. Sleek, long, and, she assumed, worth more credits than she’d see in a lifetime, the yacht made the other craft near it seem low-rent in comparison. Taryn followed the young woman up the ramp and into the darkness of the hatch.
“Took you a while, Cass.” The speaker’s easy smile took any edge out the words. “What happened?”
Cass gave the man a sharp look coupled with a barely perceptible head shake. His smile faltered slightly—Taryn could tell he wanted to ask something, but he let it drop, focusing on her instead.
“Jaxon, this is Taryn,” Cass said. “She’s joining our crew. Taryn, meet Jaxon.”
“Hey! Good to meet ya! Call me Jax!” Taryn ignored his attempted handshake, giving him her best ‘I see you, but I’m not impressed’ stare. He pulled his hand back. “Oookay...I see you’re going to need a little time to warm up. No big. Dig the hair, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
Under different circumstances, she’d probably hang out with the guy—he wore a short-cropped mohawk, had several studs in each ear and a barbell through his eyebrow. Under his open, long-sleeved jacket, he wore a faded black tee shirt with a peeling logo. All she could make out were the letters ‘amones.’
Like most of the people she’d known, his lineage was best described as ‘mixed.’ His skin, darker than hers by a few shades, trended toward olive rather than tan, contrasting with his jet-black hair. Slight folds at the corners of his almond-shaped eyes made his expression somewhat sad, even though he kept his welcoming smile in place.
“Welcome to the Fortuna. We’re taking off shortly, so let’s get you aboard and settled.” He turned to Cass and winked. “I got it from here, gorgeous.”
The bubbly blonde actually giggled. Taryn rolled her eyes as she followed Jaxon further into the ship. As they walked, he talked.
“I’ll take you to your berth first and let you get cleaned up and changed. Mr. Zorgama will want to talk to you before we launch, so you won’t have much time, maybe an hour at most.”
“Whatever, man. Let’s just do this.” Taryn paid close attention to their route, noting the numbers on the doors of the compartments they passed. When she made a break for it, it wouldn’t do to get turned around in the bowels of the ship. Since she didn’t know when that chance would come, it was best to be prepared as soon as possible.
“If you have any questions, don’t hold back,” Jaxon said. “I know the first day can be overwhelming.”
“What do the numbers mean?”
“The numbers?” He stopped, brow furrowing as he faced her. “Which...OH! The berthing numbers.”
She nodded, jerking a thumb at the closest door.
“Yeah, that takes some getting used to.” He pointed to the plastic plaque. “The first number is deck below the main deck, the second means port or starboard. The third is frame number, and the letter designates its use.”
He paused, studying her.
“Ok, I see I’ve lost you. Sorry, let me try again. The Fortuna has four decks, and we’re on the bottom one. This is the left side as you face the front, closest to the outside, and roughly midway between the front and back. The letter means storeroom.” He pointed to each value in turn. “Four, nine, fifteen, A.”
That made sense. The door across from her was labeled four, seven, fourteen, A. The numbers decreased as you got closer to the front and middle of the ship. She didn’t think Jax had meant to help her plan her escape, but knowing the layout meant she wouldn’t have to memorize the path they took.
After a few minutes of walking, he stopped at another nondescript door, designated three, four, twenty-two, L.
“Here ya go, berth sweet berth.” The door opened into a room that, while spare in furnishing, was larger than the crash pad she’d shared with three others. Jax grinned at her slight gasp. “Yeah, nice, isn’t it? So, let me give the one cred tour.”
He motioned for her to stay put while he pushed a button on the wall. From a hatch about a meter from the floor, telescoping arms slid into view, unrolling a thin pad of gel-like substance suspended on a hammock of sorts.
“Bed, top of the line support, and…” He pressed another button. With a slight click and whirring sound, the framework rotated ninety degrees vertically. “Acceleration couch. There’s others in the ship, and you’ll probably use those more often than this one, but this works in a pinch when you’re in here. Just make sure you secure any loose items when the acceleration alarm sounds.”
He stowed the bed with another button, then moved to the other side of the room. A small desk nestled against the wall, bolted to the floor. He waved a hand over the top. The surface turned transparent, then lit up.
“Workstation with built in screen, you’ll just need to follow the setup prompts to get access. Real e
asy.” He moved to a smaller set of doors. “Closet here, and head here. Full shower, sink, et cetera. Any questions?”
Taryn shook her head. This was all hers? He must have read her look.
“All yours, no roommates. Your own little fortress of solitude.” He closed the doors and stepped back to examine her closely. “Get cleaned up, and I’ll get you a change of clothes from the stores. I’ll bring a few different sizes of the basics to start with. Be ready in about 30 minutes, OK?”
“Sure, whatever.”
“Oh! Almost forgot my favorite thing. Check this out.” He waved his hand over the desk again, tapped a few menus, then pointed to the wall across from the bed. Like the desktop, the wall went transparent, then shifted to what looked like an ocean. “Not as good as being there, but still pretty cool. I like this one, personally.”
The ocean scape shifted slightly, changing from the standard deep blue of underwater to a hazy violet. She jumped slightly as a creature, vaguely squid-like, floated into view. Bright colors danced along its body, flickering from one end of the visible spectrum to the other.
“Soothing, ya know?” He started for the door. “See ya in a bit.”
Taryn waited a few moments after the door closed, listening carefully. A cursory glance around the room revealed no visible cameras, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. She keyed the door, a little surprised it opened.
“You’re not a prisoner, Taryn.” Jaxon leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, grinning. “Just let Mr. Zorgama talk to you before you try and bolt. I promise, it’s worth the time.”
Taryn snorted as she closed the door.
Not like I have anywhere to be. She shrugged. Might as well see what the geezer wants.
That shower looked inviting, too…
* * *
Taryn approached the door, checked the designation on the note she’d found on her clothes, and pressed the button. It slid open, revealing a dark hallway. Lights flickered on in front of her as she crossed the threshold.
As she walked toward the door at the far end, Taryn fought hard not to gawk. It was difficult, due to the display of wealth in front of her, but she needed to keep up appearances. Beautiful artwork—holo screens with complex swirling designs, small sculptures carved from exotic wood, and paintings—were displayed prominently, yet not garishly.
She stopped next to one item, seemingly out of place next to the other pieces—a small coin stamped with a long-fingered paw, resting on a velvet lined pillow. It, unlike the other artwork, looked reasonably new. Reasonably, in this case, meaning within her lifetime. No tarnish, nothing that would place it in a previous century, like the framed paintings, just a simple token, polished to a high shine.
There was no glass case, no apparent security measures, nothing to keep someone from walking off with it. Taryn looked around—the door at the end of the hall was still closed. She wasn’t going to steal it, really, just borrow it for a while until she could figure out what it was and where it came from…
“Young lady, I would prefer you not touch that without asking.” Taryn started at the voice next to her ear. She whipped around.
“I wasn’t...I was just…” She put her hands behind her back, trying to put on an innocent look. Where the Hell had he come from? “I’ve just never seen anything like it.”
“It is a rare piece, to be sure. Not many given to non-Depik races.” He smiled, the faint scar on his left cheek forming deep wrinkles. “And by ‘not many’ I mean ‘less than two that I’m aware of.’ It is a valued piece of my collection.”
“You’re Mr. Zorgama.”
The older gentlemen inclined his head slightly. She took him in quickly—taller than she, but not as tall as Jaxon, slim build, but obviously fit. Pale skin accented his dark eyes, making them seem as though they were boring into her soul. Still, there was a warmth there, not hostility, as though he had seen much, but remained unjaded by the experience.
She saw more faint scars on his hand as he carefully smoothed a stray lock of silver hair back into place, then carefully picked a piece of lint from the lapel of his beige suit. Unnecessarily, in her opinion—his appearance was immaculate.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Taryn,” he said. “I have been watching your progress carefully over the last few years. I believe you will be a valuable member of our family, should you choose to accept us.”
“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for springing me out of Juvy. How long is the minimum stay?”
“Ah, yes. That is usually the first question I get from my new wards. Unfortunately, the current juvenile system imparts a negative attitude to most of those who find themselves in it.”
“Nice deflection.” Taryn kept her face impassive. “But really, what’s my stretch? Six months, year, what?”
“My arrangement allows for one local year of apprenticeship. Should we terminate our relationship prior to that, you will be returned to the system until your age of majority. I believe seventeen?”
“Great. So, basically, I stick out a year with you, or I go back to Juvy for another six months. Not a lot of wiggle room.”
“I have had a one hundred percent success rate.”
“Wait, what? ‘Success rate?’” Her eyes narrowed. “Success at what, exactly?”
“At keeping young men and women from returning to the streets or becoming common criminals. Drains on the societies they are a part of.” He smiled again. “I see by the look on your face you don’t believe me; however, it is true. Not one of my wards has returned to their former lives. It gives me a certain...leeway...when it comes to the bureaucracy.”
“Yeah, well, I was doing ok on my own.”
“While I’m sure you were, child, can you say with any certainty you knew where your next meal was coming from? Whether or not you’d be safe on any given day? Where you’d be sleeping next week, month, or year?”
That stopped her next comment. He was, of course, right. How many times had she found a quiet place in an alley with one or two of her so-called friends and huddled for warmth? Too many to count. Even with a group, you could never be sure someone wouldn’t try something. Some people didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, even when ‘no’ was spelled s-h-i-v.
Food was worse. Sure, a few creds here and there could keep you alive, but there was a reason she and her peers were not overweight.
What she’d seen so far had made it obvious Mr. Zorgama didn’t have those problems, nor did his wards. A year. She could do a year in these conditions. Better than the Juvy home by a long shot.
Still, can’t seem too eager.
“You’ve got a nice setup here, I’ll admit. But I take care of myself.” He said nothing, just looked through her with those eyes. She pressed on. “I mean, I’ve made it this far. If I hadn’t tripped when the pigs showed up, I’d be on easy street.”
“Yet you did, and you are not.”
“Yeah, well, tough luck.” She shrugged. “It happens.”
Her bluff didn’t seem to impress him. All things considered, had her crew gotten away, they would’ve gotten maybe 500 creds for the merch. Not bad, but splitting it four ways cut into her lab setup money. Once that lab got going though, she’d have been able to start producing. In a few months, money would have been no problem.
Yet here she was. Stupid ankle.
Zorgama just kept looking at her, knowing she had no better choice than to stay. She exhaled, as though coming to a decision, not sighing in resignation.
Totally.
“Alright, Mr. Z, you got a deal. One year, then I’m out.” She stuck out her hand. He didn’t take it, just smiled that little smile again.
“I appreciate the gesture, Taryn, but forgive an old man his eccentricity. I prefer as little physical contact as possible.”
“Have it your way, dude.” She re-crossed her arms.
“Thank you, young lady. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to tend to.” He walked soundlessly past her, toward the door at the end of t
he hall.
She had to double check and make sure his feet actually touched the ground—his movements were smooth and graceful, like a large feline. He stopped and turned, catching her watching.
“Please tell Jaxon I’ll be having my usual for dinner. Thank you.”
Taryn shook herself, nodded, and started toward the exit.
Seems nice enough. She shuddered slightly. But that man is scary.
* * *
Taryn shuddered, the sub-zero temperature in the freezer—Reefer she corrected. If it’s cold, it goes in a Reefer—working its way through her thick coat.
It, like many of the other things she’d been forced to learn, didn’t make sense. Lettuce? Goes in the Reefer. Frozen food? Reefer. Why not just call it the fridge or freezer like normal people? And what was the deal with port and starboard, anyway? Left. Right. Front. Back. Made up names didn’t do anything but make it harder to get around. It was stupid and frustrating.
Two weeks of this crap, and I’m still counting frozen slabs of meat. I haven’t even gotten to see the planet! She slammed a rock-hard hunk of—what had Jaxon called it? Lamb?—back into its bin.
Mr. Zorgama preferred fresh meat and produce, but was also aware of the practicalities of space travel. Stores had to be maintained in case they were on their own for an extended period of time.
The fact they hadn’t used any of the frozen stores in the last week meant nothing to Jaxon. Inventory was done daily, on every item in the kitchen.
Galley, she corrected herself with a snort. Have to use the correct terminology, or the ship may explode.
After inventory came prep. An hour, sometimes more, of peeling, slicing, chopping, portioning...tedious work that resulted in blisters and cuts.
“How’s it going, T?” Jaxon leaned in, his standard, good-natured smile in place. It was infuriating.
Speak of the Devil. “Oh, just great, Jax. Nothing like making sure everything that was here yesterday is still here today! It’s not like we’re on a spaceship, with no way for any vermin to raid the pantry and make off with our stores, or something.”
The Good, the Bad, and the Merc: Even More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 8) Page 13
