by Greg Dragon
Stretching lazily—which hurt—she threw her legs off the side of the cot, tried to stand and nearly leapt back onto the mattress due to the floor’s sudden movement. While they appeared as solid tiles, the floor depressed beneath her feet with every step. It felt like she was walking on plaster, but with each step, she grew accustomed to it, and after a while it began to feel pleasant.
The more she looked about the apartment, the more it dawned on her that nothing of what she knew of Basce City would speed her adjustment here. First she explored the two rooms thoroughly, examining all of the strange appliances and the overall decor of the place. The room she awoke in was the central living space, being one part bedroom and one part kitchen, complete with a food processing unit, storage freezer, and a counter with a raised sink.
The adjacent space was a bathroom, with a standing shower, and a bio-extractor for all manner of waste. Zulia had it all decorated nicely, which didn’t surprise Fio in the least. All walls were painted in shades of blue, with tiny, detailed bubbles near the sink, and a detailed nebula on the longest wall that happened to have the vid-screen.
Everything had its place, and Fio made a mental note to replace whatever she used while staying here. Zulia had gone out of her way to rescue her and since she was now broke, the least she could do was to remain extremely low maintenance for her friend. Station life was still a foreign concept, but she would take it a day at a time, healing, while picking up on the local culture until she found a place to fit in.
As far as she was concerned, she had two objectives, which were to find justice for Djesu’s murder, and amass enough credits to repay Zulia for her rescue, accommodations, and the trip. Fio didn’t plan on doing this through waitressing, but before bending any laws, she would need to learn about the station’s security. She washed her face and played with the digital mirror, trying out the virtual dressing room, which outfitted her reflection in clothes that could then be ordered through a courier system.
Thirty minutes of doing this, and Fio’s hunger overtook her curiosity. The breakfast left by Zulia was a cluster of sticky white pellets, covered in a chunky, brown sauce, none of which she recognized. Taking a spoonful, she found herself closing her eyes to savor the taste and texture. It was rich with spices and tasted amazing, one of the best meals she’d eaten in months, and just enough of it to sate her appetite.
Glancing at the clock to estimate how long she would have to wait for Zulia to arrive, Fio was disappointed to find the readout to be the Alliance Naval variant, which she couldn’t decipher. Remembering her communicator, she went back to the bed to recover her clothes from last night. “Oh,” she recalled, rubbing at the wound on her chest, flinching from the tenderness. “They thyping shot it, didn’t they? And then we tossed it with everything I wore.”
The song playing on the vid-screen clicked off, replaced by a menu of entertainment choices. Fio thought about taking advantage of this, just to pass the time. She was still in pain, and likely wanted for questioning by BasPol, who if thorough, would have considered that she had used the shuttle to escape the city. Going out now would not be a wise move by any stretch, but there was something about the forced solitude that made her desperately want to escape.
Fio knew it was irrational and absurd. Zulia’s home was nothing like the Basce City Brick or living with Djesu as a child, where she wasn’t allowed to leave the house. A sudden noise at the door put her heart in her throat, three knocks in succession, each of them heavier, followed by a hushed set of voices, and then someone was trying to force themselves in.
“Hey Zulia, open the door, it’s Kline. I have something I need to tell you,” one of them said. “You’re really going to want to hear what I have to say, it’s important. Open up, will you?” Fio looked around for her gun, tensing when she remembered it tucked in the jacket that Zulia had thrown out with the rest of her clothing.
The man kept trying to get into the apartment, and Fio retreated to the kitchen, hoping to find a knife or something else sharp. No having much luck with her searching, she hid behind the large food processing unit. Eventually the door slid open, and she heard multiple footsteps violating the space. “Oh, this is nice,” she heard another man say. “Looks like Zul has been holding out on us, eh?”
“Yeah, she put a lot of credits into this nest. If we can grab the runt without damaging anything, that would be better for everyone,” the first man said.
“So, frying her lock and pulling the door out doesn’t count as damaging?” the other man said.
“You’re really about to sass me, Ethan?” the first man said. “How about we find the girl, eh? Think you can handle that part at least? Hey, I know you’re in here, girly. I see the blood on the bed. You can make this go a lot easier for yourself. Just come out and we won’t hurt you. You know what you did. A man is dead. Make this difficult, and you’ll regret it. Do you hear me, little girl? Now is the time to come out here. We won’t even cuff you, I swear. You can walk out on your own.”
Fio rolled her eyes at the threats and watched the floor near the food-processing unit to assess how close they were to where she hid. The two men had gone deathly quiet, and she assumed they now were communicating with gestures as they searched the apartment. She allowed herself a moment to process the information regarding these men. Whoever they were, they knew Zulia, but hadn’t gotten her permission to enter the apartment.
They did, however, know she was inside, which could have been for any number of reasons, including Zulia not being too discreet when she brought her here. The man had mentioned someone dying, but why? Was she accused of murder now, and of whom, Djesu? Were these men looking to claim a reward of some sort? That’s the only thing that seemed to make sense.
A reward would have come from Vray, looking to punish her for botching the job and allowing his luggage and documents to be destroyed. Perhaps she was merely a loose end, and he was protecting himself by having her assassinated. BasPol officers did double as bounty hunters during their off hours, and if the bounty was high, it wasn’t unrealistic to assume they’d hire local thugs to detain one of the accused from the station.
She felt the dip in the floor before the man’s face emerged. A pale, bald-headed Genesian, dressed in black tactical gear. He smiled at her evilly and then reached for her arm, but Fio stepped back, and threw herself at him, raking her nails across his face. Having fought larger men throughout her short career as a Basce City smuggler, Fio knew there was but one sure way to win, and that was to draw first blood and debilitate him, freeing his weapon to arm herself.
If he recovered quickly from what she had done, his strength would overpower her, or he could draw on her, and she would have no choice but to surrender. She had the element of surprise, but fighting was never a sport for thinkers; it was muscle memory. When she swiped his face, she made herself small by ducking into his abdomen. He had a gun on his hip and a knife in his boot, so Fio unclipped the pistol, pulled, and jumped back from him.
This all happened in a manner of seconds before she had the handgun pointed at his bleeding face. “Hold up now, don’t be stupid,” he said, and Fio felt the floor depress from the other side of the food processor, as the man’s partner moved to flank her position. She aimed at the first man’s leg and pulled the trigger, the kinetic round burning through the light-weave armor, searing flesh, muscle, bone, to wedge itself into the floor beneath them.
The other man grabbed her from behind before she could turn and aim the gun at him. She knew her chances were gone now, what could she do? His powerful arms were wrapped around her, and her feet were dangling, but she held on to the gun, knowing it was her last option to escape. “Feisty little cruta,” he whispered into her ear. “Knew you were a murderer, but they never said you were trained, or we would’ve just shot you and been done with it. How’s the leg, Ethan?”
“Better than my face,” the other man said. He was reclined on the floor with the one leg bleeding, and a disconce
rting calmness to his face.
Fio kicked and tried to aim the gun at him, but the man behind her slammed her into the wall, and then into something else, but she was too dazed to notice what it was. Blood trickled into her eye, temporarily blinding her, but she felt the gun still in her grip where she still held it. The large man placed a boot into her abdomen, but she summoned the strength to fire again, and fire once more from the floor, clipping his leg.
Unlike Ethan, this man screamed in agony from where the bullet nicked his shin. Fio fired once more, striking him near the groin where he fell, and this time he really bellowed, making her want to cover her ears. Spitting out blood and surprising even herself with the strength to stand after the beating she had taken, Fio limped over to the screamer and aimed the gun down at his head.
“You,” she said, looking at the other man, “you’re going to answer my questions, or I’m going to shoot your friend.” The man laughed hysterically, possibly from the blood loss, but Fio wasn’t in the mood to hear laughter in that moment. “Alright, he dies then—”
“Fio,” Zulia screamed from the doorway, rushing in. “Daren and Ethan.” She put a hand to her mouth and screamed when she saw the state of her apartment. “What is going on?”
“These two forced themselves inside here and attacked me, so I took their gun and shot them,” Fio said, still waving the weapon at her whimpering victim. “Hold that thought, Zulia. Let me get us some answers.” She sat heavily down on the chest of the man and tapped his lips with the muzzle until he opened his mouth for her to push it in. “You,” she said, again looking to the man by the food processor. “Who hired you to find me, and for how much? Answer the questions. We don’t have all day.”.
“Garson Sunveil, from Basce City,” the man answered slowly. “He offered us, 1,000 credits each. Thought it was easy money, but now I’m starting to think we got played.”
Fio hadn’t noticed before, but the two men bore a resemblance, as if they were twins.
“You came to murder me for 1,000 credits.” Fio couldn’t believe it. The sum was insulting. “Is that all my life is worth in your view, a measly 1,000 credits?
“No, 1,000 credits for your capture. If we wanted to murder you, we would have handled this much differently.” He laughed, but Fio couldn’t find any humor in their predicament.
“And you knew she was here, how?” Zulia said, stomping over to where he lay, her hands on her hip, and her neck thrust out with rage as she stared down at him.
“Daren said you’d understand, since the girl was wanted. Said if we didn’t mess up the place, you would fuss, yes, but you’d understand why we had to do it. I should be the one asking you why you know this fugitive,” Ethan said.
“Same old Ethan, thick as schtill,” Zulia spat. “I’m calling your superiors to report this. Maybe I can get some sort of compensation. You can’t just break into people’s living space … oh my, I bet the neighbors heard all the gunshots. I’m sorry, Fio, but I can’t do this with the violence. You were supposed to just take it easy here. This. I could end up losing my job over this. Two security officers shot inside my apartment, ha. I’ll never make permanent. I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up arrested.”
Fio was incensed. “Arrested for knowing me, you mean? I could have died, but thanks, cruta, I will be okay. They broke your door down to attack me with guns, but you’re worried about your work and your compartment. I never asked you to bring me here, Zaria. But thanks for reminding me who you really are. Please, do call their overseers. Aside from defending myself, I’ve committed no crimes, so really, it’s okay.”
She pointed at Ethan with her free hand to get his attention. “Hey you, idiot, yeah you. Why does Garson have a bounty on my head?”
“Bounty?” Zulia stopped fidgeting with her communicator to look over at Fio with her mouth agape. “You mean to tell me this is a freelance thing, and you aren’t here officially?”
“That’s right,” Ethan said, “and we would appreciate it if you would calm down and don’t make moves you’ll later regret.”
“You don’t threaten her,” Fio growled at him. “Now, answer the question I asked you. Why does Garson Sunveil have a bounty on my head?”
“Says you shot and killed a man named Djesu.”
“Oh yeah?” Fio said, hardly believing what she was hearing.
“Yeah, says you robbed him of some documents, then got on a space shuttle and made your way here,” Ethan admitted. “He called you an enemy of the Alliance. Sounded serious.”
“The Alliance,” Fio repeated, remembering the sordid details gleaned from the documents. “Garson Sunveil, the supposed Alliance recruiter hired you to kill me for having shot Djesu, the closest thing I had to family? Is that right?” She noticed the man below her stopped squirming, so she placed a finger beneath his nostrils to confirm that he was still breathing. “You call them yet?” she shouted at Zulia, who looked whipped and defeated from the ordeal. The woman shook her head in the negative.
“Well, since you all seem to know each other, I will leave you to it. When I’m safe and back on my feet, I will repay your kindness,” she told Zulia, pushing herself up off the unconscious man to hover over him drunkenly, tempted to kick him the way he had done her. The anger won out, and she booted him, but it hurt her more than she thought it would, and she recoiled, wincing from all the pain.
“I was rash and I apologize, Fio,” Zulia tried, and as much as she wanted to tell her where to shove it, Fio knew she wouldn’t make it far walking if she left in her current condition. “I know a Marine with the defensive force here on the station. The Alliance would never send bounty hunters, especially ones that are as bad as these two. You could talk to him, Fio. Maybe he can look into this Garson Sunveil to see whether or not this is personal.”
“It’s personal for me,” Fio said, sitting down heavily on the bed. “But yeah, call your friend. I have some things to run by him, and if it’s as crucial as I think, then maybe something good can come of all this.”
12
A crystal-clear expanse of water ran below the landing platform on which the Ursula perched, stretching out on either side as far as the eye could see. It was a wet, narrow spine, splitting emerald, green grasslands, peppered with trees and squat buildings. Like the Alliance HQ Sanctuary, it was a marvel of Genesian engineering, from the spans of factories producing algae to aeroponic greenhouses where vegetables and grains grew in abundance.
Helga turned one way and then the other, trying to find the curve of the station’s cylindrical shape that would violate this spectacle. There seemed to be a brightness to the sky that concealed anything beyond the artificial clouds, sunlight and reinforced glass.
The scenery was breathtaking, and the people were just as colorful as the landscape. For the wealthy and powerful, long robes were the style of the day, bright-colored frocks fringed with gold and resplendent in gems. The dockworkers uniform was just as flamboyant, all sporting orange coveralls with yellow boots and hip packs. These brightly colored hustlers darted about the landing platform, fueling vessels, transporting cargo, and playing guide to their visitors.
After landing and going through the standard security protocol, Cilas had given them leave to disembark, but none were to go beyond the starport. Most of the crew stayed onboard carrying out their duties despite them being grounded. Nighthawks, as was the standard for stations, went shopping for supplies and munitions. Dr. Cleia Rai'to enlisted Raileo to help her grab medical supplies and additional equipment for medbay.
Ina Reysor remained on board, having had her fill of stations as a merchant ship's captain prior to the Ursula consignment, so Helga had taken the opportunity to stretch her legs. Rendron rules and to some degree the Alliance Navy, required a warship to always have an officer on the bridge. Ina wasn't a Nighthawk, but she was a former Aqnaqak lieutenant. With her taking the job, she had regained her rank and status, so she was more than qualified to stand in.
Two loud jets, Spitfires—what Alliance pilots dubbed “zip-ships”—flew low over Ursula, performing a series of stunts before vanishing into the cloudy atmosphere. Helga watched them go, lifting a hand to shield her face against the brilliance of the artificial sun.
Oh, to be just a pilot again, she thought, recalling Raileo zipping about Nero deck in his PAS, and these two reckless pilots, flying freely in this safe sandbox of an environment. Command had its perks, that went without saying, but sometimes she just wanted to jump into her Classic and fly. Since becoming a Nighthawk, she had flown just about every class of ship, short of a destroyer. She had done surface drops countless times, had dogfights above Meluvia, Sanctuary, and Argan-10.
Space-based combat came quick and often, but for some reason, it just did not scratch the itch. What she wanted was to experience flight without barriers. No rules, no duty, no responsibilities. She had thought that being back on Rendron would have given her the time to do this, but their six months of waiting didn't include access to her Classic. Like the R60 Thundercat, Helga’s fighter had been parked inside Ursula’s hangar and inaccessible during the refit.
Simulations, while a convincing replacement for actual flight, could be interrupted by someone or something needing her attention, so even they couldn’t give her peace. Helga sighed heavily, remembering her promise to never complain about rank or success. She had attained both as an operator and officer, and even being here now inhaling the crisp oxygen of the station was a testament to that.
Turning away from the precipice of the landing platform, she walked below Ursula’s belly to the far side where several crew members were speaking to the local dock hands.
“Everything going alright here, Chief?” she said to the wide back of Chief Mas-Umbra, who was in the middle of a lively discussion with a Genesian woman and a crowd of dock hands. They didn’t seem to be arguing but their voices were raised, but that could have been due to Ursula’s engines making it difficult to hear.
