by Reiter
“A name,” Annsura whispered, looking at the readout. “Is that my name?”
“It looks like that was the name you were born under,” Olkin stated. “And Satithe is giving this a ninety-three percent chance of being accurate.”
“Anushuri,” Annsura whispered, touching her fingertips to the screen where it read Anushuri Leanne Sikka.
“That’s pretty close,” Olkin remarked.
“Yeah, since Annsura’s not even in any database as having a meaning to it!” she countered.
“So what does Anushuri mean?” Olkin inquired.
“Pretty,” Annsura read. “It means pretty.”
“So your parents didn’t name you until after you were born,” he commented, bringing a soft smile to her face. She leaned her head over to his shoulder, and, as if it had been practiced a thousand times, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“That was another sweet shot, Cupid,” she whispered.
“Hey, I only have one job on this crew. Might as well get it right!” Olkin chuckled as Annsura lifted her head away from him. “Or did I get it wrong?”
“No, very right,” she said, gazing deeply into his eyes. “I love you!” She almost started to cry when Olkin’s expressions softened and he pulled her in for a kiss.
“I love you,” he whispered as they remained close, their foreheads touching. “I wanted to say that in the desert, but I th–”
“It’s like you said, we have to do this our way. We’ve got a sure-fire loon for a captain, who also happens to be the fastest gun any of us has ever seen… we’ve got an insane engineer who’s dedicated to the premise that he can make her insanity sane – and he might just be the man for the job, and we’re part of that ship’s crew!”
“Why do I just want to go and kill myself right now?” Olkin postulated.
“You better not,” she said, taking hold of his face. “I need you! And to that point, I need you to come with me. There’s something I have to show you. This is still compiling information so we can come back to it. Come on.” Annsura spun away from Olkin and hopped up to her feet, walking out of the computer room. Olkin sighed as he looked at the screen, the search program was still compiling, which made him curious, but he was more depressed at how things had turned after exchanging heartfelt sentiments.
“Scratch the candlewax and hand me the Gwarthine. Cuz I can feel the pain just a-comin’!”
** b *** t *** o *** r **
“Now this is more like it,” Jocasta thought as she came around the stairs. Even with the thick smoke, she could see the clientele who had been allowed up to this floor. It was clear that they were not all pilots, but those that weren’t were either guests of pilots or tried-and-true enthusiasts of flyers. She started to step out on the floor when a boot was placed against the frame of the archway. It was a rather large leg that barred her way, and Jocasta looked down to see that the leg fell right in line with the rest of the man. It was not often she saw someone larger than her First Mate, but she knew this mammoth towered over seven feet tall. “But it’s never easy, Jo. It never is!”
“You a pilot?” he asked in a very powerful voice that was not quite human. Looking at his face, Jocasta recognized the blockade was Neshiorian. His gray skin had been challenged by time and circumstance, showing a score of assorted wounds. He had lost his right eye and the tip of his right horn, but the former had been capped with a metal plate and the latter with a metal tip.
“Why don’t we say that I’m shy and leave it at that?” Jocasta smiled, touching the end of her cane to the nerve just under the knee on the back of the man’s leg. The large creature jumped, nearly falling out of his chair as he laughed and grabbed his leg. He stood up quickly, but not too fast in the terms of speed that Jocasta understood and demonstrated. “Nya’Vroom, my large friend.”
Hearing his native tongue, with a pronounced accent, made the large man smile and extend his hand. Slapping her hand against her thigh, Jocasta put her gloved hand inside the giant’s grasp. He quickly squeezed with considerable strength and was confused when the woman did not scream in pain.
“I could have sworn Nya’Vroom was a greeting shared by kindred. You don’t want go against tradition, do you?” Jocasta asked as she squeezed, directing the summoned gravity field to form around the Neshiorian man’s hand. He winced and his knees started to bend as Jocasta jabbed him in his good eye with the ball of her cane. The large creature fell back over his table, and Jocasta smacked the right side of her long coat so that it fell behind her hip and she had clean access to her blaster.
“That will be enough of that,” a woman said as she pulled a very thin cigaro out of her mouth. She had steel gray eyes that seemed to sparkle in the low light. Her gray hair was long, wavy, and thick as it fell over her left shoulder. “I’ve got a sweet hand here, and I swear if either of you spoil this for me, there will be hell to pay!
“DeQuille,” she continued to the Neshior who was getting up, looking quite enraged and ready to fight. “Down, boy! You put your business in the street and the sweeper came along. Go cry in your drink before she embarrasses you any further.”
DeQuille looked across the room and Jocasta trekked his line of sight. Seated in a very dark corner was a large figure that appeared to be more round than tall. Jocasta could make out facial hair, but not much more. The shadowy figure put down his drink long enough to wave the Neshiorian off from his aims.
“Shy, eh?” the woman asked as she turned back to her card game.
“I figure if he wanted to know more about me, he should have at least bought me a drink,” Jocasta said.
“Name your poison,” the woman quickly returned as she shoved a pile of credits forward on the table.
“Rum, if they have it,” Jocasta replied as she approached the table. She could see the number of heads that turned away from whatever they were doing to look her over. Even the gray eyes of the woman came up for a brief moment.
“They have it,” the woman nodded. “Pointless, be a dear,” she said to the waitress who scoffed before walking off to retrieve the order.
“And bring the bottle!” both women said. The older woman smiled, taking a drag on her cigaro and keeping it in her mouth as she blew out the smoke.
“This your first time here?”
“I’ve been to Black Gate once before,” Jocasta explained. “Never made it this far in.”
“Awful clean for a damn pirate,” a man’s voice broke in. Jocasta cast her eyes toward the bar to see a slender man visibly wearing three powerful guns. Jocasta could not tell by a glance if he was a Shootist, but he was definitely one of the Armed. “Don’t find many of your kind packing blasters though.”
“And no one knows you’re stupid until you turn up the volume,” Jocasta replied, receiving a number of chuckles and laughs. “From the sounds of things, your speakers are working just fine!”
A woman’s hand took hold of the man’s coat and gave a slight tug. “Come on, Nothan. We can get to the Boards now.” The man looked at the dark-haired woman for a moment and then at the wall opposite of the large shadowed figure. There were a number of large monitors lined up on the wall and quite a few people reading them. The woman had spoken truthfully, as it appeared a group of ten was coming away from the area, looking anxious and talking amongst themselves. Nothan looked back at Jocasta coldly before walking toward the wall.
“I like a lady who knows how to act like one without backing down,” the older woman said as she looked at her fellow players. Three of the five claimed she was bluffing and pushed their piles to the center of the table. The woman smiled as she laid down her cards to the painful disgust of those who had called her bet. “And it looks like there’s room at the table if you care to play. We play Old Earth Draw Poker here, one-eyed Jacks and the suicide king are wild.”
“I love a game where wild cards are encouraged,” Jocasta said as she took a chair that had just been vacated. She reached for her inside jacket pocket when the woman took a
healthy amount of her winnings and pushed them over to Jocasta.
“My invite, my cred,” the woman said softly, offering Jocasta a cigaro. The pirate knew high-end rolled natural tobacco when she saw it, and she eagerly took one.
“You lookin’ to adopt?” Jocasta joked and the woman laughed in earnest.
“Allow me,” a man said as he rose up from his chair. Jocasta looked up to see a tall, well-built man with long, shiny black hair make a very soft approach from a nearby table. There was very little rise and fall in his strides as he reached to his belt and produced a butterfly knife that he spun and opened, cutting the end of the cigaro off. He caught the end with his free hand and folded his weapon, hitting a switch that ignited a blue flame out of the end. The light of the flame caught in his purple eyes. A sure sign he was Vohlbred; Jocasta doubted he was an Imperial.
“I am really beginning to like this place,” Jocasta thought as she put her hand over his, put the cigaro in her mouth and leaned the tip into the flame. She looked up into his unwavering eyes as she dragged on the end. She leaned back and took the cigaro out of her mouth. There was a pitched debate in her mind over which was smoother; the cigaro or the man who had just lit it for her.
“Thanks,” she said, blowing out the smoke.
“My pleasure,” he said, putting away the blade and lighter.
“Not just yours,” Jocasta smiled. The man remained in place as they gazed at one another. He leaned forward to speak.
“Boss, it’s our time.” The man looked up to see a tall, slender, blonde-haired woman standing at the stairway. Jocasta followed his gaze and thought she was looking at a slightly taller and older version of herself. The nameless woman’s hair was longer, closer to a golden color, and her eyes were a deeper shade of blue; Jocasta watched as the woman took inventory of the entire floor in the span of two blinks of her eyes before she set them back on the tall, handsome creature standing next to Jocasta. “Cavern will see us now.”
“I’ll be right there, Novassa,” he said before looking back at Jocasta. “Timing. This time is not so good.”
“Extend and delay, dogfighter,” she said softly. “This engagement isn’t over.”
“Well said,” he smiled as he turned.
“Gracious alive!” Jocasta winced. “Coming and going!”
“Are you with us, friend,” the woman asked.
“Two cards,” Jocasta said without looking at the table, taking two cards from her five and tossing them, face down, across the table. With the same acuity – and still watching the Adonis walk away – she grabbed twenty credits and stacked them in the center of the table. “I’ll see grumpy’s ten-cred bet, and raise it ten more.” Jocasta watched as her nameless acquaintance took to the stairway to meet with the same name Kryltane had used.
“This is going to be some night,” the woman said, taking the two cards and dealing back a pair.
With the bet of the twelfth hand coming to Jocasta, she smiled, looking at the gray-haired woman, whose name she had yet to hear or ask for, and blew out her cigaro smoke. “They say love is a hurtin’ thing!” she cooed as she dropped her cards down, face up. “Must be true with all these hearts I have!” Amidst the moans, Jocasta turned to the man on her left and did so in a very visible manner. “Friend, if you dig out that Ace of Clubs you have tucked into your left sleeve, I’m afraid we won’t be close acquaintances anymore.”
The man looked at Jocasta before looking around the table. Only the gray-haired woman was smiling. He laughed it off and tossed his cards in, face down. As Jocasta collected her winnings, two of the other players drew their guns and demanded the man roll up his left sleeve.
“Whatever’s going through your mind,” Jocasta said as she counted her credits. “… it’s not worth dying over. That I can promise you!” When the Ace of Clubs was produced, along with two other cards, the three players excused themselves from the table. “I hear a gunshot, I’ll be very disappointed. You two go and whomp on him for a while then come back and divide his stacks between the two of you.”
“I like the way you spend money that’s not yours!” exclaimed the last player as he stood up.
“You’ve got enough credits there to get your friend to a med-tech,” Jocasta replied. “And I won’t even tell the others you’re the one who was giving signals to the cheater.” The man stood looking at the woman, pressing his lips together.
“Believe me, friend,” the gray-haired woman spoke as she leaned back in her chair. She placed her right hand on her weapons belt and sighed. “… you’re not fast enough.” Looking between the two women, the man huffed and collected his first stack of credits. “Leave the third stack as an apology to the other players,” she directed. The man muttered something incomprehensible and took the second stack of credits before storming off for the stairs.
Jocasta chuckled as she took a huge portion of her winnings and pushed them toward the gray-haired woman. “I believe that covers what you fronted me, plus interest,” she measured. “Thanks for a very good game.”
“I like a lady who can handle her debts,” the woman replied. “You have a name you can share?”
“I like the way you put that,” Jocasta noted.
“You’re chatty without it being painful,” the woman stated. “… but it’s clear there are a couple of subjects you manage to steer around. They call me Snow.” Jocasta looked up and her eyes flared wide.
“One of the first people to teach me how to fly mentioned flying up against a woman who called herself Snow,” Jocasta shared. “He said he didn’t last long, but he managed to get away. His call-sign was Toledo.”
“Was Toledo?” the woman asked.
“He was a damn fine teacher, but a pretty lousy pirate,” Jocasta noted. “He bought it in a fire-fight in Olasson Space.”
“Figured on the ground was the only way he would buy it,” the woman commented, reflecting over the engagement. Eugenia Delores Bankhead prided herself on being able to remember the people she had flown against. It was not difficult to recall the man who had called himself Toledo. “Not many got away from me when I flew for the Mags.”
“And putting that note in definitely makes you sound like the woman he described,” Jocasta said. “No offense but–”
“One hundred and forty-seven,” Eugenia interrupted. “I turn one forty-eight in three months!”
“You’re holding up damn well!” Jocasta cheered. “You can call me JoJo.”
“It’s obvious poker didn’t bring you here, JoJo,” the woman said as she counted credits. “So what set your course for this place?”
“I’m looking for the Star-Wings,” Jocasta admitted. “I’ve got a brain downstairs that says I can find one here. One by the name of Cavern.”
“And you’ve already heard that name tonight,” Snow added as she smiled. “But the third floor is reserved for the best, and you’re not on record. You didn’t even use the sticks to get in. I guess you were still too shy.”
“I prefer the word discrete,” Jocasta said.
“Fine by me,” Eugenia said as she rolled up her right sleeve. “… but since I fly wingman for Cavern, your discretion will only get you an invitation downstairs. And your brain is only partially correct. We’re not Star-Wings, we’re members of the Star-Wing Corps!” Snow displayed a brand on the inside of her right forearm. Three gleaming crystal crescent-shaped claws looked as if they were imbedded in her skin. As Jocasta looked at them, they sparkled with a light that had to have been more than a simple reflection. “Now I’ve shown you mine.”
Jocasta reached to her holster, between it and the outside of her thigh, and pulled out a black, metal flechette from a very well-hidden pocket. With a delicate touch, Jocasta laid it down on the table. She looked up at Eugenia whose brow had furrowed tightly over her eyes. “Are you still with me, lady?” Seven crescent claws, made of black crystal, formed over the flechette and started to spin before they combined and a burst of black light covered the entire table.
>
“Snow, can you hear me?” Beta-Alphexeous called to her.
“There’s no way I am hearing this!” Eugenia whispered.
“Take it easy, Snow,” he quickly said. “This isn’t Spade! I’m Shade!”
“And still a Soul Fighter,” Eugenia argued. “… as well as an Officer and an Elder in our ranks!”
“Good to be remembered,” Beta-Alphexeous whispered. “Listen, this one’s in the shadows, but I trained her on the Sticks.” Snow’s eyes locked on Jocasta and the older woman wondered what she had been playing cards with for the better part of two hours. “I’m not kicking in the door, that’s not my speed. But I say she’s ready for the trials and then some!”
“I’ll tell Cavern,” Snow reported.
“No!” Beta-Alphexeous quickly said. “Just be there when she gets to the proper place at the proper time. The trek is all hers to make!”
“Understood, Commander,” Eugenia replied. The black veil lifted from over the table and the gray-haired woman looked hard into the crystal blue eyes of JoJo Starblazer. She offered her hand and Jocasta was quick to take it.
“Eugenia Bankhead,” the woman stated. “You can call me Snow. Yeah, discrete is a better word for you!”
There are three classes of men, lovers of wisdom, lovers of honor, and lovers of gain.
Plato
(Rims Time: XII-4202.22)
“Are you sure someone’s coming down here for you, my little lad?” the voluminous woman drunkenly sang as she played with Kryltane’s purple lock of hair. The young man finished what was his fourth double tea-shot, all the while acting as if he were drinking actual whiskey. The bartender was finding it all too entertaining and kept the student’s secret. “Because I have a room that’s not too far from here where we can… get to know one another more better!” Kryltane winced at the bad grammar and pulled his head away from her probing finger.
