Tropical Punch (Bubbles in Space Book 1)

by S. C. Jensen

“She was a scientist at Libra.” Whyte leaned back in the chair and rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. “They deal in cosmetic stuff. Upgrades, fashion skins, designer party drugs. It’s not like she was working on some top-secret military intelligence. It doesn’t add up.”

  “It does if your math allows for imaginary morals and the corruption of every function. We’re talking about HoloCity.” I ran my fingers through my hair and tugged. “Anything can be weaponized by the right kind of psycho.”

  Whyte crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down. “This has nothing to do with my wife.”

  “Patti worked at Libra.” I counted out the points on my fingers. “But she was undercover for the Last Humanist Church. They were developing a nootropic, a mental-performance-enhancing drug, designed specifically for the technophobes in the pink robes.”

  “Totally harmless,” Whyte said. “Nootropics are a dime a dozen. They give them to kids in schools to increase their test scores.”

  “This one is different,” I said. “By all accounts, it’s much more powerful than anything on the market right now. And this particular formula triggers an immune response in the body of anyone with tech implants, causing the body to attack itself. My friend Jimi discovered this flaw and fixed the formula. And got himself killed for it.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s starting to. Listen to me. Your wife knew about the flaw in the formula and tried to stop it from being delivered to the leader. The Rose. She failed. I was there at the bust, but I didn’t know she was until today. Swain tried to hush it up. Suddenly, Tropical Punch hits the market. It’s either really good or really deadly, depending on the punch. I knew it was connected to our bust. I couldn’t let it go. After Jimi died of an apparent drug overdose, I was rapid about it. Boom.” I knocked my metal and flesh fists together and made an explosion. “Early retirement.”

  “So you think Swain leaked the flawed formula to one of his drug king pins?”

  “Trouble is, those syndicate guys love their upgrades.” I remembered I was supposed to be getting out of here and began to shrug my way of the prison jumper, grateful for the full coverage undergarments that came with it. Then I started pulling on my own clothes.

  “Wait,” Swain said. He bent over McSweeny and started unbuttoning the powder-blue uniform. “You’ll need this.”

  I let him deal with McSweeny and continued to think out loud. “It looks like someone is targeting the syndicate because so many of these low-level drug barons can’t help but sample their own merchandise. Swain’s starting to smell a little less fresh at the top of the rat pile.”

  “You figure he wants the new formula.” Whyte tugs off McSweeny’s pants and hands them over to me. I pull them over my own pink pair and cringe. Blue has never been my colour.

  “There are two ways this can play out,” I said. “The only people to know about this new formula are dead. Someone wants it, or wants it kept secret.”

  “No one would want a drug that can only be used by Absolutists.”

  “No one except the Rose.”

  “But if the flaw was fixed—”

  “Suddenly we’ve got a winner.” I snapped my fingers. “Everyone wants it. And who is sitting pretty at the top of the HoloCity drug market, doling out passes for who can deal what where?”

  Whyte rubbed a weathered brown hand over his upper lip. “Swain.”

  “Patti was killed by a man named Whip Tesla,” I said. “He worked for the Last Humanists too. The delivery boy Patti tried to stop. But when we busted the drop, he rolled over for Swain without so much as a doggy biscuit. I did a little dance with him at techRose after I found—”

  Whyte’s tanned leather skin was looking a little green.

  “Sorry. The point is, Swain’s man knew about my meeting with Patti. He killed her and another dancer, and probably Jimi too. But I never got whatever it was she wanted to give me. Which means Tesla got it. Which means Swain has it now. And I’m next on his snuff list.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I need to get to the Rose,” I said. “He’s on the ship, isn’t he? I want the truth this time.”

  “Shortly after Patti got back from HoloCity, we got a call from the admiral that we were being blessed by the presence of the Rose—the Last Humanist’s leader—for Island Dreamer’s inaugural voyage. The admiral is always playing the political game, so it didn’t strike me as that strange. Patti was thrilled about it. It’s the most emotion I saw from her since…” Whyte yanked on the jacket and McSweeny’s body rolled onto its face. He balled the jacket in his fists. “It wasn’t her, though. I keep forgetting. After we got word about the Rose, Patti started ordering all these necklaces for the Platinum Package guests. Why would she do that?”

  “Decoys,” I said. Some of them, at least, but I didn’t want to confuse matters anymore than they already were. “Just like the other women in silver dresses. It’s a set up for Swain. They want him to think there’s more than one batch of the formula. That’s what I’ve been thinking. It didn’t make sense when I though it was me being jerked around on the short chain. But it’s not me. I’m just here to sweeten the deal. I’m the pink icing on the bait cake.”

  “The admiral wouldn’t let Swain board the ship unless …”

  “Unless it became politically efficient, right?” I said. “Looks like it did. It wouldn’t surprise me if Swain’s got more cohorts than this little turd in the gene pool.”

  I gave McSweeny a nudge with the toe of my boot.

  Whyte’s face reddened. “I don’t like it, but you’re right. My authority is strangled unless I can get the admiral back onside.”

  “Swain’s got at least one of his goons up here already, not counting sympathizers on your own roster. That mess in cargo has to be Tesla’s work. My bet is the Rose has encouraged the admiral to let Swain make a personal arrest. That way they get the competition up here where there’s a little more legal wiggle room, and they can deal with him as they see fit. The admiral didn’t get too sentimental about our contract when he sent that team down to cargo for me. I’m at the bottom of the heap here. The only reason I had any real value was that Swain wanted me and the Last Humanists want Swain.”

  Whyte rubbed his temples. “If Swain took the bait and is on his way, we don’t have much time.”

  “Where are the Last Humanists staying?”

  “The official party arrived ahead of schedule,” Whyte said. “We weren’t expecting them until—”

  I jabbed him in the chest with my finger when the realization hit me. “Tomorrow at 1900.”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew.” I tucked my hair under the little white hat, feeling foolish. “You knew all of this was connected from the beginning, and you just let me ramble along, getting myself beat up and arrested.”

  “They arrived about the same time the patrol found you and Régale in the docks.” Whyte put my backpack inside a security briefcase. “If I hadn’t been preoccupied with the envoy, I probably could have delayed your arrest. I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Last Humanists. I had suspicions, but nothing like this.”

  “Send me a map I can use off grid,” I said. “I know what I have to do.”

  Whyte crossed his arms. “Why don’t we just let the Rose take out Swain? You could stay here until I get things sorted with the admiral.”

  “And maybe you lose your job, and I get handed over to Swain before the cultists make their move.” I shook my head. “Besides, who’s to say I want the Rose to get what he wants? The Last Humanists don’t exactly look highly upon the likes of people like me.”

  Whyte’s expression flickered suddenly. He touched his throat. Something glinted under his collar. He looked at me with such a cold determination in his eyes I stepped back, my heart pounding. “You’re right. Patti
protected the Mezzanine Rose and their secrets. And they let her die like an animal.”

  “I’m sorry, Hank.” I tried not to look at the thing around his neck. “Even the Purest humans aren’t immune to greed and corruption.”

  He tried to pass me McSweeny’s side arm. I waved it away. “No thanks. I’ve had my fill of things that go boom.”

  “When I open this door,” he said, “keep your head down and go straight for the exit. Take the first lift to the passenger quarters. I’ll get you your map.”

  “Watch your back, Whyte,” I said. “Helping me might end up being a very expensive mistake.”

  “You find help me bring Patti’s killers to justice, and I’m willing to pay the price, whatever it takes.”

  I reached over McSweeny’s body and shook the Whyte’s hand. “It’s been good working with you, Hank. Maybe next time we could skip the wrongful arrest. Can you do me one more favour?”

  “Name it.”

  “Let Cosmo out of the tank before you burn the place down,” I said. “He didn’t ask to be involved in any of this.”

  He furrowed his brow and unlocked the door. “Sure. Whatever you say, Marlowe.”

  “It’s been a slice.” I clapped him on the shoulder and peeked into the hallway. “Take care of yourself.”

  “Knock ’em dead, Bubbles.”

  I grinned at him. “Now that’s a promise I can keep.”

  Whyte cracked the door open and I slipped outside. Not a mouse breathed in the security station. The hall outside the interrogation room was cold and white and empty. But the moment I stepped into the hall, a blood-curdling scream erupted at my back. McSweeny writhed on the ground and grabbed for Whyte’s leg, his eyes bulging.

  Whyte stomped on his hand and growled at me. “Go!”

  He slammed the door and I heard it lock behind me. Two security guards appeared at the end of the hallway from the direction of the exit, checking on the noise, but when they saw me in my powder-blue uniform, they relaxed and disappeared around the corner again. I walked as calmly as I could toward the front desk, carrying the briefcase with my backpack in my upgrade hand. I kept my shoulders back and that look of cool indifference on my face which most men found so off-putting. Then I crossed my fingers and hoped that the intake officers were both men.

  The Island Dreamer’s holding cells were a bit like a vacation themselves compared to the dim, rusted grey cubes of the HoloCity lock up. HCPD loved to kick a man when he was down. Literally, of course, but any time they could dig a heel into the morale of some Grit punk and make sure he knew exactly who he was and where he was going, they made a party of it. From body lice in the bedding to backed-up toilets to overcrowded cells, a bit in the big house was guaranteed to send any person’s self-respect on a permanent holiday. Locking up Dreamers looked a lot like the HoloPop adverts for Rae’s favourite spa. Just so long as McSweeny wasn’t going to sign you up for everlasting meditation.

  The heels of my boots clicked as I walked down the hall past the glass walls of empty cells. Besides me and Cosmo, the pen was clean, though I supposed by the end of a week-long cruise it would hold its share of drunks, pinches, and high-cush rabble-rousers on the glow-down. A nice quiet place to get their heads right before they dove headlong into the throng again. I wondered if my Lucky Bastard winnings came with their own clubhouse in the cooler. McSweeny probably cheated me out of that too. In the silence, my heart beat like a drum in my ears, and the clicking of my heels seemed to reverberate down to my very bones. The place was as silent as a tomb and had about as much panache. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. I kept the pace down, counting under my breath as I went.

  As I passed Cosmo’s holding cell, he bugged his eye at me and cocked his hip accusingly. I held up a finger as I passed, assuming Whyte would make good on his promise. I had McSweeny’s key card, but the cells looked to have biometric scanners outside too. I passed his unit without turning my head. I was almost to the end of the hall when a door clanged open behind me and shouts rang out. I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw a pair of patrollers opening the door to the interrogation room. I didn’t stick around to watch the play. I ran.

  Turning the corner toward the front desk, I crashed into the pair of guards I’d seen earlier, crouched on the ground like a couple of rats waiting to pounce on a poor, unsuspecting alley cat. I clobbered one with the hard-shelled briefcase and knocked him flat. The other, a woman with squinty little eyes and a pug nose, barked to alert her pals. Then she clocked me in the side of the head with a right hook that might have knocked a filling loose if I could afford dental work. I let her have a taste of my bougie upgrade and didn’t feel too bad when she cracked her head on the floor for good measure.

  More shouting from behind me. I could hear Whyte’s voice, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying. Sounded like a scuffle, which didn’t bode well for Whyte. Or me, for that matter. I made a break for the sliding glass doors on the other side of the intake desk and stopped short.

  A massive ’gram of the admiral’s glowering mug hovered in the middle of the reception area. He frowned gently. “Not quite as cut and dry as I was promised, but we’ll see how it unfolds. Whose side are you playing for, Marlowe?”

  I didn’t bother with the formalities. I flipped him a finger and ran through the projection, sliding through the autodoors as they skimmed sideways on their tracks. On my way out, I hit the big red emergency button next to the exit. An alarm blared and boots pounded behind me, but once the door closed it wasn’t going to open again until someone official keyed in the override. I hoofed it out of the security station, barely noticing the blip of the hologram as I exited the camouflaged area, and into the crowd.

  Bodies parted for me, and surprised faces turned to watch, but McSweeny’s uniform bought me enough room to huff and puff my way to the nearest elevator. I held up the badge pinned to my chest and cleared out the box before I jumped in and keyed in my destination. So far, so good. I had a feeling I knew where the Rose might be staying. Even if Hank was too preoccupied with the coup of his forces to send me the map, I might be able to stumble my way in the right direction. But first, I had to ditch the security uniform and set my affairs in order.

  The elevator pinged and opened into the blank-looking hallway I had first found myself in only a few hours earlier. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly things can go from bad to worse to terminal. Maybe I had a knack for self-destruction. I tried to remember where I had stood to open the door to my room and strode slowly down the hall, pausing at intervals, and waiting for the musical chime to signal that I’d found the Lucky Bastard suite once again. I walked much farther down the hall than I thought I should before a little jingle made me stop. The holoscreen dissolved to reveal the tiny lift to my quarters. I looked both ways to make sure I hadn’t been followed and slipped inside.

  The little elevator hummed silently through my feet as it hoisted me into the upper echelons of the ship. A wave of exhaustion hit me in the sudden quiet and relative safety of the moment. When the door pinged open, I stepped into the suite and relief flooded through every cell of my body.

  “You’re here.”

  Hammett glared up at me from the long-haired rug in front of the circus bed. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

  “I’ll fill you in when we get home, okay, bud?”

  “You left me alone down there,” the little pig squealed indignantly. “After I won all those prizes and everything.”

  “I was a little busy getting arrested, Ham.” I stripped off the hideous blue uniform and dug through my backpack. I paused. “What prizes?”

  “You did say I could use the Lucky Bastard Game Room credits.”

  I tugged the white jumpsuit out of my backpack and my visilenses fell at my feet. I picked them up and put them on my head and reinserted the tubes. “You won?”

  “The Boutique Bona
nza!” Hammed pranced around the bed to a pile of intricately wrapped boxes and baskets. “No holocreds though, sorry.”

  “What in the name of Origin is all of this?” I stood in a daze before the mound of luxury goods, any one of which would pay for my rent for a year.

  “I don’t know,” Hammett said. “I can’t open them. But this one smells strange.”

  The pig nosed at a small silver box. I picked it up carefully and lifted the lid. A silver choker sat inside on a soft white cloud of synthetic fluff that glittered gently in the light. A tear-shaped red jewel glinted up at me like a drop of blood. I tilted the box toward the light. The redness of the stone shifted, revealing a sliver of clear glass on one side. I tipped it to the other side and the red liquid inside tilted with my movement. With the tip of my finger, I lifted the jewel away from the metal of the choker collar. A tiny imperfection on the back of the stone was the only visible clue that the necklace was more than a pretty piece of jewellery.

  “Be careful, Bubbles.” Hammett craned to watch me. “I get a code yellow contamination warning from that one. Undetermined pollutant.”

  “Was there one of these in the room before we left?” I wondered allowed. “Whyte said all the Platinum Package guests received one.”

  “If there was, I never sensed it,” Hammett said. “Not like this one.”

  “Still think I’d look good with some high-cush decals?” I asked, tilting the choker toward the pig.

  Hammett shivered theatrically and stomped a hoof. “I’m sorry, okay. Anything but that.”

  “The Patti simulation at the beach gave me a necklace just like this,” I said. “It gave my arm a jolt and disappeared when the simulation ended. Could it have been a warning?”

  “Could have been a data transfer,” Hammett said. “The more sophisticated simulations can use nanoparticles as a kind of memory storage. But it’s locked tech. You need special Trade Zone clearance to use stuff like that.”

  “Or you need to know how to work around Trade Zone clearances without getting caught,” I said. “How difficult would that be?”