by Josh Busch
Artifact
By Josh Busch
Copyright 2011 Josh Busch
Cover art by ‘Sweetie187’, used with permission under the bounds of the Creative Commons license.
Captain Andrew Dickson was very much enjoying his evening before she showed up.
After a long and industrious career of preying on the despicable capitalist colony ships sent out from Desni and beyond, he had finally decided to retire before the Interstellar Piracy Police managed to track him down. They never would, he figured – the Punjab Lasso was far too advanced to be tailed by the clunky, decades-obsolete squad ships of the bureaucracy. Besides, there wasn’t an ounce of brains amongst the thousands of so-called ‘elite’ troopers. So, no, he wasn’t too worried about getting caught by them.
His enemies, however, were more than willing to make a quick buck dropping the police a line. He’d had to move three times in the last month, because the dim-witted cops kept dropping in on him unexpectedly. Or, rather, they’d dropped in on one of the decoy homes. Oh, sure, he’d lost a few thousand dollars each time they’d repossessed his stolen belongings…but it sure beat the noose that would be waiting if they actually did get a hold of him.
So, no, ten years was more than long enough. He would never have to worry about cash again, and his meager crew had done an excellent job making a nice little retirement nest egg for themselves. They were docked at Station GI2, an independent space station orbiting an as of yet uninhabited world near Desni. They’d stopped for one final celebratory drink before they parted ways. It was a bittersweet moment for them all – they’d been through so many close shaves in the past that it felt like breaking up a family.
His first mate, Jonathan Gallagher, was a mess. He’d been hoping that someday he’d be in command of the Punjab Lasso and would continue hunting down the capitalist bastards from the colonies. Dickson had been more than willing to promote him to captain in his place, to carry on their proud tradition. Jonathan, however, had refused – saying he just wasn’t ready for the responsibility yet.
It was his choice, not Dickson’s, and the captain was tired of waiting for him to take up the reins. Now that they were breaking up the team, the first mate had lost his chance. He would find another crew and work his way up the ranks, Dickson hoped – he was a fine lad who deserved the opportunities life tossed at him.
Gaileen, his navigator and part-time engineer, was sloshed out of her gourd. Fortunately, she was a happy drunk, and her cherry cheeks were radiant in the artificial station light. She was double-fisting a pair of cocktails that originated on a planet that Dickson had never been able to pronounce. As for the drinks themselves, they were simply called ‘Bombs’.
They seemed silly, with their light pink color and carbonation, but Dickson knew well enough to stay away. He’d tried one once, and he couldn’t remember anything that had happened until about twelve hours afterwards.
Dickson had no idea where Hopo was, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. The newest member of his crew would frequently lumber off to secluded parts of the station whenever they made port, and no one would see heads or tails of him until blast-off. Well, it wasn’t Dickson’s job to babysit his crew. If he wanted to get lost in the bowels of GI2 while they sat down at the bar and drank, that was his damned business.
He kind of hoped to be able to say goodbye before the night was over, though. He’d only been a member of the crew for about six months, replacing Jackson Caba – who’d been blasted into space during a failed raid earlier in the year. He was a good man, but Hopo had more than proven himself a worthy replacement. One of Dickson’s only regrets was that he hadn’t had enough time to see what the man could really do.
“Ten years,” Gallagher was blubbering. “We been at this ten years, and you’re just going to up and quit on us while we’re still in our prime! How could you, Captain?! What’s gonna’ happen to us now that it’s all over?”
“You’re all perfectly capable,” Dickson commented dryly. He took another swig of his ale before continuing. “I’m pretty sure anyone that’s been a part of my crew will find themselves a spot on any ship they so choose.”
“Earnin’ an honest livin’, fer’ shure,” Gaileen slurred out between sips of her toxic pink cocktails. She sounded disgusted by the idea. “Less’ jes’ hang up our a’venterin’ boots fer’ good, then. We kin’ get jobs workin’ on some goverr-ment barge ‘till we die, bored to tears I bet!”
“No one says that you guys have to keep working at all,” Dickson replied. “You’ve both got more than enough money to live happily anywhere you want.”
On the center of the table, erupting suddenly from the silver disk that had been placed there, came the face of Shila. The self-aware computer program that Dickson carried with him whenever he was away from the Punjab Lasso obviously had something important that she wanted to say.
“They don’t want the fun to end,” Shila said, her eyebrows raised. “Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
“I’m tired of looking over my shoulder every twenty seconds. They can surely start their own crew with no problems if they wanted to-”
“But you won’t be our captain!” Gallagher cried. “We still had so much to learn – so much to do!”
“I don’t think that-” Dickson started to argue, but he stopped. More accurately, his voice stopped, but his mouth just hung open in shock.
There – behind the bar. The woman who just took over for the bartender…she looked so very, very familiar. So familiar, in fact, that Dickson’s hand slipped to his side and fingered the cool plastic of his sidearm.
The motion did not, of course, go unnoticed by his crew. They had spent the last decade becoming attuned to his every movement; lest he need help and they weren’t paying enough attention to offer it. “What is it?” Gallagher said, mustering enough concern for his captain to stop sobbing.
Gaileen sniggered obnoxiously, making wild gestures with her hands. “Somethin’ botherin’ ya, Caps?”
“Shut up,” Dickson hissed, lowering his head slightly. “Do you guys recognize that girl behind the bar?”
Their heads whipped around in unison, and he rubbed his temples in frustration. Hadn’t he taught any of them how to be subtle over the years? They might have just as well have just shouted out to her.
Across the room stood a young, attractive woman with jet black hair and baby blue eyes that sparkled in the artificial lighting of the station. She was dressed from head to toe in a form-fitting black bodysuit, which was normal style for GI2 staff. Her skin had a slight bluish tint, which gave her away as Arterian, but it only added to her beauty. Her laughter at something a bar patron had said rang across the room, sounding like musical notes over the crowd.
“Is that…?” Gaileen whispered, though in her drunken state it sounded more like ‘Izzzat.’
“That’s Vena,” Shila stated bluntly. “Apparently, she’s been on this station for about two months now, and this is only her third day as a bartender. According to her bar profile, she enjoys her work-”
Dickson’s gaze shot to Shila’s holographic image. “You KNEW that she was here, and you didn’t tell me?”
Shila had chosen a young woman, about twenty years old or so, as her face to show others. That same face showed little emotion now despite Dickson’s fury. “I didn’t know until you requested the information. The only access I have is to what’s publically available through her employee profile. Do you expect me to check and crosscheck everything every time we go somewhere?”
“That would be convenient, yes.”
“Too much time, too much chance of getting us caught. I’m your friend, not your slave. Don’t ask me to do something as risky as that.”
The I’m your friend, not your slave speech was one she’d given Dickson countless times before, and he knew she was right. It still didn’t make him very happy. “We’ll talk about this later,” he whispered angrily.
If Shila felt at all intimidated by his threat, she didn’t show it. “GI2 regulations forbid bartenders - or any non-military station crew, for that matter – to be armed while on duty.”
“Unless she’s changed since the last time we saw her, I doubt she adheres to that,” Gallagher said. “What’s the strategy, boss?”
Dickson was already on his feet, making a beeline directly for the bar with no attempt at subtlety.
“Some strategy,” Gallagher muttered under his breath.