by M. D. Cooper
Kylie cringed as she said it. With the discovery of the dead mother and her children, the attempt on her life didn’t really feel like such a big deal. She had her amazing nano, tons of weapons, and the training to take down almost any enemy—what had this family had?
“CSF will know we were here,” Bubbs said.
“Nothing we can do about that now. See if the family had any monitoring cameras that were off the networks while Marge nails down a bio on the people that lived here.”
“If they did, I bet their attackers will have found them,” Bubbs replied, but turned to search the room despite her reservations.
Kylie sent an update to Rogers and Ricket to keep them apprised of the situation. A moment later Marge sent her and Bubbs both a dossier on the family. The photos of the smiling mother, father, and two children, all but crushed Kylie’s heart.
Kylie nodded as she read through the other details Marge had collected.
“Found a camera,” Bubbs said as she walked into the room a minute later, holding a tiny device in her prosthetic hand. “It’s been wiped clean for the last thirty-six hours, though. Expertly too. I tapped the cams out in the corridor too. They have recording gaps as well. Probably done with a hard-Link when they were here. You know, with the dad, Jimmy, not being here, maybe it was domestic. Maybe he’s the bastard we’re looking for.”
Kylie rubbed her forehead and hoped it was neither of those things, though it would make it cleaner. Sort of. The idea of someone being able to kill their own children was sickening.
“He could be on one of the mining rigs, unaware of what’s going on. How long have they been dead?” Kylie asked.
Kylie thought before speaking on what the right move was and tried to ignore her human, emotional response. “All right, let’s canvas the neighbors in this block. Maybe the guy down in the atrium park thing saw something. After that, we’ll have no choice but to call in security.”
“They’re not going to like us being here,” Bubbs said as she strolled up to Kylie’s side.
“Just part of our investigation. I had permission from Raynes. I’ll stick to that and hopefully we’ll only get a slap on the wrist.”
They walked out of the apartment and Kylie locked the door behind herself.
“Let’s take a look at that jammer in 23A,” Kylie suggested.
“What?” Kylie asked.
Kylie’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying? All these people…in all forty apartments….”
THE CAT
STELLAR DATE: 11.03.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Barbaric Queen, Platform 9, North Docks
REGION: Chimin-1, Hanoi System (independent)
Though the ship’s advanced ISF armory was secreted away in a cargo hold, the Barbaric Queen still had many dozens of weapons strewn about.
Half were from the old pirate crew, tucked into quarters and various bolt holes, and no small amount belonged to Winter and Bubbs as well.
None of this was on the ship’s official manifest, of course. Not that they were hiding it from Kylie; she too had her own stash, but it wasn’t the sort of information one stored centrally in case someone scanned the Barbaric Queen’s systems.
In his experience, it wasn’t good to put all the cards on the table, or all the guns in one armory. You never knew exactly who you were dealing with and it was best to have a few surprises. So, the question was, did he follow Kylie’s orders and give the Chimin a list of everything they had, or did he hide a few things in the event they were boarded?
Hiding was a better bet. Never could be too safe.
First, Winter tackled his private quarters. Small, but a damn sight more luxurious than his old cabin on the Dauntless. A corner suite with fancy inset lighting above the bed. Even a nice row of crystal-clear shelves along the bulkhead—though he had nothing to put on them yet.
His bed, unmade and wrinkled was in the center of the space, the top littered with old-fashioned girly magazines on ply paper, the old school stuff that traded through Silstrand for a handsome sum.
The tri-fold layouts were his favorite. Those holograms slowly removing their clothes as you watched, made for less lonely nights on a ship where all the females were smokin’ hot and completely unavailable for obvious reasons.
He’d broken his personal rule about sleeping with crewmates with Lana and that had ended in disaster. Best to keep things professional.
In fact, he and Lana had never gotten to talk about it since she had been kidnapped. Though she had been rescued by the SSF, Winter hadn’t even seen her again. He wasn’t exactly the type who went around apologizing for his role in things, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. Bitter. He didn’t want that to happen again.
But now that they were on Chimin-1, who knew what might happen…. Once he sent this report over to the CSF, he might have a little look around and see what he could dredge up. He was starting to itch for a little fun.
Winter walked past the small table in his cabin—littered with old coffee cups and one dirty plate—and went to his wall cabinet. When he opened it, some flashbangs rolled out onto the floor, followed by a box of projectile ammo. He caught the box of ammo with a sigh and bent down to pick up the flash bangs.
Nothing was ever easy, was it?
The cabinet was filled with weapons that he’d have to secret away. Turning to the coffee table, he slid it aside and pulled open the hatch beneath it.
The smugglers hideaway was one of the reasons he’d selected this cabin. All the better to hide his toys. He moved all but one rather pedestrian pulse rifle from the cabinet to the secret hidey hole.
He stopped as he lifted out his most prized possession. While Winter loved to chase the ladies—a lot—one thing was undeniably true: his heart really belonged to Dolph.
If ever there was a more beautiful multifunction weapon, he had never seen it. Just over a meter long, the rifle packed a serious punch, whether it be in pulse, ballistic projectile, or rail-fire mode. His fingers traced across the green-and-white holo decal he had affixed to the side. The Dolph Lundgren was his baby. A gorgeous creature, perfectly crafted for death and destruction.
Where Winter was from, a Dolph Lundgren meant power, respect, and most importantly, brute force. He didn’t know if the name had once been a person, a fleet, or whatever, but ‘Dolph’ meant power. When he saw this specimen for sale at a black-market dealer they had visited on the way out of Silstrand, he’d just known that the Dolph must be his.
He gave it a kiss. “Just for now, babe,” he said before stowing it away in the hidden compartment. Pulling the metal cover back on, Winter slid the coffee table back into place, and then dumped a bit of half solidified coffee across the floor so he’d know if the compartment was disturbed.
Turning to close up his cabinet, Winter’s eyes fell to the picture of his momma and sister he kept taped inside.
He kissed two of his fingers and then touched their faces before he slammed the door shut and made his way over to Bubbs’ quarters.
* * * * *
Walking into Bubbs’ quarters felt a little bit like poking around in your momma’s underwear drawer, off limits and scary. Not exactly where Winter wanted to be—he resolved to get it done as quickly as possible.
He wondered at the size of the cabin—it had to be one of the smallest on
the ship. A strange choice for such a massive woman. Kylie had offered Bubbs her pick, but the woman had been determined to keep this one as her own.
He was amused to see that everything in the room was black. The walls, table, chairs, bed, headboard, and even the cozy looking comforter. All black. Bubbs was nothing if not predictable. The ledge underneath her port hole, where most people would keep nick knacks and memories of family, was empty.
Winter had known her for a month, and he still hadn’t the slightest inkling of Bubbs’ background—which was A OK with him. Long as she didn’t kill him, they were good.
Her black table was clean, spotless even, and Winter saw his reflection as he walked by. When he got to her onyx cabinet, Winter accidentally kicked a small bowl of water, splashing the liquid across the cabinet, wall, and bed.
Shit, she was going to kill him. Or not…it would probably dry by the time she got back.
Winter opened her cabinet and grimaced at the sight of all the arm attachments she had—guns, lasers, hooks, boxing gloves—shit, she really was into this stuff. Nothing that looked exceptionally illegal, though, so he carefully moved them out of the way, while trying not to pay attention to what it was he was doing.
He spotted a chaingun attachment with a grenade launcher that would probably be frowned upon. There was even a gorgeous gun-arm that he was certain had an electron beam mode. That would definitely put them on the naughty list with the CSF.
He lifted the two arms and settled them on his shoulder, praying she wouldn’t be too mad. He’d have to apologize later, a lot. Then, as he turned to leave Bubbs’ cabin, he heard a noise, almost like claws, and the scampering of feet.
Winter’s first thought was rats, but he doubted they’d be in Bubbs’ spotless quarters. A quick check of the ship’s internal sensors confirmed that he was alone. No one had returned to the Barbaric Queen, the air dock door that led to the docking platform was still locked shut.
“Who’s there?” he called out as he put the arm attachments down onto the table. He drew his small pistol from his thigh holster, aiming it at the bed, then did a sweep of the room. Falling quiet, Winter heard the noise again, and this time he spotted movement—the comforter where it brushed against the deck
Rats after all? A kid?
No added complications, please. Winter sighed and bent down. “I’m going to lift the blanket, no sudden movements,” Winter warned as he pulled the comforter up swiftly, “or I’ll—”
Winter screamed as something leapt at his face. He fell onto his back and watched as the underside of an orange-and-white striped cat sailed over him and scurried toward the exit.
Bubbs’ reply was swift and angry
Winter groaned with anger as he rolled up to his knees and grabbed the gun arms laying on the table.
Winter winced.
Bubbs’ visage appeared before him, scowling with her arms crossed.
Winter might have blown it off if he wasn’t afraid of the consequences.
Bubbs’ communication cut off, and Winter prayed it wasn’t because she was on her way back to the ship to take her anger out on him.
He left her room, holding her gun-arms tight. Now he wasn’t so much going to hide them from prying eyes, as he was going to keep them away from Bubbs to better his odds.
“Here, kitty kitty,” Winter pursed his lips together, producing a kissing sound, “Winter has some treats for you, pal. Here, kitty kitty….”
His damn long day had just grown a little bit longer.
KARAOKE NIGHT
STELLAR DATE: 11.03.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Space Zone Night Club
REGION: Chimin-1, Hanoi System (independent)
Neon lights and colorful nitrous-chilled cocktails welcomed Rogers and Ricket as soon as they entered the Space Zone club, a semi-seedy watering hole frequented by the locals. The air stank of smoked drugs, too much perfume, and spilled beer. In other words, Rogers felt right at home.
He rubbed his hands together as he and Ricket approached the bar. The ladies on Chimin looked a little rough around the edges for his tastes, worked too hard, for too long, but some of them had potential.
“Reminds me of a few places on Jericho,” he commented to the Hand agent. “Our old haunt…though this place might be a little more upscale.”
Ricket shook her head, regarding him with those amazing eyes. Her brown hair was done up in a spiral twist with two ornate hair sticks holding it in place. Dressed in a sexy little purple dress, it was no surprise that every person in the bar was stealing glances—or just staring—at her as they walked through the bar. Granted, that was the point, tongues wagged more freely if they were talking to a beautiful woman.
Rogers had to keep reminding himself that they were working together, and she wasn’t a hookup he was trying to score.
Just the opposite, actually. She was a hookup he was actively avoiding.
Many of the patrons were miners, identifiable by their dirty hazsuits, many pulled halfway down, dangling from their waists exposing dirty undershirts. There were a few station workers present as well, easy to pick out by cleanliness alone—though they appeared to have less credit to spend.
Rogers and Ricket approached the bar, which was illuminated by an almost-nauseating yellow glow, contrasting badly with the yellow-and-blue shirt the bartender wore.
There was only one stool left and Rogers gestured for Ricket to take it. She wiggled her fine ass onto the seat and leaned her elbows onto the counter top. The bartender had six arms—none of which were organic. The top two were busy mixing a drink while another pair shook a cocktail.
“What’s the missus’ favorite?” he asked with a wink, temporarily occluding intense green eyes that Rogers knew to be fake—though he couldn’t throw shade on a guy just trying to make a buck.
“One of those yummy blue-and-green drinks,” Ricket drawled, her tone modulated in a way that made Rogers’ knees feel weak. “Like the one in the display chillin’ in nitrous.”
“You got it. Watermelon flavored?”
“Ohh,” Ricket pursed her lips, “sounds even better. I need something yummy to cut loose.”
Rogers pushed himself beside her and leaned over. “I’ll just take one of your local beers, bartender’s choice. I’m excited to try one.”
The bartender nodded. “One Chimin Special, fresh and on tap!”
The man sitting beside Ricket shot Rogers a disparaging look. Though he was seated, the brute towered over Rogers. His hair was a dirty blond with enough of a beard grown on his face to suggest he had recently returned home from a mining gig.
His gaze slid from Rogers to Ricket. “You’re with him? Really?”
Ricket laughed and nudged Rogers with her elbow. Then, she gave the guy a little shrug, her eyes wide and innocent like. It was a look carefully refined to drive men—and probably a lot of women—wild. The men Rogers was certain of, he knew it firsthand.
Usually not, but things
were different when Ricket was the woman in question. Rogers didn’t know why. He’d been with countless women, on countless stations and planets. So, why did it matter so much what this particular one thought? She wasn’t Kylie, his captain and friend. Just another crew member, so why couldn’t he get his mind on straight when it came to her?
Sure, she was one of the finest women he’d ever seen, put together like someone had sculpted her with perfection in mind. But engineered beauty wasn’t uncommon, even in a backwater like Silstrand or the fringe.
Women wanted to be attractive, to have a fine body—and Rogers wanted that for them too. The more the better. But Ricket was his shipmate and he did his damnedest not to notice or even comment on it.
Which was growing harder and harder by the second.
The bartender slid Ricket a smoking cold cocktail glass. It looked as elegant as anything Rogers had ever seen in an upscale bar. Complete with a tiny watermelon skewered on a stick.
“Where you from?” the bartender asked Ricket. “We don’t get a lot of girls that look like you around here.”
Ricket plucked the small watermelon from her drink, her movements languid and graceful. “Around. We travel so much, I can barely remember where I’m from.”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed for a split second. “Is that right?” He filled a golden tumbler with beer from the tap and slid it over to Rogers.
Rogers picked it up, the glass icy cold to the touch. “Thanks. What do we owe you?”
“You can settle up at the end of the night. I’ve opened a tab for you. Figure with a girl like that…am I right?”
Ricket didn’t respond but Rogers noticed how her eyelids flickered for a moment. She popped the tiny watermelon in her mouth and moaned. “Oh, now that’s delectable.”
“A specialty of the house. We just got a shipment in. Sort of what we’re known for. Miniature fruits. Come back in a few months and we’ll have bite sized pumpkins that taste like cinnamon chocolate!”