Cosmic Cabaret

by SFR Shooting Stars

  "Glad to hear it. Lovely to see you again, Miss Murakami." Malachi took two steps toward the door.

  "Mr. Cartier," she said. He hadn't given his name. A part of him was disproportionately glad she'd either remembered it or had looked him up since boarding.

  Turning with one hand on the door, he gave her his attention. Would she remind him about the kiss and the after-the-kiss?

  "Mr. Cartier, my security job has run into a slight hiccup."

  Not what he was hoping to hear, but it was a reason to keep talking. "Oh?" he managed to sound politely disinterested.

  "I'm traveling with a group of scientists. Some cargo has gone missing." The little twitches of her fingers belied the professional calm on her face.

  His attention sharpened. "What sort of cargo?"

  She gave a tiny sigh. "An artifact. Just the thing members of the Welcome to Earth movement might want to justify their cause." She looked straight into his eyes. "Do you do the same sort of work as before?" She lowered her gaze. "The same work that brought you to Boulder, I mean."

  I'm not at liberty to say, or a simple no were the correct answers. Instead, he said, "Why?"

  "We won't be on the ship long, only a few days. It is imperative to recover the artifact before we dock.

  “Are you asking for my help?" he asked. He wanted to know why it was imperative, but he needed to play his cards right to find out as much information as possible without drawing any suspicion.

  "I suppose I am," she said. Keya cupped the back of one hand around the base of her skull.

  Malachi gripped her shoulders gently and moved her hand away. "Let me." He rubbed her neck and shoulders, adjusting the pressure until she slumped forward.

  "Needed that," she whispered. "Feels good."

  The silky strands of her hair and the warm scent of her skin filled his senses. He wanted to follow the path of his fingers with his lips, pressing kisses down her neck to the hollow of her throat.

  The door chimed and they jumped apart.

  In a heartbeat, the haze cleared from Keya's eyes. She adjusted the collar of her uniform and said, "Can you stay for this briefing? That's the quickest way to get you up to speed.”

  Keya's team filed in. She gestured for Alix and Holt to sit as they both threw her subtle questioning looks about Malachi's presence. Her neck tingled from his touch. Gods, it had taken her weeks, if she was honest almost a year, to get over the one night they spent together. It stung that he didn't remember, or didn't admit to remembering.

  "Please, have a seat," she said, and gestured to the chairs.

  With wary glances in Malachi's direction, her team members sat down, their posture as stiff as the chairs.

  "Alix, Holt, this is Mr. Cartier," she said. "We worked together on a job almost five years ago, a Welcome to Earth incident outside of Boulder, Colorado. He's agreed to consult for us, as needed."

  "Is WTE connected to this situation?" Alix asked.

  The all-black uniform slimmed and shadowed Alix’s physique to the point of gaunt. Their bright crimson hair was the only nod to color or decoration Keya had seen in the past three years of working together. Alix used they/their pronouns to help others understand that Alix was not part of the gender binary and had a more fluid understanding of gender identity.

  "Unknown," Keya said. Professional etiquette and pride compelled her to say, "Alix worked personal security in the entertainment industry. They were highly successful but wanted work with more meaning. They've been with my team for three years now."

  "What did the dock and transport recordings show?" Holt asked. Roughly twice the width of Alix, Holt's massive shoulders and torso eclipsed the chair, giving the illusion that he was sitting in mid-air.

  "Holt and I met on a political job nearly four years ago. Been together ever since." Keya felt it was important to highlight her time with both her crew members in case Malachi decided to waste time investigating them.

  "Keya runs a good shop. She gets good contracts and well, we’re never bored, are we?" Holt nodded at Alix who nodded back.

  "Back to the matter at hand," Keya said. "Crate W1K37 was tracked from the transport van to the beanstalk to the ship to our private cargo hold. Scanners recorded and confirmed it by label and unique weight at each checkpoint. It disappeared from inside the secure cargo hold four minutes and twenty-three seconds after LS Quantum left the gate."

  "As the ship was breaking Earth's atmosphere?" Malachi's elegant eyebrows rose.

  Shit, she hadn't thought of that. Must sleep, she reminded herself. "Exactly," she said. "But here's the update. While I was conducting a triple check in the cargo hold, I lost consciousness for twenty-five minutes." She held up a hand to stave off the questions. "When I woke, the crate was there, opened and empty."

  "The artifact that completes the translation tablets? ET's Rosetta Stone?" Holt had spent the most time with the sultan’s group of xenobiologists, cryptologists, and xenoarcheologists.

  Keya shrugged. "They didn't provide me with that level of detail. This was supposed to be a straightforward "protect the assets" assignment. Assets defined as personnel and cargo."

  "They talk to each other in front of me," Holt said. "The chatter is near-constant. Until now, this job felt like chaperoning school children on a field trip."

  "Do you know what caused you to lose consciousness?" Alix asked.

  Keya glanced at Malachi before she answered. "I was tired, but I don't believe I just nodded off in the cargo hold. As I woke, I heard a chiming sound. But not like a ship's comm or a sound any of our devices would make. It was..." she hesitated, not liking how the words made her sound. "It was beautiful, nothing I've ever heard on Earth. My theory is that one of the artifacts produced the sound." She gave the three people around the table a rueful smile. " I let myself cross the line for sleep deprivation. After this briefing, I will remedy that situation as I would expect anyone on our team to do." She was gratified when both Holt and Alix nodded.

  "The only other update I have is that my data stone was lost or taken during the boarding process. We put it out there as bait, and someone bit. When I recover the stone, the data-reversal process will reveal who was interested enough in our assets to take it,” Keya concluded.

  "Maybe someone was just interested in you, Chief.” Holt’s voice rumbled with a laugh.

  It wasn't funny to her. She didn't choose to go without dates for months on end. It was the nature of the job. Once her sister was safe, maybe she could consider developing a social life.

  Alix smiled at Holt before saying, "The sultan and his guards interacted only with a small number of human and android crew. I secured each stateroom, and I did an active and passive scan on the rooms, closets, and halls." Alix’s voice was always a melodic contralto. Even now when tension showed in the line of their throat, Alix looked and sounded serene.

  "The scientists are a busy bunch. About ten of them are already in the Comets and Caviar Lounge. I'll be taking second and third shift tonight. Not sure if any of the xenobiologists are ready for the Cosmic Cabaret, but I'm up for it." Holt ran his fingers through his yellow hair until it stood out on all sides forming a short, silky mane around his head.

  "Have you seen the recordings from the private cargo hold during the time you were out?" Malachi asked. She was relieved he didn't show any censure. It was bad enough to pass out in the middle of a job. To have her skills questioned in front of her team would've been significantly worse.

  "Came straight here," she said. "Ran into you." Tapping the table edge, she issued a quiet string of commands.

  A dimensional image of a plain space over fifty percent full with stacked crates and boxes opened ten centimeters above the table's surface.

  "Full pan," Keya said. The image rotated in a slow circle. “This is the time stamp just before I arrived," Keya confirmed after checking a tiny holoport. Two taps and the image jumped. It showed Keya slumped on the floor. She tilted her head. "Looks like I passed out."

&n
bsp; "Or someone knocked you out."

  "I don't have any bruises.” She reached around the back of her head and ground her teeth. “When I came to, I felt like someone had struck a tuning fork against my brain stem."

  Malachi's eyes widened but he recovered his composure in an instant. "When you regained consciousness, the missing crate had returned?"

  "Yes, but it held only one piece, and that one artifact is unaccounted for." Keya waited, hoping the group would generate angles to check and possible solutions she hadn't thought of already.

  "You sleep," Alix said.

  "Two hours rest should make a down payment on what you owe your body," Malachi added. To Alix, he said, "Would you mind taking me by the cargo hold? I can run additional scans. Some of the equipment we carry is uniquely sensitive."

  Alix looked to Keya for permission. She gave it with a weary nod. "His clearance is significantly higher than ours," she said. "Though I'm guessing you can neither confirm nor deny?"

  Malachi folded his arms across his chest, the tailored shirt molding nicely to his physique. "I am discreet in all things."

  "She runs a good briefing," Malachi said to Alix as he followed them to a whisper-lift.

  "Five years ago she was just getting started. By the time I joined, she'd built a credible personal security company with attractive contracts for freelancers like Holt and me."

  "Did you find the meaning you were looking for?"

  Alix summoned the lift and entered a lengthy alphanumeric code. They waved Malachi into the lift and glided in beside him. As the small compartment continued to descend past the embarkation level, Alix said, "I like the work. She picked me for this job because of the large number of performers working in the Cosmic Cabaret."

  Malachi nodded. Between having contacts in the entertainment industry and their handsome, androgynous physique, Alix was a smart choice for this operation.

  "This is a far better disguise than a liability," Alix ran a hand over their bright hair. "If I need to mingle with the guest artists on board."

  Hector was waiting for them in the hall when the lift doors opened. He lifted one of the two sizable duffle bags from his shoulder and handed it to Malachi.

  "Hector, this is Alix. Alix, this is Hector," Malachi said, unzipping the bag to check the contents. "Alix works with Keya. They've got the performer detail as needed. For now, they’re going to open up the private cargo hold so we can run scans."

  The lower floor seemed plain by comparison to the upper floor, which connected the larger staterooms. Their footfalls disappeared into the soft carpet and the flickering holowalls. Yellow shifted to orange in a decorative ombre. Scrolling text in more than ten languages announced, "First transition to FTL in thirty minutes. Prepare to follow directions from the crew."

  They could get this first pass handled in thirty. Malachi was running down his list of needed data when Alix tapped a tiny dimple in the wall and a panel flowed open.

  Malachi stopped on the threshold, his hand tightening on the strap of the duffle bag the only indication of his intense surprise. So. Many. Crates. Not that he was holding any judgment of Keya losing consciousness or falling asleep or whatever had happened. But the sight of several hundred identical gray plastic crates five high in rows and rows and rows gave him a different kind of admiration for the people who tracked and managed these materials.

  "I distinctly recall LS Quantum advert copy listing cost per kilogram for freight," Hector said after a low whistle.

  "Price was not relevant to his majesty," Alix said. They walked the rows with confidence and stopped near the back of the compartment. Tapping the crate at the top of a single stack, Alix said, "W1K37. This one caused the trouble."

  "Wait, before you open it. Heck?" Malachi gestured to the bag his partner carried.

  "I agree." Hector took a short silver-black strip from a hard-sided container inside the duffle. He slapped the strip against his palm, shook it, and then affixed it above the label. The strip shifted, curled, and uncurled. A glowing spectrum from red to violet shimmered and faded until only a soft yellow glow suffused the whole strip.

  Hector nodded to Malachi. He nodded back. "Confirmation. Alien energy signature."

  Malachi wanted to open the crate, but if that much alien energy had touched it, what else in the cargo hold had been touched? The back of his neck tingled, the discordant notes of an unknown song hovering just under his range of hearing.

  He unzipped his duffle and took out a molecular “sniffer,” a half dozen of the same strips Hector had just used, and a pulse pistol.

  "You two check the contents. I'm going to see what else interested our visitor."

  Alix’s attention lingered on the pistol before they nodded and turned back to the crate. Malachi appreciated the security person's professional demeanor. Even after signing on with his organization, seasoned operatives lost their nerve the first time when “yes, aliens exist and are communicating with us” came up in a briefing.

  And unless he missed his guess, one of the most persistent visitors was right here, right now.

  The small device in his left palm collected and analyzed environmental data at the molecular level. The glow strips worked on the same principal but were only calibrated to a moderate level of a specific molecular cocktail that signaled their pen pals had dropped another note. Through their own respiration, perspiration, etc., the aliens gave off a collection of air different enough from human to be detectable, and/or they carried on their beings a measurable, detectable dusting of homeworld odor, kind of like eating at a greasy diner and smelling like pan fries and bacon for the rest of the morning.

  With a tiny chirp, the sniffer signaled its calibration and readiness to proceed. Malachi jammed the pistol into the waistband of his pants, the glow strips into his jacket pocket, and began walking a pattern through the crates.

  The good news was that only a few dozen crates had been touched. The bad news was that a few dozen crates would need to be rechecked for both the security of the contents and the possible reasons the material within was interesting.

  His biggest worry was that Keya had no idea what she'd agreed to protect or why it needing protecting.

  The shower did as much for Keya's ragged psyche, if not more, than the nap. Mindful of the dry recycled air as she toweled off, she took an extra minute to slather on her favorite lotion. The unique combination of cedar and roses boosted her sense of well-being another notch. If she could get a cup of coffee, she might break even.

  She pulled her hair into a loose bun and checked her gear, her pockets, and dialed the ensuite autocaf to strong. Within twenty seconds a small recess opened and revealed a cup giving off a promising smell with its steam.

  "Thank you, Kwan Yin," she said, sending a small prayer to the Japanese goddess of mercy. She'd been on this galactic cruise liner less than a full day and so far nothing had gone right. Running into Malachi Cartier had been both the best and worst thing so far. He was the man she remembered, who'd helped her with her sister, but an updated version. This version was more dangerous and more polished. Goddess help her, she'd wanted to lean in and sniff him, he smelled so good. And he looked even better than she remembered, which was something because she'd convinced herself long ago that her memory was closer to an ideal than an actual person.

  She was an updated version of herself, too, but she didn't harbor any illusions that she would catch the interest of a man like Malachi beyond professional courtesy. And that was fine. She slugged a too-big sip of coffee and burned her tongue. That's what I get, she thought. Take too much of something too hot, get burned. End of story.

  After a final tug on her uniform, she checked the draw on her weapon. Two steps out the door and the early warning sensors in the cargo hold triggered an alert on her comm unit. "Alix? Holt? Report." She accelerated into a jog until she got to the lift, then hit the call button with more force than strictly necessary.

  "Some kind of energy pulse," Holt’s voice fuzzed with st
atic. "Secure, repeat we are secure. Awhggh." His gurgling cry faded.

  "Holt!" Keya shouted into the unit. She took a breath to yell her status, her ETA, and stopped. No need to announce her arrival to whoever attacked her operative. Two more floors to go. A high-tech lift on an advanced vessel shouldn’t be this slow.

  She gulped another drink of the caf, grateful for the potent cocktail of caffeine and adrenaline now lacing her bloodstream, and launched herself out of the lift at a full run the moment the doors began opening.

  The first curve of the corridor was empty, but as she came around the second curve she collided chest to chest with Malachi.

  "I have a man down," she said, shoving past him.

  Malachi caught her bicep. "Holt is fine." One side of his mouth turned up. "A crate fell on him, probably dislodged by an energy pulse that pinged around the hold. I was on my way to pick you up and find the medical team."

  She pulled free of Malachi's grip. "Understood. I need to see him before—"

  "You are his employer and will need to authorize payment for any medical equipment used, medical personnel time usage, and medical treatment,” he said. "That's why I was on my way to get you."

  "Again. Understood." She started down the corridor, trying to suppress an angry headshake. Like she would leave one of her own injured and get help without checking first. She picked up speed as she imagined a head injury, or goddess forbid, internal damage.

  Behind her Malachi muttered something, possibly epithets. "Thank you for your help," she tossed over her shoulder, proud she could manage a courteous tone.

  "Dammit, wait," he shouted. He was there, using her momentum to swing her into the wall. With slow pressure, he leaned into the arm he held pinned above her head.

  Keya's heart climbed into her throat. Her breath caught and her gaze dropped to Malachi's mouth. So close. Unbidden, memories of the one night they'd shared rose and opened in her mind's eye. She wanted to melt against him, find out if his kisses would feel the same, would scorch her soul like they'd done before. "What are you doing?" she demanded instead.