by M. D. Cooper
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!”
The bartender moved on to other customers now that Rogers and Ricket had their drinks. Rogers sipped his beer, wiping some of the foam from his lips. The brew held an impressive array of flavors—orange, cinnamon, hint of barley and maybe oat. These people really knew their beer, Rogers had to give them that.
“Savor it,” the guy sitting next to Rogers said, slumped over his own glass of beer. He was dressed in a ratty EV suit—more than one patch making Rogers wonder if the man really expected it to protect him from vacuum. “First fresh beer we’ve had in a week.”
Rogers cocked his eyebrow. “Really? I thought Chimin was known for on-site brewing—what with all the grain your farming operations produce.”
“All true, but there’s some sort of shortage. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s crop damage and Governor Winch doesn’t want to tell us about it. We should have a surplus—especially with what happened to Hubei.”
Hubei. Rogers stomach clenched at just the name. “They were a trading partner?”
He nodded. “One of our biggest. We exported and imported, mutually beneficial to both parties.”
“What did you import?” Ricket asked.
He opened his mouth to answer but the bartender pointed a trio of fingers, shouting loudly. “Talon, stop running your mouth off to strangers!”
Rogers glanced at the bartender. “What’s it matter? Just a little conversation. We’re all sorry about the lost world. It’s sick that someone would do that—doesn’t matter where you’re from. That’s something everyone with a heart’s gonna feel bad about.”
The bartender grumbled and furrowed his eyebrows. “We take care of our own.”
Talon took his beer and slid off his stool. “Crappy cyborg asshole. Sorry, man. Gotta make tracks.” He gulped down the last dregs of his beer before slouching away toward the exit.
Ricket sent a smiley face across the Link.
Rogers perked up at seeing it but didn’t respond…wasn’t sure how to.
She picked up her drink and sauntered over to one of the back booths, apparently spotting a mark she could make an easy friend of.
Rogers stared after her. So, dashing, was it? Ricket found him dashing. What an interesting development. He was flattered, maybe a bit scared. Where would that lead? Hopefully, nowhere if he knew what was good for him and the ship.
You hear me, Rogers? You got to drop this, he told himself firmly.
He sauntered through the bar, squeezing between groups of people and finally reaching the narrow hallway leading to the washroom. The door opened and the brooding man with a full beard and menacing dark eyes slammed his shoulder into Rogers as he exited.
It smarted. Rogers rubbed the ache out of his shoulder as the man walked past, tossing a glaring look over his shoulder.
“Was it something I said?” Rogers asked as he walked into the rest room.
Once inside, Rogers did his business, then walked to the counter where he cleaned his hands up with a no-rinse gel soap. While Rogers was making sure that he wasn’t going to catch an exotic plague, Kylie sent him a message from the housing block.
Kylie’s voice was mournful. Rogers wondered if it was because she blamed herself. She’d been doing that a lot lately, taking on guilt for shit she had nothing to do with.
Rogers couldn’t help feeling some guilt as well. He was the one who’d trusted Liberty and had brought them to Chimin-1. She’d pulled one over on him and he should’ve suspected…he didn’t know what, but something.
Rapid motion caught his eye, and Rogers dodged instinctively, but not quite enough as a meaty fist smashed into his upper lip.
Rogers reeled back and saw that the fist was attached to a massive man, a drunken scowl obscuring his features.
"Damn, you're one seriously big dude," Rogers said as he looked the brute up and down.
“We don’t want your kind here!” the drunken man slurred.
The man drew back a fist, winding up for the type of blow that would knock Rogers into the next star system.
Thinking fast, Rogers stepped forward as the man’s sledgehammer of a fist shot out again. He twisted to the side and delivered a solid jab into the drunk’s solar plexus.
A wheeze escaped the man’s throat and Rogers didn’t wait for him to recover, instead slamming his fist into the man’s neck before driving a knee into the belligerent asshat’s groin.
“Think you can get the drop on me?” Rogers asked as the man
doubled over. A blow to the back of his would-be attacker’s head sent the man to the floor and Rogers knelt beside him.
“Who the hell are you?” Rogers growled, trying to breathe calmly as his pulse thundered in his ears.
The man turned his head, glaring up at Rogers. “Come here with a Rhoads, get your ass kicked—or worse. Get off Chimin while you still can.” The thug’s breath reeked of cheap whiskey.
“Who?” Rogers demanded and grabbed a fist full of the drunken man’s shirt. “Who the hell put you up to this?”
But the combination of alcohol and physical punishment had taken their toll and the man let out a long groan before passing out.
The drunk wasn’t going to be giving Rogers any more information that night, but if Rogers could learn a bit more about the man…. Reaching into his pocket, Rogers pulled out his little box o’ tricks. Inside, lay a small tracker which he retrieved and placed behind the thug’s ear.
It’d absorb into the man’s skin and be nearly untraceable. With any luck, he’d go somewhere useful after coming to.
Rogers stood and adjusted the collar of his jacket as he exited the washroom. Hopefully, no one would connect him with the man, assuming the drunk had done what drunks often do.
As he walked out of the narrow corridor and into the bar’s main room, the sounds of terrible karaoke washed over him, and Rogers smiled.
Now that’s how you do it. Belt it out like no one’s listening.
Rogers gave her a short wave.
She rose from her table and when they met, linked her arm in his before casually strolling toward the exit.
On the way out, Ricket touched his cheek. “Did someone hit your sweet face?” Ricket suddenly flushed, her eyes darting away from his before returning, her lips twisting as she spoke. “Or did you walk into the wall again?”
Rogers expelled a long breath and Ricket sighed.
“Oh, I was only joking, Rogers. What happened?”
Rogers waited until they were out of the bar, glad to leave its layered smells behind for the simpler odor of the dilapidated entertainment district.
A scantily-dressed woman stood on the corner, showing off her assets, clearly displayed under the gauze-thin fabric of her dress. As he walked by, she cocked her hips and gave a toss of her head.
Rogers felt bad for the woman and passed her a few credits over the Link. Everyone could face a run of bad luck, he got that. No one started life with a goal of prostitution on a rock like Chimin-1.
“OK, now that you’re done being philanthropist of the year, what happened?”
“What? How’d you know I gave her credit?” Rogers asked.
Ricket tapped her head. “Laura and I have our fingers in their networks. Pretty easy to follow your datapath there. You gonna tell me who kissed you all rough-like?”
Rogers gave Ricket a sidelong glance. The woman was smart, beautiful, funny—when she wasn’t being an ass. It was easy to forget that she was a galaxy-class spy.
Don’t be an idiot, Rogers, he thought. That’s what she’s trained to do. Disarm people mentally and physically.
“Guy got me in the washroom. I managed to take him down before he landed a second blow. Got a tracker on him—we’ll see if he goes to apologize to whoever sent him after me.”
Ricket rose her eyebrows. “Impressive! You know, if you told me, I could have gone and hacked his Link, pulled his previous conversations.”
“You can do that?” Rogers eyes widened. Human Link interfaces were as old as time and employed some of the heaviest security out there. No one would connect their brain to the networks if there was a risk of someone hacking into their minds.
“In a backwater like this?” Ricket asked, eyebrows raised. “With ease—though it takes a physical breach to do it. Can’t remote my way into someone’s head.”
Rogers didn’t know if that made him feel better but decided to get back on track. “The guy had a warning.” Rogers gazed back into Ricket’s darkening eyes and couldn’t keep his heart from crawling up into this throat. The beer…there must have been something extra in the beer. “Someone doesn’t want us here. We could all be in danger.”
“Well, at least you tagged him. We’ll follow the lead—if there is one—and maybe Marge can identify who these guys are. Unless, he just doesn’t like you.”
Rogers shook his head. “You ever going to stop giving me a hard time?”
Ricket shrugged and bit her lip. “Depends on if you really want me to.”
Rogers didn’t. That was part of the problem. “To the brewery then? See if we can follow the next thread in this mess.”
“To the brewery.” Ricket nodded, a smirk on her lips as they stepped onto the lift. “Do try not to drink too much beer while we’re there.”
RED HANDED
STELLAR DATE: 11.03.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Housing Block H-33
REGION: Chimin-1, Hanoi System (independent)
Nearly sixty tenants in the housing block had all been killed in the same manner—a close range pulse rifle blast. Almost all in the back of the head.
Most of the bodies had been left where they fell—though nearly all the children were placed in their beds, tucked in with a stuffed animal under each of their arms. All but the ones in apartment 22B, where the signal had gone.
Perhaps the shootout on the dock and the warning signal had interrupted the killer’s work.
One thing was for certain, whoever had done this, was some seriously sick shit and Kylie couldn’t wait to find him.
She was tired of cat-and-mouse games. Chances were everything happening on Chimin-1 was just a distraction. As she considered that, it occurred to Kylie that the whole thing could have been orchestrated to slow her down.
Still, finding someone who murdered children was something she was willing to slow down for. A lot.
She and Bubbs had gathered what evidence they could and had closed the last apartment door before turning toward the lift at the end of the hall.
“I think their fathers did this,” Bubbs said. “It’s mostly women and children in there. Nearly all the men are missing.”
Kylie didn’t buy it. “But not all. Besides, you saying all the men went crazy together, like they were controlled somehow? That just doesn’t make sense.”
Bubbs tried again. “OK, maybe they were all in on some deal, something shady on the side. So, they got rid of the witnesses when we got closer to discovering the truth.”
Bubbs’ eyebrows creased, highlighting her displeasure. “If missing family members from these apartments are innocent, where are they?”
“That’s the trillion-credit question,” Kylie said.
Great. Kylie ran a hand through her hair. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Minus the breaking and entering,” Bubbs said.
“Good point, but they’ll find us eventually. It’ll look better if they don’t have to chase us all over the station.” Kylie looked to Bubbs, trying to gauge her non-reaction.
“I should’ve brought my good arm.” Bubbs worked her jaw side to side, then manually snapped it back in place with her hand. “Ready for a fight.”
“No fights. They’re just doing their jobs. They actually have a right to be here.”
Kylie and Bubbs slowed and stood calmly as the lift light turned green and
the doors slid open. Chief Raynes stepped off first, flanked by a four-person security team. Soon as they spotted Kylie and Bubbs, they drew their weapons.
Raynes didn’t reach for his, though a knowing smile spread across his lips.
What was his angle?
Kylie stepped away from the wall. “About time you guys got here.”
The CSF officers raised their weapons and began shouting. “On the ground! On the ground, Rhoads!”
Kylie raised her hands and sent Bubbs a message to do the same. “Easy, I’m not your enemy. The evidence led me here. I found these people, but I didn’t hurt them.”
Raynes raised his hand and motioned for his officers to lower their weapons. “Evidence? What evidence?”
Kylie nodded and met his eyes head on. “We traced a signal from the docks where we were attacked to this housing block. It’s the only reason we came here. We were just looking for answers.”
Raynes grunted. “And they all just happened to be dead? Is that it?”
“Well we didn’t kill them,” Bubbs said angrily and gnashed her teeth. “They’ve been dead for at least twelve hours. We were still in holding then.”
Raynes’ pupils contracted as he gave them the once-over, weighing their answers. “How do you know they’ve been dead twelve hours then?”
Kylie’s jaw tightened, she didn’t really want to give him that bit of information. “My AI examined the bodies and calculated the rate of decomp.”
Raynes’ mouth fell open at her words. “A Rhoads? With an AI?” For a moment, Kylie thought he appeared angry, then Raynes laughed heartily. “Well, isn’t that just something. A Rhoads,” he shouted over his shoulder to his guards, “with an AI!”
The other officers joined in the laughter, and Kylie’s face flushed hot with anger. “Get a good laugh at it all you want. Nothing to be embarrassed about, and we’re telling the truth.”
Raynes took a step forward, standing too close to Kylie for her liking. “Then why didn’t you call it in?” he whispered. “How come an anonymous tip had to come in for us to learn about everyone being killed in this block?”