■ ■ ■
Steele didn’t realize how much he missed having a TESS or MOBIUS on his wrist, it felt good to be wearing one again - though it would have been preferential to get the one he lost back – with all its associated stored information.
“Hold on, let me upload this to the station’s job board…” The Chief paused in the corridor, using his new MOBIUS to post a public crew wanted listing. “OK, done. It’ll ping me direct when we get an inquiry.”
“So where to now?”
“I need to stop at Sentinel Services, then we can hit that little steak and seafood restaurant we saw earlier. I’m starved.”
Steele bobbed his head, “Sounds good. I’ll meet you at the restaurant, I need to run an errand…”
Daryl eyed him curiously, “OK, Jaxon. Don’t get lost. I’ll see you in about half an hour.”
■ ■ ■
At least two-hundred-fifty-thousand credits. That’s what was in the account for the Drake, and Draus was the signatory. The key word being was. And if you need a right thumbprint to access the account, but you’re a bit reluctant to carry around an amputated thumb in your pocket, clear tape can often work in a pinch. A good thumbprint between two layers of clear tape will keep the print reusable and free from smudging.
Wanting to avoid using his UFW issued ITC card for fear of tracking, he needed access to the Drake’s account. Steele found a financial kiosk near a quiet café, and checking his surroundings, snatched a clean napkin off the nearest table. Wiping the thumb-reader clean with the napkin, he opened a fresh, zero-balance account, the kiosk issuing him a new card and account number - his own thumbprint the access key. Removing and pocketing the zero-balance card, he started a new transaction, a balance inquiry with the Drake’s card. Again, wiping the print reader clean with the napkin, he laid the tape strip on the reader, applying pressure with his thumb wrapped in the napkin.
*Reader Error. Thumbprint not recognized.*
Damnit. The card ejected and he slid it back in again, waiting for the prompt to scan. He flipped the tape copy of the thumbprint over, making sure there were no wrinkles in the napkin and applied pressure. C’mon baby… C’mon… Damn - something’s wrong, it’s taking too long… Is it hot here? I’m sweating bullets… His fingertips began to tingle with adrenalin; getting caught would surely mean arrest. Arrested in Dark Territory with a dead man’s ITC card. Oh, and his ship. Yeah, terrific.
*Welcome, Mr. Draus. Your balance is *437,506 ITCs - what would you like to do?*
It was all Steele could do to refrain from shouting out loud. Transfer.
*Please enter account number or insert the ITC card you wish to transfer funds to.*
He swapped the Drake’s account card for the new one, selected the full amount and hit enter. After about thirty long seconds the screen read, *Transfer complete, Mr. Jaxon. Your balance is, *437,506 ITCs. Please remove your card. Have a good day.*
The only thing preventing him from doing a happy dance was the station security agents walking up. After pocketing his new card, Jack deftly wiped his fingerprints off the Drake’s card and folded it in half, breaking its internal chip before dropping it, the napkin, and the taped thumbprint, in the trash next to the kiosk, where it would fall to the service level below for incineration.
“Good evening,” nodded the security team, strolling past.
“Evening,” replied Jack, swallowing hard. Geez, I need a drink.
■ ■ ■
The Command Master Chief was already sitting at a table when Jack arrived, the restaurant smelling like fresh bread and finely grilled meats. “Finish your… what did you call it, errand?”
“Yeah,” replied Jack, sliding into the booth. “You?”
The Chief looked disappointed, “Nah, no one was at Sentinel Services - we’ll have to swing back there after we eat.”
“Sounds good.” Jack hailed a waiter, “Man, I need a drink…”
The Chief eyed him suspiciously, “Why, what happened?”
Steele shrugged it off, “Ah, nothing. Just… thirsty… must be really dry on this station.”
“Yeah… that must be it.” If the pilot noticed the scrutiny, Daryl saw no indication of it. Drinks and meals ordered, he indicated his MOBIUS, as the waiter turned away, “Got a couple of inquiries to our job posting. I figured they can meet us here while we eat…”
Steele accepted his drink from the barmaid, making her rounds with a full tray. “Really,” he said deadpan, “already? Isn’t it like three in the morning here?”
“You tired?”
“No,” frowned Steele.
“Well I guess you’re not the only one.”
“Smartass,” mumbled Steele, taking a sip of his drink. “Ahh,” he smiled, “that’s good stuff.”
The Chief nodded towards the door, “In fact, I think this is our first one.” He checked the time on his MOBIUS, “Right on time…”
She was tall, lanky, dressed in all black, knee-high boots, tight slacks, a ruffled blouse, topped off with a nearly floor-length leather duster coat which billowed out behind her as she walked purposefully across the restaurant. Alabaster skin and a shock of golden hair cut in an aggressive bob, gave her a dangerous, vampy look.
She stopped abruptly at the end of the table, “Are you the Drake crew?”
“We are,” replied Steele, “have a seat.”
Without looking or turning, she reached back, snagging an empty chair from the table behind her, spinning it around and sliding it between her legs from the front, the back of the chair facing the booth. She straddled it, crossing her arms atop the back of the seat. “Andrea,” she said, reaching over towards Jack’s drink, dunking her index finger into the glass. She brought it to her mouth and sucked the wetness off, “Mmm. Tasty. Seventy-five-percent carbonated tonic soda, twenty-percent Aeroval alcohol, five-percent water… from the ice.”
Daryl’s head cocked to one side, glaring at her, “Hmph,” he grunted, “Andrea-android, I get it. Clever. But I don’t hire androids. This interview is over. Goodbye.”
“Hold on,” countered Jack, stalling his decision with an open hand.
“I’m not an android,” she interjected, glancing at the Chief, her eyes returning to Jack. “I’m a free biodroid. Big difference.”
Intrigued, Jack sipped his drink, “Excuse my ignorance, but can you explain the difference?”
“An android is purely mechanical with no free will. They are task or job-centric. They can learn, but they cannot exceed the boundaries of their programming. And although they have a pleasing, familiar humanoid form, they are obviously mechanical. I however, am both; biological and android. I have free will. I am sentient. While I am the sum of my experiences, I do not rely on software for development, I have an enhanced biological mind. So, there are no limits to my ability to learn except my ability to comprehend.” She laid her hand over Jack’s hand, stroking softly with her thumb, “I have physical warmth, compassion and abilities no android can match.”
“What about a Synth?”
While Andrea didn’t remove her hand, her thumb ceased its motion, “Synth?” Her eyes darted to the Chief and back to Jack, “They are restricted technology. Why do you ask me that?”
“How do we know you’re not a Synth?” asked Daryl.
“Because Synth’s are created to deceive. I am not.” She released Jack’s hand and pulled up one sleeve of her leather coat, displaying a small barcode tattooed on the underside of her wrist. “Both wrists, both ankles, the back of my neck, one around each of my nipples and one along what would be my pubic hairline… if I had any.” She stood up, and unbuckled her belt, “Would you like to confirm…”
“No, no, no!” exclaimed Jack, reaching over and grabbing her hand. “No… I am convinced.” She rebuckled her belt and sat back down, giving Steele a moment for a deep breath. “So, what are your skills? For - the - Drake, I mean,” he stumbled.
Andrea ticked them off on her fingers, “Culinary - I have ov
er five thousand popular recipes. Companionship. Emergency medical training. Clinical massage therapy, and pleasure… Well, and bodyguard,” she added hesitantly.
The Chief looked dubious, “Bodyguard? Oh, please. And I don’t think we need a sex…”
Steele pointed at Daryl, ignoring his rolling eyes and theatrical look of derision, “Stop.” He turned back to Andrea, “Welcome to the Drake.”
“Thank you…” she raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Jaxon,” he offered. “I am the captain of the Drake. This is Command Master Chief, Daryl Jolly, our engineer.” He slid out of the booth and rose with her, “Here’s your first assignment, Andrea; shopping for food supplies. Go to the galley of the Drake - it’s on pad B-7. Take an inventory, and in the morning, buy what you need for six to ten crewmembers, for at least four weeks. Nothing exotic. Meat and vegetable staples. Sauces and pastas…”
“I understand, Captain…”
■ ■ ■
Daryl’s eyes followed her out the door, “I don’t like androids.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” countered Jack.
“And I don’t like women on a ship.”
“And by your original argument, she’s not,” countered Steele. “According to you, she’s an android. You can’t have it both ways, Chief.”
Daryl took a swallow off his beer, “You’ll see, android or not, she’s going to be trouble. Especially looking like that.”
“Looking like what? A woman? I’ve never had issues when I was…” Steele bit his tongue, almost spilling UFW history. It felt like ancient history…. but a careless moment that could easily end in disaster. He let his guard down, he forgot for a moment he was not among trusted friends, something he could ill-afford to do.
The Chief’s eyes narrowed, “When you were, what?”
Jack’s mind raced for an operational answer that would fit. “Married… I used to work with my wife, she was on my crew.”
The Chief’s expression softened, “Yeah? Huh. Where is she now?”
“Dead.” It was the simplest answer, so long as he could sell his grief to avoid any further conversation. Clenched jaw, downcast eyes and a stone-faced expression should work on even the most obtuse.
Daryl fidgeted, “Oh. Uh, sorry to hear that.”
They were rescued from discomfort and silence as the food arrived, allowing them to transition to other topics, the Chief avoiding any further mention of the previous conversation like it was radioactive.
Two more applicants came and went through their meal, one being mutually rejected for a multitude of reasons, the other, mutually accepted. Having gotten much later than anticipated, they both decided it best to handle additional issues and tasks in the morning.
■ ■ ■
Hoyle Station’s lodging rooms weren’t anything to write home about, but they were clean and neat - even if they were a bit small. At least it had been quiet. Wiping the steam off the mirror in the bathroom, Steele was tempted to shave it all off, trimming and neatening the beard didn’t seem to help - at least not to his taste. But it would have to do. A knock at the door prompted him to wrap a towel around his waist as he padded barefoot through the room past the unmade bed. He half expected housekeeping when he palmed the door button, the door sliding into the wall with a hiss.
“Oh good, you’re up.”
“Good morning to you too, Chief,” responded Jack, turning his back, heading toward the bathroom.
“Just barely, Kid,” Daryl called after him, stepping into the room. “By the way, I let you sleep in - you’re welcome…”
“I’ll meet you downstairs in ten.”
“Alright, fine. But step it up, we’ve got things to do.”
Steele heard the door close and popped his head out of the bathroom to be sure he was alone, “Again with the kid? Kiss my ass,” he grumbled.
■ ■ ■
“By the Gods, you’re slower than a woman, complained the Chief the moment Steele stepped off the elevator.
“What the hell crawled up your ass this morning?”
“Just come on.”
Steele rolled his eyes, “Mind telling me where we’re going?”
“We have to pick something up. And you probably need to take care of our bill before we head out.”
Jack casually waved it off as they walked, “Did that last night before we went to bed.”
The Chief shot him a look, “You went back out after we turned in?”
Steele frowned, “Yes, Pappy, I went back out. I got a message that the Drake’s invoice was final, so I took care of it. A couple minor additions…”
“Additions?”
“They took care of that landing leg that was sticking - replaced a broken Zerk fitting and greased it up. They replaced our oxygen scrubber filters and reloaded a six-bird missile rack I didn’t even know we had.”
“Thorough. Well, OK then.”
Steele shook his head, “I’m glad it meets your approval, Chief.” He made an abrupt right, forcing Jack to do a double-take as they walked through the doors of the bar. “A little early for alcohol, don’t you think...?” Having hesitated, Jack quick-stepped to catch up to his crewmate who was making a beeline for a lone drinker at the bar.
Daryl timed his hand-grab for the moment the man released his glass on the bar, using both hands to employ the hand lock, turning it in, then underneath. “Fight me and I’ll break it.”
Jack caught the man’s left arm hooking his elbow as it reared back, snagging his wrist and holding it back with a vice like grip. It was a bit clumsy, but effective enough, considering the level of pain in the man’s right wrist and threat of breakage. “What’re we doing here Chief?”
“Walking him over to Sentinel Services,” he replied, leading the trio out the way they came in. “Making ten-grand.”
■ ■ ■
Sentinel Services was not what Jack expected. Honestly, he had no expectations one way or another - he hadn’t really thought about it at all. The fact that it was synonymous with Bounty Hunter Services was a bit of a surprise. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him uneasy.
A concrete and glass partition separated the office from the lobby, a steel access door the only entrance to the back. Waiting at the door, the Chief looked back over his shoulder at Jack, “Stay here,” he nodded, pushing the man through the first door, “I’ll be right back.” He nodded to the man behind the glass partition who opened the second door as the first one closed. “He’s with me,” he indicated Jack, standing alone in the lobby.
It was curiosity mixed with a touch of boredom that led Jack to browse the kiosk in the lobby, assuming it was a financial kiosk like the one he had paid the Drake’s invoice on; *42,000 ITCs for maintenance, supplies, meals and lodging. No, this computer kiosk was dedicated for Sentinel Services and wanted/bounty listings. Some local, some not. He scrolled through the listings more interested in the locations than anything else, occasionally pausing to look over the additional information, some with photos, some without. Thousands of credits in bounties, hundreds of thousands in bounties, millions in bounties… this was serious business.
He glanced toward the man behind the glass for a moment, realizing he was being watched, which made him anxious. C’mon Chief. Was he a bounty hunter? It was one of the things the Chief had asked him when they first met… First met, like it wasn’t just a couple days ago. How much did he really know about the engineer...? Not nearly enough.
*WANTED: in conjunction with a destructive incident on Rikovik’s Reef* - The location stopped Steele’s frame of thought like a train wreck. He was staring at a series of photos of himself. Substantially more clean-cut, but unmistakably him - even with the poor quality of the images. Barrow Investment Insurance was offering *250,000 ITCs for the return of a man suspected to be, Jax Mercury, to Rikovik’s Reef. Alive. Thank God for small details.
“Yeah, that one caught my attention too, Kid…”
Steele attempted to spin, his elbow c
aught forcefully, igniting a fight or flight surge of adrenalin, bracing for a fight.
“Don’t do it, Kid…” the Chief punctuated his words with the muzzle of a gun nudging Jack’s ribs. “It doesn’t leave a hole, but Stunners sure do hurt. Like electric fire.” There was a flicker of a smile that never materialized, “There’s no physical damage, but trust me when I say, getting shot with a slug-thrower actually hurts less.” He steered Jack towards the door to the back of the office, “I’m not even going to say anything about Byas-Kuyol, you’ve got enough trouble to deal with.”
Steele gritted his teeth, “If you’re waiting for me to say thank you, don’t hold your breath.”
“I know you’re not happy, Kid, but I couldn’t pass up a payday like that. Sorry.” Steele shot him a glare, his eyes darkening, turning unnaturally black. Passing through the second door, Daryl handed him off, with some reluctance, to the two guards running the incarceration modules. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kid…”
Mid stride, Steele anchored his feet, the two guards towing him at either elbow stopping abruptly as he turned, slowly, looking over his shoulder, locking eyes with the man he thought was a friend.
Daryl Jolly had been around the Galaxy more than a few times, experienced combat, witnessed death, seen a lot of strange things - but he’d never seen anything like this… A man whose eyes turned completely black, like ebony glass. It quickened his heart, the hair standing up on the back of his neck, sending an icy chill up his spine.
You have made a grave mistake. You should go... NOW.
The Chief was not a man easily unnerved, but Jaxon’s voice speaking to him inside of his head, did it.
And go FAR Master Chief. When you think you’ve gone far enough, KEEP going.
When Jaxon turned away, Daryl found himself gulping air - he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.
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