"Where's my money, Richie?"
Oh crap, he thought. This is the end. Strangely he thought about the supply run he'd been on and how disappointed Duncan was going to be. His head jerked forward with a slap delivered by a heavy hand.
"Where's my money, Richie?" The voice repeated.
"I don't have it." That earned him another smack.
"What about your hazard pay and back pay? I thought we had a payment plan?"
"Oh man..."
Atomic Jack stepped into the light. "What happened, Richie? Why didn't you come see me?"
"Jack, I don't know. They haven't paid me yet. I'm still waiting."
"And ducking us, right? That's why you have purple skin?"
"I didn't want to come to you empty handed and I had nothing to give you."
"I have to tell you kid, this is the worst disguise ever. We’ve had all sorts of people run from us and hide but no one has ever colored themselves purple," Jack said. "Of course, I've turned a few people purple. Grape purple, jelly purple and assorted shades in between. Another favorite color is black; burned bacon black."
Richie watched in horror as Jack pulled the glove off his left hand and low flames licked the air. He could smell something burning this close up. He hadn't smelled anything in the alley. Flames rippled across the thin skin of Jack's hand.
"Jack, I swear, as soon as my pay comes through you are my first stop."
Atomic Jack knelt down close to Richie's face. His pressure suit was grimy and smelled. This odor was different from the burning hand. It was more like filth, like Jack needed a good hosing off with a pressure washer. Richie got a good look inside the helmet and could see the rot and decay resulting from the radiation poisoning. It dawned on Richie that this man had absolutely nothing to lose.
"Richie, I loan money to people and they have to repay it. When people make bets that don't pan out, they have to pay up. If I let people walk all over me, well," he put a gloved hand on Richies thigh and his leg twitched involuntarily, "it just wouldn't be good for business. I have to make an example so others don't think I'm soft." The gloved hand squeezed his thigh. Richie's whole body flinched this time.
"No one would think that, Jack. Everyone knows you're the man."
"Oh Richie, you don't understand. Those perceptions have to be reinforced constantly. If I let you walk, everyone with a sob story would expect the same treatment."
"Jack, we have a big job, very high paying. If you give me a week I'll be back on planet, and paid from at least this job. I can't pay anything dead."
Jack's strange neon orange eyes drilled into him. "What's the job?"
Richie took a deep breath and the story spilled from him. He knew he shouldn't be talking but he was about to be burned alive. He would figure something out to tell Duncan later.
Jack stood up, pulled on his glove and waved away the smoke lingering in the air. "This is on the up and up?"
"I wouldn't lie. I swear."
"The body barge stolen, eh? That's the kind of story someone would pay to keep secret."
"You're going to blackmail Saji Vy?" Richie said.
Jack ignored him. "Go back and get your provisions. Don't say a word to anyone about this. If you do I'll scatter you across the desert in pieces."
Richie nodded enthusiastically.
"You have ten days to put money in my hand. After that you're an example, I don't care what your excuses are."
Richie nodded again, even more enthusiastically. He knew he was getting the break of a lifetime.
Jack spoke to the men behind Richie. "Take his purple ass back to the parking lot. No marks on him."
"You got it, boss," Kinty said.
"I'll be in the office," Jack said. "I've got to think about this."
15.
Celeste was livid. She had been sitting in her room for days, burning travel time waiting for something to happen. The kids in the robes were as nice as they were in the spaceports. One in particular, Linda, had begun chatting with her when she dropped off food or clean clothes. They had finally given her something else to wear besides her flightsuit; a freshly laundered white robe that fit her comfortably. Breakfast had been pastries and coffee. The food here was good, much better than she would have eaten on the Charon. She also found herself eating more than she normally would have out of sheer boredom. It would be a miracle if she still fit in her flight suit when this whole thing was over. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," she said.
Celeste heard the jingle of keys and Linda came in smiling. She was young and plain but pretty, with the kind of small town looks that could have been helped with some make-up and an afternoon in a salon. She carried a tray on which sat soup and a sandwich.
"What's on the menu today, Linda?"
The young woman smiled and set the tray down on the table. "Broccoli and cheese soup with a ham sandwich. I know you liked the soup a couple of days ago so I made it again."
Celeste stood up and crossed the room to the small table. "How thoughtful. I really appreciate that. It was very considerate."
The young woman smiled again. "We want your stay with us to be as comfortable as possible."
"Well, you've certainly been trying very hard. Tell me, have you heard anything about when we might be leaving? Not that we don't enjoy our visit but I would like to get home."
Linda took her hand. "Montario hasn't said anything to me about when the repairs to your ship will be complete but have you considered staying with us? Did you get a chance to look over the literature I left with you? I'll be communing with him later so I could discuss it with him."
Celeste had a pretty good idea what the young woman meant by communing. She put her hand on top of Linda's. "You know dear, I did have an opportunity to read it but I don't think your lifestyle is one I would choose. You have wonderful ideas and worthy goals but I enjoy piloting starships. I like going from port to port, never knowing what the next day may bring. Your lifestyle is one of consistency and I think I would be a poor fit."
The woman's eyes widened. "Oh, Ms. Bezzle, don't misunderstand the consistency doctrine. While it's true that we believe a well planned life gives one strength and helps them achieve their goals, it's up to the individual to choose the path they follow. The green path is one of choice and is stronger than the red path of doctrine."
Celeste stared at Linda, her left eye twitching at the naiveté this girl embraced as a good life. She had learned Linda was college educated and her choice was to serve meals to guests on a moon in orbit around a gas giant. Now this woman thought Celeste would find such a lifestyle inviting.
Linda tilted her head. "We've been getting on so well I thought that perhaps you would opt to stay with us when your ship is repaired."
"You must be joking," Celeste said. In one smooth movement she tightened her grip on Linda's hand, yanked her forward and decked her with a haymaker she pulled up from her heels, just the way Cole had taught her many years ago. The young woman blinked once and slumped to the floor. Celeste checked to see if she was still breathing and if she was out. Satisfied, she grabbed the young woman’s keys and exited the room.
The hallway was empty, just as she thought. In the beginning a guard had been stationed outside their rooms but in recent days Linda and the other young people bringing her meals had stopped greeting the guards. Celeste assumed, correctly, that they weren't bothering to guard their captives as closely.
She snuck past the rooms where the others were being held, moving quietly. The corridor ended and she could go left or right. The showers were to the left with the other resident quarters. She turned right and walked confidently. Her flowing white robes matched what the others wore so as long as no one looked at her too closely she should be all right.
The corridor emptied out into a common area, much like one found in a dorm. Several cultists were enjoying a meal and others were reading. Celeste counted five of them, all reading the same text. It was titled 'The Seven Paths to Enl
ightenment', and it explained how each of the seven colors of the rainbow led a follower to peace. Of course, the text ended with some sort of apocalypse so the message was to live as good a life as possible until the end. Celeste didn't understand why anyone needed to give up all their worldly possessions to learn that lesson.
She walked through the common area and down another corridor. She had to give the kids credit. The whole place was spotless. They took cleanliness to extreme lengths. Even the light fixtures were clear of dust. She took another right and strode purposefully to the end of the hall. A guard stood outside the room there. She bit her lip and assumed she had found her destination. He held up a hand as she approached.
The guard smiled with perfect teeth that only come with a good dental plan. Somewhere along the way this kid had been raised properly and with good money. She suppressed an urge to deck him.
"Montario sent for me. I am to commune with him tonight," she said. She actually had no idea whether this would work but she assumed the leader of this cult was like the leader of every other cult she had read about. They usually took their follower’s money and enjoyed other pleasures.
The guard's brow furrowed. "That is most unusual sister. I understood Linda would be communing with Master Montario tonight."
"Oh, well, she is ill. I volunteered to assume her duties."
He beamed at her thoughtfulness. "Oh, good sister, how generous of you. Truly you have embraced the purple path of charity. I celebrate your good work."
Celeste smiled. "Oh, you are very kind." And an idiot.
He knocked twice on the door, smiling as he did and announced to Montario that his communion partner had arrived. He said to come in.
Celeste walked through the door and took a quick look around. It was a suite rather than a single room. She spied a tray of fruit and took a paring knife from an apple, slipping it up her sleeve.
"In here, love," a voice called from the bedroom. Celeste walked into the room and leapt upon the figure in the bed.
"What the hell?" he said.
She pinned him and before he could shift his weight to throw her off she pulled the paring knife and held it to his throat. Eyes wide he put his hands up toward the headboard. Now that he was subdued she got a good look around. The bed itself was a canopy job made of mahogany. The dark wood was carved with an ornate design. The sheets were silk and not the synthetic stuff you found in most retailers. A tall wardrobe and a dressing table matched the bed. Posh digs for a farming moon.
Celeste turned back to Montario. He was tall, good looking with long dark hair and blue eyes. His beard was awful, though. It was scraggly and stretched to the middle of his chest. Celeste adjusted herself on the bed and applied a little pressure to the blade, nicking him slightly but not enough to draw blood. "Enjoying yourself?" She said.
"What do you mean?"
"The food waiting for you in the other room is better than mine."
"Not much better."
"And what's this communion business?"
"You’ve got nothing to worry about, just keeping up appearances. The previous master was a bit of a letch."
“You called me ‘love’ when I walked in.”
“Again, just keeping up appearances.”
She got off him and dropped the knife on the polished mahogany nightstand.
“You've had me in that cell for almost a week," she said. "While you're here living in the lap of luxury. What's going on?"
He stood up, straightening his own white robe, tying it with a red sash. "Baby, come on. Don't be mad. I'm just sticking to the plan."
Celeste looked him over. He was about six feet tall with brown hair and blue eyes. Falling for him had been easy. She swung her legs off the bed and confronted him; thumping a finger into his chest.
“I’m sitting in that room bored out of my mind while these ridiculous children keep me locked up. You could make things easier on me.”
He backed away. “You knew this was going to be difficult.”
“You could make it easier,” she said.
“What do you want from me, Celeste? This is the only way to get what we want. If the cult members see you wandering around while the other crew members are locked up what kind of message would that send? We can’t have them suspicious.”
“I know but being locked up is driving me crazy. Come on, baby, can’t you cut us a little slack?”
“If I do, an opportunity is going to present itself to escape. This isn’t a prison and these kids aren’t guards. You and your crew could outwit them in five minutes flat. It’s not like you can bring them in on this.”
She pouted a little, just a little, and sighed. “No, we can’t.”
He took her by the hands. “Look, I got a message from Saji Vy’s people. A ship is leaving now and will be here in a few days.”
Her eyes brightened. “They’re giving us what we want?”
“Sure are, babe. We’ll be done with this thing in four or five days. Can you hang on that long?”
She sighed. "It's going to be tough."
"But you're a tough chick," he said smiling.
"Yeah, right."
His brow furrowed. "How did you get out of your room, anyway?"
Deep breath. "Oh, yeah, about that. I clobbered that girl named Linda."
He shook his head. "We can't hurt these people, as much as we'd like to."
"Don't worry about it. It will just make her try and convert me that much harder."
"That's true, but we still need to keep up appearances."
She looked up. "What do you mean?"
He stood up and walked to the doorway. "Trevor?" He said. "Can you come in here?"
The boy standing guard outside the suite came in. "Yes, Montario?"
He grabbed her wrist and jerked her off the bed. "This woman was to remain in her quarters. Somehow she got out."
His eyes grew wide with surprise. "I'm so sorry, sir. I don't know how this happened."
"It's all right, son. Just take her back."
"I will! At once!" He grabbed Celeste with a strong hand and started to lead her away.
"And check on the good sister who delivered her meal. She may be hurt."
"Yes, Montario."
"And Trevor? Be careful with her. She has not yet accepted our path."
"As you say."
Celeste was led from the room, still angry.
Montario had found Celeste a little over six months ago with the help of one of his operatives named Milo Gradzic. She was sitting at an outdoor café, nursing a tall lemonade. Montario and Milo observed her from the corner of a building across the plaza. Milo swiped a finger across the face of his phone and Montario’s phone beeped an acknowledgement.
“That’s her file. She has all the qualifications you’re looking for,” Milo said.
“What about motivation?”
“She’s got that in buckets,” Milo said. “She was the pilot of a starliner named the Kimberly and was fired almost a year ago. I looked into the termination. She claims she was being sexually harassed by the captain and there was an altercation.”
“Was she? Being harassed?” Montario asked.
“It could have gone either way but I think so. The captain has a reputation as liking the ladies and being pushy. I’d say she probably got the short end of the stick.”
“So she’s on the crew of the Charon now?”
“Yes, she’s been the pilot for the past few months.”
“What’s her mood like?”
Milo chuckled. “The only way she could be more disgruntled would be if she set fire to the cruise liner offices. She is one very unhappy lady.”
“Then she’s just what we need, Milo. You’ve done well.”
“So what’s your approach? Do you have a plan for how to reel her in?”
Montario smiled. “I’m just going to walk over there and talk to her.”
Milo’s eyebrow rose up. “That’s it? You’re just going to talk to her?”
Milo watched him cross the plaza and walk up to her table. He was smooth, wearing a lightweight linen suit and dark glasses. He passed her, paused, and then turned back. He said something to her; she looked up, shaded her eyes with a hand and then smiled. After a few moments of chatting Milo watched her invite him to sit down.
Now, six months later, he watched her being escorted from his room, pissed off all over again.
16.
Nathan dropped out of the belly of the Blue Moon Bandit, wiped his face with a rag and shoved it in the back pocket of his dark blue workpants. His white t-shirt was clinging to him where he had sweated through in the New Mexico afternoon sun. The interior of the landing gear compartment was blazing hot but a bushing needed replaced in a strut. He’d noticed the ship sitting at a lower angle than it should have when he arrived and found the problem an hour ago. He kicked a ratchet toward a toolbox and walked out from under the ship. A heavy duty switch was hanging from a magnetic mount on the hull. He grabbed hold of it, pushed the "up" button and the ship rose a few inches. He walked back under and grabbed hold of the jack stand that had been supporting the Bandit's weight. Another trip out to the hydraulic switch dragging the jack stand and he was ready to finish up. He punched the "down" button and the heavy bulk of the transport lowered to the tarmac. He watched carefully as the landing strut took the big ship’s weight. It settled in, comfortably taking the bulk and maintaining it at the right height. Satisfied, he picked up the ratchet and dropped it in the fire engine red toolbox. He bent to pick up a socket when a long black car rolled up.
The driver stopped near the rear ramp of the ship, got out and surveyed the area with a worried look. Landing pad 37 was in a crap hole area, Nathan knew. In fact, the whole south docks was in a terrible part of town. His guests were probably used to shipping out on the tourist shuttles where they would be treated like visiting royalty or the private landing pads on the north end where rich folks kept their private yachts for jaunts to Mars or the Jupiter system. The south docks were where working men and women kept service vehicles and junkers.
Milky Way Repo Page 10