Last Man Out (Poor Man's Fight Book 5)

by Elliott Kay

“Listen, we’ve already done gun running. You think we can’t smuggle a fugitive, too?”

  “What about the rest of the crew?”

  “You think I’d bring this up with you before them?” Lynette countered. “Responsibility to my crew comes first. As a business, we’re all partners. And friends. I recruit pretty selectively. If they say they’re good with it, they mean it. And they do. Turns out they’re fine with the boss sleeping with one of the crew. Standards are kinda lax here, I guess.”

  “What would I do here?” Tanner asked, looking away from her. He saw only her comfortable room, but around it was the rest of the ship. “I’m not a nurse or a bo’sun or an engineer. Your crew roster is full.”

  “You’re a competent crewman. You know your stuff. We’re bound to get into more nonsense sooner or later. We’ll handle it better with you on board. I’m not making up a title, either. We’d be hiring you for what you do.”

  “What’s that?” asked Tanner.

  “Damage control.”

  Epilogue

  “Yeah, you’re right. I stuck with my target from one end of the Union to the other and got a front row seat for first contact with an alien civilization and I carried a dozen civilians out of a crisis. But technically, yes, I blew my cover to keep everyone alive. Oh please, forgive me. Also, I want all of my course credits added to my records.”

  --Agent Gina Ramos, Internal Communications, Archangel Ministry of Intelligence, September 2280

  They all made it home.

  They survived piracy, kidnapping, and aliens reawakened to war. They came home with news of unprecedented discoveries. Their work would change humanity’s understanding of its corner of the galaxy. Though almost every artifact remained in the hands of Fleet Intelligence and the Union Assembly’s Alien Studies Program, they returned with all their data and their stories.

  For Naomi, it meant an endless sea of data entry.

  “Artifact 6-A,” she said to the desktop monitor in her little office. Discovery data appeared on her screen, noting dimensions, weight, grid location on the site map, and all the rest. The piece appeared in a slowly turning holographic image beside the monitor. “This piece was found beneath the ash layer consistent with modern Minoan collapse, and is suspected to be from the much earlier—”

  “Okay, choice number three,” interrupted a voice at her side. Naomi looked. Atop her other desk floated an image of a white wedding dress. “What do you think?”

  “I’m still not sold on going with the ballgown look,” said Naomi.

  “No, this one isn’t for you,” said the voice. The dress spun in a cartoonish whirlwind until it reappeared as worn by Dani. The same image could have come from a simple computer-edited cut, but someone loved fairytale animation. Dani smiled and posed in the dress. Naomi knew it wasn’t actually her in the image. The computer did that. Dani only provided the dialogue from her office across town. “What do you think?”

  Naomi looked at the dress, but her thoughts didn’t match it. She thought she needed to focus on her work. She thought the department’s deadline was unrealistic, to say the least. She thought Vandenberg deserved an extra criminal charge for getting his ass stuck in a Union jail for hiding advanced alien tech and leaving her to handle the whole class and the after-action work of the expedition.

  She thought her fiancée might be overdoing all this a bit. She also thought she couldn’t blame her. Dani had endured the news cycle in real-time as it hit Fremantle in the slow trickle of FTL-drone communications dumps. For Naomi, it was a month in the past. For Dani, it was all still relatively fresh.

  Most of her students, anyway. One didn’t get to come back with the rest.

  Everyone else got on with their lives.

  “How much does it cost?” asked Naomi.

  “Ah, so you do like it.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Your first thought is it must be out of reach,” Dani teased. “I know how your brain works.”

  “My brain is supposed to be working on actual work right now. Like the rest of me.”

  “After what we went through, your boss can suck it up just like mine.”

  She relented with a sigh. “I think it looks great in the animated—”

  “Naomi,” interrupted a voice behind her. She turned to find Kim standing breathlessly in the doorway. “He’s here.”

  * * *

  “They know I’m here,” said Tanner.

  “How can you tell?” asked Lynette.

  The university grounds welcomed him back with bright trees and its pathways clean and clear. This part of the planet never got very cold, though cool breezes off the ocean mitigated the heat of the late morning sun. The farther they walked onto campus, the more Tanner noticed a change of atmosphere.

  “If you weren’t with me, you wouldn’t see so many people on their holocoms right now,” he explained. Little crowds of friends and solo students here and there demonstrated exactly what he meant. Nobody approached, but plenty of people looked their way.

  “That isn’t normal here? It’s a college.”

  “I think it’s probably just gossip. But you never know. I’ve seen a lot of holographic protest signs jump out of personal holocoms.”

  “Okay, but the tone of the news about you has changed, hasn’t it?” Lynette pointed out. “You saved the day. For students from this school, even.”

  “I saved the day on St. Jude the first time we ran into pirates, too. They still treated me like shit. Some of them doubled down on it. People invest in their grudges and their views. They don’t give that up easily.” Tanner shrugged. “Look, you don’t have to stay with me. It’s only a university. I’ll be fine.”

  Lynette scoffed. “You don’t know what you’ll have to deal with from the administration. Or from the students, apparently. I didn’t give you a ride all the way back here to leave you to deal with that alone now. And I want to be there when you’re done.”

  His hand found hers. “Thanks. Means a lot. Kinda means everything, really.”

  “I won’t mind not having to bounce back and forth to see you anymore.” Her eyes wandered as they walked. “It’s too bad, though. This is a nice place.”

  “They’ve got a little round court of café stands and such in the lobby of the student center over there,” he went on. “Did I mention I’ve been dying for one of their drinks ever since we left for Minos?”

  “Damn. They’re selling drinks this early? I never should’ve gone to an academy.”

  “Ha, no, it’s blended fruit stuff. C’mon, we’re gonna wind up waiting outside somebody’s office, anyway.”

  The line for the drink stand wasn’t long. Everything felt calm in the student center as they arrived. Before they reached the bar, Tanner felt like their surroundings had become even calmer somehow. Quieter. Oddly, he thought more people arrived while they waited.

  “Tanner?” came a strong voice, breaking the silence.

  He turned around with Lynette. He didn’t expect the face in front of him, or the energy he saw there. It seemed different somehow. Not unhappy; nervous? A handful more newcomers lingered behind him, too, presumably his friends. “Hey, Antonio,” said Tanner. “Good to see you. Lynette, this is Antonio. He was on the trip. Antonio, Lynette.”

  “Hey,” she said, shaking his hand.

  He was polite enough in greeting Lynette, but Antonio’s eyes came back to Tanner. “Are you finished with everything? The Fleet and all? It sounded like they’d keep you for a while longer.”

  “It was only a few more interviews than the rest of you. Like I said, it was a lot of hurry up and wait.”

  “So what now? Are you back to school?”

  “We’ll see. I have to go talk to the administration. A lot happened.”

  “Right. They were good with us. Don’t see why it’d be different on you.”

  “I would hope, but I’ve been gone an extra week. And I’m me,” Tanner added.

  “Well, uh. Listen, there’s a party Frid
ay night if you’re interested. Really more like Friday and Saturday with everything planned. It’s a joint thing with a couple campus groups,” Antonio explained awkwardly. “They asked me to see if you wanted to come.”

  “…What.”

  Beside him, simultaneously right in his ear and a million miles away, Lynette laughed.

  “It’s not a big deal,” said Antonio. “I mean it’s a big deal for them, but you don’t have to do anything for it. Come hang out, is all. They’re sorry about how you’ve been treated here. A lot of people are sorry.”

  “I don’t—” Tanner stammered. “I’m not…what’s happening?”

  Lynette leaned in. “Sometimes people change their minds when presented with new information,” she teased.

  “How…how?”

  “Oh god,” she laughed, then looked to Antonio. “I think he’s saying yes but he’s gonna need a minute.”

  “Wait,” he stammered.

  “Hey. Tanner.” Naomi walked straight up to throw her arms around him, hugging tightly. “You’re okay?”

  “…yeah?” he managed.

  “Good. I need your help. I’ve got a mountain of artifacts to write up and five different reports to write. Do you still want that minor?”

  “Yes,” he answered quickly. “They’re not kicking me out of school?”

  “What? Why would they do that? No, they kicked Vandenberg off the faculty. They’re talking about giving you a second minor in crisis intervention or something. I don’t know what they’re making up. I’m buried in paperwork. C’mon.”

  He looked to Lynette, suddenly torn. She smiled back at him. “It wouldn’t be you if things weren’t complicated.”

  * * *

  They promised not to keep her waiting. Dylan smiled politely and took the lie in stride.

  Arriving early for the start of the work day, Dylan obeyed and cooperated with every security check. She removed her blazer twice in the lobby and submitted to multiple scans. She handed over her holocom, having known better than to bring her primary piece in the first place. Conroy did the same behind her, never once complaining, even when they asked to keep his tie. The escorts didn’t bother her, nor did the wait outside the office.

  Not even after the third hour.

  She couldn’t fault the décor. Everything was stylish and spotless. They hadn’t seen much of this floor, given the location of the foyer right outside the elevator doors. Skillful holography and lighting almost covered for the lack of windows. She understood why. She understood the subtle discrepancies in the elevator numbering, too.

  The secretary at the reception desk was more than accommodating. The coffee was the best she’d ever had. Dylan sucked up all the necessary inconveniences. Conroy stuck by her side the whole time.

  “Major Dylan?” asked a voice shortly after Dylan began perusing the building’s internal café menus. A sharply-dressed and good-looking man stood in a doorway left entirely concealed until he’d opened it. “I wanted to ask to be sure, do you still prefer Major?”

  “It’s back to Miss, for now,” Dylan said with a patient smile. She’d answered this question already, too. Twice.

  “Very well. Thank you for waiting. We can squeeze you in for a few minutes now,” he said with subtle, precise emphasis. It helped to assert control early on.

  He ushered the pair through a small hallway, where they were doubtlessly scanned once more, and through another silent door. As Dylan expected, where the waiting room had been slick and comfortable, the office was palatial and immaculate. It took up the entire floor—though which floor in particular, she didn’t know by design.

  The woman at the center of it all stayed at her broad desk without rising. Holo screens framed her at either side, one displaying news, the other a slow stream of text and numbers. Her dark top matched her curly brown hair. Every bit of her wardrobe probably cost a fortune that was easily afforded.

  The space hosted several other desks and staffers, along with floor-to-ceiling display screens, a conference room with transparent walls, and even a small interview studio in one corner. Dylan didn’t try to absorb it all. Everything was about the woman at the center of the room. She didn’t look up at her visitors right away.

  “Thank you, Charles,” she said absently once Dylan and Conroy were seated. Their escort took up a chair not far behind the visitors. “Miss Dylan, Mister Conroy. Nice to meet you.” She still hadn’t looked up.

  “Likewise, Miss Walters,” said Dylan. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Such as it is,” she said. “Things have been busy, as you might imagine. When a company the size of Minos Enterprises disappears overnight, it leaves ripples for months. I suppose Precision might have left a couple, too.”

  “I would imagine.”

  “The thing about an organization the size of NorthStar is how its size and strength can make it more sensitive rather than less,” Christina Walters went on. “Moments like this aren’t a threat so much as an annoyance. But the annoyances matter. From the bottom or from the outside it can seem like nothing shakes us. The truth is we can stand forever, but we still feel the shake.”

  Walters gestured to the scrolling text and numbers. “We have a development project called the New Dawn Quadrant. Our surveys were completed before the war. Terraforming and colony planning were already underway. Now here we are, trying to reassure all of our colonists and our investors that no, there aren’t any ancient aliens hidden away on any of these worlds. It turns out reassurance costs money. So do worries. So do ripples in the stock market.

  “I suppose there’s also the little matter of our highest-quality personal holocoms being made from alien brain matter without anyone knowing about it. Minor customer relations problem there, along with the related hole in our supply chain.

  “Hell of a piece of work you did on Minos,” Walters finished dryly.

  “I understand you were a private investor in the corporation,” said Dylan.

  “Yes. So was NorthStar. My own exposure was only around nine figures,” she added, drying further. “I understand we’ve already made several offers to hear your story with the Minoans and their empress in detail. Both from our security arm and our media services.”

  “And your research division,” said Dylan. “They’re nice offers. That’s not why I asked to speak with you directly.”

  “Normally my staff tell me what people want to say or what they want to offer before I ever see them,” said Walters. “I understand you asked for an exception.”

  “Even with Precision gone, I still had a couple of favors to cash in,” said Dylan. “People in my line of work rack them up now and again.”

  “Of course. Here we are. What’s on your mind?”

  “Forgive me if this is too forward, but I should start by asking if this is a good setting for privileged information. I’d rather not make false assumptions on your behalf.”

  Walters finally looked up from her screens, though her gaze went straight past Dylan to one of her assistants. Without a word, most of the other occupants of the office took their leave. Almost all those who remained stayed out of earshot. Dylan couldn’t know what listening devices or acoustic adjustments might be in play, but that was up to Walters.

  “What’s on your mind?” asked the president and CEO.

  “We have a mutual acquaintance.”

  Walters interrupted not with words, but rather the roll of her eyes and a slight curl of her lip. She forced it into a facsimile of a pleasant smile. “And?”

  “He said something interesting on Minos. Something I don’t think he meant to say. I haven’t shared it beyond my companion here. He said he wouldn’t let the big bad guy get away again.” Dylan watched the other woman closely. “Miss Walters, I know NorthStar conducted a funeral, but I should ask: do you have anyone still looking for Anton Brekhov?”

  Walters held steady through it all with the same practiced, pert smile. “You told no one but your associate, you say?”

  �
�Oh, I believe in a strong insurance policy as much as the next businesswoman.”

  “Excellent. Charles, could you get someone from executive staffing in here? Let’s not keep our new hires waiting. Also, cancel my lunch appointment, but be polite and don’t say they’ve been replaced. So, Miss Dylan, are you looking for something in a managerial position with NorthStar, or are you interested in more of a direct action role?”

  “A mixture of both would be wise,” said Dylan. “I’m here to help however I can. NorthStar and the Union have troubling times ahead.”

  About the Author

  Elliott Kay is a survivor of adolescence in Los Angeles, service in the United States Coast Guard, a career in teaching high school, a motorcycle crash, chronic seasickness, summers in Phoenix, a winter in Alaska, serial monogamy, and reading comments on the Internet. He lives in Seattle with his wife and two cats.

  He has every intention of continuing the Poor Man’s Fight series. His urban fantasy novel series Good Intentions will also continue—and please, for the love of all that is good, read the warnings first. To stay up to date on new releases, please send an email to be added to the notification list or click “follow” on Elliott Kay’s author page on Amazon.

  Email: elliottkaybooks@gmail.com

  Website: www.elliottkay.com

  Twitter: @elliottkaybooks