Drifters' Alliance, Book 3

by Elle Casey

  Macon and Baebong are in my twelve o’clock position and Jeffers is at my six. They look like bodyguards, and with this amazing black flightsuit on that Alana gave me, I look like I might actually need them. It’s too pretty for fighting in, making it camouflage in more ways than one. I once again send up a silent thank you to my benefactor. It’s nice having friends with influence and taste. Being a member of the Alliance makes me feel like I have a whole community of really cool people standing behind me, watching my back. I never felt that way in the OSG; it was way too competitive in the training Levels.

  I rest my hand on my knife as I survey the room. “Any of you see our target?” I barely move my lips and use volume only my friends can detect. We have our comm units dialed into each other on the same frequency so we can all listen in on each other’s conversations as long as our thumbs are turned in to our palms. I’m not doing that now, though, since they’re so close.

  Macon is rubbing his hands together. “Not yet, but I see a game I’d like to get in on.”

  I follow his gaze and find a girl playing boccaball at a nearby table. Her ball-rolling technique has her leaning way over, and her blouse is unzipped enough to allow most of her assets to spill out for everyone to admire during her play. I know a con when I see one, though. Her friend is busy emptying bystanders’ pockets as they slobber over the view.

  “Dude, you’re drooling,” I say, reaching up to poke him in the back. “Control yourself.”

  He lifts a hand and drags the back of it over his mouth, saying nothing, still staring.

  I shake my head. “So much for helping with the mission.” When the guilt-trip doesn’t work, I smile real evil-like and try another method of breaking through his boobie-trance. “Oh, look! Shit! It’s that Captain Bob guy. How did he survive that floating, I wonder?”

  Macon’s head jerks first to the left and the right. He steps backward and bumps into me. “Where? Captain Bob? Where?!”

  I grab the back of his neck and stand on tiptoe to be able to whisper into his ear. “Get your shit together, Macon. We’re not here to get your dick wet.”

  He turns around and scowls at me. “You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?”

  I see Baebong’s back stiffen out of the corner of my eye and quickly put it together. Frigging tattletale. Letting Macon go, I turn slightly to face Baebong. “Boyfriend? What boyfriend?”

  “Don’t play games,” Macon says, sounding all cocky asshole. “We know you’ve got the hots for Beltz.”

  Jeffers leans in. “There might be a better time and place for this conversation.”

  “Yeah!” I whisper hiss at the two droid-heads in front of me, shoving Macon away from me. “So, shut up and pay attention. We need to find Tremblay or the girls.” I feel like I’m in Level 2 training again with a bunch of idiot boys who spend more time looking at the girls than paying attention to the instructor. Lucky for us, our behavior is completely normal in a place like this. Not shoving my friends around would have looked suspicious.

  “I thought we were supposed to sit at the bar and wait,” Macon says, turning more fully to face me.

  I gesture at the bartender. “Fine. Go, then. Sit. Get something to drink.” I glare at him. “Something non-fermented.”

  “What? Are you kidding?” Macon turns around and wanders off. “Lame mission. I knew it.”

  Baebong follows him, thinking I can’t hear what he’s saying as he leans toward Macon. “We’d better get to blow some shit up, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Jeffers and I remain just inside the door as Macon orders two drinks. Once the bartender sets them down in front of him, he and Baebong grab them up, touch the sides of their mugs, and exchange a meaningful nod. I know exactly what that means, too; they’re going to light off Baebong’s weapons whether I like it or not. They’ll rig some kind of ‘accident’ or pretend to see a bogeyman who’s not there, and then BLAMMO! Space dust.

  I roll my eyes. Whatever. A happy crew is an effective crew. If it takes blowing up my hair drying rig and other personal beauty items to get them there, I’m fine with it. It’s not like I need the stuff anyway; I’m not going anywhere fancy anytime soon. Hell, it’s my first station arrival as captain of a DS, and I’m standing in the middle of The Grande Old Shithole Saloon. I’m the best dressed person in here, and that’s saying a lot because my whore-inspired hairdo is three days past its expiration date.

  “There’s a spot on the other side of the bar for us,” Jeffers says, stepping up to my right side, a little ahead of me. “Care to have a drink?” He holds out his elbow.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I say, walking forward and threading my arm into his. We walk together to the chairs, and several people watch us go with way too much interest.

  “People are staring,” I say, pulling my arm back, trying to detach myself from him. I’m not used to doing things as part of a team. For too long it’s been me against the universe.

  He holds my hand in place, smiling as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Good. It’ll throw them off the real reason for our visit. They’ll think we’re here on a date.”

  I relax and go back to holding onto him. I can’t think of the right thing to say to that. Saying he’s too old for me is probably the wrong way to go. And besides, he’s right. The last time I was here I won a ship in a givit game. I’m not so naive to think that people have forgotten that bet or me. It’s best if they think I’m just passing through with nothing but love on my mind. I look up at my new boyfriend and smile. “Lucky me.”

  He smiles back and pats my hand. “That’s the spirit.”

  When we reach the bar, he releases my arm, pulls out a stool for me, and bows. “Please.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” I giggle at how ridiculous I sound and the fact that my face is burning and probably pink. I can’t remember anyone ever pulling out a chair for me. Except Overshine. The last time I saw him, he pulled out my chair and then later tried to get my friend to kill me. I force myself not to think about him or that second death match with Macon. Now’s not the time to worry about the OSG sneaking up on me and seeking revenge for that slaphammering Lucinda gave them. I’ll worry about those evil bastards when the time comes.

  As soon as Jeffers sits, my blood starts pumping extra fast in my veins. Over Jeffers’s now lowered shoulder, I can see a beautiful woman approaching, and she’s smiling at me. Things are about to get really real. It suddenly hits me that I’m part of a recon mission that could end up in a man being killed and floated out a back exhaust tunnel. Why do I feel so sick over it? He deserves it. He tried to get someone to take me out.

  “What’s the matter?” Jeffers asks me.

  “Beltine. On her way over.” I take a few breaths in and out to calm myself. Remember your training. You’ve got this under control, Cass. Tremblay meant to float you and steal your DS. No regrets allowed.

  Jeffers pats my hand. “Don’t look so serious. We’re here on a date, remember?”

  It’s so ridiculous, it makes me smile. “Okay. Right. How could I forget?”

  Beltine takes the chair next to Jeffers and holds up her hand to get the bartender’s attention. Under her breath she says, “Alana has Tremblay in a private apartment. Section 4, Level 5, Quadrant 5. Number 1-1-8. Hurry.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I MAKE A MOVE TO get up, but Jeffers puts his hand on my arm. “But darling, don’t you want to stay and have a drink?”

  My mind short-circuits for a few seconds before I realize what he’s trying to do. I join in as naturally as I can under the circumstances. “No, dear, I don’t want to stay and have a drink. You just insulted me.”

  He winks before continuing. “Don’t be silly. I just said that I didn’t want to have dinner with your mother. Is that really so bad? You know how she can be. So demanding. So nosy.”

  I push him on the chest. “Don’t say that about my mother!” I probably shouldn’t have pushed so hard, but he was just a little convincing wit
h his play-acting, and I kind of forgot I don’t have a mother anymore.

  Jeffers leans way back with the force of my shove and then pauses in mid-reaction and raises his eyebrows. It takes me a second or two to get the cue that it’s time for me to make my move. I need practice with the angry girlfriend act, I guess.

  “Are you leaving?” his raises his eyebrows even higher.

  “Yes! I’m leaving.” I stand up and storm out of the bar without looking back, hoping the two dipshits I left toasting their ray blasting plans are paying attention and will follow me out. I walk to the door, exit the saloon, and take a left down the hallway, shortening my strides to give them time to catch up.

  A few seconds later a door slams behind me and Macon yells, “Wrong way!”

  I turn around and look down the corridor at him and Baebong standing just outside the saloon’s door. “What are you talking about? It’s this way!” The nearest directional array is in the place where I’m headed; I remember it from the few weeks I spent here, before I won the ship. It’s at the hub where a large central area hosts pedestrian tunnels that go off in several directions, like a hub and spokes on an Old-Earth wagon wheel. We need to log in there to find out where Tremblay’s unit is.

  He waves his arm really hard. “Wrong! This way’s better! Come on! Hurry up!” His hand goes up to his mouth, and his voice comes out loud and clear right in my ear where the receiver lies inside. “I memorized the layout of the station. Come on, this way is shorter.”

  Memorized the entire station? That can’t be right. I jog to catch up, but he takes off before I reach him. I whisper as I fast-walk. “What do you mean you memorized the layout of this place? Which part of it?”

  Baebong falls into step beside me as we break into a jog behind Macon. I conserve my energy and measure each breath carefully, since I’m not sure how far we’ll go before we stop again.

  We’ve taken several turns and gone up three tall sets of metal stairs without an answer from Macon, but he does seem to look like he knows what he’s doing, the way he never hesitates, taking directions that seem purposeful. We’re in a dark area that’s obviously not frequently traveled. It’s narrower than a regular path and needs a good filter session to get rid of the accumulated dust.

  “What is this place?” I ask as we slip through yet another portal. So far all of these entrances have opened with a wave of Macon’s palm. Obviously, they’re not leading into secure areas, but there’s a complete lack of signage that’s not the usual for a station as far as I know, so I have no idea where he’s really taking us. We could be heading for the float chambers for all I know. Just the idea fills me with dread. Would he sell me out like that? It scares me when I realize that I don’t really know the answer to my question.

  “It’s a maintenance run,” Macon explains, oblivious to my paranoia. “They’re all over the place. Believe me, if you’re running parts or service, you don’t want to get stuck in the crowds on the spokes.”

  “How do you know?” Baebong asks. “You ran service here?”

  “No. But I had friends who did.”

  “Had?” Baebong prompts, in a way that suggests he’s not sure he wants to hear the explanation.

  Macon’s ominous tone does nothing to make either one of us feel better about the past tense he’s using. “Friends come and go. You know the gig. Don’t fall in love because you never know when your best friend will become your executioner.”

  That comment is no doubt for me, but I ignore it. He obviously woke up on the wrong side of the bunk today, but I’m not going to let it interfere in the success of this mission. But later? We’re going to have some words, he can believe that. If he thinks he’s going to crew with me with that attitude, he can forget it. He’d better just step off the dock right now. My righteous anger fuels my passion for this mission, pumping more energy into my legs as we jog along. As soon as we know what Tremblay’s all about and assess the risks, we can get the hell out of here and start drifting.

  We take several other hallways and more ridiculous stairs, to the point that Baebong’s having a hard time keeping up and I’m starting to feel a burning sensation in my thighs. So much for righteous anger fueling anything. I probably should have stuck with caffeine.

  “You know we’re going to see Tremblay, right?” I finally say, slowing to a walk. I probably should have verified that Macon knew this before I followed him for ten minutes into the bowels of Centurion 4.

  “Yes, of course I know. Beltine told us. Commed it in before she walked over to see you.” He pauses and looks over his shoulder at me. “Where else would I be taking you?”

  I shrug, the sound of my heart beating loud in my ears. “I don’t know.” The challenge is there in my voice. Are you taking me to be ambushed, my old friend? Or are you really here to help? He never did give me all the details about what he knows, about that givit game and about Tremblay’s intentions. Maybe his whole plan is to get to this unit Beltine told us about and shut Tremblay up before he can expose Macon’s part in the whole scheme. Maybe he’s an assassin. Maybe he’s …

  “Come on,” Baebong says, nudging me with his arm, “we don’t have time for all this bullshit. Let’s just get there and get this done. We have people waiting on us.”

  “Yeah. Right.” I stop my mind from racing. For shitflake’s sake, I was actually entertaining the notion that my friend is a freaking killer for hire, which is completely nuts. When I’m killed one day, it won’t be by a man who cries over burned fritters.

  Macon points to a door up ahead. “That’ll bring you out into the corridor for Section 4, Level 4, Quadrant 5. You need to go one level up from there to find the right area and then search out that unit number. I assume you’ll go left, but watch the numbers.”

  Baebong looks suddenly suspicious. “What do you mean, we have to do it. Aren’t you going?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. I can’t let him see me.”

  I fold my arms over my chest as my suspicions kick into gear right along with my lieutenant’s. “Here we go.”

  Macon won’t look at me. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked on Baebong. “Tremblay won’t talk if I’m there. He’ll think he’s got an ally in the room. You need to intimidate him. Use violence if necessary.”

  “More like he’ll be able to tell us your role in the whole thing, and you won’t be able to run away from the truth anymore.” My heart feels like it’s being ripped in half. I hate how much I care about what Macon’s doing, and that he’s choosing to save his own butt instead of doing what’s right for my crew and the Alliance. Do I deserve this? I did almost kill him, and I did make him eat dusty food pellets and burned fritters. Would I be able to forgive me for what I’ve done if I were him? Probably not. I can’t hate him for doing what I’d do under the circumstances. It takes most of the fight out of me.

  “Comm me in and I’ll tell you whether he’s being truthful or not if you want.” Finally Macon’s looking at me. Too bad it’s with a mean old stink-eye. “When are you ever going to trust me, Cass?”

  My eyebrows are practically in my hairline. “Uhhh, how about when you finally start telling me the whole truth and not just parts of it? How about when you stop disappearing when shit gets real?”

  His jaw bounces out as he grits his teeth, trying to control his temper.

  “Listen, guys …,” Baebong sighs, “I know you’ve got a lot of unfinished business between you … but now’s not really the time for this.”

  I shrug. “Fine. I can wait. I’ve waited this long.”

  Macon nearly chokes. “You? You’ve waited? For how long, Cass? A few days? Try waiting for three years.” He turns around and leaves us there in the dark hallway. We lose track of him after he turns a corner and the sound of his footsteps fades out.

  I have nothing to say to that. I’m not even sure if he and I are talking about the same thing.

  “Daaaamn, girl. You are one serious heartbreaker, you know that? Remind me never to fall in love with yo
u.”

  Without even thinking, I punch Baebong as hard as I can, right in his left bicep. He tries to act like it doesn’t hurt, but I know the hang of a dead arm when I see one. His voice comes out high and reedy as he turns to face the door. “Ready to go knock some skulls?”

  “You’d better believe it.” I shove him out of the way and push through the portal into the hallway beyond.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A HISS COMING FROM BAEBONG’S direction draws my attention away from a break in the corridor where an array kiosk sits. Its screen is dark, but I’m thinking maybe if I wave my hand in front of it, it’ll show me a map of this damn quadrant …

  “Over here!” he screeches in a weirdly loud whisper.

  “You sound like my grandmother,” I say when I draw closer.

  He’s pointing to the door just in front of where we’re standing. “Here it is.” Sure enough, number 1-1-8 is glowing blue over the portal.

  A couple is walking down the hall toward us, so Baebong slings his arm over my shoulder and leans in close to my neck, hiding his face. I think we’re supposed to look like lovers about to enter this unit and get it on.

  “If you kiss me, I will kick you right in the sack,” I whisper really softly in his ear.

  He whispers back, just as calmly as I did. “If you touch my sack, I will blow up your bunk and everything in it.”

  The couple walks past, discussing the latest astroid cloud problems over Gartan, paying us no attention whatsoever. As soon as they round the corner, I shove Baebong away from me.

  “What’s that scent you’re wearing?” he asks. “Eau de sweaty balls?”

  “No, actually,” I say, trying the handle of the door to see if it’s open, “it’s called put-your-nose-that-close-to-my-face-again-and-I’ll-bite-it-off. Very expensive stuff. You can’t afford it, trust me.”