by Chris Lowry
With a stick up his dark side.
So far up, she wondered who was working the trigger to make him talk. Because she did not trust him.
Buster could buy and sell guards like cattle.
He had told her once after a fumbled attempt at drunk lovemaking that all men had a price, it was his job to find it.
He meant leverage. He meant pressure. Sometimes it was money. Sometimes it was family.
All it took was a man willing to do what was needed to get what they wanted.
Like putting up with pawing, and humping, the leering and being owned, possessed. A trade.
He got her body, her dignity, a piece of her soul. And Mona Lisa O'Neil got to live like a Queen.
So the guard could be bought.
She knew that. Without a doubt.
No matter how stern he was, how in line and buttoned up. He was for sale, just as every man was, and Buster had bought him.
Maybe.
Except he had a chance to kill her on the way from the prison.
An escape attempt. An inquiry, and no one would know the wiser. Then he would leave the prison to deal with the trauma, and disappear to one of the outer colonies with his money.
But he didn't.
She glanced over her shoulder at him.
"Stop staring at me, Inmate."
"You don't need to be so rude," she snapped back.
Lame comeback, she thought. The quarters were too tight for an all out yell fest.
She stepped down into the cockpit.
It was narrow, and tight, four seats in a half diamond pattern. The seat on the left slightly forward of the others.
A sweat stained yoke rested in front of it.
Old fashioned for this model, but fitting. The pilot's seat.
She settled in the one next to it. Too close for her personal taste. She would have to breathe through her mouth until she could manipulate him into the shower to was off the clinging miasma.
Bat settled in the seat behind her.
She could see his eyes reflected in the dark view screen. He was staring at the back of her jet-black hair.
Mona Lisa didn't care. Men had stared at her for years. Sometimes with open mouths, sometimes with open intent.
It was normal for her.
But the guard didn't stare at her like that. Not like something he wanted to possess. Something he wanted to put his dick in. His eyes were hooded, his face impassive.
Watching her like she was a responsibility and nothing else.
She didn't like it.
Too far out of her zone of reference.
Her mother had stared at her like that, but with love instead of palpable indifference.
She squeezed her arms together and shivered.
"We have an empty seat."
Bat shrugged.
"Don't ignore me," she said to the face reflected in the view screen.
It was easier than turning around.
"We could have brought an extra person. Someone better trained than a security guard."
her eyes never left his face as she talked.
"A soldier. Someone who could protect us. You don't know who you’re going up against."
"Nope," said the pilot as he squeezed past Bat and settled behind the yoke.
"That's Bob's seat."
His fingers began moving across the buttons and keys as he worked through a pre-flight and got clearance from Mars Ground Control for a launch.
One hand went up and he wiped the corner of his eye.
"Are you crying?" asked Mona Lisa. "Who is Bob?"
"Bob was my co-pilot."
"I'm sorry," she said automatically.
"It was a cat," said Bat.
Tinker stopped and stared over his shoulder at the guard.
"How did you know that?"
Bat aimed a thumb back into the hold.
"Litter box. Fuzzy mouse toy. Empty food bowl. Smells like cat."
"He was my co-pilot," Tinker snapped. "Seventeen years by my side. He made every run on this trip since we started."
He sniffed and pawed at the tip of his nose.
"Sorry?" Mona Lisa offered.
Tinker fought back the waterworks, studiously avoiding the empty seat in the cockpit.
"Seventeen is old for a cat," she said.
She reached across the narrow seat and patted him on the arm. Tinker shot her a grateful smile.
"She's playing you," Bat observed.
"can’t' a girl be nice!"
"A girl, yes. Not you."
"What's your problem asshole?" she hissed.
"Do your job Inmate. Be quiet and leave the pilot to do his."
Mona Lisa crossed her arms again, which did interesting things to her chest in the flight suit. Tinker watched in fascination until Bat cleared his throat and put him back on task.
"What do you call it?
“Bob. His name was Bob.”
“You named the ship and the cat the same thing?”
“No, the cat is Bob.”
“Was Bob,” said Bat.
Tinker glared but didn’t turn around.
“The Ship?” Mona Lisa steered him back to the question.
"Her."
"It's a she? How can you tell?
"All ships are female."
"That's sexist," Mona Lisa complained.
"It's not sexist, it's sexy."
"Then why didn't you name it?"
"Her. Cause a name is a unique identity, and it has to match the ship's personality."
"You should call it shit heap," Bat offered from the navigator's seat.
"Careful," Tinker petted the console. "She'll hear you."
"What do you call her if you don't have a name for her?"
"NS-17," he said with pride.
"Those aren't the numbers painted on the hull."
"It means Not Suitable for anyone under seventeen."
"What's that mean?"
"He means it's dirty," said Mona Lisa. "Right?"
Tinker wiggled his bushy eyebrows.
"All. The. Way."
"Gross," she said.
Bat snorted from behind them.
"We'll work on a better name," she told them. "And since its two to one, remember to put the seat down on the toilet."
"Two on one, could be fun," Tinker glanced out of the corner of his eye.
"You know I could kill you, right?"
"Yeah, but what a way to go."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"How are we going to find him?" she asked.
It was the first thing she had said since the ship took off from Mars. Her word hung in the recycled air for a moment.
"That's your job," said Bat.
he knew she was playing dumb and she knew that he knew. It might have worked on another guard, an alternative tactic where her cleavage had failed.
But not with Bat.
"I really have no idea," she lied.
Of course, she had an idea. her ex-fiancé was not a simpleton but he was a simple man.
If the shortest distance between two points was through a wall, that's how he would do it. Simple, straight. To the point.
It made him a very boring but efficient lover.
It also made him predictable to those who knew him, which is why he made sure so few did.
Except her.
She knew.
Knowing had almost got her killed. Twice.
The first time when he realized she had him figured out. She barely escaped with her life.
The second after she turned states against him. The attempt blew up a shuttle full of inmates and six guards.
But not her.
No, that time he missed again.
There would be more. That much she knew.
Because she had also learned he did not give up. Boring? Certainly. Efficient. No doubt.
And ruthlessly relentless.
As soon as he learned she was out, he would turn loose the goons with terminate on sight instructions.
Her only hope was to get to him first.
And to do that, she would have to ditch the guard and steal the ship.
CHAPTER
It was easy enough to think about escaping. It was potentially all she had done since they put her in a cell on the red planet.
Thinking was all she could do there. Dig a tunnel. Steal a rocket. Fly away.
Or seduce a guard. Stow away in his bunk on a recreation tip back to earth.
Planning how she could do it.
Thinking about how she would do it.
But never doing.
And now she was out. In a ship. Only outnumbered two to one.
She glanced at the lanky grease streaked pilot and let out a low chortle.
"Something about me tickles you princess?" Tinker wiggled his eyebrows. "Or do you want it to?"
"If you're lucky," she gave an exaggerated sigh that drew his eyes exactly where she planned.
Until Bat spoke.
"Nobody is getting lucky. Focus on the mission."
Tinker muttered under his breath but neither of them could make out what he said.
"We're going to need luck to find him," said Mona Lisa. "So somebody better start rubbing a rabbit's foot."
"I've got one in my pocket if you want to get started."
She ignored the pilot's words and instead watched his hands.
"There are three places he could be."
"We don't need you to find him, we just need to get close enough for him to hear your voice," Bat reminded her.
"Don't remind me," she shuddered.
"Besides earth, there are only three places he could go," said Tinker.
"I just said that."
"You said it like had a bunch of places to choose from," Tinker keyed in a sequence and sat back. "There are only three."
"Three big stations between here and earth, but there are a couple hundred undocumented outposts."
He held up three fingers to emphasize his point.
"Unless he's on earth."
"He's not on earth," Bat and Mona Lisa said in unison.
"Jinx," she said. "How do you know?"
"How do YOU know?"
She pulled a knee up to her chest and wrapped an arm around it.
"He's wanted by too many people there."
"A lot of people want him out here too. And the government."
"Yeah, them. But I mean real people."
"Russians," said Bat.
"Yeah," she shivered. "He won't go back to earth."
"He'll avoid the Lunar base too," said Bat. "Lot of Russians there."
“Then that leaves one place to start,” Tinker said.
His fingers keyed in a sequence on the console and the engine hum ratcheted up a couple of notches.
“Is it supposed to sound like that?”
The pilot nodded and smirked.
“Not much experience up here, huh?”
She shook her head.
“I can help with that, you know?” he winked. “Ten thousand mile club.”
“What’s that?”
She really meant it and it threw Tinker off.
“Never mind,” he sputtered.
Bat snickered from the seat behind him.
“It’s going to be a couple of hours,” said the pilot as he squeezed out of his seat and past the guard.
“I’m going to have a drink.”
He didn’t offer for anyone to join him.
CHAPTER NINE
"Everything that goes to Mars goes through her," Tinker stared through the view screen at the floating behemoth that stretched for miles into the darkness.
"Bronson station."
It was a collection of metal constructs of every shape, welded and seamed together to form new shapes and configurations.
"You won't find an uglier place in space," Tinker finished.
He prepared the docking sequence to queue up for a slot in one of the holds.
Mona Lisa watched him and tried to memorize each step.
"Why don't we broadcast from here?" Bat studied her face and noted the intense interest.
"We could," said Tinker. "But since we don't know direction or distance, it would be like yelling in the middle of a cave. He might pick up a radio signal. But the chances are low."
He wiped a grimy and across his face and left a trail of grease on his cheek.
"It's a lot of ground to cover," Bat grumbled. He couldn't hide the worry in his voice.
"Most of it is warehouse and space dock," Tinker offered helpfully. "It still leaves a couple of hundred places to check though."
The ship engaged the autopilot and began the docking sequence.
"You do that well," Mona Lisa said.
"This old girl practically flies herself."
The lights flickered twice and died. Tinker never lost his grin. He just rapped his knuckles against the control panel and they flared into brilliance again.
"You just have to know how to say please."
A holding clamp swooped down and nested into the airlock of the NS-17. The umbilical stretched across and attached to the hull of the ship to create an airtight seal.
Tinker turned in his seat to study Bat and Mona Lisa.
"Alright," he said. "Have you been here before?"
"Of course," she sneered.
"Have you been here without your boyfriend."
"Fiancé," she corrected. "Ex."
"Right. So you're on the market."
"Can we just focus," Bat groaned.
"You," Tinker shook his head.
"What about me?"
"They're going to peg you as a cop the minute you step through the hull."
"I'm not a cop."
"Same thing. Bacon is as bacon does."
"I'm a bodyguard."
"And what a body it is," he eyed Mona Lisa. "But it doesn't matter. Having you around is going to get us killed. Or worse."
"What's worse than being killed?"
"Tortured, mutilated, raped, gang-raped, tickle fights, slap fights, and a really awful karaoke bar the Japanese started on level five," he ticked off on his fingers.
"She's not going on that station without me."
"We're just looking for information, right?" asked Tinker. "I can watch her."
"No."
"Look, you're being unreasonable."
"No."
"You keep saying no, but that doesn't change the fact."
"There are no facts. She does not leave my sight. Ever," Bat stated.
It sounded final.
"What about if I have to go to the bathroom?" she said.
"I'll escort you to the door."
"What a gentleman," her lip curled.
Tinker studied him for a minute.
"Look, I've got some overalls in a locker that might fit, but you don't look like a pilot or crew. You look like a cop."
"Let me worry about it," he shot back.
"I will let you worry about it, but I'm going to worry about it too because if shit goes sideways in there, it could rain down on me."
Mona Lisa giggled.
"You think that's funny?"
"Raining crap is funny."
"Not when it's coming down on you."
"But it is when it's you."
"Let's agree to avoid said shit storms," said Bat. "Quick in and out."
"The only way I know how," said Tinker.
Then he noticed the look on Mona Lisa's face.
"Wait, I mean-"
"She knows what you mean," Bat grabbed him by the scruff of his jumpsuit and steered him back toward the narrow hold of the ship. "Get the overalls."
"You should have let me rag on him."
"I'm willing to bet you get more than one more chance."
CHAPTER TEN
There was no one to greet them on the other side of the airlock after it whisked open.
"Strange," said Bat.
"Not really," Tinker pushed past him and led them through the narrow umbil
ical to the second hatch on the inside.
He cycled through the loading sequence with deft taps of his fingertips.
"You're thinking like a prison guard. You have to meet a prisoner when they're off boarding. Here, we're just another ship in for a supply run."
Tinker took another look at Bat in the grease stained brown coveralls. They were too short on his tall frame, riding high on combat boots. The sleeves he could disguise by rolling them up over his muscled forearms.
But there wasn't anything they could do about the way he stood, the way he carried himself.
He just didn't look like a trader.
"You still look like a soldier," the pilot complained.
"I'm not a soldier," Bat said quickly.
Fast enough Mona Lisa arched an eyebrow and peered at him from the side of her eye.
"I said you look like a soldier," Tinker grabbed the lever that unlocked the seal on the hatch once the computer beeped an all clear.
Bat tried to slouch.
"That just makes it worse."
"I'm slouching."
"Yeah, but now you look like a guy trying not to look like a soldier."
Bat sighed and shrugged and stood up straight.
"They'll have to deal with it. We're going to get info, get a radio call out, and stop your boyfriend from destroying Mars."
"Fiancé," she corrected. "Ex."
"You keep saying Ex like it mattered to me that you were engaged," Tinker smiled and ushered her through the door.
"Ladies always go first."
"Gross," she pushed past him.
Bat knocked him aside to keep up with her.
"Relax," said Tinker as he regained his balance and stepped in with them. "This is a triple lock. It's on all the ship docks. They work in sync so two can never be open at the same time."
"What happens if they were?"
Tinker crumpled his fists together and made a whooshing sound.
"They thought about it when they designed her though. Each deck has a flood compartment, so if there's a breech in the hull, it locks down that section until they can get a crew in to repair it."
Bat nodded as he studied the struts on the inside of the airlock while Tinker opened the interior hatch.
He knew the station was old, at least forty years in service, maybe longer.
And no government had authorized a budget for improvements since it was built.
By the looks of it, there wasn't much budget for maintenance either.