“I’m sure he’s not that bad. I bet he’d be a pretty cool friend,” Stein said.
“Oh, sure. You and Kinsella just hanging out. Braiding each other’s wigs. Bathing with each other.”
“What do you think friends do, exactly?”
In a single motion, Bruce drained the rest of his beer, flagged the waiter, and ordered another one. Some more silence, Stein ignoring Bruce’s gaze. “Look, I get it. You like being distant. And it totally works for you. You’re kind of prickly up close.”
“Thanks.”
“Especially your mustache.”
Sergei had stayed on the Argos, their post–face–shooting reunion being predictably awkward and relationship ending. He had missed the important parts of her conversation with Helot, the parts that exonerated her, at least to the elements of her crime that didn’t involve shooting him in the face. Those elements had proven too big a hurdle to get over.
The waiter arrived with Bruce’s second beer, which hadn’t hit the table before half of it disappeared as well. “But,” Bruce continued, slapping his palm on the table, “Jagged, spiky mustache or no, you can’t keep this up forever.” He swept his arm, gesturing outside the window. “Remember, we have to populate this planet.”
“Oh gross, Bruce.”
“Not ‘we’ as in ‘you and I.’ That would be gross. You’re like a little brother to me. Besides, I’ve already got a very full waiting list.”
“That’s great,” she said, rolling her eyes. She knew he was just trying to help. But being prickly and distant had worked out well for her so far in life. Gotten her to where she was. She had done fairly well for herself. Certainly not much to complain about.
On the other hand, you did shoot your last boyfriend in the face. Justifiable as that may have been, it is possible you might be able to dial the prickliness back a whisker.
“Maybe,” she said.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Maybe what?”
“I am maybe agreeing with you.” She stared him down. “I will maybe go to a play. Maybe.” She took another sip of her drink. “But can we not talk about it right now?”
“Okay, boss.” Bruce finished his second drink with another healthy pull. Stein took her time with hers, nursing it while Bruce distracted himself leering at a young woman two tables over.
The bar was almost full now, and Stein could see more than a few people eyeballing the two extra chairs at their table. Stein drained her glass, setting it down firmly to attract Bruce’s attention. She looked at the two remaining beers on the table, in front of the two empty chairs. “So.”
“So,” Bruce agreed.
“I guess, same time next year, then,” she said. Bruce nodded. They stood up and walked out of the bar, leaving the table with the pair of untouched drinks behind.
Outside, she realized she had left the umbrella behind, hesitated, then decided she could fake toughness as well as Bruce. Bruce noticed but didn’t offer any comment. Together, they walked back to the main compound, heads carefully bowed in terror.
“So, if you’re now maybe cool with meeting people,” Bruce said, breaking the silence as they crossed a low rise, the bulk of the colony suddenly visible ahead of them, “are you also maybe cool with helping me with something tonight?”
“This sounds like it will be entirely legitimate.” She had done little but work over the past year and been pretty happy about it. But she knew Bruce had started getting itchy.
“Most definitely not. You see, I was fixing this guy’s heating coil today, and I saw that he had a really incredible hat, and now I want it.”
“You could probably just have one made.”
“That’d reduce its value. Inflationary haberdashery. Come on, Stein, you’re not new at this.” He leaned over and whispered, “I’ve already got a plan.”
She sighed. “And if you need my help that means it involves going somewhere cramped and smelly.”
Bruce laughed, a big, showy stage laugh. “The old team, together again!”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“Stein and Bruce! Crawling through sewers, kicking ass, and taking names!”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“Sometimes not even kicking the ass! Sometimes just watching!”
They continued back to the colony, Bruce laying out his plan as they went. Stein, as always, protested each step, each protest, as always, somehow binding her tighter to the scheme.
CHRIS BUCHOLZ is a professional video game and humor writer. His weekly column at Cracked.com offers his readers a mix of historical curiosities, short fiction, and spectacularly bad advice. During the day he works as a writer for the video game developer Stardock on various game related projects, including the latest entries in the Galactic Civilizations and Star Control franchises. He lives in Vancouver, B.C. with his wife and son.
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