Ain't Nobody's Business

by C. J. Clemens

  “It’ll be fine,” Remy said.

  The aflin stopped fiddling with the handles and glanced at Remy. “Yes, I’m sure your daughter will be fine, Captain Bechet.” His voice sounded wobblier than usual.

  A loud slam resounded below, followed by even louder yelling. Milo and Davis had done the first part of their job to perfection, their fight spilling through the open doorway of the saloon. Remy watched as the two guards stormed across the courtyard toward the point of disturbance. The rest of the crowd homed in on the ruckus near the doorway, their excited voices echoing off the structures and walls that enclosed the courtyard.

  “Now,” Remy ordered.

  He leapt off the windowsill and, once clear of the building, fired his thrusters. The wings caught the air, yanking him forward and downward at once. He rather enjoyed using the draft jumpers, which mimicked the sensation of real flight. Not like a spaceship or an old-school airplane, but like a bird. So visceral. Not only could he feel the air rushing upward to greet him, but the thrusters actually fired in a bird-like flapping sequence.

  Dreyla sailed past him, flashing him a huge grin. The kid relished this as much as he did. Though he appreciated seeing her in such a good mood, he wished it didn’t have to happen under these life-and-death circumstances.

  Remy had almost forgotten about Jacer. He adjusted his glide path and glanced around him. Where the hell was the aflin? He craned his neck to look back at the open window.

  Oh.

  Jacer hadn’t budged from the windowsill.

  “Come on, man,” Tosh said via their linked earpieces. “You gotta do it. Just jump.”

  Remy couldn’t yell at the aflin, afraid to alert the guards in the courtyard, so he offered a vigorous nod instead, hoping Jacer’s pale eyes could see him in the near-darkness. But the aflin remained frozen in a crouch, silhouetted by the light behind him. For all Remy knew, the aflin thought he was saying it was OK to stay behind.

  Damn.

  Ahead of him, Dreyla had almost reached their target. With utter ease, she had descended the nine flights from the hotel’s twelfth floor to the top of the three-story building at the rear of the courtyard.

  Perfect.

  She landed gracefully, softly touching down on the rooftop, and collapsed the jumper.

  Remy was only seconds behind her. He hit the building a little harder, mostly because the Jacer dilemma had distracted him. The aflin had finally stepped off the windowsill. The only problem now: he hadn’t activated the thrusters right away and had consequently plummeted over five stories before engaging them.

  At least he was still high enough that nobody on the ground had noticed him. Remy held his breath, expecting Jacer to yelp after the initial drop. To the aflin’s credit, he didn’t utter a sound.

  Dreyla stepped beside Remy. “He looks scared.”

  “Petrified.”

  Together, they watched in helpless silence as Jacer headed toward them, jerking downward like a pelican with a broken wing caught in a hurricane.

  “But, you have to admit, he is pretty funny-looking,” Remy said, mainly to conceal his own nervousness.

  Vaguely illumined by the lights in the courtyard and the surrounding hotel rooms, Jacer continued to descend at a haphazard pace. His long hair flew behind him, and his mouth had fallen wide open, fixed in a silent scream.

  “He reminds me of a famous painting,” he added.

  Dreyla nudged him with her hip. “You’re a sick man, Captain.”

  “I know.”

  Crap.

  Judging by his cockeyed angle, it looked as though Jacer was going to miss the roof altogether. Remy bounded toward the edge of the building, praying the aflin wouldn’t land in the courtyard and foul up the entire scheme.

  Jacer cut the power to his draft jumper and began dropping down the side of the building. Remy reached outward, caught the aflin by his belt, and yanked him onto the roof. The momentum made Remy lose his balance. He staggered backward, tripped on his own feet, and landed hard on his ass, Jacer flopping across his outstretched legs.

  Ouch.

  Dreyla sauntered up to them and gazed downward with a mischievous glint in her brown eyes. “Fun, wasn’t it, Jacer?”

  The aflin rolled off Remy’s legs and remained kneeling on the ground, steadying himself. Eyes wide and shell-shocked, he still managed a supercilious retort. “No, it certainly wasn’t. But that wasn’t the purpose of the exercise, was it, Dreyla?”

  She and Remy glanced at each other, trying hard to stifle their laughter.

  While Dreyla extended a hand to help the aflin to his feet, Remy stood up and stepped toward the front of the building. Carefully, he peered down into the courtyard. Nobody seemed to have noticed their antics in the air, thanks to the commotion that Milo and Davis had created. Unfortunately, though, the crowd was already starting to lose interest and disperse.

  Remy, Dreyla, and Jacer didn’t have much time. They had a roof to rip open.

  Chapter 8

  LILLY

  “Sorry about this,” Milo whispered to Davis, just loud enough for Lilly to hear via the comms.

  Davis gazed down at the dworg, a blank expression on his young face. Before he could protest, Milo grabbed his arm and flung him into the center of the crowded courtyard. Lilly winced as her deputy slammed against the concrete, landing on his arm. The dworg sure possessed more strength than his short stature would indicate—and he had a fine sense of the theatrical.

  “I warned you, boy!” Milo yelled, wiping away some spittle with the back of his sleeve.

  Davis slowly rose to his feet, shaking his fist at Milo, and stumbled around in a daze. His quick sideways glance at Lilly reassured her: he obviously wasn’t as dizzy as he pretended, and his sense of humor was fortunately still intact.

  “And I’m sorry about this, my friend,” Lilly whispered, summoning all her strength.

  She lifted her boot and kicked Milo in the lower back, sending him flailing towards Davis. The two armed guards, who had rushed across the courtyard toward the ruckus, burst through the curious onlookers and split apart, just in time for Milo and Davis to stumble between them. Startled, the guards both crashed into some hapless onlookers on either side of the crowd. Lilly’s gaze shifted back to her two compatriots, who had fallen beside one of the two centrally-located fountains.

  Perfect choreography, you two.

  Lilly slapped her palms together and glanced around the courtyard. A handful of patrons from the Butcher’s Place had been standing outside at the start of the argument. Now, several more clustered around the scene, wearing expressions of renewed interest since angry words had evolved into actual fighting. Although she felt grateful for the successful diversion, she wished that some of the nosy patrons would wander back into the saloon and out of harm’s way.

  She drew her pistol. Two of the loitering patrons winced and edged toward the rear building.

  Milo, meanwhile, had rolled to his feet and grabbed Davis’s back. He pretended to use the deputy as a human shield while brandishing his own weapon. Lilly had to swallow her laughter. It was rather comical, after all, watching the short, stocky dworg pushing the much taller man in front of him.

  “Not gonna shoot your boyfriend,” Milo hollered.

  Lilly unleashed a fake-hysterical guffaw—one she’d learned from Yercer Taul. “Go ahead. Then I kill you. Even trade.”

  She raised her pistol. Milo moved to one side, still gripping Davis with one hand. She carefully let off a shot behind him, near enough to make it seem as though she’d just missed. The shot hit a gutter near the roof of the rear building. With a minor explosion of rusted metal, the downspout toppled away from the structure and crashed beside a woman standing at the rear of the courtyard, spraying brownish sludge all over her.

  Damn, that’s gonna hurt.

  The buildup in Bane’s gutters could be highly acidic, burning through clothes and skin. Lilly made a mental note to visit the woman later and have the Naillik Police D
epartment cover her medical expenses.

  “What the hell are you people doing?” the tall brunette cried.

  Instead of darting toward the saloon and tending to her acid-soaked clothes, she started screaming. The sludge must have penetrated her outfit.

  A hefty man, probably her boyfriend or husband, tried to tear the offending shirt off her, which only made her scream louder and beat his chest with her fists. Lilly wrenched her gaze away from the side drama to check on their own situation. If this wasn’t a diversion to beat all diversions, then what was?

  The two guards had disappeared into the jostling crowd, but Lilly was smart enough to keep a lookout for them—and any of Darkbur’s other hired minions.

  Milo, meanwhile, continued to hold Davis captive and hide behind his human shield. Davis played along nicely, both hands up, a look of sheer terror on his face.

  “You piece of shit,” Lilly yelled. “You lost that hand fair and square.”

  “Like hell, girly! When your boy here wasn’t stiffin’ me for drinks, he was doin’ nothing but cheatin’,” Milo retorted. “Has been the whole night!”

  Lilly heard a commotion behind her. Half-turning, she noted a new group of bar patrons in the doorway, all of whom jostled for a better view of the ruckus in the courtyard. No doubt the blood-curdling screams of the acid-soaked woman had convinced them it was a fight worth watching. They advanced slowly in a tight pack as more and more curious patrons pushed forward from inside the saloon.

  Contrary to all her instincts, Lilly whirled around and aimed her pistol at the newcomers. A moment of stunned silence ensued, a collective intake of breath followed, and then all at once, the crowd scattered, people shrieking and ducking in all directions. The courtyard filled with the sounds of terror and chaos. Lilly couldn’t have orchestrated a more satisfying result.

  The two guards reappeared, spinning around in confusion, pointing their guns every which way. Clearly, they didn’t know what to make of the situation.

  Which was exactly the point.

  Chapter 9

  REMY

  As the sheriff and her two cohorts upped the stakes down below, Remy paced off five steps from the front corner of the roof and then knelt down to unfurl Dreyla’s mesh. He and Milo, as the aristocrat-and-servant duo, hadn’t been able to scope out the upper floors of the building during their fake visit to Dr. Sanger, but they had luckily noted a set of stairs beside the doctor’s office. With a little luck, Remy, Dreyla, and Jacer would drop into the stairwell, unseen by any lurking guards.

  Dreyla sank to her knees and busied herself hooking up the controller box to the mesh. A year ago, Remy had asked her to conjure up some easier way of breaching a spaceship, particularly when they were connected via the Jay’s umbilical. He’d intended the project to keep her mind occupied as they traveled through long, boring stretches of outer space, and if it worked on space-worthy vessels, Remy had considered using it for other structures, such as space stations and asteroid-based buildings.

  Well, Dreyla had outdone herself. This mesh could win awards. Secure patents. Remy even envisioned the potential ads on the broad-wave: Need to bust into a bank? How about breach your neighbor’s house?

  The design brief he’d prepared for her was simple: he wanted a controlled cutting tool that could penetrate the hull of any targeted vessel, no matter the material, without causing a lethal depressurization and killing everyone in the umbilical as well as the opposing spaceship. After all, why should people have to die for the sake of stolen goods?

  Larker Max had called the innovation a pure folly, preferring his crews to blast open their quarry’s ships, venture inside wearing enviro suits, and grab whatever they were supposed to steal, no matter who died along the way. Larker had never appreciated the subtle notion of life preservation.

  “I’ve never actually used this version,” Dreyla said, her face taut with anxiety.

  “Sure you did,” Remy replied. “That time in Sector 7 on—”

  “That was just a small ring. This here’s gonna disintegrate the entire section.”

  Remy shot her a look. “Something wrong with it?”

  “No…” Dreyla’s eyes darted to each corner of the mesh. “I’m just freaking out, I guess.”

  Remy patted her shoulder. “Hey, you’ve done at least ten scarier things than this since we fell through that portal. Now’s not the time to doubt yourself.”

  “But this is…” Dreyla swiped away several sweaty strands of her curly hair. “I mean, have I scaled it up correctly? Have I gotten the math right?”

  “Yes. Yes, you have,” he reassured her. “Now let’s bust into this joint.”

  His attention switched to Jacer, who crept toward the front of the building, probably to snag a glimpse of the cacophonous diversion currently underway. Lilly and Milo were staging a Shakespearean performance down there, complete with plasma blasts, enraged shouts, and an ever-loudening chorus. Remy wouldn’t have minded getting a look himself, but he didn’t want to risk being seen or catching a stray shot.

  “Stay back, Jacer,” he called out. “They might see you… and then the jig’s up!”

  Jacer froze mid-stride and stepped back from the edge. After a brief hesitation, he joined Remy in watching Dreyla trigger the device. With a final loud exhale, she pressed the button. The mesh lit up prettily—a glowing, sizzling, electric-blue square of pure destruction. A few seconds later, a section of the concrete ceiling had vanished along with the mesh. Nothing remained but a spacious, precisely-cut square opening and the lingering smell of burnt concrete.

  Single use, but damn useful. Almost as elegant as magic.

  Remy glanced at Dreyla and arched an eyebrow. She smiled back grimly and hastened to pack up the triggering device.

  He gazed down into the hole. As the smoke cleared, he realized that, just as he’d hoped, they would drop directly into the stairwell.

  “We need to hurry,” he whispered, gathering his gear.

  He was poised to lower himself into the building when a shadow appeared in the third-floor doorway. An armed man had entered the stairwell but hadn’t noticed the hole in the ceiling yet. Easier to miss on a moonless night.

  Don’t look up. Please don’t look up.

  Remy eased himself backward on the rooftop, feeling very exposed with his legs dangling below the ceiling. He twisted to face Dreyla and Jacer, who crouched nervously behind him, and pressed his forefinger to his lips. With the infinite skill of a longtime pirate, he quietly secured his equipment bag, holstered his pistol, and unsheathed a stun rod. Then, he leaned over the opening, gripped the edge of the ceiling with one hand, slipped into the hole, and rocked his body forward. Before the guard noticed him, he catapulted himself into the hapless minion, slammed him against an inner wall, and zapped him with the stun rod.

  Between the hard whack to his chest and the shocking voltage that followed, the guard predictably collapsed. His motionless body slid down a few steps, his head thudding against each—but he didn’t descend far enough. Remy had to drag his heavy body to a corner of the third-floor landing, so Jacer and Dreyla could lower themselves into the building.

  Once the three of them were safely inside, Remy motioned to them for silence, tried to ignore the courtyard din coming through his earpiece, and listened for any nearby footsteps, particularly the thuds of backup guards running to the scene of the breach. Nope, nothing but the usual hum of air-conditioning units.

  “Hey,” Tosh’s voice sounded through Remy’s comms, startling him. “Where are you guys? The courtyard’s pretty bright, but I’m having trouble making out the other building. Even with the binoculars.”

  “We’re alright, Tosh,” Remy whispered. “We’re inside the building. Just keep a lookout for us, but try not to talk unless you have to.”

  “OK, Captain.”

  Remy sighed.

  “Should we take out any guards on this level?” Jacer pointed to the third-floor doorway.

  Shaking his head,
Remy pointed down the stairs instead.

  Although he’d feel more relaxed pulling a heist in a building devoid of any active guards, he always preferred evading confrontation if possible. With a little more luck, they’d grab the meds and escape the building undetected.

  Or rather…

  He stepped gingerly over the stunned guard’s outstretched arm.

  …without further detection.

  Chapter 10

  LILLY

  “Brand?”

  Lilly winced, trying but failing to conceal her horror as Deputy Brand pushed through the wall of patrons still lingering at the threshold of the Butcher’s Place and stumbled into the courtyard.

  Blood dripped from gashes near her temples, and bruises marred her normally pretty face. She swayed a little, probably exhausted from the effort of hurrying from the Hotel Verilux in her condition, and she seemed to be missing her usual arsenal of firearms. Not to mention her comms earpiece.

  Although Lilly had had her doubts about leaving such a newbie to guard Tara Shaw, she hadn’t had much of a choice. She’d needed Davis for the distraction, and everyone else had a necessary job. She wished she could’ve brought more deputies on the journey from Naillik to Trame, but she knew the Ladies of Morbious could only smuggle a small group into Bane.

  Ah, well, we work with what we have.

  Lilly hoped a liberated Shaw wouldn’t complicate matters, but for now, she was grateful—if perplexed—that the woman had left her deputy alive. Messed up, but alive.

  “Sorry, Sheriff,” Brand panted. “She got away.” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Shiiit.

  The two armed guards in the courtyard were too dimwitted to comprehend Brand’s words—or at least connect the dots—but the brawny man bolting to attention in the doorway had certainly grasped the deeper meaning. Lilly recognized the muscular tank of a man as another of Gono’s pet goons.