by Paul Barrett
“Never showed? You’ve been gone for almost two hours.”
“I wanted to give him time in case he got delayed.”
As the door closed and the elevator began its ascent, Ashron’s round nostrils flared and his forked tongue flickered from his mouth. Hawk suppressed a shudder. Despite knowing the Lorothian for almost five years, Ashron’s reptilian features still gave Hawk an occasional case of the creeps, even though Ashron often reminded the crew his ancestors were lizards, not snakes.
“You were drinking, weren’t you?” Ashron said.
“Yeah. That’s not what you smell, though. There was a fight at the bar.” The door opened, and Hawk started down the hall.
Ashron followed. “A fight? There was a fight and you didn’t invite me?”
“I didn’t plan for there to be a fight; it just happened.”
“Nothing ever ‘just happens’ with you. What was it?”
“There was a woman who needed some help.”
“A woman? A fight, a woman, and drinking. How come you get to have all the fun?”
Hawk stopped at the hatch to his quarters and turned to Ashron. He frowned for a moment and then grinned. “Because. I’m the captain. Ship, open please.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Ship piped from the speakers as the cabin hatch slid open.
“Now go away.” Hawk gave Ashron a shooing gesture. “I have to take a shower and get ready for my dinner date with her.”
Ashron’s nictitating membranes flicked three times in rapid succession. “Dinner? Oh, you’re killing me.”
“I might,” Hawk said, slipping into his room. “Bye.”
Hawk turned as the hatch closed and stripped off his alcohol-soaked clothing. “If he weren’t such a good demolitions expert I would have spaced him a long time ago.”
“Of course,” Ship said.
Hawk stepped into the shower. The door slid closed and water sprayed forth, frothing as the soap mixture blended in. He relaxed as the hot liquid washed over him, chasing away alcohol and soreness. “Ship, send a message to Grendarin. Tell him Basikel never showed, so I have no lead on the job. Then see if you can re-establish contact and find out why Basikel stood me up. The only excuse I’ll accept is dead or in prison.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Then make reservations for two at Fitzcarlo’s, seven-thirty.”
“This must be some girl,” Ship said.
“Strictly business,” Hawk said. “She was a corp. exec hanging out in at the Grotto. Some goon came after her. There’s got to be a story there that might get us some work. She even hinted as much.”
“Uh-huh,” Ship said, voice modulation doing an excellent imitation of being unconvinced.
“Well, it doesn’t hurt that she’s nice-looking, but that’s not the main reason.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Cut it out. Speaking of goons, see if you can find any information on a Mr. Daratar, no first name. I assume he’s local. See if there’s anything on Anne Siliar, too.”
“Will do.”
“Shower off. Dry.” The water flow ceased; a soft hum filled the stall as water repellers clicked on. The water leaped off Hawk’s body, creating a fine mist. Collectors whirred, sucking the water into the wall. In seconds, Hawk’s body and the stall were bone dry.
“I have information on Mr. Barto Daratar. He’s one of the vice-presidents of Positron Medical and manager of the local office. Anne Siliar is his assistant.”
Hawk frowned as he began to dress. “Interesting. She struck me as more the executive type.”
“Why do you say that?”
Hawk shrugged. “Don’t know. Something about her manner. She seemed like the type who would have assistants, not be one. She certainly didn’t drive an assistant’s car. Anyway, it seems Mr. Daratar may want her to assist in things that weren’t in her job description.”
“I guess you’ll know soon enough. She’s here.”
“What? She’s early. Have Trey stall her while I get ready.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Anne studied the ship’s sleek lines as she walked up the stairs, set at a steep angle to reach the vessel’s entry hatch ten meters above the steelcrete floor. Glowing an iridescent cerulean under the pit’s wall lights, the ship looked like a strange flying wedge, the bottom portion twice as the length of the upper decks. The hull’s atmospheric streamlining gave it an elegant, swept-back flair. Anne could see why some people appreciated such machines. She reached into her purse as she arrived at the entry hatch. A female voice spoke to her from a speaker set in the hull. “Welcome to the Flaming Star. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Anne nodded, searching for the video hole that allowed the people inside to see her. She didn’t find it before the hatch hissed opened. A boy, eleven or twelve she guessed, stood in the hatchway, pushing a hank of long brown hair away from his thin, pale face. When he saw her, his hazel eyes grew wide, and red crept into his cheeks.
“H..hi,” he stammered. “Are you Ms. Siliar?”
“Call me Anne, cutie,” she said, putting honey into her voice. His blush grew deeper. Anne smiled. Whatever his age, he was old enough to appreciate seductively attired women. She had dressed in a tight red outfit belted at the waist and cut low in the front, revealing ample olive skin. Her black hair she draped around her shoulders, using it to accent her round face and gold eyes.
“I’m Trey, Ship’s cabin boy.” He stared at the floor and kicked it with one foot while his hands nervously picked at the front of his cream-colored shirt. “The captain isn’t quite ready yet. Please come in.”
“Thank you, Trey,” Anne said as she stepped inside, still smiling. If her appearance affected Sean half as much as it seemed to be affecting Trey, her plans for tonight would go well.
“Please follow me.” Trey still wouldn’t meet her eyes. They walked about thirty meters down the corridor, its blue coloring a few shades lighter than the hull, and stepped into an elevator.
As the door closed, Trey finally looked at her again. He frowned for a moment and then his face brightened. “You have very pretty eyes.”
She stared deep into the boy’s glittering blue-green eyes and turned on all her charm. “Thank you. So do you.”
She thought he might drop dead of embarrassment right there. He returned to staring at the floor, saying nothing else until they had left the elevator, walked another twenty meters, and stopped at an oval metal hatch.
As the hatch opened, Trey, still not meeting her eyes, said, “This is the wardroom, which is the place where everybody gathers when we’re not doing much of anything else.” Trey stepped inside. Anne followed him. She saw four other people and immediately stopped.
“This is the rest of the crew,” Trey said.
A one-and-a-half-meter tall lizard leaped up from his chair. Anne first thought he was naked, then realized his green vest and pants almost blended in with his emerald scales. He held out a taloned hand as his long jaw split into a terrifying, tooth-filled grin. “I’m Ashron, weapons master.”
“Anne,” she said, tentatively offering her own petite hand.
“Ashron, you’re scaring our guest,” a woman said as she walked across the room. She stood a little taller than the lizard. Even though her loose-fitting grey jumpsuit hid her body, her movement told Anne the fabric concealed a lithe figure. She had exceptional features, with bronze skin and short chestnut hair.
“He didn’t scare me.” Anne stared into the other woman’s eyes, the color of wet sand. “It’s just that a Lorothian’s natural exuberance can be startling.”
“Especially Ashron, who has the energy of three Lorothians. I’m Laura Benzing, ship’s doctor and co-captain.”
Anne coolly shook the proffered hand.
“That’s Gerard and Wolf.” Trey pointed at the other two crew members. “Wolf’s the engineer and Gerard’s…well, Gerard does a lot of things.”
Anne studied the two men, who couldn’t have been more different. W
olf caught her attention first by virtue of size. He sat in a huge chair obviously designed specifically for his bulk. She guessed him at just shy of two-and-a-half meters tall, almost one-and-a-half wide, and massing at least two-hundred and a quarter kilos. His skin resembled gray leather and overflowed with muscles. Even his face appeared oversized, with a thick, square jaw and angular cheeks. Dense black hair covered his head. Strangest of all were his sparkling blue eyes, entirely inappropriate for his cement face.
On the other end, Gerard’s pale skin appeared almost translucent, which enhanced his bright green eyes. Thin hair, also white, stuck out in unkempt tufts from beneath a tattered blue, billed cap. He wore a brown jumpsuit that seemed overlarge on his lanky, frail-looking body.
His most notable feature was his right arm, a cybernetic appendage like none she had ever seen. Twenty-four-carat gold, she guessed. It cast a brilliant shine across Gerard’s face as he moved it, giving a yellow glow to his ivory skin. Thin, purple-colored wires ran embedded over the entire arm in an intricate knot-work design. They diverged into seven separate filaments at the wrist and terminated at one of the seven fingers on the hand. Each finger had a series of intricate violet tracery, and these ended in a circular pattern at the tips.
She looked at Wolf. “Since you’re Uraxian,” Anne said to the large man, “I assume Wolf is not your real name.”
Wolf nodded. “It is Wofanienlapabeko.”
Ashron smiled at her again. “Hawk has a standing thousand unit offer to anyone other than Wolf who can pronounce it.”
“I don’t think I’ll try.” Her attention went to Gerard. “And you’re Berolian. Are you a Preternatural Scientist?”
Gerard winced. “I’ve always hated that name. Not only is it pretentious, it’s also essentially incorrect.”
“How so?” Anne asked.
“Because what we study is no more preternatural than astrophysics. It’s just a different set of rules and mathematics.”
“Rules and mathematics to perform magic?”
“An acceptable term, though still not quite correct.” Gerard shrugged. “It makes people feel better to label it such.”
“So, if you don’t like to be called a Preternatural Scientist, what do you prefer?”
“Gerard.”
“We just call him a spellburner,” Trey said with a smile.
Gerard frowned. Anne, sensing this wasn’t the right tact, spoke before Gerard could reprimand Trey.
“Your arm is exquisite. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Thank you,” Gerard said, smiling.
“Do you use it in your…magic?”
“It helps with that, yes.”
“I didn’t think magic and technology could work together.”
“They usually can’t.”
Frustrated by the pale man’s reticence, Anne cast around for something else to say when Sean saved her by speaking up behind her. “I’m sorry you were forced to meet this rag-tag bunch, but you caught me by surprise.”
“That’s quite all right.” Anne turned to find a groomed and finely dressed Sean, his mustache trimmed and his long hair pulled back and hidden beneath the collar of his stylish blue suit. “They’ve been very nice and I’ve learned a lot. You look great.”
“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in a suit,” Ashron said.
“Suits aren’t exactly my style,” Sean admitted. “Tonight, I’ll make an exception. Are you ready to go?”
“I haven’t met the rest of your command staff.”
“Command staff? You’ve met my entire crew.”
“Five people for a Light Support Cruiser?” Anne said. “You’re joking.”
“We hire extra crew for refit and on-shore duties, but the ship is easily run with five people,” Hawk said.
“Believe me,” a female voice piped from nearby speakers. “Five is more than enough for me to worry about.”
“Who is that?”
Anne caught momentary discomfort in Sean’s eyes before he could hide it. “That’s the ship. Well, the ship’s computer. The previous owner programmed it for sarcasm. Sometimes I think they did too good a job.”
“I’ll remember that next time you want me to go into emergency overdrive,” Ship told him.
“See what I mean?”
“Amazing what they can do these days,” Anne smiled. She hadn’t wasted her trip here.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Ship asked.
Sean sighed. “Ship, this is Anne. Anne, this is Ship.”
“Ship? Is that her official name?”
“Well, no. The Starship Registry wouldn’t allow me to register with that, so her registered designation is The Flaming Star.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Ship,” Anne said to the air.
“Pleased to meet you. Make sure you keep Hawk in line.”
“Hawk?”
“Nickname. We have a Hawk, a Wolf, and a snake.” He pointed at Ashron with a grin. “Get some cages and we’d have a zoo.”
“I’m a distant cousin of lizards, thank you,” Ashron said.
Anne offered another smile. “Hungry?” she asked Hawk.
“Ravenous. Shall we? The ground-car is back here in the shuttle bay. Follow me.”
“Let’s take my car,” Anne said. “It’s right outside, and it’ll be more convenient than yours.”
Surprise lit Hawk’s face. “Okay.”
Anne looked at the others. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you. I hope to see you again soon.”
The others offered their goodbyes and Hawk led the way back through Ship.
“Is that really all of your crew?” Anne asked as they moved down the cerulean hallway.
“Yes,” Hawk said. “The ship is extremely self-sufficient.”
“I’m sure,” Anne murmured.
As they reached the elevator, Hawk turned back toward the wardroom. “Ashron,” he shouted.
Green head and snout appeared in the doorway.
“Record the game for me, will you?”
Ashron’s tongued flickered from his mouth twice. “You sure?”
“Positive. I really want to see how it comes out.”
“Okay,” Ashron disappeared back into the room.
“Sorry about that,” Hawk said to Anne. As the elevator door opened, he added, “After you, ma’am.”
2
Good Night Gone Bad
Hawk slid into the Hovsport as Anne took her seat on the driver’s side. The doors shut and a waft of hyacinth perfume drifted to him, momentarily overpowering the car’s scent of newness. The vehicle couldn’t be more than a few weeks old. “Nice car,” Hawk said, watching Anne for her reaction.
She nodded as she pulled away from Ship and headed for the pit tunnel. “It was a gift from Mr. Daratar.”
“Your boss?”
“Among other things,” she answered, slipping into the tunnel and heading for the surface. “How did you know that?”
Hawk shrugged. “Deduction. You’re obviously corporate, and Twitch at the bar mentioned his name.”
Anne gave Hawk a confused glance. “Twitch? Oh, you mean Malix. He’s Daratar’s hired thug. A kilo of muscle and a gram of brain. He wouldn’t have hurt me…I don’t think.”
“You have a higher opinion of his restraint than I do,” Hawk said. “Is that why you showed up at the Grotto? To find someone to end your problems with your boss?”
Anne left the tunnel and merged into the main road. “Fitzcarlo’s,” she said as she released the wheel. With a soft click, the car accelerated as the navigation computer linked to the road network. The steering wheel receded to the dashboard, giving Anne more leg room. She crossed those legs as she turned to Hawk, and he appreciated the view she offered. “We can talk about why I showed up at the Grotto later. Right now, I want to know more about you.”
“Me?” Hawk pulled his eyes back up to her face. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she said wit
h a smile. “I don’t make a habit of going out with men I meet at bars after they pummel someone in front of me. But if I were there looking for assistance, then I would certainly perform due diligence.”
“Everything would take a long time. Can you narrow it down?”
“We’ll start with something simple. How did you get Hawk as a nickname?”
Frowning, Hawk turned away and stared out the windshield. They had left the Port District and now traveled on a bridge over the Middle Sector. The car sped along thirty meters above the houses, apartments, and shops that surrounded the heart of the Pa’trais Corporate Center, with its towering glasstic and pseudochrome buildings. Something simple, she said. But something personal, shared with few people. “You know, as many times as I’ve been to this planet, this is the first time I’ve ever seen both moons full.”
“It’s a rare occurrence,” Anne agreed.
Hawk turned away from the window and studied Anne. Her golden eyes reflected the passing highway lights. Her face showed patient curiosity. Hawk shrugged. The pain attached to the story had disappeared years ago, so what did it matter if she knew? His cynical side spoke up. Some sympathy might even help get the job, if there’s a job to get.
“My father gave me the nickname,” he said. “He said to me, ‘As far as I’m concerned, you might as well be a hawk. They’re extinct, and I wish you were too.’ That was about a year before he lost me to another man in a poker game.”
“He lost you?”
“Gave away is probably more accurate. I’m sure he lost the game on purpose.”
“Why would you keep such a horrible name?”
“I didn’t for a long time. Then, about fifteen years ago, geneticists on Earth managed to recreate a pair of red-shouldered hawks, and they began to reproduce. My father’s dead and the hawks came back. It seemed appropriate.”
“Didn’t your mother have any say?”
“She had already been dead for three years.”
“How old were you?” Anne asked.
“Seven when she died, ten when I went to live with Tahorton, the man who won me.”
“It must have been horrible.”