Starship Repo

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  “Now, boss, it’s not as bad as it looks,” First said. “It’s mostly cosmetic.”

  “They don’t make cosmetics thick enough to cover up that mess.”

  “Don’t worry. A fresh coat of paint, a few carbon fiber patches, and a”—First coughed—“couple of grav nodes and she’ll be good as new.”

  “You blew out the counter-grav ring?!” Loritt asked, exasperation getting the better of his tone.

  “Not all of it.”

  Loritt put up a hand and forced a smile. “Just stop right there. Good work. I’m glad you’re back. Now, go home before I fire you again.”

  First clicked her heels and saluted smartly, then ran off for the pod station. Loritt looked at Fenax’s tank hovering at eye level. “What happened?”

  “She ran the race.”

  “Why the hell would she do that?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think someone told her she couldn’t. Another human named Maximus Tiberius.”

  “Karking hell, their only war hero and she gets into a pissing match with him.” Loritt shook his head as he inspected the sling. “It looks like it caught a mating virus.”

  “In her defense, she won the race,” Fenax said.

  “I’d hope so, considering how badly she beat up my sling in the process. Is there a trophy we can put up in the office?”

  “I’m afraid not. It didn’t officially count.”

  “Of course it didn’t.”

  “No disrespect intended, boss, but what she did was an impressive bit of piloting,” Fenax said. “I could hardly have done better. We should be proud of her.”

  “I am proud of her, but don’t you dare let her know it. First gets in enough trouble as it is.” Loritt dug out his handheld. “Hashin, know any good body shops on the station?”

  “Naturally,” Hashin said over the link.

  “Book an appointment for an estimate. We have glot to polish.”

  “An aircar?”

  “Bigger.”

  Hashin sighed. “Right.”

  Just then, a face as familiar as it was unwelcome stepped out of the crowd and broke toward Loritt. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said to Hashin. “Make the arrangements.”

  “Understood.” The link went dead as a different Lividite coasted to a stop in front of Loritt.

  “Mr. Chessel,” Officer O’Chakum said. “What a coincidence. I was just thinking about you.”

  “I thought coincidences were suspect in your line of work, Officer,” Loritt said, forcing pleasantries.

  “Indeed. I was just thinking it’s been a month since I asked to talk to your human employee, and here your ship is docking.”

  “Contractor,” Loritt corrected. “And I’m afraid you’ve just missed her.”

  “Seems to be the way of it, hmm?” O’Chakum nodded at the ruined sling. “More of her work? She likes to leave a mess behind for you to clean up.”

  Loritt smiled. “I feel the sudden urge to fall silent until my lawyer is present.”

  O’Chakum put up her hands defensively. “That’s not why I’m here. Got a rakim?”

  “As I recall, the last time I gave you a rakim, I was trapped in your interrogation room for three-quarters of a day.”

  “No questions for you today. I have … insights. Off the record.”

  Loritt’s chin tilted up a fraction. “Go on.”

  “I know the job you’re ramping up for, lucky you.”

  Loritt’s eyes narrowed at the stress she placed on lucky. “How do you know about that?”

  “Oh, please, all of you repo crews have at least one toe in the criminal world, either as contacts or direct employees. You’re cleaner than most—I respect that—but you’re not as pure as you let on. Everyone talks, and a lot of them talk to me rather than the alternative. I know four crews were offered the contract, but you were the only one fool enough to take it on.”

  “I’ve made a lot of money being the only fool to take on a job.”

  She put her palms out to signal nonaggression. “It wasn’t a criticism, merely an observation. I’ve also observed the territory formerly controlled by Soolie the Fin has been unusually quiet for the last couple of months, which has made my job considerably easier, and while I’m sure you’ll deny any involvement in that fortuitous outcome, I’m still here to talk.”

  Loritt let the silence draw out for a few beats. “Off the record?”

  “I was never here.”

  “Very well. What do you have?”

  O’Chakum’s shoulders eased. “That flesh peddler you relieved of their ride a while back? They showed up here under a falsified identity a week ago, but we caught them at the gates.”

  “Well, that would be a first,” Loritt said.

  O’Chakum let the barb pass. “Judging by the contraband they brought with them, I think they meant to do someone here significant, intricate, dare I say intimate harm. Can you think of anyone that may have attracted their ire recently?”

  Loritt remained stone-faced. “One or two people come to mind.”

  “I thought they might, but don’t worry. ‘Vel’ Jut didn’t have your endurance for our interviews. He relinquished his contact up the smuggling chain for the Andrani girls after only six larims.”

  “Still not sure how this concerns me,” Loritt said.

  “Oh, just drop the act already, Chessel.” O’Chakum folded her arms and turned her back on him. “I know you tried to hide those girls because letting it out would tie up the sale of your asset. Even if I can’t prove it conclusively, we both know it happened. But I also know you put them up in good quarters and made sure they wanted for nothing while you arranged return to their home world. I know you acted to protect yourself, but I also know you cared. So care about what I’m saying now. There’s things you should know about your next job and the person you’re going against.”

  All of Loritt’s parts exhaled in synchrony. “I’m listening.”

  * * *

  “It’s a new day and a new contract,” Loritt began the briefing. “We’re going pretty far afield for this one, so be ready for an extended time away. But the pot at the end of the road will be worth it.”

  Loritt touched his handset, and the room fell dark. The hologram of an enormous ship filled the space from one end to the other. Built around a central keel, hundreds of standard hexagonal cargo containers stuck to it like honeycomb. Everyone gawked at the scale of it.

  “That’s a Rakunasin bulk freighter,” Sheer said. “Not exactly our kind of job, is it?”

  “It was a Rakunasin bulk freighter,” Loritt corrected before shrinking the ship’s projection down to a more manageable size. “It is now a legally ambiguous traveling casino known as the Change Your Luck, based in the Garlopin system. ‘Passengers’ book staterooms on board for next to nothing, then spend two weeks round trip draining drinks and their bank accounts inside its gaming floors.”

  “Okay,” Jrill said. “But gambling is legal. There’s a dozen casinos right here on Junktion. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is the Change Your Luck’s owner.” The ship disappeared, replaced by a portrait of what looked like a column of melting orange candle wax with a dead Maltese grafted to the top.

  “Fonald Plump,” Loritt said. “Claimed to be a trillionaire virtual real estate developer turned casino magnate has had an awful habit of seeing his recent projects go bankrupt. The Change Your Luck is no exception. She’s seven months behind on payments, and Plump’s creditors have had enough.”

  “How the hell do you bankrupt a casino?” Hashin asked. “People literally line up to hand you money.”

  Loritt shrugged. “When it’s actually a front for money laundering for the Rakunasin Mafia and you’re writing off the losses to reduce your tax burden while taking kickbacks from your mob connections in the form of drastically above-market virtual real estate purchases. Remember the Pay to Prey we nabbed a few months ago, the sex trafficker? Plump’s name keeps coming up in the inve
stigation, and legitimate lenders are trying to put distance between him and themselves as fast as possible.”

  “Ah,” Hashin said.

  “And how do we know all this?” Jrill asked.

  “Privileged sources,” Loritt answered.

  “This all sounds very familiar,” First said.

  “Any resemblance to historical figures living or dead is purely coincidental, I’m sure,” Loritt said. “Anyway, our job is to safely disembark all passengers, then take control of the ship and deliver it to its creditors in the Burquel system. We don’t have the final numbers yet, but even at our most conservative estimates, our payday for this job will be a dozen times larger than any contract we’ve ever completed. Maybe more. We can all take a cycle off after this one, not that I expect anyone will last that long with nothing to do.”

  “Great!” Jrill said. “Are we hiring six times the squad to wrestle that monster into dock, or are we bribing the existing crew?”

  “Actually,” Fenax said from their tank, “the five of us will be enough. Bulk freighters are almost entirely automated. Their crews are basically caretakers and number in the single digits when they’re running cargo. Most of that leviathan’s crew is dedicated to servicing its clientele. Once they’re off the ship, there’s no reason to think we couldn’t fly it to the bank.”

  “Fenax is right,” Sheer said. “I worked on one of those monsters for a few cycles before signing on here. You could go days without seeing anyone.”

  Jrill set her hands palms-down on the table. “That is all very informative, but a ship that large could hold tens of thousands of customers, players, whatever you want to call them. Every one of which is there paying for the privilege of enjoying themselves. How do we expect to run them off from their illusion of the perfect vacation?”

  “Repeat of the Matron and Monarch job?” Hashin said. “Fake a radiation leak?”

  “No-go,” Sheer said. “The reactor bulb is waaaay in the ass of the ship, and it sits behind a huge shield cone. You could blow the whole thing and the rest of the ship wouldn’t see any radiation spike.”

  “It’s simple,” First said. Everyone turned in their seats to regard her. “We break the illusion. We make them lose. Every spin. Every hand. Every time.” First smiled. “You have to let your marks win once in a while if you’re going to keep stringing them along. Otherwise, they get wise to the con and slit your throat.”

  “Just one problem,” Loritt said. “We have a hard deadline for delivery. The contract expires three weeks after we arrive on-site, including two weeks of transit time to Burquel once we take possession.”

  “‘We,’ boss?” Hashin asked. “You’re coming with us?”

  “For a job this complex and a payday this big? You bet your pillbox I am.”

  “That timeline’s still going to be tight,” Jrill said.

  “I can do it,” First said. “Piece of cake.”

  “We’ll see soon enough,” Loritt said. “Right now, we have a bigger problem still to overcome.”

  “How much bigger?” Jrill asked suspiciously.

  “The Change Your Luck is an invite-only affair, and none of us have an invite. I could, probably, get one for myself and a plus-one, but we may as well put up a billboard that we’re there to steal it back for the bank. So I’ll need a new identity. As will all of you.”

  “What about your face?” First asked. “Most of us are unknowns, but you’re a big deal on the station.”

  Loritt answered with a smile, and then the various animals that made up his face wriggled and pushed against each other, writhing like a bucketful of giant bugs until they settled again into a new, unfamiliar face. It was still Nelihexu, with all the parts where they should be, but it didn’t look like Loritt.

  “My face is just the pattern my components fall into most easily and comfortably,” he said at last. “But with little conscious effort, I can shake things up a bit.”

  “Great,” First said, her stomach churning. “That was educational and creepy as hell. Can you change back now, please?”

  Loritt obliged.

  “Moving on,” Sheer said. “The plan is we get invites for all six of our aliases? It’s a big galaxy, but the circles these people run in are small. Six complete unknowns all show up at once? That will twitch some antennae.”

  “And who do we get to vouch for us that we can trust not to run right back to this Plump?” Hashin said. “We’re not well liked among the private starship set, not even the honest ones.”

  Loritt held his hands open. “Now you see our dilemma. Let’s hear some ideas.”

  “We don’t all need invites,” Jrill said. “Casinos have pretty high employment turnover and need a lot of security. I could apply for a job while it’s still in port. Just change the names on my military records and I should be about as close to an automatic hire as you’re likely to get.”

  Loritt nodded approvingly. “And gives you access to restricted areas of the ship and its security and surveillance systems. Yes, excellent idea. More like that, everyone. Come at it sideways.”

  “I could try to do the same on the crew side,” Sheer said, “but the odds are not as good. Like I said already, the maintenance and engineering teams aren’t very big and may not be hiring.”

  “No good. Too much uncertainty,” Loritt said.

  “We could speak to your politician friend Ulsor Plegis,” Hashin said. “They run in the right circles on Junktion and beyond and could probably get us an in. Or at least bring us to the right parties where we could get our own invites.”

  Loritt pointed at him. “Good thinking. It’ll also give us the chance to practice our new aliases.” He looked around the room, ending on First. “Some of us will need more practice than others.”

  “What?” First objected. “Why is everyone looking at me?”

  “You really need to ask?”

  “Oh, fuck off,” First said.

  “Yes, exactly the point. We’re going shopping tomorrow morning,” Loritt said. “We need to posh up your wardrobe. Jrill, you’re coming with.”

  “Me?” the Turemok said. “Why me?”

  “You’re a female. You can give her pointers on makeup and … things.”

  “You want me to show her how to put on lipstick?”

  “Exactly,” Loritt said.

  Jrill pointed at her beak. “I don’t have lips.”

  “Oh no,” First said, raising her hands, forefingers pointed to the ceiling. “Let me be absolutely clear. We’re not doing some kind of My Fair Lady montage.”

  * * *

  First stared back at herself in the five mirrors as the dressmaker pinned and fitted the most ridiculous costume she’d ever seen, much less worn.

  “First impressions?” Loritt said, standing behind her to the right and smirking to himself.

  “I look like a glitter factory shit itself,” First said.

  “Language, young lady.”

  “Oh, come on, no one even knows what shit means out here.”

  “Some do, and the rest can pick out the cadence of a curse word. It’s universal, you know. It’s the one thing all spoken languages have in common other than huh?”

  “God was obviously a potty mouth, then,” First said. “So what’s the karking problem?”

  “Okay, now that one, everyone knows. You’re getting worse, not better.”

  First picked at one of the hundreds of iridescent, spade-shaped chips that had been linked together with nearly invisible threads to give the illusion they’d all been pressed or glued separately onto her naked body. “What are these things, anyway?”

  “They are plasticized leaves from the vanishingly rare Eklorn tree of Khalos Minor,” the dressmaker said from her waist.

  “Are they expensive?”

  “Twenty-nine credits.”

  “That’s not so bad,” First said.

  “Each.”

  First frowned as the realization sank in that she was wearing more money than her paren
ts back on PCB got in public assistance in a year.

  “Well, they’re itchy.”

  The dressmaker jabbed First with a pin in the fleshy part of her rump.

  “Ow!” First called out. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Did I?”

  “Don’t worry about her, madam,” Loritt said. “This one would complain about the octane rating of fuel on her funerary pyre. Please, continue your work.”

  “Lot of work to make her presentable,” the dressmaker mumbled.

  “I’m standing right here, you know,” First said.

  “Slouching is more like it.”

  “She’s right,” Loritt said. “Straighten your back and roll your shoulders so the fitting is accurate.”

  “How is anyone going to know what my posture is supposed to look like if they’ve never seen a human before?”

  Loritt crossed his smaller arms while gesturing with the larger. “Can you pick a sick, weak, or lame animal out of a herd, even if you’ve never seen the species before?”

  First shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Of course you can. Your species were hunters for thousands of generations. There are signals, markers of strength any healthy animal projects to tell predators, ‘Not me. I’ll fight back. It won’t be worth it.’ Make no mistake, First, we are stepping into a den of predators. They won’t eat your flesh—not most of them, at any rate—but they arrived where they are in the universe by identifying and exploiting weakness in the herds around them. We can’t afford to let them pick you out of the pack. You have to belong there, move among them, be seen to be invisible. In a crowd like this, flamboyance is stealth. Do you understand?”

  First took a deep breath and scratched at the leaf covering her right nipple. “I think so.”

  “Good. So stop fighting with Madam Xerot and let her finish, please?”

  “Provided she doesn’t poke me again.”

  “No promises,” Xerot said from behind her.

  * * *