A Quiet Drink
05 Jul 2019Dixon-Phyre
The frustration of the relocation of my home base station. Gave up on Angus Manwaring a few months ago, because I was tired of dodging interviewers from that blasted show that has decided to give me my fifteen minutes of fame. So I moved my operations to Jones Estate, Kruger 60...but the determined little buggers found me there as well.So I've decided to go a little bit further afield. I realised that, on top of everything else, I was tired of seeing Zachary Hudson's face every time I dock or walk down a starport boulevard. I don't like the guy or his politics. So the logical place to go was somewhere in the vicinity of Rhea - that part of the Federation where Felicia Winters has most influence. Her ideas are much better than Hudson's, and she's a lot nicer to look at.
So here I am, in my new home. Been here a few weeks, no reality show camera crews to be seen. I'm even thinking of renting a place, rather than living on board my ships all the time.
Where am I, you ask?
Promise you won't tell anyone?
Walker Dock, in the splendidly named Elli system. And there's another reason I might get a place to live. After the whole business with Anmarie all those weeks ago, I've been sour on women ever since. Yet a chance encounter may just have changed that...
So I'm sat at a table in a bar aboard Jones Estate. Stopped here to pick up a few bits and pieces I'd left in storage. Decided to have one last pitcher of cold IPA before setting off again.
On my second glass when the place starts to fill up. Damn. Must be shift change time, and I'd wanted some peace and quiet. I sigh and open the the battered old paperback book again. But the noise is just too distracting. Grumpily putting the book back in my jacket, I look up just as a female figure emerges from the crowd. Black flight suit over a RemLok, blonde hair. She's holding a bottle of red wine and a glass, and she looks very stressed. Glancing round, almost desperately. Her gaze lands on the empty chair at my table, probably the only free seat in the place now. I wave, point at her and then to the chair. The bottle and glass thump onto the scratched tabletop, and she sits down, looking relieved.
"Thank you," she said, "this has not been my best bit of timing. So much for a peaceful drink!"
I grin at her. "My exact same dilemma. Besides, you looked fairly agitated..."
"I was. Best to remedy that, huh?"
She pours a glass of wine, necks it and refills the tumbler. From behind my dark glasses, I look at her more closely.
She's pretty. I mean, really pretty. Brown eyes behind rectangular frames, tousled blonde locks down to the shoulders and abstract black designs on her face. Skinprints, by the look of it. A lot more expensive than regular tattoos but won't fade or blur over time, and easily removable. I'm not wearing my 'warpaint' right now, not until I'm well away from this region of space. She sits back and contemplates the crowd. I take a mouthful of beer.
"Please don't feel obliged to make conversation," I say, "I'm just happy to have helped a fellow pilot out."
"Ah, but it's kind of expected, isn't it? I don't mind silences either but it's only polite. Besides, a friend of mine reckons I should get out more and socialise."
"Socialising is overrated," I opinion, "as it involves being around people."
She grins at that. "A kindred spirit!" she announces, and raises her glass. We clink and drink.
"Michael," I say, after a pause. Should be safe enough. She nods, pauses.
"Cody," she replies. I guess she's hiding her identity too. Doesn't bother me in the slightest.
So we're two pilots in a bar. We natter about our spacecraft and what we do. Odd how you can meet a random stranger and hit it off straight away.
The bar is absolutely heaving now, and we realise that we've both finished our drinks. Cody jerks her head at the door. I nod and we force our way through the throng, to peaceful corridors. She buys more wine from a kiosk and we wind up in a quiet observation lounge, watching the ships come and go. The conversation peters out but it doesn't feel awkward.
I'm not normally a wine drinker, but she is happy to share. We are both pleasantly squiffy.
After a while, she lets out a long sigh.
"Michael..." she begins.
"Yeah?"
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not...um, after a date or anything." She pats my hand apologetically.
I swig Shiraz and shrug. "It's okay. Wasn't expecting it. Just enjoying the company."
She smiles. "Thank you. It's just that, well, most blokes assume I'm on the pull. Single girl, booze, and all that."
"Hmm. Yes. Well. Recent stuff in my life means I'm kind of content as a singleton..."
She stares into nothing for a little while.
"Likewise. Maybe you know how it feels when you don't trust people any more? Especially the opposite sex?"
She looks very vulnerable all of a sudden, and I feel a wave of sympathy.
"Uh. Yes. To an extent." She looks at me with an eyebrow raised, then moment passes. She laughs and drains the wine flask.
"Think it's time for us to be making our way," she says, slowly rising. She wobbles and I steady her.
"Walk you back to your hanger?" I offer, "being a gent and all that."
"That would be appreciated."
It's a fair distance to walk, but we choose to do that, to sober up a bit, rather than just take the monopod. We amble through the corridors of Jones Estate, making the occasional small talk. We start to make our way to the docking ring, and the crowds begin to thin out.
I'm vaguely aware of a bunch of rough-looking men lounging about in a small plaza, swigging from bottles. I catch the whiff of tobacco too.
We are almost past them when a voice calls out: "Hey! You!"
Not being in the mood for dealing with pissed-up idlers, I pretend not to hear. There's a muttering and a scramble of feet and then they're blocking our way. Five of them. One steps forward and spits on the ground in front of me. Not a great opening to the conversation.
"You - you're that Dixon-Phyre bloke, aren't you?"
His black hair is unkempt and he is quite unshaven. He glares at me through red-rimmed eyes.
He doesn't wait for an answer.
"You killed my brother, you bastard," he growls, "killed him. When all he was doing was trying to earn a crust for our family."
"Don't think I've ever met your brother," I answer calmly.
"Bolg system. Nav beacon."
The penny drops. "He was a pirate, yes? Price on his head?"
"Outlaw! Taking from fat merchants to feed us poor!"
My hackles are up now.
"Don't give me that romantic Robin Hood bullshit, you loser," I say coldly, "Pirate. Murderer. Therefore criminal."
He takes a step forward. Guess there's only one way things are going to go. I glance over my shoulder at Cody.
"Sorry about this," I remark. She winks.
I step up to the man. Carefully remove my dark glasses and slot them away, keeping my face lowered. Then I stare full into his face. He flinches as he sees my altered eyes.
"I ain't scared of you," he says but now there is just the faintest quiver in his voice.
"Shame. Perhaps you should be."
"Let's see what kind of man you are when you don't have a fancy ship to hide in!" He gestures to his gang and they start to circle round. There's a movement beside me, and Cody is there. I can see her trembling, but it isn't fear; her eyes are hard and her teeth are bared.
"You are one dead fuck!" the man shouts and suddenly springs forward, with one of his pals. The other three move off to one side, to neutralise Cody.
I swing a fist at his head; he goes to block, but l'm feinting and my other fist buries itself in his abdomen. As he doubles over, I grab his head and slam it into my rising knee. His nose crunches nicely and I throw him aside as his sidekick goes for a kidney punch. Not recommended against someone wearing a RemLok. He lets out a cry of pain and moves back, nursing his sore knuckles.
I'm very aware that the other three are surrounding Cody...
There's a snarl and three swift thuds. The first one hits the deck as her blows to his face knock him down. The second has gotten behind her and grabbed her, trying to pin her arms to her sides. I trade blows with my opponent; I'm going to have some spectacular bruises tomorrow. I hear her grunting. There's a metallic noise and the man holding her screams suddenly, collapses with red streaming from a deep stab wound just above the hip.
Cody turns, and switches a bloody knife to her right hand. It's not a dagger style I've seen before, but the pattern is definitely military.
As my opponent lunges again, I catch his arm and tip him over my leg, in a crude approximation of a old judo move. He hits the deck and in time-honoured fashion, I give him a good solid kick in the cobblers.
Faced with an angry woman with a sharp knife, Cody's last antagonist loses his nerve and does a runner.
As we turn and look at each other, I hear a click.
"Ah hell," I mutter. There's no other sound like that.
Mr You Killed My Brother is still on the deckplates and, yes, has produced a tarnished Saturday night special from his jacket. His features are covered in blood, and he has the gun pointed right at my head.
I hear Cody's tense breathing behind me. Facing the man squarely, I cross my hands in front of me. One hand resting on the wristerm.
"Do it then, you fucking sack of shit. If your heart tells you, do it."
"Bastard!" From between clenched teeth.
Just as his finger starts to pull the trigger, I activate the RemLok's emergency helmet. It deploys with a shoof and the bullet ricochets off it into oblivion. A suit designed to survive the destruction of a spacecraft isn't going to be bothered by a piece of lead alloy.
The gunman gapes, long enough for me to swing a boot, hard, at his head. Crunch. Skull, neck - who knows?
I retract the helm and stand gasping. Cody wipes her knife on one of the prone men, then grabs my hand and half-drags me down the corridor. The next few minutes are a blur. We board the monopod and head directly to the docking ring.
Next thing I know, we're stood outside a hangar entrance, staring into each other's eyes.
"Michael," she murmurs, "Michael, my arse. Mikael Dixon-Phyre. Dixie, the bounty hunter."
"And you, Cody. Never seen anyone fight like that. Commander Kodeyne. The Destroying Angel."
Her eyes widen. "Where did you hear me called that?!"
"In bars. Usually after you've rampaged through a local RES zone or a compromised nav beacon. That gold Chieftain of yours is kind of distinctive."
She lets out an explosive breath.
"We should split. The local cops will be along soon..."
"Yeah. I don't need any more heat than I've already had."
She places a hand on my scarred cheek and to my astonishment, leans forward and kisses me briefly. All kinds of fireworks go off in my head.
"Thank you for the evening's entertainment, Dixie. Look after yourself."
"Likewise, Kodeyne."
She disappears into the hangar. Thankfully, my hangar is only a few hundred metres away; I make haste back to the ship.
As the docking computer steers the Fer-de-Lance out of the station, I see a brightly-painted Python up ahead. I lock onto it. Falling Angel. It's her. She must have seen my scan, because the Python performs a barrel roll and is gone, into witch-space.
I shake myself and set a course for Elli. Danger of Death hums smoothly as the FSD charges and then I too, am gone.
I suspect I may never see Kodeyne again. But even so, she has thrown a switch in my head. Maybe I don't dislike women anymore. So if I get that apartment, just maybe I'll find someone special to share it with.
The future awaits.