The Momma Bird Gets the Worm, Part Two
21 Dec 2017Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
Aright, little birds. Time to give momma the worms. Yeah, that’s the reverse of how it normally goes. What am I, a zookeeper? I’ve got bigger things on my mind.
All these years and nothing. Suddenly, three somethings. Shit like this is why those old-timers believe in Randomius.
The flash from my lighter obscures my vision, marred further from the smoke coming from the onionhead joint in my lips. I need it in a dump like this. The neon lights are and the bar’s main source of illumination, and there’s a low buzz of conversation and a twangy tune from Federal space in the background. It’s grating to my ears, but no matter. I’m here to collect, not play musical critic.
I know who’s coming, but it’s hard to remember what they look like. I’m in for three different meanings with three different sources, and there’s a lot of booze and o-head in my immediate future.
A pair of figures walk in, their silhouettes reminding me of our first encounter. Boy Wonder and his hard-up girlfriend. Talked my ear off when we first met. Him, some clean-cut kid. Her? An ex-reaper with a chip on her shoulder.
Of course they show up first.
The pair takes a seat across from me. A waitress walks up to take their order. He gets an apple juice. An apple juice. In a shithole like this it’s bound to be secondhand synth, but if this overgrown space scout Malcolm Goodwin is as good at finding wrecks as he is at being awkward at bars, it’ll be smooth sailing.
His partner is a little more relatable. Kay Wantz doesn’t say much and doesn’t try to make friends. At least one of them's been around the block a few times. And at least she orders a real drink.
Even though the data these two possess means everything, I can’t help but to troll the teetotaler before me. I raise my glass to the pair, toasting their safe return.
Oh. Alcohol dulls the senses, does it Goodwin? Well, if you need all your senses to give me a data disc while you pocket this credit chip, then maybe you should let Kay here fly, huh?
Ah. Smartass comeback about being too strung out on o-head to search for myself. And here I thought you’d cry in your juice box and tell teacher on mean ol’ Kyndi.
Let’s get down to business.
Yeah, yeah, that’s real great: a pair of tinfoil hatters, escaping some Club that they think is after them. What are you, behind on your membership dues? No, I told you: I’m only working for myself. No, I don’t care about what “they” are keeping from us.
Oh, please. Do I look like a chick who rubs shoulders with the puppetmasters of the galaxy?
No, I’m not thinking of fleeing the Bubble. No, I wouldn’t recommend Pegasi as a place of refuge. Of course I’ve heard the rumors. Pirates, corruption, bass-ackwards cultures. I’ll just stay here in the Bubble where short-sighted bureaucrats make smuggling lucrative enough to pay the bills, thank you.
So why am I faffing around with sending people to Pegasi and looking for specific types of shipwrecks? Good question. How about you ask that version of me in your head who decided that it was your business? Maybe she’ll come join your space scout troop, too.
Oh. A snippy remark from your girl. At least one of you knows the score.
Look- we made a deal. Half when you took the job, and half when you found something. Here’s the chip. I assume you have the data. You know what comes next, right?
There you go. Credits for you. Data for me. Good news, Mal: you’re getting your not-quite-illegal-dealings-at-a-shady-bar merit badge this week. Bet your momma’s gonna be proud.
And Kay? I know that being out there was tripping all your old bounty hunting instincts. Just a word of advice: don’t. In Pegasi, the fish cast hooks right back. Ones that stay sunk.
Leaving already? What, is there an old lady outside who needs helped across the street?
Whatever. I got mine, and you got yours. Take care of the space scout, Kay. Buy him a proper drink once he’s old enough, huh?
The pair depart, and I relax. For all the shit I’ve given Goodwin, the man really did come through where others didn’t. Him and his old lady went rooting through a haystack and came out with a needle. Then they were kind enough to giftwrap it and bring it all the way over to lil’ ol’ me. The data disc is in my hands, and I hold it up in front of me.
And with a little luck, it’ll be the first needle I’ve toyed with that was ever good for me...