The Momma Bird Gets the Worm, Part Three
23 Dec 2017Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
I’m a drink in and an o-head joint down when shadow number two darkens my space.
Well well well. If it isn’t the slacker.
Mack Winston is someone I’d consider flying with. Almost. Born with his mother trying to shove a silver spoon up his ass, yanked it out himself by having the decency to become an orphan. Fought on the right side of the o-head wars but busies himself by making rich Imps richer over at the East India Company.
Oh, well. At least he broke even.
What struck me about ol’ Mack was the fact that he was taking the job awfully casual. The entire first meeting had a “well, since I’m in the neighborhood” feel to it. He had a new ship, and apparently he had some business in 34 Pegasi anyway. It was only with reluctance that I even agreed to let him search for me. He had an awfully shifty way to him, like he was going to pocket my creds and run. He was heading someplace anyway- why not get paid to go there and never look back?
It’s what I’d have done, after all.
So yeah. It was a shock to hear from Winston again. Turns out that he really, really did run around and deep-scan a swathe of systems. And then he hit the jackpot.
Well, maybe. All three birdies brought back a worm, but I won’t know if it’s the one I’m looking for until I gobble them myself. And it’s rude to eat in front of others.
But it sure isn’t rude to drink in front of others, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. At least Mack orders a drink of his own and quaffs a good deal of it. He’s a straight shooter, wasting no time handing over the data disc and pocketing the creds without a second glance.
What he wants is an old-fashioned get-to-know-you conversation. I check my dataslate- his scans were good, and there’s no sign of any newcomers in the bar. Looks like Winston’s got a captive audience.
Yeah, it’s tough out there. Yeah, the powers-that-be like to play their games. Me? Well, I uh- get things from point A to point B. You? A freelancer, doing whatever wherever. Blah, blah, small talk blah.
Yawn.
Hey- I’ve got an idea. Let’s play a new game. It’s called “drink until this guy is interesting”. I win when the guy becomes interesting.
Harvestport, you say? Hmm. That’s right- you Imps do own the place, don’t you? Sorry to say, but the herb just hasn’t been the same since you took over.
Still, it might be nice to have an inside connection when this is all over…
Good news, Mack. Whether it was the drink in front of me or the entire planet of o-head in front of you, but you just became more to me than an exploration drone with a pulse. Just go easy on the convo next time, huh?
Now run along. Judging by the rough-looking specimen that just walked in the door, my next contact needs a drink more than I do.