The Reaper Diaries: Fetch Job, Part 5
07 Dec 2015Michael Wolfe
Well, at least she left my bolter rifle. I found it on the frozen, rocky ground of the planet on which I was now stranded. A short distance away, a scorched patch of rock told the only story of Kyndi’s presence on this ice cube. I looked at my engines. No telling what kind of damage they’ve sustained.
The effects of whatever the hell device Kyndi had used to paralyze me hadn’t worn off completely. Walking and the fine motor skills needed to use a control panel still weren’t quite what they used to be, but I was able to dig out a utility ladder and climb up to inspect the insides of my engines. Yep. It’s a mess in there.
I’m no technician. I fly the ships, not repair them. Ship components of the 33rd century were pretty amazing, from an engineering standpoint: even basic, low-end modules could take hellacious amounts of damage and still function. In other cases, they could even auto-repair by diverting systems and rerouting power to functional parts, even without a dedicated repair module. They were meant to take fire from ship-sized weapons, and conventional wisdom seemed to promise that I could make it back to Cartmill City just fine without too much hassle. The problem was that I couldn’t be sure that a sudden break wouldn’t leave me stranded, and given the afternoon I had faced, I just wasn’t in the mood to trust my luck.
There were two ways I could do this. I could take off like normal and hope that all the tungsten slugs and loose engine parts wouldn’t cause even worse damage while I limped back to Cartmill City for repairs. Or… I could physically crawl inside the engines and try to hand-pick as many of them out as I could. That would at least stop them from getting in the way of the moving parts or giving any false readings to the diagnostic sensors.
After a few beers and a hot meal in the pilot’s cabin, I decided that I wasn’t in any immediate danger: I had plenty of food and water, The Professor was otherwise unharmed, and there was no way I was ever catching up to Kyndi anyway, even if I knew where she was headed. Staying put and clearing the engines of debris and loose slugs was probably the wisest course of action.
So, that was my next two days: inside an engine, wearing my atmo suit, hand-extracting anything that looked to be gumming up the works. I worked with my fingers, with a wrench, and with the plasma cutter that I had liberated from the wrecked Anaconda. All the while, the thought of something going wrong and the thrusters kicking on lingered in the back of my mind. What a way to end it all, I thought. What kind of a tombstone would that make for? Here lies Matt, the dumbass who fell for a pretty face and then roasted himself in his own ship engines.
Fortunately, there were no freak ignitions while I was inside. Turns out, a shut-off engine stays shut-off, no matter how bad the other day was. On the ground by my ship, two small piles of junk had accumulated from my efforts. There was nothing more I could do. I didn’t have the parts, tools, or expertise to actually fix the engines- I’d done the best I could do to let the engineering do its job.
I went back into The Professor, retracted the entryway ramp, and changed into a flight suit. Sighing, I buckled in to the pilot’s seat, prepped the ship for launch, and fired up the engines.
No explosions. No funny noises. So far, so good.
I turned to the display on my right. Both the thrusters were registering damage, but nothing worse than a few close calls I had experienced while reaping. It should be enough to get me to port. Ok. Let’s go home.
The maneuvering thrusters were just fine, apart from some rock and dirty water that was no doubt giving their filters a workout. That didn’t worry me. Rock and dust wasn’t much different than a really thick nebula or asteroid field, and changing filters was a standard maintenance routine on most starports. What did worry me was the prospect of my main thrusters giving out, sending me adrift. It would be really awkward to explain to Authority what an imperial bounty hunter was doing so far from home in a deserted part of the system.
I broke orbit, and as blackness filled my canopy windows, I found myself breathing a little easier. The part of the journey that put the most strain on the thrusters was over. Occasionally, one or both engines lost power or couldn’t go above a certain speed. Just hold together, girl. I know it hurts. Daddy’s going to make everything right once we get to port.
The ride back took awhile longer than normal, but was otherwise smooth. No breakdowns, no interdictions, and no bullshit police scans. Guiding The Professor through the mail slot and setting her down on the landing pad allowed me the first real bit of easy breathing in about four days. I powered her down, contacted the station, and headed back to the pilot’s lounge for a hot shower and a cold drink. The mission had been a complete disaster, and I had been doing well just to make it back in one piece. I half-heartedly looked through the mission postings to see about recouping the money I had lost on gas and repairs- but in truth, I wanted to get the hell out of the system.
Through it all, I couldn’t stop thinking about Kyndi. Anger, lust, confusion, admiration, betrayal, trust, camaraderie- all of these emotions fought for my attention whenever I pictured that last, mocking grin she had given me right after she paralyzed me. There was no getting around it- I had been played like a cheap accordion and hung out to dry. The ‘verse was a big damn place, so I didn’t imagine that I would be seeing Kyndi ever again, but if I did, what would I do? Demand payment? Get violent? Open fire on her ship? I shook my head. That ain’t a bridge you’re likely to cross, so quit worrying about it.
Repairs only took a day, since the damage done to the thrusters was ugly, but not particularly deep. I paid the station, bought some supplies for the trip home, and set course back to Eravate. The trip back was just as tedious as the one over. When I finally, finally came within a few jumps of Eravate, I began to reconsider.
Do I really want to face down Rax and his crew?
I looked out through my canopy window. The holographic icon confirming the final jump to Eravate was dead ahead. All I had to do was spool up the frameshift drive and let it do the rest.
If I don’t, he’ll figure that I failed the mission and is trying to avoid him. And he’d be right.
I took a deep breath. Better to just tell him the truth and get it out of the way.
I moved the throttle forward and watched the countdown until the frameshift drive committed itself to the jump.
I’ll have to tell him about the artifact. I might even have to tell him about Kyndi.
The stars began to stretch as my normal space bled away into the void. My ship shot down the starry tunnel of FTL travel.
But the backrub from hell? Sorry, Rax. That one’s between me, Kyndi, and the ‘verse.
I had been hoping to cool my heels for a day or two, but there was no avoiding Rax. Him and his crew were all gathered around a table in the pilot’s bar on board Ackerman.
Does this guy ever work, or does he just sip beer and hand out jobs?
Since the time I was a kid, I’d had a hard time hiding my moods. Usually, my face or my body language gave them away, and adulthood was no different. My posture or my scowl must have betrayed my failure, because Rax somehow knew the moment I walked in that I had blown the mission.
“Hey, Lehman! So, where’s the goods?”
“Fuck off, Rax.”
That brought a hearty round of laughter from him and his friends.
“So, what happened? Was I right? Or was I right? I was right, wasn’t I?”
This guy.
“Yeah, Rax. You were right. She was out of my league.”
“She?”
The hell did I just say?
“The job. The job was out of my league. You were right. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Rax raised an unopened beer at me. “C’mon, don’t be like that! You can’t get lucky all the time, can you?”
No. No, you sure can’t. I’m never trusting a pretty face again. I surveyed the table of roughnecks, still laughing like hyenas. And based on that standard, I could trust these guys with my life.
I took a seat next to Rax, slumping over as he put a meaty arm around my shoulders and shoved a beer into my hand. “You look like you need about ten of these, kid! So what’s next for the great Commander Lehman? Back to being the savior of the extraction zones?”
I shook my head. “You know Rax, for being a criminal, you have an awfully tolerant attitude towards me wasting other criminals.”
He laughed and slapped me on the back. “Hey, I’m just a businessman, lad! I buy low, sell high, and never complicate things by wondering if the merchandise is legal. Hell, sometimes even I put a bounty on pirates- if my associates can’t make it to port without getting harassed, it’s bad for business. So don’t you worry about a conflict of interest, mate!”
I sighed and took a long drink of beer. Maybe some good old fashioned reaping was just the ticket to clear my head. Waste some goons, make some credits, and make Eravate a little safer place.
One of Rax’s henchmen leaned forward, grinning and exposing his gold teeth. “I heard him say something about a lady. Bugger the artifact- let’s hear about her!”
That brought a hearty round of agreement from the table. Rax fished out another beer and set it before me. “I heard that, too. You ain’t been mixing business with pleasure, ‘ave you Lehman?”
Well, I had sure been fixing to do so.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just one more thing that went to hell.”
Rax’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I ain’t never known you to keep female company that wasn’t expecting credits sooner or later.” He looked around the table. “I think Matthew here got ‘imself a girlfriend, lads!”
I stared down at my beer while I waited for the laughter to subside. “Well, if you’re still needing that artifact, she’s the one to track down. Good luck.”
Rax and his companions exchanged glances and all settled on me. Slowly, a devious grin spread across his face. “I think there’s a story to be told, Lehman. And unless you tell it”- his smile grew larger- “I ain’t buying nicked merchandise off you ever again!”
I looked down at my beer. Wasn’t the fact that I blew it enough? They hear about a girl and suddenly the tale must be told?
“Alright, fine. But you’re paying for the beer, and a giant plate of hot wings.”
Rax just grinned and shrugged. “Done. Now spill!”
So for the next hour, I told Rax and his crew everything- about meeting Kyndi, the crashed Anaconda, the artifact, the mummified pilot, being trapped overnight, and finally about her shooting out my engines and making off with the artifact. I was careful to omit the part about being paralyzed and spending a few hours drooling on my bunk with my ass showing.
“So, she got the drop on you, did she?” Rax was peering at me somewhat skeptically.
I nodded, a little dizzy. Rax had been pouring beer down my throat at a pretty steady pace since I sat down, and had become even more insistent as I continued with the story. “Yeah. Suddenly- no more engines. Then she was gone.”
Rax nodded, clearly not believing me. One of his mates, the same man with the gold teeth, piped up: “So, ‘ave you got a picture of ‘er?”
I smiled and shook my head. “I’m afraid I don’t. Sorry, pal.”
The man pressed on. “But she was a looker, right?”
I nodded and looked slightly past him, remembering. “That she was. Slim, black hair that shone purple under a certain light, pretty face, and an ass that could make a man find religion.”
Rax chuckled. “And you spent an entire night holed up with her in the crew quarters of an old ‘Conda, and-nothing?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. She was”- How do I put this?- “Focused on the job.”
The gold-toothed man scowled. “Aw, bollocks. She wasn’t no purple-haired angel with a perfect arse. I think Matthew here got shacked up with a real mutt, an’ is just feeding us porky pies!”
A round of laughter at my expense followed, but Rax was still looking at me with amusement in his eyes. “Well, there’s a way to find out. You get her comm info, lad?”
I shrugged and steadied myself as I took a bite of a chicken wing. “Sure did. What’s it to you?”
He chuckled. “Because I’ve got my ways of turning a little into a lot.”
“You seem awfully invested in this woman, Rax. Maybe you should hunt her down.”
Rax just chuckled again and slapped me on the back, causing me to hiccup. “Oh, I like it when people come to me!... but I think we’re going to have to move this party to my place and have a gander at this tart!”
With that, Rax and his friends helped me to my feet, paid the bar tab, and steered me to the lifts to the residence blocks. I had never been to Rax’s place before, and he had never shown this much interest in a job. I drunkenly contemplated how my night was going. So, are we friends, or am I just this evening’s amusement?
We made our way to Rax’s apartment- with me getting a little support from his friends- and he grinned as he entered the keycode and beckoned me inside.
So, this is how a black market dealer lives.
Rax’s apartment was… busy. All around, computer setups and half-completed projects competed for space. In the corner was a dingy old mattress with a pile of old noodle boxes and beer bottles.
“Time to fire the maid, Rax,” I slurred.
He looked over his shoulder as his friends threw me down on the bed. “Never you mind that. I’ve got eyes and ears all over the sector from here. And right now I’ve got a mind to get a look at the tart who threw you under the T-9 and got away with it. Mind that contact information.”
I gave Rax my communicator and watched him plug it in. He sat down in front of the screen and began typing, occasionally turning to other modules on his computer and plugging them in to my comm device.
“You ain’t voiding my warrantee over there, are you Rax?” I was lying on my back, just about ready to pass out. How many beers did I drink? And what was he doing with my gear? And why does Rax have pictures of naked women taped to the ceiling?
“You just lay there and stare at the pretty girls, Matt. This is what I do.” Rax lit up a cigarette and continued typing. He continued for a few more minutes, and-
“Jesus Waterskiing Christ, Lehman. You mean to say that you were trapped in a room full of bunks with this woman, and- nothing?” Him and his friends were crowded around the display like a pack of feeding piglets.
I sat up briefly, and collapsed back onto the bed. “Yep. Nothing.”
Rax continued to gaze at the image, shaking his head. “You do like girls, don’t you lad? Or are all those dock knockers just a decoy?”
It was a struggle to keep my eyes open. “I like girls. She was really nice, too. Until she wasn’t.”
I looked over. “That’s a lie. She was kind of a bitch the whole time.”
Rax chuckled. “Well, if you ever want a stab at getting even, her flight patterns are showing lots of back-and-forth from Novitski Oasis. It’s in the Naraka system. She ends up in all kinds of places, but always seems to go back there for a spell.”
I nodded. “Novitski. In Naraka. Got it.”
And then I passed out.
****************************************************
I woke up to Rax standing over me. “You know, when I first met you- some shit-scared, Sidewinder-driving new-jack- I can't say that I ever thought you would spend the night passed out drunk in my bed.”
I sat up and rubbed my head. Yep. That's a hangover. “That makes two of us.”
He tossed my communicator into my lap. “Normally, a trace like that would have set you back a couple thousand at least. But I’ll work pro bono for a worthy cause. And that woman is a worthy cause indeed.”
“You don’t get it, Rax. She held off on killing me because I was a gentleman. Her words.”
Rax’s face twisted up. “And you believed her? I’ve met plenty of killers in my time, mate, and their minds don’t work that way. If she was gonna, she woulda- no matter how often you held the door and carried her purse.” He shook his head.
“Now go on and get yourself a shower. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
I got up, and stumbled to the Rax’s door. As I walked out, I heard his voice behind me. “Remember, lad: Novitski Oasis in the Nakara system!”
I made it back to my ship, grabbed a change of clothes, swallowed a headache pill, and made for the pilot’s showers. My head was demanding an explanation as to why I mixed with the crowds that I did. Those guys are bad influences. The pilot’s showers weren’t free by any means: they charged by the minute and rounded up, but I didn’t care. The steam and the heat were exactly what I needed for clearing my head.
So, what now?
Smart money was to take a deep breath, accept that I’d been had, and move on.
My ego, however, was demanding payback.
I was no stranger to professional failure. I’d had jobs go south. I’d had jobs that I aborted when it became clear that I’d bitten off more than I could chew. But I’d never been systematically lied to and deceived, and then humiliated and left to rot. The way I saw it, she owed me an epic apology and half of whatever she got for the artifact. The decision was made right there, in the shower, water running against my head: I was heading to Novitski.
Kyndi and I had a score to settle.
