The Sirius Job, Part 1
13 May 2017User4296
Bruce Prospect, Avik SystemFederation Space
February 3302
The Pyrrha shook as the tractor beams reached out and took hold, gently pulling the Diamondback Scout into place on the pad. Less than a second later, a small red light on the control panel started blinking. A hail.
I keyed the panel. "Go ahead, tower."
"This isn't the tower," a raspy voice responded. Shit.
My contact at Avik was a curious sort. He was brash, crude, had difficulty listening and, worst of all, rarely took no for an answer. He spoke in a gravelly New York accent, and judging from the reactions from the other people in the bar when we met, I gained the distinct impression that he was not a generally well-liked man. Still, he was the representative from the Sirius company on this station, and as such he commanded a certain amount of respect. And power. The strangest thing about him was his name: he insisted people call him "Banjo," but the jury was still out on whether or not he could play.
"The hits never stop coming, do they?" I asked, leaning over to look out the side of the canopy. A small group of dock workers had gathered nearby and had begun pulling a various array of hoses and maintenance equipment toward the Diamondback.
"Time is money, and money is business," came the gravelly reply. "We take business very seriously here at Sirius."
It was all I could do to not laugh at his probably unintentional wordplay. "So I've noticed. Another courier run?" I asked. I had been running from Bruce Prospect to nearly every system within jump range of Avik since I had arrived in the system a week ago, and barring the event that caused my spacewalk, it had been a relatively straightforward – if boring - experience.
"Not quite," he said. "I need to see you in person for this one. Good news, though - you complete this, and you'll be well compensated." The screen went blank.
I settled back in the chair. My new companion, the dog I had picked up in Sol, suddenly appeared, jumping up and resting his forelegs on the arm, while he leaned in to sniff at me. I patted his head.
"Go to Avik," I said, mockingly. "Work for Sirius company. You'll be paid well!"
The dog tilted his head, huffed, and dropped out of sight, leaving me to listen to the metal on his collar jingling as he padded away. I sighed and pushed the chair away from the flight controls, before spinning it around so I could stand. I followed him into the living area.
"I should probably name you at some point, shouldn't I?" I asked, as the dog jumped back up onto his bunk. He circled around twice and laid down as he let forth a soft whine. I looked down, and there, next to the bunk, was the house-training pad I had set out - on which he had left a small present.
"At least something's going correctly," I said, bending down to rip off the sheet, which I wadded up and tossed into the garbage chute. "I'll be back in a few, pal.," I said next, grabbing my jacket.
The dog whined softly a second time as I left the room.
***
If you've seen one bar, you've seen them all. The only real differences were in the entertainment and how good the booze was. The remoteness of Bruce Prospect meant that the second pretty bad, but that didn't stop the bar's denizens, a strange mix of spacers and corporate types, from guzzling it down like it was water. Everyone, it seemed, had a coping mechanism.
I watched all of this from one of the corner booths near the door. On the opposite side of the bar, a group of the corporate people had taken over the small stage, deciding that it was karaoke night, and had begun calling for the microphone. A few moments later, the bartender grudgingly complied.
The first singer, a middle-aged woman, had just launched into a rendition of "Stand by Your Man" when the front door slid open. There was Banjo, the short fat man with an ill-fitting grey suit that was two sizes too small, but he wasn't alone - next to him stood an Asian man, who was a good foot or so taller than his companion. This one was all business, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that matched his shoulder-length black hair.
Banjo led the two toward my table as I took a long drink from my glass. He seemed to be in the middle of a raunchy joke, though the Asian didn't appear at all amused. Instead, he appeared to be sizing me up, and kept his gaze locked on me until the two finally arrived.
"John!" Banjo said in his usual "I'm happy to see you but not really" sort of way. Everything about Banjo was fake, and it was hard to judge how much of that was his fault and how much was corporate culture. He slid into the seat opposite me, and motioned for the Asian to sit down. The Asian hesitated, instead looking at me - it wasn't until I nodded slightly that he joined Banjo in the booth.
"You said you had a job?" I asked, preferring to cut to the chase.
Banjo laughed. "Down to business, I like that. This here is Taka, and he-"
"Takamura," the Asian interrupted. "Please do not introduce me informally."
Banjo paused, then laughed nervously. "Of course, I'm sorry."
Interesting, I thought. I've never seen Banjo knocked off balance like that before.
Banjo had recovered. "Anyway, Takamura here is a... close friend of Sirius, and he has a... task he would like our help with."
"My help with, you mean," I said.
Takamura nodded. "You come highly regarded."
"Sirius has a funny way of showing it," I said, pausing to take another drink. Across the bar, several cheers erupted as the song came to a close, and the middle-aged woman handed the microphone off to a younger gentleman - probably right out of university. He began flipping through the songs on the machine as the crowd started yelling requests.
Banjo laughed. "Mr. Mathurin here is one of our best freelancers," he said, motioning toward me. "He's close to getting himself a permit, soon."
A what?
Takamura nodded. "That is good. Tell me, the Diamondback on pad three, it is yours?"
"It is," I said.
"How large is the cargo bay?"
"Eight tons," I said, with a shrug.
"Perfect! We shall require use of your cargo bay during the duration of this voyage." He said, nodding a second time.
"Wait - you're coming with me?" I asked, placing my glass on the table.
"They are," Banjo interjected. "I told you it was a different job."
"And what are we doing?"
Takamura answered this one. "We will explain more once we are underway." He pushed a credit chip across the table. "We propose half now, and half upon successful completion of the mission."
I looked down. A million credits? I paused. This feels wrong, I thought. Damn it.
"Do we have an agreement?" Takamura asked.
"Yeah," I said, finally. "Yeah, we do."
"Good! We shall depart in three hours. Please be prepared by then." Takamura nodded once toward me, then slid out of the booth and left.
Banjo and I looked at each other for a long minute. He appeared a little flustered at Takamura's abrupt departure, and he glared before leaning forward. "Don't fuck this up, kid," he snarled as he climbed out of the booth himself, leaving to catch up with the Asian.
The music cut in again as I settled back into the seat, staring at the credit chip on the table in front of me.
"AND IIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAIIIIIIIIIIII...." the young executive belted, to the cheers of the crowd.