Impetus
30 Mar 2020Robert Lees
3306-03-30 1900They were on their third drink by the time Commander Slepov got to the tavern. Despite his above average height, the Finn blended into the scene in a natural way. Perhaps, Lees thought, it was his roguish background that had established in him this legitimate air of illegitimacy. An experienced clean-up agent for the Forces, he could make trouble disappear just as easily as he could create it. He was also Lees’ regular sparring partner, always keen to prove new combat loadouts and pit their piloting skills against one another. More times than he cared to admit, Lees was made to feel like the practice dummy, punching up against superior firepower and impenetrable defences, sent limping back to base with half his bulkheads left before realising what went wrong. Fortunately Slepov was a good sport, and an even better drinking partner. He would buy a round, and the two would talk shop in some dingy bar or pub while licking their wounds.
At this point Slepov had stopped to speak with a trader. Following pleasantries, a personal smart device was produced, onto which the two of them placed data cubes and waved their hands over as they talked. After finishing his business, he approached the corner table where the others were sat, his face beaming with surprise as he spotted Maehara, before twisting in embellished disgust as he caught sight of Lees.
“Mita helvettia, Roberto. When I said get cleaned up, I meant to change out of that nasty raider suit.”
“Sorry. Must have left the wardrobe in my other ship,” Lees smirked. “Besides, this thing is comfy. Fits like a second skin.”
“Thanks for the mental image.” Slepov made a show of reeling back as he leant on the counter. “Did you even take a shower?”
“Hey, screw you. Don’t forget who’s buying.”
“Don’t forget who saved your crusty ass,” came the retort. “You could have ended up like that Diamondback.”
Lees clicked his tongue and turned to the barkeep. Maehara’s interest was piqued.
“Which Diamondback was this?” she asked.
“I was rolling out the red carpet for our friend here earlier, when someone got stopped on a routine scan. Mad-dash through the mailslot. Got about as far as you’d expect.”
“Ouch.”
“I had our people look into it,” added Slepov. “Apparently it was a rookie carrying a ton of stolen narcotics. You know how it goes. The guy probably didn’t even know they were back there.”
“Rent-a-cop going above and beyond as usual, I see.”
“They’ve been acting real antsy.”
“Know why that might be?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. We’ve seen increased activity around Apadecavi while you were gone. Could just be itchy trigger fingers after a long period of civil liberty.”
“Seems unlikely.” Lees turned back, presenting three more glasses of bourbon. “You’re telling us they’re so riled that they’d pop a member of the Forces on home turf?”
“Wouldn’t put it past them. Been a surprising amount of that lately.”
The ice chimed in Lees’ glass as he brought it to his chest.
“What do you mean?”
Slepov thumbed his own glass steadily.
“Roberto...” He cast a subtle gaze over the environs of the bar before continuing. “You heard of a man named Nelson Rad?”
Lees winced. He shifted himself around to rest both elbows on the counter, allowing his drink to dangle in one hand.
“We’ve ahh...crossed paths.”
“And yet neither of you are dead? This, I find somehow troubling.”
Lees fished a hand terminal out of his flight suit, bringing up an image with a couple of gestures. Slepov could make out a shape, cool mariner blue against the black of space. It was seemingly captured in a hurry from a ship’s external micro camera.
“Krait Mark II,” pronounced Slepov. “That’s the guy.”
“Hotshot caught me on the way out of a liquidation op in Bundhar about a month back. Things nearly got ugly.”
“You were lucky. From what I’ve heard, ugly doesn’t cut it with this cat.” Slepov craned his neck to peer at the screen. “This smudge here...that a Taipan?”
“That would be Odalys Boyle, Rad's loyal SLF pilot. If he’s the powder keg then she’s the short fuse.”
Lees flicked a finger over the display and two more images came up.
“Managed to trace their profiles from the ship IDs. Didn’t think they’d stick around.”
The Finn sat upright, one hand on the back of Lees’ stool. He was clearly agitated. “My contacts see everything that comes through these sectors. If they’re out there, we can find them.”
“Think they're part of a rival faction?”
“No idea. Freebooters, vigilantes, whatever they are, I don’t think we need them running amok in our backwater systems. Too much good work is at risk. Let’s turn some cogs and see if we can’t get these two...”
Slepov trailed off, suddenly noticing the intent in Maehara’s glare, who had been impatiently eyeing them throughout the conversation.
"Are you boys finished?"
“Oh no...don’t tell me you’re--”
“We’ve been keeping tabs on Commander Rad and Pilot Boyle for a while,” she said flatly. “The boss wants to see what they can do.”
Slepov almost choked. “He’s thinking of hiring? Voi luoja, komendantti. Even crazier than I thought.”
“If it’s crazy he wants, he’s on the right track.” Lees gurned as he kicked back the nearly full glass and got to his feet. He swiped a gesture on his terminal in the direction of the barkeep. The stocky man simply looked back as he polished a glass, seeming to not acknowledge the payment.
“Slep, Patricia’s clean?”
“Those were some stubborn stains, veli. She’s as clean as she’s gonna get.”
“Appreciate it. Andrea, where’s the commandant now?”
“Last I heard he was working on a retreat in Lakheo.” She raised her voice as the other started towards the exit. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Yeah, I do,” Lees called back. “Great catching up with you.”
The remaining pair exchanged a look after watching him leave.
“Something tells me...” Slepov said slowly, returning to his drink. “Things aren’t gonna stay civil for much longer.”