Chapter 23Professionalism
//
SPATIAL
CHECK //
>
DATE:
17.03.7088
>
TIME:
19:33:12
UST
(UNIVERSAL
STANDARD TIME)
// LOCATION TRIANGULATION //
>>>
SETTLEMENT:
WAYSTATION
#0085
>>>>
LOCAL:
THE
LOTUS ROOT – BASEMENT
Jake sat
low on the stool, fists hang loosely between his knees and elbows
resting heavily on his thighs. He was chewing through his fourth
toothpick, watching Carla take her pound of flesh on the sorry lump
tied to the chair.
“Carla,”
he growled, after a particular heavy metal fist knocked some teeth
loose. “Too much, bring it back.”
“He’s
still awake, isn’t he?” She pouted, stepping away from the figure
anyway.
“He won’t
be if you punch him like that again.” Jake stood, hoisting his
pants as he did. “Remember, we’re here to teach him a lesson
until Command decides on his formal punishment. We’re
.”
The
prisoner on the chair groaned weakly, fearfully.
Carla
laughed, cruel and sharp. “You were warned, Root. Don’t step out
of line and do as you’re told!”
“She’s
right, Tim.” Jake stepped closer, towering over the trussed up man,
gesturing to Carla to back off. “Our creed is simple; the Client is
sacred. You show them respect. You do the job. You keep it clean.”
“By the
void, dude. You broke so many rules in just three days!” Carla
perched herself up on another stool like a gargoyle, a manic smile
spread wide. “Poor chicka already had it rough, you didn’t have
to be such a dick.”
“Look,
I’m sowwy.” Tim finally spoke, his face swollen and several teeth
missing. “She was a nobody. Addict, only had CredShards.”
Carla
barked out another laugh, her canines showing, “She’s not a
nobody anymore, dumbass. She’s-”
“Carla,”
Jake grunted out a warning. “What did we say about TMI?”
“Aww,
Jake.” Carla cocked her head to the side, looking at him with a
proud smile. “You really just sounded like Mills!”
Her
squadmate blushed, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Thanks, Carl.”
He jerked his head over his shoulder to the door. “Now get out of
here and wait for Mills’ call. I’ll babysit.” He let out a long
suffering sigh. “Again.”
Carla
giggled, moving off her perch and skipping towards the door. “Sucks
not being the actual baby anymore, heh? I took your spot, I took your
spot.” She danced in place, waving her arms to her little tune.
“It’s
been 3 years, Carl. Stop rubbing it in.” Jake glared over his
shoulder, crossing his arms.
“Nevah,”
she hissed with a smile before slipping out the door. Leaving Jake to
slump his shoulders and turn his icy glare back on Tim, contemplating
more violence in response to the light jab.
Carla
closed the door softly and winced, pressing a hand on her side. She
stretched her neck, her bloodied knuckles leaving streaks of blood
across her jaw and neck. She looked around the space, other opaque
glass doors leading to other solid concrete cells like the one she
just left. Another team occupied the cell on the opposing side, she
nodded towards the guard keeping watch outside. He saluted her back.
Carla sat
down on a stool next to the door, stretching her arms over her head,
pushing her healing surgical scar to the limit as the station docs
had suggested.
Trill.
Trill. Trill.
Her Slate
rang and vibrated against her leg. She blinked, the only outward sign
of her surprise. She pulled out the clear piece of technology out of
her pocket, her own moving portrait staring seriously back at her
before it turned on the spot to show the profile. Her hair had been
long, black and wavy, loose over the shoulders. She swiped to see the
caller’s ID.
‘Mills
– Lotus Dad’
She tapped
the receiver and pressed it to her ear, a wild, jagged smirk pulling
her mouth wide.
“Hello!
You have called through to the Bloody Dregs of the Compost!” she
chirped. “We’ve got one trussed up Root, one shy Nightshade and a
lovely bag of human waste ready to be distributed!”
“Carla.”
Miller’s growl was music to
her ears; deep, gravelly, and
exhausted. She
could practically
see him rubbing his eyes in that tired, frustrated way. “Do
not make me put
you through Comms 101, again. Sit-rep. Now. No fluff.”
“Awww,
you’re no fun,” Carla pouted, kicking her boots in the air.
“Shi-shi always does that weird, gargle noise when I do it to her.”
“CARLA.
If I have to ring Az because you’re playing games, you are in
serious trouble.”
“Ok.
Ok.” Carla straightened up, her voice instantly flattening into
something more professional, though the smirk remained.
“We’ve been ‘Pruning’
Tim Passante. The idiot
tried to extort a client before handing over the goods. He
also broke her rib, he said he ‘tripped’ over her in
the sub-halls.”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Aureates’
ass,” Miller muttered, the
sound of a digital slate
being tapped in the
background.
“Vel’s
team. Hound Division.”
“Fucker
even went out his lane. Good job, Rookie. How’s the Client?”
“Oh,
you know. Az took special offence, so he’s taking extra good care
of her. Turned out she was
his hook-up from back
on Kelara.”
There
was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I’m
sorry, what? He didn’t shove her off to you for babysitting? He
doesn’t -What in the void is he thinking?”
“Dude,
you should have seen her that night Mills, she was hot! Total
Gilded-tier brunette,” Carl sighed, leaning back against the wall.
“But she got ‘Liberated’ so she’s a bit worse for wear now.
Lost her stomach and she fucking escaped the Priority 3 ward after
getting a fucking transplant! Can you believe it?! Injected nanites
and some Major Supp or something... Az flipped his lid!”
“Escaped
the- Major? Do you mean Maior? Carla, what’s this woman’s name?
Did she say?”
Carla
traced a pattern in her leggings, her brow furrowing. “Well, that’s
the thing. She told Az that it was Melinda Abbot, but then Tim called
her Melissa Cabot. So we don’t know what-”
“Oh,
fuck.”
The
line went dead.
//
SPATIAL CHECK //>
DATE: 17.03.7088
>
TIME: 20:31:12
UST (UNIVERSAL STANDARD TIME)
//
LOCATION TRIANGULATION //
>>>
SETTLEMENT: WAYSTATION
#0085
>>>>
LOCAL: STATION
REPAIR BAY ZERO
Vasil
Olegovich leaned back on the bench, stretching his sore muscles and
weary joints. He glanced down the line of spaceships he and his crew
had
just repaired, and then stared despairingly at the spaceships
orbiting the station in holding patterns.
The
overtime wasn't worth the stress.
Billy
was lying down next to him, his knees drawn up and an arm thrown over
his eyes. Squeezing in a quick power nap.
Vasil
couldn't blame the kid. He wanted nothing more than to have a long
soak in a rain shower and then collapse in his bunk. He hated that
sonic pulse nonsense. He'll take water over invisible particle waves
any day.
He
analysed the rest of his crew; spread across the space in front and
behind him either power napping as well, talking or eating. He needed
to let them rest for another ten minutes at least, otherwise he might
risk a strike. Something Station Control wouldn't appreciate while in
the middle of a dual technical AND health crisis.
He
sighed, letting his head shake before standing and turning around.
He
swore under his breath, waking Billy who sat up crying out, 'Not my
heart!'
Coming
towards them was a platoon of Jade Sphere Peacekeepers. The rest of
his crew shuffled out of the way, casting glares to the unwelcome
soldiers. They were all in white and gold trimmed armour with the
symbol of the Terran Reach etched and painted over their chests. A
green and blue ball wrapped in three concentric rings of green, gold,
and white.
The
lead man was well groomed with an almost permanent sneer as he swept
his gaze over the motley crew.
Vasil
put on his chief repairman hat and headed off the platoon, not
wanting them near his crew.
"Can
I help you?" He tried to keep his tone civil, but internally he
knew the distrust and disdain bled through, from the way the leader's
eyes narrowed at him.
"Yes,"
the leader spoke down his nose, seemingly hating the interaction as
much as Vasil was. "I'm looking for the crew that worked on a
small Research Vessel a few days ago." He checked a pristine
SlimDeck he had tucked in the crook of his arm. "A 'CRSS
Reckless', required new water recycler refit, antique model."
Vasil
schooled his expression to hide the shock and anger. Waystation
authority was strictly neutral, visitors' information and spaceship
conditions were strictly confidential. No faction had the right to
ask or obtain information about another. Vasil reminded himself that
the owner probably told them, Control wouldn't have shared the repair
report.
"Why
you want to know?" He hadn't received any orders or messages to
share any information, so he'll do his part in keeping Neutral
ground.
"I
have the authority, from the Core, to track down a vulnerable citizen
and ensure their safety. I hope to have your cooperation in this
endeavour." The smarmy man said pompously, so much so Vasil
raised his eyebrow with a snort.
"Core
authority carries butt-kiss around here, you ain't touching my crew,"
he turned on his heel, done with the conversation. "You are in a
restricted area, please leave."
"Who
said anything about touching?" A raspy but haughty voice sounded
from behind the Core soldiers.
"You
ain't speaking to them either," Vasil snapped over his shoulder
and did a double take. A man, hunched over in a floating wheelchair,
hooked up to all sorts of IV bags and tubing, parted the soldiers and
came to a stop in front of Vasil.
"Void
bless me, man. You should be in the hospital," the Chief
Repairman muttered before he could stop himself.
"Looks
worse than it is," the dark haired man rasped breathlessly, his
thin bones stark against his skin. "I hope you understand, but
I'm looking for my fiancée. She's far worse off than I am."
The
hair at the back of Vasil's neck rose, even if the man could not
straighten up,
the
way the soldiers deferred to his every twitch set off a cacophony of
alarm bells in Vasil's head.
“You
see,” the black-haired patient continued, his lips twitching into
the ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his wide, burning eyes.
“She’s on borrowed time, I need to make sure she’s nice and
comfortable for the end. I’d like to get to her before she breaks
what’s mine.”
//
SPATIAL
CHECK //>
DATE:
17.03.7088
>
TIME:
20:43:20
UST
(UNIVERSAL
STANDARD TIME)
// LOCATION TRIANGULATION //
>>>
SETTLEMENT:
WAYSTATION
#0085
>>>>
LOCAL:
CRSS
RECKLESS
- [ID:
SC
-Vario
XT
Surveyor
The feed
flickered.
The cargo bay was cloaked in a dark, dull grey,
odd lumps organised in neat piles in the centre of the space.
Movement at the edge of the screen, and soon a
large, box-like shape lifted on a mag-assist trolley came into view.
A large shadow closing in as if the cargo bay hutch was closing.
A large, obsidian sentinel slowly stepped into
view. The movements fluid but slow. He was pushing the trolley,
manoeuvring it stiffly into a space before the bulkhead door leading
to the upper deck.
Once it was in position, he manipulated the
trolley so it’d peel away from the bulky item, letting it be
lowered slowly to the floor. He walked around, the movements measured
and precise as he removed the trolley and stowed it back against the
wall.
He moved towards the large control panel set apart
from the wall, standing in front of the display for a long moment,
unnaturally still.
It seemed as if the feed froze, no motion of any
kind occurred. And then, apropos of nothing, the sentinel moved once
again, heading towards the bulkhead door.
While for the bulky box, the canvas slipped off
slowly, revealing a sleek, black kitchen appliance, three-stoves wide
and book-ended with two fridge like cabinets. It was being lifted
into the air, the floor of the cargo bay folding out and scaffolding
upwards. At the top of the feed, walls pieces started folding out and
forming a floor, as if the cargo bay was being restructured into a
split room.
The security sentinel didn’t look back, stepping
through the door and disappearing from view.
