Chương 19: Interlude 03

Amos Reed lifted the fresh glass of whiskey and sniffed. The scent was a mingled twist of smoke and wood and a hint of citrus, harkening back to times he'd long forgotten. He gave the steward a slight nod and took a sip, relishing the burning sensation coating his tongue and running down his throat. Dismissed, the steward retreated back to the galley behind the lounge.

Outside, the gentle purple and blue light of an active jump gate played across the York Gate Complex control station, a dance he seldom tired of admiring. The glow filled the ship's lounge, lending its cool touch to the quiet beige which normally dominated the cabin. Massive superfreighters slept nearby, only their position lights blinking absently as they drifted, waiting for some unknown cue to resume their journeys.

The patrolling cruiser and its attendant fighters slowed their own progress through the gathered shipping, allowing his own vessel space to pass.

"I've established a connection with the local net. We missed them." Bridget's leg dangled over one knee, supporting the tablet in her lap, directly across from Reed in the only other chair of the lounge. Her expression was tighter than the skirt suit she had selected for the day, and nearly as black.

"They filed for a jump to Halifax…yesterday, by York system time." She dropped her leg and neatened her skirt, making to stand.

"I'll tell the pilot to turn us that way." Reed held up his free hand, waving her back down.

"No, Halifax doesn't operate a central gate control. If we follow, we'll just end up coming back here anyway when we can't find which of the three gates they used there. We will continue to Albany." Bridget sniffed and scowled into her tablet, while Reed took another sip. The delay leaving New Berlin had been unusual; departure control wouldn't even clear him to leave. Normally his ship received priority routing and was allowed to bypass delays but the control gave the excuse of some sort of system outage.

Traffic throughout New Berlin had ground to a halt and once the error had been found, remedied and traffic allowed to proceed, it had been nearly twelve hours. Berlin Control would take days to untangle the mess. Their pilot had made up much of the time, but another anomaly, this time at the New Berlin Gate Complex, destroyed those gains. It was almost as if the universe itself was conspiring to slow him down. Just what are you up to? Silence, something to which he'd become accustomed, answered him.

This was fine—the silence knew its place, and he would not see any further interference in his pursuit of the new Glitch. Reed settled the tumbler onto the tray beside his seat. Despite the pirate's cowardice, they had at least delivered him the identification of the freighter which had taken the newcomer in. That particular ship's sordid history was one of failure and disappointment, at least in recent years, but that had made it simple to track.

Its creditors had a vested interest in keeping an eye on it and the crew, which made his own task much easier, especially now since the newcomer had managed to shackle himself to them.

"Reach out to Hirelane, let them know I have an interest in their newest debtor. I want everything they have on his movements. Make sure they understand this time I'm not asking. The last regional director's abrupt retirement upset their governance board." Bridget glanced up, over the rims of her reading glasses. Reed was certain they were an affectation, rather than necessary.

"Of course. I'd rather not have to clean up after your… inquiries again." Reed smirked. Her complaints were always so amusing. Miranda hated the techno. The synthesizer had long since become an annoying background noise, and every step, regardless of if the music was playing or not, seemed to follow the beat. The lights flashed to the music's tempo and though they were aimed toward the floor and not her bar, they still begged for her attention.

It was only through years of patient endurance which she'd managed to win that battle, though sometimes they'd take their own small victory every now and again when one would catch her eye. When she'd inherited Buffalo Chips, it had a certain clientele which expected the gaudy, repetitive and uninspired music.

Younger men and women, most of whom just out of school and into their first careers, packing the floor every night in search of love--or at least a temporary imitation of it--numbing the rawness of being trapped on a planet which perpetually smelled like an armpit with no real future. Watery beer and cheap drinks only encouraged these adventures in courtship, fueling the desperate late into the night. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

If the club had stuck to only that target audience, Miranda doubted she could have hung on. She would have long since retired to the back and sent some other poor—and younger—soul to work the front. It was the second group of customers which made the job bearable and kept her at the bar every night. The lost. Spacers, victims of Hirelane, jumpers. Broken wanderers, looking for a drink for to salve the ache in their souls and a kind word to rekindle their spirits. Those without direction, sent to be given purpose.

Many balked, especially the ones with the deepest wounds, most just left with a buzz and a word of advice, but over time one or two had been receptive. They were the rare ones, all jumpers, all lost in their new world and looking for some hope to anchor themselves to. Like the latest one. The pilot. The notification had come as a surprise. It had been a year since the System had spoken to her so directly, and the message still sat in her log. The pilot comes for enlightenment. He didn't scoff; he didn't storm away.

He only asked the reasonable, expected questions. Despite the way he'd already been cheated, he still held a flicker of hope and trust, and she blew on that ember. He took the chit and, if her contacts were right—and they usually were—was already headed for the safehouse on Rust. He would pick up what she forced herself to think of merely as the cargo and bring it back in a few weeks… which would give her network time to find where the good doctor Lang had hidden himself this time.

The gaudy bead curtain rattled, a plastic waterfall somehow both cutting through and getting lost in the noise of the incessant beat feigning as music, as a man passed through it. She looked up from the counter where she'd been wiping at imaginary water spots, studiously ignoring the lights, and froze. Kevin, Dan and Francis, the three perpetual guests and her personal security, turned, their disguises bleeding away as they faced the visitor.

He flowed around the furniture, his long duster failing to even brush against a chair or table. His face was hidden by the shadow cast beneath the brim of his wide hat, but, somehow, his wide, hungry grin was still visible. Beneath the coat, she couldn't see the holster, but the way the man's right hand never seemed to stray far from his hip, coiled to strike no matter how he turned, told her it was there. Every footstep, the tap of a boot was accompanied by the jingle of spurs. Spurs?

It was as if he'd walked off the set of an American western like she'd watched as a child, so very long ago… The man stopped as the three guards surrounded him, no longer old men with grey, dangling beards but instead the sort of heavy-set bouncers one might expect to find in a club like this. Kevin and Dan, former Frielander Marines, were an arm's-length away, standing just behind the visitor, while Francis, a local rancher turned bodybuilder, crossed his arms and stood between Miranda and the man.

"Interesting way to greet a customer," the cowboy said, staring at Miranda through Francis.

"And here I was just stopping by a local business for a drink."

"No weapons," Miranda said, pointing at the man's hip. The man grinned.

"A smart one, you are. Unfortunate." He sounded almost sad.

"I had intended to just ask my questions and leave, but I don't think that's going to be an option now, is it, Miss Penn? I have no idea how I've missed out on a level seventeen bartender." Miranda stepped back. A notification began to blink in the corner of her UI, but she remained focused on the man.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" The man took a step forward and her guards matched. He ignored them.

"I came to find out more about a new visitor to our universe, where he might be going. But to find a Class Four Glitch, hiding in plain sight? My, my, aren't you a prize. I am Amos Reed, Admin around these parts." Miranda had enough time to turn. The first thunderclap sent Kevin spinning away. The second, delivered almost on top of the first, left Dan collapsing in a heap. Francis hit the bar and slid down, leaving a trail of blood from the overpenetration. And the fourth…

the fourth sent lead through the wooden veneer of the bar, tumbling into her knee, driving her into the wall and onto the floor with a choking scream. The spurs rang again as the man stepped around the bar, while Miranda struggled to claw her way toward the back doorway. One boot, an actual snakeskin boot, pressed down into a hand and she screamed again as it crushed the bones.

"Miranda Penn," the man drawled.

"My, my, what a lucky day for me. How did you escape my attention for so long?"

"I won't go," She growled, her teeth clenched and voice ragged between gasps and held tears. The boot left her hand, and she pulled it back, struggling to sit halfway up. Agony shot up her knee as she shifted. Blood slowly, relentlessly seeped through her pants leg. She tried to think about the others, but the searing pain of her knee and her hand held her in the moment, mind spinning. A spasm caused her to open the notification window, revealing the new, flashing red system message.

[RUN] It was far too late for that. The cowboy squatted, ancient six-shooter held in his hand, elbows balanced on his knees and clicked his tongue.

"I am not giving you a choice." He smiled, something cold and feral.

"I want to know about the new jumper you met the other day." She shook her head, body beginning to shiver. She recognized the signs from her old life; shock was already setting in.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I know you do. I want to know where this new glitch, this…Felix Conway is going."

"No." The world was starting to close in. Her heartbeat seemed to match the techno, still hammering as if three men hadn't just died.

"I won't tell you..." She did.