Essence Region – Peccanouette
Aeschee System
Near Aeschee IV – Moon 4
12-03 YC 112 | 20:30
“Gilles,” I chided myself, “what the hell were you thinking?”
It was suicidal, attempting to smuggle someone out of Serpentis Prime. I wasn’t prepared for space combat. I activated the microwarp drive a millisecond too late. Now we were being scrambled like eggs in a skillet. There was no way in hell we were warping away from this situation. The damage control unit was engaged but not for long. They were slowly draining my ship’s capacitor. In a little while we’d be sheep for slaughter. We were alone in this fight; the drones I’d deployed when the ships first appeared had long since been destroyed.
Adrenaline surged through me. My nervous system tingled, groping for the cauterized metallic capsuleer comm-ring embedded at the base of my skull. Dead - no live signals there. Yet like an amputee, my body kept searching for the cybernetic connection to the ship it had previously known. The base of my skull burned. A blinding pain, like white lightening ricocheted through my cerebral cortex – phantom synapses firing. I swallowed down bile.
All three targets were locked and my hand hovered over the controls to start firing at one. I pulled my hand back. Could I clear a path? I thought better of it. My Imicus couldn't blast through or evade two Ares-class interceptors and an Eris-class destroyer. Good news was that they weren’t firing – not yet anyway. It was probably better if I didn’t ignite a shootout I wouldn’t win. If they blew the ship to bits and her pod, she could still escape if she had a clone in a system not under Silas’ control. For me, it would be permanent lights out.
I spared a second to check my companion’s vitals. She was cocooned in a semi-functional transport pod. The life support systems were operational but the comm and internal access control modules were all busted. She was helplessly watching the events play out on pod’s internal camera view of the cockpit and watch was all she could do.
She couldn’t verbally communicate with me but her vitals said it all. Her pupils were dilated. She had an accelerated heart rate, skyrocketing pulse and rapid breathing on the verge of hyperventilating. I knew the signs – she was going into shock. I adjusted her oxygen flow and mixed in a safe but illegal sedative. There was no point in us both going out fully conscious.
I was an ex Special Forces Captain, ex Gallente military hero decorated for service during the infamous Anvent Eturrer capture and ex capsuleer. I was ex on a lot of things. Including it seemed good judgment and common sense. There’d be no clone resurrection for me. There could have been if I’d had a couple billion ISK for a chop-shop hacker to re-engage it, if he didn’t kill me trying. But living low profile and running small courier jobs in high security sectors just to keep my frigate moving didn’t net millions, let alone billions. My plan to fly under the radar until I regained my societal bearings had failed miserably.
I stiffened when one of the interceptors scanned down my ship, the wispy green light swept over it – once, twice. “Yeah, I have what you’re looking for,” I muttered. “Keep your head, man. Just keep it together.” I checked to see if I could recycle my rather weak but better than nothing, civilian class shield booster. Not yet and probably better if I saved the juice I had left for the real action. I took a deep breath and deactivated the damage control module.
Fuck! I hadn’t earned enough money to do even moderate repairs on this old fourth-hand bucket of a frigate, I’d purchased from a junk hauler passing through Jita several months back. The modifications needed to rip out the capsuleer controls and replace them with manual flight options, emptied my pockets and I’d been broke since. I had to laugh at the irony of the penal system. Paid your debt to society or not, it was near impossible to get legal work after spending five years in a military pen. I understood first hand why pens were a revolving door after a conviction.
I’d survived countless assassination attempts while I was locked up. Never had more than superficial wounds during fifteen years of decorated combat. Now I was going to die in this bucket. I was suddenly aware that other than Reya, no one would miss my existence. And I wasn’t entirely sure she’d miss me either. In our current predicament, I was feeling more like a sucker than her lover. She’d sworn we could get away easy – quietly and without a fuss. She’d been horribly wrong and I’d been naive for the first time in my life, wanting to believe in a happy ending.
Short on ISK and trying to pay an overdue loan is how I met her. I was doing a contract gig in a new Ytiri Corporation nightclub, Galaxian, that had become all the rage on a starbase in Jita IV – Moon 6. I was stand-in security, having been recommended by a friend - someone who hoped the work would help me pay him what I owed. The security manager appraised my six foot athletic build, muscular hands, war ravaged face, and handed me a standard issue sec kit without a single question.
I equipped the kit items as his sidekick wasted his time explaining them – infrared contacts, 2.7M voice activated stun glove, nostril inserted air purifiers and in case of extreme emergency only, a vial of vaporized 3-Quinuclidinyl Benzilate, a military grade incapacitation agent. Positively lethal in its ability to debilitate a target, it was commonly called Red Alice because of the blood red vial and red warning label with flamboyant cursive lettering.
That night, the club was hosting a celebration for its premiere client, Silas Takin, reportedly a high ranking member of the Serpentis Corp. They expected a huge crowd but no trouble in particular - nothing outside of the usual intoxicated behavior. All in all, it should be a routine night I was told. The payout was shit but better than nothing. After a quick briefing that included all members of security on duty that evening, I was escorted to my primary station and given final instructions.
The interior of the club was cavernous, blue and white lights pulsed with the beat of the music. Around the sides were two tiers of VIP seating with guards controlling access to the spiral stairs. In the middle was the largest dance floor in JITA. There were five levels fanned out like petals, each one surrounded by thin chest-high safety railings.
I was standing outside the upper deck VIP booth when a woman sauntered in with a crowd of high rollers. The sea of patrons parted as this particular party made their way to the stairs. From the commotion, I could tell the premiere guests had arrived. The club manager ran down to greet them; fawning and fussing like a sycophantic idiot. He bowed and shook his head so many times, he reminded me of a bobble-head doll.
There was only one woman in their midst. She was tall and statuesque. I didn’t know it at the time but I’d learn before the night was over, that her name was Reya. Her body was banging in a black leather jump suit that had the back scooped out dangerously low. Her bare arms were lean and muscled. Her olive skin shimmered like she’d dusted it with gold. Long legs, curvaceous hips and a slight sway in her back, yeah, her body would stop destroyers. Her blonde hair was cut into an extreme Mohawk with a wide strip of hair down the back that brushed her waist as she moved.
When the group turned in my direction to take the stairs up to the VIP area I was guarding, I wasn’t prepared for her soft doe-like eyes, innocent and piercing or her full lips and the quizzical slant to her eyebrows. Her eyes sucked the wind out of me. But her smile, as it came slow and knowing, stopped my heart and she knew it. She must have seen the look I had on my face thousands of times, yet it still seemed to amuse her. She smiled a bit wider and I stopped breathing all together.
As her entourage brushed by me, she held my gaze and fell behind a couple of steps. Silas, clearly her partner, yanked her forward to his side. They were seated in the most exclusive section of the VIP deck with a private restroom, bar and buffet. I lost sight of her as a crowd of adoring fans and wannabes circled their table. Shortly after, I was called downstairs to assist at the door.
The night progressed slowly. Nothing of consequence happened in an Ytiri installation. It was widely known they stacked armed security at least five deep in every area. It was an easy gig, hence the shit pay. I occasionally popped out one of my nostril purifiers to inhale the legal intoxicants pumped into the air at no cost. I was told it was a special house mixture that made you hungry, thirsty and horny, all of which could be satiated at the club for a considerable price.
I was feeling no pain as I scanned new arrivals for concealed weapons and illegal substances. There was no shortage of half naked women wiggling on the multi-leveled dance floor. Many of the women favored extremely short skirts and dresses while neglecting under garments. The view from below was groin crushing. By the third unplugging of my nostril, I’d forgotten about the hottie in a leather jumpsuit with the mesmerizing eyes. That was until Kylon, a sallow faced waiter, approached me with trembling hands. I thought he was going to spill his tray of drinks all over my boots. I wasn’t sure why he’d sidled in so close to me, I was just about to back him up when he spoke.
He kept looking over his shoulder and trying to whisper in a room full of screaming dancers and booming music.
“Asshole,” I thought to myself. I couldn’t hear a word the idiot was saying. He had the nerve to look at me agitated. I was about to turn away when he grabbed at my wrist. “Whoa.” I yanked my wrist out of his sweaty grasp. I didn’t care what others did with their stuff but I was all hetero. I did him a favor and turned away again but he was a persistent little fuck. He scrambled back in front of me, waving a piece of paper in his fist which he thrust in my direction.
“You do not want to mess with this,” he said, shoving the crumpled note into my chest. He crooked his head up toward the premiere VIP balcony.
I followed his gaze. She was standing at railing, the woman with the eyes, looking dead at us. Her eyes locked on mine and she smiled. Her body was gyrating ever so slightly to the music that was playing. Without looking down, I took the paper being ground into my chest. When I did, she moved away from the railing and sauntered back into the crush.
Kylon regained my attention. His voice quivered. “Silas is not letting that go no matter how much she wants to be gone.” The club was ice cold but Kylon’s forehead was sweating profusely. “I never gave you that,” he said. “If it comes to it, I don’t fucking know you.”
I smiled. “Relax kid, you don’t know me.” I casually shoved the note in my pants pocket. I’ll toss it somewhere safe later. I got nothing going on for someone like that.”
He looked me up and down, his eyes emphatically agreeing.
“And I don’t need the trouble.”
Kylon’s shoulders relaxed before he turned to walk away. In the end, I hadn't taken Kylon’s advice or heeded the alarms blaring in my head.
To be continued…
