Young Writers Society

I

“State your name and business,” the bored voice demands.

“Dodgy Dinglehopper,” I reply sarcastically. “I’m buying diapers for my mom, if you must know. And have you ever heard of the word “please”?”

“Permitted,” the voice snarls.

“Yeah, me neither,” I mutter.

I swing my ship down to land nice and gentle in an isolated corner of the hangar. Once I shimmy down the cockpit ladder, guzzle down a cheap energy drink, and lock up my ship, I pack out.

The babble of low spoken alien languages reaches my ears, echoing on the tinny ceiling of the hangar. Junkie clutter and ships of all shapes and sizes litter the vast floor, splattered with years of machine grease. It’s a place where evaluating looks are exchanged, where some friendly nods and a few heated arguments arise.

As I weave my way through ships the usual looks are tossed my way, but my plain, dark, and ordinary looking garb causes most of them to lose interest. A handful are wary of my double holsters and only one recognizes me.

“Goo’one, Dayton.” He nods, his expression neither polite nor mocking.

I make a gesture as if tipping my hat. “Same to you, Fleck.”

And we part ways. Our type doesn’t linger much, whether due to competition or simply the typical characteristics that run in our blood.

I continue on to my destination, a local bar called Malyer’s, and step into the music, lights, and sweaty bodies that occupy bars. I get a drink (non-alcoholic, I like my mind clear thank you very much) and sit in a quieter corner. I like to do most of my business in places like this - crowded, noisy and confusing. It’s the best cover.

I watch the crowd and nurse my drink, absently flicking the safety on and off my gun while I wait for my boss. After a few minutes she slides in next to me with a tall, skinny glass in her hand. “Wotcha, handsome,” she greets me. Her voice is always somehow buttery and rough at the same time. It’s one of the few voices that I can’t imitate. Lucky for her, I guess.

“Hi, Raull,” I reply, used to her obvious flirting by now. “Got somethin’ for me?”

She takes a swig and looks up at me behind huge white lashes. “Take a minute to say hello, why don’t cha honey?” she purrs, leaning in.

I stop her with a finger on her lips and a chiding smile. “Had a little to drink yet, Raull?”

She draws back, frowning. “But maybe a little more,” she mutters, and gestures to the server.

I roll my eyes. Raull’s good at what she does and not stupid in the slightest, but her weakness is pretty obvious. Men. She’ll do anything to get one she wants. She normally succeeds too, considering her stunning cheekbones, long legs, and smooth brown skin. I’m afraid she hit a bump in the road when I started working for her though.

She sulks for a few minutes before perking back up again. I wait patiently as she goes through the normal routine.

“So, babe,” she starts, crossing her legs and satisfying herself with gazing at me intently. “Found a rogue one for ya.”

I nod. “And?”

“Well you see,” she flicks her white hair over her shoulder, “he’s an important one to the higher ups. Killed a senator of theirs. Got a whoppin big price on ‘im, 50,000 mil, but no one’s goin’ after the chap.”

“Too scared or too inconvenient?”

She smiles. “Bit of both. The government wants him for themselves, and the fella’s a bit dangerous himself.”

I trace the rim of my glass thoughtfully. “How dangerous?”

Raull watches me wistfully. “I do like a daring man,” she says hoarsely.

I wait.

“Dangerous enough to kill a senator with eleven guards on hand,” she complies with a huff of annoyance.

I consider this. Eleven men is a lot to take out. Maybe if it was done with a far range gun though, or an explosion… “Details, please.”

Raull outlines the story for me. The senator was killed by a poisoned dart to the throat. Most of the guards had been put down by being locked behind a door (diversion tactics) but some were killed with either darts or a broken neck. It was done smartly, that’s for sure. And the guy probably knows how to fight too, or he’s just extremely lucky. Both are possible.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

She smiles roguishly. “Knew you would,” she says, affectionately patting my arm.

I nod absently, watching the crowd around us. I like to be aware of what’s happening around me, given my line of work.

“So,” I say, taking a sip and turning my attention back to her. “Where can I find him? Name?”

An irritated expression flashes across her face again, probably because I didn’t let her fawn over me for as long as she would like. “His name is Ira Szar. He’s on Titanium.”

My stomach plummets. Titanium? Of all places… It had to be the one that had bad blood on me. Going back to that shining and beautiful palace, the one I'd fled twice now without a single look back. That tremendous palace, in which chilling memories were locked tight within the golden doors of a shattered childhood. But it was too late to back out. Titanium is a big planet - I'll just have to find my way around it.

I nod slowly, careful to make sure my face showed none of my thoughts. “Can you send me any other info you have on him?” I ask.

She nods. “Consider it done,” she says indifferently.

I give her a brief smile while I inwardly snarl at rebelling thoughts. “Thanks, Raull. I should get going.”

Her disappointment is painfully obvious. “If you must, hon.” She waves over the server again for another drink.

I stand. “Safe evening to you,” I tell her.

She grins somewhat ironically. “You’re taunting me,” she says. “Leave already.”

I oblige.