The Star Pirate's Folly (2 page)

“How we doing Crane?”

“Well, we ain’t exactly in the clear yet, but they’re staying
course. You want my bet it’s just a Core drone on patrol. One minute and we’re
good. I’m telling you, Montez—”

She muted his comms and shook her head. Her heart jumped to
her throat and she swallowed painfully. She brought up a mini-map on a corner
of her display lens and watched the other ship approach. It kept getting closer
and closer, but
Littlefoot’
s tiny signature prevented them from being
picked up.

She’d nixed the standard deep inspection of cargo by the
ship’s computer to avoid triggering any response from the pod before getting it
home. Some models would auto-wave any nearby ship—under the right
circumstances, something that could save a life. In this case, it threatened
the opposite.

As the other ship got nearer, she could see they would clearly
pass by with a healthy buffer. Her pounding heart slowed. Montez felt
uncomfortably warm in her nullsuit despite the temperature regulation. She
opened her comms back up.

“Shut up,” she hissed at Crane before he could say anything.

Crane chuckled, but said nothing. She deactivated the
tethers and righted the cryo pod before turning the gravity field back on. It
settled gently onto the floor as the grav plate
whummed
to life.

As Montez turned the wheel for the interior airlock door, she
burned with embarrassment at her reaction. She’d dodged dozens of patrols
before without breaking a sweat, even enjoying the thrill of it—and yet here
she was, trembling, she realized as she removed her helmet. Weak.

“Your turn on watch anyway,” Crane said as he slid past.
“Enjoy.”

Montez said nothing. She unsuited, took her seat at the helm,
and busied herself with rechecking their route. Six hours out. They’d continue
heading against the flow of Styx until they found their ticket home—one of the
many hidden gates in the belt that made up their secret travel network through
the Luxar system.

***

“Alright, we’re synced,” Montez said.

Littlefoot
trailed an asteroid barely twice the
craft’s size. It was entirely indistinguishable from the rest of Styx’s endless
tumbling rocks—but according to
Littlefoot,
it was the location a gate
that led to the asteroid base Montez and her fellow smugglers fondly called
Home. The map had set a marker for the gate on the asteroid’s dark side. Montez
guided them to the flagged area, but aside from the marker she saw nothing.

“You sure we got the right one?” Crane asked. “It’s pretty
small.”

“You say that to all the girls?”
Montez asked, cracking a grin.

“Nice. Real nice. Kinda just looks like more space rock to
me.”

“Kinda the point?” Montez said.

“So what, it’s invisible?”

Montez chewed her lip. “I don’t know. It’s new, I haven’t
used this one yet. Kasim said it would be hard to see. Wrinkly little bastard’s
always playing games with us.”

She brought them closer, with the nose of the ship pointed
toward the crater. Their display lenses showed them a friendly green outline in
a circle where it indicated
Littlefoot
should move through. Montez
disabled her display. All she saw was dark, still dust under the ship’s
floodlights. She exchanged glances with Crane.

“Maybe somebody tagged the wrong one,” Crane suggested.

“This has to be it,” she said, re-enabling the display.

It showed a ghostly green
Littlefoot
accelerate
forward into the center of the glowing circle, through the asteroid’s surface,
which seemed to slide past the ship. The ghost slowed, stopped, and then
vanished after it demonstrated the gate’s doors shutting. For a moment Montez
watched it repeat with dopey confusion. But then it clicked—she understood how
they did it, and with an astonished laugh she guided
Littlefoot
forward.

“What are you doing?” Crane said with an edge of panic.

Montez cackled at his bewilderment. “Only one way to find
out!”

“This is not okay! This is not okay!”

Crane scrambled over his chair to their lockers and yanked
his suit out as they approached impact with the crater. He smacked himself in
the face with his helmet as he struggled to get it on. Montez howled with
laughter, and they puffed through the thick layer of asteroid dust that hid the
gate’s opening. A gravity field parted the covering like a curtain for them as
they moved into the hidden entrance and molded it back to its original state
after they’d gone through. The gate doors slid shut, the field deactivated, and
the thick black dust settled like a fresh grave.

***

Montez howled with laughter as
Littlefoot
parked itself inside the hangar, nearly in hysterics as she wiped tears
from her eyes. “Just the look on your face, man! I’ll send you the vid later.
I’m showing Kasim. This is classic, man.”

Crane struggled past the cryo pod
in
Littlefoot’s
airlock with a bloody wad of gauze clamped over his nose.
“Oh yeah, you’re very funny, Montez. You can stop giggling like a damn child
now. I think it’s broken.”

Crane stomped down the stairs to
the hangar floor. Montez continued snickering to herself, watching from behind
the bulky cryo pod as Crane hurried off to medical. Time to bring their haul to
Kasim. Big sucker—she’d need a couple of floaters for sure.
Littlefoot’s
grav
tethers could help her move the pod out onto the hangar floor, but she’d need
some portable assistance to get any farther. She slid past the pod into the
hangar bay, securing
Littlefoot’s
airlock door behind her.

As she walked down the ramp she
noticed three HomeSec troops in armored black nullsuits marching her way, each
with a beam rifle slung over a shoulder. When she reached the ground she
retracted
Littlefoot’s
ramp. The armors got close enough that she
recognized the badge on the one in the lead.

“Something wrong, Finch?” she called.
“I didn’t ask for HomeSec.”

“Lieutenant Finch,” he corrected
her through his suit’s speakers. “We’re here to take your cargo. You’ll be
compensated.”

“I’m being
compensated
to
take my cargo to Kasim,” she said.

Finch towered over her in his
glossy black armor, forcing her to look straight up at him or take a step back.
She stood her ground and glared.

“This is over your head,” Finch said with a smile as he
reached past her for the ramp controls. He motioned for his subordinates to
enter the ship. “Cover it up first.”

Bee walked through the automatic
sliding doors of the Midtown Hotel like she had somewhere to be. A man behind
the front desk eyeballed her as she headed for the dining area. Bee smiled at
him and waved as any guest of the hotel might. He returned her friendly
greeting and went back to his work. She reminded herself she still probably looked
plenty clean after sneaking into the showers at a gym last week.

Act like you belong and you’ll
belong, just like Janey used to say.

Bee grinned as she headed for the
dining room. Free breakfast. What would she do without free breakfast? A wave
of hunger washed over her and she speed walked over to the buffet table.
Bee grabbed a plate and loaded it with heaping
portions of everything in reach. There wasn’t room on her plate for packets of
wildberry jam so she stuffed some in her pockets, plopped down at the nearest
table, and began to devour her meal.

Bacon, rolls, mixed fruit, spice
sausage—she nearly cried at the flavors. Everything was probably just
reconstituted goop from fabricators, but that didn’t stop it from tasting
incredible. Bee was so focused on shoving food into her face she didn’t notice
the hotel employee hovering next to her table until he cleared his throat.

“Young miss?”

Bee swallowed a mouthful of bacon
and looked up at him. “Me?”

The employee was an older man,
heavyset, dressed in the hotel’s magenta uniform and flat-topped hat. From the
size of his gut he’d be easy to outrun if she had to. Bee scooted her chair
back from the table a bit to give herself room to stand. If he tried to grab
her she knew where to hit him for a quick escape.

The man smiled at her, his cheeks
rolling up in thick dimples. “Would you like some juice or water?”

Bee looked down at the table—she’d
forgotten a drink.
“Oh. Um, yes.”

“Which would you like?”

“What? Oh. Juice I guess?”

The man nodded and dashed off to
get it for her. Bee considered slipping out while his back was turned, but
couldn’t bring herself to leave a hot meal behind. She decided to just keep
playing along like she was a guest and slid her chair forward again, intent on
getting to the bottom of her plate. They seemed to be buying it. And she
wouldn’t have a problem outrunning the fat waiter, that was for sure.

Find him,
Mother whispered in her head.

Mother always spoke up when Bee
did something she didn’t like. Something that might get in the way of things. Bee
ignored her. After pulling the same trick for weeks, skipping all over the city
to different places so they never learned her face, Bee felt confident in her
chances. She wouldn’t get caught. Besides, the waiter was giving her the
executive treatment—how could she say no to that? It made her almost feel
normal, like the rest of Overlook City.

“Here you are, miss,” the man said
as he returned with her juice.

“Thank you,” she said around a
bite of roll.

“You must be hungry.”

“It’s okay if I get seconds,
right?”

He chuckled. “It’s good, eh? Have
as much as you can eat—the leftovers just get tossed into the recycler. In
fact, I might have to get some myself. May I sit with you? I can bring you back
another helping of what you’ve got.”

“Uh—sure,” Bee blurted, unable to come
up with an excuse.

“Wonderful,” he said. “My name is
Hargrove, by the way.”

Great, now he wanted to sit and
chat. Mother was right—she should have run. Bee tried to tell her legs to move,
but they wouldn’t budge and before she could make a decision Hargrove came back
with two loaded buffet plates. Quick for his size. She’d have to be careful if
he found her out.

Hargrove set their plates down as
he took his seat. “Nothing like a good breakfast to start your day, eh?”

Find him,
Mother insisted.

Bee darted her eyes to the exit.
Hargrove noticed.

“It’s okay, kid, I’ll be out of
your way in a minute,” he said, waving a strip of bacon in the air. “It won’t
take me long to finish this little snack, I promise you that.”

Muscles taut, ready to bolt, Bee
weighed her options.

“No thanks,” she said.

She stood too quickly and knocked
the chair over with her knees. It tottered and fell over behind her, clacking
against the floor. The whole room fell silent for a moment as people reacted to
the noise. Bee put her head down and dashed for the exit, glancing back as she
went to see Hargrove rise from the table.

“Wait,” he said, “Miss, are you
alright?”

She ran through the dining room
doors into the lobby.

“Miss, wait,” Hargrove called as
he hurried after her.

She’d nearly made it to the
hotel’s entrance when a man entering from the street noticed her. The doors
slid open in front of the newcomer but he stopped just outside, eyes locked on Bee.
He spread his arms and blocked her path.

Bee’s heart raced. Trapped.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She could hear Hargrove getting closer and closer to
her. No chance against two.
She sprinted
forward, faked left, and lunged to the right past the guy blocking the door. He
hooked her with one arm around her stomach, knocking the wind out of her, and lifted
her whole body in the air before slamming her to the ground. The back of her
head smacked hard on the floor with a jarring thump and Bee gasped for air.

For a moment instinct took over
and Bee fumbled for the knife at her hip, but then she saw the badge fastened
to the man’s belt. A cold brick dropped into her stomach when she read the
words
Overlook City Police
.
She gave up. The taste of bile crept
into the back of her throat as she fought against sudden nausea. Caught again.

“Get off me, I didn’t do
anything,” she said.

“Right, of course you didn’t,” he
said as he waved Hargrove over. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Bee,” she mumbled.

“Full name.”

Bee glared and kept a stubborn
silence.

“Identify,” he said.

Bee knew the command meant he’d
called up her profile on his display lenses so he could see her public record. Every
police officer she’d met—and most citizens who could afford it—wore contact
lenses which displayed information only the user could see. She’d never used
them herself, but she’d seen enough of the commercials to figure out how they
worked.

He snorted. “Buttercup? You
serious? That’s your name?”

She opened her mouth to say
something snarky, but knew there was no point. Game over. She’d probably end up
in some foster home again, get put back in school. Why couldn’t they just leave
her alone? Mother would get angry if Bee didn’t keep looking. And she couldn’t
stop looking until she found him. Dread clawed at her throat. Or maybe it was
more vomit.

“Stop right there!” Hargrove
shouted.

To Bee’s surprise, the officer let
go of her.

“Slow down, I got her,” he said to
Hargrove. “Officer Brinkley, Overlook City Police.”

“Oh, you’re proud of yourself, are
you?”

“Whoa whoa whoa, I said slow
down.” Officer Brinkley pointed a finger at Hargrove. “You see what this badge
says? Listen to me—”

Guests gathered near the hotel doors
to watch the scene unfold.

“No, you listen,
sir!
”
Hargrove said, loud enough to draw stares from the other side of the street. “I
am the manager of this establishment! I was only trying to get the poor girl’s
attention and you’ve gone and knocked her around. My stars, just look at her. She’s
just a child and you’ve smashed her head into the floor. She could have a
concussion!”

“Please. I’m just doing my job.”
The officer gave an annoyed shake of his head as he turned to address the onlookers.
“Don’t block the walkways, please. Everyone keep moving.”

Bee leaned against the wall
outside, rubbing the back of her head trying to make it look like it hurt a
lot. Which it did, sort of. She didn’t understand why the guy—Hargrove?—was
getting so upset; she’d been knocked around worse before. But she wasn’t about
to try and calm the angry giant when he seemed to be on her side. She almost
laughed when she noticed the color of his face nearly matched his magenta
uniform from all the yelling.

“Well, come on,” Officer Brinkley
said. “I mean, look at her. Street kid if I’ve ever seen one. You don’t try to
run unless you did something. She was probably stealing, right, or—”

Bee brought her hand out from
behind her head and groaned, her palm wet with a patch of deep red, strands of
long blonde hair sticking to it. Several people from the gathering crowd
gasped. The officer’s jaw dropped so far it nearly unhinged.

Hargrove stepped between them. “I
think you’ve done quite enough here, Officer Brinkley! I’ll be speaking with
your lieutenant.” The big man looked at one of the nearby guests. “Excuse me,
you in the green there. Call an ambulance, please.”

Hargrove scooped Bee into his arms
and whisked her away back into the hotel as an angry crowd gathered around the
officer. Brinkley shouted a command while hastily backing off and a police
cruiser swooped down from a nearby rooftop, its parking sirens dispersing the group
of citizens while it settled on the ground. Brinkley pushed through to the
cruiser, ducked inside, and it lifted off the moment he went in.

“You’ll be alright,” Hargrove said
as he carried Bee into his office. He set her on his desk and opened a cabinet
on the wall filled with medical supplies. “I’ll get you some help, don’t worry.”

Bee laughed. “It’s okay, I’m fine.
I don’t need an ambulance.”

Hargrove turned around and Bee flashed
him a devious grin. She showed him the two crushed packets of wildberry jam
she’d pocketed before breakfast. Hargrove let out an astonished belly laugh.

“That’s pretty smart!” he said.
“Let me see just in case.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bee insisted, but
didn’t stop him from examining the back of her head. His fingers parted her
hair in the back and he probed her skull for any cuts or bumps. He was closer
to her than she liked, but she didn’t feel threatened at all. His cologne
smelled like trees and spices.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Bee.”

“And how old are you, Miss Bee?”

“Fourteen.”

“So is your name short for
something?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like it,” Bee
said.

Hargrove let out a soft laugh. “Don’t
be silly. What’s not to like?”

“Well my real name’s Buttercup,
but everyone makes fun of it.”

“Buttercup—a beautiful name. And
not one I’ve heard before. Were you named for something?”

His touch was gentler than Bee
expected. She was reminded of Mother and pulled away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“All good?” she asked.

“Well, aside from the jam you
smeared all over your head.” Hargrove curled his lip as he inspected his oily,
jam-covered fingers. “How long has it been since you bathed, kid? Your hair’s
all… greasy.”

Bee reddened. “Well…”

“You got family?”

Her silence was answer enough.

“A safe place to stay?”

She shook her head.

“You want a room?” Hargrove asked.

“What?”

“A room,” he repeated.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“That’s the idea,” he said with an
amused smile.

She looked away. “I can’t pay.”

Hargrove laughed. “Well of course
not. I’m not asking for money. Business lately has been… regretfully slow, so
we have some extra space. As long as you can keep after yourself and don’t
cause any trouble for my staff or customers we have a deal. For the time being.
No more than two weeks.”

“Your staff?” she asked. “This is
your hotel?”

“Well I’m only the manager, I don’t own it—but yes, I run
the place. So what do you say?”

Hargrove stuck a huge hand out with comical exaggeration,
his fingers still smeared with sticky red jam. Bee laughed, grasped it as best
she could with her own jammy hand, and shook with a squelch.

“Wonderful,” he said, but did not let go. “Now, if you’re
going to stay free of charge I can’t have you making extra work for the staff.
You don’t keep up your end of the bargain, or you cause trouble for me, the
deal’s off and you’re out tomorrow. You get one chance. One. Agreed?”