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Chapter 12 - Winning Friends and Influenced People
🕑 Added 2025-08-25 17:05:01 +0000 UTCHe wasn’t getting used to the jumps. This was the forth after leaving Madrigal Station and it was the same splitting headache and aching muscles each time. Instead he got used to his post-jump routine. Choke down a few sips of water, stretching and a short jog, listening to an audio story while chatting with Loon, and as much sleep as he could manage.
Heath staggered upright while they went through their usual post-jump checks.
“We have arrived in the Haku system. This gate is far out near the edge of the gravity well, so the flight will be another two weeks until we hit the major station.”
“Sounds good. Are we close enough to get the projected announcements?”
“Not yet. I estimate another five days before solar-system-wide channels will be available. Two more after that for job listings and other non-urgent information.”
********
Another station, another long walk into the bowels of poorly-lit service corridors. Haku was not particularly impressive, but it would do. The station was older than Madrigal, and the patchwork tapestry of bulkheads to prove it. Most of his cargo was already unloaded, by another couple of entirely unremarkable Spacers he would never be able to recall.
The extra piece needed to be hand-delivered. At least if he wanted those argo crystals. And he did want them, and more besides. Aetherized argo was common and drove Class advancement. The crystal form only came from dungeon loot and so-expensive-as-to-be-made-up condensers in Core systems.
Heath needed every scrap he could get to pour back into the ship matrix.
The Loon had spent half the trip running calculations for what upgrades were possible. Three grams wasn’t much, but it would be enough for the dampeners and a little bit of spatial expansion across the ship. Maybe corridors that weren’t quite so claustrophobic. Or he could save it until he had enough for some of the bigger upgrades.
He reached the door indicated in his directions, but before he could knock or ping the station AI for entry, it slid open. Not ominous at all. But he had already committed to seeing this through back in that closet carved into the Madrigal station. The months spent making his way here hadn’t changed that. He stepped into the empty room, the door shutting him in without a sound. With the improved angle he could see a desk placed beside another door off to the side. Sitting behind the desk was the most beautiful woman Heath had ever seen.
It was terrifying. She wasn’t beautiful in a human way. She was perfect, like every portrayal of beauty across the universe had been deconstructed and rebuilt into the visage in front of him.
“I’m delivering for Spider.” He tried following instructions and was horrified when his voice cracked on the last word.
“You’re expected.”
She waved him through the second door, and he was only too happy to flee her presence. The relief when the second door closed behind him was too visceral to be natural. He glanced back over his shoulder, as though he would see the woman through the solid metal of the bulkhead.
Laughter pulled his focus back to where it belonged.
“Our Almirah does have that effect on the uninitiated.”
Heath was faced with a tableau so obvious he thought they might be actors, paid to put him off-kilter. The speaker was a large man with a full smile, slabs of muscle beneath pale skin, contained in what must have been a custom-made Intarian suit. The kind that movies about organized crime depicted as the mobster uniform. Behind him was an even larger woman, a combat Classer if Heath had ever seen one. Every inch of her said she could pulverize him, blindfolded, with one hand behind her back. She was in the universally recognized tactical gear and ready position of the Bodyguard.
They were in some sort of study, like what he had to assume the major noble families would keep, with shelves of unread books and bottles of undrunk alcohol set up as decor. The whole thing screamed “I’m rich and I will do what I want to you, little peon.”
“Ahem,” Heath desperately attempted to regain some equilibrium. “I’m delivering for the Spider.”
“Yes, yes,” the man waved him forward. “Let’s see it then.”
Heath carefully placed the box on the wide desk in front of the man – real wood if he didn’t miss his guess – and stepped back. He noted absently that he hadn’t been asked to sit, even though there were a pair of chairs clearly set up for guests.
With no fanfare at all, the man pressed his hand against the mana signature locked box and lifted the lid. Heath averted his eyes. He wanted no knowledge of what was in that box. In fact, if he could, he would wipe this entire interaction from his mind, and the minds of all those present. He was just a cargo Captain, no need to bother with him if imperial investigators came snooping around.
“Looks right. Good work kid.”
“Not a kid.”
The man’s eyes whipped up to Heath, where he was cursing himself for not keeping his mouth shut.
“Sure,” he said with a smirk. “How about we finish up here. Agatha.”
The Bodyguard moved for the first time at his command, fluid and graceful in a way that marked most predators. Heath tensed all his muscles to keep from flinching as she proffered a small velvet box, like what fancy jewelry might come in. He took it, carefully avoiding touching Agatha. Plenty of Skills used skin contact as a trigger.
Peeking inside he saw two crystals, with that shimmery non-color that marked real argo. The fact he was not cut out for clandestine crap was made even more clear, if his general discomfort wasn’t enough, when he realized he had no method of weighing them. It could be one gram or five, and he wouldn’t know the difference.
“Looks good.”
He wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Captain. Traveller’s blessings.”
“Safe skies,” he muttered, already fleeing back out into the normal station walkways.
Once he had some distance between himself and the offices, with the intimidating Classers hidden within, he did his best to blend in with the masses. Letting the flow of the crowds lead him, Heath found himself in a job hall. This one was bigger than most, and already well into the party phase of the evening. It was also a lot rougher than what Heath needed right now.
But half a dozen pairs of wary eyes had flicked up when he stepped and it would be more attention-grabbing if he turned and walked right back out. So he firmed his shoulders and grabbed a stool at the bar. One beer, then he would be straight back to the Loon, locked up tight.
He made it halfway through the drink.
“Hey, kid. Don’t think we’ve seen you around here before.” Slurred words, shouted from way too close to his ear.
Heath turned his head just enough to see his new friend. Long limbs, dark skin covered in darker tattoos peeking out of the wrist and kneck of his coveralls, and a shirt covered in indeterminate stains. An Engineer on a ship or a Maintenance Worker on the station then. He didn’t see any insignias, so it could go either way.
“Just passing through,” Heath said.
“Oh yeah? We see a lot of people passing through down by Vinny’s lair. Usually carrying something shiny. What about you? Find anything fun down with the rats?”
The drunk moved faster than Heath was ready for, plucking his argo from the obvious bulge in his pocket.
“Give that back!”
“What’s the matter kid? Trading for a little jewelry? Nothing to be embarrassed by.”
“I’m not a kid, and that’s mine.”
“Now, now. Share with the class. Let’s see.” The bully’s grin slid off his face as he opened the box and revealed the contents. To the entire. Gods-damned. Bar.
A moment of stillness hung in the air. They could all go back to their business, and nothing had to happen.
The moment shattered.
When the first Spacer lunged, the free-for-all erupted. Heath made a mad grab for the box but missed, sending it sliding into a corner. Then the punches started. He ducked and wove until he reached the edge of the seething mass of limbs. He was way too underleveled for a Spacer brawl. One good hit and he would be in traction for a month, going into debt up to his eyeballs to afford healing in any kind of reasonable timeframe. At least none of the others looked like they saw what happened to the crystals. They were far too focused on beating on the nearest Classers. He noted with a grim smile the way the first bully was getting socked in the face.
It was a vicious kind of satisfaction, but he was kneeling on a disgusting floor in the corner of a full melee of drunk Classers, so he had earned it.
There. He locked his eyes on the box, just in time for a dusty gray boot to come down on top of it. His eyes panned up to see a person. Probably. The hair, the baggy, grime-covered coveralls, and the overall posture of despair made it kind of hard to tell for sure.
“What the fuck is going on?” They slurred.
Great. Another drunk, but at least this one seemed sleepy. Either not noticing Heath at their feet, or not caring in the slightest, they kicked the box into their waiting hand. Definitely a higher level than Heath with that kind of Precision stat.
They opened the box a crack and then slammed it shut again.
“Yours?”
“Yeah,” Heath said, realizing he hadn’t gone unnoticed after all.
“Let’s go then.”
Heath’s savior – or maybe extortionist — stood and dragged Heath up with them.
“Sway with the crowd kid, and shove from behind if you have to.”
Words to live by, Heath presumed. Head up but not making eye contact with anyone, the older Classer led by example. And wonder of wonders, it actually worked. They were a third of the way to the door before Heath realized.
Then half.
Three quarters.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going, kid?” In the chaos, the original asshole had made it between them and the exit.
The stranger kept walking and Heath saw his whole future walking out with them.
“Hand it over.”
“I don’t have it.”
The world blurred into slow motion as he watched the man’s hand cock back, desperately timing when he should duck or dive to the side. Forget the crystals, this was survival.
Then he was saved by the same chaos this Spacer had started. There was a dull blue glow below Heath’s line of sight and the bully fell, stumbling off to the side and leaving a clear shot to the door.
“Come on,” his savior’s hand gripped his arm and towed Heath out of the bar.
Shouting followed them both, and Heath found himself forced into a jog. One sharp turn and then another flashed in front of him until he was confident no one would have followed them.
The unlikely pair emerged into a market. Neon signs advertised everything from a luxury spa to noodle shops, a magitech repair depot and a sparkling storefront for a group of Tattooists. Hundreds of people, Classed and not, bustled about. Heath’s arm was released and he whipped his head to the side. His new friend was wandering off.
Not a chance.
He dogged the stranger’s steps into an alley, with the station lights buzzing in a way that promised a headache from long exposure. His quarry disappeared and Heath sprinted the last few feet, seeing an unmarked door and diving in without a second thought.
It was not another criminal lair, or even lodgings. It was another bar. Or maybe a store that also served alcohol. The bearded bartender, already an oddity for a Spacer, was passing bottle after bottle over to Heath’s stranger. Each one disappeared into a pocket. The same pocket. Heath sucked the back of his teeth. Personal quantum storage was expensive. Way too expensive for some random Spacer.
“Hey –”
The stranger held their hand up, head tilted to the side like they were listening to something.
“Persistant fuckers.”
Once more into the crowds. This time Heath was trusted to follow along on his own, or otherwise the rich Classer didn’t care one way or another. A disturbance at the other end of the market sent Heath’s heartrate through the roof. He looked over his shoulder and sure enough, the crowd from the bar had turned from melee into semi-organized mob. Heath walked faster, coming up even with his companion.
When he would have started running, a hand shot out and gripped his elbow, stopping him cold. “No attention.”
There was no fighting that grip. So with every instinct screaming at him to “run, run fast”, he fell into step with his anonymous companion. They even stopped for a moment to chat with a food cart owner.
“Hey!”
The shout was far too close and before he could think about it, Heath turned to look. The lead thug was whipping his head around until he spotted Heath, then a wicked grin slid onto his face.
“Fucking child,” his companion muttered.
The iron grip returned and they were off, this time running almost too fast for Heath to keep up. Power, he thought to himself between pants. Next level, his stat points were going straight into Power.
“Berth number?”
“16 – 16A,” he choked out.
All he got in response was a grunt and a sharp turn into what was definitely not a public thoroughfare. At least he could take heart that his new benefactor wasn’t robbing him or leaving him to the wolves.
The sudden drop in crowds was enough to tell that their pursuers were gaining. It was unfair. 18 was a perfectly respectable level but these assholes made him look like an unClassed child.
“Can you go any faster?”
“Faster?!”
The gasping mouthbreathing he was doing must have been answer enough, their pace stayed the same but their route got more convoluted, sometimes parting an alarmed crowd and sometimes thundering down a maintenance hall.
Even knowing their destination, it was a surprise to Heath when they emerged into one of the main docks. It would have been better if they didn’t emerge on floor seven. The lifts were on one end and Heath took a step towards them. A single step because the iron grip was back.
“No time.”
Heath took back every nice thought he’d had about this person as he sprinted up nine flights of narrow metal stairs. He didn’t need to look anymore to confirm they were still being followed. The vibrations clacking his teeth together were enough for that. Why were they even still following him? Argo was worth a lot, but three grams wasn’t worth public theft and murder. Even on the Rim, people had better standards than that.
He almost cried when the Loon came into view. She must have been watching for Heath, or maybe monitoring his location the entire time, because the person-size door in the cargo hatch slid open in front of them just after their pursuers made it off the stairs. It slammed back home with as much attitude as an automated safety system allowed.
Recognizing they were safe – no station spacer was punching through a hull – his legs decided they were done playing nice. He collapsed to the floor, heaving breaths so fast and cramping so hard he was worried he thought he might break something. Footsteps fading away marked his uninvited guest’s unhurried exploration deeper into the ship.
“Welcome back, Captain.”
With a supreme effort of will, he flipped onto his back. “Hi Loon.”
“How did your handoff go?”
He took another moment to catch his breath and stretch out.
“You know, it could have been worse.”
