Crescent (34 page)

“I’m…
 
sorry.”

“Whatever,” the prostitute sighed. “We get to choose our clients most times.
Most, but not all.
Men like Ezra Kendall…
 
they choose you.”

The prostitute slid off the bed and began to dress quickly. Once she was mostly clothed, she gathered her shoes and her bag and held them close to her chest, making for the door.

She paused only for an instant. “I’m done here, right?”

“As far as I know, you are,” Marisa said.

“Good.” The dark-haired girl left without another word.

Marisa sat at the edge of Kendall’s big sleigh bed. She was alone now. The coup was over, but the uneasy flitter of butterfly wings had yet to leave her stomach in peace.

(•••)

Marisa found Gerald asleep in his cell. She envied the near peaceful quality of his slack features—she almost didn’t want to wake him. The ridiculously old-fashioned lock on the cell door turned over with a clank. His features went rigid and he sat upright so abruptly that he came close to falling right off the sorry excuse for a bed. He rubbed at his neck and blinked up at her. She sat down beside him and placed a hand on his knee.

“It’s over, Gerry.”

“It’s…
 
over?” He cocked his head; he didn’t understand.

“Kendall. We arrested him an hour ago,” she said.

“And it took you an hour to come over here and get me out? Shit.” But he smiled. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “I have no speech prepared. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”

(•••)

“We’ve got a ride away from here, you know,” Marisa said as Gerald punched in the access code for his apartment. He looked at her as the door chimed that it was unlocked.

“I’ve got a ride,” Gerald said, “named Bean,
who I think would be extremely upset were I to leave him behind.” He stepped into the apartment and she followed. The door hissed shut behind them.

A woman stood in the center of Gerald’s apartment.

She screamed.

Three long, grievous wounds ran from her left shoulder to her right hip, as if she had been brutally raked with some crude weapon. The wounds oozed blood and were laced with what looked like black oil. Wide and bloodshot eyes stared out from her dirty face. Her hair clung to her skull in bloody mattes. She screamed again. Gerald grabbed Marisa’s arm.

He was seeing it, too.

“No!” the girl cried. “You can’t let them take it from her! Unity! It will bring unity!” She bolted at them and both Marisa and Gerald took a step back, relinquishing their grip on one another. The girl disappeared through the closed door. Marisa looked at Gerald and he frowned.

“Marisa,” he said, “I don’t think anything is over yet.”

(Part XXI)

The Crescent security roster floated above the long, gray conference room table. A handful of names had been lined-through with glowing red—officers who were off duty on account of illness; or, worse, officers who had disappeared. The remainder of the list shimmered in green and showed an active Crescent security force far more robust that Nigel
Swaren
had hoped for. The text winked out and the lights came up.

“All are committed to this transition, Captain
Swaren
, unless otherwise indicated. You have a hard copy of the report, as requested,” Captain Benedict said.

“Thank you, Captain,” Nigel said, and smiled. His doubts about Benedict had been ill-founded.

“I would like to backtrack a moment here,” Belinda Michaels spoke up. She had arrived with the
Odessa
, and would be running the show on Crescent until the approaching decommission—an event that would remain unannounced until Crescent had sufficient time to recover from its more recent catastrophes. Nigel nodded for her to go on. The crow’s feet around her eyes deepened as she smiled. “I don’t think it is necessary to keep the colonists confined to the
Odessa
any longer. She’ll remain here for another day or two as final details of the transition are ironed out. Why not let them stretch their legs and see the sights? After all, this may be the last time they get a chance to see Crescent.”

“With all due respect, Ms. Michaels.
Ma’am.
In light of the recent riots and the general sense of unrest that has plagued this station for weeks, I’m not sure that’s in the best interest of the colonists,” Captain Benedict objected.

“Captain
Swaren
?” She looked to Nigel for his opinion.

“I have to side with Captain Benedict. At least until we get things stabilized, I don’t think it would be wise to introduce tourists into the population. Most of Crescent’s residents are pleased with Kendall’s arrest. However, there are always a few bad eggs in the bunch. Tourists are a favorite target of dissidents.
At least in my experience.”

“
And this
vatter
concert—are
you still planning on letting that occur?” Ms. Michaels asked. She glanced down at her personal terminal before looking from
Swaren
to Benedict.

“I am,” Captain Benedict said. “Again, the decision is ultimately yours, Ms. Michaels, but I think the event will aid in expediting the…
 
healing process. Renew the sense of community.
A positive event after a streak of tragedies.”

Belinda Michaels dipped her sharp chin in a nod.

“Very good then, Captain Benedict.
You know your people better than I.” She stood and straightened the small, dark suit jacket that hung from her thin shoulders, then bowed to Nigel and then to Captain Benedict. “I thank you both for your time. I have other responsibilities to attend to.”

Belinda Michaels left with an armed security officer at her side. Benedict folded his personal terminal, placed it under his arm, and departed. Nigel was left in the silence of the large conference room. He suppressed a grin, but was having a harder time keeping his giddiness at bay. Kendall and his loyalists were locked up in a secret location and they’d be off the station in less than a week. A fleet of Core Sec boats was nearing
Tireca
and would be permanently shutting down the jump gate into
Habeos
.
Darros
Stronghold would be cut off, and the raider clans did not posses the resources to create another way around.

Vacation was blissfully close.

(•••)

Ina Cortez murmured and pulled a blanket over her naked body. She shoved a large arm away from where it was pressing uncomfortably on her breasts. The limb belonged to the stranger that lay beside her. She rolled onto her back and the man on her other side came into view; he lay with his back to her, the flesh there a canvas of so many tattoos it was hard to discern any one shape. She sat up and pulled the sheets close around her. A woman lay curled feline-like at the foot of the bed, naked save for a single black stocking. Her buttocks were pink with handprints. Ina closed her eyes and inhaled through her mouth. She exhaled through her nose and then climbed over the human mural, careful not to wake him. Black leaflets were scattered everywhere, along with sheets, pillows, and clothing. Ina tiptoed into the bathroom. The tile floor was cold beneath her feet. She closed the door, sat on the toilet, and thought one very clear and very unsettling thought.

Where am I?

Ina refused to ask
what
she as doing there. She knew. Ina felt it in the aches and pains that came each time she moved. She looked at the floor and closed her eyes. The Red had gone for now, but it had consumed her completely the night before. Without the Red, she felt empty and ashamed of the depraved things it had allowed her to do in the other room. Ina called to it. She wanted it to come back because she couldn’t face reality without it.

Ina stayed locked in the bathroom for the better part of an hour and waited, but the Red didn’t come. Gathering the will to stand, she climbed into shower. She set the water temperature high enough that she nearly scalded herself, but she didn’t care—it was making her feel clean, and the memories of what had happened in the room outside were falling deeper into her subconscious.

Good,
she thought,
The Red couldn’t hold onto me for long enough. It tried, but it couldn’t. I know what I have to do.
The small victory made her feel a rush of motivation.

There was still hope, but that meant she had to find Marisa before it was too late. Ina got out of the shower. After she dried off, she wrapped the thick, cotton towel around herself and unlocked the bathroom door. She would look for her clothes, but only for a minute. If she couldn’t find them, she would leave in the towel. The desire for flight far exceeded any sense of modesty. She wanted to get out of there. That was all that was important. Let the people in the corridors of the station call her crazy. It was not far from the truth, after all. Ina stepped back out into the bedroom.

The human mural stood a meter or so from the bathroom door. His wiry arms were crossed over his chest. The woman who had been slumbering at the foot of the bed was not far behind him. The lone, black stocking still clung to her calf; her dark hair was a rat’s nest atop her head. The man with the big arms stood next to the dark haired girl. His arms hung at his side, fists clenching and unclenching. The owner of Heathen’s—
Maerl
—she recognized him clearly now, stood at the rear of the pack.

There was something behind their eyes; something that glowed a low but wild red.

They were not going to let her leave.

“What do you want from me?” Ina asked.

“You’re very special, Ina,” the human mural told her. “You have a job to finish.”

“I just want to go home,” Ina said. “Please.”

“You must anoint the
vatter
—open his eyes to the Red. His will shall become,” the human mural gestured to the others, “our will.
The will of the Three.
He will play the music that will open the gateway.”

“I don’t want anything more to do with this,” Ina said and looked toward the door. She didn’t think there was any way she could make it there.

“We have your father, Ina,” the human mural said, and that changed everything.

“What do I have to do?” Ina asked.

“We will show you,” he replied.

The human mural walked up to her, so close she could feel the heat of his body; his scent was powerful. She felt a flutter between her legs. She had no doubt that the same red that glowed behind her their eyes glowed behind hers now. Had she infected them? Or was it the other way around? She leaned into the mural’s lithe frame and his arms slid around her. She began to cry. Ina closed her eyes and felt lips on her neck. The mural’s cheeks were rough and unshaven. It hurt just a little bit, and the hurt began to fuel the Red. She felt more lips on her shoulders. They were soft and feminine. The towel was undone and it fell to her feet. Delicate fingers slipped up along the inside her of her thigh and touched her where she tingled.

There was no way out now. There was only Red.

(•••)

Gerald sat in the control couch with a bottle of 100% real, no-derivative Kentucky Bourbon resting on his knee. He uncorked the bottle and inhaled deeply. The potent aroma made his eyes water. Gerald had saved the liquor for a special occasion. What sort of occasion, he had never really been sure. Up to that point, Gerald’s life had been a string of random and sometimes unsatisfying events that he followed from one star system to another. He had kept the bottle onboard Bean for almost seven years, convinced that one day, there would be a special occasion.

A thick layer of dust had accumulated on the bottle. He drew a smiley face on its side with his index finger.
That made him laugh
. He poured three fingers of the liquid into a highball glass and set the bottle down on the control console. Gerald put his nose of the rim of the glass and inhaled again, with a little bravado, even.
Good shit, yes-goddamn-sir.

“Bean.
It’s a damn shame that you have no mouth, let alone a tongue or taste buds.”

“A minor shortcoming, Captain,” Bean said. “If I had a mouth and a tongue with taste buds, I hazard I’d not be dulling said taste buds with alcohol.”

“You say that now, but you have no idea.” Gerald hoisted the glass in the direction of one of the bug-eye cameras set across the fore of the bridge. “To you and I, buddy.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“No. You’re supposed to say cheers. How many times do we have to go through this?”

“Right.
Cheers. Why are we toasting, Captain?”

“Because we’re leaving this hunk of metal in two days.
No
more bad
mojo
. No more seeing ghosts. No more salvage. No more Kendall.
Swaren
deposited a hunk of change in the account for assisting Core Sec…
 
”

“By assisting, do you mean how you got taken into custody—with your pants down, no less?”

“Forget it, Bean. We’re done.
Retired.”

“That’s good news, Captain. But I’m much too young retire,” Bean responded in a tone of amusement.

“Bean, you were an old man when I bought you.”

“Touché, Captain. Where will we go?”

“We’ve got free escort to New Juno with the
Odessa
once the Core Sec fleet arrives. I’m inclined to see what New Juno has to offer.”

“I see.
Very upper-crust, Captain.
Will we need to begin elocution lessons en route?”

“Nope.
I’m going to find a nice spot of land, away from everyone else and set up a little house there…
 
” Gerald thought of poor
Maerl
—
Maerl
, who had lost everything in the wake of the riots. He felt a pang of guilt. Compared to
Maerl
, Gerald had not earned the retirement. He reached out and removed the photo of his brother from the control console. Liam’s smile was still bright, Liam’s wife was still beautiful, and Gerald’s haircut still remained as tragic as when the photo had been taken.
I’m
gonna
make it count,
Gerald thought,
and then I’ll have earned it. I won’t take a second of it for granted, that’s for damn sure.

“Cheers, Bean.”

“Cheers, Captain.”

Through Bean’s front viewport, Gerald saw a ship permeate the hangar’s ion membrane. The long, polished Mira class cruiser was hard to mistake for any other ship. The discriminating rock star always traveled the stars in a Mira. So, Erick
Haddyrein
had come to Crescent Station after all. Gerald didn’t think it would really happen. Erick
Haddyrein
was big shit—one of the music industry’s biggest product pushers. Gerald couldn’t quite figure out why he would choose Crescent for the last stop on his tour. But, famous people were eccentric and he was sure that
Haddyrein
was no exception to that rule. Gerald laughed and polished off the bourbon. He set the glass aside in favor of going straight for the teat. Maybe he’d check out the concert, for one reason and one reason alone: with Heathen’s shut down for good, he had nothing better to do.

(•••)

The Mira came to a halt in a roped-off landing area. Two rows of security officers flanked the vessel. Some of the officers had just come back to duty from sick leave; Marisa couldn’t help but notice that most of them still looked ill. The nose cone of the Mira lifted open and a docking ramp extended like a silver tongue. A plastic surgery job wearing a shiny chrome suit and matching tie walked down the ramp with an obvious swagger. Unnaturally blue eyes swept back and forth over the deck from beneath a shock of bleached blond hair. Marisa had almost forgotten just how fake civilized folk could look. The man smirked and halted when he reached Marisa and her security team.

“I’m Peter Trappe. Mr.
Haddyrein’s
manager.”