Chapter 1
Prologue
The noise of the bar was encroaching more and more over the sound of the street, until finally three men pushed into the open air. The larger of the three, a firm grip on another’s throat, is fending off the second. Finally, with a set of quick, crunchy moves, he flattens his two attackers - ending with one solid punch each.
He hovers above his first throated, bloodied victim.
“The next time I tell you something, consider who you’re talking to. Just for being surly, I’m making an execute-ive decision. I’m takin it all. My cut. Your cut. His cut. All mine. I consider it a tax for working with amateurs.” Without much acknowledgement he shoots his other victim clean through the shoulder, and robs both men of their money. Then, the large scruffy man starts back towards the city.
The thin voice of a young girl stops him. “Is this yours? I think you dropped this,” she says, holding a dusty orange knitted cap.
“Thanks,” says the man, snatching it from her. Lazily, he swats it against his leg to get the dust off. As he puts it back atop his head he sees, just a ways off, the familiar sight of a ship dropping into Persephone’s docks. He knows that ship on sight. Firefly class. He grins, almost hungrily, and starts walking towards the docks.
Chapter 1
Whisker was breathing a little slower than he usually did on a job. He was gaining a greater and greater affinity for the smell of junkyards, and wanted to enjoy the taste in the night air. If he thought deeply about it he might make the connection that junkyards meant parts, and parts meant they could keep flying, and flying meant he could get her back in the sky - untethered. Like she wants to be.
“Whisker!” Fram whispered as loud as he could. “Pay attention. You’ve disconnected me. Plug me back in.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Whisker carefully reconnected Fram’s pad to the relay box. Fram could now return his attention to the hack-screen in his hand.
After a few silent moments, an almost imperceptible ‘click’ finally signalled to the two thieves that the fence was off.
“That should be it,” Fram said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
With cutters in hand, and a distrust in his eyes, Whisker asked again: “. . . are you sure?”
Finally Fram takes the intitiative, grabbing the cutters from Whisker and cutting away at the wire mesh.
“One time that happened. One Time. Out of what? 20? 30? Will you ever let it go? ... Besides this is a junkyard not an Alliance impound. It’s only an alarm, and its mostly for critters. If it does go off we’re more likely to see animal control than the law.”
“They both carry guns around here,” Whisker noted.
With enough of the mesh cut, Fram is able to push back the fencing for he and Whisker to slip in.
“Alright. Do you know where to start looking?”
“Yeah. He keeps the more expensive stuff close to his shack. My guess, that’s our best bet.”
“Shiny. I’m following you.”
Whisker hunkered down and scurried his way though the shadows of junk piles and junkyard equipment. He was nimble enough that even when he did stumble, one could hardly notice a faltered step. That’s partly why he and Fram were always a good team, even when they were kids. Although Fram could hack, break, or pick his way into anything, he was often too clumsy to stay unnoticed for long. He did better following his pal’s footsteps.
With a deft pace, the pair reach the treasure trove pile of junk set next to the owners not un-dignified shack. Whisker immediately began sifting through the pile. Spying the yard on lookout, Fram unexpectedly spots another get.
“Hey. Is that a heat panel?”
Whisker pauses his search long enough to confirm. “Yeah. Looks like. In good condition too.”
“We should take it too then.”
“How would we carry it. It’s more than twice the size of us and weighs . . . well it weighs more than we can carry. Forget it for now.”
Returning to the pile of 'expensive' junk, Whisker finds an almost too perfect piece.
“Heyhey. Here we go!”
“That? That looks too big.”
“I’ll have to cut it down, but it should work like new. Let’s go.”
With prize in hand, Whisker makes a dash across the yard, back towards their entry. He is barely five steps away from Fram when the yard lights up around him. Out from the shack appears an armed, and angry, owner.
“Hold it buddy!” comes the half asleep command. “Just turn it around now.”
Whisker slowly spins towards the uneasy gun pointed at him.
“Whisker?!”
“Hey Brolin.”
Brolin is instantly suspicious. “Are you alone?” he asks, warily looking around. “Your drunkard of a captain ain’t with you, is she?”
“Nope. She’s not here. Just me,” Whisker says, hoping to divert attention from his friend still hiding in the dark.
“What you got there?” Brolin asks, slowly lowering his gun. “Injector coil, huh?” It only takes Brolin a moment to add up the situation, even in his sleepy state. “Well, why don’t you just leave it lay there. When Del feels like paying her debts she can come get it herself.”
Not wanting to let his prize go, Whisker begins thinking the only word he ever thinks in moments like this: STALL.
“Well, I gotta tell you Bro, she’s not in a mood for negotiations these days.”
“Of the two moods she has I’m sure she isn’t. But I’m not letting you leave with it.” To emphasize his point Brolin begins raising his gun again.
Before his aim is fixed, cutting through the night air comes the hefty sound of his hog-muel - a muel that he has suped up for junkyard work. Blasting into the light comes Fram, riding high on the heavy engine, 4 wheel hog-muel - face covered liked a bandit, and gun drawn. With a few shots in Brolin’s direction, the junkyard owner is forced back inside for cover.
“Jump On!” he shouts to Whisker, not slowing down.
As Whisker is about to ask where and how, he sees the answers he needs. Quickly he leaps onto his escape sled - a heat panel, towed by chain, dragging the ground. Clinging to the panel with one hand and holding his new coil in the other Whisker eggs on his partner:
“Go, GO, GO!!”
Then, with little regard for neatness, the noisy and chaotic mess, crash the front gate. Brolin returns through his door, gun firing, just in time to see all five - Whisker, Fram, his hog-muel, the injector coil, and the heat panel - disappear in the night.
The cool glass of the bottle neck felt solid in her hand. It was often the only thing that did when they were grounded for this long. This particular bottle was only a drink shy of empty. A leftover from the previous week’s waiting. It lightly sloshed as she climbed the ladder to the roof of the ship. Often she would climb up top with a whole bottle to enjoy, either alone or with crew or with ... other company. Tonight she wanted just one drink under the stars. That would be enough. Because tomorrow, she knew, they would be back in the sky. Untetherred.
Lying on her back on top of her home like this was always more comfortable than lying in her bunk, when they were on the ground. She was up here the first time she realized this was not a ship, an object built for the purpose of space travel. This configuration of design, turbines, thrusters, generators, hulls, hatches and engine added up to more - more than an object. It was a person. Someone she knew deeply. When she found her she reflected the poor care and misuse that Del had experience with. As though she saw a twin. A twin sister. A sister that gave her warmth and comfort, and allowed sleep.
Del couldn’t say which sobered her sleepy eyes first: the morning sun peeking over the valley or Fram’s clear voice.
“We’re ready to go,” he says.
“Shiny. Let’s pick up our feet,” she says as she picks herself up off the hull of the ship. Fram retreats his way back through the top hatch and down the ladder.
“Alright, Sarah Adelaide,” she chides herself. “Time to put on your big girl pants. Time to be a captain.” And in almost one complete move she empties her hand of the dry whiskey bottle, retrieves her holstered gun lying next to her, and alights back into the ship.
Quickly as her excitement would allow, Del seals the top hatch behind her and joins Whisker on the bridge. He is greasy and soot covered from a night of ship repairs.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the hurry we’re in, Whisk. Being a week late with our delivery does not look good to future employers.”
“I know. Just sit back ... and watch me soar.”
With a nearly silent effort the ship hoists its four feet gently off the ground and back into the belly of the ship, just as the powerful turbines ignite and push away from the heavy valley floor. Both Whisker and Del feel relief come over them.
“I’ll let ’im know we’re coming,” Del says leaving the bridge and heading for the cortex in her quarters.
But before she can get down the ladder to her room she is met by hardened muscle and feelings - Ambrose.
“Not now Ambrose.”
“Do you still believe you’re cut out for this line of work?” Ambrose says, trying to imply his expertise.
With a steadiness seldom seen from her during the last week on the ground, Del responds simply: “I do.”
“Are you willing to-”
“I am.”
Ambrose eyes her like a prey that doesn’t know its danger. “Badger put me here for a reason. It’d be better for you, girl, to remember - ”
But before Ambrose can finish, he feels the cold steel barrel of Del’s sidearm under his chin.
“It’d be better for you not to talk to me like a whore. My memory’s just fine.” Del pauses long enough for Ambrose to contemplate the feeling of a bullet shooting through his head, sees that her point is made, then descends to her quarters. She won’t be sorry to see him go.
Finally in her quarters, she tosses her large, unbalanced sidearm on the bed and sits at her cortex screen. She has to collect herself to make the unnerving call. Badger is waiting at the other end with a quick reply.
“Hello, Little One. Does this mean I can expect delivery soon?”
“Just touched off. We’ll be there in a days time.”
“Good to hear Cupie. And how’s our boy-o doing?”
She hated his terms of endearment. He seemingly hasn’t learned that they make her skin crawl.
“He’s doing his job. That’s all.”
“Ahhh. You two still going at it are you? I really thought these last couple months would bring you closer together, more like blood relations by now.” Del noticed a distinct lack of surprise in his voice. She wondered what he really intended, putting Ambrose on the ship.
“Ah well. A beaming father can’t have everything.”
She knew he was referring to his son, but the implication that she was somehow also related to him angered her. The feeling was worsened by the knowledge that she did owe him in some regard. Under his thumb, as she was.
“Right. Well like I said, we’re on our way.”
“See you soon Cupie.” Del couldn’t shut it off fast enough.
The next day passed with little affair. A few drinks. More than a few nostalgic stories of Fram, Whisker, and Del’s childhood gallivants. Occasionally Ambrose would step in awkwardly to a conversation. But no surprises. And soon enough Whisker was dropping the whole lot, ship, crew, and contraband, into the docks at Persephone.
