Firefly-esque
It had been a poorly designed job from the very beginning. She never would have agreed to it, except half-trained companion women had very few choices when it came to work. And as much as she hated to admit it, vitamin supplements really weren't cutting it for meals anymore. So she'd taken the job. And regretted it ever since.
"Laka! Hurry up, gorramit, we got places to be!" Her "employer's" voice was muffled by the curtain she'd hung in lieu of a door, but she could hear his annoyance easily enough. She sighed and put the finishing touches on her make-up. Gold eye-shadow to bring out the flecks in her hazel eyes, warm red-brown lipstick, faint blush. Her thick auburn hair had been swept up into a twist a few perfect ringlets curled down her neck, resting on the high collar of her burnished bronze gown. She turned and peered over her shoulder at the mirror. The back of the gown had a large oval window, presenting the curve of he spine and fair skin. She twisted a few directions to make sure that none of the tattoo on her right shoulder blade was visible. Women where she was going were not the type for permanent markings of any kind.
Satisfied that she at least looked the part, Laka grabbed the small bag that held her supplies and pushed the curtain aside to move into the main room of the apartment.
Her employer had resumed pacing, clearly uncomfortable in the suit she'd selected for him. Every few steps he'd stop and pull at the collar of the crisp white shirt, or roll his shoulders in the deep black jacket, or fumble with the pocket watch hanging from the vest that matched the colour of her gown. His shaggy blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Laka grimaced, she hadn't been able to convince him to cut it. Of course, she thought to herself when he turned around and she could see the scar that ran the length of the left side of his face, it was unlikely anyone would notice the hair.
He scowled at her. "Took you bloody long enough. I've been waitin' near a gorram hour! You ready, 'cause we're goin'."
Laka sighed. "Thank you, Spitz, you look very nice as well. Shall we depart?"
Sneering, Spitz turned and demonstrated the basis of his name, a string of dirty brown spittle hitting only half in the spittoon in the corner. Laka swallowed back her gag reflex, reminded herself that the job would be over soon, and moved to the doorway. Spitz pulled at his collar again, then pushed her aside and strode out of the apartment.
They'd managed to get quarters only a few corridors away from the gathering hall. As they walked, more people were in evidence. Women in gowns worth thousands of credits, men in matching suits, signs of rank worn prominently on their jackets. Laka wondered for the hundredth time if she should have gotten something for Spitz. Not a baron or a lord, but something military. A captain perhaps? Soldiers were forgiven scars far more easily. Not to mention rude behavior. But it could have given rise to far too many questions they couldn't answer.
They joined the small line at the entry way, each of the couples giving their names to be announced. Laka held her breath, fighting the urge to cross her fingers to be sure that Spitz wouldn't make a fuss at being labeled as her escort. He firmly believed that a woman should be named as a man's property. But if this job was going to work, Laka had explained a dozen times, the mark had to see her as available, and dismiss Spitz all together. Eventually he'd agreed, but whether that meant anything now remained to be seen.
They reached the front of the line quickly. Spitz leaned towards the caller and spoke in a low voice that Laka couldn't hear. She tightened her hold on his arm, although none of her anxiety appeared on her face. As they stepped forward, the caller spoke in a clear voice: "Laka Narice, and escort."
Her entire chest constricted. While Spitz had done as she'd instructed and labeled himself as her escort, the bastard had also given her real name. Even if this job went perfectly, she'd have to get off the station and out of the sector damn quick, and stay gone for at least a couple years. All her contacts, future jobs, gone. She could practically feel his smug grin. For a moment she wished his arm was bare so she could dig her fingernails in. Still. Nothing she could do about it now. Just finish the job, get paid, and get the hell outta dodge.
They made a slow circuit of the room, stopping for the occasional small-talk. This certainly wasn't Laka's usual crowd, but single men and lower noble women were happy to pretend they recognized the name Laka Narice. Spitz became an object of some interest with one group of young women who eagerly asked the story behind his scar.
"Not all men know how to treat a fair companion, such as Laka here," he was warming to the tale, his scar contorting as he grinned darkly. Laka narrowed her eyes on him, but didn't try to interrupt. It wasn't worth risking his anger now. "Of course, most companions choose safer clients, but Laka likes to walk on the wild side now and again, don't'cha?" He laughed loudly, causing a number of the other guests to look their way. The women tittered, their imaginations no doubt overrun with romanticized versions of a companion's life.
"So," Spitz continued eagerly. "She gets herself in a bit of a quandary. Seems this fellow isn't too happy about Laka taking off. Tries to convince her to stay, in as few words as possible, mind." He mimed holding a gun at Laka's side. The women gasped prettily. Laka ground her teeth. It may have been funny if the story hadn't been true. Not that she'd ever been a real companion, or that Spitz had played the hero's role. "Came down to me to show the fellow the error of his ways. Him and his friends. One of them got me with his knife, as you can plainly see. But what is pain when a pretty lady's life is on the line?" He sneered a smile at Laka, and puffed up with pride at the women's applause.
Laka forced a smile and wound her arm through Spitz's, ready to drag him away if need be. "Yes, he's quite the hero. But you must excuse us, I fear we've taken too much of your time already. Wouldn't want your dance cards falling behind, now would we?" Laka inclined her head slightly at the women's thanks, chose to ignore the way they stared at Spitz in awe, and pulled him towards a less crowded area.
"What the hell was that?!" She hissed through clenched teeth, keeping her expression in a pleasant smile.
"What?" Spitz's smile was genuine, as he was clearly enjoying her discomfort. "They asked, I had to tell them something, didn't I? Besides, they liked it. You wanted me to fit in, so I'm fitting in!"
"By talking about knife fights?" Laka almost growled when he laughed at her.
"Hitting too close to home, am I? Didn't realize you were so sensitive about your past. It's not like they care your pretty little body isn't as perfect as you pretend."
For a moment it was all she could do not to haul off and punch him right in the face. Instead she forced herself to laugh lightly as if he had just made a joke. She tapped her hand against his chest playfully, her glare venomous. "Just stay quiet for the rest of the night and let me work. You're supposed to be able to slip away, right? Can't do that if you have a bunch of twittering idiots lagging around behind you."
Spitz returned the laugh, grabbing her wrist and maintaining a smile as he ground the bones together. "Fine. Get to work."
With a parting glare to Spitz, Laka turned and made her way back to the more crowded area of the party. She'd only been given a rough description of the mark, but it was enough for her to narrow her search to only a few options. From there it was only a matter of listening to a few conversations. The target was not a well-off man in his own right. Rather, he was a crony of one of the counselors, so had been brought along to a place where he fit in little better than Spitz. It would be difficult to get him away from his lord, but from what Laka had been told it wouldn't be impossible. He was a clerk, working somewhere in port control. Not a powerful man. The people here put great stock in power, and Laka doubted they treated him very well. So when a little man with a big grudge was approached by what appeared to be a real companion, Laka suspected he would be happy to . . . talk.
She insinuated her way into his group carefully. Offering only the occasional witticism, flirting lightly, and making her way to his side so she could brush against him. It was tedious work, but work that she had been trained for. Steering conversations, sending signals, guiding reactions; she may have never become a full companion, but she had learned this much.
It took the better part of an hour, but eventually she maneuvered her target away from the main group and was talking with him privately. He'd put his drink down on a small table, which Spitz quickly took advantage of to pour a small amount of white powder into it. Nothing too dangerous, just a bit of help so the clerk would feel more relaxed and willing to share information that should probably be kept quiet. Laka and Spitz had argued about this. He claimed it'd be just as easy (not to mention cheaper) for Laka to simply bed the man and get the information while he was distracted. Laka, however, preferred that to be a last resort. She wasn't a companion, and she certainly wasn't a whore.
While waiting for the drug to kick in, Laka kept the conversation relatively light, but began steering it towards the information she was supposed to get. He'd already told her where he worked, so it didn't take much for her to gush over what an important man he must be.
"Such an important position," she kept her hand on his arm, grounding him to her presence as the drugs started his mind drifting. "Taking registration fees and docking taxes. Deciding who can stay in this lovely station." She winked conspiratorially, "I'm sure you meet all kinds of ruffians."
The clerk made what was probably meant to be an airy, dismissive gesture, almost knocking himself over in the process. Laka tightened her grip on his arm to steady him. He laughed just a little too loudly and winked back. "I do meet interesting folk, it's true. But not nearly as interesting as you do, I'm sure."
Laka laughed lightly, inwardly rolling her eyes. "Certainly, I have met many sorts. But the responsibility you carry, knowing all those docking codes and entry sequences! I've heard you don't even use the logs?"
He laughed again. "Logs are for half-wit fools who can't remember from one day to the next. Any man half his worth knows the coding algorithm settings!"
Laka tsked. "You are far too modest. Why I'm sure not one man in ten could remember the docking code and sequence settings for, say, bay 23." While posing the question she turned on both her recorder and transmitter, so that Spitz would hear the response.
The clerk simply smiled and winked again. "An easy task, madam. Code beta six five omega four capa; entry blue seventy-eight on the station net." After he spoke he frowned. "I shouldn't have said that," he muttered.
Laka turned off the recorder and transmitter, hopefully it had been brief enough that the circulating guards weren't able to pinpoint it to her. She smiled again at the clerk. "I won't breath a word to anyone. After all, companions are trained to be . . . discrete."
The drugs and Laka's flirting doing their part to ease the clerk's worry, he gave a leering grin. "I had heard as much. But, still, I don't know if I should trust you." His expression wavered for a moment. "I should go change the docking codes before the morning shift."
Laka shook her head and stepped forward slightly. "I'm sure we can think of a better way to spend the evening. Some way for you to . . . keep an eye on me so I can't tell anyone."
The clerk stared at her for a moment. Although the very idea disgusted her, Laka knew she had to get him out of the hall before his lord came looking. And hopefully convince him to pass out as well. Another part of the plan where she and Spitz had argued, but the goodnight kiss was faster than even the most strenuous activities the wretched mercenary had suggested.
Growing impatient Laka took another step forward and trailed her finger down the clerk's face. "Isn't there anything you'd like to do?"
Finally he stirred from his daze, and smiled.
***
It was later, much later than it should have been, when Laka returned to the apartment that she realized how thoroughly she'd been set-up. Spitz was gone. Which would have been expected, since he and the second team should be well underway in docking bay 23. But all of his things were gone as well. Even that could have been explained away, but when she pushed aside the curtain to her area she found all of her things gone as well. her clothes, her gun, her knife, and her strong box. The room was completely empty, except for a note.
'Laka, say hi to the feds. S.'
"Nee ta ma duh tyen-shia suo-yo duh run doh gai si" Painfully aware that she didn't have much time and that she wasn't exactly dressed to be inconspicuous, Laka took a few rushed minutes to search the entire apartment to see if anything useful had been left behind. All she managed was a hiptop with no batteries, a couple porn flexies, and a tube of, she hoped, the real goodnight kiss. In her own area she was a bit luckier, the pair of stiletto knives she'd shoved in the mattress, and extra ammo for the gun Spitz took. In her clutch, though, was a full set of lock-picks, an extra ident-card, and prints for the storage space she'd rented. And, perhaps most importantly, colour spray for her hair and coloured contacts. Tossing everything onto the bed she quickly stripped of her gown, ripped the undermost layer out and pulled it on as a not terribly flattering, very short dress. She pulled her hair out of the twist, sprayed it black, and put it up in a bun with the stilettos as pins. She scrubbed her face clean, put in the coloured contacts, and applied to goodnight kiss to her lips. Flipping the clutch inside out she opened it to its full size and dumped everything else into it. With a glance at the mirror she tried to convince herself that she looked different enough. Cursing Spitz under her breath, she admitted there wasn't time to do anything else, and left the apartment just in time to hear the tromp of combat boots heading her way. Pausing only long enough to determine which direction they were coming from, Laka turned and began walking calmly, but quickly, the other way.
***
The storage space was two levels down and five sectors over. Laka had to walk through a number of crowded areas, but after getting pulled into a dark side corridor in one of the rundown residence areas she decided crowds were her friend. Luckily, she had indeed found the real goodnight kiss, so her attempted assailant would wind up with a headache and no credits for his trouble. She considered stealing his pants, but the shamefully short skirt did keep people's eyes off her face, so she decided against it.
The storage space was closer to the docking bays than Laka would have liked. She really didn't want Spitz to know she'd escaped his trap just yet. But, since she also didn't want to keep wandering around with minimal weapons, credits, and a make-shift dress, she had little choice but to key into the closet-sized locker and hope that Spitz was still in the hanger. Just in case, she slid the door shut behind herself and leaned against it to take up as little of the small space as possible. There were a couple garment bags hanging there, both sealed with thumb-print locks. Laka opened the first which contained a few of her more usual work clothes. She chose quickly. A pair of dark charcoal coloured leggings with an under layer of armour that would harden on contact, a tank top made of similar material, and a mesh, long-sleeved over tunic that fell to mid-thigh when belted at her waist. She left the hood down for now, but if necessary it could be pulled up to cover her entire face. People might wonder why a Darker was walking around alone on a space station, but they wouldn't ask and that was all that mattered. She pulled on a pair of soft black moccasins that came to just below her knees, and checked to make sure their pockets still held credits and extra ammo, as well as another ident-card, security picks, and a couple sticks of vitamin enriched protein. Taking down her hair, she slid the stilettos into their sheaths in her moccasins, then put her hair back up again using the throwing knife pins she'd had made for that very purpose. Using the reflection in the neu-steel door, she made sure her face was clean then spent a careful ten minutes using the content of her makeup bag to change her appearance. Skin tone was darkened, nose made more pronounced, lips thinned, eyes sunken in. There was nothing she could do about her bone structure, so if the fed's had a scanner going she was humped. But more likely they only had Spitz's description to go on, in which case she should be fine.
Appearance taken care of, she took a hardened back-case down from the shelf and tried to decide what was most essential. If everything went well, she'd be able to come back here and get the rest of her things before getting off this rutting station. Still, she had to plan for a quick getaway. So. She wrapped her duel pistols in scan reflective cloth, since she didn't have her shoulder holster and it didn't match the look. She tossed in ammo, added a couple flash and smoke sticks, her makeup bag, foodpacks, a vacuum-shrunken change of clothes (more formal than she would have liked, but a different look and that was what mattered), and her eavesdropping gear. On the inside of the case, the part that rested against her back, she made sure the vibro-blade short sword was in its sheath, charged, and locked. The pommel stuck up over the rest of the case, but it would be covered by the hood even if she had to pull it up. Although the case and sheath had been custom made for her (money well spent after a particularly good job), it would still be uncomfortable against her spine pretty quick. It was worth it, though. Without her pistols, the only thing she had that was any use against armour was the vibro-blade. Even then, better to avoid fights if at all possible.
The last thing she did was check the contents of the pouches on her belt. A few credits, a Darker ident, map discs, a reader, and a set of runes no Darker would go without. Pulling out the small leather bag, she shook it gently before selecting one at random. Tosa, beginnings. She snickered, very helpful. She returned the bag to her belt, added the goodnight kiss and the storage key, tucked the hiptop into her belt, and nodded to herself. Good enough. Time to go hunting.
Her first destination was a public cortex terminal. This close to the docks there were actually a few working, so it didn't take too long. She checked the alerts and saw that, yes, a warrant for Laka Narice had been issued along with description and a tidy little reward of 100 credits. Luckily the description was pretty rough and included the ball-gown, so she wouldn't have to worry too much. The reward was also a joke, no one wanted to search an entire space station for a "possibly dangerous" bounty worth only 100 credits. Shiny.
More good news came in the shape of a brief wave that had been dropped on a Reaver sightings board. The board was populated by conspiracy nuts and people like Laka who craved anonymity, since the feds left it alone. But there, in "recent sightings" was a message with the familiar signature of a snarling bear. "Done planet side. Work? Hoof." Dov was back from a turn mining planet side and would be at the Black Horse the next few days. Laka suddenly felt infinitely safer. In the story Spitz had spun for those foolish debutants at the ball, it had been Dov that saved her. Dov who had watched her back during dozens of jobs. Dov who would calmly rip Spitz apart if she asked him to. While she'd try to get the job done herself first, it was a real comfort to know back-up was now in reach.
She scanned through the rest of the recent listings, but no signatures jumped out at her. Damn, no work waiting. Ah well, she had enough to catch a transport off the station. Things might be tight for a while, but it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. First things first, though. Spitz had crossed her, and that would not go unpunished.
She hopped through a few more boards, scanning them without reading, then moved to a news broadwave. With that covering the screen, she jacked the hiptop into the terminal and jumped to the docking bay manifests. It wasn't the best way to cover her tracks, but it was quick and there was no reason for anyone to be checking activity on the terminal. Besides, the manifests should be public record. And she wanted to know what Spitz was trying to lift.
At first glance it all looked pretty standard. A few spare parts, basic repair equipment, first aid, vacuum suits. Supplies for an empty hanger. Laka frowned, either Spitz had gone for the wrong hanger or it wasn't all public record. Discounting the former, she moved to the docking logs for the past week. A couple supply ships, personal transports, and an Alliance inspection craft. Laka raised her eyebrows. Everyone knew what that meant, operative training. And after that craft had apparently left, docking bay 23 had sat empty for over 36 hours. On a busy station like this? Laka shook her head. Right.
So. Spitz was crazy enough to go for an Alliance, high military, expensively stocked, inspector craft. That at least gave her some reason why he'd throw her to the feds. Try to keep them busy looking for her, while he and his team made off with the cash. Actually not too bad of a plan. Except for the fact that he hadn't made her a very interesting target (100 credits? insulting!), and he was trying to sneak onto an operative boat! There was almost no point in her doing anything to ensure his arrest. Still. Better safe than sorry.
She disconnected the hiptop and tucked it back into her belt, set the terminal to cycle randomly through transport destinations for the next 20 minutes, pulled up her hood and headed for the hanger. With any luck no one would notice the terminal for at least a couple days. Long enough for her to get off the station, anyway.
She walked with a measured pace towards the hanger. It had been a while since she'd viewed her surroundings through mesh, but it came back to her quickly enough. She'd been stranded in a Darker settlement for almost a year once. Enough training for a lifetime. As she expected she drew a number of strange looks. No one approached, though, and people kept out of her way. Darkers kept to themselves, so there were hundreds of rumors about mind control, trained assassins, horrible flesh eating diseases. None of which were entirely true, of course, but close enough that people had "proof". It was a useful way to get places quickly.
The hanger entrance was tucked back in a mostly empty corridor. Laka glanced through the porthole. There was indeed a mid-sized Alliance craft sitting in the bay, and the airlock was wide open. If any of the operatives had been on guard outside the ship, they were long gone now. Thanks to Laka's work, Spitz had gotten in using the right codes so no alarms were going off. Laka smiled to herself as she crouched down, pulled off her back-case and pulled out a flash stick. There'd be alarms galore soon enough.
***
It had happened quickly after that. Laka left after setting the stick into the security pad at the door. It would cause virtually no damage, but the sensors sure weren't happy about the explosion. She'd barely made it to one of the common washrooms before alarms started screaming. There wasn't time to change completely, so she just switched over tunics. The new one was silk, bright red, with wide sleeves that covered her hands. Her belt didn't really match, but it'd be good enough. Besides, why would the feds bother looking for whoever tried to blow the door when there was a whole team of thieves handy? Sometimes she really had to bless the laziness of the Alliance.
So she joined the crowd, joined in the milling about, asking what happened, complaining about the noise. And when she saw a man with long, messy blonde hair being carted away, a brand new scar on his face, she just smiled.
Now. To get off this station.
"Laka! Hurry up, gorramit, we got places to be!" Her "employer's" voice was muffled by the curtain she'd hung in lieu of a door, but she could hear his annoyance easily enough. She sighed and put the finishing touches on her make-up. Gold eye-shadow to bring out the flecks in her hazel eyes, warm red-brown lipstick, faint blush. Her thick auburn hair had been swept up into a twist a few perfect ringlets curled down her neck, resting on the high collar of her burnished bronze gown. She turned and peered over her shoulder at the mirror. The back of the gown had a large oval window, presenting the curve of he spine and fair skin. She twisted a few directions to make sure that none of the tattoo on her right shoulder blade was visible. Women where she was going were not the type for permanent markings of any kind.
Satisfied that she at least looked the part, Laka grabbed the small bag that held her supplies and pushed the curtain aside to move into the main room of the apartment.
Her employer had resumed pacing, clearly uncomfortable in the suit she'd selected for him. Every few steps he'd stop and pull at the collar of the crisp white shirt, or roll his shoulders in the deep black jacket, or fumble with the pocket watch hanging from the vest that matched the colour of her gown. His shaggy blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Laka grimaced, she hadn't been able to convince him to cut it. Of course, she thought to herself when he turned around and she could see the scar that ran the length of the left side of his face, it was unlikely anyone would notice the hair.
He scowled at her. "Took you bloody long enough. I've been waitin' near a gorram hour! You ready, 'cause we're goin'."
Laka sighed. "Thank you, Spitz, you look very nice as well. Shall we depart?"
Sneering, Spitz turned and demonstrated the basis of his name, a string of dirty brown spittle hitting only half in the spittoon in the corner. Laka swallowed back her gag reflex, reminded herself that the job would be over soon, and moved to the doorway. Spitz pulled at his collar again, then pushed her aside and strode out of the apartment.
They'd managed to get quarters only a few corridors away from the gathering hall. As they walked, more people were in evidence. Women in gowns worth thousands of credits, men in matching suits, signs of rank worn prominently on their jackets. Laka wondered for the hundredth time if she should have gotten something for Spitz. Not a baron or a lord, but something military. A captain perhaps? Soldiers were forgiven scars far more easily. Not to mention rude behavior. But it could have given rise to far too many questions they couldn't answer.
They joined the small line at the entry way, each of the couples giving their names to be announced. Laka held her breath, fighting the urge to cross her fingers to be sure that Spitz wouldn't make a fuss at being labeled as her escort. He firmly believed that a woman should be named as a man's property. But if this job was going to work, Laka had explained a dozen times, the mark had to see her as available, and dismiss Spitz all together. Eventually he'd agreed, but whether that meant anything now remained to be seen.
They reached the front of the line quickly. Spitz leaned towards the caller and spoke in a low voice that Laka couldn't hear. She tightened her hold on his arm, although none of her anxiety appeared on her face. As they stepped forward, the caller spoke in a clear voice: "Laka Narice, and escort."
Her entire chest constricted. While Spitz had done as she'd instructed and labeled himself as her escort, the bastard had also given her real name. Even if this job went perfectly, she'd have to get off the station and out of the sector damn quick, and stay gone for at least a couple years. All her contacts, future jobs, gone. She could practically feel his smug grin. For a moment she wished his arm was bare so she could dig her fingernails in. Still. Nothing she could do about it now. Just finish the job, get paid, and get the hell outta dodge.
They made a slow circuit of the room, stopping for the occasional small-talk. This certainly wasn't Laka's usual crowd, but single men and lower noble women were happy to pretend they recognized the name Laka Narice. Spitz became an object of some interest with one group of young women who eagerly asked the story behind his scar.
"Not all men know how to treat a fair companion, such as Laka here," he was warming to the tale, his scar contorting as he grinned darkly. Laka narrowed her eyes on him, but didn't try to interrupt. It wasn't worth risking his anger now. "Of course, most companions choose safer clients, but Laka likes to walk on the wild side now and again, don't'cha?" He laughed loudly, causing a number of the other guests to look their way. The women tittered, their imaginations no doubt overrun with romanticized versions of a companion's life.
"So," Spitz continued eagerly. "She gets herself in a bit of a quandary. Seems this fellow isn't too happy about Laka taking off. Tries to convince her to stay, in as few words as possible, mind." He mimed holding a gun at Laka's side. The women gasped prettily. Laka ground her teeth. It may have been funny if the story hadn't been true. Not that she'd ever been a real companion, or that Spitz had played the hero's role. "Came down to me to show the fellow the error of his ways. Him and his friends. One of them got me with his knife, as you can plainly see. But what is pain when a pretty lady's life is on the line?" He sneered a smile at Laka, and puffed up with pride at the women's applause.
Laka forced a smile and wound her arm through Spitz's, ready to drag him away if need be. "Yes, he's quite the hero. But you must excuse us, I fear we've taken too much of your time already. Wouldn't want your dance cards falling behind, now would we?" Laka inclined her head slightly at the women's thanks, chose to ignore the way they stared at Spitz in awe, and pulled him towards a less crowded area.
"What the hell was that?!" She hissed through clenched teeth, keeping her expression in a pleasant smile.
"What?" Spitz's smile was genuine, as he was clearly enjoying her discomfort. "They asked, I had to tell them something, didn't I? Besides, they liked it. You wanted me to fit in, so I'm fitting in!"
"By talking about knife fights?" Laka almost growled when he laughed at her.
"Hitting too close to home, am I? Didn't realize you were so sensitive about your past. It's not like they care your pretty little body isn't as perfect as you pretend."
For a moment it was all she could do not to haul off and punch him right in the face. Instead she forced herself to laugh lightly as if he had just made a joke. She tapped her hand against his chest playfully, her glare venomous. "Just stay quiet for the rest of the night and let me work. You're supposed to be able to slip away, right? Can't do that if you have a bunch of twittering idiots lagging around behind you."
Spitz returned the laugh, grabbing her wrist and maintaining a smile as he ground the bones together. "Fine. Get to work."
With a parting glare to Spitz, Laka turned and made her way back to the more crowded area of the party. She'd only been given a rough description of the mark, but it was enough for her to narrow her search to only a few options. From there it was only a matter of listening to a few conversations. The target was not a well-off man in his own right. Rather, he was a crony of one of the counselors, so had been brought along to a place where he fit in little better than Spitz. It would be difficult to get him away from his lord, but from what Laka had been told it wouldn't be impossible. He was a clerk, working somewhere in port control. Not a powerful man. The people here put great stock in power, and Laka doubted they treated him very well. So when a little man with a big grudge was approached by what appeared to be a real companion, Laka suspected he would be happy to . . . talk.
She insinuated her way into his group carefully. Offering only the occasional witticism, flirting lightly, and making her way to his side so she could brush against him. It was tedious work, but work that she had been trained for. Steering conversations, sending signals, guiding reactions; she may have never become a full companion, but she had learned this much.
It took the better part of an hour, but eventually she maneuvered her target away from the main group and was talking with him privately. He'd put his drink down on a small table, which Spitz quickly took advantage of to pour a small amount of white powder into it. Nothing too dangerous, just a bit of help so the clerk would feel more relaxed and willing to share information that should probably be kept quiet. Laka and Spitz had argued about this. He claimed it'd be just as easy (not to mention cheaper) for Laka to simply bed the man and get the information while he was distracted. Laka, however, preferred that to be a last resort. She wasn't a companion, and she certainly wasn't a whore.
While waiting for the drug to kick in, Laka kept the conversation relatively light, but began steering it towards the information she was supposed to get. He'd already told her where he worked, so it didn't take much for her to gush over what an important man he must be.
"Such an important position," she kept her hand on his arm, grounding him to her presence as the drugs started his mind drifting. "Taking registration fees and docking taxes. Deciding who can stay in this lovely station." She winked conspiratorially, "I'm sure you meet all kinds of ruffians."
The clerk made what was probably meant to be an airy, dismissive gesture, almost knocking himself over in the process. Laka tightened her grip on his arm to steady him. He laughed just a little too loudly and winked back. "I do meet interesting folk, it's true. But not nearly as interesting as you do, I'm sure."
Laka laughed lightly, inwardly rolling her eyes. "Certainly, I have met many sorts. But the responsibility you carry, knowing all those docking codes and entry sequences! I've heard you don't even use the logs?"
He laughed again. "Logs are for half-wit fools who can't remember from one day to the next. Any man half his worth knows the coding algorithm settings!"
Laka tsked. "You are far too modest. Why I'm sure not one man in ten could remember the docking code and sequence settings for, say, bay 23." While posing the question she turned on both her recorder and transmitter, so that Spitz would hear the response.
The clerk simply smiled and winked again. "An easy task, madam. Code beta six five omega four capa; entry blue seventy-eight on the station net." After he spoke he frowned. "I shouldn't have said that," he muttered.
Laka turned off the recorder and transmitter, hopefully it had been brief enough that the circulating guards weren't able to pinpoint it to her. She smiled again at the clerk. "I won't breath a word to anyone. After all, companions are trained to be . . . discrete."
The drugs and Laka's flirting doing their part to ease the clerk's worry, he gave a leering grin. "I had heard as much. But, still, I don't know if I should trust you." His expression wavered for a moment. "I should go change the docking codes before the morning shift."
Laka shook her head and stepped forward slightly. "I'm sure we can think of a better way to spend the evening. Some way for you to . . . keep an eye on me so I can't tell anyone."
The clerk stared at her for a moment. Although the very idea disgusted her, Laka knew she had to get him out of the hall before his lord came looking. And hopefully convince him to pass out as well. Another part of the plan where she and Spitz had argued, but the goodnight kiss was faster than even the most strenuous activities the wretched mercenary had suggested.
Growing impatient Laka took another step forward and trailed her finger down the clerk's face. "Isn't there anything you'd like to do?"
Finally he stirred from his daze, and smiled.
***
It was later, much later than it should have been, when Laka returned to the apartment that she realized how thoroughly she'd been set-up. Spitz was gone. Which would have been expected, since he and the second team should be well underway in docking bay 23. But all of his things were gone as well. Even that could have been explained away, but when she pushed aside the curtain to her area she found all of her things gone as well. her clothes, her gun, her knife, and her strong box. The room was completely empty, except for a note.
'Laka, say hi to the feds. S.'
"Nee ta ma duh tyen-shia suo-yo duh run doh gai si" Painfully aware that she didn't have much time and that she wasn't exactly dressed to be inconspicuous, Laka took a few rushed minutes to search the entire apartment to see if anything useful had been left behind. All she managed was a hiptop with no batteries, a couple porn flexies, and a tube of, she hoped, the real goodnight kiss. In her own area she was a bit luckier, the pair of stiletto knives she'd shoved in the mattress, and extra ammo for the gun Spitz took. In her clutch, though, was a full set of lock-picks, an extra ident-card, and prints for the storage space she'd rented. And, perhaps most importantly, colour spray for her hair and coloured contacts. Tossing everything onto the bed she quickly stripped of her gown, ripped the undermost layer out and pulled it on as a not terribly flattering, very short dress. She pulled her hair out of the twist, sprayed it black, and put it up in a bun with the stilettos as pins. She scrubbed her face clean, put in the coloured contacts, and applied to goodnight kiss to her lips. Flipping the clutch inside out she opened it to its full size and dumped everything else into it. With a glance at the mirror she tried to convince herself that she looked different enough. Cursing Spitz under her breath, she admitted there wasn't time to do anything else, and left the apartment just in time to hear the tromp of combat boots heading her way. Pausing only long enough to determine which direction they were coming from, Laka turned and began walking calmly, but quickly, the other way.
***
The storage space was two levels down and five sectors over. Laka had to walk through a number of crowded areas, but after getting pulled into a dark side corridor in one of the rundown residence areas she decided crowds were her friend. Luckily, she had indeed found the real goodnight kiss, so her attempted assailant would wind up with a headache and no credits for his trouble. She considered stealing his pants, but the shamefully short skirt did keep people's eyes off her face, so she decided against it.
The storage space was closer to the docking bays than Laka would have liked. She really didn't want Spitz to know she'd escaped his trap just yet. But, since she also didn't want to keep wandering around with minimal weapons, credits, and a make-shift dress, she had little choice but to key into the closet-sized locker and hope that Spitz was still in the hanger. Just in case, she slid the door shut behind herself and leaned against it to take up as little of the small space as possible. There were a couple garment bags hanging there, both sealed with thumb-print locks. Laka opened the first which contained a few of her more usual work clothes. She chose quickly. A pair of dark charcoal coloured leggings with an under layer of armour that would harden on contact, a tank top made of similar material, and a mesh, long-sleeved over tunic that fell to mid-thigh when belted at her waist. She left the hood down for now, but if necessary it could be pulled up to cover her entire face. People might wonder why a Darker was walking around alone on a space station, but they wouldn't ask and that was all that mattered. She pulled on a pair of soft black moccasins that came to just below her knees, and checked to make sure their pockets still held credits and extra ammo, as well as another ident-card, security picks, and a couple sticks of vitamin enriched protein. Taking down her hair, she slid the stilettos into their sheaths in her moccasins, then put her hair back up again using the throwing knife pins she'd had made for that very purpose. Using the reflection in the neu-steel door, she made sure her face was clean then spent a careful ten minutes using the content of her makeup bag to change her appearance. Skin tone was darkened, nose made more pronounced, lips thinned, eyes sunken in. There was nothing she could do about her bone structure, so if the fed's had a scanner going she was humped. But more likely they only had Spitz's description to go on, in which case she should be fine.
Appearance taken care of, she took a hardened back-case down from the shelf and tried to decide what was most essential. If everything went well, she'd be able to come back here and get the rest of her things before getting off this rutting station. Still, she had to plan for a quick getaway. So. She wrapped her duel pistols in scan reflective cloth, since she didn't have her shoulder holster and it didn't match the look. She tossed in ammo, added a couple flash and smoke sticks, her makeup bag, foodpacks, a vacuum-shrunken change of clothes (more formal than she would have liked, but a different look and that was what mattered), and her eavesdropping gear. On the inside of the case, the part that rested against her back, she made sure the vibro-blade short sword was in its sheath, charged, and locked. The pommel stuck up over the rest of the case, but it would be covered by the hood even if she had to pull it up. Although the case and sheath had been custom made for her (money well spent after a particularly good job), it would still be uncomfortable against her spine pretty quick. It was worth it, though. Without her pistols, the only thing she had that was any use against armour was the vibro-blade. Even then, better to avoid fights if at all possible.
The last thing she did was check the contents of the pouches on her belt. A few credits, a Darker ident, map discs, a reader, and a set of runes no Darker would go without. Pulling out the small leather bag, she shook it gently before selecting one at random. Tosa, beginnings. She snickered, very helpful. She returned the bag to her belt, added the goodnight kiss and the storage key, tucked the hiptop into her belt, and nodded to herself. Good enough. Time to go hunting.
Her first destination was a public cortex terminal. This close to the docks there were actually a few working, so it didn't take too long. She checked the alerts and saw that, yes, a warrant for Laka Narice had been issued along with description and a tidy little reward of 100 credits. Luckily the description was pretty rough and included the ball-gown, so she wouldn't have to worry too much. The reward was also a joke, no one wanted to search an entire space station for a "possibly dangerous" bounty worth only 100 credits. Shiny.
More good news came in the shape of a brief wave that had been dropped on a Reaver sightings board. The board was populated by conspiracy nuts and people like Laka who craved anonymity, since the feds left it alone. But there, in "recent sightings" was a message with the familiar signature of a snarling bear. "Done planet side. Work? Hoof." Dov was back from a turn mining planet side and would be at the Black Horse the next few days. Laka suddenly felt infinitely safer. In the story Spitz had spun for those foolish debutants at the ball, it had been Dov that saved her. Dov who had watched her back during dozens of jobs. Dov who would calmly rip Spitz apart if she asked him to. While she'd try to get the job done herself first, it was a real comfort to know back-up was now in reach.
She scanned through the rest of the recent listings, but no signatures jumped out at her. Damn, no work waiting. Ah well, she had enough to catch a transport off the station. Things might be tight for a while, but it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. First things first, though. Spitz had crossed her, and that would not go unpunished.
She hopped through a few more boards, scanning them without reading, then moved to a news broadwave. With that covering the screen, she jacked the hiptop into the terminal and jumped to the docking bay manifests. It wasn't the best way to cover her tracks, but it was quick and there was no reason for anyone to be checking activity on the terminal. Besides, the manifests should be public record. And she wanted to know what Spitz was trying to lift.
At first glance it all looked pretty standard. A few spare parts, basic repair equipment, first aid, vacuum suits. Supplies for an empty hanger. Laka frowned, either Spitz had gone for the wrong hanger or it wasn't all public record. Discounting the former, she moved to the docking logs for the past week. A couple supply ships, personal transports, and an Alliance inspection craft. Laka raised her eyebrows. Everyone knew what that meant, operative training. And after that craft had apparently left, docking bay 23 had sat empty for over 36 hours. On a busy station like this? Laka shook her head. Right.
So. Spitz was crazy enough to go for an Alliance, high military, expensively stocked, inspector craft. That at least gave her some reason why he'd throw her to the feds. Try to keep them busy looking for her, while he and his team made off with the cash. Actually not too bad of a plan. Except for the fact that he hadn't made her a very interesting target (100 credits? insulting!), and he was trying to sneak onto an operative boat! There was almost no point in her doing anything to ensure his arrest. Still. Better safe than sorry.
She disconnected the hiptop and tucked it back into her belt, set the terminal to cycle randomly through transport destinations for the next 20 minutes, pulled up her hood and headed for the hanger. With any luck no one would notice the terminal for at least a couple days. Long enough for her to get off the station, anyway.
She walked with a measured pace towards the hanger. It had been a while since she'd viewed her surroundings through mesh, but it came back to her quickly enough. She'd been stranded in a Darker settlement for almost a year once. Enough training for a lifetime. As she expected she drew a number of strange looks. No one approached, though, and people kept out of her way. Darkers kept to themselves, so there were hundreds of rumors about mind control, trained assassins, horrible flesh eating diseases. None of which were entirely true, of course, but close enough that people had "proof". It was a useful way to get places quickly.
The hanger entrance was tucked back in a mostly empty corridor. Laka glanced through the porthole. There was indeed a mid-sized Alliance craft sitting in the bay, and the airlock was wide open. If any of the operatives had been on guard outside the ship, they were long gone now. Thanks to Laka's work, Spitz had gotten in using the right codes so no alarms were going off. Laka smiled to herself as she crouched down, pulled off her back-case and pulled out a flash stick. There'd be alarms galore soon enough.
***
It had happened quickly after that. Laka left after setting the stick into the security pad at the door. It would cause virtually no damage, but the sensors sure weren't happy about the explosion. She'd barely made it to one of the common washrooms before alarms started screaming. There wasn't time to change completely, so she just switched over tunics. The new one was silk, bright red, with wide sleeves that covered her hands. Her belt didn't really match, but it'd be good enough. Besides, why would the feds bother looking for whoever tried to blow the door when there was a whole team of thieves handy? Sometimes she really had to bless the laziness of the Alliance.
So she joined the crowd, joined in the milling about, asking what happened, complaining about the noise. And when she saw a man with long, messy blonde hair being carted away, a brand new scar on his face, she just smiled.
Now. To get off this station.