Nothin's free
This day three
"Don't tell me you're avoiding me by hiding out in my own ship." Beka sat down on her heels behind the open conduit sheltering Harper from her eyes.
A sound like electricity arcing from the Maru to her human engineer immediately preceded a muttered curse and a reluctant reply. "No, I'm just tryin' to fix the Maru's back-up systems after we blew out of Tanjong Tohor III." He briefly poked his head out. "You know, when those Sabra Nietzscheans decided to thin out the genetically inferior gene pool." With a significant flash of blue eyes, Harper swung himself back into the conduit, clattering around the Maru with less than his usual… zing, Beka was sure.
"Gee, wounded puppy-dog Harper or righteously angry victim of injustice Harper?" Beka's chin dropped to rest in her palm as she spoke under her breath, trying to decide which upset version of her crewmate she preferred. Preferred, or at least made her want to scream slightly less. An image passed through her mind, and a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "A conniving Jaguar Nietzschean or an insane, murderous Dragan?" I'll take the friendly and very attractive Kodiak, thank you.
Trance looked at her inquisitively as she passed her with a Sparky Cola. "What do dragons have to do with Harper?"
Beka tilted her head to look up at the crouching girl. She began to explain but changed her mind when she saw Trance's confusion. "Just… don't mention them around our resident mechanical wonder."
Trance shrugged and ducked into the conduit. "I don't see what big, fire-breathing lizards have to do with anything, but okay."
Beka thoughtfully watched her crawl away. It was beginning to occur to her that Trance's innocent, bordering on ditzy, personality was laid on a bit too thickly to be real. Her medical abilities hadn't ceased to amaze Beka from the first time she had, for all intents and purposes, brought Harper back from the dead after a particularly nasty firefight with—You guessed it, she thought wryly--a band of the universally beloved homo sapiens invictus. Slavers, to be specific, which really didn't narrow the field much.
She tapped her fingers against her cheek. "I bet she has some kind of… magical healing touch… like Midas, except she gives life to things instead of turning them into gold." Tap-tap-tap. "Hmm. Too bad she doesn't turn 'em into thrones or guilders." She chuckled and stood up. "Or Dragan eagles." Her eyes darted to the open conduit, and she hoped Harper hadn't heard. "Beka, you're heartless." She'd try to get 'round to Harper later, but she wouldn't be much of a success if she was giggling over Dragan eagles.
"Ugh, guilders and eagles and thrones. Oh crap." The infernal accounts waited.
Knowing almost word-for-word how Harper would respond, she called out into the conduit, asking if he was sure he was okay? Yeah, he was fine, he'd probably be awhile cos Nietzscheans were right up there with Kalderans and Ogami on the top five blowers-up of P.O.S space freighters list.
"All right, Harper, if I give you free rein of the bar and buy you… three cases of that caffeinated cavity-inducer you bravely ingest, will you drop the casual Uber references to, say, one per conversation?"
A sooty blond head materialized beside her and grinned. "Four cases, two a conversation, and it's a deal."
Beka sighed melodramatically. "Yeah, yeah, go fix something already."
He retreated, but words continued to float up to her. "It's not that I've forgiven you, boss, but the Sparky should help me as I, uh, struggle endlessly, day and night, to repair the critical damage inflicted by the angry hordes of rampaging Ubers."
A few years ago, those laughing words might've been silence or a few sullen assurances that he was fine. When he first spotted her chatting with Tyr, she had fervently prayed he wasn't going to withdraw into the shell he used to build up around himself in the old days, when they had to work for a Nietzschean or a slaver. He hadn't, or not for long, and Beka returned to her accounts with a light heart.
He good mood mostly vanished by the time she was face to face with the dreaded flexis, and she spent the next hour organizing her music collection, first by artist's name, then album name, and lastly by color of the disc. "I should get food. Who can work on an empty stomach, anyway?" But the lazy bug had bitten Beka Valentine, and she opted to order room service. While she waited, she flipped through the holodramas currently broadcasted and settled on an action/adventure/romance flick just beginning. She told herself she was in it solely for the action and adventure.
She let her mind submerge into a coma as she ate a supposedly home-made vegetable soup and "hand-baked" biscuits and stared vacantly at the flickering screen. By the time it finished (and Beka wouldn't have admitted it under torture, but a few salty drops may have escaped from the corners of her eyes) and Harper had arrived, scrubbing suspiciously at his own eyes, Beka had given up even a pretense of attempting to put her accounts in order.
Trance entered as the credits began to roll and looked at the pair with concern. "Are you guys okay?"
Harper straightened with alacrity, and Beka hastily turned to set her plate on a small table, both claiming a sudden increase of dust in the air. Trance smiled knowingly and shook her head. "So what's the plan for tonight?"
Harper's eyes sparkled. "Well, Beka so graciously, uh, bestowed upon me permission to consume a pint or two at the local pub."
"Basically, Harper's gonna get smashed. The question is if you want to come along and laugh with me at the hilarious antics of an intoxicated mudfoot. It has sitcom potential."
Trance wrinkled her nose. "No thanks. Last time, like half a dozen people asked me if I wanted to learn the horizantal tango," she looked from Harper to Beka, puzzlement evident in her big eyes, "and I don't think they meant on a dance floor."
Beka's eyes narrowed as she hefted the gun on her belt. "Let them try that again, and I'll make `em dance." She glared at the door, ready to hunt down the elusive "they" right then and there, before resheathing her weapon. "Okay, you can stay here and do… whatever it is you do in your free time." She studied Trance closely, as if determined to decipher her habits, place of origin, and true identity by sheer will. "I hear there are some nice gardens around here somewhere, although personally, I can't see anything growing in a place like this."
Harper let out a jubilant woo-hoo but was cut short by his captain. "And before you give yourself a hernia, ask yourself if there's any way in hell I'm about to let you drink yourself brainless."
"Boss, you promised-"
"I know what I said, Harper, and I'll keep my word." She grimaced. "I'm going to go with you."
If she thought this would deflate Harper's enthusiasm, Beka found herself sadly mistaken. "Hey, that's a great idea! We can bond over Weissbrau, singing Old Earth drinking songs and dancing on the tabletops." The look in his eyes said he was envisioning that horrific picture as he spoke.
Trance smothered a giggle, but her eyes danced. Beka winced at the image. "Harper, I don't drink, I don't sing drinking songs, and I definitely don't-" a memory of Caspian Drift surfaced, "-um, never mind."
Harper's jaw dropped. "Oh man, and I missed this??" His expression morphed from incredulous to suggestive. "Perhaps you'll care to, uh, honor us with a repeat performance." He waggled his eyebrows.
Why do I even talk around him? "I doubt it. Now hurry up before I regain my sanity and lock you in here for the night."
Harper scampered out, and Trance settled herself on the seat Beka had recently vacated. "Can I order something in?"
Beka combed her fingers through her hair and abruptly stopped herself. She certainly wasn't going down there to look for someone. "Sure Trance. Just try to keep it… reasonable." She resisted an urge to change into something fitting for a night out, severely telling herself that she was only going at all to keep an eye on Harper. "Aw, who am I kidding? There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good, is there?"
Trance glanced up from the holoscreen. "You're always pretty, Beka." She smiled warmly, and Beka couldn't help returning the gesture. Gee, shucks.
When she emerged from her bathroom in her usual leather pants and a form-fitting navy blue-and-black shirt with laced-up slits down the sides and sleeves cut below the elbows, Harper was back and bouncing up and down in excitement. He sported a painfully bright button-up shirt with colorful blobs she supposed were meant to depict tropical flowers and birds over a white tee and khaki cargo pants. His hair stood at angles crazier than normal, a remarkable feat of physics. He whistled when he saw her. "I'll have the hottest girl in the place on my arm."
Beka rolled her eyes, but the compliment warmed her. "As if she'd have anything to do with you." She grinned affectionately to soften her words, and when he held out his elbow to her, she took it.
After threatening to spin her out on the dance floor when a "good song" came on, Harper drifted toward the bar. She bit her lip and didn't quite suppress a giggle at the thought of a more-than tipsy Harper dancing. It wouldn't be the first time she'd witnessed that spectacle, but it never failed to amuse her. One of these times she would have to record it for posterity or blackmail.
"Oh, I almost forgot." She made her way to the bar after Harper and draped an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, Harper!" she chirped. "I found a little… snafu in our accounts." She batted her eyes at the bartender and smiled winningly. "It turns out we owe the Drago-Kazov empire, um, three thousand guilders." The man washing out glasses blanched and glared menacingly at Harper. "Well, that's all. Have fun!" He spluttered something to the bartender as he decided to deny Harper a tab, and cackling evilly, Beka left to seek out a low-stakes poker game.
People clustered around the higher-end games, shouting encouragement for one player or another, but high rollers generally avoided common saloons; competitions with antes of only a few thrones were much more profuse. Beka shouldered her way through the crowd gathered around one such table, and a familiar face half-smiled at her from the dealer's chair. Tyr Anasazi looked like the sort who could afford more expensive wagers, but there he was, sitting amongst scruffy freighter pilots like Beka and louder, raucous guns for hire. He leaned over to a fellow player and whispered something, nodding in her direction. She was not blushing at the attention, not even when the man rose scowling, and Tyr waved her over to the seat beside him. A very meager pile of chips lay at the empty place, and she started to call the player so he could claim his winnings, but Tyr shook his head and indicated that she should sit.
Well, something had happened there, though Beka had no idea what, and she couldn't very well leave now. She smoothly picked up where the game had paused, and soon her pile had grown to a very admirable size. She lost often enough that no one could reasonably suspect her of cheating (or Tyr of cheating for her, she thought, determinately without a flush of the cheeks), but she had a natural flair for poker. That, and the players were all men, and Beka had an equal talent for distraction. Tyr wasn't distracted, of course; his was the largest pile, but no one accused the Nietzschean of cheating. Even while most humans hated Nietzscheans, many held them in a sort of awe, believing them capable of deeds beyond the power and comprehension of mere mortals. Beka had no such illusions--they might be faster, stronger, and some of them smarter, but they were human when it came down to basics, for better but mostly worse.
She leaned forward and dropped her chips into the pile, one by one, to allow maximum gaping time and exposure. Tyr deftly dealt the cards, giving her an amused look that said he knew exactly what she was doing with all the leaning here and there. She glanced pointedly at her red, white, and blue pile, and shrugged innocently. After a quick sweep of her cards, she crossed her arms under her chest and pretended to consider her next move. Had she been a man, her fellow poker-philes would've called loudly for her to make her mind up already, but none of them argued now. She dropped three cards and slid them back to Tyr. "Hit me." A suppressed mirth shone in her eyes as callous suggestions from onlookers told her how she could hit them. Tyr shook his head but gave her the cards. "Don't knock it, superman," she said in low voice as she smiled mischievously. She won the round and threw the Nietzschean an unspoken I-told-you-so.
"Hot damn, Beka! You could buy a round for th'house eight times over wi'that," a voice exclaimed from behind her, the hopeful tone as obvious as a Than at a Perseid clambake. Beka realized that either he didn't recognize the Nietzschean at the head of the table or he didn't care, and either way, she was relieved.
"Yes I could, and no I won't, Harper," she shouted over the din, her eyes never leaving her cards. This wasn't a very promising hand, but she could stand to lose sometime pretty soon. "Have you run out of thrones?"
"Beka, I'm wounded. Can' a guy just come see his boss kick some Uber ass without th'Spanish Inkiz… inky… without all the questions?"
Tyr seemed perfectly unruffled by the small engineer's words, and Beka would've bet every last chip of hers that he'd heard. In fact, she could've sworn a tiny smile flitted across his almost too-perfect features. Too perfect… what a fault to have, she laughed to herself.
"See, tha's why she's winnin'," Harper addressed the people he had shoved between. "She must be psychic, seein' the future and everything." He nodded seriously before shifting his focus back to her. "You see, Beka, I was jus' about to run outta thrones, and I thought maybe my gen'rous, wonnerful, bevenolent boss might wanna share hers with her eternally hard-workin' engineer."
Well, she'd lost that hand as soon as Tyr dealt it anyway. "You all don't mind if I slip on out, do you?" She looked each of the other players in the eye, smiling shyly and biting her underlip. "You know how a tipsy mudfoot can be." They hastened to assure her that they didn't mind in the least, and Tyr just gave her that eloquent half-smile again.
She carefully wove her way out of the crowd. "Harper, you've known me for how many years?" she asked sweetly.
"Gee, boss, this's really great of you_"
"Of course I won't."
"I can't tell you how much… what?" His bottom lip quivered, and he begged and pleaded pathetically.
Beka couldn't much more of his wheedling. "All right Harper," she began in her little-kid and small-animal voice, "if you can walk in a straight line for… fifteen seconds… I'll buy you all the Weissbrau you can suck down."
His face brightened. "Tha's easy! Jus' watch." Steadying himself, Harper took a deep breath and held his tongue tightly between his teeth, concentrating as hard as she'd ever seen. He tottered in a rough half-circle and beamed. "See? Bring on th' Weissbrau!" Turning an about-face toward the bar, he fell promptly onto his face.
Beka bit a thumbnail to keep from laughing at the seemingly boneless and lifeless pile of Harper on the peanut-shell strewn floor. Irritation died away, overcome by pity, and she knelt to pull him to back to his feet. It turned out to prove quite a challenge, and she contented her conscience by precariously leaning him against a wobbling table.
"Thanks, boss. Guess I won' be gettin' th'Weissbrau after all, huh?" He looked downcast for a second, but the next song to blare through the noise of the packed room revived his mood. " 'Member you promised to dance with me!"
Beka couldn't decide whether to wince or laugh. "Yeah Harper, I vaguely recall saying something unbelievably insane like that. Am I to presume you're planning to carry out your threat in the immediate future?
He laughed. "Threat. Did anyone tell you you're really funny, boss?" He giggled, in very great danger of losing what little balance remained to him.
"All the time."
Somehow, he managed to bring himself fully upright, and Beka was pleasantly surprised to discover he could dance much more easily than he could walk, though admittedly, not much better. But then again, she'd always known he couldn't dance. In spite of his ineptitude and freely wandering hands, she couldn't remember any time recently she'd enjoyed herself this much, and she only slapped his hands away minimally.
"Excuse me, Master Harper," a deep voice intoned, "but would you mind terribly if I cut in?"
Harper blearily lifted his gaze from Beka's… eyes to stare in complete mystification at the stranger addressing him. "How d'you know my name?"
Beka knew the voice instantly, and she breathed deeply to keep from reddening. How the hell did he manage to look sexy when she couldn't even see him? And when was the last time Beka Valentine had blushed anyway??
"I heard your lovely and very forebearing captain call you by name earlier."
Harper pulled his eyes from the Nietzschean. "Beka?"
She scooped a handful of chips up from the table where she'd deposited them and pressed them into Harper's hand as she disengaged herself from his embrace. "Here, go pass out amid your new friends and your beloved Weissbrau." He peered into his hands and smiled crookedly.
"Um, you gotta go cash `em in first, you know."
A perplexed look crossed his face. "Cash… oh, `course I know, boss." He stumbled away, darting quick glances back at her every so often and muttering something about Beka being psychic after all.
Tyr placed a hand in the curve of her waist and guided hers to his shoulder before taking her other hand in his. Apparently determing the distance between them to be too great, he took a step forward and tightened his grasp on her. He was silent as they slowly traversed the room, and before Beka could decide that she could spend days wrapped up in his strength and intoxicating masculine scent, she confided to him that they were moving way off beat.
His lips quirked. "If you don't object, I don't." She had the feeling his dark, piercing eyes could read every whimsical, lusty, and unsure emotion he inspired in her.
"Er, not at all." Very witty, Beka. And maybe next time we could try a complete sentence!
He removed his hand from her side, but Beka thought she would feel its warmth there for weeks. She was startled when he cupped his fingers under her jaw and stroked his thumb softly down her cheek. "I'm not quite… accustomed to this either, Rebecca." Much to her surprise, she didn't feel the slightest desire to correct him. He spoke her name the way Rev sometimes spoke of the Divine. "Among my people, the female chooses the male, and there is none of this… chasing."
Oh Divine, you don`t have to chase me. The thought shocked her with its intensity, and she frowned inwardly. And who else made us feel this way? Could it be the man who made you wonder if it was worth it to go on at all?? She ignored her internal bickering. "Among mine, the chasing is the best part."
He bent his head toward her, and for a moment, Beka was sure he was going to kiss her. When he was close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheeks, he seemed to shake himself, and he set his hand back on her waist. And now we're just confused.