DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the creations of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters. All other rights reserved.
Additional Author's Notes at bottom of the page.
THANK YOU, NOVEISDOGE, FOR THE BETA READ!
The Adventures of Space Pirate Ren Tsuruga
Part II: The Rescue of Kana Kusunoki
Chapter 3: Part 1 - The Honeypot
Everyone knows that there is no love lost between our dashing Captain and the Fuwas, but no one really knows why their feud started in the first place. Some say that it was the Captain who struck first, stealing industrial secrets that the Fuwas closely guarded. Others say that the Fuwan heir, Sho, had it in for our dashing hero after losing to him in an intergalactic poll of the Galaxy's "Sexiest Men." There were rumors about two destroyed Fuwan Stingrays, fights with Fuwan enforcers, seizures of a starliner for salvage, sabotage of warehouses. And then, of course, there's the Captain's long and vociferous campaign protesting Fuwan interests in unsavory trade.
No one knows.
What's evident, though, is that there was a beautiful woman involved.
Of course there was.
But the Captain, you see, never kisses and tells.
=.=.=.=.=
His princess was giggling.
Her hand was in his, and they had managed to dance their way out of the ballroom and onto the darkened balcony. Anyone who'd noticed had turned a blind eye, or pretended to—didn't everyone know they'd been intended for each other since birth? Nevertheless, they were probably causing a great deal of gossip in the hall below—speculation, intrigue, wagers. He didn't care. He let the music carry them up and onwards—how could he do otherwise, when she was light as a feather on her feet? When the waltz ended, they stopped spinning slowly until they stood still in each other's arms. They were standing on a platform over the restless sea, and her dress was sparkling like the stars above. She was watching the light of Yxia's two moons on the horizon. He was watching her, wondering if she could feel the charge between them like an umbar engine's ignition.
Down below, her father's palace was lit like a lantern—they could still hear the music, ghostly over the sound of the waves crashing onto Tor Mogami's cliffs. Up above, the starship Lancelot waited in near-orbit to carry him back home to Angeles. His departure was imminent, and it would be many Sol-months before he could see her again. She would be light-years away. The prospect of parting made the moment sharper than comfort warranted, and all of a sudden he couldn't help but tighten his arms around her, hearing the sharp intake of her breath as he nuzzled his face into her hair. He felt her melt into him. The smell of her surrounded him, her warmth intoxicated him—everything, everything, everything was tightening onto a tiny point of light reflected in her eyes. Her face tilted upwards and their eyes met, and then there was the thrill of her pulse in his veins as their hearts raced in tandem.
He kissed her.
There was a moment of absolute stillness right before the sweetness of it exploded like the first drop of honey on his tongue. His eyes were closed but the world was so very bright, and he was falling and flying all at once. Joy, unmitigated and complete, was all he could see. They parted, out of breath, but his hands were still in her hair as he cradled her face. Reverently, he traced the line of her jaw as her eyes fluttered open and then shut again. How flawless she was, glowing like ivory in the moonlight.
"I love you," he said. "Kyoko—marry me—"
=.=.=.=.=
Ren Tsuruga woke in a cold sweat, rising bolt-upright from his berth aboard the starship Galahad. He'd risen before his alarm again. A dream, he thought, repeating the mantra, it's always just a dream.
He took stock of his surroundings as his heart calmed. There was the soft hiss of on-ship ventilation keeping his quarters at optimal temp. There was the feel of his blanket—a nano-silk blend that was likely too luxurious for a privateer captain, but which was gray and unobtrusive enough to pass muster in a quick perusal through the room. There was the low thrum of the plasma engines through his chamber walls, telling him they were close to their destination. Galahad only ever used the plasma drive near planetary objects—it used the umbar engines for nearly everything else. He took a deep breath as he re-oriented. He was a long way from Tor Mogami, a long way from Kyoko. Hell, he was a long way from Prince Kuon, if he really thought about it.
The night of The Kiss, as he thought of it, he'd proposed to her and her eyes had blazed gold when she'd said 'yes.' Shortly afterwards, they'd spoken to their Majesties—both his father and hers—and obtained permission to wed—though with the caveat that they would wait to do so until Kyoko's Coming-of-Age. They'd agreed to formalize the engagement later, both certain they wouldn't change their minds.
And yet.
Here he was, waking in a cold sweat—alone.
Somewhere else in the galaxy, she was probably next to her new betrothed. Her comm stone would be lying somewhere, forgotten and dormant.
Why had she changed her mind? Had it been some rumor she'd heard about him? What, in all the universe, could he have done?
He had to stop. For his own sanity. To keep himself from disintegrating into unmanly tears in the corner of his own cabin…to keep himself from somehow starting a war that was unjust simply because he'd been crossed in love.
And yet she haunted him. A year after her engagement to someone else had been announced, he still dreamed of her when he slept and thought of her when he woke. Dreams, fragments of songs, colors, the sound of a woman's laugh behind closed doors—he was always unprepared when a memory of her resurfaced. His heart wouldn't let him forget, and neither would his head—and if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to forget. Forgetting was too easy. Forgetting would relieve him of the grief, but take away the joy inherent in those memories, as well. Not that he could ever forget—no matter who she was engaged to, he would never fail to love her as his other half. He would never admit that anything less connected them than the red string of fate. Someday, maybe, an heir would have to be produced. But thankfully his mother and father were not insisting on marriage to someone else—they, at least, knew him well enough that he would never countenance such an alliance so long as he lived. Let the heir be born from a surrogate, he'd love the child that should have been theirs. But he was thankful for his parents' understanding—troubled as they were, they, at least, knew how much he'd lost when he lost her.
He'd managed to hide how he felt from the crew. That was the one saving grace of not having formalized the engagement—it had not been publicized. He could only imagine the lengths they'd go to to mock him if they knew how he'd been supplanted by the Fuwa heir.
He closed his eyes and breathed in, held the breath…3…2…1, and then again, calming himself and forcing himself back into the present.
"Bridge to Captain," he heard the comm say. "Captain, acknowledge?"
"Tsuruga here," he replied. "Sitrep?"
"We're about to enter Lasellan space, sir," he heard Yashiro's voice say. "The Apple is docking space-side. Our escort duty ends in five minutes, sir."
"Excellent, Yashiro," Ren replied. "I'll be along shortly. You're on deck until I arrive."
=.=.=.=
It had been nearly a year since the Galahad launched off of Angeles, and in that year the crew had grown somewhat in maturity. Second Officer Kijima had learned to stop whining about reconstituted beans and had learned to pre-order new supplies of MREs at each port, instead. First Officer Yashiro had learned that sometimes, following the spirit of the law was more important than following the letter. Their little adventure on Armandy opened Ren's eyes to the operations a larger crew made possible, and new faces had been recruited accordingly. Lieutenant Chiori Amamiya had joined as comms officer; Midshipmen Murasame and Koga came on as hired muscle.
Since their time on Armandy, Ren had re-assessed their mission and the capabilities of the ship and crew—and had come to the conclusion that Kijima was right. Surely, there was more they could do in the universe than ferry space tourists on luxury starships. And so they'd gone into bounty hunting—something that had been perhaps too easy, given the Galahad's resources. Ren no longer needed to prevaricate when asked whether he'd forcibly boarded a ship—he had, and plenty of times, too. They'd interdicted any number of illicit shipments and disrupted quite a few shady trades. Still, for a crew who'd undergone the training of the Hizuran elite forces, the identification and capture of a few stray criminals was, perhaps, rather easier than it would've been for others. Add the Galahad's superlative capabilities and criminals on the loose didn't stand much of a chance. The fact that they captured and returned bounties so efficiently had garnered them a small measure of recognition and respect among the other privateer crews that they encountered in the galaxy's many watering holes.
Still, Ren insisted on flying underneath the radar whenever he could. The Galahad remained unobtrusive in appearance, looking like a garden-variety rustbucket on the docks. They were careful not to reveal the ship's full capabilities, preferring, instead, to function within the limits of a standard privateer ship whenever people were watching.
Whenever feasible, though, they crossed the galaxy on escort duty. 'Might as well get paid for the crossing,' Ren would say. The crew would groan, because it would mean slower travel, but it meant a bump in their bonuses,too, so no one protested too hard. They had just completed a crossing through the M16 nebula and were docking in the paradise port of Lasella, a terraformed pleasure spot overlooking the gas giant Herbin. Ren planned on staying at least a Sol—the crew was restive and it had been a while since any of them had been off-ship. It was their last planned on-ship shore break until they reported back to Angeles 30 Sols hence so that the crew could go on TDY while on-planet. Ren sighed. He had no desire to be a prince again, but he knew his crew—even loyal Yashiro—were looking forward to seeing families left behind.
He had to remind himself that not everyone wanted to live the spartan lifestyle he would adopt if left to his own devices. Ren spent an inordinate amount of time training—in combat and in statecraft. He would have been perfectly happy if he never had to attend another social function ever again in his life. He knew this was unlikely, but he imagined it nonetheless.
=.=.=.=
He opted to land the Galahad dome-side and dock it in plain view of the Lasellan commercial complex. Lasella wasn't quite a moon—more of a mid-sized asteroid that had gotten itself stuck within Herbin's orbit. It was stable enough to develop, and catered to the cruise-ship passengers who came to the system to gawk at Herbin, the unusually colorful gas giant that occupied the horizon. The rock itself didn't have an atmosphere outside the domes. It made it easy for spacefaring ships: no atmo meant no need for atmo insert or egress capabilities—ships did not need the specialized hardening to deflect the extreme heat of atmospheric re-entry. Cruise ships took advantage of the convenience and built special airlocks for their customers that ferried them directly from their ship's quarters and into the tourist heart of the port. It was all very efficient, really—a great way to spend money painlessly and mindlessly while traveling the universe.
For the most part, Lasella capitalized on its views, with its terraces providing an unparalleled platform for the viewing of Herbin's volatile gas clouds. It was a luxurious place. Within Lasella, people enjoyed umbar-powered artificial one-G gravity and unmetered air—at a cost, of course, usually added into their tab with their cruise ship. They came for the view, supposedly, but invariably, the view became incidental to the gambling…or the shopping…or the tawdry shows that promised tantalizing views of illicit delights. It was far from the nearest starway, but that didn't matter to the horde of tourists taking mementos of themselves posing on the observation decks. They just wanted a view and a good souvenir shop.
Ren rolled his eyes at most of it, but it provided enough of a change of pace to let the crew blow off steam. Lasella gave them all the opportunity to cut loose a little—though Ren never did. He even opted to sleep on his ship, eschewing strange hotels for the comfort of his own bunk. Much of the crew followed suit—the Galahad had more comfortable quarters for the crew than most hotels they could berth in, anyway, and Galahad had special perks to encourage them to remain with it.
No third parties were allowed, of course. If the crew wanted that kind of fun, Lasella had plenty of love hotels that charged by the hour.
=.=.=.=
Ren hadn't even wanted to go, but Yashiro and Kijima had insisted he spend some time off-ship. All of them left the Galahad for some shore leave, with everyone except Amamiya headed into the lounge for drinks. He figured if he spent an hour or so mollifying his XO and his Second, they'd be more inclined to leave him alone later on. With this in mind, he followed them into the Aerie, an upscale bar and lounge with planet-side views. It was located high up on the dome, above what looked like a lush aerial jungle.
Now…he was watching Kijima make a complete cake of himself.
A honest-to-goodness femme fatale had zeroed in on his crew as soon as they entered the Aerie. Ren saw her do a double-take across the smoke-filled room, assessing him first and then deciding on Kijima. Ren had seen weapons systems that were less obvious in their targeting—she'd ignored the old men who had crawled off the cruisers to buy her drinks and instead had marked the crew of the Galahad as soon as they'd arrived on the lounge premises.
Predictably, Kijima was taken with her—she was exactly his ideal. Probably most mens' ideal. And she was dressed to emphasize it, too. The impeccably tailored suit-dress was snug in all the right places. The woman had approached with a confident saunter, letting her curves do the talking for her. She was a striking brunette—busty, tall, with a perfect model's face with high cheekbones and large brown eyes. Ren watched Kijima fall for it, hook, line, and sinker, and made a note to have the man undergo remedial counterintelligence training. For an officer of the Hizuran Empire, he was a disgrace. He should've known what was happening at a hundred paces, and yet there he was, drooling all over himself. Surely his second officer couldn't be this pathetic?
"Hey baby," Kijima cooed. "Lookin' a little lonely over there. Wanna join us?"
Ren groaned and tried extremely hard not to roll his eyes. Yes. He was that pathetic.
He watched the woman drape herself all over Kijima, who was smiling like a drunk monkey. She was good, Ren had to admit. She had Kijima wrapped around her little finger with not much more than a single sultry glance. The officer was entirely at his ease under her seduction. For goodness' sake! Ren wanted to shout. Couldn't the man tell this was a honeypot? She was too good-looking to be true, too practiced in her approach, too directly after something. They'd taken on slightly higher-profile bounties of late, and he wouldn't put it past some of the larger cartels to want to infiltrate his crew and his ship. It could even be rival bounty hunters, or other privateers who wanted to get a jump on the Galahad for salvage rights. Didn't matter—women like that did not approach for no reason. Ren wandered off to a corner to nurse his whisky alone. If Kijima was going to make a fool of himself, he wanted no part of it.
Later, when Kijima approached him and asked for a private conversation after a few drinks, Ren knew something was up. "Listen, Captain," he was saying. Ren glared at him, but Kijima was tipsy and had very little of a filter left. "Hey, I know it's not policy to give rides, but…" Ren cleared his throat, and Kijima had the grace to look just a little bit ashamed of himself. Apparently not ashamed enough, though, because he continued. "...but she's a real sweet kid, and she's just stranded…needs a ride back to Angeles…and it's not like we don't have room on board—"
"Absolutely not," Ren said, cutting him off.
"But…Captain…!" Kijima was pouting like a kid.
"Listen, Kijima," Ren replied. "I know the Galahad isn't exactly a normal posting…"
"...ish not," the man replied. "...sh'better…"
"But this does not excuse this behavior." Ren intensified his glare and saw his second officer visibly blanch. "You know and understand why we do not take civilians onto the starcraft. And I expect you to uphold that ban."
"But…"
"Did she drug you!? I said no. Go get a love hotel if you have to."
Kijima, dejected, wandered over to the woman—who, surprisingly enough, simply looked more determined.
Ren took it in stride, taking a sip of whisky. A ride, he mused. Not a spot on his crew, not an apparent dalliance with Kijima, though her body language had all but promised it. He didn't know who she was, or why she was trying so hard to get on his ship. If it was only a ride she was after, she had numerous options here. There were multiple leisure-craft starcruisers docked, for one, and all of them offered more comfort than the supposed rust-bucket the Galahad masqueraded as. She could have easily booked passage to Angeles or a world with direct starway access. And if she didn't have money, she could have just as easily seduced any of the other marks off the cruise ships. So why them?
He watched as a wave of panic and fear overtook the woman's poise—just a second of it, really, nearly nothing. If he hadn't been trained to read people since birth, he may have even missed the moment when she betrayed true and abject fear. Interesting, he thought. Why? If she was trying to infiltrate, then perhaps she wasn't doing it willingly—was there blackmail at play, perhaps? Some punishment if she failed to get on-board? Or perhaps she was truly on the run, a thief of some kind. Uneasily he worried that she was, perhaps, someone who had been enslaved and was attempting to run. He watched impassively as she calmed herself down. And then, unexpectedly, she looked at him.
Directly, as if she had nothing to hide.
She'd dropped the act—she knew she wasn't going to convince Ren to take her on a passage to Angeles based on her womanly charms. Ren nodded at her and raised his glass in salute.
She walked over to him, leaving a stunned Kijima in her wake.
"Captain."
"Miss—"
"Kana. Kana Kusunoki," she said, and gave a bow in acknowledgement. "Hajimemaashite."
He nodded in acknowledgement. "Ren Tsuruga, at your service," he replied. "I understand you've been trying to seduce my crew."
Rich laughter burst from Kana's throat. "Just a wanderer trying to get discreet passage home, Captain."
"There are plenty of cruisers here that'll berth you," he responded. "And no one the wiser."
"Unfortunately, Captain, my circumstances are rather…unique," she explained.
"Try me," he said. "We're a privateer crew, not a taxi service, ma'am."
The look of panic resurfaced again, and then determination took over. "I assure you, you'd be well-compensated for your time and your services."
"And I assure you, madam," Ren responded, "that we are not for hire."
"But—"
"And why us, anyway?" he asked. "Lots of other crews here to choose from. Right behind you there's the crew of the Mild Possum, for example. They'd take you, no doubt."
She breathed in, as if to steel herself. "The Galahad has a reputation," she said.
Ren merely raised an eyebrow.
"They say you're the best ship around." She exhaled. "They say you're fair. They say you're fast. That you don't double-cross once a deal is made." A deep breath, in. "And they say you wouldn't molest a single woman traveling alone. Your reputation precedes you."
"I don't know who you've been talking to," Ren responded. "But there are many who would charge you fairly for safe transport across the galaxy. I decline your offer, Ms. Kusunoki. I cannot perform that service at this time."
He turned away from her, and was about to walk away when he heard, "Please." He turned around, and the woman was trembling. His truthsense told him that her panic was real.
"I need to get to Angeles," she said. "It's so important. So much depends on it—I'll sleep in the cargo bay if you want me to," she said. "Even if you need to put me in cryostasis—"
"I am sorry, madam," Ren replied. If he accepted one of these requests for transport, he'd feel the need to accept them all. "I wish you luck."
Kijima looked on at them, half-pouting on the other side of the lounge. He knew that when the Captain dug his heels in, there was very little anyone could do. Kana came back long enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I thank you," she said, "and I am sorry, but I must cut our date short tonight."
He looked up and glared at Ren, who was standing impassively.
"The lady made up her own mind," he told Kijima.
=.=.=.=.=
As far as Ren was concerned, he had ended the matter there. He'd assign Kijima some remedial counterintelligence training, with an emphasis on honey traps. Maybe he'd assign the entire crew some counterintelligence training. And then they'd go their merry way, capturing quick bounties, scuttling captured ships and selling the ones that might be salvageable, with escorting duties as a way to defray the costs of shipward operations. Not that they needed the funds, of course, but as Ren saw it, how would he run the economies of an entire hegemony if he couldn't even make a profitable enterprise off of his own ship?
But as he saw Kana make contact with what looked to be another ship's crew, he felt rather than saw something that made him shift his stance. He sat back to observe. Coming out of the lounge's corners, he saw them. Three tough-looking operatives, dressed conspicuously to be inconspicuous, too generic to be anything other than underground goons. There was a guy that was clearly the group's 'muscle,' bald-headed and dressed in a black shirt—and two others, who he was calling Red Shirt and Blue Shirt, respectively. He saw some ticks that indicated they might be from a Morizumi planet—a slightly closed-off stance, for one. But it was evident in the way they scanned the room that they'd had some training. They certainly weren't amateurs. He saw them spot Kana, and watching her, he could tell that she'd seen them too.
Her back straightened, a new tension suffusing her limbs. The studied languor she wore to approach Kjima gave way to a conscious wariness, and it wasn't long before she started looking towards the lounge's exits. If Ren were to make a wager, she'd be making for the stairs that would take her down from the dome and into the wide hallways that led to a million doors for the million and one tourists that spent a night or so in Lasella, watching Herbin's clouds give their daily show. Lasella had very few free-standing structures, after all—all the hotel establishments were connected underground, as was common on an asteroid settlement. The crew of the Mild Possum noticed—and Ren could see they weren't impressed. Rolf, their XO, was shaking his head 'no,' and Kana was clearly looking for a way to distract the goons' attention so she could get away.
He sighed. He knew he shouldn't be getting involved, but something about the way she'd said 'please' bothered him. He knew she wasn't lying about needing help—though he had no idea why. So would it cost them terribly much to give her a distraction? He looked up and there was Kijima, across the room, waggling his eyebrows at him. I really WILL need to send him for remedial training, Ren thought. Good grief. The man could've used their crew comms to contact him discreetly, but instead he was there, in the center of the room making an ass out of himself. If he couldn't handle his liquor—
They're after her, boss, the text on his comm said.
I know. You should be a little more shy about wiggling your eyebrows like that, Kijima.
Can't we help her out?
Ren paused. After having spoken to her, he'd increasingly had the feeling that the ship or his crew weren't her targets—she truly needed transport. Whatever this woman's situation was—thief, runaway, something-in-between and all things complicated—a little interference would be acceptable, wouldn't it? All they'd do was make it possible for her to exit the room, and then maybe she could find a hiding place until the heat was off.
I'd have more confidence if you weren't so sloshed, Kijima.
I'm not THAT sloshed.
"Sh-the best!," Ren wrote, echoing his slurred words.
That was a little while ago. I'm more sober now.
Sure. You're more sober now.
Captain, I swear to god. Look, I know you don't like getting involved but she seems like a good kid and I know you think I'm just after a quick lay but I think she's in real trouble and we really should help out—
Ren shook his head as the texts marched across his view. He blinked them away. Fine. You'll do the usual? he sent.
Yeah. I'll take that goon in the center, the one next to the fish tank.
The bald guy. Fine. Let's hope your girl is resourceful enough to take the opp you're giving her.
Ren took another sip of his whisky.
Are you sure we can't do more? Kijima sent.
Ren sighed and caught Kijima's eyes. Really, Kijima should know better. They simply didn't have time right now.
OK so that's a no. Here goes, came the response.
Ren sat back and watched as Kijima ambled over to the muscle-bound man who was brooding in the center of the room with a drink, exaggerating his steps with a shuffle made to look as if he were inebriated. "Oof," Kijima said, and the amber liquid of his drink made a spectacular arc onto the goon's face and torso. "Sh-sorry," he said, putting a hand right on the man's shirt and using it to pull himself up. Ren wasn't surprised when the goon's right hand pulled itself into a fist, aiming straight for Kijima's face. "I said…I said I'm sorry, man!" he heard.
Meanwhile the room's attention was riveted to the center, and he could see some of the more enterprising folk at the bar exchange bets as to the outcome. He saw the woman turn and look at Kijima, the gratitude and surprise on her face palpable, and then she turned and looked at him. Why are you looking at me, idiot? Ren thought. Get out, that's why we're putting on this show! He made a quick motion with his chin to the exit and she followed his gaze—next thing he knew, she was on the move. She took a circuitous route, making it look like she was on her way to get a closer look at the fight, moving slowly towards the exit. Good, Ren thought. At least she's not completely useless. She managed to get to the door, was through it, when Red Shirt at the flank spotted her.
Argh, Ren thought. There goes the distraction. She'd been fast enough, discreet enough, but there was only so much one could do without…more elaborate measures. A single fight was nice and contained, but perhaps they should have staged something to involve more of the crowd. Given a little more time, perhaps they could've engineered a light outage. But that could be problematic, particularly on the fly—an approach cutting off power in a closed system like this could also compromise the life-preservation systems that ran the dome. If they'd had more time, sure. But he wasn't going to compromise the safety of the entire asteroid just for a single lights-out distraction.
He stood back. He hoped she was well and truly on the loose now—outside that door was a warren into Lasella's guest corridors—a number of independent establishments running banks of rooms for the starship cruiser crowd. If she was smart, she'd find a maintenance tunnel. If she was lucky, there would be a large crowd out there to hide behind. And hopefully the crowd in the large room was deep enough to slow down Red Shirt before he'd noted which exit she'd gone through.
No heroics, he told himself. You have no idea why they're gunning after her. For all he knew, she was a criminal of the highest order.
(You know she's not), the voice in his head said, though.
Red Shirt had waded his way through the crowd watching Kijima land a shiner on Bald Guy's face. Blue Shirt was following close on his heels.
Dammit.
'Please.' He heard her voice in his head again and groaned.
He was never going to get out of this meddling habit, was he?
Get a hold of yourself, Hizuri, he thought. Honeypot or not, she was in distress—and if she did turn out to be one of the good guys, he didn't want this on his conscience. He didn't like the idea of a single woman going against two trained goons, regardless. If she turned out to be the bad guy here, he'd turn her in himself.
I'm following Red Shirt and Blue Shirt into the hallway, he told the crew. Might be best to meet at the dock in case this escalates.
You're taking them on alone?! Yashiro messaged. Despite his efforts in bringing Ren out of the Galahad, he hadn't spent much time in the lounge, opting instead to head for the viewing platform to admire Herbin. Koga had apparently caught him up when Kijima started the fireworks, and Amamiya, as always, was doing her own thing. Don't take them on alone! Wait, I'll be there shortly—
Yashiro, are you saying I can't take two cheap thugs in a brawl?
Now is NOT the time for heroics— his XO messaged.
Naw, that's ME doing the heroics, Kijima sent. Out of the corner of his eye, Ren saw him dodge a ham-fisted uppercut and land a kick on Bald Guy's shin.
DUDE SHUT UP, the rest of the crew sent back. Ren had to grin. He was moving already, laterally snaking his way through the crowd and out the exit.
Who said anything about heroics? I'm just getting some exercise, he sent. Yashiro, monitor the comms and watch out for their backup.
Roger that, Captain, Yashiro sent back. Try not to take any unnecessary risks, sir.
Ren rolled his eyes and let that one go unanswered.
Once outside, to his dismay, the hallway was nearly deserted. So much for a crowd she could get lost in, he thought.
He made his way down the corridor until it branched into three—there were no indications as to which way she'd gone. He hoped, for her sake, that Red Shirt and Blue Shirt hadn't seen, either, and had guessed wrong in their pursuit. He paused, briefly considering whether it was worth using Galahad's scanning capabilities. He didn't have anything to differentiate her height and weight from any other woman who happened to be in Lasella's corridors, though. He'd certainly not anticipated needing to find a stranger in a crowd, otherwise he would've taken care to record some signature aspect of her body to feed into Galahad's sensors. It was possible, sure, for them to divvy up the corridors, but he knew places like Lasella were built like warrens and he had no intention of sending his crew on a wild goose chase. What to do, then?
A scream answered the question for him.
It had come from the right-most corridor—the one leading upwards to the domes. Ren didn't quite know what she'd intended, running that way, but ran after the sound after sending the crew his location.
She was cornered.
Ren didn't like seeing it—she was pressed against the wall, standing tall and proud against what was sure to be an impending capture. The goons had their back to the hallway, and neither saw Ren as he approached silently. Red Shirt was reaching towards her with restraining manacles extended while Blue Shirt pointed a blaster to cover.
Ren knew it would be game over for her unless he intervened.
Her eyes widened as she saw him creep up, and as Red Shirt grabbed and twisted her arm, Ren struck—two of them at once.
The betting public wouldn't have put odds on Ren clocking them both at the same time, but he did. Ren's right arm snaked around Red Shirt's throat—and Red Shirt gave a choking gasp and released Kana as he tried to frantically free himself. At the same time, Ren managed to shove Blue Shirt against the wall and deflected the blaster's muzzle upwards. Blue Shirt had no time—Ren's hand moved so quickly it was a blur. He gave a cry as his wrist was twisted; it was only a matter of nanoseconds before he'd been disarmed. And then, with not much fuss, Ren bashed Red Shirt's head against Blue's and both fell unconscious at Ren's feet.
"Well, I guess they'll have headaches when they wake up," he said laconically. He offered a hand to Kana, who had curled up into a small ball.
Her hand shook as she reached towards him, but as he pulled her up, he said, "Listen, lady, not sure who you are or what you're running from, but you should probably find a place to hide."
She gave him a sideways glance, as if to chastise him for saying something wholly inane. "By now they'll have infiltrated Lasella's central databank," she said. "I don't have long here." And then she looked up at him and met his eyes. It was evident her seduction game was over.
Oh no, Ren thought. The look on her face was desperate, humble, and sincere. The proud defiance he'd seen in front of Red and Blue Shirt was fading, replaced with a woman who was trembling in fear and apprehension.
"Please, Captain," she said. The way her body shook was somewhat pitiful. Ren saw it and knew she was pleading for her life. "I won't be any trouble—I swear it. They'll find me here. And….and…when they—"
He hardened his resolve. "We'll find you transport," he said. "But we cannot take you with us." He'd talk to Rolf over at the Mild Possum, he was sure he could talk them into changing their minds and berthing her for a ride to Angeles X. Or even to Lory's. He'd vouch for her. Heck, he'd even offer them the next salvage.
She took a deep breath in and her eyes watered as her shoulders slumped down. "Thank you for the help," she said. "If you hadn't come, they would have—"
"I don't like thugs going after people," Ren said. "Come on. Kijima's got a room. This wasn't what he had in mind for it, but let's get you cleaned up while we regroup. Rolf's a reasonable guy and the Mild Possum's a good ship. We'll talk to him."
She nodded dumbly.
"Do you have enough credits to get through to Angeles?" Ren asked. He was reminding himself that she was an unknown quantity—she looked and sounded sincere enough about wanting to save her life, certainly, but there was no telling why thugs were really being sent after her.
"Yes," she said. "At least I'm not broke," she said ruefully.
"Good," Ren said. "I'll put in a good word for you, they can run dark while you're with them. Did you have anything with you? Luggage? Bags?" He was mildly curious—if she was a thief, whatever she'd stolen was likely still with her.
But she just shook her head. "They've probably gotten their hands on the things that were in my room," she said. "There was nothing important in there, just clothing—we should leave it because—"
Ren held up a hand as he noted a ping from Galahad. He raised his eyebrows as he took in the data. Things were getting interesting.
Quickly he sent out a comm to everyone. Galahad crew, you need to come back ship-side right now, he commed. We have two bogeys coming in. Galahad's telling me they're scanning her.
He turned his attention back to Kana. "On second thought," he told her, "Nevermind. Let's get you to Rolf and crew now and see if they can berth you right away."
She nodded.
Kijima, Ren sent.
Aye, Captain? Little busy.
Ren rolled his eyes. Your friend must've alerted people to our involvement, he sent. Red Shirt and Blue Shirt are out cold.
He could almost hear Kijima groan aloud—but the woman must be a high-value target indeed, with a team of no less than five, possibly more, tracking her.
I'm on my way back with the target, Ren transmitted to Yashiro. Gonna need you to talk to Rolf and see if you can change their mind about taking her. He switched. Amamiya?
Aye, Captain?
Check on these bogeys. I want a status report.
He led Kana quickly—but not too quickly—through the hallway until they were back in the main lounge.
But just as he was about to open the door, Yashiro came through again.
The Mild Possum is a no, Captain, he said, Rolf says they're up to cap and he doesn't want any trouble. And if I may say so, sir, I don't think we do, either—
Yashiro?
Yes, Captain?
Prepare an auxiliary passenger cabin for our guest.
Ren ignored the squawk of protest from Yashiro. Amamiya?
Sir, ready, sir, she responded.
What's the status on the bogeys? What are they?
Civilian tech all the way, but top-of-the-line, sir, she said. They look like two Stingrays. No umbar capabilities, no atmo EDL. Built for repo, so they probably have tractor beams.
Interesting. Stingrays were similar to their military cousins—fighter spacecraft. They were perfect for pursuit but not at all useful for the capture of individuals, being single-pilot affairs.
Any word on who might have sent them? he asked.
Not any of the major hegemonies, Amamiya replied. I keep hailing them but they keep ignoring. It's possible they've got weapons, sir, but whose I don't know.
Ren made the mistake of looking up at Kana just as the last of Amamiya's words came through. "The Mild Possum's out," he told her. "I don't know what you did, but you pissed off someone who really wants to get you back. Right now they're scanning my ship. I've spent a good long time on the Galahad, lady, and I've never had two bogeys come after me before while I was dry-docked."
She stared at him, defiantly. He could tell that part of her wanted to beg, but she was proud—and he had to admire it in her. "I'm not a thief," she said, jutting her chin out. "If that's what you were thinking. I'm not a runaway slave, either."
"I never said you were. And we don't believe in slavery on the Galahad."
"But you won't help me get off this rock."
"I don't think we're the ideal solution, no." Ren was walking away from her, and she was following close on his heels like a hunting dog that didn't quite want to let the prey go. He pulled ahead.
"I swear to you, all I ever did was to try and do the right thing," she called after him. She was desperate, panting with the effort of keeping up with him in the high heels she was wearing.
Ren stopped in his tracks. Of all the things she could have said, he thought. The words resonated in his head and in them he could not find a trace of deception. He could still see his father's face as he waved goodbye. "Do the right thing," he'd said, and Ren had tried.
From behind him, Kana paused too. She saw him take a deep breath, and then his shoulders slumped forward. He turned to face her, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Please," she said, softer this time. "Even if you only take me partway. Even if you just take me to a starway's embarkation point—I have to get off of Lasella."
Ren was silent for a while. "Very well," Ren said. "Upon certain conditions. Non-negotiable."
Kana nodded enthusiastically. "I can handle whatever you throw at me. I'll cook, I'll clean—"
"None of that will be necessary," Ren said. "All we need for you to do is to stay out of our way while you're in your quarters."
She nodded. "I can do that."
"And you will tell me why you're running," he added.
She gulped, hesitating. "I would—I would…prefer to keep my own counsel—" she choked out.
"Listen, lady," Ren drawled, "this is not a matter for your preferences. You will tell me why you're running, or I'll deliver you to them myself." He didn't have much time for this—he would have no part in any illicit undertaking, damsel-in-distress or no. He had a feeling that this Kana was a 'good kid,' in Kijima's parlance, and he was betting on that. But if he was going to allow her onto his ship, he was going to know for sure what he was up to.
Her eyes were inscrutable. "Very well," she replied.
Captain, he heard Amamiya say, the bogeys are hovering just beyond Lasellan dockspace. I think they're waiting for us. They haven't answered any of my inquiries so far.
If you had to guess, who are they? He figured Amamiya would have observed enough of their pattern by now.
If I had to… Amamiya trailed off. Fuwa, I'd say. They aren't hegemony, for sure. Built for repo.
Ren groaned. They were going to have to weasel their way out. Certain entities used Stingrays for the quick capture of things like other ships. They were rarely equipped with weapons, but they were equipped with tractor beams. Galahad wouldn't have any trouble with them, but a garden-variety ship would. Out loud, he said, "We have a problem. You're going to have to run for it. Got it?"
She nodded once.
"Follow me, then. Keep up."