Persephone was the "gateway into the Black". It was the "go-to" planet for shipping routes, industry, and trade of every kind. It was the only system that combined the comfort and modern living of a Core World with the almost anarchy-level of freedom one would find on the Rim Worlds.
That is, assuming that one could pay.
On Persephone you could spend an evening sharing sake with a top-tier Companion before kicking the morning off with cheap meth and a koujiao from an alley whore in the same city. All could be achieved with little-to-no intervention by the local Feds, as long as the wrong people weren't crossed. Michael found the whole thing a little depressing. Persephone had been one of the first systems to accept Unification. Before the war, it had been a complete hive with bandits from dozens of different clans fighting constantly for superiority. Persephone was a system that had been spoon fed every possible advantage. it was sad to see vice win out over morality on what was supposed to be a "civilized" world.
Michael and Dan were making their way through the chaos that was the Eavesdown docks. Hawkers and vendors filled the space between the offices and the landing pads. Of course, using words like "office" and "landing pad" would seem a little excessive by Core World standards. The offices were little more than repurposed shipping containers, while the landing pads were little more than patches of dirt one was least likely to crush standers-by in.
The two were looking for a man known only as "Badger". Word had it that he'd once employed Public Enemy #1 himself, which had brought plenty of business, trouble, and rumors to his door. Since Michael's team had gone up in proverbial flames (and since he still had a digistorage unit in his backpack filled with information on illegal medical experiments), he and Dan decided to seek out the man responsible for sparking the fire in the Core. It had always been the cell's backup plan in the event they were made. At the moment, however, "find Malcolm Reynolds" seemed to be woefully lacking in a few key details. "Key" in this case meaning... any.
Dan and Michael attracted appraising looks from everyone they passed by. At twenty-two, they were too young to pull of the "hard case" look so common on spacers. Michael's giant handgun rested vertically under his left arm, a combination of preemptive safety and convenience, since that was the only way he could comfortably carry it. Dan had traded in the pulse rifle for a metal stocked, lever-action rifle. Pulsers were hard to get for private collectors, despite their non-lethal nature. They were difficult to make, nearly impossible to repair, and often criticized for being a waste of tax payer money. Sure there were occasional reports of Feds over using pulsers or the target striking his/her head too hard when they hit the ground (which could result in death), but that was the exception, not the rule. The rifle Dan now carried was fitted with an old fashioned glass and metal red dot scope and fired real bullets. The eagerness with which the pawn shop clerk had traded it for the pulser made Michael think it was worth more than a rifle and a bandolier of 45 Long Colt. In the end, the need to be rid of traceable government tech had outweighed the need to make a good deal.
Between the two's youth, shiny guns, fashionable Mandarin shirts with jeans, and large back packs, they stood out.
At least... as much as one could stand out in the Eavesdown Docks.
"You think Pete and the others made it clear?" Dan asked.
"No idea," Michael said. He thought they probably hadn't. They were probably in a jail somewhere unless they'd managed to get free by stroke of luck, like he and Dan did.
Michael cursed himself silently. What had he been thinking? Just walk into a government storage base and take sensitive information? They should have just stuck to trashing buildings.
The docks gave way to more permanent buildings that looked similar to what could be found on Londinium. The main differences were the short height of the skyline and the solely pedestrian traffic so close to a no-fly zone.
"I think that's it," Michael said pointing to one of the stone buildings. He pulled a piece of paper with the building's address on it out of his pants pocket and double checked. "Yep. We're here."
"All right," Dan said, stretching his neck to the left and right. "Let's do some bluffing."
Badger had been experiencing a run of good luck lately. Since one of his former associates had gone off and lost his gorram mind, everyone on ten worlds were bringing their business to him. Criminals, bounty hunters, smugglers, and two-wei wannabes alike were all impressed by the fact that he'd once held the great Malcolm Reynolds in his employee and came to him first for the latest and greatest in jobs, fences, trades, or a dozen other enterprises Badger had his hand in. Feds came to him and paid ridiculous amounts of quid for the smallest tidbits of information about the goings on of the underground. Every so often, Badger could get rid of an unsatisfactory employee by telling the Feds where to find a criminal... all while collecting money for doing nothing. The entire idea tickled Badger pink. It was like being paid to take out his own trash!
Badger was in the process balancing his books (the real ones he didn't show the Feds) when one of his guards stuck his head into his private office.
"Sir, there's a couple of Core brats here to see you," the guard said.
Badger looked up. "And why, exactly, am I supposed to give a bucket of rat piss?" he asked in his cockneyed accent.
"They say they're after the bounty on Reynolds."
Badger sat back in his chair and sighed. Here we go again. "Alright, send 'em in. You know the drill," he said, rubbing his eyes.
This happened so often that Badger and his men had a standard procedure for handling it. Two of his biggest blokes, each armed with a honest-to-goodness belt fed machine gun would post themselves to the far left and right of Badger's desk in opposite corners of the room. The door guard would post himself right outside the bullet proof door and watch through a peephole. He was under standing orders not to open the door without Badger's say-so. If the prospective bounty hunters did anything to threaten or harm Badger, the goon squad would reduce them to pieces via high velocity lead.
Once everyone had assumed their positions, Badger kicked his feet up onto his new desk and waited. He was mildly surprised at what came through the door. The "bounty hunters" were hardly more than boys, both with dark hair/eyes and tan skin. At first glance, they looked like they could be brothers, but a second glance showed none of their features except height and build match.
This should be interesting, Badger thought.
The young bounty hunters stood side-by-side in the doorway. The guard had taken one of their rifles, having let the other keep the pistol under his arm, since it was holstered. The gesture was more of a test, to see if he was dumb enough to draw it. Badger hoped not. He'd had a long day and didn't want to wait around for someone to mop the floor.
Badger let the bounty hunters speak first, since they'd come to him. It was always best to see how much was on the table before placing bets.
"Word out of the docks is Malcolm Reynolds used to work for you," the one with the weapon said.
"Maybe he did," Badger said. "It depends on whose asking and why."
"We're looking for him," Michael said, simply.
"Trying to make the big bucks?" Badger asked.
"Something like that," Michael said, adopting Badger's dry tone.
Badger got an idea. "You know... you two don't look much like bounty hunters, if you don't mind my saying."
"Our 'Verse's Greatest Bounty Hunter' t-shirts are in the laundry," Dan said.
"We used to be lawyers," Dan said, launching into their cover story. It provided for their knowledge base and gave a ready excuse for why they left the Core. "We got on the wrong side of the Triad on Sihnon. Seemed like time for a career change."
Lawyers? Interesting. Badger sat up in his seat, resting his forearms on his desk. "Suppose that'll do the trick now, won't it?" Badger asked, grinning.
"So do you know where we can find him or not?" Michael asked.
"No one knows where to find him, now do they?" Badger said. "Price that big on his head, he'd be found otherwise. Mayhap I know how to find him though."
Michael sighed. "It'd be too much to hope you'd just tell me how to find him, wouldn't it?"
Badger smiled in earnest now. "How much is it worf to ya?"
"Not much," Michael said, trying to sound bored. Badger had to give the kid credit. His body language and tone of voice was spot-on. His eyes were watching Badger's face a little too close though, trying to gauge his reaction. "Since you don't really know where he is."
You don't play a player, Badger thought. "How about a trade?" Badger asked, looking back and forth between Michael and Dan.
Michael blinked, seeming surprised. This time it seemed genuine. "Huh?" he grunted.
Badger sat back in his seat. Gotcha'. "Judging by the size of those packs, I'd wager you two haven't exactly made your way in the Verse yet."
"Fair guess," Michael said, wondering what Badger's point was.
"You're both probably living job-to-job?"
"Something like that." Michael said. His stomach sank a little as he was reminded just how little money he had to his name.
"I'm gonna' be honest wif you two," Badger said, opening his desk and going through his files. His "files" were random bits of paper and microplastic ranging from napkins to notebook paper to government documents back to napkins. "Which is something I rarely do. My line of work don' exactly attract the best or the brightest."
Michael crossed his arms. This man liked to belabor a point like no other. Badger's guards tensed at seeing Michael's arms so close to his weapon. "Is that so?" Michael asked.
Moment of truth, Badger thought. "It is," badger said, passing Michael a paper. "Which is why I really like to get my money's worth when blokes like you two roll around."
Michael picked up the document from Badger's desk. He and Dan peered at it suspiciously.
"You want us to be your delivery boys?" Michael asked, incredulous. "In return, you'll tell us what you know?"
"Got it in one," Badger said. "Almost. I plan to do you a favor besides. How would you like to be the one that makes the trade?"
"What?" Michael asked.
"See, the cargo is currently in the care of a beautiful young bird who came here this morning asking where Malcolm Reynolds could be found," Badger explained. "I made her the same offer I'm making you. Since Reynolds went to the top of the Alliance's goupi list, I've been getting more jobs than I can give out."
"So why do you want me delivering cargo that you already gave out?" Michael asked.
"You say you used to be a lawyer," Badger said. "This situation may require more diplomacy than the lovely Miss Munroe can handle." Badger laughed a little to himself. "Silly broad tried to seduce the information out of me."
"And you don't have an eye for the ladies?" Michael asked.
"Course I do," Badger scoffed. "Girl had tits for days, but money comes first. I can't be lettin' word get out that I go soft for any pair of rufang what comes through my door."
"What's our cut, dude?" Dan asked.
"Five percent," Badger said.
Michael and Dan both snorted in unison.
"What?" Badger said, almost succeeding in looking offended. "That's five percent for the three of ya'. Fifteen percent."
"We're the ones doing the work," Michael said. "You're getting a finder's fee which is usually worth ten percent."
Badger smiled again. "Toppa' the class ain't ya?" he asked. He rubbed his beard stubble, thinking. "I tell you what: that cargo cost me one hundred platinum. You bring me back one hundred ten, and you can keep the rest."
"You know I can sell this for two hundred, easy, right?" Michael demanded, sure there was a catch.
"You shouldn't have no problems, then," Badger said. He pulled out a bottle of scotch and three small glasses. "Let's drink on it, shall we?" he asked, pouring.
The three picked up their glasses. "Cheers," Badger declared. They drank.
Michael and Dan never drank anything stronger than sake or red wine. Even so, they managed to down their drinks without a problem and leave. On their way out the door, Badger gave them one last piece of advice.
"Watch yourself. Crazy old bird is crafty as she is deadly."
.
Outside Dan asked "What just happened?"
"We just got a job, that's what," Michael replied.
"Do you really think that weasel knows how to find Malcolm Reynolds?" Dan asked as they headed back towards the docks.
"Even if he doesn't, we're still better off," Michael said. "How did you plan to earn us money?"
Dan walked in silence for a moment. He actually hadn't considered it. He and Michael had been focused on getting out of Alliance controlled space before their bounties went public. "Good call," he said finally.
.
Michael and Dan made their way to The Queen of Hearts. It was about twice the size of Serenity and shaped like a rowboat with four engines on the sides and a high powered reactor drive in back. The entrance was on the top which necessitated the men to climb a steel ladder just to knock on the door.
"Hey genius," Dan said, tapping Michael on the shoulder as they stood in front of the access hatch.
"What?" Michael asked turning to face Dan. "Did Badger say anything about telling Munroe to expect us-"
The dry click of a weapon's safety being disengaged cut Dan short.
"You have three seconds to explain why I shouldn't blow your heads off," a low, silky, female voice said.
Michael began speaking in the polite, professional manner he'd perfected working at a shopping center on Belerephon's Bankuai Seven. "My name is Michael, this is Dan," he said over his shoulder. "We're associates of yours by way of our mutual friend Badger." He turned to see a woman a little shorter than himself with strawberry red hair, full lips, and perfect skin. He just barely managed to keep his eyes from wandering down, where her red silk pajama top was under threat of mutiny from breasts which wouldn't have allowed her to close the the top button if she wanted to.
Keeping his gaze up was made easier by the pistol currently fixed on his nose.
"'Friend' might be too strong of a word, don't you think?" the woman asked.
Decidedly un-face-shot, Michael spoke. "You don't know the half of it, ma'am. Badger did send us, though."
"To help you get top dollar from your buyer," Dan added.
"What makes you think I need your help?" the woman demanded. "You'll just cut into my profits. What help is that?"
"How much do you think you could sell your cargo for?" Michael retorted.
He saw the blank look and hesitation on the woman's face, quickly covered. "A lot," she said, a picture of sultry confidence again.
Not even going to guess at a number? "Your carrying enough crop supplements to start an entire world. I could sell it for two hundred and fifty plat. Easily." Michael gave that a moment to sink in. "After paying Badger, your cut would be seventy five."
Michael could tell he had her attention. She cast glances back and forth from his face to Dan's. She saw no indication that either of them was lying. "Make it eighty," she said. "This was my job first and I'm not giving up the larger cut."
"Done," Michael said.
"And I'm not sharing the bed with you," the woman added.
"I wasn't aware that was on the table," Michael said, confused.
Finally the woman stuffed the pistol into the waistband of her pants, just below her belly button. "Call me Liz," she said. She stepped back inside her ship. "Don't just stand there staring, come on in."
Michael and Dan shared incredulous glances before following. What kind of job almost gets you shot just by introducing yourself to your coworker?
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SIHNON. Behind the Scenes
.
QuanLi sat behind his desk going over report after report. So far he was still getting nowhere closer to providing any sort of solution to the terrorist problem.
At least I was able to keep the worst of it out of the news, he thought to himself.
The terrorist activity on Core worlds had been slowing down, but QuanLi wasn't ready to start celebrating yet. The increased Fed presence on the streets and into the blackout zones had done a lot to help, but the anarchists had used the presence of the peace keepers as a chance to go "kai ji" on live targets. Peaceful protests suddenly turned violent. Patrols suddenly ran into armed opposition. In short, the anarchists had been ready. The initial attacks had resulted in Feds "missing and presumed dead", making the idea of getting an accurate casualty count laughable. Now the peace troops knew better than to go on patrol without force of numbers on their side.
Then, there was the fiasco that had happened the day before. Two Feds on Londinium had caught a twelve year old girl spray painting calligraphy onto the side of a school building. The Feds then proceeded to empty their pulser rifles into the girl. When the pulsers had run dry, the Feds gotten a bit overzealous and continued to pummel the girl with their hands and feet. After subduing the vandal, the Feds took her to a holding station, where she died from internal bleeding. The security video of the little girl crying in her cell before passing out had made its way onto the Coretex which fueled outrage into the general public. Several news networks were facing class action suits for broadcasting the video against the wishes of Parliament. QuanLi had been the one to release a press conference.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he'd said into the microphones and flashing cameras. "Rest assured the two officers involved in this girl's death are being dealt with. As of right now, I can only tell you, on behalf of Parliament, that I am truly sorry this happened. We are taking measures to ensure something like this never happens again." He went on to explain that the officers involved (names withheld for fear of their safety) had been demoted and suspended without pay for two weeks. Every Federal Law Enforcement Officer on active duty would be required to undergo a 16 hour block of instruction on how to properly use force during an arrest. On top of that, he'd personally drafted a bill that would make it illegal for anyone under the age of sixteen to be in possession of paint or painting materials in public.
QuanLi sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. It saddened him to think that no matter how hard he worked, people would always look for reasons to hate and destroy. How many dozens of organizations, private citizens, and so-called "civil rights" groups were still agitating for the release of the two Feds names'? And this was just one incident since the release of the Miranda Files. On Core Worlds where the files had been released in entirety, there was a statistical increase in the number of civil and misdemeanor offenses among otherwise law abiding citizens. People with clean records were being picked up for petty crimes like carrying firearms and being argumentative with law enforcement officers. This perceived threat to the safety and well being of the Feds was causing petitions from FLEOs to switch from pulsers to traditional lethal weapons. These petitions were being started out of the Feds' fear of normal civilians, which fed the populations fear of an encroaching totalitarian state. Both sides were based in paranoia, drawing attention away from the real threat: the subversive, antisocial gangs that were causing havoc and chaos with no clear objective in sight. It was, in short, a complete mess.
And I'm the one who's going to clean it up, QuanLi swore to himself.
He just wasn't sure how, yet.
.
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS
.
Michael and Dan learned that Liz's declaration of not sharing the bed was more than just innuendo. The Queen had started out it's life as a luxury liner and been converted to a cargo hauler during the war. All of the bunks except (presumably) Liz's had been stripped out and contained nothing but blank floor. On the plus side, as a former luxury liner, every bunk had its own hot shower which was almost unheard of in deep space craft. The lack of hot water on most ships contributed to a stereotype that spacers were a rough, unwashed lot.
Michael and Dan each passed out in their own bunks, using their backpacks as pillows and sleeping bags as mattresses. They woke the next day to Liz's voice over the com system.
"Hey boys," she spoke in a breathy and inviting voice. Michael wondered how she could manage it so early in the morning. "Why don't you get up to the bridge and strap your handsome selves in so we can get off this rock?"
The young men made their way onto the bridge which looked... well... "hack job" didn't quite describe it, despite being close. The bridge was a long, narrow hallway with a small slope that allowed people in the back to easily see the main view port. It had originally supported six consoles on each side allowing for a full crew to keep the ship in top working order. Now, it had a single console on the right hand side. Liz sat in that seat wearing a suit consisting of a black leather corset, skin tight leggings, and heavy spacer's boots. The left side was a mass of wires and secondary servers.
"What happened?" Dan asked, looking at the mess. He and Michael had to buckle themselves to fold out emergency chairs behind Liz, since her seat was the only original one left in tact.
"What do you know about retrofitting space craft?" Liz asked in a bright, bubbly, and (of course) sensuous voice.
"Nothing," Michael and Dan said in unison.
"-and I'm busy, so I can't explain it to you right now," Liz said. Her voice sounded sweet and patient as ever, but didn't invite new questions.
Michael thought it best to be polite and professional. Liz was his new coworker, after all. Besides "He was being polite and professional" was a sentence rarely finished with "so she shot him in the face".
"How long until we reach Whitefall?" Michael asked.
"This beast could make it in under a month if we needed to," Liz said. "For the sake of our fuel cells, we'll be slowing it down to five weeks, though."
Michael was about to say something pleasant and noncomittal when Dan chimed in.
"So the gun in the face last night... is that how you always say hello, or is it just 'cause you like us?" he asked. Dan had always been the friendly, "get to know you" type. It was normally part of why the two were best friends.
It remained to be seen how far that behavior would get them with Liz.
"About that..." Liz began, her eyes falling. "I'm really sorry guys." She seemed to mean it, too. Michael and Dan felt the urge to wrap their arms around her and tell her it would be okay. "I've just been having a lot of trouble with my ex-husband."
"What kind of trouble?" Dan asked.
The shoot people in the gorram face kind, Michael thought.
"My ex has a really high bounty on his head," Liz said, looking over her shoulder at Dan. Her eyes dropped again in what seemed to be a combination of sadness and shame. "He was a pirate and he killed a lot of people. I thought you two were coming after me to get his bounty."
Since they were posing as bounty hunters, Michael said. "Why not claim the bounty for yourself?"
Liz turned to finish the launch sequence, saying nothing. After a long minute she said, in a small, helpless voice. "It's not that simple. He's too dangerous to bring in like a common crook. I have to do this my way."
"Fair enough," Michael said.
The three lapsed into silence as The Queen took off. Michael felt better knowing there was a simple explanation behind Liz's seemingly erratic behavior.
Nu-uh, his inner voice (the one that sounded a lot like his father) said. She doesn't quite add up that well.
Michael cast a glance at Dan, who seemed to be fine with the situation, before returning to his own thoughts. Something was bothering him. He just couldn't put his finger on what. He remembered something his father, a lifelong soldier who'd died before he had a chance to see the Unification war, said.
"You don't know something until you know it."
What does that have to do with anything? Michael asked himself. Then it hit him what was bothersome. She'd looked behind herself (at Dan) before explaining about her ex. She'd looked scared, but she'd also looked ashamed. The only reason to deliberately turn around would have been so Michael and Dan could see how bad she felt. If she was so ashamed, then why turn to face them?
Michael didn't know what that meant. All he knew was that it wasn't right. Maybe she was just an attention seeker. That wouldn't be much of a problem, but Michael's gut said it wasn't right.
He probably wouldn't know until he knew.
.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I swore up and down I'd stop chopping the stories into parts. Real life refuses to cooperate. It took me a month just to get this done. I'm starting to see why people get paid for this...