Playing at Grown ups

A Pink Dormouse Production

Chapter Thirteen

Vila

"Very nice..." He flicked through the completed tarot deck, which Storme had brought into the pub (fortunately arriving half an hour before the lunchtime crowd started to drift in). "How much you wantin’ for this?"

"Well, as you’re such a good customer, how about we say two-fifty."

"Two hundred."

"Two twenty five."

"Throw in one of them velvet bags an’ it’s a deal."

"As it’s you, Vila," Storme smiled, "Not seen you around the market much recently. Did you and Avon talk things through?"

"We had sex instead. He’s stopped sulking now anyway."

"Honestly, Vila, the idea of a relationship is that you talk to each other."

"Since when? Have you tried talkin’ to Avon? About anythin’ important, I mean? He either changes the subject or starts thinkin’ about stuff- an’ that isn’t good for him- much better we go on the way we always have."

"So talking is just something you do with your best friend, your workmates, your..."

"Shrink?"

"Now, Vila, I was only ever a researcher."

"Still know your stuff though, don’t you? What about all those people you interviewed: did they talk to their partners?"

"Some of them..."

"How many?"

"I don’t have the figures to hand."

"Want a drink while you’re here? I just turned the coffee machine on an’ the first few cups are always the best."

"Now who’s changing the subject?"

"Jus’ doin’ me job. This is a bar: I serve the drinks, you, the customer, buy the drinks."

"Very well, get me a mocha then tell me what you’ve been finding out at the library."

"Nothin’ much to report: I read all the stories- knew most of it anyway- but there’s no ending, nothin’ to say why she quit."

"Will you ask her?"

"Nah." Value me life too much. "If she wants to tell me, she’ll do it in her own time. Made me think though- what stories will they tell about the Liberator in twenty years time?"

"Why don’t you put your memories on record now?"

"That’s a joke, right? One, Avon’d kill me if I told half what I know. Two, no one’d believe it. Three, well, you get the picture. Looks like the lunchtime rush is startin’. If you get me a bag for the cards, I’ll have the money for you after me shift."

Marianne

"Damn! Repeat that last report, Virginia."

*Three Federation Pursuit Ships on an intercept course. Shall I raise the force wall?*

"Just do it!" How did I miss them? She set up an escape course then readied the weaponry systems.

*A fourth ship is in firing range.*

"Identity?" The newcomer fired on the nearest hostile before the computer had a chance to answer. That brings it back to evens... Marianne targeted the next pursuit ship and it exploded but not before scoring a direct hit on the Sappho. The ship rocked and Marianne steadied herself to aim at the final attacker, launching a volley of plasma bolts just as her unexpected ally also took aim at the same target. Bastard didn’t stand a chance. "Status, Viginia?"

*Damage to main power relays, back-ups holding, hull is intact*

"Powers be thanked, I don’t think I can cope with too many surprises in one day."

*The other ship is hailing us*

"Patch it through to my console. Short range transmission only for the reply."

*No problem*

The screen flickered and the data was replaced by a view of the other ship’s bridge and crew.

Rebels by the look of them. Captain’s almost certainly ex-military but those others don’t look very experienced.

"Bit of fancy flying there. Thanks for helping me out."

"Don’t mention it. I just happened to be in the area." The rebel captain grinned at her.

"So who were those guys? I’ve got Rolcomt: a rolling-frequency communications monitoring system but it never picked up anything from them. They were virtually on top of me before I knew it."

"They were flying on comms black-out, same as we were. I’d heard reports of a Federation squadron based on one of this system’s outer planets and thought I’d check it out. They’ve been picking off transports between independent planets for a couple of weeks now. Not to worry- our lot’ll come through and deal with the problem now I’ve confirmed the location. You got much damage?"

"Some. I should make it to Arnos Three for repairs if I don’t run into any more trouble."

"Need an escort? I can call in my report once we’re there. Name’s Del Tarrant by the way."

By the Powers! I can never run into anyone who isn’t linked to someone else I know’s past, now can I? "I think I can look after myself. But if you and your crew want to tag along, I know a very nice restaurant where I can buy the four of you dinner."

"It’s a deal. You set course and speed, I’ll match it."

Arnos Three was all very well, if you didn’t mind snow everywhere except on the equator. The population were mostly over-spill from the infinitely preferable Arnos Two but there were a couple of eateries at the main spaceport that Marianne knew from experience to be worth a second visit. The power relays were less badly damaged than she had feared, giving her time to enjoy a longer than normal shower and go to the effort of applying eyeliner (brown-black as the mid-brown kept disappearing from her jacket pocket when she played pool in the Sprocket and Piston).

And I may as well dress for dinner, show these rebels what a civilised bunch we are back home. She found her smartest ship-trousers (silver star on each back pocket, no scuffs on the knees at all); dug out a long-sleeve T-shirt to conceal her tattoo and a waistcoat long enough to cover the crossbow then spent a while debating over footwear. Mid-calf sturdy boots? Sturdy boots with thicker soles? Steel toe-capped ankle boots? Cuban heels: knew I had a pair here somewhere. Now, jacket? She pushed a silver hoop through her right ear, wincing as she was reminded how long it had been since she wore an earring; pulled on her wulvertskin coat; slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed to the restaurant.

She arrived before the rebels so she ordered a bottle of beer and sat at the bar to watch the entrance. The rebels arrived together, all wearing some form of uniform, and she was instantly the gracious host: buying drinks; taking coats; showing them to their table. Tarrant was obviously unused to women tall enough to look him straight in the eye and also seemed somewhat disconcerted by Marianne’s display of chivalry. Which, of course, suited her just fine.

"So," she said after they had ordered, "how come the Federation were waiting for me? I thought they had pulled out of the sector altogether."

"Probably just a rogue squadron. We get reports of them once in a while, little more than pirates really."

"Federation ships engaging in piracy: they’ll give the genuine article a bad name. Of course, I’m an honest trader but being in the business as long as I’ve been, I’ve met my fair share of rogues." Answer that Captain ex-FSA, ex-Mercenary Rebel.

"And how long have you been in the business? Or does the lady never reveal her true age?"

"I’m no lady. But I never reveal my age either. So, are there any other unwelcome surprises waiting for me in this sector?"

"None that I know of. What happened to your crew?"

"I don’t have one, been working solo for years."

"Your weapons system is impressive- I’m surprised you don’t at least have someone manning that while you take piloting duties- you look like a pretty hot pilot yourself."

"Now was that a reference to my combat skills-"

"-Of course: I have a girlfriend back at our base. But you need a crew if you’re going in towards Federation space: it’s getting tougher out there every day."

"I know." Marianne sampled the wine the waiter offered then motioned for him to fill the other glasses. "I thought about rounding up a crew while I was back home but most of the experienced guys were already hired. I have a friend I could drag away from his day job but I doubt his... boyfriend would thank me for it."

"His? Boyfriend?" Tarrant was turning a very interesting colour.

"So?" Marianne shrugged, while giving the rebel’s co-pilot the once over. "Our ways are not your ways." She’s a bit young for me but then I’m not looking for anything long-term right now. She switched her gaze to the waiter bringing their food before the pilot could draw too much from her behaviour.

"So," Tarrant said as Marianne charged the meal to her business account, "what do people do for entertainment around here?"

"Well, there’s an old-style, two guitar band playing a couple blocks down. Thought I might catch their second set. Any of you guys are welcome to join me." She cast an almost imperceptible glance in the direction of the co-pilot, pocketed the receipt for the meal and headed outside.

Tarrant

The woman had style, no doubt about that. She had walked into the bar as if she owned the place; had persuaded a group to give up their table by the stage for her and was currently attracting far more admiring feminine attention than he was.

"So how do you rate the band?" Tarrant and Marianne were the only members of the party staying to hear the third set.

"A little parochial for my tastes."

"If modern country’s not your thing, I’ll see if I can get them to play a couple of old songs I’m quite keen on."

Marianne strode backstage, returning a few minutes later, tucking a folded note into her back pocket. "I persuaded them to let me join them for a couple of numbers: turns out their roadie used to know an old friend of mine and he’s quite keen to get in touch with her again."

"Do you always do this?"

"Get up on stage? I used to a few years ago: we don’t go in for fancy entertainment where I come from. I hear the landlord of my local’s getting a couple of games machines at long last but I bet the regulars will still prefer to play pool for the most part."

"What else do your people do for fun?" I knew some of these frontier worlds were unsophisticated but even so.

"We have a very good library in town- lots of pre-atomic literature that you probably won’t have heard of as well as classic and current works from any number of independent worlds. We shoot, either game or at the arcade. I know a lot of artists, craftspeople and writers as well."

"Sounds thrilling." I think I’ll stick with my viscasts.
"Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Here goes: my audience awaits."

Marianne jumped onto the stage and grabbed the stand on which the microphone was resting. It was all for show of course, you could get perfectly good sound quality from a lapel-mounted voice pick-up but a lot of singers, even now, liked to have a mikestand to fling around the place. She glanced at the band: "You guys ready?" then turned back to face the centre of the bar room.

"Well hi there. I’m Marianne and these boys have kindly agreed to unleash me on you people. I’d like to dedicate this first one to a friend of mine back home- ‘Working Class Hero’. Apparently it enjoyed a revival on Earth a few years back until the Federation caught up with the guy who recorded the new version."

Tarrant thought he recognised the tune as one he had heard Vila whistling occasionally. Marianne’s voice was good enough and she had the confidence to belt out the song and carry the audience with her.

"Okay, guys, one more now. An old country-rock number, ‘Devil’s Right Hand’." It was the story of a gun fanatic and the dangers of shooting first, asking questions later; Tarrant noticed the woman had a primitive projectile weapon hanging from her belt, rather than anything more effective. Strange when you considered her freighter was so heavily armed. At the end of the song she thanked the audience then slid from the stage to her seat, taking a fresh bottle of beer from a passing bartender in one smooth movement.

"Very good. That last song- I couldn’t help noticing that you don’t carry a gun- any reason?"

"Yes." She made it clear that would be the extent of her answer on the subject. "Look I need to be away early in the morning. Maybe I’ll run into you again sometime." She got out of her chair, pulled on her coat and backpack and walked out of the bar.

"Nice talking to you." Tarrant said to the space where Marianne had been. Strange woman. I still know absolutely nothing about her. Hope she has the sense to hire a crew as soon as she can.

On to Chapter Fourteen

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