Part I: Shilling for Rent
The dropship landed on Xerxes-7 with a thud and a jerk. Beck awoke from his nap he had taken after being strapped into the drop harness. His bones were continually sore, but that made him no never mind. He was bound and determined to make some scratch the only way he knew how, the dirty way.
He was released from the harness by the automatic systems operator program (ASOP) just like everyone else. He was disoriented just like everyone else. What made Beck different is that he functioned in a constant state of disorientation. A steady blood level of drugs, alcohol and neuro stimulators pretty much kept him glued to the walls at any given time. What made it so he wasn’t completely screwed was that he spent a majority of his childhood in and out of zero G. Beck was accustomed to the harrying nonsense that came with being a wayfarer on the great interstellar highway.
There was a bounty on Beck’s head. This made him cautious. He came to Xerxes-7, despite his better judgement, due to the heavily population of thugs, pirates, and scoundrels. The more outlaws are in any given place, the more likely he was to be safe, he reckoned. On the other side of the coin, the more outlaws there are in any place, the more likely there were to be bounty hunters. Bounty Hunters mean trouble, even for a man as resourceful as Beck.
Fortunately Beck had an ally. Not really an Ally so much as a Friend. Not really a friend so much as a contact. Not really a contact so much as a person that wouldn’t turn Beck in for Reward. And not really so much that as a person that Beck had leverage on. And leverage is worth often times more than any amount of chips.
You see, the thing is, what made Beck a fugitive was, as with all fugitives, he was charged with breaking the law. Now, if you ask any given criminal why they are on the lam, most of the time they were unjustly accused of a crime they clearly did not commit. They relied on this to keep them safe. Every so often an unsuspecting kind hearted citizen would take pity on a fugitive and harbor them for a time. This put the harboring citizen at great risk if the citizen’s guard got a hold of that information. Xerxes-7 used to have a citizen’s guard. They don’t no more.
You see, this is why Beck chose Xerxes-7. That and that happens to be the home of Chicken Charlie. Chicken Charlie was a gal that Beck used to know growing up on a little planetoid on the frontier in the Gallaway system. The rock didn’t really have a name, but the folks who lived there called it Coaldust. Her name back then was Chicken Charlie. She decided to start going by the name of Chicken Charlie, for reasons I won’t get into right now. But her birth name was Charlene. Charlene never really suited her. The important thing is the Beck knew Chicken Charlie and Chicken Charlie knew Beck. And Beck knew things about Chicken Charlie and her role in the rebellion. That makes Beck a very dangerous man.
The dropship had disembarked all of her passengers and cargo. Beck filed with the sea of, for lack of a better term, humanity onto the platform to pick up the next tender into town. Town was a mining operation by the name of Swallow. A lot of folks like to say it was named after the bird, but the less savory types have a different theory. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle, but when telling the story, the more shock you can muster the more likely you are to draw a crowd. When telling stories about Swallow, folks talk about two things, the gangs and the desert, and one of the two will eat you alive.
The tender into swallow was a slow moving cargo freighter. There were about fifty folks and a hundred head of steer, all crammed somewhat clumsily in the main compartment. The ASOP couldn’t differentiate as long as there was sufficient rate to cover the fare, there were no issues. The ride was a long, uncomfortable, and stinky one. Fortunately, Beck didn’t seem to mind. He smelled pretty bad himself most of the time. The tender arrived in Swallow and Beck made haste for the local Saloon. He had a powerful thirst and needed to get working on finding his ace in the hole. He knew that Chicken Charlie had changed her name, and most likely her entire appearance since he knew her in the war, but he held on to the notion that he would find her and without a doubt he would. Beck was a survivor. But he knew he had to act quick.
The Saloon was named the Dovetail. Kind of keeping in theme with the bird
names like the sundry store was called Rooster’s and the clothier was named the Clair de Loon. Heck the Haberdashery was named The Blonde Swan for crying out loud. The Dovetail was a purveyor of fine spirits and fumaroles. They had accumulated a bit of notoriety for their fumarole known as Tears. One whiff made the user experience their saddest memory. It was as if being in a place that was so much without a soul forced the folks around to feel however they could, even the bad times. Feeling sorrow is better than feeling nothing at all. So Tears was a very popular request. Along with the usual Grogg and Whiskeys, as well as Comforts. If you had the right chips, you could acquire all manner of accommodation. The saloon girls were known collectively as KittyHawks. For reasons I won’t get into now.
Beck made his way up to the bar, trying hard not to stand out too badly. All efforts were in vain. He was being tracked the moment he entered through those swinging half-doors. He was unclean, he was desperate, but what he lacked was the look in the eye that most men of Swallow have, the look of total cold black death. This was a town for wolves and sheep. Beck’s next interaction would determine which he was.
Beck made his way to the bar. All eyes were upon him. The Barkeep made his way to Beck in a leisurely fashion. He adjusted his garters and cricked his neck as he made his approach. The ‘keep was a head taller than Beck and proportionately muscled. His gaze was steely and blue, the grime around his cheeks only mildly obscuring the sparkling jewels that were contained behind his eyeglasses. The Barkeep wiped off a steel cup for Beck and placed it before him.
The Barkeep locked his eyes at Beck and cocked his head back to peer down his eyeglasses at Beck. “So, newcomer, what will be your poison?”
Beck shifted nervously at the Barkeeps question. “That obvious is it?”
“Well I haven’t seen you around and I see everyone around. So what’ll it be?”
“Whiskey.” Beck answered into his chest.
“Whiskey it is.” The Barkeep poured the spirit. Beck observed the drink before him. It looked more like something an engine tech would use to clean contacts more than something he would be used to drinking. He was aware of how hard the folk were around these parts but it was even more apparent when focused through the obscurity of the whiskey. Beck slugged it down and choked a little. Everyone at the bar around him laughed heartily at the newcomer’s faux pas. The mechanoid playing piano in the corner ramped up his volume to overcome the din of the crowd.
Beck looked around the crowd. After his encounter with the barkeep and being put on notice for being a tenderfoot by comparison, Beck knew that he didn’t have much time to find Chicken Charlie before trouble found him. He was more than prepared to defend himself, but would have his druthers if he didn’t need to.
Scanning the crowd, Beck saw a number of Mechanoids, a few groups of Rockmen, and the rest were humans. The Mechnoids and Rockmen were keeping to themselves as per usual. Swallow was a mining town, and it wasn’t unusual to find a large accompaniment of Rockies and Mechs, but it was interesting to Beck how many were in the Saloon rather than working ungodly hours in the mines. It made Beck think the glory hole had dried up. Generally, in Beck’s travels, when a mine goes dry that spells trouble for the citizens. Trouble became their primary profession, in fact.
There were three gangs that were active in Swallow: The Coyotes, The Redcaps, and the Sunsetters. The Coyotes were mainly just chaotic troublemakers, as their name would imply. They were involved in shootin’ and hootin’ and hollerin’ but they never were much trouble as long as they were avoided. The coyotes made no real effort to make themselves hidden. The redcaps on the other hand were more mean spirited. They were involved in keeping people poor, robbing resources, and making life miserable and keeping it that way. The redcaps acts as pirates drying up the monies in the area in an attempt to make themselves rich at everyone else’s expense. The Sunsetters are a whole ‘nother thing. People don’t talk about the sunsetters too much. Even the hardest nuts on the drift would rather the Sunsetters would just pack up and go away.
In any frontier town there is a healthy amount of superstition, unfolded in a most unhealthy way. Swallow was no different. It was also not unusual for leaders of gangs to wrap themselves in an enigma of mumbo jumbo in order to keep away the more fearful or weak minded of their opposition. The Sunsetters have wrapped themselves in a mystery involving Dark Magics and Sorcery. Everyone knows there ain’t no such thing. But that never stopped everyone from being scared soggy bottomed over the whole affair nonetheless. The Sunsetters, as their name would indicate, only came out at night, and didn’t mix with the common folk. If folk saw the Sunsetters that usually meant they were never heard from again.
At the time, the Redcaps and Coyotes were involved in a gang war of sorts. The Coyotes were not interested in accumulating power or making their own standing even any better, but they decided that things were getting a might too comfortable for the Redcaps. For that reason, the Coyotes were tracking the Redcaps and performing counterattacks on the Redcaps. In effect, every time the Recaps would rip people off the Coyotes would in turn rip off the rip-off. Instead of making the assets into a treasure trove, the Coyotes would spend the chips on Booze and Comforts. This greatly benefitted the Dovetail, as it was the primary purveyors of such goods. For that very reason, the house today was packed with Coyotes. Not that Beck knew the difference.
Beck took a second Whiskey, threw down a couple white chips and made his way to a shadowed corner to figure out what the hell would be his next move. One his way to the corner, he could tell he was being watched by several folks, but he knew that didn’t matter any more. He had to move and had to move quick. A few minutes passed before he was approached by a Kittyhawk. It was not entirely against his wishes, but he didn’t have time for such luxuries.
She looked young, but her skin was washed out by the smoke, the dust, and the Ion Winds of the Desert. She smiled the best she could, but her eyes showed a hollowness behind them, it brought out a spark of something in Beck. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something was stirring in him. Was this sadness? Was this sympathy? The emotions were so foreign to Beck he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. A thick, acrid stench was wafting from a corner room into the general direction of Beck’s table.
“Hey Mister.” The Kittyhawk started in “Care for some company”
“Not now, little lady.” Beck replied. He felt a little moisture start to accumulate from the corner of his eyes. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a stimdart and hit himself in the neck with it. Beck’s eyes rolled back and he felt his sense of normal again. He felt he could talk to this girl now.
“Fine. I just…” The Kittyhawk turned and started to leave. Beck reached out and gently put a hand on her wrist. Beck was put on the clock again by the hum of a Disruptor starting to power up. The Barkeep’s even baritone cut effortlessly through the cacophony of the Dovetail.
“Hands off the Lady, Gentle One.” The Barkeep spoke calmly and directly at Beck.
“Carlos, it’s okay.” The Kittyhawk never took her eyes off Beck. “Ain’t that right, Mister? You ain’t gonna hurt me, is you?”
“No, little lady.” Beck let go of her wrist and pulled out a chair for her. She bunched her bustle and took a set in a sidesaddle fashion. The Barkeep powered down his Disruptor and resumed his Hospitality Measures. Beck felt a little more comfortable now that the drugs had taken hold on his nervous system, but he was painfully aware that “Carlos” was watching him with his third eye. After looking again, he noticed perched above the bar, there was an Orb. It wasn’t just Barkeep Intuition but this son of a bitch had a Robot Eye on the him. “So, Little Lady, what’s your name?”
“My name is Saffron, but don’t call me Little Lady. I ain’t little and I sure as spit ain’t no lady.” She smiled. “So mister, do you need company or not?”
Beck thought it over. “How much?” He asked.
“Three Whites.” Saffron answered.
He produced the chips and she ferreted them into her bodice.
She took his hand and led Beck into a back room.
On the way to the Comforts Room, Saffron flashed a glance at the Barkeep as if to say everything was green.
Saffron led Beck past the Heavy Steel curtain and past. The pair ascended a staircase into the private Comfort Rooms that overlooked the Dovetail. She motioned for him to go in first. He obliged. The room consisted of a bed and little else. There was a clear intention here and comfort wasn’t necessarily it, if you catch my meaning. Saffron closed the door.
She smiled at Beck and started to dismantle her bustle.
Beck placed a hand on her thigh. “No Saffron, that’s really okay. I don’t need that.”
Saffron shot a worried look on her face. “Look Mister, these garments ain’t cheap and if you tear them I ain’t paid enough to fix ‘em. The whole thing works better if I get bare assed. Trust me, I’ve done this before.”
Beck chuckled, “Oh I have no doubt you have. But I don’t want your body Litt….Saffron. I am paying for your time.”
“Look Mister, you hit me and I can get folks in here faster than you can cut wind” Saffron retorted with quickness and assertion.
“I have no doubt of that either. I know I don’t have much time.” Beck produced a red chip. “I need some knowledge, not flesh”
Now Saffron was worried. She wasn’t accustomed to conversation, just pumping, grunting, and the sting of sweat. “Wh….what you need to know?” She snatched up the Red Chip and ferreted it away. “I’m all yours” She spoke confidently but her eyes betrayed her with nervous fire.
“I’m lookin’ for a woman.” Beck spoke plainly.
“Mister, I’m not sure you understand but…” she motioned at her bodiced torso.
Beck interrupted, “No, Darlin’ I am lookin’ for a specific woman”
“What’s a matter?” Saffron retorted with a snap, “I ain’t SPECIFIC enough for ya?” She turned her back on Beck.
Beck tried not to laugh. “This is the woman I am lookin’ for” He spoke and produced a nanodeck. He opened up a holographic image of Chicken Charlie, the last one he had at least.
Saffron turned around and looked. Beck could tell under her grime and dust that she was slightly blushing with embarrassment. She looked at the image with a quizzical glare. “I ain’t seen her before, Mister”
Beck stripped away the clothing from the image. “What about now?”
Saffron’s eyes narrowed and lit with intensity. “Oh….Mister. You are in all kinds of trouble”
“Why?” Beck closed the nanodeck. He waited with baited breath for a response. A quick three knock thump came at the door to let them know that it was time to get dressed and clean up. “Saffron, I need you to tell me”
“Mister, that’s Persimmon. She ain’t a Kittyhawk. She ain’t fer sale to nobody”
“I was counting on it.” Beck smiled a murderous smirk. “You know where to find her?”
“Of course. But you better make it worth it”
“Of that I assure you, Miss Saffron.”
“Meet me behind the Rooster at Dinnerbell.”
“You got a deal.” He flipped Saffron another Red. And picked up his satchel. The pair left the comfort rooms and made way back to the Saloon. Beck shambled his way to the bar and dropped another red in front of the Barkeep. The Barkeep eyed his chip suspiciously. “Sorry about the misunderstanding” With that Beck walked out into the street, with a renewed sense of purpose and a route to his goal.