Chapter 112: Chapter 24: Escape Plan

"This doesn’t count as my leave,” Gaius said over the comm.

“Of course it counts,” Dash said, standing by the window of the transient room. “You’re getting to have your long-awaited Galaxy Battles event, and it’s even been generously funded by our new first mate.”

“It’s work related. It doesn’t count!”

“How’s the inside?”

“Have a look for yourself,” Gaius replied, and shared the streams from the bus’s interior cams. Vid displays lined every surface, including the floor. Colorful undulating waves of light flowed from the front of the bus to the back. Comfortable bench seating lined one side, leaving the other side clear for dancing and moving about the bus. “My followers won’t be disappointed.”

“They’d better not be, considering what it cost. I’m going to use this as leverage against the client to reimburse us,” Dash said. His stomach grumbled at the sight of the serving station at the back of the bus. He should’ve already been enjoying a celebratory dinner had things gone as planned. “The food and alterants are included, so enjoy.”

“I’ll be sure to stuff my face thinking about how we might be dead before the night is over.”

“Get ready to embrace your superstardom,” Dash said, and closed the comm.

Outside, the SecForce lockdown announcement played again. The words were quickly drowned out by a cacophony of booing from the crowds. A heavily inebriated man bent in a wide squat, hands crudely gesturing to the heavens as he bellowed an extended “Fuck you!” into the air, eliciting hearty laughter from both his entourage and strangers nearby.

Dash returned to the desk where Wesley worked on the package with his medical gear. “How’s the ‘surgery’ coming?”

“Finished,” Wesley said, and stood back to admire his work. Dash joined him. “Not bad for my first attempt. It won’t hold up under close scrutiny, though.”

“That’s fine. We’ll be long gone by then,” Dash said. “Assuming we can get the ops crew out of the club.”

“Milia will do it, Captain. I know it.”

---

Milia walked through the club’s entry hallway. Thin, pulsing strips of light beamed along the floor, walls, and ceiling in a cartoonish attempt at imitating a transition to channel space. The hallway ended at an air barrier. She stepped through, the barrier tickling her skin, and came out the other side bombarded with pulsing music and flashing holos.

The sensory overload had the helpful side effect of distracting her from the obscene charge she just placed on her credit account.

A female Pree concierge greeted her with an enchanting smile. She wore a skintight bodysuit with thin glowing rings encircling her limbs and torso, all of which complemented her figure and luminescent eyes. Milia recognized the outfit as similar to one worn by the singer Gaius fawned over. A smart play by the club owners, leveraging the Pree’s—and more specifically, Lady Starlight’s—seemingly universal appeal to charm every patron who walked through the door. Milia only liked men, but she couldn’t deny the warm buzz emanating out from her core. The Pree even managed to somehow praise Milia’s drab lightweight utility wear outfit with a straight face. The concierge offered a complimentary beverage, pointed out the club’s amenities, and ushered Milia inside.

The crowded entry lounge held a mixture of standing-only tables, service counters, and dispensing stations. That meant the booths were at the rear.

She slipped through the crowd, ignoring a few inviting glances, and made for the far edge of the lounge for a better view of the club. Popping free of the mass of bodies, she leaned against a railing overlooking the central dance pit. Pathways lined either edge of the pit, allowing access to more bars and seating beyond. Taking a moment to admire the dancers on the floating platforms, she looked for any familiar faces in the crowd, but found none.

Milia circled around the dance pit. Beyond the bars on either wall, she spotted the booths where the ops crew should be. An elevated seating platform blocked part of her view. She shifted her position, peering beneath the tables, until she found them in the third booth from the back.

“They’re here,” she reported to Dash.

“Nice work. Now comes the hard part. Keeping them there.”

“Won’t be a problem,” she replied. Not with the amenities the place had. It was impressive; she wished she could take the time to enjoy it.

She paused her admiration of the club. Her eyes were drawn back to the elevated seating. A figure with his back to her. Something about him made her skin crawl. Then she saw peculiar boots peeking out from unremarkable pants. The man’s head spun around to glance right at her. His weathered face held subtle scarring and a heavy stare. The kind of face used to violence.

“I think I found the tail,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he looked right at me.”

“You’re fine. They don’t know who we are.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Gaius added.

The tail stood from his table and tapped on the center display. It accepted his cred and marked the table as reserved. He made for the short stairs down to the pathway Milia stood on.

“He’s coming toward me,” she said, regretting her decision to pass off her gun to Dash. A long line of foot traffic shuffled by her. A few of the taller sentients blocked her view as they passed. “I lost sight of him.”

“Get out of there!” Wesley said.

“No, don’t run,” Dash said.

Milia spotted an opening in the line. “I’m moving,” she said. She slipped in behind a lumbering Ghupto, then bumped into the hefty sentient when it stopped suddenly. It rudely told her off. She was about to fire back a crude remark when she spotted a muscular chest appear in front of her.

“Excuse me,” the tail said. His face was more intimidating up close.

Milia froze, fists clenched, ready to throw a strike, surely a worthless one. She’d have to hit a sensitive spot to have any chance of doing damage. She could run to the ops crew, but if the tail had a weapon—

“I asked you nice. It won’t happen again,” he said.

She felt her body relax a degree, and shifted out of the way, pressing into the Ghupto. The tail stepped by her and walked into an alcove on the outer wall she hadn’t noticed. Her eyes glanced upward to find the refresher sign.

“He’s using the head,” she said.

“Now’s your chance to—”

“Hey! You!” a voice said as a thick hand grabbed her shoulder.

She spun around, knocking it away. Her fist came up, ready to strike. Instead, she found Draug recoiling in fear.

“Milia, it’s me! Draug!” the Ghupto said.

Even if she had socked it in its meaty snout, she would’ve been more likely to hurt her hand. “Sorry. You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to. I stepped out of the refresher and you were right in front of me.” It eyed her curiously. “What are you doing here? Are you done with whatever Dash needed your help with?”

“Yes. Time for some downtime,” she said.

“Just you?” She nodded. “This is great. We have a booth. Follow me,” Draug said, and took her arm. She followed behind it, as if she had a choice.

They navigated through the crowd and emerged into the booth area. The crew looked up as they approached. Their faces contorted in confusion, save for Henrik, who projected a wary scowl.

“Look who I found,” Draug said, and leaned over the table. The other three stared back at her. She smiled politely. Draug sat in the booth and encouraged her to join them.

“I will, on one condition,” she said. The ops crew leaned closer, a glint of tepid curiosity in their eyes. Milia glanced at each one of them, letting the anticipation build. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a cred chit—one of the few in her stolen stash—and held it up. The ops crew locked onto it, their expressions growing optimistic. She grinned at them, then glanced at the chit. A red smear of blood stained the back, visible only to her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she subtly rubbed it with her thumb. All the chits should’ve been cleaned after they were plundered. Someone on the Terran hadn’t done their job. Thankfully, the smear disappeared. She placed the chit on the tabletop and released her grip, save for her index finger lightly pressing it down.

The ops crew digested the sight before them and glanced up at her excitedly. She waited another moment before confirming their hope. “I’m buying the first round.”

---

“Gaius and Milia are handling the ops crew. It’s our turn now,” Dash said to Wesley. “It’s a short walk to the nearest tram platform. I’ll message the client once we arrive. Shouldn’t take them long to show up.”

Wesley clipped his medkit to his belt. “What if they refuse to come?”

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“They will, trust me.”

Wesley stopped in front of display near the door and switched on the mirror mode. He fiddled with his shirt, tugging at the collar. Then he stopped. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

Dash spun Wesley around and placed his hands on the medtech’s shoulders. “You’re the perfect person to do it. The client belongs to the Church. You speak the same language. Whoever the contact is, they’ll go with you.”

“Okay,” Wesley said. “I trust your judgment, Captain.”

Dash released him, then picked up Betsy from the desk. He checked her over before stashing the pistol in his underarm holster. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

Dash slung the backpack over his shoulder. He scanned the throughway outside the window one last time, then opened the door. “It’s clear. Let’s go,” he said, and led Wesley out of the room.

---

Milia nursed her drink as much as she could without the ops crew calling her out. Thankfully, they were too distracted indulging themselves to monitor her consumption. They were as jolly as she’d seen since coming aboard the ship—granted the sample size was small. Rosalie puffed out impressive rings of inhalant smoke, delighting the others. Draug clapped its hands, the fleshy impacts like refined mineral sacks hitting the deck. Brock’s attempt—despite all his bluster—ended in him choking. But even the sight of the muscled technician getting worked over by a puff of stim-infused vapor didn’t bring Milia joy.

She forced a hint of a smile to her face, all to play the part.

Her PD pinged with an update from Dash; he and Wesley were off to deal with the client. It was up to the two of them to salvage this job gone terribly wrong. She figured there was a chance they pulled it off. Dash hadn’t folded from the pressure—yet.

With nothing to do but wait to hear from Gaius, her mind raced. Here she was, stuck babysitting a new crew, being hunted by SecForce, watched over by an apparent cultist assassin, the last of her credit spent to fund some ridiculous event for Gaius’s virtual stardom, all while their lives rested in the hands of another bumbling captain and a kid medtech. Her recent failure made the experience all the more frustrating.

The hardest part of the act was purposefully not looking in the direction of the tail. Her skin crawled as she felt his predatory gaze upon them. What if he knew she was the one who shot one of his friends in the face in the warehouse? Would he walk over to the booth and do the same? Maybe she should’ve ditched the ops crew already. But even then, the Stardancer was under surveillance since landing. These Nova-Red cultists would know her face. The best course of action was to stick it out with whatever scheme Dash concocted, until it failed. Then she could try running.

Rosalie patted her on the shoulder, and held out her drink. Milia accepted the toast, then faked another gulp. She asked herself again, how did she end up in a situation like this?

The notification from Gaius appeared. It was go time.

“Unfortunately, it’s time for me to leave,” she said after Brock’s latest tale about wrestling in a cargo hold with an escaped reptile.

The ops crew looked at her, mouths hung open, then bombarded her with questions. Draug signaled the others to calm down. “Why? We’re just getting started,” it said, even though they were well past getting started.

Another cloud descended from the ceiling, the club-goers roaring in delight at the delicious “radiation” raining down upon them. The crew raised their arms as the haze settled and dispersed.

Milia offered a sheepish smile to the crew. “I have another event to attend.”

Brock slapped a meaty hand on the tabletop “What could possibly be better than this?” he demanded.

Milia hesitated again. There was an art to influencing the crew. “It’s a private event. Invite only.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Henrik said. “We’re not good enough for it.”

“That’s not it,” Milia said. “I want you to attend. In fact, I can get you invited.”

Rosalie hiccupped and said, “Tell us more.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“That’s not going to cut it,” Henrik said.

“I can tell you this. You will get unlimited consumables. You will have a dance floor. You will have as much fun as you are having here. On top of that, I’ll get us in for free. I’ve got an in with the host.”

The ops crew exchanged questioning glances amongst themselves. “I don’t know about this,” Henrik said.

“I do,” Brock said. “Free food and alterants? I’m in.”

“If we leave here, we aren’t coming back. The line’s too long at this point,” Rosalie said. “But that deal is too good to pass up.”

“I’m too curious to say no,” Draug said.

Henrik sighed. “I can’t stay here alone.”

“It’s decided then. We’re wasting time. Let’s get out of here,” Brock said.

“Wait,” Henrik said. He looked at Milia, his gaze firm and serious. “I want you to promise that we’re not going to regret this.”

Milia leaned forward, feeling the eyes of the tail upon the group, and forced another smile. “You won’t.”

---

Red One watched the crew finish their drinks and climb out of their booth. The newcomer—the woman he’d almost run into by the refreshers—led them toward the front of the club. He was sure they were leaving.

When he’d returned from his quick refresher visit earlier, he suspected she had arrived to tip off the crew. But they acted no different, even warmed up once she bought a round. None of them ever laid a suspecting eye upon him. He held a sliver of suspicion she was up to something, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Their departure was unexpected. He’d thought they would stay until closing, judging by the amount of drinking, inhaling, and laughing they partook in. The tail updated his partner outside, then drained the rest of his stim beverage. He gave the crew a small lead, stood from his table, and followed them.

The club was packed. He trailed the crew through the crowd, but got hung up in a cluster of obnoxious patrons that refused to part. He ducked beneath the locked tentacles of a pair of Crekzels and moved closer to the exit. The mist came again, and when it cleared, he caught a glimpse of the crew disappearing into the exit corridor.

After one last casual glance around, he hurried after them. The bouncers by the exit offered a gruff goodnight as he passed. The hallway ended at a pair of sliding doors, nothing special. He figured most sentients were altered enough at that point and didn’t need any sort of theatrics to lure them back to the club another night.

He stepped out of the club and followed the pathway back to the plaza. It was a rowdy scene, people all over the place. Sustenance vendors lined the edges of the open space. Ground vehicles slipped through the perimeter transportation lanes. His partner, Red Two, emerged from the crowd and came alongside One.

“They’re by the loading zone,” Two said, and slipped One’s pistol back to him. He stashed it in his pocket and surveyed the nearby crowd. Three buses were parked in the loading zone at the outer edge of the plaza. He spotted the crew heading in that direction.

“Do you think they know?” Two asked.

“If they do, they’re doing quite the acting job,” One said. “We’ll follow them and see where they’re off to next.”

They walked across the plaza toward the buses. Halfway there, lights lit atop the middle bus, and cut into the night air. Next to the bus, a small crowd cheered. Not in fear, but excitement. A Slyvarkian emerged atop it, dressed in a flight suit wrapped with light strips. Music pulsed from within the bus, echoing out the open door and rooftop hatch. The Slyvarkian began to rock his hips in sync with it. The crowd cheered louder. Other sentients nearby stopped to watch the spectacle.

“What is that idiot doing up there?” Two asked.

They watched as the crew paused to observe. They turned to the newcomer woman, who urged them on. They moved closer to join in, save for a scowling man. He argued with the younger woman until she pointed forcefully at the bus. The man shook his head, then rejoined his crew, who now waited to board.

“Looks like their leave is going mobile,” One said.

“What do we do about it?”

“We join them.”

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