To his right was a series of pools packed with swimmers. To his left was a small grassy amphitheater where a string and brass trio were playing to a throng the well dressed. Straight ahead were a series of interconnected rooms and lounges made to look like a series of triangles, spheres, and cylinders that had toppled onto one another. Above all of this was a holographic sky that would have been perfectly at home over some tropical island.
Mil straightened his shirt and set about mingling. If Timoteus Reed's old vbox was still here in his ex girlfriend's apartment, he'd need to find out where she was stashing it at. And then he'd need to figure out how he would get it out.
He accepted a glass of white wine from a wandering cocktail girl and proceeded to mingle his way toward the rooms at the far end of the enclave. On his way, he paused to enjoy a few moments of the music in the amphitheater and to unsuccessfully flirt with a particularly cute member of the audience. Shrugging off the rejection, he finished off his glass and handed it off to the same cocktail girl who'd handed to him in the first place.
Wait, no. The girl who gave him his drink was wearing a white tuxedo shirt with a thin red tie. This girl was wearing a white tuxedo shirt with a thin black tie. Mil squinted at her as she walked away. Either there was one girl who had changed her tie really fast or Sapphire Jay had hired twins to run drinks at her party.
Or maybe...
Mil craned his neck around, scanning the crowd. He could still see black tie walking away from him, trading full glasses for empty ones with the audience members at the amphitheater. Red tie was back over on the stony path where guests were steadily streaming into the apartment. And there, over at the pools, were two more; an orange tie and a lavender tie. They all had the same facial features, same haircut, and the same mannerisms. Apparently Sapphire Jay was the owner of some very high end service droids.
He smiled broadly and continued his mingling movements toward the giant beige triangle that was the entrance to the rooms. Once inside he accepted a fresh drink from a blue tie cocktail droid and he wandered, as casually as he could muster. There were lounges and kitchens, game rooms filled with eclectic old novelties, and multiple music rooms where guests demonstrated their skills with whatever instruments were lying around.
In the middle of a long hallway, Mil discovered a wooden spiral staircase that didn't appear to have any traffic on it. A quick glance in either direction revealed guests that were too caught up in their own conversations to see anything unusual. At the top was a small open room with a large set of double doors flanked by flowering trees. A bedroom? He set his glass down next to the potter for one of the trees and fished his universal key out of his pocket.
"Excuse me, but Sapphire asks that guests not dally on this floor." Unlike the others, this droid wasn't wearing a tux shirt and tie. Instead, she wore a slate and ash grey strapless dress. Her mannerisms were a little different, too. More self-confident? Maybe. In any event, she gave off the air of being in charge. Perhaps she was more of a personal servant or maybe she played butler to the rest of the staff.
"Whoops. You caught me. I was trying to find my way back to the kitchen when I got a little curious about those stairs. " Mil moved toward the spiral and started back down. "Say, you're an android, right? A J-Series by SmithWorks, am I right?"
"No, sir. I am a third generation eMA-Doll manufactured by KUKA Robotics. It would be my pleasure to show you back to the kitchens if you would like."
"Yes, I think I'd like that." Mil reached for his commpen and sent a quick message without breaking eye contact with the android. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Jay myself. Is she expected to make an appearance tonight?"
"Of course, sir. Sapphire always ends all her parties by playing a new song or two at the amphitheater. It's still early, though. You have at least an hour before she will come out to greet everyone."
"I see." Mil glanced at the return message on his commpen. He didn't bother reading the attached price; it would just be added to his expense report anyway. He just clicked accept and read the attachment.
"Doll...?"
"Yes sir?"
"Yo pinto tejados verdes para el cultivo de algas rojo" Mil pronounced each word as carefully as he could, doing his best to circumvent his island accent.
"Administrator access recognized, technician Greeves. This unit is ready for instruction."
"I need a little help finding something, Doll."
to be continued...
Silver and Tin - Part Three
The pistolera moved from two first class sleeper berths to the first class dining car and on to the bar car. Only the bar had any wakeful souls in it. All the lights were out in the sleeper and the diner was only occupied by a handful of wait staff, sleeping between the otherwise unoccupied dining tables.
The bar had a handful of patrons. The two at the bar were trading ever-increasingly woeful tales of misfortune. The three at a table were playing a wordless but animated round of dominoes. The bartender was attempting to stomp on something that was apparently moving behind the bar. None of them looked her way as she studied them.
Convinced that her thief wasn't here, she moved on.
Opening the rear door of the bar car and looking at the next car caused the hair on her good hand to stand up. This car stood out from the rest in several ways. It was a double decker. The lights were all brightly lit with dozens of people active and moving around inside. This was the place.
She slid open the door and gave the bouncer a brief nod. She moved past tables dealing blackjack, pai gow, monte, and even a craps table. She slithered between dozens of gamblers, any one of whom could have been her thief. Not that it mattered. If her thief was in here then he almost certainly put her box and medal up for some chips to gamble. And if that was the case then it would be with the bank... upstairs.
Access to the second floor was found by way of a narrow wooden spiral staircase. On either side of that staircase, and sitting halfway up it, were three armed guards. The one on the staircase was sleepy looking. Maybe drunk. The one on the left was deeply distracted by the exposed skin of the young lady at the craps table.
But the one on the right, well he might be a problem. A head taller than everyone else in the car, clear eyed, focused on the crowd, and nursing a scowl that was so un-moving it may have been a birth defect. She decided that he was looking for a fight. In the jungle she might have given it to him. Here in this crowded car she didn't care for her chances.
Without pausing, she moved all the way through the car and out the back. The next car was storage for luggage. Perfect.
She swung herself onto the luggage car's rooftop access ladder and climbed up. The bright lights from the first floor of the casino were blocked by the luggage car and the lights on the second floor were dim. She was a shadow, more lit by the moon than by the lamps.
The second floor of the casino car was split into two. The front half was a luxury cabin. The back half was an exposed patio with ornate iron half-rails. With a short run up she casually leapt to the patio rails, pulled herself up, and rolled onto its carpeted floor.
She drew her revolver with her good hand and crawled her way to the door. Inside there were four. Two appeared to be asleep on opposite couches, arms dangling down to a floor littered in empty beer bottles. The third was reading a book under a shaded lamp, legs crossed under a long blue skirt. The fourth was her favorite though. That red bowler reading a newspaper had walked through her cabin a few times earlier in the evening. A broad smile crept its way across her face and settled in to stay a while.
They never heard the window open, not over the sound of the gamers below. Nor did they see the shadow crossing the half-cabin, not over the lights they were reading by. Red bowler's introduction was made by the sound of the Navy Judge cocking in his ear.
"I'm here for what's mine."
Blue skirt dropped her novel to the floor in shock. Red bowler slowly closed his paper. The beer bottle twins snored in stereo.
"This young lady appears to have mistaken us for the lost and found, Sidney. Be a dear and summon the conductor, would you?"
Blue skirt kept her eyes on the pistolera as she shook her head; hell no.
The pistolera pressed the barrel into red bowler's temple hard enough to cock his head. A towering shadow of a thing formed behind her. It raised an arm and a length of iron rebar, then brought them both down hard. The pistolera spun down and back, catching the iron squarely in her three-fingered hand. She and the great shadow were one now as the it attempted to dislodge its weapon, only to spin her up into the air, still holding on.
Red bowler jumped up from his chair just as the pistolera squeezed the trigger. The hat went flying, accompanied by a spray of blood, most of his right ear, and a great many curses from his lips. He landed on one of the two sleepers, nearly managing to wake him.
Sidney, the young thing in the blue skirt, lunged for a nearby table and started hurling everything she could lay her hands on; a few pulp novels, followed by a full beer bottle, which was then followed by a familiar lacquered medal box. It rebounded off her chin and thumped to the floor.
"Get your lazy, good for nothing ass off those stairs or I will throw you off!" The scowling stair guard had heard the gunshot. Time was ticking.
The pistolera, still holding the rebar, wrapped her gun-wielding wrist over the creatures great arm and then swung herself over its head, bringing the iron into its throat. Behind it now, she realized the monster was a woman. A huge woman.
"Nothing personal." The pistolera held the rebar at both ends, planted her little feet on the giant's shoulder blades and leaned back as hard and fast as she could. Instantly the beast was toppled.
She rolled back, reached for the box with her three fingered hand, and dashed for the patio door. A dozen strides later she was suspended in the cool night air, leaping back to the cargo car.
"Just you, Maton. Find her. If she hasn't already jumped from the train, you will throw her from it. Understood?" Perma-scowl turned to carry out his orders. Red bowler accepted a hankie Sidney was offering him and pressed it to the remains of his ear.
"Wait. Cut one of her ears off first. Almost imperceptibly, the scowl made room for the beginnings of a grin and Maton was off again.
He checked the baggage cars first, assuming that she would try to hide in the luggage. When that proved fruitless, he turned back to the front of the train and the lower-class passenger cars.
As he strode through the bar car, the bartender smiled at him and waved a bottle at him in greeting.
"Busy" he mumbled, giving the tale tellers and domino players only the briefest inspection before charging through the door.
Shrugging, the bartender knelt down to slide open the cabinet door where he normally kept his beer stock.
"He's gone, pistolera." He handed the bottle to the woman in the cupboard.
She smiled and took the bottle, then raised a single finger to indicate that she wanted him to wait a moment. From under her coat she pulled the little lacquered wooden box. She took out the medal and handed it to him. As he gaped at it, she pulled the ornate green felt out of the bottom of it and removed a thick folded sheaf of papers reading "Deed of Property" and a tintype of a young lady in a dancer's costume. She handed the box and felt to him, too.
"Throw those off the train for me, will you. And wake me at Mountain Home. I have business there."
With a wink, she slid the cupboard closed. The bartender slid the medal (which would soon be an untraceable hunk of silver) into his pocket and set about cleaning up the bar.
The bar had a handful of patrons. The two at the bar were trading ever-increasingly woeful tales of misfortune. The three at a table were playing a wordless but animated round of dominoes. The bartender was attempting to stomp on something that was apparently moving behind the bar. None of them looked her way as she studied them.
Convinced that her thief wasn't here, she moved on.
Opening the rear door of the bar car and looking at the next car caused the hair on her good hand to stand up. This car stood out from the rest in several ways. It was a double decker. The lights were all brightly lit with dozens of people active and moving around inside. This was the place.
She slid open the door and gave the bouncer a brief nod. She moved past tables dealing blackjack, pai gow, monte, and even a craps table. She slithered between dozens of gamblers, any one of whom could have been her thief. Not that it mattered. If her thief was in here then he almost certainly put her box and medal up for some chips to gamble. And if that was the case then it would be with the bank... upstairs.
Access to the second floor was found by way of a narrow wooden spiral staircase. On either side of that staircase, and sitting halfway up it, were three armed guards. The one on the staircase was sleepy looking. Maybe drunk. The one on the left was deeply distracted by the exposed skin of the young lady at the craps table.
But the one on the right, well he might be a problem. A head taller than everyone else in the car, clear eyed, focused on the crowd, and nursing a scowl that was so un-moving it may have been a birth defect. She decided that he was looking for a fight. In the jungle she might have given it to him. Here in this crowded car she didn't care for her chances.
Without pausing, she moved all the way through the car and out the back. The next car was storage for luggage. Perfect.
She swung herself onto the luggage car's rooftop access ladder and climbed up. The bright lights from the first floor of the casino were blocked by the luggage car and the lights on the second floor were dim. She was a shadow, more lit by the moon than by the lamps.
The second floor of the casino car was split into two. The front half was a luxury cabin. The back half was an exposed patio with ornate iron half-rails. With a short run up she casually leapt to the patio rails, pulled herself up, and rolled onto its carpeted floor.
She drew her revolver with her good hand and crawled her way to the door. Inside there were four. Two appeared to be asleep on opposite couches, arms dangling down to a floor littered in empty beer bottles. The third was reading a book under a shaded lamp, legs crossed under a long blue skirt. The fourth was her favorite though. That red bowler reading a newspaper had walked through her cabin a few times earlier in the evening. A broad smile crept its way across her face and settled in to stay a while.
They never heard the window open, not over the sound of the gamers below. Nor did they see the shadow crossing the half-cabin, not over the lights they were reading by. Red bowler's introduction was made by the sound of the Navy Judge cocking in his ear.
"I'm here for what's mine."
Blue skirt dropped her novel to the floor in shock. Red bowler slowly closed his paper. The beer bottle twins snored in stereo.
"This young lady appears to have mistaken us for the lost and found, Sidney. Be a dear and summon the conductor, would you?"
Blue skirt kept her eyes on the pistolera as she shook her head; hell no.
The pistolera pressed the barrel into red bowler's temple hard enough to cock his head. A towering shadow of a thing formed behind her. It raised an arm and a length of iron rebar, then brought them both down hard. The pistolera spun down and back, catching the iron squarely in her three-fingered hand. She and the great shadow were one now as the it attempted to dislodge its weapon, only to spin her up into the air, still holding on.
Red bowler jumped up from his chair just as the pistolera squeezed the trigger. The hat went flying, accompanied by a spray of blood, most of his right ear, and a great many curses from his lips. He landed on one of the two sleepers, nearly managing to wake him.
Sidney, the young thing in the blue skirt, lunged for a nearby table and started hurling everything she could lay her hands on; a few pulp novels, followed by a full beer bottle, which was then followed by a familiar lacquered medal box. It rebounded off her chin and thumped to the floor.
"Get your lazy, good for nothing ass off those stairs or I will throw you off!" The scowling stair guard had heard the gunshot. Time was ticking.
The pistolera, still holding the rebar, wrapped her gun-wielding wrist over the creatures great arm and then swung herself over its head, bringing the iron into its throat. Behind it now, she realized the monster was a woman. A huge woman.
"Nothing personal." The pistolera held the rebar at both ends, planted her little feet on the giant's shoulder blades and leaned back as hard and fast as she could. Instantly the beast was toppled.
She rolled back, reached for the box with her three fingered hand, and dashed for the patio door. A dozen strides later she was suspended in the cool night air, leaping back to the cargo car.
"Just you, Maton. Find her. If she hasn't already jumped from the train, you will throw her from it. Understood?" Perma-scowl turned to carry out his orders. Red bowler accepted a hankie Sidney was offering him and pressed it to the remains of his ear.
"Wait. Cut one of her ears off first. Almost imperceptibly, the scowl made room for the beginnings of a grin and Maton was off again.
He checked the baggage cars first, assuming that she would try to hide in the luggage. When that proved fruitless, he turned back to the front of the train and the lower-class passenger cars.
As he strode through the bar car, the bartender smiled at him and waved a bottle at him in greeting.
"Busy" he mumbled, giving the tale tellers and domino players only the briefest inspection before charging through the door.
Shrugging, the bartender knelt down to slide open the cabinet door where he normally kept his beer stock.
"He's gone, pistolera." He handed the bottle to the woman in the cupboard.
She smiled and took the bottle, then raised a single finger to indicate that she wanted him to wait a moment. From under her coat she pulled the little lacquered wooden box. She took out the medal and handed it to him. As he gaped at it, she pulled the ornate green felt out of the bottom of it and removed a thick folded sheaf of papers reading "Deed of Property" and a tintype of a young lady in a dancer's costume. She handed the box and felt to him, too.
"Throw those off the train for me, will you. And wake me at Mountain Home. I have business there."
With a wink, she slid the cupboard closed. The bartender slid the medal (which would soon be an untraceable hunk of silver) into his pocket and set about cleaning up the bar.
Silver and Tin - Part Two
The light streaming through her window had turned orange. The sun was setting over the mountains. The aging magrail cabin was growing dim. Her beer was empty. And if there was one sure thing that meant it was time to get a bit of sleep, it was an empty beer.
The pistolera saluted the couple with the empty bottle before setting it in the cup holder. She couldn't see them in the low light, but she felt confident that they were still talking about her. Nice folks. Possibly inbred.
She tucked the medal box well down into her worn rucksack and then tied the drawstrings of the sack to the wooden legs of her seat. She hesitated then briefly tested to see if the leg would wiggle loose. Confident that no one would be able to make off with all her possessions without making some noise, she let herself doze off to sleep.
It was a combination of beer bladder and the fussy baby a few rows in front of her that roused her a few hours later. She had been dreaming of a lovely little bar in Cadiz that she'd never visited. Everyone important was still alive and dancing there. Even her. As the pistolera made her way back to her car's lavatory, she reflected on how much she hated her bladder for waking her up from that dream.
Shuffling back to her seat she wondered if it was possible for her to will herself back into that bar tonight. Then she saw her spare shirt laying half in the aisle.
Her bag! No... wait... it was still there. Tied to the leg of the seat where she left it. She kneeled down and rolled it back a bit. There was a cut in the bag; perfectly straight, maybe three or four inches long, and in the exact spot where she had stowed her medal box.
Idiot.
Two days back in civilian life and her only valuables get lifted right out from under her.
She pushed back her jacket to loose her revolver and started looking around at the sleeping passengers. A few seats which were occupied earlier in the evening were empty now. Thinking back, she couldn't remember if any of them had been suspicious or not. More likely than not, most of the missing folk were probably in the bar car.
Briefly she considered moving forward into the bar car, restaurant car, and the lower class cabins.
No, she thought. More likely the culprit was still working the train. And that meant that he'd be back in the higher class (and higher payday) cars. She was going to find that thief, get her box back, and do her level best to put at least one bullet in him.
It wouldn't occur to her until later that stealth or subterfuge might have suited her better than a frontal assault.
To be concluded...
The pistolera saluted the couple with the empty bottle before setting it in the cup holder. She couldn't see them in the low light, but she felt confident that they were still talking about her. Nice folks. Possibly inbred.
She tucked the medal box well down into her worn rucksack and then tied the drawstrings of the sack to the wooden legs of her seat. She hesitated then briefly tested to see if the leg would wiggle loose. Confident that no one would be able to make off with all her possessions without making some noise, she let herself doze off to sleep.
It was a combination of beer bladder and the fussy baby a few rows in front of her that roused her a few hours later. She had been dreaming of a lovely little bar in Cadiz that she'd never visited. Everyone important was still alive and dancing there. Even her. As the pistolera made her way back to her car's lavatory, she reflected on how much she hated her bladder for waking her up from that dream.
Shuffling back to her seat she wondered if it was possible for her to will herself back into that bar tonight. Then she saw her spare shirt laying half in the aisle.
Her bag! No... wait... it was still there. Tied to the leg of the seat where she left it. She kneeled down and rolled it back a bit. There was a cut in the bag; perfectly straight, maybe three or four inches long, and in the exact spot where she had stowed her medal box.
Idiot.
Two days back in civilian life and her only valuables get lifted right out from under her.
She pushed back her jacket to loose her revolver and started looking around at the sleeping passengers. A few seats which were occupied earlier in the evening were empty now. Thinking back, she couldn't remember if any of them had been suspicious or not. More likely than not, most of the missing folk were probably in the bar car.
Briefly she considered moving forward into the bar car, restaurant car, and the lower class cabins.
No, she thought. More likely the culprit was still working the train. And that meant that he'd be back in the higher class (and higher payday) cars. She was going to find that thief, get her box back, and do her level best to put at least one bullet in him.
It wouldn't occur to her until later that stealth or subterfuge might have suited her better than a frontal assault.
To be concluded...
Silver and Tin - Part One
"Charles, I said it's shameful. Charles. Charles."
Charles held his paper up over his face for just a moment longer, giving his mustache time enough to cease its twitching. "What is shameful, Clara my love?"
"That boy, Charles. Over there. Just look at him."
Turning in his chair, Charles glanced across the aisle of their second-class car at the passenger his wife was indicating. Wrapped in a burgundy and blue army jacket three sizes too big, the boy was leaned against the window and staring at the contents of a small box he was holding up to the evening light.
Charles was preparing to turn back to Clara and perhaps suggest that the boy had found the coat when he noticed the epaulets: a silver embroidered hawk clutching a revolver in one hand and a bundle of funeral incense in the other. Below the hawk were two parallel silver bars. These were the epaulets of a special forces command sergeant. The boy may be an orphan and he may have only the one jacket for warmth, but he certainly had no business wearing such distinguished insignia. Not while Charles Abril had anything to say about it!
He nodded to his wife. He folded his newspaper and placed it gently on the empty seat beside his. Standing in the aisle of the gently swaying train, he straightened his vest. He tightened his tie. He pressed his reading glasses further up his nose to sit squarely on his face. He rolled down his sleeves and buttoned them about his wrists. This was a serious situation and he intended to approach it as such.
Charles moved down the aisle, taking pride that he didn't need to hold onto the seat backs as he did so. Arriving at the boy's seat, he cleared his throat. Either the boy didn't hear or Charles was being flatly ignored. The little thing was mesmerized by the object within the box. An object which was, as Charles was horrified to see, the Distinguished Silver Talon; a most distinguished medal of honor!
"Pardon me, young bo..."
Charles felt the blood drain from his face. And then he felt it drain from his body. Indeed, the warmth had drained from his entire being, leaving him as cold as a corpse buried beneath a frozen lake.
Turning his face up to make eye contact with Charles, he could see that it wasn't a boy at all - it was a girl. No. Not a girl. Girls have never seen what those eyes had seen. Those eyes didn't look at Charles; they judged him. And they found him lacking. With perfect and damnable clarity Charles saw the purple-black scar behind and below her right eye. He saw the gloved left hand holding the medal box had only three fingers. And he saw the gloved whole hand on her right side lay gently on what could only be an M1412 army issue revolver; the trademark weapon of the Silver Eagles special forces battalion.
"What do you want?"
Hat in hand, Charles returned to his seat a few minutes later.
"Well? Well, Charles? Did you set the boy straight, dear?"
"I bought her a beer."
Charles and Clara spent the rest of the evening enjoying a wonderfully animated conversation (in politely hushed tones, of course) speculating about the war above the peninsula and what this particular pistolera's story might be. When morning came, with the train only a few hours from their final stop in Mountain Home, the Abrils excitedly speculated about the disappearance of their mysterious war hero. Had the conductor moved her up to first class? Had she retreated to the bar car to drink to fallen friends?
Indeed, not knowing the fate of their pistolera heroine was just the icing on the cake for the Abrils. It would make fine storytelling fuel for every dinner party, garden party, and afternoon tea they would attend for the remainder of their years.
To be continued...
With Purpose
Far in space,
orbiting a dim blue star,
in the halls of an ancient ship,
among the ruins of an ancient civilization,
a lonely creature,
built as a companion,
moves from place to place;
from homes to workplaces,
from parks to bazaars,
searching,
for inspiration,
to write her next song.
orbiting a dim blue star,
in the halls of an ancient ship,
among the ruins of an ancient civilization,
a lonely creature,
built as a companion,
moves from place to place;
from homes to workplaces,
from parks to bazaars,
searching,
for inspiration,
to write her next song.
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