The Whorls of Jupiter

Chapter 8 Bravo 29

July 26th 2521 Satellite BG-251

"Good morning Bravo Twenty Nine. Today is July 26th, the time is 3:27pm GST on Earth. Your destination is currently in the third hour of waxing."

"Any storms?" he rasped, staring into the vacuum. His pale mottled face was reflected in the glass. "Some are adjacent while a large one is lower in altitude than the projected flight path. Forwarding the information to your HUD now."

Bravo Twenty Nine grunted in acknowledgement as he saw the readout for the Prominent Rage's flightpath projected into his artificial retina. He ran his gloved fingers over the keloid grooves in his scalp. His hair had been burned off in patches from combat on Europa with the native life years ago. The rest of his hair he'd burned off to make it match when military doctors peeled his scalp back to make room for his augments. Since they added the new synthetic neurons and grafted a metal casing around his brain, his scalp was stretched and disfigured, one side was slightly raised above the other. Even after multiple visits the best the doctors would do was use small subcutaneous plastic staples to prevent the loose skin from swaying. "Any other ships in the area?"

"A few cargo vessels mining gasses in the area. Affiliation is difficult to distinguish at this range."

"Keep me apprised of any changes."

Bravo Twenty Nine reached into his footlocker and withdrew a small box. Opening it revealed a line of cigars. B29 hefted one, tore off the wrapper, used a pen to punch a hole in the end, ignited it with a butane blow torch lighter, and placed it into his mouth. Growing up poor and subsisting on sodas, he had his teeth removed in favor of thin metal shark-like teeth. However, due to the cost of cosmetic augmentations he had to buy thin ones that would occasionally wiggle forward and backward on their implanted hinges. On the rare occasion he met other agents like himself they'd dubbed him "Sharkjaw." He sank his triangular metal teeth into the dank cap and he took a draw.

"Bravo Twenty Nine, smoking is prohibited aboard all Bridgemoor ships. You are in violation of-"

B29 responded in mocking singsong, "Rule 29 Alpha, section 21, statute 5: Tobacco products, incendiary devices, and ignition within colonial ships are expressly prohibited. Violators are subject to 1 to 5 years hard labor for the first offense. Well... I'll have you know it's my 43rd offense just this past year. Turns out when you work for the best they let you do whatever the fuck you want. Especially when you're breaking other rules for them. "

"Such as?"

"Rule 3 Bravo, section 1, statue 1. 'There is a zero tolerance policy for violence inflicted on humans and Bridgemoor property. Usually a 20 year sentence of hard labor is the most common sentence.'"

"So you won't put out the cigar?"

Bravo Twenty Nine blew smoke on the nearest camera and rasped, "No. When you're HALO jumping into Jupiter the last thing on your mind is something as pedantic as colonial law. Especially in my line of work."

"Well I suppose considering your career... You're doing hard labor anyways."

"What's your name anyways girl?" B29 asked before taking another drag and holding it for a moment.

"I'd rather not say."

"Have it your way Ashley Ingram." B29 smiled as he grasped his helmet and blew out a cloud of smoke across the glass that separated himself from the vacuum outside. He took an S-22 machine pistol with an integrated silencer and a High Altitude Entry Device in the form of a metal tube with a hook.

"Open it."

"But Bravo Twenty Nine, you haven't put on your helmet yet."

"If you do your job correctly you'll give me a countdown. And I want to enjoy my cigar until the last moment," he said as he slipped his boots in larger magnetic boots.