A Break in the Sunlight

8. Ground Zero

"She's me."

"It's not you"

"Bullshit." Kaski replied, leaning her elbows back on the bar behind her, "She has my tits."

"They *are* her tits, aren't they?" Patrik had his head cocked, examining the nude woman who lounged frescoed across the bar's west wall. "And nice tits they are, too." He nodded toward Kaski, who laughed her thanks, white teeth flashing.

"Okay. Well, the tits might be yours," Jaren said. "But the rest of it looks nothing like you."

"Suit yourself," Kaski shrugged and popped a few crackers into her mouth.

Patrik's thoughtful gaze landed on Jaren, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Do your job, old man. Get me a drink."

Patrik did so, waving away her money when she pulled out her card. She smiled gratefully and fondly. He had paid her well for the fresco, and even though she'd offered to screw him, he hadn't taken her up on it. Maybe he was tired or something. She'd read somewhere that men got tired of it after a certain age. It was just as well, she was glad of the long break. And he still made her uncomfortable with his warmth.

Kaski spun around on her stool to face the bar. "So, now it is done," she said to Jaren. "Does this mean you are unemployed, Babydoll?"

"Most definately." Jaren avoided Patrik's eye over the bar as he handed her a glass of spiked water. "Why?" she asked, sitting forward, "You got a line on something?"

Kaski smiled. "Three hundred creds."

"No shit!" Jaren pulled a cigarette from her pack. "For what?"

The older girl shrugged. "Couple of the GRC regulars want to see two girls go at it."

Jaren hesitated imperceptibly, lighter in front of her cigarette, before replying. "You and me?"

"Uh huh." Kaski looked at her. "That's okay with you, Baby?"

Jaren shrugged and lit the butt. "Why not? Three hundred creds is good money."

"We'll probably have to screw them, too, afterward." Kaski said matter-of-factly, and Jaren nodded agreement.

"Probably."

Patrik went into the kitchen.

"Oh!" Kaski jumped as a thought struck her. "I almost forgot to tell you. Damn! I saw that Mitchevish outside Zurich's. He said he was needing to talk to you about the Indigo."

Jaren perked up. "About the transverter?"

Kaski shook her head. "I don't think so. He didn't say."

"I'll go see him as soon as I clean up the paints. I hope it's not about those god-damned serial numbers again." She inhaled her cigarette and looked at Kaski through the smoke. "When is the show for those GRCs?"

"Second moonset. In their ship. Just meet me here, I guess."

Jaren nodded agreement. Her eyes were on the door where Patrik had disappeared.

"We've gotta get off this planet, Kaski."

"Amen, Baby."

—–

She found Mitchevish in his dingy office at the back of the spaceport.

"That is not the point I have made," he was saying, looking up from the equipment he was working on. He had a wrench in one hand and was waving it to punctuate his words.

"It's spot-on the damned point, Mitch." Jaren replied, tossing herself into the chair behind his desk and delivering him a cool gaze. "It's the least you can damned well do, considering how long you've kept us in this rathole."

"It is illegal to travel without a license number. I could call the Regs."

"But you won't. Cause then they'd find out the kind of shop you run, Mitch, and I guarantee that'll be a lot more uncomfortable for you than for me. Just make a number up. I'm sure it won't be the first time."

Mitchevish's tone was adamant, but his eyes canny. "I do not work on stolen vessel. Stop here. No more working."

"Oh, cut the crap, Mitch. It's not stolen, and you know it. I've shown you the title. You know I own it. Stop dicking me around. Is the transverter here or isn't it?"

"It is here."

"Then install it."

"You say you own ship. Then why no license? Why no serial number on the con-panel? None of these I see. Had I known this, I would not have taken job." He shook his head emphatically. "Stolen ships is bad for business."

"Yeah, right."

"If I work on this, it could cost me fines. I will be run out of business. Very bad. Very bad fines."

Jaren's gaze slitted, and she sat forward in the chair. She spoke slowly, her anger on a low burn. "How much will it take, do you think... to offset these... fines."

Mitch shrugged and looked down at his equipment. "Two... maybe three thousand creds."

She exploded. "You've got to bloody be kidding me!"

Mitch shrugged and looked at her, unmoved by a teenaged girl in a tantrum. He waited for her rage to ebb.

"Alright, you bloodsucker," she said finally, her eyes still burning. "Two thousand creds. But you'd better have this thing ready tomorrow. And you've never heard of this ship, you've got it? Burn the goddamn transfer. We were never here."

He nodded, then. "Two thousand, yes. No records. Tomorrow morning. This I can do."

—–

Later, she returned to the bar.

"I thought you said Mitch wasn't a cheat?"

"Well, if it isn't the artist, herself." Patrik smiled. The bar was crowded, and a lot of attention being paid to the fresco, but Jaren was too enraged to notice. "What'd Mitch do? The transverter still not in?"

"Oh, it's in, alright. And he's trying to screw me with it."

"You have such colourful turns of phrase, for a sweet face," he smiled.

"Spare me."

"Hey, so it is in." Patrik shrugged, and slid a drink down the bar to a Cregg in a black coverall. "I said he wouldn't cheat you. I didn't say he wouldn't rob you blind."

"What's the damned difference?"

"The damned difference is– You'll get off the planet." His smile was veiled. "Now won't you?"

She bit her cheek. "If I can afford fuel after he finishes screwing me."

"You can afford it."

"Barely." She looked around. "Is Kaski here yet?"

"Not yet," he replied, wiping down the bar with a dry towel. "When will you be going, then?" It seemed to take him an effort to ask. "Soon?"

"Tomorrow." Jaren replied in a hard voice. She avoided his face, looking instead down at her paint-smeared hands. "We're going tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

All rights reserved. Copyright Jae Darcy 2016.