The Star Pirate's Folly

Chapter 1: Providence

The wash of red auxiliary lights tinged everything in the ship's infirmary the color of blood, and the damaged life support system struggled to wheeze breathable air into the room. A man in a flamboyant feather-etched golden nullsuit was strapped to the operating table by steel clamps. His legs were mangled, sticking in all wrong directions.

Buttercup wore a drab military surplus nullsuit in stark contrast to the man's expensive custom job. She unclasped her helmet and detached it with a hiss, then removed the hawk-stylized helmet of the man on the table.

Both headpieces drifted aimlessly in the absence of the ship's gravity field, but the miniature gravnodes in her boots kept her grounded. The air was thin, and Buttercup struggled to fill her lungs. She took regular, steady sips, forcing herself to keep calm.

"We're a long way out," Buttercup said. "Just us two space dogs, adrift in the black. What are the odds that we would both survive a crash like that?"

The man on the table was broad shouldered with black hair, blue eyes, and tanned weather-beaten skin. He had the look of a man who scorned the indoors. And to Buttercup's delight he was terrified, gulping great heaving fish-out-of-water gasps of air.

"Whatever they're gonna pay you, I can double it," he managed between breaths, and licked his lips with desperation. "I've got a lot of money stashed away. I can take you there."

"Yes, the legendary Starhawk," Buttercup said, and allowed him to study her face. "The blue-eyed beast. I've been looking for you for a long time. But I'm not here for your bounty."

"Who the hell are you then?"

Not a flicker of recognition. And she thought she'd grown to look so much like her mother—if a little leaner and more muscular. Somewhat disappointed, she stepped over to a drawer and rummaged through it, then produced some kind of sharp surgical instrument. The man recoiled weakly against the metal restraints.

"Shhhh, sh-sh-sh-shhh," she cooed. "You don't remember me?"

Starhawk shook his head, choking back fear. Buttercup took the blade and slashed viciously across his cheek. He howled with pain and writhed against the restraints. Globules of crimson blood coalesced from the wound and hung in the air.

"I thought you might not. We only met once. I was six years old," she said, teasing the dull end of the blade across his eyelids. He struggled to remain perfectly still, taking hissing breaths between clenched teeth. "You drugged and raped my mother. Does that narrow it down for you at all?"

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed and said, "You're a crazy bitch if you think I remember every woman I—"

Buttercup flipped the blade and made a swift cut along his right upper eyelid.

"Oh God!" he cried.

"God's going to sit back and enjoy this, after what you did. He's a vindictive old codger, don't you know."

"Stop!"

"Oh, but I've come all this way."

"Who are you?"

"I'm my mother's daughter."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" He screamed and thrashed against the restraints.

"You'll remember," she assured him. "You know, I have to admit to you I've done some things to get here. Things I'm not proud of. Necessary things. Nasty things."

"Yeah, join the club," Starhawk spat.

Her gloved fist struck with a will of its own, lashing out at his exposed face with a sudden backhand. She dropped the blade. Animal fury took over as she smashed his face, metal gloves pounding on meat and bone. She roared and raged, years of pent-up anguish pouring fuel on her outburst. The exertion gave her tunnel vision and she started to feel faint, but she couldn't stop herself. Her lungs burned for air, and finally she relented.

Buttercup put her helmet back on, picked the surgical blade up again, and set about her work without another word. The suit filled her lungs with fresh, full-bodied air. She wasn't sure how long the life support would hold out, but it would be enough time to make him suffer until his last ragged breath. And not too long after that, she figured solemnly, her suit's air reserves would run out and she'd probably die too.

#

Eight years earlier

Buttercup was tall for a girl entering her teenage years, almost enough to be gangly, with high round cheekbones and sea-green eyes. She strode through the sliding glass doors of the hotel with her chin held high and kept her eyes forward like she knew exactly where she was going.

The man behind the counter squinted at her slightly, eyeballing her as she headed for the dining area. She ignored him. Just be another guest, she told herself. She looked clean enough, even if her blond hair was getting greasy and dark—she'd had a shower just two days before after sneaking into a gym.

Act like you belong, and you belong.

The man went back to his work. Buttercup grinned as she entered the sparsely populated dining room. Free breakfast. What would she do without free breakfast? She smelled bacon. A wave of hunger washed over her, and she speed walked over to the buffet table.

Buttercup grabbed a plate and ransacked the chafing dishes, taking heaping portions. There wasn't room on her plate for packets of wildberry jam so she stuffed some in her pockets, then sat at the nearest table and began to devour her meal.

She was so focused on shoving food into her mouth that she didn't notice the hotel employee hovering patiently next to her table. He cleared his throat.

"Young miss?"

Buttercup froze. She glanced over at the man and swallowed.

"Yes?"

He was an older man, heavyset, garbed in the hotel's dark magenta uniform and squat flat-topped hat. He'd be easy to outrun if she had to. Buttercup scooted her chair back from the table a bit to give her room to stand. If he tried to grab her she knew where to hit him for a quick escape. The man smiled at her, and his cheeks rolled up in thick dimples.

"Would you like some juice?"

She looked down at the table. She hadn't gotten a drink.

"Oh," she said. "Yes. Uh, please."

The man nodded and dashed off to get it for her. Briefly Buttercup considered slipping out while his back was turned, but she almost automatically went back to inhaling her food. She decided to just keep playing along like she was a guest and slid her chair forward again. They seemed to be buying it.

"Here you are, miss," said the man, returning with her glass.

"Thank you," she said around a mouthful, but kept her eyes down.

"You must be hungry," he said, gesturing at her plate.

"It's okay if I get seconds, right?" Buttercup said.

The man chuckled. "It's good, eh? Have as much as you can eat. In fact, I might have to get some myself. May I sit with you?"

"Uh," she said, surprised by the question. "Uh, sure."

"Wonderful," he said. "My name is Hargrove, by the way."

Great. The alarm bells went off in her head. Abort, abort! She wanted to run. She tried to tell her legs to move, but they remained rooted to the spot.

Before she could make a decision Hargrove was back again with two loaded buffet plates. Quick for his size. He gave her one plate and set one down for himself as he took his seat, sighing with pleasure as he settled in.

"Nothing like a good breakfast to start your day, eh?"

Buttercup looked at the big man suspiciously and her eyes darted to the exit. He noticed.

"It's okay, kid," he said with a wink, waving a strip of bacon in front of her nose. "I'm just overly friendly. Eat up, I'll leave you alone in a minute."

Her muscles were taut and she was ready to bolt. All of her instincts screamed at her to leave.

"No thanks," she said.

She stood too quickly and knocked the chair back with her knees. It tottered and fell over behind her, clacking against the wood floor. Hargrove arched his thick eyebrows in surprise and opened his mouth to say something, but seemed unsure what to do.

The other guests collectively fell silent and turned to watch her. Buttercup put her head down and headed for the exit, but glanced back and saw the magenta-clad employee wave his arm at her.

"Wait," he said, rising from the table. "You don't have to leave."

She doubled her speed and half-ran through the dining room doors into the lobby.

"Girl, wait," he said again, louder.

A man about to enter the hotel from the street noticed Hargrove chasing her. The doors slid open in front of the newcomer, but he stayed just outside. He took up a wide stance and blocked her path. Buttercup stopped. Her heart raced. She was trapped. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was facing the man outside, but she could feel Hargrove getting closer and closer to her.

Desperate to escape, Buttercup lunged forward, trying to make it past the guy blocking the door. He hooked her with one arm around her waist and threw her back into the wall next to the door. Her head smacked against the wall with a jarring thump, and the man pinned her there.

It was then that she saw the badge fastened to his belt. Reading the words Capitol City Police dropped a cold brick into her stomach. The taste of bile crept into the back of her throat as she fought against sudden nausea.

"Come on, man," she said. "I didn't do anything."

"Right," the guy said with a smirk. He waved the hotel employee over. "What's your name, kid?"

"Buttercup."

He snorted. "You serious?"

She opened her mouth to say something smart, but he was already showing his badge to the employee. Game over. She'd probably end up in some foster home again. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? Dread clawed at her throat. Or it may have been more vomit.

But then Hargrove said something to the officer, who let go of her and began arguing with Hargrove. Veins roped around the officer's forearm as he pointed a finger in the rotund employee's face.

Hargrove's nametag, the white letters inlaid in neat blocky lines against a black background, bounced up and down on his uniform as he stabbed his own finger back at the officer. Buttercup noticed several guests had followed them out and were watching the altercation from close by.

"You see what this badge says?" the officer shouted. "Listen to me—"

"No, you listen, sir," Hargrove said, loudly enough to draw more stares. "I am the manager of this establishment! I was only trying to get the poor girl's attention and you've gone and assaulted her. Just look at her. Look, she's got to be twelve years old, just a child, and you've knocked her head against the wall. She could have a concussion—or worse!"

The officer gave an exasperated shake of his head, annoyed by the suggestion that he had done something wrong. He removed his sunglasses and turned to address the bystanders. "Oh, please, I'm just doing my job. Nothing to see, folks. Don't block the walkways, please. Everyone keep moving."

Buttercup stood with her back against the wall, rubbing the back of her head trying to make it look like it hurt a lot. Which it did, sort of. She didn't really understand why the guy—Hargrove?—was getting so upset, but she wasn't about to try and calm the angry giant when he seemed to be on her side. She almost laughed when she noticed the color of his face matched his hotel uniform.

"Well, come on," the officer said. "I mean, look at her. Street kid if I've ever seen one. You don't try to run unless you did something. She was probably stealing, right, or—"

"So... you don't know who she is," Hargrove said, letting the implication of the statement hang in the air.

It was only then that it dawned on the officer his first instinct could be mistaken and his actions could have severe consequences depending on whose offspring she was. He turned to Buttercup with the fire taken out of him.

"Shit," he muttered. "I didn't—I mean, I didn't mean to—"

Hargrove shook his head. "Oh boy."

The officer patted her head as though she was a puppy. "You're okay, right kid? I didn't hurtcha, did I?"

Buttercup brought her hand out from behind her head and groaned. Her palm was wet with a patch of deep red, and strands of long blonde hair stuck to it. Several people from the gathering crowd gasped. The officer clapped his hands to his head and his jaw dropped. His whole career flashed before his eyes. The magenta behemoth, Hargrove, rushed between them immediately.

"I think you've done quite enough here, Officer..." Hargrove said, reading the man's badge. "Officer Hiddleston, badge number 5112. I'll be speaking with your lieutenant. Good day."

Hargrove swept Buttercup up into his arms and whisked her away into the hotel, leaving the officer standing awestruck on the street. A small crowd began to gather around the officer, but he slid away to his cruiser parked on the street and ducked inside before speeding off.

"You'll be alright," Hargrove said as he carried Buttercup to the first aid station in the employee break room. "You'll be just fine."

Buttercup, nestled against his chest, looked up at him with a devious grin. She lifted her open palm and showed Hargrove the two crushed packets of dark red jam she'd pocketed before breakfast. Hargrove let out an astonished belly laugh and set her down in the hallway.

"You think quickly on your feet," he said. "Let me see."

"It's fine," Buttercup said, but did not stop him from examining the back of her head. His fingers parted her hair in the back and he probed her skull for any cuts or bumps. His touch was gentler than she expected. She was reminded of Mother and pulled away.

"All good?" she asked.

"Well, aside from the wildberry jam you've smeared all over your head. And how long has it been since you bathed, kid? Your hair's all... greasy," Hargrove said, inspecting his oily, jam-smeared fingers with a distasteful curl of his lip.

Buttercup immediately reddened. "Well—"

Hargrove regarded her thoughtfully, taking note of her frayed clothing and shoes. "Parents?"

Her silence said no.

"Hm," Hargrove lamented. "You have a place to stay?"

She shook her head.

"You want a room?"

Buttercup cocked her head. "What?"

"A room. You know, to stay in," Hargrove said.

"A room," she repeated.

"Yeah."

"For me."

"Of course."

She bit her lip and looked away.

"I don't have any money," she said.

Hargrove laughed. "Well of course not. I wasn't offering you a room to rent. It's a gift. Business lately has been... regretfully slow. As long as you can keep after yourself and your room and don't cause any trouble with the staff, it's a deal. For the time being."

Hargrove stuck his huge hand out with comical exaggeration. His fingers were still smeared with sticky red jam. Buttercup laughed, grasped it as best she could with her own jam-laden hand, and they shook with a squelch.

"Wonderful," he said, but did not let go. "Now, I am quite serious about keeping your room tidy. If you're going to be here free of charge we can't have you making extra work for the staff. You don't keep up your end of the bargain tonight, the deal's off and you're out tomorrow."

Buttercup nodded, only half-believing him.

"Wonderful," he said again, then released her hand and gestured toward the break room just down the hall. "Now let's go get our hands washed and then we'll go see about your room."

#

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