QUARTER ROTATION LATER

  Anyone watching Briggon would’ve been unnerved by the scowl permanently carved into his face. But he was alone on the single pilot vessel, large enough for a bunk, a washroom and not much else besides. He’d purloined it back on Bodacia Space Station from a Niglina’an who was human enough (if you discounted the snake-like lower half of her body) that the controls were intuitive for his kind. Briggon felt a pang of guilt for leaving her without even a farewell, but she’d suggested the ship wasn’t actually hers to begin with, and he’d been desperate.

  Airlie had been missing for almost three months. A quarter of a rotation since he’d last set foot on a planet. Her heart in his chest was so faint that he often woke during the sleep cycle in a panic, unable to hear it over his own pounding heart. He’d taken to meditating. Originally he’d hoped the bond would lead him to her, like it would’ve for one of his own people, but she was as pure human as they came and the connection was entirely one sided.

  He’d instead followed rumours, which was why he was inbound for the largest spaceport in this part of the quadrant, a bright beacon on the edge of an expanse lasting for light years, only mining outposts and prisons to break up the monotony.

  “Vessel 222-87 call sign Xuejendu, this is Sirius- 3,” a smooth voice hailed. A station this large probably had an advanced AI, which meant Briggon had to be extra cautious not to be recognised. His view of the station as he headed in didn’t inspire confidence in its construction. Sirius-3 appeared to be in a constant state of growth. Massive round attachments were added onto a central sphere, taking on the appearance of a multi-stranded pearl necklace centred on a pulsing, nuclear heart. “Your ID has been cleared for landing.” Briggon let out the breath he’d been holding as his fake ID passed muster. “Local time is 7:22am. You have been assigned dock 2568. Coordinates have been sent. Please proceed without delay.”

  “Acknowledged.” Briggon studied the controls, trying to figure out where the coordinates had been sent and then what to do when he found them. It took a few false tries, but he finally set course. Autopilot engaged, Briggon sat back to watch the port grow closer and closer. Was it his imagination, or was Airlie’s heart that little bit stronger?

  Esher’s information had gotten him as far as Primus Spaceport. There he’d been forced to lay low to avoid port authorities after the Cherish vessel he’d stolen was reported. The week he was there wasn’t wasted though. What little Cherish coin he had was transferred to the standard credit, accepted in most stations and ports, which bought him information.

  Valentina Roth was more smoke than any real substance. Sources swung between two extremes; the woman was either a mercenary from an ancient long-forgotten race who’d been lurking in the Deep Black for centuries or she was a newcomer who’d ruthlessly climbed the ranks in the galactic criminal underbelly to carve out a fearsome reputation. Briggon was more inclined to believe the latter and suspected Roth’s notoriety was more bluff than truth. She was a gun for hire so the question was, who was pulling her strings?

  If only Briggon could figure out who had the most to gain. Airlie’s father had temporarily ceded his position on the UniCorp Board until after Airlie was returned to avoid any conflicts of interest. Maybe someone on the Board was behind the kidnapping? Or someone with aspirations of becoming a member? How long until Baron Perrault was permanently removed from his position and Airlie outgrew her usefulness? Briggon was still being hunted by UniCorp Security and the Galactic Agency. Why Baron Perrault would believe a single word out of Esher Tomas’s mouth was beyond him, but despite Briggon’s subtle attempts to contact the man, he’d been stone-walled. The whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Briggon had been travelling from station to port to settlement, following the photonic breadcrumbs left behind by a ship whose designation was erased from all systems, as if it had never even been there in the first place. Someone powerful was clearly involved. But now he’d arrived at Sirius-3, his confidence in finding Roth vanished at seeing how big the spaceport actually was, especially for something this far out near the edges of known space. How was he going to find one ship out of thousands, especially when it was probably flying under the radar with a fake ship name and fake passenger IDs?

  He ran a thumb over the imperceptible wrist cuff he wore over his ID chip. It had cost him almost the rest of his credits, made even more expensive as it had to be tinted the exact shade of his skin. It blocked out his ID chip and replaced it with a generic one. It wasn’t enough to hold up under close scrutiny, but enough to allow him to pass unnoticed.

  As his ship entered the docking tunnel, passing through the vacuum net, Briggon closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in and out. His primary heart calmed and he focused on his core heart. Yes, he was definitely getting close.

  The vessel docked so smoothly, Briggon didn’t notice until the space station’s AI spoke.

  “Welcome aboard, N’arda Lee.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Briggon’s response was a beat late, forgetting for a moment the fake ID he’d bought. He powered down and secured the Xuejendu, squeezing out the exit and unrolling his spine in a series of pops as he stood upright for the first time in two weeks. The vessel was designed for speed rather than comfort and, despite his shorter than average height, meant his head bumped against the roof. He inhaled deeply, clearing the stale recycled ship air from his lungs.

  The docking bay was basic with room enough to navigate a mech-bot around the Xuejendu’s sleek bulk. A screen by the door listed all the ship services he could purchase, but he ignored them. A full service would mean a more thorough paper check and he wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. First stop after getting through port security would be to find a place that sold coffee.

  Briggon had timed his arrival perfectly. Security was swamped because a large mining fleet had docked for minor repairs and the crew were desperate for some leave time. And to top it off, a mineral baron, dressed sharply in their double-breasted black suit, was arguing aggressively about the loss of one of their exploratory vessels. Apparently it had not reported in after leaving Sirius-3 a rotation ago seeking new asteroid mines worth the risk of the Deep Black.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  When the baron bellowed to see the head of security, Briggon slipped past and gave the port attendant a sympathetic smile, proffering his ID. The older Terran barely looked at Briggon, sweeping a handheld device over his ID chip and gesturing to step into the full body scanner. It closed around Briggon like an upright coffin, humming as loops of light raced up and down his body. He took longer than the average person, mostly as it registered his body-mods, but eventually the scanner opened. Beyond was a narrow passageway, bright arrows on the floor flashing directions and the chaos of port security was muffled.

  “Sirius-3? Can you still hear me?”

  “How can I be of assistance?” the AI answered, voice the flat tone of a bored young man rather than a machine.

  “Can you locate the nearest coffeeshop?”

  “Certainly!” Briggon flinched at the bright and cheerful response. “Directions have been sent to your personal device. I do hope you enjoy.”

  His palm tingled and when he lifted his hand up, a holo-arrow pointing straight ahead hovered a few centimetres above his skin.

  After half an hour of meandering quiet, narrow passageways and air-lifts, Briggon was beginning to wonder if the AI was having him on. Had it not understood when he’d said nearest?

  He was contemplating just finding a bar for a very different drink when a set of doors slid open and he stepped out onto an open level overlooking a neon-bright entertainment quarter. Spiralling up at least five levels around a central green space, the walkways were lined with dimly lit massage parlours, smoking noodle carts, white-tablecloth restaurants, and eclectic clothing shops. Delivery bots buzzed underfoot, AR commercials droned overhead while holograms leapt out at him from shopfronts, and Briggon (who’d travelled more than most) found himself overwhelmed by the sheer colours of the species bumping around him. After travelling through the Black for so long, the bustle made him feel like he was drowning.

  The arrow spun to his right towards a quieter nook between a boarded up digi-pet shop and a hydroponics store.

  From the outside the coffeeshop didn’t look like much. The walkway out front was crowded with mismatched tables and chairs, including what appeared to be an entire seven-piece set that looked suspiciously like it should belong in a security officer’s lounge. The day's brew was programmed into the LED screen — brightly scrolling through the half dozen most widely spoken languages in this sector — and hung across the front window in place of a shop sign.

  The door chimed softly as he entered.

  “How can I help you?” someone cheerfully announced and Briggon was about to answer when the voice continued. “No wait, how can I be of assistance? No, that’s worse.” A young human woman was wiping down a table while directing her questions to an empty chair. “Good afternoon,” she greeted the chair, smile fixed. “Would you be at all interested in a coffee?”

  “I’m not sure if the furniture is interested, but I sure am,” Briggon interrupted and immediately felt awful when the woman shrieked and threw herself bodily over the front counter. For such a small slip of a person, she moved incredibly fast.

  Wary grey eyes peeked out behind a copper-bright coffee machine, studying Briggon from top to bottom and then she straightened, the same smile she’d been gracing the chair with fixed to her face.

  “Good afternoon, no, morning,” she flushed, but kept going. “May I coffee you?”

  Years of military discipline meant Briggon was able to swallow his snort, and instead he nodded. “A coffee sounds divine.”

  “Really?” she asked, and her smile transformed into what Briggon could only describe as pure delight. “Of course! Take a seat, please. I insist.” She bustled out behind the counter, hands nervously twisting the hem of her sky blue apron, and pulled out a padded chair big enough to hold two of Briggon. Trying to hide his amusement, Briggon sat down and sighed softly as the seat embraced him. This was clearly the best seat in the entire shop.

  “I’ll have it white with three sweeteners, please,” he called out as she hurried back to the coffee machine. He could hear her repeating his order over and over again under her breath.

  The shop was empty besides the two of them, no other customers or staff. Dim light bulbs hung like unblinking eyes from the low ceiling and the walls were lined with mismatched shelves full of what appeared to be recording devices – books, tablets, voice recorders, bottles of coloured sand. Signs cut out in the shape of stars promised a discount if a customer left a story. On each table was a tiny plant, long dead and brittle, but whoever owned this shop had decorated them with glitter. He had his suspicions about who the owner was.

  Briggon watched the woman make his coffee and winced as she manhandled the machine like a Concieala greaser dismantling an engine. From the smell of burnt rubber, she’d overheated the soy-substitute and the coffee beans were pre-ground and scooped out of a can. As if in protest, the machine belched steam right into the young woman’s face, but besides using her sleeve to quickly wipe away the moisture clinging to her eyelashes, the barista ignored the heat and carefully filled a mug without spilling a drop. At least she was generous with the sweetener. She presented Briggon his coffee with a pleased smile.

  The coffee tasted like dishwater.

  “Is it okay?” The barista asked, her face so hopeful. Briggon swallowed and managed a smile.

  “It’s wonderfully hot.”

  “Oh, good. I’m still learning, you see.” She didn’t look away, so Briggon forced down another big mouthful. It somehow tasted worse, like grease-fat, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her it was the worst coffee he’d ever had. He wasn’t even sure it qualified as coffee.

  “I’ve muffins in the oven, if you’d like to try one of those?” she asked, but Briggon shook his head, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, and hid his grimace behind another gulp.

  He glanced down into the cup, praying it was almost empty and saw a kitten figurine emerging from the liquid, waving a tiny paw. That was it. He couldn’t handle any more. Why the space station AI had sent him here, he had no clue, but he was on a mission and he didn’t need any distractions.

  “I’ve really got to run,” he said, finishing off the coffee and pushing the mug away as if it was radioactive. “How much do I owe you?”

  “The first cup is always free!” the young woman insisted. “I’m sure I’ll see you again?”

  Briggon hummed noncommittally and fled, leaving a tip to cover the coffee and then some.