Chapter 5: Taking Stock

Crucis II - Haven’s Hold

Date of 241.08-15

Red satin banners hung loosely around the room. Incense and scented candles adorned most of the open surfaces. Chairs and sofa upholstery was freshly deep cleaned, and a new glass table between them. The bed was the usual padded circle with way too many pillows piled on it.

Matt’s chest raised and lowered at a fast pace.

His heart pulsed to a lively beat, as a welcome warmth coursed through his body. Jayne moved in sync with him. Her body was that of an angel, smooth skin and very flexible. She smiled and slowed down, taking a moment to catch her breath. She leaned down and pressed her head against his shoulder.

Every now and then it was worth it to take a break.

"So...was I right or not?" Her voice soothingly creeped into his ear.

Matt raised an eyebrow. "About?"

"Don't start with me." Jayne playfully nipped at his collarbone. "The job, sketchy as all hell?"

He took a deep breath, expelling a gust of air. "Pay is worth it, that’s for sure."

She shifted her weight and cuddled to his side. The crimson bed sheets were a tangled mess at best, mostly swathed around the two of them. Half of the pillows had fallen to the floor in their frenzy. A fresh scent of roses still hung in the air.

"That's it?"

"I mean, end of day it's what matters." He turned his head, their eyes catching for a moment. "Right?"

That moment quickly died as the bounce of her breasts mesmerized him. She propped her head on her hand, eyes bearing down on him. Matt had seen her naked a plenty. Yet every time, she found ways without even trying to grab his attention.

"You hit the Coalition." Jayne poked him hard. "Money or not, this is going to raise hell in someone's back pocket. Mark my words, Mathusala Carmack."

"I don't disagree, Miss Jayne." Matt adjusted himself to take advantage of the cushioned headboard. "Whatever hell it raises, we'll be long gone before it reaches us. It'll be hard to trace even with the best trackers. Bullet casings were unmarked, new suit skins, and Vorosh was the only one to show his face."

"And that last part isn't a problem, because?"

"It's a problem, but it's his problem." Matt wrapped an arm around and pulled her closer. She gave in and hugged his chest, his eyes only now more allured by her tightly pressed mounds. "The takeaway is that it's not our issue to deal with."

"And what about that thing you mentioned earlier.” Jayne's breathing caused her chest to gracefully lift and sink. With effort, his eyes painfully tore away to look into hers as she continued. “Now is later, and you promised to fill me in later."

"I did, didn't I?" The slight twitch of her lips was enough to give in, so he did. "It wasn't Hines or Lydria. No one you knew, least knew well enough. Henderson, the one Freeman recommended just under a year back or so."

She would probably kick me out for good if it was Hines, their past and all…

“Hines recommended?”

"An associate from before me, some prior job with his last running crew. Somehow that connection got Henderson into my hands." Matt recalled the initial introduction, and Henderson being a semi nervous wreck if that was even a possible state. "Gave off a mentor-ish kind of vibe towards the kid."

"How old was he, Henderson?"

"I don't remember exactly.” Matt stumbled out of his thoughts. "Think he just turned twenty a month or two back, but don’t quote me."

"Why the hell did you take him along?" She asked with a piercing glaze.

An honest question indeed…

"Why did I…?" He pushed her away, enough to swing his legs over the side of the bed. His hands braced each side and imprinted themselves into the soft mattress. "I don't bring people against their will. They all know it, and no one stepped away."

“What if he didn't want to be left out of a big score?” He heard the shuffling of sheets and then her soothing arms drape over his neck. "Peer pressure is a thing, Matt."

She had a point…

"Possibly."

"I know you guys like to have your dick measuring moments, and I don't doubt this was one of them." Jayne's voice was as calming as always, regardless of subject matter. "You talked with Freeman yet?"

"Yeah, first thing that went down once we got a chance to decompress." Matt's head arched back, his shoulder blades pushing against her chest. "He was...a bit shook though put it aside after. Everyone knows it can happen, though figure it to be a while on the job before it does."

"Hmm, makes you wonder when your bullet will find you?"

Hopefully not for many years to come…

"Hobbes will probably find his first." Matt reached an arm around, gathering a firm grip on her waist. The bed moved under shifting weight and prior thoughts came to mind. His nethers started to tighten again. "And if my name does come up, I know you'll be there to pull me to safety at the last minute."

“Such a romancer.” She rolled her eyes, a soft sigh tingled his backside. “Matt, don’t get too lost in the shit end of it. Few people can say they’ve lasted a decade or more in your line of work.”

Mortality rate was a term that many people learned to force ignorance towards…

“NeoTerra Confederate, I sent a message a few days ago.” It was with Brackshorn Exploration and Investments. They had a solid background and decent track record of profits, per official books as with any business. “The guy promises honest and clean work. Believe it or not, he even has something that I might get used to.”

“Hmph, most anything would be better compared to this.”

“Really?” Matt turned and angled his eyes at her. “You get three meals a day, a place to sleep, and all the sex you can want. That sounds like heaven to a lot of people.”

“So you say?” Jayne raised an eyebrow before leaning in to nip at his ear. “If heaven is never being able to walk again after I’m done with you, then I’m ready to go any night you want.”

Matt was fallible like any other man, single or otherwise. He saw a beautiful woman and his body responded. Said woman offered a deeply intimate encounter, then few would be sane to refuse. However, at this moment, Matt remembered why Jayne had the reputation among the others here.

They called her the ‘Succubus’ for a reason.

“Alright, you’ve conveyed your point.” Matt looked away sheepishly, a schoolboy caught red handed. He paused to catch his breath. “Vorosh has another target lined up, so I’ve heard. He followed through on the first one, and I expect another good payday after this one.”

“Oh?” Her prideful demeanor shifted. She relaxed, dropping her arms to her side. “Whatever you do, just come back alive.”

Matt grabbed one of her hands and rested it on his chest.

“Hey, don’t give up on me yet.”

Jayne returned a fleeting smile.

“You mean ‘us’, right?”

~~~

Matt threw on his assortment of clothes and tightened his belt, the excess length knotted in on itself. At best he looked like a smuggler, and at worst an untrustworthy mercenary. Either option suited him just fine as it had for years prior.

Jayne was in a tizzy, fixing herself up for a late evening by the time Matt had closed the door on his way out. With her occupied for the foreseeable future, he moved on.

Boots hit muddy ground first step off the front landing. The day’s long rain left a number of soggy spots, and at least an occasional sinkhole here and there. Matt almost lost a very good boot on his last extended stay. He skirted around a particularly nasty looking one right in front of the next building’s steps. After finding his way off the street, chance ran him into one of his crew.

Greta sat in a lean at a corner table, arm hung over the back and head angled up. The fair skinned lady contrasted like a diamond in the rough against her backdrop. Across the street, sparks from a mechanic shop caught her reflective eyes as they flickered in and out.

He veered in her direction, eventually hopping over the 'X' crossed bars and rails that separated the street from walkway.

“You can be a bit too predictable at times.” Her voice was soft yet accusing. “Though I admit, so am I to a degree.”

“Don't women like predictable guys?” Matt occupied the empty chair next to her and made himself comfortable. “It makes us a little easier to rein in, right?”

“I guess that explains why you and Jayne are forever attached." Her eyes remained glued to the alluring starry sky. "For future reference, some kind of wildness helps to add excitement in a relationship, and the bedroom of course.”

“As much as I’m curious about the last nether you licked, let’s leave each other's intimacy on the side for now.” He snatched a couple of chips from her plate, the salt rubbing deep into his fingers. “Besides, I’ve got other stuff to deal with.”

“You might want to take care of that ‘other stuff’ sooner rather than later. Rumor and all, but the money trail is gonna run us into some hot shit or least hotter than intended.” Greta turned her eyes away from the sky, a face of concern and curiosity greeted him. He also got a clear look at her misty left eye, normal sight long gone. “Speaking of reining in though, you might want to tighten the leash on the others, all things considered.”

“They’ll be fine.” Matt replied. “What about you?”

Despite the cover of shadow, there were enough sources of light to observe a definitive womanly form. Covered in combat suits every job meant physical features were often overlooked. Greta’s body was tone and fit just like his, yet still soft in the right areas. Her skin pale under the serenading night sky. She massaged the black and gold eagle tattoo on her right forearm, a memento of her Earth heritage.

“Nothing to complain about, though, Lydria and I have been talking about some things." She cracked a smile at a thought. "They get it as you say. Everyone on and upped for the money to begin with. Trouble or not, this is what we fucking do. All risks are implied once your finger goes on that trigger.”

“I like how you simplify it.” He smiled. “If only reality worked that way.”

“Fair, we’ve been doing this long enough to warrant cynicism. Though, nine years feels a lot longer when being shot at.” Greta shivered in her tank top, an extra cold breeze fluffed her ponytail. “Have you heard any word?”

“Only what Hobbes said about some new blood.” Matt made a mental note of her words. “It should be...interesting, to say the least. The balls Vorosh had last time.”

New blood could also mean new problems…

“True, then here’s to hoping our luck doesn’t run out.” She toasted her glass to the night and downed the little that was left. A refreshing sigh and she stood up, letting the glass hit the table a little too hard. “Braxton wanted to talk with you by the way, him and Ramoor. Be on the lookout for one or both.”

“Braxton and Ramoor?”

“Yup, they wanted to break the ice a bit more if they’re sticking around.” Greta eyed her tattoo more closely before shaking her head out of the trance. “Anyway, an Freunde und Glück.”

A bit of German accent crawled out even after generations away from Earth. Matt’s eyes tracked her down the street for a short time, her figure hard not to. It was not long before the night took over and his body ached for sleep.

~~~

Crucis II - Low Orbit

‘Vespe’ - Command Bridge

Date of 241.08-15

Hobbes sat back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, arms hooked behind his head in a rather unprofessional look. He could care less. This was his goddamn ship, so be it as it was. He had steered her between ports for the better part of seven years. After Krona, this was home amongst the speechless void.

No Confederate, Federation, or Coalition body held absolute authority outside their balls of dirt...mantra wise at least. The universe would beg to differ.

A triple beep notification and correlating visual feed caught Hobbes' eye. Unlocking his arms and leaning forward, he saw that Freeman had just hit the elevators. Honestly, he expected Matt to be the one searching him out for trouble. This was also when he recalled a prior statement about Henderson and a flippant attitude. Freeman may indeed have a few words to say.

Hobbes rested his weight back into the chair and got comfortable once again, it would be a hot minute. A lullaby tune from his adolescent years came to mind. Without much thought, he softly hummed it to the best of his memory.

Freeman eventually entered the bridge with a hunter's eye, spotting Hobbes instantly. Hobbes took a bit of a gander at Freeman in their momentary standoff. For all the times Matt and he had worked together, some things always slipped through the cracks. Freeman being In shape was an understatement. From prison sentence to life as a merc, the guy knew what it meant to stay fit.

His shirt sat tight against his chest and outlined every muscle, biceps and triceps flexed with littlest of movement. His dark skin showed scars of physical endurance over the years. He had a face full of trimmed facial hair, beard and mustache, along with short black curls on top of his head.

“Been some time, Hobbes.” Freeman pulled the burning cigar from his mouth as he approached. “Got a minute?”

“A minute?” He had all the damn time in the world. “Not really, kinda in the middle of finding my peaceful center.”

“Good, because the question was a formality.” Freeman stated coldly, asserting his position on the bridge. “Let’s have a chat.”

“Of course, fuck me and my personal time then.” There was a muffled snicker from someone nearby. “What’s on your mind?”

“Whether I stay here long or not is on you.” Freeman leaned against the railing opposite Hobbes, hands crossed against his chest. “I want your perspective, no bullshit.”

“Perspective?” Hobbes adjusted himself more upright, though not entirely conceding his comfort. “That’s a broad topic to bring up to your glorified chauffeur. All I do is get you from one place to another, a means for your destructive ways.”

“Let me put it this way then.” He slowly bobbed his head. “I understand the risks inherent with this job, we all do. I’m not pulling any of that into question, Henderson included.” Freeman paused and inhaled a huge breath of the cigar. “But it’s not a far stretch to say I’m worried about Vorosh’s intentions. Got some light to shed on that?”

“No idea what the plan is beyond the current job. I’m not a psychic, and being around him makes me glad I’m not.”

“That's all you got?”

“Only educated guesses.” Hobbes leveled eyes with him. “Another person of interest may be coming aboard. Also, safe bet we aren’t done with the Coalition.”

“More fucking around with fire?” Freeman pushed off the rail to pace back and forth with hands on hips. “Look, we had our little fun on Linova at a cost. The last thing I want is for us to lose more over a grudge match with the powers at be. I avoided it 9 years ago, not gonna get dragged into another one willingly.”

“You make it sound like you’re always going to have a choice there, friend.” Hobbes gave him a cheerful wink.

“Cute, real fucking cute. I'm not against money, but being buried with it.” He stamped his cigar out on his pants and then stuffed it in his pocket. “Understanding me?”

Between the backdrop of Crucis II and Freeman’s rant, Hobbes found a calming silver lining.

“I follow.” His eyes wandered from crew member to crew member as they went about their business. “Put simply, concerned that we may blindly fall into a black hole of no return? Let alone I drag Matt into it against his better judgment?”

“Something like that.”

“I told Matt this, so I’ll tell you the same.” Hobbes slowly removed himself from his seat and walked up to the command console between the two of them. “I’d hate for some poor sap to die for nothing. If I can save a life or two and even make some money as well, then I’ll deal with the bullshit.”

“Honorable of you, but this ain’t a fucking heroic movie script.” A few heads subtly slanted their way as Freeman let his voice fluctuate higher than normal. “What if this goes big? You would murder thousands to save the rest?”

“We’re not at that bridge yet, so don’t assume.” Hobbes pointed a damning finger. “No one seemed to have any serious qualms about Linova, to make a note.”

“One job is one job, and you move on after it’s done.” Freeman had stopped his pacing and met Hobbes alongside the console, his forearm muscle flexing with his fingers. “Trust me, fuck the Coalition nine ways to hell and back. I feel the same as everyone else.”

“You say that, but don’t ignore the big picture.” Hobbes pressed a button and a holographic map appeared. It was not of any particular system, rather the entire Bhakus Sector. “The proof is in the stars.

“The hell of a cryptic statement is that?” Freeman leaned in closer to the map, eyes rapidly darting between systems.

“Simple, space is finite.” Hobbes nonchalantly rotated the map, using his hands to meddle with the perspective. “Humor me, please, and take a closer look.”

“What about it?” Freeman scanned over the pretty lights. “Everybody knows the Coalition has the biggest piece of the pie.”

“I'd rather focus on what's between the lines.” With a few more button presses, territorial boundaries and segments of free space were highlighted. The amount of middle ground was nothing more than thin strips mostly, at least on theoretical paper. “Specifically, the continually shrinking space where people like you and me thrive.”

“Space is space, some things won’t change regardless of who pisses on it.”

“To a degree, sure.” Human nature was fickle in many ways. “Yet between the Coalition, Confederate, Freelancers, the miner and merchant guilds, and a myriad of other big dick swingers, then good luck not feeling pressured for your own bit of peace and quiet. With every new outpost, shipyard, or obnoxious orbital platform, that space gets more congested by the day.” Hobbes pressed another button that highlighted specific free ports within the sector, countable on two hands. “There aren’t many unregulated parts left. The ruling powers that be, they want absolute control. People, however, people need space to breathe.”

“Okay, so it's one giant fucking party and the room's getting crowded.” Freeman strolled back to the railing. “That's another problem on its own. What does that mean towards all of this, the current job?”

“Everyone’s running out of time, and neither of us are the exception.” Hobbes turned off the display and followed suit next to Freeman, pulling out his signature canteen. “Either we got to adapt or go down in a blaze of glory.”

Freeman cocked his head, looking as if to spout before biting his tongue. Hobbes kept on enjoying his drink. Freeman eventually broke the silence between the two, sporting an almost sadistic smile.

“We're proverbial dead men walking is what you’re saying?” A dark humor to his words. “That's quite motivating.”

“Probably more literal than you would like.” Hobbes offered him a swig but stashed it upon refusal, more for him later. “Does that satisfy you enough?”

“For now, reservations aside.”

“I would expect no less.” Hobbes walked back over to his chair, stopping to rub one of the armrests. He inspected his fingers closely afterward before turning back to Freeman. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry about Henderson.”

“Shit, it comes with the territory.” Freeman's eyes said more than his words. “I appreciate it.”