It was the middle of the artificial “daytime” on board the Kaalakiota Corporation’s station which orbited a moon of the seventh planet of the star Evati, but in Persephone Astrid’s quarters, the lights were deliberately dimmed. Persephone had put on a loop of trance-like pulsing electronic music which oom oom oomed from the surround speakers.
“You don’t have many implants,” Persephone observed quietly as she traced her fingertips down the back of her lover’s neck, counting the few metallic receptacles she found there, interspersed with skin and soft nape hair. Her own neck and the back of her head bore many more connectors and surgical scars.
“I get by,” Artemis Fortune purred coyly. The Achura woman pulled herself even closer and continued to explore Persephone’s body with her own fingertips, tracing unseen patterns on her skin. She breathed in deeply, taking in Persephone’s scent. It was remarkably subtle, she noted, with just a hint of fruit.
“What’s that scent?” she asked, trying to place it. She continued drawing long strokes from Persephone’s shoulders to the small of her back, and perhaps a little further.
“Nong berries,” Persephone murmured. “It’s from my pod.”
Artemis arched an eyebrow in the darkness.
“You have scented hydro gel?” Artemis asked. To her sensibilities, this seemed hopelessly extravagant– typical for the Gallente, really. Her own capsule was filled with a formula that had only an alphanumeric designation which indicated its specific heat and viscosity. When she was feeling especially extravagant, she rarely added a tiny amount of skin moisturizer to it, but she never told any of her Caldari associates. They wouldn’t understand.
“Flavored,” Persephone giggled. “Sometimes things get hectic in my line of work, and I get a mouthful.” Playfully, she rapidly pulled Artemis’ breast to her mouth and nibbled at–
An electronic chime sounded three notes abruptly, high-low-high, and a dim red light pulsed in the recessed light fixture, bathing the room in an eerie glow.
“What the hell?” Artemis said, startled, as she jerked upright in the bed.
“Incoming call,” Persephone grumbled. Without rising, she spoke more loudly for her apartment’s computerized butler to hear. “Rapha, who’s calling?” she asked.
“Flashfresh is on the line, Madam” spoke the disembodied voice of the butler, which Persephone had named “Raphael.” Its synthesized voice carried a hint of a posh accent, lending an air of class to its presentation.
“I gotta take this,” Persephone murmured to Artemis. She sat upright and leaned against Artemis as an afterthought. Artemis put an arm around her and adjusted the bedsheets with her free hand. “Raphael, put him on!”
“As you wish, Madam,” replied the butler.
“Heya Chief!” Persephone called out with forced innocence and enthusiasm. “What’s the haps?”
“Persephone. Good,” Flashfresh, the CEO of The Bastards said without preamble. His leather chair squeaked in the background, which told Persephone that he was calling from his office. “Have you got a moment?”
“Oh,” Persephone stammered, thinking that Flash had meant a moment to talk. “Ah. . . yes!”
“Very good. Come to my office please.”
“On my way,” Persephone replied, silently cursing her sudden misfortune. The speaker chimed once, indicating the connection had been severed and the call had ended.
“Fuck. Rapha, lights up half please.”
Whitish-yellow light faded quickly into existence from the fixtures, illuminating the apartment at half-brightness.
Artemis looked around Persephone’s home, getting her first look at the decor, an eclectic mix of classical Jin-Mei and modern Gallente frou-frou. It had been dark when they had come in fifteen minutes earlier, and the two of them had had other things on their minds than a tour of the apartment. She spotted her uniform jacket and slacks draped over the back of an upholstered chair where she had tossed them blindly, and imagined that the rest of her clothing would be nearby on the floor.
“So, I’ll–” she began.
Persephone pulled her knees to her chest and bit her lip.
“You can wait here,” Persephone suggested. “If I’ll be more than a few minutes I’ll call and let you know.”
Artemis frowned and pulled at her long grey-black hair, pulling it neatly behind her ears. Persephone noticed that her hair concealed her implants.
“It seems awkward,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
Persephone lunged on top of Artemis, shoving the taller woman backwards against the mattress. She kissed her fiercely on the lips–with purpose–then sprang off the opposite side of the bed, landing lightly on her feet.
“It’ll be fine!” Persephone said to assure her. She slid open a flush-mounted panel and pulled a white boat-necked bodysuit from within and slipped into it. She fetched a black coverall from a hanger, and shook it out. Gleaming silver winged skulls glinted from the collar and the embroidered name tape on the left breast read P. ASTRID.
“If you’re sure?” Artemis asked once more for politeness’ sake, tilting her head to one side questioningly. The kiss had sealed the deal, but she found comfort in formality.
“It’s no trouble,” Persephone said, jumping into the coverall and slapping at her wrists and ankles, which fastened the quick-donning closures. She pulled charcoal-grey stretchy slip-on boots over her feet without sitting, balancing first on one foot, then the other. “Make yourself at home. Raphael! Full guest permissions for Artemis Fortune.”
“As you wish, Madam,” the butler said. “Miss Fortune, I am at your service.”
“Well, okay,” Artemis smiled. She considered dressing while she waited for Persephone. She knew from recent experience that it would only take a moment to disrobe again, and it had been fun besides.
“All right!” Persephone said breathlessly, opening the inner door to her apartment’s foyer by waving her hand at a sensor. “Back in five, maybe ten.” She stepped through and the door closed behind her. Inside the apartment, Artemis heard the outer door open and close.
“Miss Fortune,” Raphael suggested. “My culinary library does include a selection of traditional Achuran dishes. Perhaps a breakfast of scrambled hanging long-limb roe?”
Five minutes later:
Despite having been a member of The Bastards for over a year, and having flown alongside them as a Hellcat before that, Persephone always felt like a student being called to the headmaster’s office when she stood outside Flashfresh’s office. She’d scarcely broken the beam of the office door’s proximity sensor when Flashfresh addressed her over the intercom.
“Persephone, come in,” he said. The door slid open, and to Persephone looking into Flashfresh’s office was like looking into a protected pocket universe from antiquity. There was not a hint of gleaming alloy anywhere. Every vertical surface was covered in wood, and a thick rug covered the floor. There were no windows, which further heightened the sense of isolation in time and space. Dark book cases loomed on every side, packed with heavy tomes of every description. Some were organized in neat rows by volume number, and others were jumbled in all directions, stacked atop each other so that as many books as possible could be wedged into place.
Flashfresh rose from his office chair, richly upholstered in buttoned leather and gestured for Persephone to enter. His own Bastards coverall was half off, the sleeves tied around his waist. His undershirt was bleached to a brilliant white, and looked so crisp that Persephone imagined that it must have been pressed and starched that very morning, or perhaps had been machined with tools from a block of solid cotton.
“Tea?” he asked. Without waiting for Persephone to reply he drew a cup of steaming water from the samovar on his credenza and dropped a porous metal tea strainer into the cup.
“Thank you,” Persephone said, entering the office and taking three steps to cross to the center of the rug in front of the desk. She noticed a dark stain in the rug which had not been there the last time, but she figured that it was none of her business. The door to the outer passage closed behind her, and only the softer light of the antique lamps illuminated the office.
“Please, sit,” Flash said congenially as he dropped two cubes of sugar into the cup and added milk from a small porcelain pitcher. Persephone smiled and took the chair on the right, sitting with her back straight and resting her bottom on the edge of cushion. Her feet were flat on the floor in front of her, and her knees made perfect right angles. As she watched her CEO, she wondered if any of Flashfresh’s victims had ever imagined that their antagonist took such pleasure in something as genteel as tea.
Having prepared the tea, Flashfresh turned and placed the cup and saucer on the edge of his desk closest to Persephone, on a corner of the desk blotter which was already marked with numerous dried tea stains. Persephone took the china cup with both hands, enjoying the feel of the warm cup against her skin and the aroma of the tea which wafted from it.
“I want to talk to you about this,” he said as he returned to his chair. Flashfresh retrieved a small flat digital tablet from where it had lay as a paperweight atop a jumbled stack of documents and tapped it once to awaken it. He leaned forward and slid it across his desk so that Persephone could see. On its flat display, surveillance camera footage taken near Evati VII showed two frigates locked in combat, one older Tristan, and a Crow interceptor. As she watched, the Crow exploded, and the Tristan–which she recognized as her own ship named the Pew Pew Pew!–fished valuable bits from the wrecked interceptor.
“I don’t see a ransom attempt on this footage. Do you?”
“Ah–” Persephone stalled, taken by surprise. Of course as a pirate she was expected to try for a ransom wherever possible, but in this fight her ship had been outclassed. “With all due respect, Chief, that’s not fair. I engaged a T2 interceptor with a Tristan. I’m fortunate to have even won the fight. What was I to do?” She set down her tea cup and turned her palms upward, imploringly.
Flashfresh rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“What indeed?” he chuckled. On the tablet, the video had looped to the beginning, and the two frigates fought again, locked in an eternal battle. “Tell me, if you were in my seat and I were in yours, what would you do?”
“I’d–” Persephone stammered. While she had not known why she had been summoned to her CEO’s office, she hadn’t imagined this possibility at all. Though her mind raced, she spoke slowly, forming her sentences carefully, laying out her thoughts for her employer.
“You know that while ransoms are nice, they’re not always possible. I’d just be glad one of my pilots dragged down a fifteen-million ISK interceptor with a Tristan, that’s what.” She wondered if she’d overstepped her position. She started to pick up the tea for a comforting sip, but the cup rattled precariously against the saucer as she lifted it, so she quickly set it down again.
“You’re way ahead of me,” Flashfresh said mildly. “And don’t be upset. I’m just teasing.” He fished a small hinged box trimmed with black velvet from beneath a pile of invoices and flipped it casually in his fingertips, flicking it open so that he could verify its contents, then snapping it shut and lobbing it across the desk in a high arc. All of this he did effortlessly, as if he were accustomed to matter simply dancing at his command. Persephone caught the box in her right hand and looked at it quizzically.
“Go on,” Flashfresh said with a grin.
Persephone opened the box and peered inside. An engraved medallion hung pendant from a ribbon.
“This is–” Persephone trailed off in shock. Her heart thudded loudly.
“Solo kill of the month,” Flashfresh said, rising from his chair. “Congratulations Persephone. Well done.”
“I don’t–” she continued, flabbergasted. This medal had been earned by z0de, Rodneystar, Ard UnJiiGo, General Coochie, Fish Brain, Jirat, Mr. Frog, Nova Blackadder, P’XEL, Arrhidaeus, Raelyf, Hera god-damned Darkthorn, renowned pirates all.
Flashfresh extended his right hand, and Persephone awkwardly stood and shook his hand after shuffling the box to her left.
“I don’t know what to say,” she sputtered.
“Say ‘thank you.’”
“Thank you!” Persephone said.
“You’ve earned it,” Flashfresh assured her, seeing the obvious confusion on her face. “So don’t go second-guessing me now.”
“Okay, yes sir,” Persephone agreed, just starting to get her balance back.
“Anyway, I have a lot of work to do as you can see,” Flashfresh gestured at the piles of hard copy on his desk. “But we’re all getting together tonight at nineteen-thirty for drinks. You should come. Bring the medal with you.”
“Will do,” Persephone smiled and stood straighter. For the first time ever, she felt tall. She started to turn to leave, then stopped halfway and turned back. “Oh, Chief?”
Flashfresh looked up from his desk. He had already started into his paperwork.
“Yes, Persephone?”
“Can I bring a guest?”
From the hydrostatic capsule fitted inside her Tristan Pew Pew Pew!, Persephone Astrid radioed ahead to her dock crew in Evati once more.
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Persephone kept tabs on who entered and left the star system via the data feed from the stargates, and she saw that Warezmy Carr had just entered the system. Persephone remembered him well. He’d been a recent recruit candidate to The Bastards, but for a number of reasons he had not been considered closely. Instead of returning to wherever it was he had come from after the nascent relationship was severed, though, he’d set up shop in the local constellation and had become something of a fixture in the local population of capsule pilots.
“Do we have the firepower to take down a Loki?” asked Naughty Spawn from his hangar.
“I’ll bring something,” added Raelyf, a Senior Bastard, employing his usual understated confidence. Persephone trusted that something probably meant something horribly devastating. “Let us know when you’re ready,” Raelyf continued.
