Small Buisness Bites Scene 6

And the aftermath... or at least the first one...

****

            I waited in an interview room.   It was a drab room with bare concrete block walls, generic carpeting,  and a stout metal table bolted to the floor.  Everything in the room was standard colony grade equipment.  There was actually a company, in Armstrong I believe, that sold kits.  They provided a cargo container of fittings,  a set of blueprints, and directions on how to fab and assemble the simple parts.

            It was an economical way that meant one only had to pay to ship out what could not be built locally.   It did mean that many municipal buildings out here followed the same drab functional lines.

            That said,  governmental buildings on earth also followed the same lines.

            I straightened my shoulders and folded my hands on the table. This was a civilized place at least.  I had time to get medical attention, make a couple calls, see that Camille was squared away and then wait with a supply of water and a bowl of some type of dried fruit.

            I had worked on colonies where the proper response to an incident was to go back to the office, fort up, and then make delicate inquiries as to the level of bribes the constables and town councilmen were expecting.

            Waiting seemed to be a part of civilization.

            It gave me more time to think and clear my head.  I would have slept but despite the post adrenalin crash my apprehension as up.  Might have been for the best, a recording of me soundly sleeping before being interviewed might be suspicious.

            The door opened and a stout, strong man with a trimmed beard stepped in.  He wore dark blue pants, a buttoned own shirt, and a long dark grey coat.  A  badge was on the left side of his belt; his gun on the right.

            "Marshal Vallhun." I nodded my head.

            "Victoria." He took the seat across from me and took out a battered department issue tablet.  It was an older model that had been specifically hobbled in its capabilities to provide, at least the attempt of, a secure provenance of any evidentiary data.  "You gave quite the statement."

            "We were attacked."  I took a sip of water.

            "Yes you two really faced some nasty figures," he put the tablet down.   "Between you and me, you and your friend did a lot to clean up this city. Almost a shame you let two of them run away. If I were in your shoes I'm not sure I could have held back."

            I gave a polite note. If he were there he would have had a duty to pursue a fleeing suspect.  He would also have qualified immunity protecting his actions.  He would also not be immediately talking with an investigator about his use of force.

            "Thank you Marshal.   You have my full cooperation,  once my legal counsel arrives." I gave him a business-like smile.

             He nodded  "I've just got a few basic questions." He paged through the tablet. "Camille said the first perp was 30 feet away and that he shot first.   But he only shot her seven times.  Does that sound right to you?"

            I folded my hands.  Even for me, the urge to help, to answer a person's question, especially an authority figure's questions was strong.  However, I was familiar with these tactics.  Moreso, I knew  Camille would be even more recalcitrant than I.  But most importantly, Camille would never use "feet",  when she learned human units she learned metric.

            "Well,  we'll have quite the conversation once my attorney shows up. I'm sure we can get things straightened up."

            Vallhun sighed.  "Ma'am, I've have a busy night."

            I thought that was a bit churlish given I was the one who had to use lethal force against multiple deadly opponents.

            He turned the tablet off. Or at least he blanked the display. "A drunk sailor in a brothel hit a girl. She bit him in a tender place. He drew a gun started shooting and,  the other girls tore him apart.  at least that's what the girls say,  conveniently there's no recording devices allowed on premises and they do a sweep of any visitors."

            I sipped some water.

            "A drug shack on the north side of the island burned down we pulled out three bodies, and we're not sure if it was the owners covering their tracks, and it burned too fast for them, rivals taking them out, or a local arsonist having fun."

            "Busy night?" I asked letting my mind think on the future.  If I presumed my legal representation would get this sorted out, the next few weeks were going to have a mess of extra workload as even a justified  use of lethal force could be quite expensive and time consuming.

           I would also have to go to my replacement weapons, as my nicest holster and gun were now evidence.  Longer term, I doubted Hans had only one lickspittle remaining. I further doubted that he would hop on the next submarine off-world.

            "Above average," he dryly noted. "Two bodies  were found floating in the harbor."

            I did not respond to that.  Bodies in the harbor was a regrettably common thing.  Like Camille and I had hypothesized, someone could get the occasional source of meat in this city simply enough.  It was if someone tried to get a regular supply that it would get noticed.

            " A poor suicidal girl tied back her wings and jumped off  the observatory railing on the summit of the island's peak,  but the tie off didn't go well and her wings came undone. Retarded her fall just enough that she didn't die clean. It looks like a suicide case, but the girl's mothers said she wasn't acting strange and there's no record of her having suicidal statements."

            "And compared to that a bar brawl that spilled out and with one guy with a crushed neck and the other shot in the stomach is normal. The guy shot in the stomach claims it was self defense but camera take's not so clear."

            He gave me a grim smile.  "And then there's your escapade.  A high ranking company girl,  who she filed the intent for personal protection beforehand.   Who ended up accosted and killing half a dozen known low-lifes.  So, I'd really like to be able to put one of tonight's cases to bed early."

            The marshal flicked the screen to his tablet back on. "That way I can get to the cases where the actual items are dead and not being suck in my interview rooms."

            He had been understating things, that was a very busy night for Mooring.   Vallhun and his men did have a jurisdiction of about half a million souls. Violence was not uncommon out here,  but that was more like the overnight toll of a city on Earth, or one of the Inner Colonies,  cities that were two orders of magnitude larger.

            I leaned in, and gave a bright smile. "In that case Sir, you will certainly have my full cooperation."

            Vallhun looked up, waited for a beat.  "Once your attorney shows up?" he asked morosely.

            I ate some of the dried fruit. "As you say."

****

Small Buisness Bites Scene 5

And here we go... 

****

            "Pity?" The gangly man in the surprisingly nice suit chuckled. "Victoria Fallbrook Executive, Willard Capabilities and Solutions. And..."

            "She's Camille Springville, Mr. Lange " his buzz-cut sidekick announced in a sycophantic tone. Motes of light started to glow along his fingers.

            "Yes,  Hans, thank you," the gangly man's smile was strained, as turned back to me with his just luminous eyes. "Quite the business you run out here.  Payroll,  insurance, protection."

            Camille's stance shifted and I could just make out her sober expression. We were out numbered, our comms were down, but time was on our side.  The more time we had the better we would be.

            Two of the goons facing her tried to loom.  Twins, over two meters tall, and nearly as wide, they loomed rather well. Though it was offset by the simple boilersuits and brown coats they wore.

            "Ah,"  I inclined my head ever so slightly in a bow. Talking was good. "Are you interested in opening an account then?"

            Lang's tie ruffled in the wind.  "Don't be so coy. I know your organization is more than willing to look the other way.  Why else are you here instead of letting the marshals deal with it?"

            I put on my negotiating smile and made a note to have words with Helen about the type of favors she asked of me. I spread my hands. "You're right."  Deescalation was the goal.  "We both make use of the... proclivities of the Descended."

            Camille growled.  And the goons around her looked between themselves.   The large bald man with the thin silver modwork along his neck and head cracked his knuckles.

            Lange leaned on his cane.  "Good help is hard to find.  But I've got more."

            I held a hand up. "I'm no shopkeep you can try to muscle in.  If you want business we can talk business."

            "What, in your office?" Lange chuckled.

            "You can bring your men," I assured, smoothly,  bringing my arms back together, one crossed in front of my torso the other near my wrist.

            Lange smiled.  It was a skeptical, mocking expression.

            Damn, he's not buying it.

            I stepped back  and heard Camille's tail slap the ground. Good.

            "Maybe the problem isn't my men, maybe the problem is your 'man'. Don't worry we can handle her." Lange tapped the tip of his cane.

            I kept from frowning.  That had concerned me, this gang thought they could muscle a bunch of Descended. They had to have taken some precautions, that is if they were sane.

            The twin brutes reached into their coats as the one with the artificial hand spread his fingers and thrust out with it.

            However, my attention was on Lange who had twisted the top of his ridiculous cane and his, sycophantic partner, Hans's luminous fingers.

            Camille flexed her hands and released her distraction.

            A weapon, fire has its limits.  People are mostly water.  Water takes a lot of energy to heat up. It takes a lot of heat to do structural damage to a person.  Now, in an enclosed space, carbon monoxide poisoning can be quire effective. 

            Historical flamethrowers were great on bunkers for that reason.  They killed more by suffocation than by burning.

            Unfortunately, we were outside. And even those devices were limited by a capacity that could be measured in a handful of seconds.

            Still, fire had one great advantage as a weapon.  Even against foes protected against it.

            It was very distracting.

            Having your face burned may not kill a person, but it does make fighting a lot harder. And even if the burns were not debilitating flinching in reaction to fire is a instinctual reaction.

            It was all about getting a bit more time.

            Camille charged right on the heels of the panicked screaming and blasts, but I had my own concerns.

            Already across my chest, my hand went in and took the butt of my gun.   The holster was more than decorative and my draw was clean.    Hans had his hand.  Electricity cracked in a flashy way, I shifted my target.   The glowing sight covered his chest and I pulled the trigger.

            Three more shots followed that and he began to fall.

            Lange changed with a thin blade in-hand.  At least that explained what he had in that silly cane.

            Ponytail-whipping, he lunged forward with the sword cane,  putting his whole body from his legs to his hips and up his arms into it.

            He was tall, and, within striking distance, a big sharpened iron bar was more than effective enough.

            Twisting my torso, I leaned to the side.  It was a small motion,  barely half a meter, but was enough for the blade to sweep past open air.

            Lange shifted and tried to slash me, but he seemed a bit awkward with that silver grip.

            I didn't give him time to get a better grip.  I released my support hand from my gun and grabbed him on the wrist.   That would only keep his sword controlled for a moment but that's all I needed.

            With my gun hand, I swung around and

            That little weasel Hans slammed into me.

            Pain flashed along my side as he body-checked me and raked my side.

            Cursing my tunnel-vision, I stumbled a bit and fell.   The sparking barbs  from his gauntleted hand shot over my head.

            The little mans beady eyes boiled with hate.   Blood sheeted down his ruined chest,  but between such possibilities as  adrenalin,  drugs,  sub-dermal armor some people would keep fighting until it became physically impossible.   Hans, for his slight size,  seemed to be one of those men.

            My tumble didn't quite put me all the way on my back,  but my side hurt and my butt was on the ground.  Thankful my skirt was something sensible, I splayed my legs so I could shoot over them and took sight.

            Gasping Lange starred at the blood sheeting down his toady.   Then his attention went to Camille and his face went white.

            Blood flew from her tail as she whipped it behind her.   One of the twin goons before her was on the ground  his head smoking,  his leg nearly torn off and a pool of blood oozing around him.

            There was a long torn crevasse-like slash down his back. 

            The other man wobbled and tried to shoot a boxy little carbine that he must have hidden in his coat.

            Her left wing went out and knocked his aim while a flickering ball of light formed in her left hand.

            Orange fire ran in an arc that splashed his arms and a face that was already an angry red from flames.  He flinched as his clothes enflamed and  pressed against her wing.

            Then the bald man,  his neck and skull glinting with a sweat and silver light her side and tore at her wing.  His mouth practically frothed.

            Carbine free, the remaining twin rotated the compact rifle and fired.  Impacts flared on her chest and some blood spilled,   she gasped and with her other hand returned fire.

            Her pistol was not as pretty as mine, but it was the same perfectly functional caliber.  And it was a perfectly functional weapon.  She was also a better shot.  Bits flew from the twin's head as she shot through his nose.

            Muscles bulged on the bald man's neck, arms and back, as  his mods continued to dump a potent cocktail into his blood stream.

            Howling, he grabbed onto Camilla's back with a maddened bear-hug and with one hand started periodically punching her in the face.  Gasping, Camille's tail whipped back and barbed fins began slicing through his thighs.  She twisted her gun back and started to fire into him.

            Then the short-haired man with the prosthetic arm rushed  in.   The bulky cybernetic hummed as he charged her.

            I fired into his chest but the brute did not slow down.   Maybe he hard armor, maybe he had combat drugs as well. My slide locked back and I put in a fresh magazine.  Sighting, I gave a brief frown.

            Between the distance and his weaving I did not trust my ability to hit his head and miss Camille.  Between that and the failure of hitting his chest, I was left with my third choice.

            My sights lowered.  Compared to the head the pelvic girdle was a far larger target.  Anatomically much of the human skull was empty cavity, mouth, and sloping, thick bone.  Shooting a person in the jaw could be quite debilitating, at least in long term quality of life,  but it will not kill them.

            In truth,  the pelvic region did not have the equivalent of a deep brain hit.   Even cutting the femoral artery would take time.  However, in addition to a pair of extremely large blood vessels, the pelvis had large bones,  and critical joints.

            And  person had far less range when it came to dodging and weaving their hips than their head, or even their torso.  And the entire body mass of body was centered on the pelvis.

            Shooting the chest, stopping the enemy's pumps, failed.  I did not have a clear shot at their brain. But I did have a clear shot at his mobility.  While his chest was likely armored,  reinforcing the pelvic region was less common.  For one, the ball and socket hip joints made armor, subdermal or other, difficult to articulate.

            I pulled the trigger.    Even with the caliber of my weapon, handgun penetration, especially here was dodgy.  There was also the chance that he was thoroughly armored.

            After a few controlled pairs, the man screamed as blood started to sheet out from his crotch.  He looked down with horror.   Ah yes, I suppose there was a slight psychological effect to repeal firing in that region as well.

            There was s crumpling as the man's left hip broke and that entire side became unable to support his weight.

            Heat shimmered around the palm of his prosthetic arm as he tottered, trying to balance on one leg.   The he fell.  His meat arm broke his fall and skittered.   Blood spurted out between his legs, down his chest, and from his broken arm,  but he pointed his other arm like it had some sort of ranged ability.

            Still on my own back I adjusted my aim.    Now his skill was moving only a little bit as he tried to crawl and it was much closer to the ground.  I had a clear view of the side of his head.

            I fired.

            After confirming, I shifted my gaze, sweeping around.   The fight had...  shifted in the moments I was tunneled in on the man with the prosthetic arm.

            Camille had charged forward and was on her knees over one of the thrashing attackers.  I could not tell which one he was, there was too much blood and too few limbs.

            Behind her were the viscera and the remains of the man foolish enough to grab a Descended from behind.    There were a few flashes as the thrashing man's weaponized implants were removed and he stilled.

            My grip tightened on the gun as I lowered the weapon and scanned again.  No movement.   Wincing, I  put my offhand down and rolled my legs back and went to a double kneeling position. 

            Still scanning, I went up to one knee and then stood up.

            Movement!

            A  familiar suit coat flapped as a man limped down the alleyway across the street.   To his side was a gangly fellow who was pulling him along.

            I exhaled and watched them flee.

            In the near term, that was the best option.         

            Holding someone, or multiple people, at gunpoint with only one person helping is about the most stressful thing you can do.  They were just trying to kill you,  and they know they have a narrow window until the authorities arrive.  Thus they will wait and exploit any distraction, any weakness and bide their time until they can get their chance.

            About the only thing worse was doing that task alone.

            I glanced back at Camille.

            She had risen up.   Her gun was holstered and her knife had been slipped back into a pocket.    Her loose shirt was ripped and blood dripped from the tips of her fingers and down cuts on her forehead and cheeks. She idly licked her lips ad a bit of blood dribbled down and her tail flicked its end.

            "Clear?"  she asked, stepping over to me.

            "Uh...  yeah," I blinked.

            Her features shifted.   "Holster. Arms legs, torso," she ordered as she patted me down.

            I returned the gun to my shoulder rig. "It's not-" I stopped when the pain flared on the opposite side

            I turned, looked down and swore.   More in the embarrassment of being wounded by an absurd sword-cane than in the actual pain.  I was not that shocked that I was unaware of being injured.  I had more important things to worrya bout at the time

            "Your vest got most of it," Camille noted as she unceremoniously pulled the trauma kit from my belt, opened it up, and withdrew the foamer and some sealant pads.           "Well not on the side down here," she noted as she  used a claw to slice through my shirt and then unbuckled my vest.  "Eyes out," she sternly said.

            I nodded and tried to keep watch on the street as she worked.   The gang could come back.  Also the Marshals could arrive at any moment.  And well, a bloodied Descended and a armed woman surrounded by a corpses may cause a...  counterproductive reaction.

            "Okay,  you're good," Camille said after she finished and checked the rest of my body.   By Descended standards I suppose a few inch long gash in my side was not that much of a concern.

            "Your turn," I ordered.

            Camille blinked but then bowed her horns to me.    She shifted and took a watch position while I quickly ran my hands down each of her arms, down her torso, then checked her thighs and legs. Her vest was a bit deformed where the rounds from that carbine hit her.  None of them went through so maybe it as a pistol caliber weapon.  Either way, the bruising under the vest would be unpleasant, but not anything I could do about right now.

             In deference to Descended sensibilities I did only visually inspected her  tail and my hands went nowhere near her horns.

            "You're...  not spurting," I noted as I worked the foamer's nozzle to help spread the clotting aid and sealant.

            "I was already healing," she tersely, stiffly said. As if she were more uncomfortable by the physical contact than by the trauma she, we, had just experienced.  Her awkwardness was either out of discomfort or some other Descended emotion.

            "Yes," I murmured.   "Okay, you're good."

            I exhaled and looked down the street.  Now, I could feel my heart begin to race and my hands flexed.

            A few people had poked up at the end of the main road. Their eyes curious, their wings fluttering.  Right.

            "Log the witnesses," I told Camille.

            Nodding, she took out a phone and started taking pictured of the lollygagging women. They might have been waiting to see who won before taking the spoils of battle,  or they did not want to interfere,  or they had honestly just arrived now. I noted it was not her personal device but a cheaper model that she presumably carried as a spare.

            "We have signal?"  Keeping my gun hand near my pistol, I took my own phone out and smiled.  "Ah."  Either Lange took the jamming device with him, or it was broken in the fight.

            Procedure, checklists helped.   Next was calling the marshals.  Doubtless they were on the way, but it would be nice if dispatch had our descriptions and forwarded that to the responding officers.

            "I suppose I earned tonight's money," Camille dryly noted as she started to take pictures of the bodies and their weapons.

            "The night's not over," I warned. "We still need to-"

            I stopped when the line connected and a far too perky to be human voice answered.  "Mooring Marshal's Office please state the nature of your emergency?"

****

Lunar Works

I'm not quite done with the next scene of Small Buisness Bites (you can guess why given how the last scene ended).

I'll likely finish it today.But I figured I can build a bit of a buffer.

But instead of leaving you with nothing this Sunday, here's an teaser I've been wroking on.

            I killed my first Moon-Man on a crisp fall evening.  It was not the kind of thing one anticipates when they wake up, and trudge off to work.

            A violent encounter with the man a few apartments down from mine was not even on my mind as I blearily, got home late from work.   The moon was high in the sky in a brilliant waxing crescent.

            The twinkling lights were scattered on the two-thirds of the moon shadowed in darkness looking somewhat like stars where no stars should be. The lights were some of the larger settlements of the politely calling itself the Lunar Republic. 

            There were bigger colonies on the far side, among other things, but they were tight lipped about that stuff.

            I was looking up at the moon when Hans strode up.  He was a tall, almost stork-like man who walked with a bit of a careful shuffle.  I didn't know him that well.  We talked sometimes in the laundry room.

            He told me had some job at the embassy down town some assistant to a secretary of agriculture. The athletic blonde man said it like it was a big deal.  And I suppose it was, farming couldn't be easy up there.

            The Moon Man grinned at me and lit a cigarette.  "It is beautiful," he said wistfully, without any of the bile and aggression that would come later.

            "Heck of a thing you guys did up there," I stated, noncommittally.  Relations between the "Lunar Republic" and the US were... strained.  After the revolt half of NASA had been fired and thrown in prison.  It was worse for the Soviets, they didn't even both with the prisons. 

            But that was almost three decades ago

            "Yes we are doing great things,  all of us," Hans added glancing at me.

            I should have noted the covetous tone in his voice,  but I was tired.  And I didn't think my job was anything great. 

            "You miss it?" I asked.

            "Very, but I'll be back home soon enough."  He spread his hands and looked out at the trees across from the small parking lot.  "I will miss the... space."