A New Job...

Posted on Tue Sep 8th, 2009 @ 11:04pm by Kyle Bowman

769 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Session One - Jailhouse Rock
Location: Glausten orbital station
Timeline: Yesterday

It was several months after the bar fight.

Kyle stepped off the transport onto the Glausten orbital station docking platform. He was being shoved by the others getting of the transport, no courtesy form those kinds of people. “People like me.” He thought. He shook that thought off and stepped off the platform onto the concourse, His trench coat flapping in the breeze caused by pressure differential from the station to the ships landing and taking off in the Shuttle bay area.

It was an eclectic mix, Bolians, Vulcans, humans, Andorians. Even, Kyle felt his fists clench, teo Orions staggering out of a Bar. Ignoring them he pushed on, his small kit bag bumping into his left calf as people bumped him on their way wherever.

He walked through the crowds, resisting the nearest bar to find a small café on the top concourse, a more exclusive place then he was used to. The Concierge looked at him with distaste, but recognised the name he gave, and guided him to a small booth at the back, a nearby window looking out over the stations interior, the opposite showing the cold vacuum of space.

Sitting at the table was a man, dressed in very expensive, finely tailored clothes. He wore rings on every finger, and probably weighed close to 220 lbs.

He looked up as Kyle walked over, smiling a podgy smile as he sat. “Ahh, Mr. Bowman, glad to see you made it, I have just ordered some fine wine, will you have some?” His jowls wobbled as he talked.

An on/off alcoholic, Kyle grimaced, shaking his head, “You asked for me Mr. Coltichie?”

The nobleman nodded, then clapped his hands in delight as the wine was brought to the table, sipping it like a man dying of thirst. Kyle grimaced again, the noble’s manners appealing even by his standards. He cleared his throat.

The noble looked at him again, “Ahh, yes, I did Mr. Bowman. I have heard you are a good pilot, especially when dealing with-” He lowered his voice to what he thought was a conspiratory level “-Certain products.”

Kyle nodded in a casual manner, “What do you need Mr. Coltichie?” trying hard not to sound exasperated with the little man.

“Well, I have a shipment of Elasian Pigmy fowl coming in; I need you to get them from the surface to my ship in orbit for the next two weeks, under the radar you understand.”

Kyle was confused for a moment; this was not what he was expecting. Jobs like this were usuly involving illicit substances, or people smuggling. He wasn’t sure if this rich idiot was joking or not.

However, after a moment it all made sense. Coltichie owned a massive number farms across the sector, and Glausten fowl had some of the highest laying numbers, increasing yield by a huge percentage, although shipment of the world was highly illegal. Even with replicator use at a height after 100 years, there was still a call for fresh food, one that men like Coltichie had been happy to exploit.

Keeping an open mind Kyle continued, “An… Interesting offer sir, and what would be the payment?”

The fat noble waved his hand dismissively “Oh, you will be well paid, 500 bars of latinum, divided into equal payments for each trip undertaken.”

Kyle almost fell of his chair. 500 bats would keep him going for a year, wine and women up to his neck. Keeping that thought to himself, he held out his hand to seal the deal.

The Nobel took it, showing the first sign of distaste since meeting Kyle. He hid it well, but Kyle had been reading people for years, and saw it in his manner immediately. Now the deal was official, the noble had more to add; “You’ll be calcified as my official pilot, shuttling ‘me’ too and from the planet on ‘privet excursions’, I’ll have your papers made up immediately. However, I will require you to attend a ball tomorrow, as my actual pilot has been taken ill, and I need someone there. The doorman will know your name; it will be on pylon 4 at 8pm. The job relies on your attendance.”

Kyle was a little taken aback, but before he could speak the Noble had stood, “be sure to wear some thing more… appropriate...” he looked over Kyle’s worn attire with distaste before walking off.

Kyle sat for a moment, staring at the empty wine glass, before giving a lopsided smile, leaving the café, back into the bustle of the promenade. He was wondering what counted as appropriate clothing.

 

RSS Feed