Reputation
Part III
Even if the money was rolling in now, free drinks were--and would always be--nice. Tirai had received enough in her time from that sadder variety of suitor who thinks every woman at a bar is up for it, but to get them for being a legend: ah, that just plain made them taste better.
The year was wearing on, and job after job yielded great stories. Going hand-to-gun with a man in powered armor was soon eclipsed by diving onto a target’s ship from a kilometer above and nailing it without the need for jump jets, rounding up ten gangsters while sharing an elevator with them, and taking down the Union’s most wanted with just a steel file and a torn curtain.
Not that I got away free and clear, she thought, looking round the bar and seeing no sign of Quenn. Her partner had, understandably, not been thrilled with the broken equipment, wounds and blood that went with the whole sideshow, and had opted to avoid the bars on R&R time.
“I’ll leave you to your adoring public,” Quenn had said.
Fine, who needs ya. Tirai hardly listened as hard-faced men told her stories--hell, gushed--about her own exploits as if she weren’t there.
“No, no, you idiot,” one insisted, jabbing his finger at another, “when she took The Arup-Choim Bandits down, it was all six of the head guys, and it was in their headquarters. Big ritzy place on one of the Huitzilo orbitals.”
“Bullshit, she caught them in the middle of a freighter job and took ‘em planetside on Cyrus. How can you not remember this? She tied ‘em up and took ‘em to a mountaintop and waited for the Union to come pick ‘em up.”
So close, boys, except not at all. Not that it mattered. Before she knew it, the barkeep was ushering the loudmouths out, and most of her adoring fans quickly followed them out, smelling blood. That left her and . . . someone she hadn’t noticed before. A well-dressed man, more than well-dressed enough to stick out like a sore thumb. He finished off his glass of what looked to be neat scotch and adjusted his tie.
“May I?” His voice was smooth, his eyes analytical: a strict business type, then. That just made him seem more out of place, but Tirai welcomed the change, nodding at him and rapping the bar with her knuckles. The man had settled neatly into the stool adjacent hers by the time her gin was topped off.
“So, Mister May I, what can I do for you?”
“You may call me Fyodor. You can infer, I think, that I am not here on my own behalf.”
“I suppose I can. You seem like the type that won’t tell me whose behalf he is here on.”
“A fair observation, but secrecy gains us nothing this time. I am here representing a handful of the parties who have posted bounties to the off-net listings on Marduk,” he said, in a low whisper.
“More work?” Tirai arched a brow. “Listen, I don’t take direct commissions. Your friends have something good, they can put it out there and I’ll see if I want to take it on.”
“That is not quite why I’m here,” Fyodor said, still betraying no emotion. “Rather, those I represent are unhappy with certain aspects of your work. I think that a crowd in a common bar in the middle of nowhere paying enough attention to it to swap tall stories summarizes the problem. You are making a spectacle of yourself.”
“. . . are you kidding me?” Tirai groaned and took an open-mouthed swig of her drink. “So I’ve been a bit flashy lately. A bounty hunter has to make a name for herself, you know how it is. I’m not a merc, so I’m having to race for every mark I take. An inside line is worth a lot, and a rep’s the only way to get one. Hell, your friends’ little underground listing is three-quarters of my income this year so far.”
“Inside lines are indeed valuable, not only to you, but to my clients, as well. Listings such as those they employ exist for discretionary purposes. You were granted access in part because of your record of quiet effectiveness up until this year, with the assumption that you understood its value. Your recent forays have drawn far too much attention to those on whom the bounties were placed. Investigations have been set in motion. Journalists have started poking in places they shouldn’t.” Fyodor fixed her with his steely gaze, though the rest of his body seemed perfectly still.
“So, what, are you about to threaten me?” It was almost enough to make her laugh. Almost.
“Not at all. Your indiscretion has had a material cost to many of my clients, number in the millions of enla already. However, in acknowledgment of their belief that the damage you’ve saved them from through your work far exceeds that, they are willing to pay you a sum of sixty-three-million enla and permit you continued access to the Marduk listings if you were to scale back the theatrics. I call that an offer, not a threat.”
The figure was enough to make Tirai’s heart skip and her mind fish for reasons to go along with it.
Shit, that’s six busy, lucky years right there. Money like that, Quenn and I could--but she took it no further.
“You think I do this just for the paycheck?” she barked.
Fyodor almost smiled at that. “I have no interest in speculating on your reasons.”
“Well, maybe your clients would like to know, before they go waving money at my face. I do this because I’m good at it. I’m damn good at it, and I’m going to keep going until I’m the best and everyone knows it.” She slammed the bar, her glass rattling with the impact.
“Reconsider,” the man replied, not even blinking. “Those who need to know are all fully aware of your great worth. Because they are so aware, I would think you’d want to avoid reducing that worth irretrievably.”
“Now that sounds enough like a threat.”
“You are free to interpret it that way, or as a gentle reminder that there are always enough bounty hunters to solve my clients’ problems, with or without you.” Fyodor rose in one easy, deliberate motion, and looked down at Tirai, his almost-smile completely gone. “I’m going to leave this bar, and I am going to inform my clients that I have relayed their wishes. In acknowledgment of the gravity of this decision, they have elected to take the conduct of your next operation as a reply, and will respond accordingly.”
Tirai clenched her teeth and hunched over her drink, watching the man’s back as he walked away. She could feel the heat filling her face, knew even then she was about to swat at a beast she probably shouldn’t, but none of that mattered. She was finally on top, where she’d always belonged, and they wanted to take that away from her.
“You can have my answer right now! Get spaced!” She only realized a moment later that the strange sensation in her palm and the mortified look on the barkeep’s face were owing to the glass she’d shattered with her shaking hand.
Quenn didn’t fail to notice that one of her hands was wrapped in bandages when she returned to the ship.
“Please, please tell me you didn’t get in a barfight.”
“I did not get in a barfight,” Tirai grunted.
Quenn blinked. “. . . okay, I actually can’t tell if that was sarcasm or not, and that’s freaking me out.”
“No barfight. Just.” Tirai slumped into the gunner’s chair and heaved a sigh. “Some suit showed up and says some people on Marduk want me to go back to doing things quietly--”
“Amen.”
“--and offered a sixty-three-million enla payoff to do it.”
“Hallelujah!” Quenn’s hands waved ecstatically. Then, a pause. “You turned it down?”
“The guy said they’d ‘respond accordingly’ to however we play the next job, whatever that means. But I told him to--”
“Get spaced, yeah, I know your favorites, Monoure.”
“I thought we had this discussion already, you said you understood.”
“Wanting to play things a bit flashy to build a brand, I get that. Fine. I don’t like it, but I get it.” Quenn jabbed a finger straight into Tirai’s sternum, damn near pinning her to the chair with it. “But when an offer like that comes along, and all you have to do is ease off for a bit, and you do your damnedest to throw that away without even talking to me? Are we still partners, or did I miss something?”
“We are, but--”
“This is more than just about the brand, isn’t it. This legend thing, that you’ve got going? You just need everyone to know how damn great you are.”
The words themselves didn’t bother Tirai so much. She could stroll all up and down Memory Lane and find a thousand strings just like them. No, what got to her was that Quenn’s face didn’t hold any of the anger or wounded pride she was used to. No, instead, her partner just seemed worried.
“Because I am great! I’m the best there is, Quenn, or haven’t you noticed that I’ve kicked every ass that’s crossed my path? And I’m going to keep it that way until the day I die, so no one forgets my name. Understand?”
Tirai was surprised at herself. Her throat hurt, her mouth felt dry, her breathing rushed. She held Quenn’s hand in a vice-like grip, the androgyne’s mouth agape.
“I--okay, wow.”
“Quenn, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s--you needed to say that, I guess? I kind of knew, but . . . listen, I’m going to take a break for a while.”
A break. Tirai would never have figured that such simple words would ever chill her so.
“A break from what?” She winced preemptively as she asked.
“From all this, bounties and such. I’m tired, I’m scared for you, I just need to rest for a bit. Maybe you need some time to do things your own way, I don’t know.”
And just like that, they fell into silence. Tirai thought of a hundred things she could say to get the last word, but she let them all fall away. Quenn took them back into Union space and disembarked in orbit round Subutai, asking for three months’ time. They parted with a kiss, and that was it. Tirai herself hung around the orbital for a few days, took on a small crew and set out to round up a few more marks. She took two more with her now well-known flair, but heard nothing more from Fyodor or his ‘clients.’
As soon as the money was in her account, Tirai paid off the crew and disbanded them, putting the ship in at the Maurya orbital, with thoughts of returning home until Quenn reached out to her. While she mulled it over, she took to the streets, wandering the long central arcade of the orbital’s densest district. It had been a habit of hers for years, but this time the many open shops, restaurants and parks seemed to hold no attraction.
Oh, right, because this was always Quenn’s thing. She sighed and let herself drop into a nearby bench, eyes unfocusing as people walked by. She only barely noticed the space next to her being filled by a woman, clearly up there in years judging by the greying hair and the wrinkling skin.
“You’re Monoure Tirai, aren’t you?” she said, smiling.
“Heh, yeah, that’s me.” It was almost ridiculous, really, that she had gone from a normal bounty hunter to someone strangers pick out on the street in such a short time.
But this is what I’ve always wanted.
“I’ve heard stories, you’re quite impressive. My daughter won’t stop talking about your work.”
“Thanks, I try.” Not exactly sterling fan-handling, but at least it’s the truth. “Your daughter wants to be a bounty hunter when she grows up?”
“Oh, you’re sweet. No, I’m quite a bit older than that, she’s probably only a year or two younger than you. She’s just had an interest in it ever since she dated a bounty hunter a few years back.”
“That can be rough. We don’t exactly have a lot of people skills,” Tirai said, looking to the ground as she thought of Quenn’s astonished face. The woman was polite enough to let the comment pass and resume with good humor. They passed another half-hour in idle chatter, about the woman’s daughter, mostly. It was strangely refreshing not to be thinking about work for a bit, though that ended before Tirai could enjoy herself too much.
“So, are you here on work? Are you scoping out the target right now?” the woman asked, lowering her voice and feigning a conspiratorial look. Tirai debated the merits of telling her that she was, in fact, doing just that and sending her on her way, but she couldn’t quite muster the energy to lie.
“No, I’m just here to take my mind off some things. My partner and I had some big, stupid argument because I’m too much of an ass to think things through.”
“You seem to be ready to talk now. Doesn’t that mean you’ve made some progress?”
“I guess. It’s just, we’re supposed to be apart for three months and--I don’t know.”
“Oh, please. If some big, boisterous hunter is so down, it’s obviously not something that should wait.” The woman smiled at Tirai softly and patted her shoulder. “Do you love your partner?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And your partner loves you.”
“Yes.”
“Then go. Maybe that’s what you should be hunting right now.”
“Hah! That was pretty bad,” Tirai said, smiling.
“I’m a widow, I’ve had to learn to make dad jokes along the way, and I’ll have you know I take pride in it.” The woman puffed herself up, though she was fighting a smirk. “But, honestly.”
“You’re right. I’m going to go back and work this stuff out. Thank you, thank you.”
Tirai had run all the way back to her ship when she realized she hadn’t even gotten the woman’s name, and cursed herself. Still, there was no way she’d still be sitting at that same bench by the time she got back, so she sealed up the ship, set out from the orbital and laid in a course for Subutai.
And that was when this started. Tirai thought, rolling over onto her back as the last of her suit’s power drained away. She thought of willing it to open, but she was out of ideas, and she didn’t want to find out how much of herself was being held together by the armor casing. The monster was already upon her as the suit’s systems went dark, its heavy hand reaching down and ripping her helmet off, just as she had done to Christopher’s men. She wanted to laugh at the bitter irony, but she only had room for two thoughts.
I am going to die here, and I won’t be able to apologize to Quenn.
She lay there bleeding on the floor of her own ship, hundreds of megameters from any sign of civilization, with the dark green form of another suit of powered armor looming over her. It wasn’t too hard to piece together that this was the ‘response’ Fyodor had been talking about, but as the seconds passed and turned into a minute, then two, what puzzled her was why she wasn’t dead yet.
“Good news,” a voice came from the suit’s speakers. Tirai’s eyes widened immediately, she nearly choked on blood in her surprise; that voice belonged to her friend on the bench. “I’ve convinced them that you don’t have to die.”
“Y-you--” Tirai frowned. Had speaking always been this hard? Did the effort always make her so dizzy?
“You’re in a bad way, Tirai, don’t speak. Listen, here’s what I want to happen. I injure you more, badly enough that you need to be hospitalized for a while, and at great expense, but I don’t actually kill you. Orin Cheung? This job was all he had in his life.”
Ah, so that’s what it was, Tirai thought.
“But you have your partner, something else to live for. After enough people see you like this, your reputation’s gone, so there’s no more problem.” A pause. “Unless you’d rather I kill you while you’re still riding high?”
In that moment, as consciousness fled from her, Monoure Tirai had to admit that she wanted to live more than she wanted to be remembered.
-END-
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