Making An Entrance

Leaning on the brass rail of a restaurant balcony, Mr. Carvill watched the final rays of the red star slide behind the looming spectre of a gas giant. He wore the same sneering expression and wrinkled nose plastered on his face since he arrived on this moon several days ago. This establishment was thankfully a distance away from the sickly myst seeping through the earth on the other side of a lengthy bridge from his district, but the whole place had a stench to it.

The well-dressed man looked up to his right and sighed wistfully at the bright lights of an entertainment zone atop a floating island and the onyx skyscrapers reaching into the clouds. How he wished he were up there. How he wished he were anywhere but here. Mr. Carvill wondered how long until he’d be welcome in those circles again.

He shrank as two colourful people having a cigstick next to him on the balcony looked his way. Mr. Carvill coughed and fiddled with his ill-fitting suit that failed to hide his air of noble privilege.

Before they turned to engage with their mark, the mass of his bodyguard appeared between them. “Not today, scum. Move along.” They tutted, flicked their cigsticks off the balcony, then gave him cut-eye and slinked back inside the restaurant.

The other bodyguard approached and bumped one of them with her shoulder. Seeing the look in her eye, the nasty scar down her face, and her hand that hasn’t left the sword at her hip since they arrived, the colourful people kept walking and hurled a stream of harsh invectives in a creole language unique to Kel Jira at her.

As she rejoined her fellows on the balcony, she said, “In all my years, never have I seen such a wretched hive of scum and villainy. We’d be doing the galaxy a favour by purging it once our business is concluded.”

The massive bodyguard narrowed his eyes. “You speak true, but your words are out of line all the same.”

She set her jaw and lowered her head. “Apologies, my…“ She bit her tongue before my lord. “Apologies, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Mr.” Carvill turned as his guard helped attach his respirator. “The stench of this place exacerbates the stress of recent events. We must redouble our efforts to resist its corruption lest we lose ourselves. Our esteemed handler claimed we’d be provided high-class accommodations in a district called The Barony. If we weren’t lying low I’d file a complaint with the faux nobility of this land. Furthermore, if the environs and rabble weren’t bad enough, I’m liable to die of boredom. Starved to death from lack of any sense of real culture out here in the Void.”

He sighed and adjusted his ill-fitting jacket before gesturing for the other two to proceed back to their room.

An elegant woman dressed and carrying herself with an air of purposeful refinement paced in the elevator lobby around a large ornate chest. She flicked a strand of curly dark hair off her stylish glasses and spoke into the holopad she held in front of her. Her accent carried similar notes to Mr. Carvill’s.

“I thought you said you were a man of culture? A businessman. I can’t do business with your excuses.” The person on the other side of the call tried to explain, but a third voice cackling and the sound of flames drowned him out. She scoffed. “You’ve exhausted my patience. Call me back if you get your act together, but don’t expect these goods to stay still for long.”

While his guards stood at the ready and summoned the elevator, Mr. Carvill’s eyes remained transfixed on this woman. Time moved in slow motion for him as he watched her roll an weathered coin up and down her dexterous fingers. Her other hand absentmindedly rubbed the cool rich mahogany skin on her chest up to her neck. He felt his heart beating between his ears as she turned and locked eyes with him.

After a moment she said, “If you stare much longer, I’ll have to send you an invoice.”

He looked away and cleared his throat before attempting to loosen his collar. One guard stepped between them, but Mr. Carvill extended a hand to stop them. “My apologies. It’s been some time since I’ve been in the presence of another with a sense of class. How come you travel this place without an escort?”

She flashed him a smirk, leaned on the ornate chest and crossed her feet. “Those who know, know. Those who don’t will find out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps I am due an education. What manner of business do you conduct?”

The elevator doors slid open with a ding. His massive guard stepped inside and held it open with a meaty arm. The other waited next to her ward, eyes darting between the strange tension in the lobby. After taking a long moment to size him up, the mysterious woman sauntered into the elevator. The ornate chest floated along at her command.

As she passed him, she said, “Play your cards right and I promise, my lord, I’ll show you something you’ve never seen before.”

***

Mr. Carvill’s hotel suite filled with laughter as he sat in the seat across from the bed where his new guest sat. The jovial mood dampened on either side by the massive bodyguard blocking the door and the scarred bodyguard surveying the window. She took every opportunity she could to glower at this newcomer she didn’t trust.

Positioned next to the ornate chest, the woman crossed her legs and leaned in to speak candidly with her host. “Much like yourself, I wouldn’t be caught dead in this place. But my sensibilities as a curator couldn’t resist when I caught wind this piece was here. I made it my life’s mission to see it in the hands of someone who could appreciate it properly.”

He smiled, “Much obliged, my lady. I’d wager you know the feeling of being starved for good company. Absolutely suffocating. Oh, that reminds me. I managed to secret a bottle of something special on my journey here. A fortuitous meeting such as this is cause for celebration.” He gestured for his guard to fetch them glasses. “As you said, I kept it until I could share it with someone who could appreciate it properly.”

The massive bodyguard popped the bottle of fine spirits and poured a glass for their new guest. Despite specific orders to lay low and not interact with anyone, he found himself entertaining a mysterious guest with a mysterious container. The guards had been trained better than to question their superiors, however.

After sampling and commenting on the spirit’s vintage, she said, “What do you know of the kimone, Mr. Carvill?”

He stroked his chin and wrinkled his brain. “Those are one of the canid sapients, are they not?”

Her face lit up as she adopted her teacher tone. “Very good, Mr. Carvill.”

“Yes, the fox folk! Tricksters and illusionists.” He couldn’t help himself.

“Indeed, those are the stereotypes. A beautiful and intriguing people, unfortunately, they’re frequently on the run from persecution and mistrust.” She ran a nail along one of the fluid designs carved into the top of the ornate chest. “Kimone art like this is rare and often mistreated in this cruel galaxy. I felt it my duty to find this piece a new home before it fell into the wrong hands.”

Mr. Carvill straightened in his chair and nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. It is the duty of civilized people, after all.” He ran his hands along his thighs. “I must say, the anticipation is killing me, my lady. Please, let us see it. Consider me sufficiently tantalized.”

She stood up and positioned herself in front of the chest as Mr. Carvill had his scarred bodyguard move his chair to the centre of the room against the wall so he could have a front-row seat without the bed in the way. The curator adjusted the chest to better line up with his new position and spoke over her shoulder as she fiddled with the controls.

“Brace yourself. While not the most conventionally attractive or elegant piece, it has a certain rustic charm and force of will that may catch you off-guard.”

She struck the top of the chest with her fist as a low growl emerged from within. The scarred bodyguard narrowed her eyes and uncrossed her arms. The curator chuckled and rapped the sides of the box twice. First behind her and to the left where the scarred bodyguard stood, and again on the right side facing the massive bodyguard.

After entering the unlock code on the controls, she said, “Here… we… go.” The elaborate gears spun as she took a big step back. The room held its breath until the mechanism locked and emitted an obnoxious error message.

“Oh, bugger. Give me a moment.” The curator jogged back up to troubleshoot the controls.

Bouncing an increasingly restless leg, Mr. Carvill leaned forward. “Is something the matter? Do you require assistance?”

She held up a hand and laughed. “No, no. Just a minor hiccup. How embarrassing. I swear this has never happened to me before.”

As his other leg joined in the restless dance, he beckoned his aides. “I insist. Some muscle and elbow grease will crack it open in no time.” The massive bodyguard stomped forward. The curator motioned to protest but stepped back as he produced a vibra-knife, activated it and rammed it through the lid’s seam and started prying.

As the chest rocked on its own, the scarred bodyguard said, “Enough of this. Stand back, my lord!”

Mr. Carvill stood and raised a hand. “Come now. Surely, that’s not necessary…“ Too deep in protection mode, she surged forward and grabbed the curator’s shoulder, wrenching her away from the chest. As the massive bodyguard grew frustrated, he shook the whole container. As the contents rattled inside, it uttered some strained curses.

The room filled with the unmistakable high-pitched whine of a railgun charging up, then a deafening, concussive boom as a shotgun blasted half the lid off and tore a massive hole in the massive bodyguard’s chest.

As his body fell to the ground hard enough to shake the floor, the scarred bodyguard drew her weapon and yanked the “curator” back. The mysterious woman leaned into the momentum and spun the bodyguard into the wall. Her cybernetics kicking into action, the scarred soldier grabbed her by the hair, but the wig slid off in her grip. The curator cracked the guard across the jaw with a spinning sidekick, but the stalwart soldier took the hit, slammed her opponent against the wall, threw her to the bed and pointed her laser pistol at her chest.

A slew of curses in the broken chest reached a crescendo as a booted foot kicked off what remained of the blasted lid. A bruised kimone woman with fiery red wavy hair, freckles, a black eye, and a bandage across her nose stood up and unloaded the second barrel of her heavy gauge sawed off over-under rail shotgun at the scarred bodyguard. Sparks flew as the payload took off the soldier’s cybernetic arm, part of her opposite shoulder and a chunk of the wall. The curator caught the laser pistol as it flew out of the severed cyberarm and kept firing at the scarred soldier until she dropped for good.

The red-haired kimone slipped on some blood as she hopped out of the chest. “Really, Zero? Not the most conventionally attractive?”

Zero tossed the scarred bodyguard’s body off her and rolled off the bed. She dropped the Erissian accent and spoke with her natural Kel Jiran tones. “I was painting a picture to excite the imagination. The best lies contain seeds of truth, Red. You’d understand what I meant if you spent a moment to look in the mirror and groom yourself for once in your life.” She sneered at her ripped suit and the grazed wound on her elbow.

Red grumbled. “You’ll understand with my foot up your ass.” She cracked open the shotgun and two smoking shells flew out to clatter across the floor.

The angry kimone mystrunner stomped over and grabbed Mr. Carvill by the foot before he could crawl to the exit. “Not so fast, butalo. We need to have a word with you.”

She dragged him across the floor, lifted him up and tossed him against the wall. He smoothed his dishevelled hair with a shaking hand. “Wh-What do you want with me? I-I have v-very powerful friends!”

Zero sauntered over to stand opposite her teammate and put her hands on her hips. “Not powerful enough. You and your snob-lord pals messed up bad. The bigger fish wants to know where you’re hiding the stolen museum pieces. Tell us what we need to know and this goes easy.”

Red reloaded the heavy shells into the chambers and flicked the barrels up in his face. “I’ll let you imagine what the hard way feels like.”

His eyes darted back and forth. After a moment of panic, the nobleman grit his teeth and adjusted his blood-stained jacket. “Now you listen here, you… wretched thugs. I refuse to be treated this way! If it pleases you to threaten and torture me, do what you must. You’ll get nothing from me. As I see it, I’m the one with leverage in this situation, and all you have is sadism and empty threats. If you want what I have, then you’d best start treating me in a manner appropriate to my station. Roll out the red carpet, make an entrance—“

Red and Zero’s eyes opened wide, then they shoved each other out of the way, falling in opposite directions. An explosion rocked the room as a breaching charge blasted a hole in the wall right behind Mr. Carvill.

Before the smoke could settle, a feline-like Ra’Shasi man with a mask and gang tattoos combat rolled through the opening and pointed dual pistols in opposite directions. “Woo! Who’s ready to rock— Hey, what the fuck?” He lowered his weapons. “Everyone’s cooked. Why’d you say the code phrase?”

Trying to catch her breath from the concussive blast, Zero coughed and waved away the smoke. “What?!”

The man scratched his head with one of his pistols. “What are you, deaf?”

Red got to her feet and swatted him so hard between coughs that his mask fell off his head. “Yeah, Stray, we’re fucking deaf because you fucking blew the fucking charge for no fucking reason!”

Stray raised a hand defensively, then shoved her off of him. “Yo, don’t have to shout. I’m right here. Where’s the target, anyway?”

Zero gestured toward the pink mist they were all breathing in. Stray made a face. “Oh. That’s fucked up.”

A diminutive, gnome-like sprig with oversized goggles emerged from under a desk and leaped onto the bed. She held a holoslate over her head triumphantly and shouted. “Got the goods, fam! No stoppin’ Feebee. Up top!” She received a high-five from Stray that knocked her into the pillows.

A man wearing a well-loved and decorated long coat flicked a set of wild locks out of his face and stepped into the room. Blaze spoke with a voice mixed with a unique blend of gravel and silk that made it great for radio. “See? We chill. Let’s jet before the baron’s goons come knocking, yeah?”

As the team scurried out the hole in the wall, Blaze lit a cigstick with a magical flame from his thumb. “You hurt?”

Zero dusted off her shoulder and rubbed her buzzed head. “Just my pride.” She and Red shared a sour look as the kimone spun the massive bodyguard’s vibra-blade in her hand and exited through the breach. She continued, “Not how this gig should’ve went.”

He sifted through some leftover bits the nobles left on the table. “Comms got jammed on this level. Couldn’t tell who was talking through the walls.” She shook her head as the sirens closed in on the building. He held out a hand. “Hey, you did great. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Zero took Blaze’s hand, and the runners ziplined back into Mystwalk across the bridge.