“Oh vuck,” he muttered, tasting more blood.
“Why don’t you leave the kid alone, Gantok?” a clear feminine voice rang out, drawing his gaze. “He’s already broken his own nose, and he’s clearly about to wet himself.”
Wes saw a woman rising from a table just a few feet away. Her garb was similar to his own, a brown duster over black leather pants and a plain white shirt. The difference though, was hers was worn from long use. His own had been purchased just prior to the trip, and had been pristine until he’d bled all over them. The woman took a step toward the Marbok, drawing a shotgun from her boot holster. The weapon looked lethal, though it was probably not much of a threat to a Marbok. Her face made the gun look friendly. She was maybe forty, with shoulder length blonde hair and frosty grey eyes.
“Stay out of this, Tysha. He damaged my armor. I’m going to pulp him. I’ll pulp you too, if you don’t get the frag out of the way,” the Marbok rumbled. Wes scrambled back again, stopping when he unexpectedly bumped into another figure. This one had also risen from the woman’s table, and was even more intimidating.
The man towered over Wes, all muscle and scowls. He had dark skin and long, black dreads. That wasn’t what made him so terrifying though. He wore a skin-tight red and black suit, the mark of a Melter. As in brain Melter. Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice Wes, instead folding his arms across his chest as he stared at the Marbok.
“You’re going to walk away,” the blonde woman said, taking a protective step in front of Wes. “Or Tantor here is going to boil your brains until you’re about as intelligent as the rock that birthed you.”
The Marbok shot Wes another glare, and Wes dropped eye contact immediately. No sense inflaming the situation further. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Marbok’s attention focused on the Melter, Tantor apparently. Its eyes narrowed, but then it spun on a metallic heel and stalked out of the bar. It kicked the table closest to the door on the way out, shattering it into a pile of plastic shards. Wes winced, knowing that could have been him.
“You can get up now,” came a pleasant voice from the table.
Wes scrambled to his feet, sizing up the speaker. She was a beautiful brunette about his age, with light green eyes and a dimpled smile. The grease stains on one worn leather sleeve suggested she was a mechanic. Another woman sat next to her, a redhead in her early thirties. She was sipping something pink, and had a single eyebrow raised. The motion exposed a bit of chrome near her temple. A pilot then.
“Thank you,” Wes said, trying to regain his composure. He faced the blonde woman with the shotgun. “You may have just saved that Marbok’s life. I didn’t want to resort to further violence, but I’d have done what I had to.”
“Which is what, bleed on him?” the redhead said, eliciting laughter from the pretty mechanic. Wes’ cheeks heated.
The Melter shot the pair a baleful glare, then fished a grey cloth from his pocket and offered it to Wes. “Clean yourself up.”
Wes held the cloth up to his nose, wincing in pain as it rapidly filled with blood. He fumbled at his pistol, managing to holster it less than gracefully on the third attempt.
“You’re an archeologist,” the blonde woman said, returning her shotgun to the boot holster. She settled back into her seat, eyeing him appraisingly as she folded her arms behind her head.
“One of the finest,” Wes assured her, grabbing a chair from the next table and pulling it over. He sat with a flourish, making a great show of removing his duster. He draped it over the chair before sitting. “How did you know?”
“Because we see two or three of you in every port. I’m Tysha, by the way,” the blonde woman said. She offered him a hand, which Wes shook. Her grip was surprisingly firm. Well, maybe not so surprising. “Let me guess. You just graduated from an academy, a prestigious one from the look of you. You shelled out for some fancy clothes, a gun you don’t know how to use, and you hitched a warp on the first transport you could find.”
Wes opened his mouth, then shut it with a click. She was spot on, much as he hated to admit it. “Is it that obvious?”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” the mechanic said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. Her eyes were so green. “Don’t let the captain fluster you. Archeologists aren’t supposed to be fighters. You’re supposed to hire muscle to do that for you.”
“I’m not just an archeologist,” Wes shot back, squaring his shoulders. “I’m a relic hunter, and I’m here in pursuit of an incredible treasure.”
“A relic hunter? Like, from the holos?” the pretty mechanic asked, blinking. She cracked a grin. “I used to watch those too, when I was about ten. Tally ho!”
“Uh,” Wes began, mentally backpedaling. Not many people remembered the Relic Hunter show. “Yeah, kind of like the show. Tally ho,” he trailed off as amused smiles broke out all around him. She’d been playing with him.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” the mechanic said, offering a delicate hand. “I’m Sadie. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Wesley VonCamp, the sixteenth,” Wes said, sitting up straighter. “I just graduated from—”
“Not to cut this short,” the captain interrupted, leaning forward in her chair. “But we’re on a tight schedule. You’re looking to hire a ship, yes?”
“Yes, how did you—” Wes began.
“A ship that can take you through the debris field to the gas giant below?” the redhead asked. She was the only one who hadn’t offered a name yet.
“That’s right,” Wes said, letting his gaze range over the four strangers. He mopped a bit more blood from his nose, then set the cloth on the table in front of him. “If I can get below the debris field I believe I can get us inside the Elderi Spire. We’ll all be rich and famous. I can pay you well.”
“I think we might be able to come to an arrangement,” the captain said, giving him a smile that wasn’t at all comforting. “We have a ship, a pilot, and a crew capable of getting you onto that station.”
“Lovely,” Wes said, his grin drawing a wince of pain. “How much would it take to hire you?”
“We don’t work for anyone else,” the captain said, shaking her head. She leaned closer still, eyes drawing him in as she lowered her tone. “But we might be willing to add you to our crew. You’d get a standard share, just like the rest of us. If you can really bypass the outer security.”
“That’s a ship?” Wes asked, adjusting his glasses as he studied a vessel that should have been decommissioned before he was born. He stared at the trawler parked outside the station, a sleek chrome boarding tube clashing with the pitted hull. The long tubular ship had a single engine in the back, and tiny thrusters on the sides. It looked like the toy rockets they set off in elementary science, and probably had even less maneuverability. “It looks like floating garbage.”
“Yeah, well beggars and all that,” the captain said, gently but firmly guiding Wes toward the mouth of the docking tunnel. She threw her duster over her shotgun, eyeing a station security officer as they passed. Tysha was obviously in a hurry, though damned if Wes could figure out why. Elderi Spire had been there for millennia, and no one had breached it. They had all the time in the world. He didn’t resist as she hurried him up the docking tube, toward the airlock.