FRIENDS IN ALL PLACES
The Swordfish was a heavy-looking starship, its exterior bristling with weapons and reinforced hull plating that gleamed under the dull, reddish tint of Mars' sky. Big starships like this weren’t allowed near cities and usually sat just outside Alba City's external spaceport, a hulking presence among the sleeker, more modern vessels docked nearby. It wasn’t the kind of place Roy typically found himself working on, but this was Mars, and jobs were as unpredictable as the sandstorms. And as a man who lives by paycheck, he had to do this. It was either this or whacked someone with Irya. He preferred this one.
Still, Roy wasn’t entirely sure why he’d taken this gig when he hadn't done anything like this in the real world. Clinging to the hull of a starship a hundred meters off the ground, however, didn’t leave much room for introspection. His mag-boots hummed softly, holding him firmly against the surface as the wind buffeted him. He tapped his visor, scrolling through AR instructions while his gloved hands adjusted the rig he’d attached to a damaged panel.
“Part’s done,” Roy said, his voice steady despite the height. He shifted slightly, securing his climbing cable as he glanced down. Below him, Earl, a new friend who told him about this job, stood on a crane-hoisted platform, his weathered face split by a toothy grin as he tossed Roy a coiled hose.
“Try not to slip,” Earl called, his voice tinny through the comms.
Roy caught the hose with one hand, his grip sure despite the whipping Martian wind. Planting his boots firmly on the hull, he adjusted the hose’s nozzle and aimed it at a blackened patch of the ship’s exterior. A powerful stream of water mixed with soda shot out, hissing as it blasted away the carbonized residue.
“Hold up,” Earl said, shifting the platform slightly to counter the gusts. “Wind’s getting stronger. Adjusting.”
Roy waited, his left hand gripping the cable as the platform settled into a new position.
“Go ahead,” Earl said.
Roy resumed his work, the mixture carving through the grime like acid. His visor lit up with alerts as he moved along the hull, scanning for structural weaknesses. Occasionally, he found a crack or a weak point, marking it for repair before moving on. Most of the time, though, it was just dirt and scorch marks, the scars of countless atmospheric entries and exits.
“Done here,” Roy said, coiling the hose and securing it to the retracting mechanism on Earl’s platform.
Earl pressed a button, and the hose zipped back into its housing.
“All right, climb up,” he said.
Roy activated the reel on his belt, letting it pull him smoothly toward the deck. The Swordfish’s size became even more apparent as he ascended, its sheer bulk a testament to its purpose as a heavily armed supply hauler.
Waiting on the deck was Captain Seth Aldo, a grizzled man whose demeanor screamed seen it all. He stood with his arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watched Roy unstrap himself from his gear.
“Roy, you know how to fly a spacejet?” Seth asked, his voice a gravelly rumble.
Roy brushed off his overalls and shrugged. “I can. Anything, really.”
“Even a starship?” Seth was surprised, then pressed, taking a long drag of his cigarette.
“Yeah,” Roy replied casually, stowing the harness in a nearby locker.
The captain squinted at him, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “What the hell were you doing before Mars, anyway?”
Roy paused, as though the answer was buried under layers of forgotten memories. “Honestly, I don’t know anymore.”
Seth chuckled, a deep, raspy sound. “Well, I don’t really care as long as you do a good job. You’re a lucky find, you know. A man who just seems to appear out of thin air and can do a lot of things? Worth keeping around. Devon still has that eye for talent.”
Roy smirked faintly. “That so? I thought I’d be called a spy or something. Maybe an Agent of the Government.”
“Bah, you’re not,” Seth barked a laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t glow enough, kid. And you don’t have the attitude. Besides, government agents don’t go walking around without implants. We scanned you, remember? No bioware, no cyberware. Not a single damn thing. Blood test says you’re not serum-enhanced either or a designer baby or cryo-frozen clone either. So, what’s your secret?”
Roy grinned, half-joking. “Just raised my skill bar to the max, Captain. All my stats are maxed so I can do this and that.”
Seth took another drag, shaking his head in amusement. “Everyone’s got a secret. Honestly, I don’t care what yours is. You do the work, you get paid. Simple as that.”
“Honestly, I thought you’d all be cheap about this,” Roy said, gesturing toward the Swordfish.
“We’re an interplanetary fucking business, mate. It’d be insulting if we couldn’t pay our workers. Legal or illegal, doesn’t matter. It’s about the transaction. It's the damn trust.”
Roy nodded, his gaze drifting toward a nearby spacejet. It was painted in a sharp, martian color scheme, its side emblazoned with the name Hammerhead in bold lettering.
“She’s souped up,” Roy remarked, stepping closer to inspect it.
Seth’s face darkened. “Best jet we’ve got and no one to fly it. Damn good machine. Pilot killed himself last week from an overdose. Stupid junkie.”
Roy crouched by the jet, prying open a panel and connecting his mobile device to the interface. Data scrolled across the screen as he ran diagnostics.
“Looks like it needs some tuning,” he said. “I can fly it to Alba if you want. Will you pay me?”
"Ah, sure, why the fuck not?" Seth nodded. “You go ahead and do that. I’ll let air control know not to shoot your ass.”
Roy chuckled softly. “Appreciate it. I promise I won't steal it.”
"Hah, I'd like to see you try. Would be fun shooting you down?"
Roy grinned then set to work, his hands moving with the precision of someone who had spent years around machines. The Hammerhead’s systems were temperamental but fixable, and within minutes, he had it ready for flight.
Climbing into the cockpit, Roy took a moment to familiarize himself with the controls. The interface was sleek, simplified for combat maneuvers as much as atmospheric navigation. The cockpit itself smelled faintly of oil and ozone. It wasn’t bad. He didn’t bother wearing the mask connecting to the oxygen tank, preferring to use his own breather.
“Cleared for takeoff,” Seth’s voice crackled through the comms.
Roy gave a thumbs-up and powered up the engines. The Hammerhead roared to life, its thrusters spitting fire as it rose from the Swordfish’s deck. Roy eased it into the air, the spacejet responding to his commands with a grace that belied its aggressive design as he flew it toward Alba’s spaceport.
After the short but exciting flight. In the large hangar belonging to the Callisto Syndicate at Alba’s spaceport. Where there was a constant backdrop to the ebb and flow of workers and ships. Among the bustle, Roy, who just got off the Hammerhead minutes ago, sat by a vending machine, sipping on a Martian-brand cola. The fizzy drink was sharp and tangy, a flavor he was starting to associate with the red planet. His gaze wandered over the Hammerhead, its sleek frame standing out even among the high-tech vessels parked nearby. It was a beast of a machine. The kind you’d want in a dogfight. Roy wondered why Captain Seth risked letting him fly it, and now he understood it. No one in their right mind would try to seal this kind of beast and get away with it.
"Man, I need to think twice before doing this kind of stuff," Roy mumbled.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Roy spotted a man walking toward him. Mr. Devon. The man carried himself with the air of someone who had struck deals with devils and come out on top — maybe after shooting one or two of them. His tailored suit was sharp, but there was a casual menace in his stride, as if he didn’t need to flaunt his power to command respect. Or maybe because anyone with eyes could tell he had chrome underneath that fake skin of his. The kind that made you think thrice about one’s life choices.
Roy stood as Devon approached. “Mr. Devon. How are you, Sir?”
Devon’s sharp eyes flicked to the Hammerhead. “Well, well,” he said, his tone light but cutting. “You’ve got more tricks up your sleeve than I thought. Didn’t know you could fly a spacejet. Haha, should have told me.”
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Roy shrugged. “No one asked me if I could.”
Devon barked a laugh. “Fair enough. I gotta say, taking you in instead of selling your organs is turning out to be one of my better decisions as of late. Intuition, my friend, intuition. Didn’t know I still had it.”
Roy raised an eyebrow. “I’m not complaining.”
“Good. I’ll get you some driving and flying licenses,” Devon said casually. “All legit.”
“For free?” Roy asked, surprised.
“Why not?”
A hint of worry crossed Roy’s face. “I… can’t really pay you back, Sir.”
Devon waved a hand dismissively. “If you’re worried about debt, don’t be. You’ll just owe me a few favors.”
Roy exhaled, wiping his face with his free hand. “Okay.”
Devon laughed at his discomfort. “Relax, kid. So, how are you liking Mars?”
Roy considered the question, his expression turning grim. “I didn’t plan on becoming a criminal, but somehow, here I am.”
Devon smirked. “Criminal? You’re probably an accomplice at best. Haven’t killed anyone yet, have you? Don’t beat yourself up about it. Heard you handled that last job well, though. Even got the axe woman asking if you’re pretending to be an amateur.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Devon said, lighting a cigarette and leaning against a nearby pillar.
Roy shook his head. “You’re surprisingly kind, Sir. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Kind? Me?” Devon’s laughter echoed in the hangar. “You really think that?”
“No,” Roy admitted with a faint smile. “But kind enough to matter to me.”
Devon grinned, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I like that kind of bullshitting.”
Roy glanced at the bustling hangar, his thoughts turning inward. “Am I still going to deliver letters?”
Devon tilted his head, studying Roy. “We need someone to do it. It pays. You want the job?”
“If it pays,” Roy said with a shrug. “I’m… not a killer. Don’t want to be... if I can't help it.”
Devon’s expression darkened, his tone shifting. “I’ve been around a long time, kid. Seen all kinds of people. You’re not special. Plenty like you come in, swearing they’re sheep, harmless as can be. But something about ticks me off. There’s the way you walk, the way you look at people like you’re measuring how to kill them in the best way possible. It bothers me.”
Roy frowned but didn’t interrupt.
Devon leaned closer. “It’s like you’re a killer who forgot he was a killer. Makes me wonder if you’re lying to yourself.”
Roy let out a soft laugh, almost bitter. “To me, it was all a game, Boss. But now… well, here I am. Doing this and that.”
Devon smirked, shaking his head. “So that’s the kind of fuck-up you are. Just a game... huh?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever find the right way to explain it,” Roy admitted. “Honestly, I’m not sure I want to try.”
Devon shrugged. “Too bad no one really cares if you somehow explained it.”
Roy’s eyes tracked a Syndicate member carrying a briefcase to one of the lieutenants, the mundane motion almost soothing in its predictability. “Makes me feel at ease… but also like shit. Sometimes, I think someone put me in a tube and made me dream up a soul-crushing life and then woke me up so I can feel extra shit about it.”
“Sheesh,” Devon said, taking another drag of his cigarette. “You’ve got some complicated bullshit going on. Here’s a tip thought. Don’t whine about it too much.”
Roy nodded. “Yeah. Doubt anyone other than you would care to listen, Sir.”
“You’ve got that right,” Devon said with a grin. “As long as you’re useful to me, I’ll listen to your bullshit when I’ve got the time. Just don’t overdo it. It gets old fast.”
“Last time, I swear,” Roy said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
He checked his mobile as it buzzed, the screen lighting up with a credit transfer notification. Payment for the job. He breathed a small sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
“Don’t go blowing it all in one place,” Devon said. “Got your gear yet?”
Roy opened his suit jacket to reveal a pistol holstered securely inside.
Devon nodded in approval. “Good man. Now fuck off, will you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Roy replied, his tone light despite the command.
He walked toward the hangar’s exit, nodding to a few Syndicate members loitering nearby.
Their knowing smirks and casual greetings felt oddly normal to him now.
* * *
No matter the city or planet, Roy had learned that every place had its version of a Chinatown. Alba City was no different, it had one too, a bustling district tucked away in a labyrinth of side streets with neon signs glowing in the Martian dusk. The smell of stir-fried spices and roasted meats filled the air, tempting even the most disciplined to stop and eat. Roy wasn’t disciplined when it came to good food, and Chinatown always delivered.
He pushed open the door to Lin Fang’s Kitchen, greeted by the clatter of pans and the murmur of patrons. The scent of cumin, garlic, and chilies wrapped around him like a warm embrace. The owner, Lin Fang, was at the counter, his perpetual scowl aimed at Roy as though the man had personally offended him just by walking in.
“It’s you,” Lin Fang said, his voice gruff. “What’ll it be? Spicy chicken? Dandan noodles again? I got cumin-spiced lamb today, too.”
“Just some egg fried rice and chicken, Boss,” Roy replied, taking a seat at the counter.
Lin Fang nodded, turning toward the kitchen. “Oi! Mei! Stop listening to your books and move! You’ve got hands! Use them for once!”
Roy chuckled, sipping water from a plastic cup. “Still giving Mei a hard time?”
Lin Fang grumbled, his scowl deepening. “Girl’s lazy. Bought herself an audiobook. Costs more than the book itself! I’d smash her mobile if I didn’t know she’d charge a new one to my credit card!”
“Sounds like a dilemma,” Roy said, amused.
Lin Fang leaned closer, his voice conspiratorial. “You know, you could solve all my problems.”
“Yeah?”
“Marry my Mei,” Lin Fang declared, his tone dead serious. “You’ve got good hands, you’re an Earthling, and best of all you’re all-natural. No augs, no freaky bioware. You’re what we call authentic. A real human!”
Roy blinked, caught off guard. “I think Mei likes girls. And I don’t want to piss off Lisha. She might deport me, you know?”
Lin Fang waved a dismissive hand. “She can kiss all the girls she wants. Still needs to give me and her mother some grandchildren!”
Roy smirked. “Why not go for artificial insemination?”
“Aiya, too expensive!” Lin Fang barked, as if the very idea offended him. “It needs to be natural. It’s tradition!”
Before Roy could respond, a young woman stormed out from the back, pinching Uncle Lin Fang’s ear.
“Father! You share too much!” Mei said, dragging him toward the sink. “Go do the dishes if you’ve got time to share private information to people! So stupid!”
Uncle Lin Fang grumbled but obeyed, shuffling off to the kitchen.
Mei turned to Roy, her expression apologetic. “Sorry about that.”
Roy waved her off. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
Mei smiled faintly. Despite her Eastern-Earth descent, she had striking blue eyes that fit just right with her raven-black hair and jade-like skin. Her beauty was unmistakable, though the subtle bioware lines on her forearms betrayed her enhanced nature. Designer beauty was common, but Roy could still tell who was natural and who wasn’t. She was half natural.
“Before you ask, I know I’m pretty, but I’m taken,” Mei said with a smirk.
Roy laughed. “Don’t worry. Not interested. Your father’s too lively for me.”
“Lively... that's a nice way to put it,” Mei replied, rolling her eyes. “He’s at that age, you know? Wants grandkids but doesn’t want to pay for them. Mankind’s reached the stars, and he’s still hung up on ancient tradition. Maintaining the bloodline and all sorts of nonsense!”
“Honestly,” Roy said, “I wonder if he says half that stuff for laughs.”
Mei snorted. “Oh, it’s both. It’s entertaining for others and him.”
Roy leaned back in his chair, glancing around the cozy restaurant. “Busy today?”
“Kind of,” Mei admitted. “If you want to deliver something to Feng’s, though, don’t ask me to give you one. I heard they’re in trouble with the Callisto boys, and I wouldn’t want to involve you. Especially when you’re quite friendly with them now.”
“Thanks for reminder,” Roy said, nodding as he looked at his mobile. “I’m trying to keep my head low too because of a recent job. So dealing with all that mess is not for me right now.”
Mei’s eyes flicked to the credit transfer notification on Roy’s mobile. “Looks like you got paid. What was the job?”
“Cleaning a spaceship.”
“Guess it's the Swordfish?” Mei asked, her eyebrows rising. “Saw that beast parked outside. It looked beaten up. No wonder you’re eating well today. You even do that kind of gig? Cleaning a spaceship?”
Before Roy could reply, Lin Fang appeared, carrying a steaming plate of egg fried rice and chicken.
“Here you go,” he said, placing the dish in front of Roy. Then, turning to Mei, he barked, “Stop flirting with the man! I’ll tell Lisha you’re cheating on her if you don’t get back to work!”
Roy chuckled, picking up his chopsticks. “Glad to see you’re having fun with your daughter, Boss.”
"Bah. she needs to be diligent!" Lin Fang’s playful scowl turned serious as he leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I forgot because of my daughter. But you want a quick job?”
Roy paused, mid-bite. “What kind of job?”
“Just need someone roughed up,” Lin Fang said, dropping the exaggerated accent he plays for laughs. “No questions asked.”
Roy chewed thoughtfully before replying. “He affiliated? Got any friends who’d come after me? I don’t want to be on the shit list of anyone, Mr. Lin.”
“Nah,” Lin Fang assured him. “Just an idiot who thinks he can walk around Alba without showing respect. He’s a loner, no backup. Quick job. You in? I have another person who'll take it with you too. Good learning experience, no?”
"Okay, then," Roy set down his chopsticks, considering. “Send the details to my mail, Sir. I’ll think about it. Right now I just want to eat.”
"Good. You need a full stomach to think good. I approve."
Lin Fang’s grin returned, his eyes gleaming. He straightened up and turned his attention to another customer, shouting at them with the same mix of authority and irritation he used on everyone.
Roy then returned to his meal, savoring the rich flavors of his meal while also thinking if he'd accept the job.
It wouldn't hurt to try... especially if he had another person with him in the job.
After all, he needed the actual real life experience.