For a brief, perfect moment, it seemed as if the world held its breath. The beat of the music, thumping and pounding in my ears, stopped. The lights froze. The dancers twirled and spun in slow motion, a crystalline quantum of solace… and then the screaming started.

I leaped backwards, falling through couples as Curly convulsed, foaming at the mouth. He swung at me, instinctively, a small and squeaky prey animal frantically escaping an apex predator, and missed.

Mostly.

A head went sailing into the crowd, not mine, accompanied by a scarlet spray of blood that painted the dancers *cum* rioters in steaming entrails. I couldn’t hear the cracking of bones, but I was more than sure that there was hardly a single one left unbroken as the female companion to the male human who’d been decapitated was shaken like a ragdoll in the chainsaw-maw of Larry.

From there, the pair of dorarizin roared and bellowed their way into the throng, ripping and tearing limb from limb as they forged a path of murder on the dance floor.

Some of the other dorarizin, noticing what was happening, joined the fray. This was a terrible mistake as it wasn’t long before their gas masks were ripped from their muzzles during the fracas and they got a whiff of whatever potent form of green was still freely shedding from their compatriots.

The bloodbath turned into a massacre and stampede as humans trampled each other in their redoubled efforts to escape and the dorarizin fought anything and everything in their path, introducing far too many internal organs to the outside air to be healthy. I witnessed jornissians sheltering humans in their coils, karnakians frantically unbinding their claws to have *some* form of protection, and a whole lot of bleeding.

I’d thrown myself into the crowd to escape as the melee started, but found myself now desperately trying to avoid being trampled. I headed off to one side, hands around my head, elbows skinned raw as I crawled, spotting a potential exit through the male toilets. Snarls and crowds forced me to abandon the direct path. Feet bounced off my clenched fists, back and legs, and bodies fell around me as I fought to move, to get to a hiding place. I made my way to a booth, diving under a table. I upended it as a shield, getting a face full of it as a large mass of feathers and scales almost crushed the life from my body; a karnakian slamming into then diving over the edge of my makeshift barricade.

Purple blood, though it looked more black under most of the lights before they flashed a neutral white, spattered my face and clothes as Squawky, of all characters, wheezed and panted before me.

“[Human,]” he started, my translator wet-ware having to work overtime to insert his voice into my brain over the cacophony, “[I hate you, I hate you with every feather, with every scale, with every last breath in my body for bringing this fate upon me… but I hate whoever actually did this *far more*. [Moonlight Sonata] is where you need to be. Ask for [Bourdain], say you’re there on my [dime] to represent my merchandise. Go, and know this… if I survive, if I *ever* see you again, I will skin you alive myself. Now RUN!]”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Peeking over the edge of the table, patina greasy and wet beneath my fingers, I noted both good and bad; the good? The herd had thinned, which meant I could be more mobile… but the bad also meant I was more of a likely target. Shit. The direct path was right out.

With nothing else for it, I leaped up over the high back of the booth’s seating, crashing into the next-door table as I sprayed fake plastic greenery everywhere. Two more and I was really in pain, but at least I was nearer the toilets and their hopefully openable or at least smashable windows. Unfortunately, so was another human… and a dorarizin.

The human girl went down screaming, blood spewing from her mouth as she was pounced on, rib cage caving in as the dorarizin lowered his jaws and snicker-snakked his way through her spine. It might have been Larry or Curly. Hell, it might have been the elusive Moe, but at least it was a comparatively smaller male, a runt like Squawky’s at that with a mere nine feet of height. I wasn’t sure how many males had been in the pack that had been dancing, what with their being comparatively few and all, but who was I to look a gift monster in its slathering maw?

I swore, threw myself at the dorarizin who was still devouring the human beneath him, bounced off his back and *leaped* at the toilet door. I barreled through it, somehow still wearing my hat, and came up with my gun in hand. Cursing as it clicked empty for a long few seconds, I was blinded and almost beheaded as I leaned forwards to peer at the device I held when it finally went off at the large, fogged panes of pseudo-glass.

I shook my head, moving for the hole I’d created, as I felt a sudden rending, burning pain across my back. I was spun in the air to see the jaws of a fourteen foot tall monster of a dorarizin snapping shut where — if she’d not hit me so hard — the back of my head would have been. This female was *not* a runt, but she also wasn’t quite seeing straight.

As I sailed spinning out the window, I thought with perverse anger that females weren’t allowed in the men’s toilets.

“Fuck you, bitch!” I shouted, throwing my gun as hard as I could at the furred shape even now bending her knees to scream and leap. She swatted at the object as it tumbled towards her.

Big mistake.

I gave her two good birds as the plasma gun found itself on the wrong side of critical, and filled the area with unstable plasma. Shortly after she, and most of the side of that building, were spreading outwards in a bright and colourful spray of brown-red stone bricks and blue blood.

Stars rent my vision as my head impacted either a wall or the pavement, I wasn’t sure which. I rolled in a heap, the only reason nothing was broken being that Lady Luck favours the foolish. I said a silent prayer of thanks to her as I collected my breath. Whooping painfully, forcing myself to breathe, I did my level best to pull myself out of the view of the rapidly descending riot squad. I had places to go, and neither jail nor hospital were on that list. Somebody had tried to kill me. I’d had to kill a xeno that just wanted to party… the gloves were off and I was mad as hell. Sneaking around be damned, I’d leave a trail a mile wide, just keep moving fast enough to stay ahead of disaster.

*Moonlight Sonata*, huh? Interfaces glitching — I’d have to get not only my head-meats but the circuitry connected to it a thorough tending to as soon as possible — I pulled up GalNet info on the place. It was a swanky, well-to-do nightclub, hotel and spa. This ‘Bourdain’ was somebody I was absolutely sure I’d never be able to meet going in the front door, but sneaking in the back? That would definitely work.

Surprised to find my trusty new hat laying nearby, I staggered off into the ‘habs tunnels with it jammed firmly on my head and my trenchcoat collar popped all the way up. Time to do this old skool.

----------------------------------------

I’d dusted off my trenchcoat, straightened my hat and got most of the blood off my boots and body in short order thanks to a quick pit-stop at a park fountain. I was down a gun, missing a tooth and quite likely had a hangnail, but I was alive. And I was angry.

Moonlight Sonata, like every glitzy shithole aspired to, speared upwards to the zero-G center of this hab, where private jaunts could come and go as their well-to-do owners wished. Lording it over the rest of us miserable peons, the rich could glide their way straight through the docking bays to roar their vernier jets loud as they came to berth above the scum that filled the inside walls of this floating rock.

Of *course* it was rich assholes that were here for the dirty business of trading in illicit substances. Rich assholes are rich assholes, no matter if they slither, squawk, growl or smarm their way through the universe.

I made my way to a back alley from the commandeered taxi and waited, grinding my teeth. My patience was swiftly rewarded as three human forms emerged from a simple-looking green painted metal door, reached into pockets and lit up various carcinogens.

I waited until there was one left, ready to just put a toe in the door, but the last asshole just *wouldn’t leave*.

Fuck that guy, then.

I emerged running from behind the foul-smelling dumpster, decked his teeth in and flipped his body over the edge of the railings around the steps to the door before he knew what had hit him. Apologies could wait, I’d do my equivalent of hail mary’s much later. I dragged his body into the shadows, stripped him, tied him up with some trash bags I emptied and dumped him in a dumpster, then slammed it closed.

Time for the help to change shift.

I kept my head down as I snuck in through the back door, scanning the way I’d came for any sign of LEO. Everything seemed clear, but then a massacre at a nightclub to distract the fuzz will do that. It was a good night for petty crime.

The kitchens, adjacent to storage and waste disposal, were pandemonium, so I slipped through with only a few hey you’s and grunts, not staying around to be recognized or stopped. Look busy, that’s the ticket. Look busy, and blend in.

I made my way to the laundry area, swapping outfits to a concierge’s in a rapid switch that left me breathless. Now would be the difficult part… I breached the lower floors of the hotel and ventured out into the main building, straightening my fake bowtie and apologizing to anybody that stopped me in low tones, pointing randomly when asked for various facilities, until I got to the front desk. From there, I snuck in the back to find an open terminal. Maybe I should invest some cash in data spikes in future, I mused, rather than risk my neck with all the anti-social engineering.

This time, the post-it was on the bottom of the keyboard. Tapping my way through various menus of the archaic but functional flatland display, I first searched for ‘Bourdain’, but came up empty. Then I switched to ‘events’ and hit paydirt. Fifteen private functions, but only three with a significant level of swank to be interesting, and only *one* that was just listed ‘private dinner’.

Of course, as luck would have it, that was when I was interrupted *again*.

“Hey! What the fuck are you… who are you?” A man, several years younger, better dressed and better built than me, stood sizing me up. I hated him instantly.

“I’m the help, Bourdain brought me on, here to represent—”

“No you fuckin’ ain’t, *I’m* head of the Bourdain detail. I’m calling—”

“No, really,” I lied, keeping him talking as I stepped closer. “Look, okay, I’m here to represent Squawky’s merchandise and—”

“The hell you are! Secu—”

I decked his pretty face in then added The Boot once he was down. Blood trickled from an ear. I hoped I hadn’t killed him, but I had little sympathy for junk peddlars.

“Sorry, you little shit, this is bigger than you or me,” I hissed, dragging his body into a closet and hoping against hope that nobody had seen *that* on any of the cameras that *this building* was certain to have.

I filched his ID card from his pocket, then headed resolutely to the elevators at a brisk trot.

----------------------------------------

The elevators were silent; I could almost swear I wasn’t moving at all, except for the lights that patiently flicked from floor to floor. With a finality that almost made my heart leap out of my chest, the doors opened on floor two hundred and thirty two.

There were more floors above this one, but they were for the ultra-wealthy, filled with special facilities and, right at top, the zero-G docks.

Reaching ‘Bourdain’s’ Suite, I held my breath as I scanned the card. The light on the lock turned from red to green and I *very slowly* pulled the handle and opened one of the double doors.

Slipping inside, I was instantly greeted with soft music being played live by a private mini-orchestra, subdued lighting and table upon table of black-clothed tables with stark white napkins folded in intricate patterns. On the tables were huge chargers painted in exquisite detail, with still large dinner plates on them with incredibly small, incredibly artful set pieces of edible perfection in the centre.

A large buffet was set out on one side of the room, from which was being served richly cooked dishes by white-gloved servers, and a large display of merchandise on the other.

I held my breath again, listening as what sounded like bidding went on around the room, alert for any sign that my illicit entry had been spotted. It was all so… formal, so polite. Big plates with little meals on them were passed around from table to table, cutlery would clink occasionally as the dorarizin, the jornissians and the karnakians at their places would taste and chat, ordering more of this or that, or beckoning over a private server who would lean in, politely, before nodding. Sometimes there was discussion, other times it was a direct order. I caught snatches of it, kilograms of the merchandise still being bought and sold in code; loin, flank, hock… they must have applied a layer to their translators, it would make things a heck of a lot easier to decode. If I could get hold of that translation layer, I’d be golden.

I skirted the room away from the succulent smells of what had to be pork, or maybe beef, cooked to utter perfection by what had to be amongst the best chefs in the system, and skulked towards the merchandise.

It was a cornucopia of degeneracy in a collection of small dishes, bottles, tubs and plates; green, screech, paradise, prt’chk’ta root both purified *and* au naturel… the list was endless. I shook my head, to have all this brazenly on display? Rank hath its perks.

Wait, *green*? With a room full of xenos *including* dorarizin?

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I reached out a furtive hand, and felt the tingle of a force-field. Xeno tech force fields, on a human station? Huh, well, this was the *least* illegal part of this entire situation, and that was *very* surprising.

Now I thought about it, I could faintly — very faintly, the air conditioning in this hotel was *amazing*, probably more xeno tech — smell the ozone of private filtering force fields around tables and sometimes individuals.

When you’re selling poison of the highest caliber to the galaxy at large, having it all go tits up in an orgy of violence was probably the last thing anybody wanted.

It made me fucking furious.

I discreetly pocketed all the drugs I could as evidence, playing things off as ‘tidying up’ the already immaculate spread, but was rapidly becoming aware that more discreet whispers were finding their way to the head table and glances were being sent my way.

I started heading back towards the doors, when I found my way blocked by two very large heavies, both dorarizin, both female, both *very* large, even for their own kind. I backed away from them, turning around, as I realized that almost the whole room was now looking at me.

“Ah, and now, gentle creatures, I believe the floor show is starting,” said a smartly dressed Marv as he stood up from his seat, tapping a fork against a fancy wineglass. He’d been practically dressed before, now he had on a smock and tails. The transformation was nothing short of incredible. “If you’ll look to the center stage here, you’ll see a special, surprise, auction piece. Start your bidding at the low, low price of ten thousand credits and he can be *all yours*.”

I could hear a few low whispers as I passed tables, variations on “[what is going on]” and “[oh my]” and “[most irregular]”.

“Is this how you keep your company afloat, Marv?” I called to the man, scoffing, pointing to the drugs, the food, the whole shebang. “Peddling shit like this? Slavery? Give it up, you’re done for. Security will be on their way with the mess I made getting up here, and when they come in here and see this… this auction of debauchery—”

“Oh, oh, come now… we all know how this is going to end. You’re going to bluster and threaten these good people with *the police*,” there were titters, or xeno variations thereof from around the room as Marv mocked me, “and this hotel’s *private* security will arrive to take you away. I think you will find that it will be *you* who is put through the process, not me. Nobody will ever hear of this little stunt, except the idiots who failed to keep you *out* of my hair, and nobody will hear of *them* ever again. I’ll arrange for a few raids, a few lost shipments of the kind of chemical diversions I have on display here and *poof*,” he made the motion with his hands of something disappearing, “that’ll be it. You think the police give a shit? I’ve enough of them in my pocket to bury your disappearance like all the others.”

I glared as random motion drew my gaze to his table, where the jornissian doctor from the morgue was seated, a fork full of choice cut half-way to his wide-stretched maw. That explained a lot.

I stopped moving, gritting my teeth and snarling, stumbling as the dorarizin behind me caught up and shoved me forwards again. “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you? You think you’ve got everything *so fucking well thought out*? Well, asshole, never count your chickens before they’re good and fucked up!”

I plunged my hand into my pocket, snagged *all the drugs I could fit in my fist*, and spun, slamming said fist through the filtering force fields of the dorarizin behind me, both of them, spraying green irrevocably into and through the protection, where it would *stay*. Then I continued my turn and pelted towards Marv.

Shit hit the fan in moments behind me as the two dorarizin went *berserk*.

“You should’ve *lied* you bastard!” I screamed, as I flailed my way towards Marv and over the top of the table he was standing at. I got in two solid thumps. “You should’ve said I was *nothing*! You should’ve made out I’d have a chance to escape! But! You! Didn’t!” I punctuated each syllable with a shake of his body as I slammed his head into the ground.

Marv, however, hadn’t always been an office worker. One time, he’d been the big boss-man on the shop floor. Muscles honed by years of hacking away at carcasses bulged as he hooked an arm around my neck and *flexed*. “I have my reputation to think of!” he snarled. I saw stars, then not very much at all, as I was manhandled into the floor. I felt my nose break, spitting out blood and mucus, as I swung a blind haymaker behind me. It connected and I rolled, elbowing Marv behind me as I found myself on top. Scrambling to my feet, I had them swept out from under me, so I crawled under the nearby table, almost breaking my stupid ankles as I tried, dumbly, to kick it at my assailant.

By now, the pandemonium in the dining room had reached fever pitch, with privacy screens and emergency fields slapping on to protect not only identities, but bodies from the hell I’d unleashed. Marv, noticing this, laughed mockingly, growling as he spat out blood on the floor. “You fucking idiot. I’ll have you strung up on hooks by your asshole for this! You think you’ve done me a dirty? You haven’t done a goddamned thing but embarrass yourself! Your precious coppers are going to find *you* and a bunch of weapons-grade green and a paper-trail of murder and deceit a mile wide that you’ve terrorized your way across the belt. Me? I’m just a humble pig farmer! A scion of success in a backwards little world, and you can obviously hate me all the more for keeping on selling meat to the masses! So fucking long, moron!”

He kicked me in the face, then dashed for the back of the room, where a private elevator waited, likely going *all the way up*.

It was times like this that I thanked my lucky stars for the petty kind of cruelty shown by his sort of man.

I grunted in pain as I grabbed my right index finger and *twisted*. It snapped, audibly, and rotated. Gritting my teeth, feeling something crack in my jaw as I hunched myself over in agony, I levelled the fingers of my right hand at the fleeing Marv, then clenched the bottom three. There was a *pop*, and my index finger *exploded*.

A few feet away, Marv spun, crimson sprouting from his back as the bullet from my finger-gun nailed him right in the shoulder. A better shot could’ve killed him, but then having my finger *shredded* by a backstreet hackjob mod that turned a prosthetic into a weapon of last resort *hurt like a fucking bitch*. It was, however, enough to let me catch up with him. Ignoring the xeno scum, I focused on the real power in the room, Marv, as I roared and lurched to my feet, forcing my legs to move.

Despite his initial lead, we tumbled into the elevator together, punches, kicks, bites, eye-gouges and head-buts being traded in a flurry of blows as we fought the whole way up. We tumbled out together too, Marv decidedly ahead in his ability to throw punches with both hands, though favouring his left shoulder.

I screeched incoherently as I hooked a thumb into one eye-socket and *squeezed*. He replied by kneeing me in the groin and scrambling away, taking to the air in the sudden zero gravity.

He floated with purpose, tumbling in the air, as he called for security. Finding his feet far quicker than me — the perks of being connected enough to get used to floating around — he jetted off towards a ship. It was a medium-sized cargo hauler, painted in livery that reminded me of his factory, ‘Marv’s Meat’ in that same janky writing was displayed across the side. At least it’d be easy to track, I told myself, as he got a door open.

A security bot floated down towards me on verniers, compressed gas of some sort maneuvering it lithely. “You are to be detained,” it said in a neutral tone. “Do not resist.” More were following, if I was to do *anything*, I had to do it now.

“Resist this, bucket-head,” I grumbled, throwing myself at it before it could properly react. I slammed into it, then kicked it up and away from me as the reaction sent me hurtling back down towards the deck. I slammed into a nearby post, giving a whoop of triumph as I elbowed and punched at a plas-glass covered box. It shattered and I wrenched the fire hydrant within free. Aiming the nozzle roughly towards the elevators, I pulled the pin and jetted in the opposite direction towards Marv’s hauler as it ponderously maneuvered itself towards the bay exit.

The ship had a head start, but it was *large*. I was faster, though much more erratic. As it exited the bay, I found myself catching up. I fought the urge to throw up as the expanse of the commercial district of the habitat spread itself out before me, slowly turning, so far below, up and all around. Every nerve in my body told me I was *fucking dead* as there was no way I could *not* be falling… but I wasn’t. This wasn’t Earth, this was an O’Neill cylinder, of a sort.

“Don’t look down, don’t look down!” I told myself, even as it was far, far too late for that. Still, I had no choice but to fight it out, leaning on anger to subdue nausea. Little by frantic little, I caught up with, overtook, overshot, and finally ploughed into the ship. Grabbing onto the superstructure, I started swearing up a storm about just how badly I was going to beat the living tar out of Marv for this.

Reaching a hatch, I hammered at a panel with the blunt end of the fire-hydrant until I got it open, then operated the emergency release mechanism. I threw myself in *just* as we entered the decompression bay and the outside of the ship was plunged into darkness. I closed the door behind me just as the atmosphere started to be evacuated.

I pelted down the corridors of the ship, wincing from the sudden return of gravity by what had to be xeno tech, speeding past frozen meat-locker after frozen meat-locker of the cargo bay before finally emerging into the crew section. I was on the bridge shortly after, Marv too busy getting his several-man crewed ship up and running all by himself to secure it and prevent my access.

With a final flourish of the control panel he’d been at, Marv stood up and turned to face me. “You have been an incredibly annoying thorn in my side, *Dick*. But this is it. You’re dead meat. I’m a butcher, and I’m going to *butcher* you!”

He lunged, a knife appearing in his hand, blade sinking into my shoulder. I screamed, fell back and pushed him off. He laughed, palming another knife, as he set his feet.

“Look at you,” he scoffed. “You’re pathetic. Every time I see the dregs of humanity, pissing away their lives like you, I thank god I’m me, cleaning up our gene pool.”

“Hu-wha… gene? What’re you… you sell drugs, you asshole, you’re not… you’re…” I wasn’t sure if it was the blood loss, but I was getting a really bad feeling in my light head.

Marv tilted his head, face screwed up in confusion. “You think… all this,” he stretched out an arm, and laughed, “you think all this is about drugs? *Drugs*? Any piece of shit can sell drugs… my god you’re dumb. And here I was thinking you were worth spit. I don’t sell drugs! I sell meat! Gourmet meat! To the highest bidder! And those alien scum sucking ferals come *running* when I ring the dinner bell! That’s all you are! Meat! And I’m the king of meat!”

I looked behind me, mystified. Then my blood ran cold. Meat lockers, as far as the eye could see. Missing persons. Dinner and a show.

Oh, no. Oh, *no*.

It wasn’t drugs. It was never drugs. An old saying forced its way to the front of my brain as my stomach churned: *Never find out how the hotdog is made*.

Humans love animals. They’ll pack-bond with almost anything, including livestock. Cows, sheep… pigs. Each and every one, an animal bred to be *tasty*, and each and every one as loved as could possibly be when adopted as a pet. But oh, how we still loved our bacon.

Everybody loves hotdogs. Nobody wants to know how the hotdog is made, but they’ll still buy it and consume it then buy another one. Even xenos love their hotdogs, or in this case, they loved their *long pig*.

I screamed. I threw up. I screamed again. There had been no code, no magic bullet, to discovering what chemicals were being traded, deep-frozen, by the kilo. Oh no, it was all down to a specific mix of four big molecules; adenine, guanine, cytosine, thymine. The drugs were just the sauce.

I launched myself at Marv, beyond incoherent in my rage and fury. Marv laughed the whole time as he stabbed at me, though in my mania I either didn’t feel them or he failed to land a hit.

“That’s it! Show the universe what you are! An animal! Roar, animal! Roar, as I cut you down to size! I’ll tell those alien scum what I went through to bag myself this prize specimen as I throw your chum to the sharks! Those high and mighty xenos can come beg at my table for the scraps as I feed them the offal of humanity. Through my blade I will pare down our civilisation, trim off the fat and we will take our place on the stage as the lords of creation. Look at me, look at me! I have the aliens eating out of my hand! I own the market! I *am* the market!” He sliced across my chest, boxed me in the ear, then kicked me in the stomach. I fell back, weeping, breathing and bleeding, as he stood over me, gloating.

“You know,” I coughed, falling to my knees, both hands going to the knife in my shoulder, “you have made *one* mistake.”

“Oh yeah? What?” he asked, sneering.

“You brought a knife to a gunfight.” I grabbed my other, left, index finger with the three fingers plus thumb of my right and twisted. There was a grinding snap… and the finger came off. “Well *fuck*,” I swore, staring dumbly at the bloodied stump and the dangling end.

“Oh, oh that’s rich.” Marv laughed all the harder. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He hefted the knife in his hand into a better grip. “I’m going to enjoy every *single* second of your death. I’m going to gut you like a pig and carve you up piece by bloody piece. At least then you’ll finally be useful to society, like all the others that found their way under my knife.” He brandished his second blade, slicing it through the air mockingly.

“No,” I grunted, pulling the other knife from where it still sat in my shoulder, wincing as blood poured from the ragged wound, “you won’t.”

I spun the blade, stabbed the bloodied half-digit with the point of the blade and hurled it at him. It tumbled, end over end in the air, crackling and humming as it went… before it exploded with a burst of flame. There was the brief *zing* of a ricochet, and the universe held its breath.

Marv’s eyes went wide, then clutched at his chest. The bullet had gone straight through his chest, finally being ejected from the faulty mechanism once I’d manually pierced the battery and forced it to fire. A one-in-a-million shot.

*chink… click… crack…*

My gaze focused on the window behind Marv. A one-in-a-million shot indeed. Trust xenos to forget about chemically propelled projectiles *inside* the space ship, where no sane species would *ever* have them.

There was a sudden shattering crash followed by a hollow roaring, and I felt my body sucked forwards as the entire atmosphere in the ship vented itself through a screen that, if this had been a human-built ship, would’ve held up to far more. I found myself wrapped around a chair, being dragged spacewards by a heavy weight. Marv was screaming and swearing, voice hoarse, as his death-grip on my body weakened. Time would only tell which of us would buckle first.

The surge of adrenalin I’d been feeling was fading and I was crashing fast. My bloodied hands, weakened from pain and the lack of fingers, slipped. Suddenly, the roaring vortex had me and I was picked up and hurled towards the open viewport, along with Marv, tumbling and falling into nothing.

“Emergency blast shields!” I shouted, with the last of the breath in my lungs, as I fought to not get sucked out into the deep black. I kissed the void, and for a moment glimpsed eternity, before shields fizzed into life before my eyes and I fell to the deck, an explosion of hot, sticky life-blood splattering across the room in tandem.

As I bounced off the console, Marv’s legs kicked me in the neck. The rest of him was taking a long, last, horrified look at his entrails as they evacuated the top half of his body and slowly froze into jerky.

Sliced and diced by the emergency fields… Marv’s meat, indeed.

For a few good, long minutes I lay there, unmoving, just breathing, as I thanked my lucky stars for every single agonizing pain in my body signalling that I was still alive. When I finally sat up, I almost pissed myself anew… space, in all its glory, was *right there in front of me*. And, drifting on his own slow arc to forever, was Marv.

Goodbye, Marv, you won’t be missed.

I turned on the radio. I wanted to let traffic control, who was already shitting their collective bricks, know. I wanted to inform not only *local* traffic control, but also Ganymede, Titan, Jupiter Central, anybody I thought I could reliably drag in, that I had a hell of a tale to tell, but I started laughing, then crying, as the reality set in. I’d made it. I was safe. I’d completed my case. Tall, yellow and jorny might even give me a bonus… but how could I let *anybody* know about this?

Death, drugs, murder — humans give as good as they get. Nothing ever changes, not really. It’s vices all the way down, doesn’t matter whether you walk on two feet, have wings, can pop your teeth or slither your way around, everyone wants a piece of the good life; they’ll grab on, with both hands, and take a big ol’ bite...

I turned off the radio, bloodied extremities mussing the controls. At some point I started screaming, breaking things, throwing things… I was still screaming as I set the ship to plunge into Jupiter and wrecked the computers, more than half delirious, and seriously considered sitting there, riding it all the way down, before crawling with the last of my fading strength into the emergency popsicle maker and ejecting myself into the black at almost the last moment. With luck I’d never wake up and face a universe that saw me as a tasty snack to be slathered in onions, mustard and ketchup.

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*Beep, beep, beep…*

Life finds a way. In my case, I’d found my way to the recovery ward of a hospital despite being clinically dead at the time. It wasn’t until weeks later I discovered I’d been shipped back almost Dirtside before being shanghaied and put into a xeno hospital. They not only had better med tech, they had better security.

I wasn’t surprised, at all, when *she* slithered her way back into my life. Too many feet long, a body that goes all the way and still wearing that hood that wouldn’t quit. Her eyes still mesmerized me, and I thought I detected a hint of attraction in them.

“[You did good, [Dick],]” she said, alien hands gently resting on my much-abused ribcage. I wanted to push her off, but barely moved, even though I could feel all five fingers on both hands twitch reflexively in anger. The xeno doctors had done a good job. She bent down, sinuously tilting her head until she was staring into my face. “[You did real good.]”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I wailed. I’d been played by the xenos, maybe by my own race’s feds. A patsy, a sacrificial lamb, sent to stir the pot. Against all hope and common sense I’d actually got a result. Score one for humans; I’d earned myself some respect, but respect is dangerous, a fickle friend at best.

She chuckled, cupping my cheek in a very human gesture. “[And possibly let the senate at large, and especially Earth, know? I’m having trouble enough convincing them to let you live, even though you blew the case wide open and helped prevent a major diplomatic incident.]”

“So you’re hiding it all? Sweeping it under the rug?” I asked, angrily. Sure, I’d turned a dorarizin into chunky salsa, but more than a few humans had turned into baby back ribs. I wasn’t sure how many xenos I’d returned the favour to thanks to Marv’s heavies, but it probably wasn’t enough. I was ready to face the music, I’d given as good as I’d gotten, but it was not to be.

“[Wouldn’t you? You want another [Atlanta]? A… a [crusade] I believe you call it? Imagine how it would look if it were discovered that our newest, *backwards* allies were our newest pet *product*?” I could tell her pejoratives were meant to needle some true facts into me. It was working. I hated myself for it, but it was working. “You humans have a chip on your shoulder enough from First Contact dropping you from [top dog] to [playground contender], but to be relegated from that to [livestock]? Hah! Our best projection is your culture would not survive the decade. It’s on tenterhooks as it is.]”

I sighed, turned my head. “I won’t tell anyone. Silence me if you must, but my lips are sealed.”

“[Are they? I don’t think you understand how big this was. You took down *the source*, [Dick], the kingpin. There are thankfully few places where humans in any great number can not only disappear, yet still be smuggled out without being spotted, or spoiling. Even fewer are close enough to intergalactic space, yet decidedly uninteresting enough, to allow our kind relatively free access, for the right amount of [coin].]”

I started weeping, eyes screwed shut as I blubbered. “You mean that’s it? The nightmare is over?”

Chshrnprlssjs chortled, wiping away my tears. “[Oh no, after all, how many terrible acts are still perpetrated on your own kind *by* your own kind? Or for that matter on ours? But, [Dick], you have performed a great task. You have [sliced the head off the snake],]” I noticed she smiled a thin smile at that, “[So now the body will wither and die. Even with the network of shell companies and anonymous couriers that span the Senate making up Marv’s clients, we know who’s been buying and selling. We’ll get them, now you’ve taken Marv down.]”

“Then I can die, if I must.” I laid back, breathing a sigh of relief.

“[When you still have more you could do? Well, payment has been made, in full. We’ll be in touch, one way or another,]” she said, as she turned to slither out. “[Don’t call us, we’ll call you.]”

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I wait until she’s gone, force my body into motion, and swiftly if ineptly disconnect everything and throw on as many clothes as I can find, chuckling as I find my old-new hat waiting for me in one of the cupboards. I’ll have to steal a doctor’s coat or something from the laundry. I knew the drill. This is old hat (pardon the pun). Humans all look the same to most xeno’s.

I head for the door. I got places to go, people to see.

It’s a hard life in the belt, but out here a man can live free and die easy, just inches of steel between you and the big black, waiting to give you a kiss that’ll take your breath away.

There are plenty of secrets in the belt, many of them dangerous, most of them lethally so.

My name’s Dick Bates, I’m a private eye, a gumshoe for hire. When they’ve got nobody else that’ll take the case, they always come to me; the hopeless, the desperate, the dangerous.

A simple man in a big universe. I find those secrets, I deal with them, in the dark, in the shadows, where good men fear to tread.

One day this job’ll kill me, but not today.