“That’s Follee and I’m not a geek. I’d have fixed the drive eventually. Even if I had to rip every component out of the stupid panel and piece it back together.”
Blest licked his lips and grinned. “So what do we do with this jitterbug?” He redirected his weapon at the stowaway.
“Maybe I have a use for him, Blest. Can you diagnose ships?” I barked at Follee. “Can you pull code, break into systems?”
“Sure, I suppose, all of the above.”
“It’s no ‘suppose’, Fowlee, you either can or you can’t.”
“I can,” he growled.
“Then I give you a choice. You either work for us, or stay locked up in the brig on my ship.”
“But you’re thieves and pirates.”
“Anything less than what your employer was?” I sneered. “You don’t know the half of Detran’s evil.”
He struggled with the concept, working his lips in a frown and muttering. Then his eyes went wide and he gave a grave nod. “I suspected him. Never liked that puff weasel anyways. Where the blazes are we? Alastar dropped out of light drive in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t do anything with the controls. Hal’s passwords were useless. I was lucky to even force open the food hatch as it was.”
“That’s because they’re locked by my spider,” I said proudly, holding up the black, square-faced remote.
“How did you get the code then?”
I fluttered my fingers and mimed a mysterious expression. “Little pirate magic.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Don’t get so hot and bothered, Fowlee. I’m short on recruits. As I said, you may come in handy and your options are kinda limited. Where’s the Myscol?”
“Myscol? What Myscol?”
“Like the stuff your blowhard employer uses to pad his ships with.”
Follee blinked. “You mean the medicines? They’re in the engine room, right behind the artificial grav generators.”
Blest and I exchanged glances and raced for the hold, hustling our friend along with none too gentle hands.
“Medicines,” I scoffed. “Where the fuck did you get such a bird-brained idea?”
“Hal said it was for research: a philanthropic move to fight cancer and other deadly diseases.”
“Did he now?” I crooned. “Boy, you’ve got real dibs on the Gullible Gus award of the year. Your pals’ve been running drugs. That makes you an accessory.”
“No way, I—” He gulped.
We reached the engine room. I heard the low hum of the Vega 6 impulse engines, electro-stroke, quasi-sol drives. Neat stacks and coils on her, running vertically up the wall to the silver-foiled ceiling. Follee pointed. “Over there, behind those black, square units.”
I nodded and we crowded in close. Blest and I took the butt end of our guns to the fibrofane and we ripped off the paneling. I saw twin rows of clear plastic packs containing pink powder with elastic bands tied around them.
I shoved Follee’s head down to take a look. “Does that look like cancer medicines to you?”
He gulped, licked his lips. “Hey, be careful. I’m not your punching bag here.”
I ripped open a hand-sized pack and dipped a finger and ran my tongue over it. “Here, try some,” I said to Follee with a grin. He recoiled, like a frightened baby. “Mmm good. Pure stuff. Blest, you should try some too.”
“Here, you eat it.” I had Blest hold Follee while I forced open his mouth and plugged my pink-snuffed fingers past his tongue. He spat and hissed like an angry cat.
“Consider it your inauguration to Myscol.” I laughed. Follee struggled and I shrugged. “Won’t do any good. Enters the bloodstream fast.” Ah, Rusco, you’re a real hoot.
Blest, wearing a lizard’s grin, thrust the stowaway aside. I even got a rise out of Blest as he dipped his finger in the bag and took a generous dose.
Both our eyes glazed over a bit. I shook my head, enjoying the buzz. “Now, Fowlee, here’s how it’s going to fly. Your name, Fol, that’s your name from now on. Mr. Fol.”
“Naw, just Fol for short,” said Blest.
I conceded to the name change.
Follee held up his hands. “So you got your stuff! What’s in it for me?” His nervous gaze rested on Blest’s itchy finger caressing his weapon.
“This is how it works. We look for opportunities. We split the profits down the middle. I take an extra cut, since it’s my ship and I assume the risk. We share in the overhead. You try any fast ones, we blow your head off. Or at the very least, finger you as an accomplice for stealing this pleasure craft.”
“Sure,” he stammered, “but as long as I don’t have to do anything illegal.”
I took a deep breath and rolled my eyes.
Blest cast me an impatient glance. “Don’t think I want to play nursemaid to baby brat here, Rusco. Though, may give me some amusement on a slow day on my shift.” He reached over and rubbed his knuckles on Follee’s scalp of thin sandy hair and Fol cried out, telling us to lay off him, not appreciating the threats and sarcasm.
We both laughed, feeling good on the Myscol.
We carted out half the product over to the Lander. Less than what I had thought. I guessed about 200 g’s by the time we paid expenses and dropped the price down for a quick sale. Split four ways, that wasn’t bad.
I hesitated with the other half of the shipment. Changed my mind. Left it aboard Alastar. Blest looked at me as if I had a few screws loose.
“Never put all your eggs in one basket, Blest—ever hear of that maxim?”
He shrugged and gave a muffled snort.
With Fol that made five in our merry band.
* * *
Wren met us in the landing bay, passed her eyes over
