“He’s already called. He says he has something he wants to talk about.”
Dee chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure he does. Ain’t you into him enough already? What does he want? Your firstborn?”
“I dunno. He wouldn’t talk with Lula there. That’s really got me worried.”
“Of course, he wouldn’t! He doesn’t want her to know just how bad he’s gonna fuck her man over.”
“Well, I’m kinda in a jam, Dee,” Tiger could feel the frustration welling up inside him. “I’m tired of selling pieces of my soul, but I don’t have many options with the Cap’n so far away and him having no pull here anymore.”
A look crossed Dee’s face. It was only for a moment, but it didn’t go unnoticed.
“What?” Tiger was on it in an instant. “You just had an idea about something. I saw it!”
“Yeah, but it may be nothing.” Dee tried to temper the man’s instant enthusiasm. “It’s a long shot … and by long shot, I’m talkin’ next fuckin’ galaxy over.”
“I’ll take all bets right now, Dee. Can you at least look into it?”
“Lemme make a few calls. If there’s anything there, I’ll call you back. If I do, you need to be ready to go for a ride.”
“Where?”
“Don’t ask a lot of questions. Just be ready. And don’t tell Cutter! Understand?”
Tiger was slightly taken aback. “What do you take me for? An idiot?”
Dee raised an eyebrow. “Well, you are the one on the run, without a ship, and being hunted by just about everyone in town.”
Tiger scratched his head and looked all around. “Well, when you put it that way …”
«◊»
“So, whaddaya think, Tiger? You think you can pull this off?”
Tiger shrugs and reaches for his shot of whiskey. “If I don’t, I don’t see where you’ve lost a lot. Just a few old rust bucket ships.”
Commander Cody, as he calls himself, looks up from his frosty mug of beer. He is more comfortable discussing strategy in a bar than he is in his own command center. Thus, Tiger finds himself sitting in a corner booth at the Crater Lounge, discussing plans for an upcoming mission. The Commander’s staff isn’t pleased about it, what with the possibility of spies … or worse … assassins, but he cares very little about what they think. He has a war to plan for, and he thinks a lot better in the raucous atmosphere of a local dive.
Cody’s not a physically imposing figure, probably five-ten with an average build. He doesn’t have the broad-shouldered, barrel-chested look of the great leaders you read about in those testosterone-soaked adventure novels. He’s not a particularly handsome man. His nose is lumpy and crooked, the victim of too many bar brawls back in the early frontier days of lunar settlement. A bushy brown beard, gray starting to creep in like vines in a recently-abandoned yard, hides the nasty scar of a knife slash on his neck. It’s a reminder of a past he doesn’t want his children to know about. Now that he’s a husband and a father, he’s put his iniquitous ways behind him. Thick, fleshy pink lips protrude from the whiskers like a rose blooming after the ashes of a wildland fire.
But the eyes … Tiger looks into the man’s eyes and sees a man of contrast, an intelligence that’s more closely associated with a doctor or college professor. He possesses a deep, meditative gaze rarely associated with a former brawler and carouser. Tiger has known Cody since the early days. He drank many a night away with him while laying over in Luna Three. He’d also had many a deep and philosophical conversation with the man. The man is a fighter, yes, but he is a thinker, too. He has a side to him few ever see. That makes him very dangerous.
The Authority will soon find out just how dangerous he can be.
“Actually, I have a lot to lose, my friend.” Cody rubs his beard thoughtfully. “Your ship, along with the few others who signed on, is quite valuable to me. Try not to lose them. I’m gonna need them … and you … later on.”
“It’s nice to be needed,” Tiger smiles and motions for the waitress. “I promise you … if I fail and get vaporized, nobody’s gonna be more disappointed than me that I let you down.”
Cody smiles and starts to reply, but they are interrupted by the sound of laughter and shouting. They turn to see a large group of men entering the bar. Loud and boisterous, they are dressed in battle fatigues, but not the standard Colonial uniform. Tiger immediately recognizes they all have southern accents.
He looks to Cody, puzzled. “What the fuck? The Duke boys go to war?”
“They call themselves ‘The Dixie Devils.’ They got in on one of the last transports before the spaceport was shut down. They’re all volunteers. Some guy in Mississippi got on the ultranet and raised the group in about a week. They come from all over the South, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Arkansas … Some are ex-military, some just wanna do their part to fight …” Cody strikes a cynical superhero pose. “Tyranny and injustice.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“Good ol’ Southern boys,” Tiger replied, as he watches them cut up and intermingle with the locals, “always looking for a scrap.”
“But will they fight when the scrap gets here?” Cody asks. “Part of their agreement is that they fight together as a unit. I need to know they will stand and fight when the shit hits the fan and not tuck tail and run. They talk a good game. Will they deliver?”
Tiger nods, never taking his eyes off of them. A young black kid, in particular, probably not even seventeen, grabs his attention. Of course, with war clouds looming, no one is checking IDs. He’s got a dazzling smile and eyes that light up the room when he laughs. What the hell is he doing
