Futuristic Fly a Little: An Interstellar Noir

[queendilettante]

Fly a Little
An Interstellar Noir




Starring:
Mai Nishida



Sal DuBois



Ashley (Dodger)
.


Nova Thompson


and
Maeve Andela Armas

​

 

[queendilettante]

It was a simple murder case like any other; drab, dreary, downright disdainful.
A young girl, no older than 20, found dead with gunshot wounds in her back.
It was to be simple, easy.

*cigarette pull and blowing out of smoke*

But it's never easy.
It was on me not to notice the way the office got quiet when I walked in,
the way my superior's eyes followed me around corners like a hawk.
By the time I'd found the first crumb of corruption and followed that trail...
Well, I hardly even saw the bear traps at my feet.
My whole world turned gray, but not before-​

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Mai Nishida jumped and hurriedly turned off the tape recorder she was narrating into. Gene Goldman, a deli owner on 42nd and Richmond, was suddenly standing next to her outside in the cold, holding a wrapped sandwich up into her face. He was scowling.

"H-how long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to hear the damn delusions in your head, kid." He shook his head and pressed the sandwich up into her face, nearly smashing it into her nose. "Take your damn food and stop scaring the customers."

"Y-yeah, will do," she offered meekly, grabbing the sandwich bag and turning tail. That was the second time that week that Gene had caught her indisposed in such a way. Why did he wait so long before he announced himself? He could have said something instead of just standing and watching her talk to herself. Jesus.

Mai slumped off, meatball sub in hand, to her favorite spot in the city: a rickety bench in a long forgotten park next to an apartment complex. There were parks just like this all over the place on Lunar cities like this one. And it was always the same story: a population boom followed by everyone realizing rather quickly that living on the moon was next to awful. These futuristic utopias were just regular cities like the rest of them, dirty and overflowing with too many people and not enough care to help them.

Still, Earth's moon proved a pretty good spot to lay low, and Lunar York was about as average a city as she could have hoped for. Being (at least probably) wanted on Mars gave her few options, and no self respecting bounty hunter would waste their breath on a target in LY.

At least, that's what Mai hoped as she went to town on a shitty sandwich in broad daylight. She left Mars' NTPD more than three years ago now and she hadn't been captured or killed yet, after all.

It was probably fine.

----

When dusk started to overtake the overgrown park, Mai got up from her spot on the bench, threw her trash in the pile-formerly-known-as-trashcan, and set off. She had work tonight: real work. Four people, all of whom she'd become acquainted with in the past few years, were going to be meeting her at Holly Diner on 29th Street. If she was right, and she usually was, these people might be able to help her start to right the way she's been wronged.

She reached her intended walking speed, an impressive yet sustainable 54 inch stride, and hurried to the diner. Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as she passed Gene's on the other side of the street, briefly reducing her stride to a meager 47 inches, but she recovered quickly.
Good.
A detective-- er... former detective needed to be able to keep her cool, even in the most embarrassing of situations.

She smiled to herself.

----

Mai was out of breath when she arrived at the diner. Perhaps a 54 inch stride wasn't exactly sustainable for 4 miles.
No matter. She walked inside, waved to the heavyset old waitress, Peggy, behind the counter, and sat herself down at a booth in the back of the establishment. She lit a cigarette and, when Peggy sauntered over, ordered a coffee.

Now, to wait.

 

[Pipsqueak]

The city was bustling with activity, even as the sun set below the unseen horizon. Towering buildings enveloped the streets below as if adamant to keep the rest of the solar system a secret from night dwellers. Still, nobody seemed to mind their ignorance as they continued on with their own little lives. If Maeve had been born on earth, she would have mused how even on a completely different floating rock, miles and miles from that planet, people’s obsession with their own lives would still get in the way of their innate want to view the world around them.

However, she wasn’t born on earth, and she certainly was too busy to think about such things at the moment. The racer shifted uncomfortably as the metal cuffs dug into her skin. The older man who was the reason for her current charge of illegal racing glared at her under thick eyebrows. His police uniform was visibly too tight for his bulging belly, his face red and sweating as if he had just run a thousand miles.

“You might wanna lay off the donuts, Mark. Next time I won’t even have to be in a car to outrun you.” Maeve smiled as his face seemed to grow a shade redder.

“Don’t fucking patronize me Maeve. I have enough evidence to put you behind bars tonight.” She nodded carefully at his words before clicking her tongue.

“But you haven’t yet. I’m gonna call your bluff here and we can call it a day. I actually have something to do in an hour an-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Mark slammed his fist onto the metal table, his breath coming out in strained huffs.

“I am this fucking close to doing what I did to your little friends back in the day. You still remember them, don’t you? Those morons who pulled the same shit you do before I inevitably got their asses behind bars. This. Close.” Drawing his thumb and forefinger together just an inch apart, he shoved his demonstration into her face. Maeve didn’t flinch, instead glancing up at the cameras with mock uninterest.

“Ain’t my fault they were victims of your bullshit, Mark. Just like it ain’t my fault you're so bad at your job that you have to come up with skewed charges to meet your quota,” Her dark gaze traveled to him again, “I suggest you show everyone your evidence now or you’ll have to let me out in,” She pretended to count on her fingers as if she hadn’t been keeping track of how long she’d been there, “Thirty minutes or so? Right? I dunno, math was never my strong suit.”

Mark’s eye twitched with anger, but it seemed he was out of steam. Without another word, the bloated officer struggled out of his seat and left the room.

—---------------------------------------

The cool air felt wonderful on her skin. As Maeve stepped out from the police station, she flipped her hand over to check her watch. The thought of skipping out on the meeting intrigued her almost as much as going back inside just to taunt Mark on her freedom. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. That woman had promised to find her sister. Maeve was naturally skeptical of the detective’s words, but the rumor was that she’d promised a few others similar things in exchange for their help. If the woman couldn’t keep her promises, there was no reason to believe that they all couldn’t serve their own justice in the end. Maeve could hold her own, and she expected these strangers to be able to do the same. If they couldn’t, it would be no skin off of her back.

The racer drew out her pack of cigarettes, balancing one carefully in her mouth as she lit her lighter with the other hand. Immediately her mind seemed to drain of stress, her muscles relaxing as the chemicals washed over her. The meeting place was only a ten minute walk from here.

Silently cursing herself on wrecking her newest car, she headed down the sidewalk slowly, unbothered with whether or not she would be late. As she crossed the road, Maeve began to hum a tune she’d heard Cally hum so many times before. They’d been a thing once, a few years ago. Of course, Mark was the one to ruin that. Cally had been put in a cell with four other racers on charges that had nothing to do with their actual crime. Maeve knew in that moment something wasn’t right with her. She wasn’t particularly sad to see her go. She’d blamed it on shock for months, but as the years dragged on and the anger still didn’t rise, she accepted that she was just as uncaring as the rest of the world.

—--------------------------------

Pulling up to the meeting place only a few minutes later, she was surprised to see it mostly empty. Most places at this time of night were nearly just as busy as the day. Still, she shrugged off the initial feeling of suspicion and walked in. It was quaint, certainly, and smelled cozy. Maeve had never been with a real caring family, but she imagined this was the scent. Glancing around for a mere second, she immediately spotted the detective woman alone on a side booth. Wasting no time, she walked over to meet with her.

The detective had that sort of aura most would expect one to have. Dark, mysterious, deadly. If she weren’t a detective, Maeve certainly would have hit on her the first time they’d met.

“Usually I’m the last one to arrive. Guess this time I’ll be the favorite of the group.” She smiled halfheartedly at the woman as she took a seat across from her.

“I hope you meant what you said about finding Lilith, detective. I’m sure you don’t want to take your chance at an empty promise.”

 

[guac]

Nova Thompson walked down 29th Street at a calculatedly-leisurely pace, adjusting the hood on her jacket to better cover her face. The cops were everywhere in this city, it seemed. She thought she spotted one standing on every corner, or worse, a whole bunch clustering around some taped-off, grimy alleyway like vultures on roadkill. Sickening shit.

The last remnants of sunlight began to fade as the streetlights clicked on above her head. The smell of impending rain hung in the air – well, impending something anyway. Nova let out a sigh. How the fuck did I get here?

It was a thought that came often. In another life, she would’ve never risked being out past sunset in a city like this, especially not alone. That life was long gone now, killed senselessly in some grimy alleyway along with her husband. She was no longer just some helpless, harmless secretary afraid of getting mugged on her walk home.

No, she knew exactly how she got to 29th Street. She fought tooth and nail for it, actually. At the Holly Diner, only a few more blocks away now, awaited her key to solving Lyle's murder. Or, at least she hoped so. Nova frowned, a familiar pit forming in her stomach.

Mai Nishida. She’d found the woman’s name in what was left of Lyle’s notes after the police had their way with his office. Meeting with her was a risk, but it was Nova’s only hope.

When she finally reached the diner, Nova adjusted her hood over her dreads one last time, hoping the mechanical movements of her prosthetic hand weren’t too obvious through her heavy gloves. She stepped inside, flinching slightly at the sound of the little bell on the door announcing her arrival. How old fashioned. Nova smirked.

She spotted Mai in a booth off to the side, accompanied by a woman Nova didn’t recognize. Mai had mentioned there would be others joining them, but Nova still couldn’t help tensing up as she approached.

She stood at the end of the table for a beat, unsure of which side to pick, before deciding on sliding in next to Mai.

“Neither of you were followed, yeah?”

 

[kaito9049]

Gene Wright’s new life started with the smell of rust.

It was a scent that was becoming increasingly familiar, after visiting as many repair shops as he had. By now he no longer felt the urge to sneeze at the acrid scent of chemicals. But he could feel it in his gut — this was the place. It had to be.

He was at the end of his list, after all, and none of the other mechanics had wanted his money.

Gene couldn’t blame them. The Sons of Toil didn’t screw around when it came to loan repayments. He was sure the minute after his deadline passed, his name and picture were sent to every half-decent business owner in the district. That left him with the quarter-decent ones.

Fortunately, the last name on his list — curated over the three months Gene had spent planning his escape from town — had a strong enough reputation. He was a bit harder to track down, though; apparently the mechanic tended to rotate work yards every so often. Gene had already been to three other locations looking for him. All were either shuttered or run by some new repairman.

But this one — this one was it. Now it was just a matter of convincing the guy to help a wanted man.

Gene rolled up his hovercar window and stepped out. He left the engine running, its ailing motor whining and groaning like a tired child. Pauline had begged him to trash the thing for months, and if Gene had the scratch to replace it, he probably would have. But now their time was up. The old girl would have to do, after she got a once-over.

The garage door was open. It was an unassuming shop, squeezed for space between two warehouses. There was no name on the front, nothing to notify passersby that the place was a business. Unless, of course, they were looking for it.

“Hello?” Gene called, poking his head into the garage. It was dimly lit, illuminated only by a few lamps that hovered some feet off the ground. But Gene could tell someone had been here recently; though there was no car on the vehicle lift, a metal-and-wire contraption, about the size of a brick, was on the ground toward the back of the room, surrounded by tools he only partially recognized.

Gene moved forward, wondering if the guy he was looking for was out to lunch. Wouldn’t that just be his luck?

“Can I help you?”

Gene spun around, his hands shooting up in surrender. In front of him was a man, a little younger than him, with short dark hair and a scraggly beard. In his right hand he held a rather large shotgun, which would have alarmed Gene more if it was pointed at him. It wasn’t. Yet.

“Sorry,” Gene said quickly, his hands still raised. “I was looking for someone. Sal. Sal DuBois?”

The man didn’t react to the name, his expression set in a near-frown and his fingers still wrapped around the shotgun’s grip. But from the oil stains on his jacket and pants, Gene figured he’d found his guy.

“I’m looking for a mechanic,” said Gene, realizing he should probably explain.

The other man scoffed, as if Gene had said something ridiculous. “Then go find one.”

“I—sorry?”

“I’m an engineer. I build stuff. Mechanics fix stuff.”

“Can you build me a fixed car?”

The other man — Sal, if Gene was correct — raised an eyebrow, and for a moment Gene worried he’d have to cross the last name off his list. Then Sal smiled, or at least stopped glaring.

“How much?” he asked.

Gene blinked. “How much do you charge?” he replied.

Sal sighed and pushed past Gene to enter the garage. He set his shotgun against the far wall, crouching down to inspect the device on the ground Gene had seen earlier. When he didn’t say anything after a few moments, Gene repeated his question.

“I ain’t gonna haggle with you,” Sal said, annoyance bleeding from his voice. He picked up a tool from the ground and began to tinker with a panel on the contraption. “People only come to me when they ain’t got nowhere else to go. You’re either broke — in which case you ain’t worth my time — or you’ve done something stupid, or you’re about to do something stupid. So which is it?”

Gene felt his face flush. He had half a mind to turn around and storm out. But then he remembered Pauline. And...and Gene Jr.

“You’re right,” Gene said finally, looking down. “I need my car fixed fast. Like, today fast. I’ll give you everything I got if you can get her back to full speed.”

Sal looked up and squinted at Gene, as if he was trying to tell if he was lying. Then he nodded. “Fine. Bring your car in. I’ll take a look.”

---

“How bad is it?” Gene asked.

Sal didn’t respond. Gene was beginning to realize that was his default answer to most questions. The mech—er, engineer had pulled out the car’s engine — this model had slide-out blocks — and moved one of the hoverlights over it. The light flashed orange, and Sal looked at the inside of his left wrist, which was displaying a miniature set of numbers in a strangely structured pattern, like a glowing tattoo that was being printed on his skin.

“Diagnostics says you’ve got a busted throttle position sensor,” Sal said, moving the hoverlight closer to a corner of the engine.

“Is that bad?”

Sal grunted. “They’re pretty easy to replace, if you have a clean one.”

“Oh, good.”

“I don’t have a clean one.”

“Oh.”

Sal grunted again, apparently annoyed that he had to put effort into the job Gene was paying him for. “I can rig a replacement that’ll work. But it’ll take me a few hours.”

Gene sighed with relief. A few hours. Then he could drive to the hotel where he’d stashed Pauline and Gene Jr., and they’d be out of town as soon as it got dark.

“You don’t know how much this means to me,” Gene said. “I did get into some trouble, and I was wondering how I was gonna get out of it. No one would help me. But I told myself, ‘Gene, you gotta buck up. This last guy, he’s gonna lend you a hand for sure. He’s just gotta.’ When my girl hears about this, she’s gonna—”

“Bench outside,” Sal interrupted. He’d started donning a pair of large rubber gloves.

Gene stopped short. “Sorry?”

“There’s a bench just outside the garage. You can wait there.”

“O-oh.” Gene nodded, partially in agreement and partially in apology. “Sure thing.”

The “bench” was, in reality, little more than an old, unpadded chair with a wobbly leg. But Gene didn’t care. He’d done it. Sure, it’d taken most of his savings, but soon he’d have a fixed car and could be on his way. He smiled and took a deep breath, listening to the sound of metal clanking against metal. Just a few more hours, and his new life would begin.

---

Sal watched his customer pull away from the garage, his vehicle rumbling with the contented purr of a refurbished machine. The man — Gene Wright — grinned at Sal through the windshield and waved before driving off.

Sal rolled his eyes. Idiot.

He glanced at his phone, making sure his payment hadn’t somehow disappeared from its screen. It was a decent get. Too bad he probably wouldn’t be allowed to keep most of it.

Sal sat on an upside-down bucket and tapped at his phone screen to pull up a map. A red dot pulsed on the screen, moving rapidly down the street. It was a genius device, Sal had to say himself. Not that the Sons of Toil would care. Never mind that none of the mechanics this side of town could whip up a tracker with spare parts reclaimed from the landfill — no, all they cared about was making an example of some poor debtor.

Sal paused, his finger hovering over his phone screen. A single tap, and his contact with the Sons would receive the link to the tracker. But was this the right move? Maybe he could tell the gang that he wasn’t able to install the tracker. If he called them now and gave up Gene’s general direction, maybe they’d be satisfied with that — and maybe Gene could have a fighting chance. Maybe they both could.

Wait, was that time right?

Sal cursed. He was supposed to meet Mai nearly 15 minutes ago. He tapped his phone screen once, sending the link on to its destination, and sprang up from his seat.

Was it too much to ask for one day without everyone wanting something from him?

---

Sal arrived at the diner about half an hour late, which was only 10 minutes later than he meant to arrive. It was always good to keep contacts on their toes, in his opinion, just in case they were trying to spring something. Sure, Mai was the closest thing to a trustworthy cop he knew, but...well, she was still a cop.

Badge or not.

Still, the fact that Sal was willing to meet her at all was something. And it was in a public place, which probably meant there wasn’t a squad of corporate security goons preparing to jump him as soon as he walked through the door. Probably.

He paused, rubbing his shoulder as he looked at his reflection in the diner’s glass door. He’d grabbed a slightly less greasy jacket on his way out, and he was carrying his smallest tool bag. It was more out of habit than anything; he doubted Mai had called him here for a tune-up. And the stun baton at the bottom of the bag didn’t hurt his sense of security, either.

Sal opened the door and stepped inside. Mai was already seated, of course. She’d probably arrived an hour before the scheduled time. Two other women were with her. Apparently they’d been waiting for a bit; they’d had time to order coffee and dessert.

“Officer.” Sal greeted Mai with a nod, before pulling a chair from the table to the booth. The one remaining seat was beside the younger woman with the garish red jacket, and he didn’t intend to risk earning himself a knife in the ribs along with the more comfortable seat.

Sal’s eyes flitted between the two strangers. He sat down, but didn’t remove his bag, resting his hand almost lazily on the half-unzipped opening.

“What, you only ordered enough for yourselves?” he huffed, jutting his chin toward the plates of pie. “I came out all this way, Nishida. Least you could do is have something ready.”

 

[Hard Boiled]

Holly Diner. A skid mark on the soiled undergarment known as 29th street, complete with leaking pipes and coffee that went down like gravel. A hooded figure sat on a bar stool facing the kitchen pondering life's greatest mystery:
Would it kill these Earthlings to open up a Martian cookbook for once?

"Could use salt." A croak emerged from the hood.

"You're free to go home and make your own eggs, honey." Replied Peggy.

The woman underneath the parka snorted. That was a good answer.

Dodger wolfed down the remainder of her veggie omelet (hold the cheese). The last square meal she'd eaten was aboard a security satellite ten million miles out, and that hardly stayed down - hyperspeed was never easy on her gut. There'd be plenty of travel ahead, so she decided to eat while she waited for her clients:
Four souls requiring safe passage across interplanetary borders. Half upfront, half upon completion. Typical need-to-know situation. "Get me here and I'll pay you."
Just the kind of work Dodger specialized in.

She looked down at the notepad detailing her cargo beside her plate.
NISHIDA - Good cop gone bad. (Drugs?)
DUBOIS - Engineer.
ARMAS - Unk. Grifter.
THOMPSON⛥ - HIGH PROFILE!

Not much information to begin with, but Dodger was nothing if not resourceful. She slid her empty plate down the bar and kept her head down.

---

"Welcome to Holly's."

The seventh patron Peggy had greeted since Dodger arrived forty minutes prior. Three had left, each denoted by a chime on the door, leaving only one conversation bubbling between the four huddled together. No mistaking her destination now.
Dodger lazily slapped a tip onto the bar and rose from her stool, sauntering over to the party of four.

“This one is a very private person, content with eating her mediocre pie in silence until this meeting begins.”

"Mediocre is a stretch." Dodger announced her presence unceremoniously, resting her arms on the divider beside their table. A scarred smile was barely visible between her scarf and winter hood, her eyes shaded entirely.

What a sorry looking group. Detective Nishida seemed like she might croak on the spot, and Thompson fit her police description to a T, cybernetic arm and all. Armas could clearly use a long nap, and DuBois... Well, he looked alright.

"Sorry I'm late. Got caught up at a checkpoint." The hood fell back to reveal a cascade of stringy red hair atop an all too friendly face.
"Dodger." She introduced to those whom she hadn't met. "This all of yous?"

 

[Hard Boiled]

"So..." she started, uncomfortable with the silence, "how's everyone's day going?"

"Ah, you know, ups and downs." Dodger threw up her hand listlessly as she walked, keeping pace with the Detective.

"Touched down from The Red today," as Mars is sometimes affectionately known. "That's a seven month trip, if you've never been, but I reckon I weren't up there more than six." Five months, eighteen days, one hour. "Wouldn't be so bad if those checkpoints weren't so God-damn shaky. Hundred-seventy-something years a' spaceflight later, you'd think they'd learn how to calibrate their microthrusters, am I right?" She glanced over rhetorically. "Ah, well. Smarter minds than me."

"It's about a ten minute walk, are you good for that?"

Mai was absent mindedly listening to the woman ramble about interplanetary travel as the group set off toward her ship. She was rubbing at her aching palms as soon as the woman addressed her.

"Oh! Uh," Mai started, embarrassed. "Yes, why wouldn't a ten minute walk be okay?"

Ashley lowered her voice.
"I've been around a long time, Detective. I know pain when I see it."

"Come on, we'll be there-"

"-Before you know it. Told ya." Dodger stopped beside the hangar with her hands on her hips, looking straight up the thirty-five foot door. A turn of a key and it rose, accompanied by interior spotlights.

"Here she is. My pride, my joy, my Missus."

Before them stood a quaint little corvette long past her service life. The Missus, as was inscribed on her hull, stood not half the size of an average cruiser today, yet with engines twice as large. She wore different greens and greys and blacks from spare plating, her original livery a faint note among wear. Only her nose art remained apparently unscathed, displaying her namesake of a bride laying beneath the port windscreen, identical to her owner's forearm tattoo.

A relic to most, a home to Dodger. They'd spent countless lonely nights together, with nothing but time and space to keep them company in the deep black sea. A bond like no other. Together, they have seen life and they have seen death, and they surely shall continue to.

"Let's go inside, I'll give you the tour."

 

[Pipsqueak]

Maeve walked along with the others in silence, happy to let the zombie woman talk Mai's ear off. The others didn't seem too keen on conversation either, which was just fine with her. The whole thing seemed a bit ridiculous at this point- clearly none of them were too eager to trust one another. They were all here because something was promised to them. From an ex detective, no less. There was no way this wasn't going to end up badly for one, if not all, of them. Maeve trusted her instincts enough, however, to turn tail and run if need be. She had no loyalty to these people as they didn't to her. She was here to find her sister, but a backup plan was already being made in case things went south. So Maeve occupied herself with kicking a lone piece of pavement from the cafe to Dodger's old woman, only somewhat paying attention to what they were talking about.

By the time they'd reached the shit-mobile, the racer had completely checked out. That was until she nearly bumped into Nova that she finally glanced up, only to be met by an unseemly sight. Hell, she'd had wrecked cars better looking than this. Turning to Sal, who Mai had informed her was an engineer, she gave him a look.

"If we die I'm blaming you for not putting your skills to good use." Aiming a good kick to the side of the Missus, Maeve hurled the rock with a loud clang before it tumbled back down to the ground.

"Well at least the gal can take a little beating. Should we put a logo on the side when we upgrade her? The Mystery Gang II, here to rock your shit. We can all sit around and make friendship bracelets when the tour's done." Her snide comment was directed at nobody in particular.

This was going to be so embarrassing.