House of the Orion Sun: Mission 3: Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire, #3

By J.S. Morin

Core World problems…

 

Rigel IV glistens beneath a giant, blue-white sun. Its vast surface is covered in tall cities shining like hope itself. Law enforcement protects the people. Or at least… most of the people.

 

Because even core worlds have a seedy side.

 

Esper finds a home of sorts among the endangered, the unprotected, the ones that the law turns a blind eye toward.

 

And when one of her protectees gets kidnapped, Esper will stop at nothing to bring her home. Well, almost nothing. Because Esper's work has pushed her to the edge of a moral precipice. She's clinging by the last of her willpower to avoid the easy path, the one that might lead her to damnation and turn her into the sort of person she's been battling all along.

 

And the voice in her head keeps egging her on.

 

House of the Orion Sun is the third mission of Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire. Set in the Black Ocean Universe, it continues the saga of the galaxy's sweetest bounty hunter and her loyal sidekick (who is NOT a dog!) and introduces a colorful cast for new and returning readers alike. Fans of vigilante justice and heroes who exemplify the word will love this series.

 

Buy your copy its freedom today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643550107

J.S. Morin

I am a creator of worlds and a destroyer of words. As a fantasy writer, my works range from traditional epics to futuristic fantasy with starships. I have worked as an unpaid Little League pitcher, a cashier, a student library aide, a factory grunt, a cubicle drone, and an engineer--there is some overlap in the last two. Through it all, though, I was always a storyteller. Eventually I started writing books based on the stray stories in my head, and people kept telling me to write more of them. Now, that's all I do for a living. I enjoy strategy, worldbuilding, and the fantasy author's privilege to make up words. I am a gamer, a joker, and a thinker of sideways thoughts. But I don't dance, can't sing, and my best artistic efforts fall short of your average notebook doodle. When you read my books, you are seeing me at my best. My ultimate goal is to be both clever and right at the same time. I have it on good authority that I have yet to achieve it. Visit me at jsmorin.com

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House of the Orion Sun

HOUSE OF THE ORION SUN

MISSION 3

BLACK OCEAN: MERCY FOR HIRE

J.S. MORIN

MAGICAL SCRIVENER PRESS

Copyright © 2018 J.S. Morin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

J.S. Morin — First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-64355-010-7

HOUSE OF THE ORION SUN

MISSION 3

The softly lit alcove just past the concierge desk was intended as a waiting room. With its red plush couches and velvet curtains, it hinted at privacy and the naughty delights that La Maison d’Être peddled. Since Esper had taken up residence as protector of the bordello’s staff, it had become a reading nook as the wizard whiled away the hours between crises.

It wasn’t the gig Esper had envisioned when she and Kubu had returned to civilized space. She’d imagined that Rigel IV would be host to an unending litany of charity projects in need of her particular brand of vigilante Samaritanism. But while the planet had its share of problems, it also possessed a functional—albeit imperfect—law enforcement force.

Core world life came with core world problems. If Esper wanted to help someone, it had to be people the law tended to ignore.

Thus it was that, after two incidents in the span of three days bringing Esper to the aid of the women working at La Maison d’Être, Madame Dalisay had offered Esper a small salary to hang around. Five hundred terras was less than the lowest earners in the bordello pulled on a slow night, but Esper accepted it for a week’s guard duty.

She wasn’t in this business for the money. The stipend, plus a roof over her and Kubu’s heads, was all she needed.

A wide-shouldered man in a shabby black trench coat entered the establishment, fedora tilted low to obscure his eyes. Esper recognized him by the cut of his jawline. Mitch was a regular. Through scuttlebutt, Esper had discovered the man had a fierce tobacco addiction but was otherwise harmless. The hostesses considered him a solid customer.

The verbal transaction at the welcome desk was barely audible. B12. Sheila, Madame Dalisay instructed.

Mitch tipped his hat with a weathered hand and ducked down the hallway. No terras changed hands in the open. He’d pay a deposit by thumb scan in Sheila’s room and the balance for services rendered prior to exiting. Esper had been called on more than one occasion to wrangle an irate client who tried to depart without paying up.

Knowing her services were unlikely to be required, Esper turned her attention back to her datapad. The newsfeed article was fresh off the omni. CIVIL WAR BREWING. EARTH MARS SPLIT POSSIBLE. Esper had grown up with headlines like that. It was almost as if newsfeeds couldn’t attract premium subscribers if they didn’t predict galactic-grade doom on a near-daily basis. Esper would believe it when she saw it. Such interplanetary-scale catastrophes would take a lot more than five hundred terras a week to gain her attention.

When another client arrived, Esper was grateful to pull her attention away from the gloomy opinionews. She couldn’t even rightly call it news news. At least she could justify the distraction as part of her job. This one she didn’t recognize. That wasn’t unusual. A good two-thirds of the bordello’s clients were one-timers.

She liked taking guesses as to who came calling at La Maison d’Être, the sort of man who’d rather reach for a thumb scanner than meet someone and attract her on personality and physical appearance. She suspected this specimen had neither of those two virtues going for him. Middle-aged, shaved bald, with what looked like a permanently implanted datalens over his left eye, Esper pegged him for an off-brand techster who worked for shady businessmen and considered romantic entanglements a weakness.

Her impression shifted when the argument brewing at the front desk grew heated. As Mr. Datalens swiped through screen after screen of potential hostesses for his evening’s entertainment, thankfully angled so that Esper couldn’t watch who he was pondering, he hooked a thumb in her direction.

Not her, Madame Dalisay stated firmly, raising her voice so that Esper could hear clearly. She’s not available.

Looks plenty available to me, Mr. Datalens replied equally loudly. He tapped the device over his eye. Might not dress the part, but I can see thermals. She’s got what I’m looking for.

Even knowing she was being observed in the radiant heat spectrum, Esper felt her face warm. It was easier brushing aside the business transacting just the other side of a few thin steel walls, coated in woodgrain plastic to look like mahogany, when it involved women besides her.

Swallowing a lump that rose in her throat, Esper buried her nose in her datapad. I’m security, not customer service. Behave yourself, and we won’t speak again. In her head, it sounded lame, but she tried to make it sound like a line from one of the Last Stand holovids. Menacing. Looming. Final. Completely dorky.

Sir, you’d be much happier spending your evening with one of our hostesses, Madame Dalisay cut in. Threats might have been necessary once in a while, but they were bad business. Esper hoped Mr. Datalens blew off for the night, but the proprietress was still trying to get his money. Fair enough. Savory sorts rarely stopped by.

Eventually, the two came to an agreement. Esper carefully avoided hearing who he was renting for the next hour or two, so she wouldn’t picture the two of them together the next time she saw the woman. After all, everyone lived in the same dorm upstairs. It was hard waiting for the coffee maker with someone when the only topic of conversation that sprang to mind was, Weird guy you had last night, huh?

When Mr. Datalens’s footsteps faded down the hall with a whoosh of a door opening and closing behind him, Esper settled in on the couch. She sat cross-legged, datapad perched in her lap. Her stocking feet were up so as not to dirty the plush upholstery with her boots.

Struggling to remember the way, she navigated the datapad to entertainment news. At least she didn’t have to go up to the desk and have Madame Dalisay punch in the commands for her. It seemed like the workings of technology she’d known all her life became more mysterious month by month.

Hmm, Esper mused softly. There was a Mindy Mun concert coming to Hunter Arena, just two cities over. Core world living came with perks. Mindy Mun would never have ventured out to the borderlands. Kubu might have fun. Maybe I’ll pre-purchase tickets when they go on sale.

Esper’s musings were cut short when the soft overhead lighting in the alcove switched to an urgent, flashing red.

Without pausing to pull on her boots, Esper dropped the datapad and dashed for the hallway.

Melody in 5A, Madame Dalisay shouted as Esper sprinted past.

The door opened as soon as Esper arrived, triggered remotely from the front desk.

Mr. Datalens was stripped down to the waist. Melody’s boudoir ensemble was torn to shreds and scattered around the room. The client had one hand around Melody’s throat, pinning her to the bed. With the other hand, Mr. Datalens was attempting to unbuckle his belt.

Esper didn’t bother with the whole let her go routine. She’d discovered that even mentioning the victim just reminded a client that he had a hostage available. Better that Esper acquire and maintain his full attention.

Racing across the room, Esper grabbed Mr. Datalens by the wrist at Melody’s throat. With a crack of bone, the grip broke, and Melody sucked in a desperate gulp of air.

Mr. Datalens gasped in pain. You bitch! I bought her!

There’s a price for what you did, Esper said through a red haze of building rage. But it doesn’t get collected in terras.

You’re gonna—!

But the man’s threat ended when Esper’s knee forcibly shut his jaw. She’d been prepared for a follow-up blow to the crotch, but Mr. Datalens wasn’t much for brawling. He went limp in her grasp.

Letting the abusive client drop to the floor, Esper rushed to Melody’s side. The hostess lay gasping on the bed, one hand clutching her throat. Can you breathe? Are you all right?

Still struggling, tears in her eyes, Melody shook her head.

Pulling away the hand at the woman’s throat, Esper quickly but gently replaced it with her own. The skin was red and raw from rough hands and looked sure to bruise if not worse.

Closing her eyes, Esper softly suggested to the universe that this poor creature should speed through her body’s natural recovery process. Though she felt nothing herself, her patient’s reaction was profound and near-instantaneous.

Within seconds, Melody was breathing like a sprinter at the end of a race, gulping huge lungsful of air to replenish her oxygen supply.

There, you should be all—

But Melody’s arms crushed around Esper in a desperate hug. Thank you!

The local cops had been waiting at the bordello front desk when Esper dragged Mr. Datalens out of Melody’s room. They were standard-issue core world law enforcers with their mag cuffs, stun batons, body armor, and those translucent-masked helmets that obscured features while still making it clear there was a human inside. They were a different pair than Esper had dealt with on previous occasions, but Madame Dalisay seemed to know them.

But that had been half an hour ago. Now, Esper sat across a table from Melody at Buttery Stacks, a hypermodern-retro diner a couple blocks from the bordello. Their waiter was a repulsor-floating drone with two robotic arms and a touchscreen menu for a face. It wore a bow tie and apron.

Two coffees, Esper told the thing, hoping it accepted verbal orders. On the screen, the menu view switched to show two line-items of coffee. I’ll take mine with triple sugar and whipped cream sprinkled with cinnamon.

The display updated to modify one of the coffees per Esper’s request.

Double-espresso, black, Melody added. As soon as the order updated, she thrust a jittery thumb against the waiter drone’s scanner. The other hand was still rubbing at her neck, though there was no mark on her any longer.

Esper scowled good-naturedly. You didn’t have to—

I’m not letting you buy me a fucking coffee, Melody snapped, voice trembling on the verge of a breakdown. Madame D barely pays you, and you just saved my life.

Esper decided to let the matter drop.

The hostess had retrieved a change of civilian clothes from her room in the dorms. Even dressed modestly, she was a fey and stunning creature. She had delicate cheekbones and wide blue eyes. Hair more golden than blonde with no telltale sign of dark roots to suggest it was dyed was pulled back in a frazzled ponytail. Her skin was a creamy hazelnut, glistening smooth and unblemished. And even beneath a zippered sweatshirt and shin-length skirt, Esper’s imagination filled in the details of those curves.

It was rude to ask, but Esper had to wonder how much of Melody was natural and how much—as with her own appearance—was cosmo.

It’s all right. Bad dream. We’re safe here now. I heard Mindy Mun was coming to Hunter Arena next month, Esper mentioned, hoping that a change of subject might get Melody’s mind off her attack.

Safe. Right. Melody forced a nervous chuckle. "Safer than when Ugrosh was bouncing, and I worried about having puppies after tipping him but never safe safe. Speaking of tipping, maybe not tonight, but just come by anytime after hours."

Esper’s brain momentarily derailed. It was one thing trying to keep from pondering the idea of the hostesses tipping their former eyndar bouncer. The wolf-like aliens were known brutes and rarely allowed on core worlds, but Rigel was the outer edge of the core systems. The notion that Esper would insist on the same reward for heroism galled her.

The drone arrived with their coffees. Both women sipped theirs immediately. Esper had to wipe whipped cream from her upper lip afterward.

I’m… I mean, I’d never…

Melody paused in lifting her espresso to her lips. Please. Don’t even. All the girls know. There’s a pool on who you’d try first. You like the job the same reason all the other bouncers do: the scenery.

Esper took a gulp of her coffee, wincing at the molten beverage as it seared its way down her throat. She used a plastinap to wipe the mess from her face.

It’s fine, Melody assured her. We all do it. You’d be a nice change of pace from the amateur jackhammer operators we normally get. Plus, you’ve earned it.

Hearing herself evaluated in comparison to La Maison d’Être made Esper’s insides squirm. It’s my job, Mel. Same as… that other stuff is yours. I’m just… a safety harness or a fire-suppression sprayer. I’m not in any danger from those thugs.

Melody shook her head as she took her next sip. Must be nice… There was a hint of a tear in her eye.

There are safe jobs out there, Esper said, snagging onto the dangling thread of hope. You don’t have to—

Melody had a hand up. Stop you right there. I do. I have to. Core living costs money. I do what I do best. I tried acting, modeling, sales. I get nerves. Too many people. Too many eyes. I can deal with one or two at a time or with friends after hours. Sex is good money, even if… She shrugged and glanced around the diner. Then she slouched in her seat and hugged her sweater against her chest. I could move out to the colonies for cheaper living, but I want Harmony to have a core world education. A scare now and then’s not going to stop me providing that.

Esper bit her tongue. Little Harmony was four years old and cute as a chipmunk. She was one of the little ones Kubu helped shepherd at the bordello’s daycare center. While Esper was sure she could get Melody set up elsewhere in the galaxy with honest work—or illegal but less morally dubious—she couldn’t make the same promise for her daughter.

And so Esper sipped her coffee and changed the subject.

Kubu’s ears perked up when he heard the lift doors open. There had been eleven false alarms, but it never failed to get his hopes up. This time, he recognized two sets of footsteps outside in the hall. One sounded like either Penelope or Melody; he hadn’t learned to tell them apart yet. The other was clearly Esper.

Nobody else working at La Maison d’Être wore combat boots.

Quickly, Kubu lowered his head to the pillow and shut his eyes.

When the door opened, Esper stepped inside on tiptoe. It was cute that she thought the sound would escape his notice, even if he were actually asleep. The door whooshed shut behind her. The nighttime don’t-trip-on-anything light glowed where the wall and floor met, casting the whole little room they shared in shadows.

Kubu attempted to snore when he caught Esper looking his way and he peeked through narrow-slitted eyes.

You’re awake. You’re not fooling anyone with those phony snores.

Kubu rolled upright and lay atop the bedsheets on his belly. Awwww.

You don’t have to wait up for me. You work days. I work nights. Afternoons are it. Are Miss June and the kids not enough company the rest of the time?

Kubu sighed. I miss you. You’re gone all the time.

I’m mostly just downstairs.

Where I’m not allowed.

They’d tried Kubu’s hand at guard duty. He was relegated to emergency backup status. It wasn’t that Kubu was incapable of providing protection for the hostesses. Far from it. But he couldn’t manage to be both innocuous and a deterrent at the same time. His clearly juvenile personality grated on the atmosphere when he spoke, and his appearance as a huge, black canine dampened the spirits of potential clients, many of whom were already nervous just being there.

If the red lights flashed, the hostesses were safer with Kubu on duty. No one was allowed past the front desk if Kubu wouldn’t overmatch them physically, and he could outrun Esper on three legs. But the rest of the time, he was bad for business.

You’re happier staying upstairs.

There was also the fact that Kubu struggled to wrap his head around the business conducted behind those closed doors, and Esper didn’t want him trying.

But you’re sadder downstairs, Kubu replied sullenly.

I’m not… Esper began to object but couldn’t finish. It was a lie half-formed, and she left it to disperse into verbal oblivion. I’m helping people. It’s not glamorous or fun, but someone has to do it, and the wrong type of person in my position could make it even worse for all the women working here.

And Chad and Gene, Kubu added.

Esper sighed. For everyone. Chad was prettier than half the girls despite being in his late thirties, and Gene was a giant teddy bear with a voice higher than Esper’s. It was easy to lump them in with the hostesses even if she knew better.

Maybe take turns, Kubu said. "Find someone nice to do guard