Free Crescent by Phil Rossi Page B

end of the flight deck. His face-shield was raised and he watched the exchange with vague interest. Walter Vegan was nowhere in sight. Gerald returned his attention to the dynamic duo.
    “Great. Fine,” Gerald said, and eyed the bag at Ina’s feet. He pointed at it. “Get that stowed. We’re leaving in five minutes. And you might want to hand Sparky down there a fifty on your way out,” Gerald gestured to the dockhand with a tilt of his head.
     
    (•••)
     
    Security HQ was quiet and largely deserted. Marisa was grateful. The few officers that were present went about their business, paying more heed to their work than to Marisa. She stepped into a monitoring station and set her bag on the table. A row of LCDs showed multiple sections of the station—blocks of Main Street, views of the hangar, views of the living levels and the farms. Crescent had a lot of cameras, that was for sure. No one was stationed at the feeds. Likely, the missing attendant was in the head or getting food from the compiler. That was fine by Marisa; she didn’t feel like talking to anyone. She didn’t want to talk about Heathen’s, sure to be the conversation du jour. She sat down on the monitoring station’s backless stool and shifted her weight this way and that, but it was impossible to find a comfortable sitting position. Back pain, after all, meant eternal vigilance—at least according to El Capitan. Visit any monitoring station on Crescent and there’d be an officer sitting on a stool, massaging a cramp out of one sore muscle or another. Marisa yawned wide; her jaw popped. She still felt tired and her brain was muddy, even though it had been a couple of days since her hospital visit.
    “Welcome back, Lieutenant,” said a voice from behind her. She suppressed a frown and swiveled on the stool.
    “Hi, Captain.”
    Captain Walter Benedict stood in the doorway, black mug of coffee forever attached to one hand, cigarette between the fingers of the other. His long, pepper black hair was matted to the sides of his head and it was a curled mess where it hit his shoulders. Expressionless, he watched her with his one good, blue eye. Benedict’s other eye was made from glass and was as unnatural and protruding as ever. Marisa always wondered why he hadn’t opted for an implant when he had lost the eye in a knife fight so many years ago.
    “How did your meeting with Kendall go?” he asked.
    “There was no meeting,” she replied.
    “That a fact?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “I thought he might’ve had something to say to you about those armed mercenaries shooting up that fine tavern. He requested a personnel list of hangar security on duty the afternoon those assholes arrived,” Benedict took a drink of coffee. “I told him I would deal with my crew and that I didn’t need him involved. He gave me the impression he’d pursue it anyway—you know how Kendall is. I went to bat pretty damn heavy for you, Mari. If he does talk to you, I’d expect nothing more than a slap on the wrist.” Benedict nodded once.
    Marisa felt relieved, though at the same time she wanted to shout, People died because of me! She bit her tongue—exhaustion was making her feel dramatic. She was happy that the captain had stuck up for her. When it came to locking horns with Mayor Kendall, most people backed down. She saw no reason for her captain to behave any differently. Benedict held her gaze and Marisa felt herself lips tug themselves into a grin. It felt good to smile. She had made a mistake at the docks. That was all.
    That’s not all, she thought. There’s no way I could’ve missed those guns.
    “Well. He hasn’t bothered me yet and I’m not going to go to him. So. We’ll see.” Marisa did find it a little odd, though. Kendall was always quick to come down on anyone who fucked up. He came down hard and in a timely fashion. But, there had been no one waiting for her when she was discharged from the hospital. There had been no one sitting in her