Choose

2. New Opportunities

December 30, 2009

Remora marveled at the thick carpet of dust dulling the edges of the products lining the shelves of the Rusted Spark. Generally, it took years of neglect for this sort of build up. What sort of cogsmithing shop took such poor care of its goods? Even the large glass storefront window had been so covered in grime that she’d barely been able to make out the vague shapes of shelving inside.

Jinn followed with an unexpected grace for such a large man. He wove his way through the overloaded shelves with ease, red eyes flitting around the room and alert for danger.

Not that she expected any danger – nobody knew she was here. Still, she had hired a bodyguard. She could hardly ask him to stay back on the ship.

She leaned down to examine a shallow bin of parts. Those couldn’t really be self-sealing stembolts, could they? And there, beside them – were those jigowatt converter cells? Why would such valuable stock be left loose in a basket, as if they were peanuts or teabags!

“Excuse me, but we’re closed.” A woman’s voice, raised and irritated.

Remora reached a hand into the bin, pulling out a stembolt to peer at critically. “Your sign said you were open,” she remarked without turning.

“It was an unexpected closing and I haven’t had time to turn off the sign yet. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

“Don’t worry about her, Serena.” A familiar voice. Remora spun, clutching the grimy stembolt to her chest. The captain of the Miraj sat on the near side of the counter, a strange woman frowning at her from the other side.

“She’s with me,” the admission came out as a sigh.

Remora frowned. “You needn’t sound so depressed when you say that.”

Hank glowered at her. “It seems like only hours ago that you promised to stay aboard the ship. It’s like a dream.”

She coughed, eyes downcast. “Yes, well, I didn’t think you’d be gone this long.” The rough edges of the bolt in her hand reminded her why she was here and she lifted the part triumphantly. “Besides! Had you not demanded I leave all of my trunks at our last departure, I should not find myself in dire need of cogsmithing materials.”

“Ah, so you breaking your promise is my fault, is it?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Her cheeks burned. “Yes.” She bit her lip. ”Mostly.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Of course it … it ….” His voice slurred and he frowned, brow furrowed. Turning to the pretty woman seated behind the bar, he pointed a wavering finger, “I don’t feel … right. Did you … is this … poison?”

The woman pursed her lips. “Good night, Hank.”

His eyes rolled back and he fell forward, across the counter.

Remora winced. That was certainly not going to help his injured shoulder.

Her gaze lifted and met the blue eyes of the woman, taking in the drink and the glasses along the way. “I don’t suppose you’d believe it was an accident?” the woman asked, raising her hand into view and pointing a full alchemist gun at Remora.

“Did he owe you money, too?” Remora asked, curious. Just how many enemies did Hank McCoy have?

The woman’s lips pursed in confusion. Before she could reply, the large window at the front of the shop shattered. A dirty man waved an alchemist gun at each of them, arm swinging wildly. “Nobody move! McCoy’s coming with me!”

Remora hadn’t seen JInn move, but one moment he had been standing behind her, and the next he’d shoved Remora back so that he stood between her and both guns.

In his hand, a massive weapon thrummed. She’d never seen anything like it. She supposed it might be called a sword, based on general design, but in specific it looked like a tall metal ‘C’ on a stick. An angry red arc of energy sizzled between the two contact points of the ‘C’ to form the blade. A fat yellow tassel dangled from the end of the knobbled hilt – the same tassel, she now remembered, which typically dangled at Jinn’s side.

“A Tesla sword?” gasped the woman at the counter.

The man at the front whirled, gun outstretched. “I said, nobody —”

Jinn dipped the nose of the sword in a threatening gesture and the man lifted his hand to block the move. The same hand, it might be noted, that held the alchemist gun.

The gun exploded directly in the man’s face. Jinn moved to block her view. Averting her eyes, Remora grimaced at the wet sound the man’s body made as it fell to the floor. “Jinn. That showed undue haste on your part. We did not truly know why the man was here. He said something about McCoy.”

A flick of his wrist and the red energy arc vanished, thrumming sound silenced. “My apologies, Remora. I did not expect him to thrust an explosive chemical into the energy stream.”

Remora stepped forward and put her hand on his forearm. “I understand, but I must ask that you be more careful in the future. We mustn’t go around killing people. Some assassin clans are less businesslike than others and take it personally.”

“Understood.”

Remora smiled at him and the woman at the counter cleared her throat. Remora peered at her, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

“Is that an Arcblade? Could I…could I see it?”

“I am curious to know how you recognize my sword well enough to name it,” said Jinn with as much curiosity as she’d ever heard in his voice.

“I repaired one, years ago. An old shinra’dor came to me with it. He said it had been his brother’s.” The woman shook her head, voice awed. “I never thought I’d see a Tesla in use, in the hands of a shinra’ere.”

Jinn dipped his head, a small token of respect. “You must be a talented cogsmith, for him to have come to you. However, I cannot let you handle my arcblade while you yet hold a weapon against my employer.”

The woman blinked at the gun in her hands as if she’d forgotten she held it. Immediately, she pushed it out of reach, shaking her head. “As if it’d do me any good against a trained Shinra warrior.”

Remora cleared her throat, gesturing at Hank’s prone form. “Please tell me my captain is still alive? I realize he can be irritating, but I do need his services. I am Remora, by the way.” Good heavens, she’d lost all sense of propriety, to have taken so long to introduce herself. Still, she was understandably flustered by the man on the floor and the lack of swift, skilled servants disposing of the mess.

“I’m Serena, owner of this shop. Hank’s alive. His bounty is bigger if he’s alive than it is if he’s dead.” She looked wistfully down at Hank. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into letting me keep him?”

Remora gave a polite nod. “Pleased to meet you, Serena. I am sorry, but I truly do need Mr. McCoy.” She frowned down at the back of his head, hoping he could feel her disapproval even from his coma. “I did not realize he was a wanted man, though. What is the nature of his bounty?”

Serena waved a hand in a vague and graceful gesturesaf. “He must have stolen something important over at one of the bigger skycities. Bespin, I think it was. They want him pretty bad and they weren’t terribly specific on whether or not he needed to be breathing. Thing’s have been pretty rough here, lately, and if Hank’s gotten sloppy enough to get caught in that kind of net, I figured I might as well be the one to profit from it. He’s charming as hell, but a girl’s gotta eat.”

Remora frowned. Perplexing, that McCoy would so quickly agree to visiting a city with a bounty on his head. She wondered what he’d stolen.

Her eye fell on the muddy boot of the unknown man. “I suppose collecting the bounty was his goal, as well, given that he named McCoy specifically.”

Remora sighed. “Troublesome.” This situation could easily become detrimental to her goals. She couldn’t very fight an army of both assassins and would-be bounty hunters every time they visited a port. She had plans.

Certainly, she could pay this Serena person the bounty money, but she could hardly pay off them all, and doing so would attract far more attention than she intended.

“I believe now would be an appropriate time to say something unladylike,” Remora announced.