Wild Space Pt 04

They were going to meet on the sun soaked veranda of the only decent restaurant on the entire planet. Below it, the rolling brown foothills rippled up and down until they became the great, towering gray-purple mountain range. The air was bracing, cold, and carried with it the scent of wintergreen and pines, an earthy and pleasant combination that always seemed to sharpen the appetite.

Nida wasn't hungry for the famous food of Kelak's sole gourmet dining establishment, but counted it as a fringe benefit. As she'd told the transport driver that picked her up at her estate, the maitre d' who greeted her at the restaurant, and the waiter, she had a date tonight.

But not just any date. For Nida, dates were already hard enough to come by, let alone with someone so exotic and new and gorgeous. Nida could hardly believe the circumstances under which they'd met: a farm show, of all things! Then again, what else was there to do on Kekal? She had somehow managed to attract the attention of a beautiful woman with the scent of manure and animals in the air.

Nida was something of a beautiful woman herself, but it was hard for her to see it. She was on the right side of her 20s still, a fine boned, pale skinned woman with thick and short black hair. In her youth she had been gawky, and had been the owner of an awkward form that was all elbows, knees and bony shoulders for what had seemed like forever. Now she was still slender but had blossomed prettily into a woman's shape. The biggest compliment she had ever received was that day at the farm show, when her new friend, Tyla, had told her that her eyes were as dark and pretty as two black stars.

Simply saying her name made Nida melt a little in her seat, so she said it again, tasting the word as it left her lips. For minutes on end she had been nervously drumming her fingers on the table top, but just thinking of Tyla calmed her down a little. When they had met she had been dressed in one of the notoriously tough leather outfits farmers always wore, but hers had been clean and pristine. Still, Nida's first words hadn't exactly been charming. More rushed, awkward and the first thing that had popped into her head.

"Are you working today?" She had said, and a moment later nearly shuddered visibly at her own fumblings. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why can't you ever say the right thing?

Tyla had laughed and shook her head. She looked to be in her early 40s, with soft brown skin that showed only the barest hint of wrinkles at her eyes, mouth, and neck. Her hair was dark brown, streaked through with gray, and pulled back to reveal expressive chocolate brown eyes. The outfit and the hair had led Nida to ask her foolish question.

"No, I'm new here," Tyla had told her with a warm smile. She favored dark lipstick, a red shade that was almost brown. Something about it was begging for a kiss, a touch of the thumb along the lips. "When I got to the spaceport I was told this was the best clothing to wear to the show. What do you think?"

And so it had begun, a friendly, and for Nida, effortless exchange of smiles, words, and warm feelings. She learned that Tyla was an artist from Araxis IX, that harsh desert world of endless orange sand and suffocating heat. Tyla had forthrightly said that her world had a kind of beauty, but her art needed a change of place. Hence, Kelak.

"But why the farm show?" Nida had asked shyly. "Do you paint animals?"

"No, landscapes," Tyla had told her. "You can't beat the scenery here. I am just checking out the farm show to get out of my studio and do something."

On and on it went as they walked around the stalls, gasped at the fiercer animals, patted the docile ones, and giggled at the cute ones. Eventually Tyla apologized and said she had to leave and eat, so Nida hastily ordered and received a hearty lunch for them both, plus a few glasses of local wine. It was the wine that steeled her nerves for the question she had desperately been wanting to ask the other woman the entire day.

"Do you want to get together again?" Nida had somehow managed to squeak out through her hand and the glass of wine.

"Yes, I think I can do that," Tyla had said slowly, as if she needed to give it grave consideration. "This wine is good, but this lunch...it's very heavy. I'm sorry to complain."

"No!" Nida immediately cried out, and then somewhat reeled it in. "It's okay, it's perfectly fine. I am sorry the food isn't good. Should I have them take it back?"

"No, no," The older woman laughed. "I didn't mean that at all. I have a tiny tummy, Nida. We can't eat all this in the desert. I need something lighter. If we are going to eat again I need a salad, some vegetables, not just meat."

"Of course, of course," Nida had said. "There is a good restaurant here, I swear it. We'll go there."

And finally, the night had arrived. Tyla was due any moment. Nida had bought out the entire restaurant for the night, a flashy move but not unheard of from a noble such as herself. She didn't want their night ruined by a loudly fighting couple, a drunk customer, anything. Tonight was going to be perfect.

"Lady Nida," The waiter said as he approached. "Do you have a wine preference?"

"Red, she likes red." She said quickly. "Bring us a red to start."

"Of course. Here comes your companion now, my lady."

Tyla was wearing a flowing robe in dusky brown, buttons from nearly her collar down to the knee, with a heavy hood and sleeves. It wasn't too warm for the weather but Nida had never seen anything like it before.

"This is what we wear on Araxis to beat the heat," Tyla said, apparently having caught the other woman's glance. "You already showed me so much of your world, I thought you might want a little taste of mine."

The women clasped hands and Nida found herself being kissed on the cheek. It was a brief brush of the lips against the powdered skin, only a greeting, but she melted, sighed and felt a crackle of electricity anyway. When it was over she reluctantly let go of the other woman's hands and sat.

They ordered an expensive complicated looking salad with imported greens, vegetables, and fruits. This being Kelak, the planet of herds and butchers and ranchers, the entree was a thin steak drowned in wine and seasoned with fiery seed pods.

"How is the food?" Nida asked hopefully.

"Delicious. Does everyone on Kelak eat this way all the time?" Tyla said as she dotted her full and dark lips with a cloth napkin.

"It's a way of life," The younger woman confessed. "We work hard for our food. Herding, ranching, farming. It's not easy."

"I can't even imagine," Tyla nibbled on the edge of her glass, and took a sip. "Your family has dedicated your life to raising livestock, haven't they?"

Nida was finally on firm ground, having found a subject she had rehearsed since she was a little girl. "The first great landowners on the planet, and the only ones left from the olden days still here. When the first human colonists arrived here they had no idea of the planet's fierce local animals. Many of them died, venturing out to try to tame them or hunt them down. Eventually, the founding members of my family left their ships and established permanent homesteads. They had some gift with animals, something that led to the great beasts of Kelak being domesticated. Other families left their ships and perished in the wild, others left the planet entirely. Some eventually settled and worked the land as we did or fished or mined. But we were the first, the richest, and the best."

"And still are, from what I can see," Tyla said and smiled appreciatively. "That was quite a speech."

"As a lass I was trotted out in front of others on social occasions, so I had to know something about the history of the family." Nida said softly. "But tell me about yours."

"There's not much to tell," The artist said with a tiny shrug. "I never knew my mother, but I must have gotten the painting from her, since dad was a tavern owner. I grew up helping him and painting in the corner booth of his pub, if you want to call it that. Not much in the way of civilization on Araxis, except for around the spaceport where we lived. An offworld university professor saw my work one day and thought I might be good enough to get a monthly stipend, so long as I kept working. And that money is what keeps me working."

"Did you come to Kelak to paint?"

"Perhaps. If I am inspired enough." Tyla smiled flirtatiously.

The smell of fresh baked bread interrupted them. A half loaf, piping hot, was placed before them, with a dish of herbed melted local butter for them to dip in.

"This looks and smells amazing," Tyla said to the other woman.

"I am glad. The butter came from one of my family's animals," Nida admitted shyly.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." She said proudly. "I arranged it. Do you like it?"

Tyla tore off a hunk of bread, and dunked it liberally in the dish of herbed, melted butter and ate it in one bite. She made a genuine contented sound.

"It's perfect," She said happily, and finished off her wine. Nida felt better than she dared to admit. The evening was perfect, all of her worrying had amounted to nothing and all of her hard work to prepare had paid off. She felt like singing, but didn't dare lose her cool. Not now.

"Do you want to come back and see my family estate?" She heard herself asking, and almost gasped at her own boldness. It was the wine, the sweet smelling air, and the fine food. She had forgotten herself. An apology was automatically coming to her lips.

"I'd love to," Tyla said in a firm voice, sounding just as happy, and off they went.

The entire ride back home, Nida was scarcely able to breathe, let alone talk. Thankfully, Tyla was also in a quiet mood, removing her gloves one finger at a time, staring at her hands, before tucking them into her belt. Her expression looked almost, somehow, bored. Nida did not want to spoil the mood and ask if anything was the matter, and she figured that maybe the artist was tired.

"This is your estate?" Tyla asked when they stepped out of the transport. It was a small building, almost as small as an inn, nestled into one of the bends of the lazy stream. Its stonework was precise and looked well made, but the roof was the same rough material as any other home on Kekal. She sounded disappointed.

"This is my private cottage," Nida said, her voice unsteady. "Its low tech but cozy. We have enough land that I can live here on my own, away from the squabbles of family, but still close enough. Do you not lik-"

"It's fine," Tyla turned to her and smiled, and brushed a bare hand across the other woman's shoulder, to the center of her upper back, right under her neck. "I see a chimney. Shall we start a fire?"

Relieved and slightly titillated from the touch, Nida led her inside. The interior of the cottage had its modern touches, despite how rustic it appeared from outside. A food prep unit for when one didn't feel like cooking, a recycling and washing unit for trash and clothing, but the fireplace was all old fashioned, a splendid piece of masonry that dominated the living area.

"I'm going to grab a drink," Tyla said as she drifted in, over to the kitchen. "Why don't you start that fire?"

She was always better at following orders than giving them or improvising or suggesting things. Gratefully, Nida knelt before the open fireplace and got started. It was the task of the family's servants to ensure that their cottages were always stocked, but firemaking was their job alone. Something about remaining in touch with their roots, Nida's mother and father said. They mustn't forget where they came from. She set up two sizable pieces of firewood about a half a foot apart in the metal grate, and noted with approval that they were nice and dry. Some discarded paper from their business offices was used as tinder, and pieces of bark and twigs for kindling. Before long, with the help of an extra long and old fashioned match, she had the fire going. Nida nodded in satisfaction. There were more modern ways to light a fire, more expensive ways, but this was still the best, in her mind.

"I got you something to drink," Tyla said, holding two glasses of whitish liquid. "There was a nearly empty bottle in your cupboard, hope that's okay."

"You've got good taste," Nida said, feeling daring. "This is a bottle from our own estate."

"I didn't know your family made whiskey," The other woman said.

"It's not whiskey, but we make mostly everything ourselves here. I am not sure how familiar you are with the economy of Kelak-"

"Not at all."

"Then you don't know that we are trying to become self-sustaining. Crops of any kind are imports. Expensive. Anything besides meat and milk, essentially, comes from offworld."

"What is this you've got me drinking?" Tyla said with a slight smile, sniffing the glass. "It's pungent. It smells almost sour."

"It's fermented milk. Try it!" To show her how it was done, Nida downed her glass. She'd been drinking the fermented milk produced by her family's herds since as long as she could remember. "It's got a traditional place in our society here. Sorry, I am getting into socialite mode again."

"That's fine, I can tell how much passion you have for it." The other woman took the smallest possible sip of her milk and pulled a face.

"You don't like it?" Nida was aghast and set down her glass. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, love," The artist said. "I picked it, after all. Here, take my glass. I'll be content with water or something in a few minutes. For now, let's just enjoy this amazing fire you made."

Nida's stomach was all aquiver as they sat, worried about the milk, her appearance, if Tyla was enjoying herself or not. Why wasn't she speaking as much? What was going to happen next? Her nerves were overridden, however, by a hearty yawn. She blinked her eyes. All the food, the fire, the milk, her worrying. It was taking a lot out of her.

"I wanted to kiss you. I still do..." Nida said suddenly, tiredly. Something black was eating at the edges of her vision, a fuzzy and jagged tide lapping at her eyeballs, making her feel so tired and stiff. "I've been wanting to kiss you since I saw you..at the show..."

"Too bad, love," Tyla said. "No kisses now, or I wouldn't get my job done. Sleep now, and let me apologize in advance for when you wake up."

Wha..." Nida said, and tears brightened her eyes, glistening in the firelight. She was out before she could say an entire word.

*************************

For a few minutes, she busied herself by ensuring that the lady of the cottage was as comfortable as she could reasonably be. Poor thing. Nida had been a diversion, not even a pleasant one, but necessary. Annoying or not, she didn't deserve to be in any physical pain or heartache, but all she could help with was the former. So she laid the other woman down on the rustic, plump sofa, and put a pillow under her head.

She then prepared herself for the real work now that Nida was sleeping. Edge had intended for the girl to fall asleep gradually, but it had been her own idea to gulp down all of the spiked milk herself. She shrugged. Sorry, love.

The heavy robe was completely reversible, brown on the outside, black on the inside. She removed it, and from a myriad of discretely sewn pockets she gathered her gear: a lock pick kit, a sound swallower, a black metal dagger, and finally the real deal, a prime time for crime time pistol. It was exceedingly flat and small until Edge flicked its trigger forward. With the tiny whir its barrel and handle deployed, growing out of the front and back of the gun with a mechanized whir. As the little pistol did its thing she felt the first thrill of the night going through her.

She reversed the fabric on the long robe, flipping forward its hood. Now that night had fallen she ought to be nearly invisible in the darkness. A last pat down of herself to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. And then an eye cast out over the cottage to make sure it looked the same.

Nida was still snoring away, chin slumped on her chest, spittle and the foul fermented sour milk leaking from her mouth. The milk. The glass that she had touched but barely drank from was still in front of the fire.

She wondered if the authorities on Kelak had the ability to test the glass and identify her, and she shook her head at that line of thought. Bet your ass they did. Bet your ass on everything you did on a job, bet that whoever was coming after you had the moxie and the know how to take you down, or you had to stop taking jobs. Years ago, in a wet and green place, she had learned the price of overconfidence. It was a downpayment on a grave marker.

She heaved the full glass into the roaring fire, shattering it against the stone and metal and wood. Satisfied, she left the cottage behind her without a backwards glance at the drugged woman before the fire.

She had hoped that they would visit the main family estate, but it was not meant to be. Luckily, she was not burdened down by a heavy pack and a rifle. She knew the area intimately, and had been studying it for days. A walk through the plains at night wasn't going to kill her. Even had she been in full battle rattle she could and had humped for 19 miles with 70 lbs of gear and weapons on her back.

Once you had been through hell even the hardest things in normal life were easy.

************************

"Nothing's ever easy, is it?" Yomp said with a groan, and Sita was forced to agree. The ship they were about to inspect was skidding to a stop, and was leading them on the galaxy's most boring chase as it eventually slowed down to obey. And they couldn't be raised on the comm array.

"We're way out of our jurisdiction, Yomp."

"We don't have jurisdiction. That's part of the fun of this job." He rolled his eyes to show her what he thought of that statement.

Their ship, formally called the BRC-1826 but known to them and the force as the Lady Chloe since a noblewoman had once commandeered her, had the words "Bringing Law to the Lawless" emblazoned in cracked, fading letters on its bow. In case the outdated ship model wasn't enough of a hint, the logo of the Barrens Ranges was also on its bow and stern. It usually hovered in a sensor shrouded area of system space, where they could not be detected by a standard civilian sensor grid. In theory, anyway. This part of the Barrens was big on weapon ownership, prepping, and so forth, as illegal as the Centralians tried to make it. In practice, a real slick operator would be able to outclass the Lady Chloe with a few upgrades.

They weren't after real slick operators, however. Rangers Yomp and Sita were there mainly to deter crime, and to disrupt it if possible. Amateur smuggling operations, petty thieves fleeing the scene or planet of the crime, things like that. A Ranger's main weapon was possibility, Sita had been told early on: the possibility that whoever got picked up was subject to not only their justice but to the justice of the Capital Systems. What the Centralians called justice was swift and merciless. It made for a powerful deterrent.

Thankfully, neither Yomp or Sita had ever had to apprehend someone so bad that they got the Capitals involved. That kind of work tended to leave a bad taste in your mouth.

"We're not supposed to have fun, so stop bitching." Sita said with a small smile. Despite her words she loved Yomp dearly. He was a Vimoran, a red one, an old man who had been thirty five years a Ranger, ever since he'd been her age. To her, who had less than a half a year on the job, he was a great imposing figure, a grizzled veteran of peacekeeping. That had been her thought before she'd plunked her butt onto the crackled leather seat of the Lady Chloe for the first time, anyway. She had immediately given a loud yell and jumped out so fast she bumped her head on the ship's dash, much to Yomp's amusement. He'd placed a tiny tack on her seat, a standard prank to pull on a Barrens Ranger sitting in their ship for the first time. The old alien's guffaws turned to apologies after she'd hit her head, however, and he'd asked if she was alright in the concerned tones of an indulgent grandfather. And that was how their relationship had stayed, from that first day of hers to this.