Tempted by Celestial Bodies

Chapter 2

chapter two

“Strong stuff with a soft bite” was a fitting description for Camdian Violet. The burn was so subtle it barely prickled Vela’s tongue, but the spirit’s sweetness belied its potency. Judging from the floaty feeling in her skull, she needed to start pacing herself. This whole investigation would be pointless if she forgot her findings come morning.

The server, who’d introduced herself as Fyn, proved just as bold and bubbly off the clock as she’d been behind the counter. The moment they’d settled into a second-floor booth, she’d proposed a game: they’d trade off asking questions, as planned, but declining to answer meant taking a drink.

Fifteen minutes in, Fyn had yet to take a single sip.

Vela was on her second glass.

“You’re making this too easy, Evie!” Vela’s pseudonym rolled off Fyn’s tongue, smooth as the pricey beverage. “I was aiming to get sloshed after a long night’s work, but your questions are so hopelessly… professional .”

That was the point, yes. Vela had already plied the server for details enough to confirm that Kalis’ crew had arrived on Regnum Maris four days prior, and that they treated strangers just as poorly as rivals. Fyn’s queries, by contrast, had been entirely too personal: family, friends, exes, hobbies—all off-limits, where Vela was concerned.

“If your present is locked behind a firewall, let’s try the distant past.” Fyn ran a finger around the rim of her too-full tumbler, evoking a hollow whistle. The bar’s upper level was calmer than the ground floor—quiet enough to hear such sounds but not so quiet they drew attention. “Here’s a simple one: favorite childhood game.”

Vela lifted her glass out of habit, only to set it back down. If she wanted to keep the conversation flowing, she needed to divulge a few details, and that one seemed innocuous enough. “Tag,” she answered with a rigid shrug. “Cliché, I know. It’s a game children on all planets somehow invent independently, like variants of ‘the moss is magma’ or ‘pin the tail on the trilodile,’ but blinking makes it different for Phaunids—less about following a path, more about predicting where it will end. I was my neighborhood’s reigning champ until…” She shook the memories away before they could draw blood. “It’s not that interesting. My turn?”

“Ask away.” Fyn let the subject slide despite palpable curiosity. “Only try to ask about me this time. If I wanted to think about work all night, I’d have taken an extra shift.”

Vela smothered a pang of guilt. Guarding one’s secrets was a facet of the field, but being an ass was a personal choice. One she made a little too often.

“Why did you ask me to drink with you?” she asked, hoping for any answer but the obvious. Phaunids could not open up physically without first opening up emotionally, and few potential partners had the patience for that. Not that she was in the market.

Fyn answered with a chuckle so soft it was lost to the whir of the overhead humidifiers. “I wanted to get to know you, of course.”

“Yes, but why ?” Vela repeated. “I’m only passing through. What could you possibly hope to learn in a matter of hours?”

The server’s smile tilted, and she took her first drink of the night.

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence oozed past before Fyn picked the conversation up where it had so clumsily dropped. “You’re after the same group as the others, aren’t you?” she asked. “The Semi-Evil Something or Others?”

“The Seriville Six.” Vela practically growled the name. The syndicate had stolen from Seriville Senior Services, the most prestigious retirement care company in several galaxies. All criminals made Vela’s trigger finger itch, but those who intentionally targeted the vulnerable?

If she found the Six before Kalis did, they’d arrive at Central in pieces.

“Let’s pretend you’re correct,” she ventured. “Rumor has it their shuttle crashed on this planet seven days ago, not three kilometers off. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about that?”

“I’ve heard what the programs report.” Fyn cleared her throat before sweeping into a commendable newscaster impression. “Six individuals from vastly different fields funneled millions from their employer before stealing away in a company shuttle. The craft crashed in the Tenibris Quadrant days later, but no bodies were found at the scene. Suspects are still at large.” She reverted to her previous, chipper tone. “Must’ve taken a lot of coordination, pulling off a heist like that.”

“Perhaps.” Vela wasn’t convinced. She’d watched all thirty-two hours of video evidence several times, and the details still didn’t sit right. “A clerk, an accountant, a custodian, a nurse, a community volunteer, and a dock operator. Together, they pulled off the heist of the century without ever working the same shift, let alone communicating on-site. Stranger still, only one member was seen boarding the shuttle they supposedly escaped in. Even if they doctored the tapes, the records reflect the same. It doesn’t add up.”

“Doesn’t it?” A vocal uptick betrayed Fyn’s interest. Perhaps she dreamt of becoming a bounty hound; Vela hadn’t thought to ask. “Maybe someone on the outside coordinated the whole fiasco. I imagine it’s hard to track a group of six, but it would be even harder if the members had never met.”

Vela had already dissected that theory only to find it hollow. The footage had captured evidence enough. People seldom noticed the tics they picked up from their closest cohorts—common quips, facial expressions, even the occasional vocal lilt. In this case, all six thieves shared the same effortless, arrogant, lopsided…

Perhaps the drink had helped to untangle Vela’s cluttered thoughts. Perhaps they’d sorted themselves as she spoke them aloud. Either way, the missing puzzle piece clicked into place.

Vela’s breath hitched.

Fyn noticed. “Everything alright?”

“Just anticipating a hangover.” Vela forced a laugh, swirling the remnants of her drink in one hand as she snuck the other into her purse. “If I’m going to suffer anyway, I might as well indulge. Care to top me off?”

When Fyn reached for the bottle, Vela surged forward and clasped a titanium cuff around her wrist. A gravitational anchor slammed to the table, and several expensive ounces of Camdian Violet spilled to the floor.

Fyn’s too-familiar smile tilted further.

“You are a clever one, aren’t you?” she asked, taking on a rich, masculine timbre.

Before Vela could react, the supposed-Marisian’s arm began to pulse and shiver, stretching into the slick, purple tentacle of a Cetaloid. The captive slipped free and rushed away, waving freshly formed fingers before racing down the nearest staircase.

Vela gave chase, spitting swears. By the time she reached the first floor, the suspect had vanished. She spent another hour scouring the drinkhouse, knowing all the while her effort was pointless. Roughly two hundred bodies mingled in the crowd, and her target might have been wearing any of them.

* * *

Later that night, as Vela crawled into yet another hard and lumpy boarding room bed, her wrist console chirped brightly. The image of an envelope appeared on the screen, both the sender and subject lines blank.

Upon opening the message against her better judgment, she was rewarded with a cryptic link and a simple, three-word taunt.

Tag, you’re it.