The Billionaire’s Savior

*****

Stella’s

Four clock turns after Black Panther disembarked

“Okay, this one’s for the trailer!” Jamaica announced, tapping on her infopod before affixing it to a tripod in the center of the table.

“I don’t like it when you say ‘trailer’,” Tarot pointed an accusatory finger at the Minitric. “‘Trailer’ coming from your aux coder usually means we spend half the night dissecting promos for survival horror games.”

“No more Silent Hill,” West muttered, face down on the table, arms cradling his head. “Please, no more Silent Hill….”

“What are we doing again?” Soul demanded.

“Cassette asked a bunch of us to snap candids for his film, so he can montage them in the title screen,” the white and black Minitric replied, testing the aim of her remote. “Now, where’s boss lady? She said she’d be—eek!”

Bob, bumping against Jamaica’s arm in greeting, before rising onto his haunches to lean over the table and sniff the camera. Edgehawker, without invitation, pulled a chair over to sit between Soul and West. “Down with the quartermaster. Seems Ikon has us on the shortlist of ‘no way in hell are they allowed to wander about with WMDs’.”

Soul groaned, and West brought his head up, staring blearily at the far wall, before tracking his gaze on the yellow and black heavy. “What the hell — ?”

Edgehawker waved away the comment. “Relax, it was some ordinances we traded with Metabez’s crew. Funny story involving him wanting to see the thumb in Shuttle Bay Three.”

“‘Funny story’ and ‘ordinances’ do not belong in the same thought,” West reminded.

“Unless Tripwire’s involved,” Seoul retorted, never looking up from his sketching.

“Speaking of which, has anyone else noticed he’s amped up his gratuitous flirting now that Kenny’s got a fella?” Edgehawker gave the larger mech to his right a nudge with his elbow; West’s shoulders slumped further.

“Tripwire gratuitously flirts with everyone,” Tarot reminded.

Jamaica took out her comm and composed a text. “Yeah, the less he has a chance, the more he does it. And he knows he has zero chance with boss lady.”

“Speaking of which, you know she’s gonna be pissed you started drinking without her,” Edgehawker continued his one-sided conversation with West.

“Maybe we should do this another time?” Soul suggested. “It’s not really a big deal if we don’t participate — “

“It is a big deal!” Jamaica whined, stomping her foot in protest. “Especially to me and boss lady. This is our home now; you guys? Our family. So forgive me if I want this moment documented, but I don’t ask for much, just this one perfect moment.”

Edgehawker opened his mouth to retort, but could not settle on a choice snark; instead, he muttered, “putting the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional,” and grabbed Seoul’s sketch from the architect’s grasp. “I like your extra-planar stuff better.”

“This is for work, you uncouth barbarian!” Seoul protested, snatching the sketchpad back.

“That’s beautiful, Zim,” West smiled, oblivious to the scuffle happening behind his back. “Seriously, you’re right.”

“And here comes our favorite walking calamity now,” Soul jested as Kenya entered the bar, bee lining to their usual table.

“Sorry I’m late.” Taking Seoul’s vacated seat, she scooted it closer to West. “I’d like to state that for the record, I never want to see Dynamic and Tripwire in the same room together. Ever. At least Dynamic’s innuendos were predictable. And most of his stories never started with ‘I dated an insert-random-species-here from insert-random-planet-here who inserted-random-action-that-until-this-moment-could-never-be-imagined-as-an-intimate-activity-here…'”

“Must have been inspiring,” Edgehawker jested. “Never will I look at a lampshade and a road sign the same way ever again because of him.”

Soul held his head and groaned, just as West put an arm around his shoulders and drew him close for a hug before doing the same to Kenya. “Enough about Tripwire and his crazy love life! Let’s get photogenicky!”

“Oh, this swing shift thing su*ks,” Kenya laughed, looping an arm behind her partner’s back. “How am I supposed to keep up if you get a head start?”

“Composition, everyone!” Seoul reminded. “Jamaica, maybe I should help frame the shot — “

“You couldn’t frame a standard-size print!” Edgehawker interrupted, squeezing his head between Kenya’s and West’s. “Leave room for Primus, you two!”

“Anyone wishing to photobomb this do so now or forever hold your peace!” Tarot shouted to the other patrons of the bar before taking a place between Soul and West.

“Oh, come here, buggy,” Soul patted his leg; Bob, perking up, put his forelegs in the engineer’s lap, optics wide and mandibles parted in his version of a grin.

After considering the balance of his friends’ positions, Seoul settled on leaning over West, between Tarot and Edgehawker, then hesitated. “Oh, we can have two yellow mechs side by side! I should — “

“Too late! Everyone say ‘fuzzy pickles’!” Jamaica dove, twisting onto her backside before landing in Kenya’s lap with feet still on the table, just as the shutter clicked.

Seoul was dismayed by the final composition. Wolf, Strong, Puff, and Shawshank had taken Tarot up on his offer. There was no negative space to offset the crush of mechs in the frame. Only the top of Shawshank’s head and optics were visible, with Puff propped on his shoulders. Strong leaned in with a hand on Bob’s head. And Wolf attempted and failed the cool “I’m just passing by”, crouching next to Soul and losing half his body in the frame. But everyone agreed, as they asked Jamaica for copies messaged to them: everyone was smiling. Everyone was, for that moment, truly happy, some for the first time in centuries.

We’re home.

*****

[ Timestamp: one and a half stellar cycles from Initial Liftoff, Stella Maris ]

[ Security Log: password protected. Access for Authorized Medical and Administrative Personnel Only. ]

[ Patient file: RTMS-1, Designation: Kenya of Stella Maris Harbour ]

(CCTV footage: buzzing lights from the florescent lighting and the whirring of the refrigeration compressors the only sound. Kenya, back against the drawers, is sitting on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, forehead on her arms. Leaning back, she stretches out her legs, staring at the ceiling, before drawing the handgun on her left. Removes the magazine, checks the clip, reloads it and slides the jacket. The footage depicts signs of data corruption as she raises the pistol, pressing the muzzle under her chin. A long burst of static lasting fifteen clicks as the corruption grows stronger, before the footage cuts to blue screen with white glyphs.)

[ feed lost ]