Drift Stories/Hands Off the Merchandise: Difference between revisions

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Bentley lay awake, staring at the ceiling. It was sometime in the dead of night and the lights were off, letting the gentle glow of the Drift illuminate the walls of the captain’s quarters. They carefully untangled themselves from Ilyar’s arms and slipped out, throwing on a dressing down on the way.

They found Quartz sitting on a crate in the hold, the fennec wrapped in a blanket and nursing a steaming cup of coffee. She glanced up at the sound of their footsteps approaching.

“You won’t get any sleep drinking that,” Bentley said quietly, sitting down beside her. Their breath drifted away as silvery vapour; the air down here was frigid, without the benefit of the climate control in the habitable areas of the ship.

“Couldn’t sleep. This is the next best thing,” Quartz replied. “What about you?”

Bentley fixed their gaze on the two containers that sat isolated from the others in the centre of the hold, wrapped in plastic and protected with Kyrie’s own seal. “Mind full of worries, kid. I don’t like having unknown cargo on the ship.”

“What do you think it is? Guns? Bombs?”

“Whatever it is, the Guild wants it, and that means it’s trouble. That drive signature projector costs far more than we’re making for this delivery.” Bentley leaned back with a deep sigh. “If the Guild want something you’ve got, they’ll go straight through you to get it. They don’t do subtlety.”

Quartz placed something on the crate beside Bentley with a soft click. “They can try.”

Bentley looked down. It was a small weapon of some kind, a handgun. They picked it up. It felt heavier than it looked, and its cold metal tingled against their skin. “This is that new sidearm you mentioned?”

Quartz smiled, taking the gun from their hands. “‘Sidearm’ is an understatement.” She pulled back a slide on the side, and Bentley saw a soft purple glow emanate from inside. “Rel-pistol, special order. Illegal in Guild territory. Took a lot of digging to get hold of this bad boy.”

“Rail-pistol?” Bentley asked, confused. “Those are a mark a dozen—“

“Rel-pistol,” Quartz corrected with a laugh. “Relativistic pistol. It has a tiny piece of contained Drift inside, uses that to fire at three-quarters the speed of light.” She lifted the pistol and aimed it at some pieces of scrap crate-wood sitting by the wall further down the hold. “Watch.”

She squeezed the trigger, and instantly a beam of purple light shot from the barrel directly into the wood scraps with a loud crack that reverberated around the hold. Where it hit there was now a smouldering ring of purple-glowing wood pinned to the hold wall; the rest of the scrap was a fine dusting of ash scattered on the floor. Bentley walked over cautiously and inspected the remains; inside the glowing ring was a perfectly formed bullet, undamaged, suspended in the air. After a moment, the glow faded and the bullet clinked to the floor.

They looked back to see Quartz reloading the pistol, a satisfied grin on her face. “The bullet stops instantly, exactly where it needs to. All of its energy passes into the target.” She holstered the weapon. “One hit, and there’s nothing left to bury.”

Bentley walked back over to her, their expression now suddenly stern. “Quartz… This isn’t a warship. We don’t just kill to solve our problems. Does the captain know you’ve got that thing?”

Quartz looked directly into their eyes, her bright blue irises shining in the dim light of the hold. “He approved it. Last resort. Just in case. Besides, Bentley, you’ve had to fend for yourself before. Haven’t you caused just as much harm?”

Bentley recoiled from the weight of the question, staring Quartz down. A faint flicker of amber fury ignited in their eyes. “Seam-walkers don’t blow holes in people! We don’t kill!” They took a step forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Quartz. “We defend ourselves with elegance. We rewrite weapons to be harmless, we convince the multiverse to work in our favour. If it comes to it, we rip open a seam and drop you into another reality. We don’t harm!”

Quartz stood up and met Bentley’s gaze, every bit as fiery. “What happens to those you ‘drop into another reality’, Bentley? Do you know where they go? Do you know if it’s safe? Do you care?” She grabbed the pistol and held it in the air, making Bentley step back. “This kills, and death is final; you would rather pluck someone out of their world and leave them to suffer, just to satisfy yourself that you didn’t pull the trigger!”

“Cease.”

They both spun around to see Solivane standing in the doorway, their fur pulsating in bands of dark, furious colour. “I do not know what this is about, but it must stop.” They walked into the hold, standing between Bentley and Quartz, and looked at the pistol in Quartz’s hand. “If you fire that thing without cause again, I will have you jettisoned into the Drift.”

Quartz took a step back, holstering the pistol again. “Drift entities. You can’t understand death if you never die.” She turned on her heel and made for the door, leaving Bentley and Solivane alone in the silent hold. They exchanged an inscrutable look.

“It is late, Bentley,” Solivane said finally, with a heavy sigh. “Go to bed. I am keeping watch for another few hours.”

With nothing more to say, Bentley walked towards the door. They glanced back at the cargo once more. “It’s trouble, I know it. More than it’s worth.”