Halfbreed Ch. 01

"I hate Dwarves..." Mike muttered, pulling at the shoulders of his jacket to adjust it as he made a few hand gestures with the liquid metal at his wrist. "Bloody relentless when it comes to negotiating a fair deal."

"Finget Opalbraid is a miserly sort. I will not deny that." Allynna agreed, "But the negotiations have already concluded. He even offered to pay in Elven currency. We only need fulfill the contract."

"How much are we getting paid?" He asked. "I hope you used that silver tongue of yours to make him regret the fact he hired us."

"Sixty thousand Tonarii." Allynna said.

Mike stopped dead in his tracks. His hand formed into a fist. "...Either you've seriously outdone yourself, or you're joking."

"It's not a joke." Allynna said, turning around to face her employer. "...And as to whether it means I've outdone myself or not," She smiled. "I cannot begin to guess your metrics for that."

"What's the cargo?" He asked, his suspicions rising. "This had better not end up with us being the fall guys for something."

"A Planetary Shield Generator." Allynna said, pointing up the length of ships stacked end to end in the starport. In the distance, the gleaming silver curves of the Halfbreed sat, moored in place and ready for liftoff.

"...What?" Mike said, dumbfounded. "What is a nowhere colony like Charity doing with a Planetary Shield Generator? Why would they need one in the first place?"

Allynna stared at him impassively. "Do you really want to know any details?"

Mike considered the question. "My curiosity does. My desire to get paid does not. But... Aly, this is almost enough for us to buy another Starship."

"A good thing for you, then." She replied, stepping over an exposed wire on the tarmac. "With how you pilot the Halfbreed, it's a miracle you haven't needed a replacement for her, yet."

Mike's eyes narrowed on her. "You know what I mean, Aly."

The Elf's cheek twitched. She glanced back to see him standing next to her. "Michael, my service with you has not yet ended."

"But it will end soon." He pressed, "And when that day comes, this could be enough to get you started on your own ship."

It was awkward to see an Elf look uncomfortable. Somehow, their otherworldly grace made the action seem all the more jarringly obvious. "I would prefer it... if we considered this matter at a later point, when the circumstances are more relevant."

"I think my translator bugged." Mike joked, "Because you just said a whole lot of nothing into my ears."

She scowled at him. "It is already forbidden for a Mool'Gwaith to take payment from her employer. The fact that we are discussing this at all is a grave insult to Elfkin."

"You don't seem that insulted." Mike remarked wryly.

"...Did you wish to inspect the cargo hold for yourself?" Allynna said, turning away and marching with surprising stiffness towards the Halfbreed. "We don't have long before takeoff."

"Yeah, I might do that." Mike said, trailing off as he watched Allynna walk away. His eyes were momentarily hypnotized by the sway of her hips. Her tight Elven rear had an uncomfortably close relationship to her clothing; it stretched and compressed the fabric with every step. Mike swallowed, remembering the Catians from the bar.

"...After I take a cold shower." He said, trying to get the image of his first mate's hips off his mind.

* * *

Mike was moments away from completing his pre-flight check of the Halfbreed's external systems when he noticed something green and viscous dripping out of the back of his beloved craft.

It leaked with a certain slime-like quality out of the left engine, drooping like molasses into an acidic sizzle on the tarmac below. He let out a frustrated groan.

"Son of a b- Aly!" He called out, hoping that the Elf was in earshot. "The sublight engine's on the fritz! Looks like we've got a coolant leak."

He waited for a moment to hear her response, but all he got in return was the background noise of a bustling starport in the midst of a busy afternoon. He clucked his tongue and removed his leather jacket, carefully folding it and hanging it on a nearby antennae that protruded at a perpendicular angle from the bottom of the ship.

He rolled up his sleeves, snagging a small bag of maintenance tools that had been carelessly left behind by a Starport engineer near his parking spot. Forgoing any maintenance ladders, he scrambled up one side of the ship, pulling himself like a rock climber up makeshift handholds in the silvery ship's exterior, till he had scaled to the top of it.

Mike moved with effortless ease across the top of the ship, a trick born from years of experience and familiarity traversing the Halfbreed's rounded contours. Its sleek, silvery surface was broken up only occasionally by thicker, more heavy-duty panels that were off color, indicating replacement. He circled the top of the ship in a rough horseshoe shape, moving around the front of the twin-barrelled Gauss cannon that had been efficiently but unsubtly grafted like a headlamp onto the ship's chassis.

He threaded his way along the narrow space between the cannon and the edge of the ship, huffing and puffing as he climbed the steep angle of the larger-than normal engines attached to the back of the Aenil-class Elven freighter.

Hopping over the gunwale, he ducked beneath the turret's overhang. Coming to the lip of the engine, the smuggler carefully clambered down from the edge, using only his arms at one point to swing like a monkey down into the intake of the engine.

Mike was elbow deep in the engine's guts, his protective gloves dripping with coolant when the sound of faint yelling caught his ear.

He stuck his head over the edge of the engine, staring down at the tarmac. A dark-haired Elf in a dull yellow bodysuit stood at the foot of the engine, sporting a flamboyant Elven shoulder cape with white trimmings. Mike couldn't read his moving lips, but he was pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

They shared a moment's eye contact, wherein the faceless bureaucrat indicated with his eyes that Mike should come down. Mike let out a snort and turned back to his work.

His brow furrowed as he finally located the source of the leak: a shredded hose that had gotten too close to one of the fuel turbines. A quick patch job, and he was able to once more stick his head out from the engine and listen to the increasingly indignant voice rising up from the ground.

"-this instant!" Shouted the Elf, his waggling finger moving from Mike to the tarmac and back in rapid succession. Mike cocked a green-gel covered glove to his ear.

"What?" He asked, feigning deafness.

The Elf's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the lie immediately. "Get down here and explain yourself!"

Mike grunted, tugging his coolant-caked gloves off his fingers and casting them carelessly to the ground below. He dropped the appropriated toolbag as well, the metal rattling as the small bag hit the ground.

Mike followed after, clambering down to a low point on the engine before letting go. He plopped to the ground several feet below, brushing himself off. He strode towards the Elf, whose faceless expression nonetheless displayed a certain agitated frustration.

Mike gave him a winning grin and extended his hand for a handshake as he approached. "Mike Koller, what can I do you for?"

The Elf remained dignified enough to ignore the gesture. "You can explain to me what a puddle of coolant is doing melting a hole into the launchpad."

Mike glanced over his shoulder at the hissing puddle of goo behind him. Waves of whitish foam and cloudy smoke rose from the tarmac. "Just a minor coolant leak. I fixed the problem."

"But evidently not the tarmac." The Elf retorted. "This is a public spaceport, docked ships are expected to perform necessary maintenance prior to launch preparation to prevent this exact problem."

"What are you, the Starport Police?" Mike said in derision.

The Elf's face remained impassive. "Yes, as a matter of fact. I am a Customs Enforcement Officer for Charity City Spaceport." The Elf turned aside his shoulder-cloak to reveal a numbered badge upon his chest.

Ah shit. Mike thought. "Good, because I've got some complaints about your staff. Three hours I've had to wait for you people to get my ship fueled for takeoff!"

Mike gestured towards the hissing steam as if it were a condemnation of the Elf himself. "And that tarmac? A standard Dwarven colony would have triple-layered protection for just such an issue. I shouldn't have to beg-your-pardon every time I check my ship for leaks."

The Elf's eyes narrowed. "A pity then that you are not currently docked at a Dwarvish Starport, Human. Our Colony makes the basic assumption that a Captain who knows how to pilot a ship, also understands how to perform standard maintenance on said ship."

"What do you think I was doing?" Mike asked, making slow gestures with the liquid metal at his wrist.

"Breaking the law." The Elf said. "Section 54 of Charity's Colonial Charter includes a detailed description of a Starship Captain's liability in the event of property damage to a public Starport. Shall I quote it to you verbatim?"

"No thanks, I hate fine print." Mike replied in a sarcastic tone. "-Anything else I can help you with, sir? I'm about to take off."

"Not until you have cleared the issue with the Starport Authority, you aren't." The Elf replied, his eyes flicking down to the small HUD screen clutched like a notebook in his hands. His fingers were a blur of graceful movement as he began to write out what Mike suspected to be a large fine.

"Come on, are you serious?" Mike said, doing his best impression of an innocent man. "It's just a little corrosion on the upper layer!"

The Elf didn't even bother to look up from his work. "Which, when stripped off, can cause superheating to the polymers beneath the upper layer upon takeoff and landing, causing a cascade failure which eventually leads to melted circuitry and - in a worst case scenario - a complete undermining of the landing pad's integrity."

"-And that's why the Dwarves triple-layer." Mike retorted.

"An unnecessary overcorrection, done for the sake of absent-minded Starship owners who cannot be bothered to follow a simple procedure." The Elf said, quirking an eyebrow. "If you'd prefer, we could continue this discussion with Starport Security present... sir."

"That will not be necessary," Said a feminine voice to Mike's left. He heard her soft footsteps approaching rapidly.

"Aly," Mike said, keeping his eyes trained upon the waifish Customs Officer, "Could you please enlighten this servant of the people that we have done nothing wrong?"

Allynna moved to Mike's left. He saw the Customs Officer's eyes revert to her as if they were the only ones present. "Why do you allow your employee to address me in such a manner?"

Mike snickered out loud. Allynna sighed.

"He is not my employee, I am his Mool'Gwaith. What is the problem?"

It never ceased to amaze Mike how an Elf was capable of displaying so much contempt without changing his facial expression. "This human's incomplete and haphazard modifications have caused an illegal and dangerous coolant leak, one that could have easily been detected and fixed before your Ship went into pre-flight check."

Allynna's eyes held firm to her fellow alien's face. "This is not my ship. As I said before: this human is my Captain."

"...Oh." The Customs Officer said. The condemnation was implicit in his voice.

Mike nearly said something, but Allynna gave him a look. She turned to face the hissing tarmac. "...It appears that there was some spillage." She said, her tone flat.

"Indeed. A fine of up to five thousand Tonarii." The Customs Officer said. Allynna's eyes flicked back to him.

"-I personally inspected the engines after we landed." Allynna said, "So far as I can tell, the damage is more recent... perhaps even planetside."

The Customs Officer's eyebrow rose. "Planetside... Here, on Charity."

Allynna nodded. "Do you have reason to doubt my word?"

"No." The Elf said, his dark eyes turning to Mike. "I have plenty of reason to doubt his, however."

"Story of my life." Mike said, taking his jacket off the hanging antennae and throwing it around his shoulders.

"Either way," Allynna pressed, "if the damage was that recent, then the Starship owner is not liable for unforeseen damages as a result of sabotage, correct?" She was staring rather hard at the Customs Officer.

"Yes." The Customs Officer said, his lips flattening down into a line. "-But there is no indication whatsoever that such an event has occurred."

"-Aside from what I just told you." Allynna said, her eyes narrowing upon her Elven compatriot's face. "Is a Mool'Gwaith's word no longer enough?" The two shared a long, tense stare. Mike blinked, profoundly confused.

"...House Iolenna?" The Elven Customs Officer asked Allynna, his tone of voice going icy.

"House Gwynn'Yn'Iolenna," Allynna responded, her brow lowering. "Fifth generation descendant of Iolenna. On my father's side."

"Your employment under a Human begins to make more sense, in context." The Elf replied, his face turning to stone. He swept his fingers rapidly across his handheld HUD like a schizophrenic spider. "...Your claim is submitted, and accepted. You are exempted from fine, pending the results of your integrity score from the Gwaith Tracking Authority."

"Thank you." Allynna said. Her voice was empty of sincerity. "...I take it you are a descendant of House Freya."

"Yes." The Elf replied, not deigning to rattle off his illustrious ancestry. He seemed quite content to extricate himself from the conversation as quick as he possibly could. "Kindly refrain from suffering such 'sabotage' in the future. Good day."

"You have a lovely one as well!" Mike said, waving at the figure's retreating form. When he was out of earshot, Mike shot a sly look in his first mate's direction. "Nice going, Aly."

Allynna's eyes held to the back of the Customs Officer's head as he walked away. "Captain, as your Mool'Gwaith, I am obligated to once again remind you that you need to check the fuel lines before we prep for take off. Your constant modifications to the Halfbreed's systems have become a recurring issue for us."

"You say that now." Mike said, shrugging. "I didn't hear you crying foul when we reached Charity three days early."

"-We also nearly warped into the system's asteroid field." The Elf retorted. "Had I not noticed the mistake in calculation, we'd have ended up as an impact crater on a meteorite."

Mike shrugged. "The price of perfection."

Allynna's eyebrow rose. He saw her looking at him from the corner of her eye. "...You have a strange definition of 'perfection.'"

Says you. Mike thought, swallowing back a smile. "So, what was all that about, with you and that stuffed shirt? I half expected the two of you to break out into a catfight right here on the tarmac."

The Elf affected a careless shrug. It was a bit too stiff and mechanical for Mike to really buy it. "It was merely a disagreement in temperament. His family line is descended from the Heroine Freya, who in ancient times was Iolenna's rival. I recognized it almost immediately in the way he talked."

"So... you're racist." Mike said, laughing at the indignant look Allynna gave him.

"No!" She said, perhaps a bit too emphatically. The two began the slow walk to the ship's automated gangplank beneath the cockpit. "It is simply a variance in philosophy. Houses descended from Iolenna have traditionally experienced difficulty connecting with those of House Freya. Historical rivalries are... difficult for my people to let go of."

"Yep." Mike said, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets as he took in another deep whiff of hyperdrive fuel. He grinned up at the empty sky. "Definitely racist."

"The term is meaningless!" Allynna said, her exasperation finally breaking across the empty vista of her face. "An Elf is an Elf to an Elf."

Mike snorted. "-Then what is a Human to an Elf? Cause if you hadn't been here, I'd have just gotten a huge fine."

"Whatever she wants him to be." Allynna said, scowling as they ascended into the Halfbreed's innards together.

* * *

"So what are you really going to spend your share on?" Mike said, flicking the switch on the thrusters as he finished his final pre-flight checks.

Allynna's face did not shift. She sat next to him, quietly plotting out the coordinates to their jump. Her eyes were downward, engulfed in the heads up screen display that was calculating their future trajectory off planet. "I have no 'share.' The money is yours. As per our legal pact."

Mike tugged at his jacket as he shifted in his seat, trying to find the most comfortable spot on the pristine white covers. "Fair enough. Legalities and all that." Mike reached across to her side of the dashboard and purposefully turned on a few of her flight systems for her. "I'll just set aside half then, so when you're released from my bondage you can accept it without scowling at me."

She scowled at him. "Don't touch my side of the ship." Her voice was deadpan, but Mike laughed anyway.

"Ooooh! Sorry, my Princess." Mike said, holding his hands up in front of his face as if to surrender to her, or ward off a blow. "Goodness knows you'll duck thirty thousand credits like it's the Talassian Plague. But touch a few too many dials on the wrong side of my ship, and you'll fight me to the death with your little Meaeth ringknife."

Like magic the aforementioned weapon appeared in her right hand. It was a belt dagger, but one of far greater quality than the lesser races made. It was razor sharp, honed to a fine edge capable of cutting steel, yet flexible enough that Allynna could easily fold it and stash it on her person. Mike never knew how she did it. She'd slipped through advanced security scanners with the thing.

In Allynna's hands it was a whirling blur. It moved so fast in her fingers that it often seemed like an optical illusion. She could produce it like a magician's sleight of hand, flicking the little thing up into her hand at a moment's notice. Mike knew the deadly force she could project with such speedy movement. He had had firsthand experience.

In this instance however, her action was more habitual than hostile. She idly twirled the blade hilt between her fingers, rolling it across her hands with a dexterity that confounded Mike. She punched in the launch codes even as she tossed the thing in the air, without looking, and caught it once again, returning it to its hidden place in a flash as she reached out and turned on the rest of her flight screen.

"You done showing off?" He said.

She met his eyes. "Do you know where we're going?"

"I thought you were the navigator." He teased back.

"We're headed to the Darvek System. Little Supply Depot maintained by a Pirate band off the gas giant in the outer rings." She pressed a few more buttons into the console and the lights went green across the cockpit. "A quarter of the credit transfer has already been sent. We get the rest once we've pinged the comm buoy to let them know we dropped it off."

Mike huffed. "I hope you know what you're doing with this, Aly." He said, "I don't trust these weapon companies farther than I can toss a three-ton Nerulian Bloodsucker."

The Elf paused, turning to glance at Mike. She smiled, for real this time. "Have I ever led you astray before, Michael?"

Mike felt a short flutter in his chest as he struggled to contain the blush that came to his face. "No." He said, truthfully. "Which is why I'm doubly suspicious: I don't want you to break your spotless track record to me on account of this contact."