In the Black: Tales from the Edge, #1

Chapter One

This had to be the worst part of the job for any captain who ran a Mercy Ship. When she’d taken over the Bonnie Belle six months ago, it’d seemed amusing. Secure the landing, go out in front of the crowd—make a little speech to officially open the ship for business, and welcome the new customers. Had to be the captain because, well… the crew would riot if anyone else dared to make the presentation. Not because everyone loved her, but they worried about preferential treatment. She was the captain; she was neutral. Go out, and sell the wares.

Then back to signing off on maintenance reports and reading mystery novels, until the Belle was ready to head out for the next stop on their tour along the Edge.

This ceremony had turned into something like a persistent hangnail, catching on anything and everything without relief in sight.

Performed once a month.

For another four and a half years.

Samantha Keller stood in front of the double doors, waiting for her cue. A low beep in her ear from the transmitter gave the signal to proceed. She pasted a huge smile on her face and pushed through the swinging double doors, remembering Jenny's suggestion to walk slowly; saunter her way up to the podium—work the anticipation factor.

The black leather straps cut into the back of her heels as she strode down the center aisle, making sure to hit the metal strips laid across the floor so the magnets set in her soles would hold her in place—like everyone else on the base, the low gravity was great for moving heavy objects, but not so much for walking.

It reminded her of the old movies about the early explorers walking on Earth's moon—you could bound across the landscape, but sometimes you just wanted to walk.

In a pair of shoes that were ripping her feet up with every step. She made a mental note to toss the shoes into the garbage bin as soon as she got back to the Belle.

Jenny insisted on Sam buying the stilettos on their first stopover at Land’s End base, along with a brand-new leather jumpsuit. Sam had hesitated, worried about the cost, but Jenny noted it could be charged to the Guild under expenses, and that it’d be unseemly for the captain to make the announcements wearing her old combat outfit and ragged, old, stinky military boots.

Sam almost snapped back, ready to tell Jenny that these boots had been with her through hell and back, and if they were good enough for that, they’d be good enough for this. But the words had died when she’d spotted the eagerness in the mechanic’s eyes.

Sometimes you had to take a hit for the team—and Jenny was an old hand on the ship, unlike Sam. Her advice had already been priceless in helping Sam settle in on board.

In the end, Sam had bought the shoes—the ones now gouging raw spots on her heels. Six months later, and they were nowhere near broken in. Not to mention the damned jumpsuit still rode up, the black leather still stiff and unyielding.

Sam missed her old soft, olive drab uniform.

Along with the weapons that went with it.

There was something about having a pistol at her side that made certain situations more bearable.

Like this one.

She spotted Huckness, the base security chief, standing off to one side with two of his men, his attention not on her but on the two hundred miners spread out in front of them in the main meeting hall. He was looking for signs of trouble.

Sam was about to deliver it.

The second step was her undoing. She missed the metal strip, landing on bare wood. Her left ankle twisted outward, almost sending her crashing down the steps. Sam reached out and grabbed the podium’s faux wood edge.

As far as she was concerned, this near-fall added one more point toward tossing the damned shoes into the incinerator as soon as she got off this stage.

A curse dangled on her lips before being pulled back and twisted into a grin, primarily because of the live mike only inches from her face.

With this crowd, it’d probably be considered foreplay.

Wolf whistles erupted from the crowd. Two hundred hungry men waiting for her. Wanting her to deliver the goods they’d been promised.

Another dozen or so women were watching from an office somewhere, using the security cameras to monitor the event. Out here, women worked the administrative positions, keeping the ink flowing to keep the base alive.

They were already segregated from the men in the work areas, and it continued for this presentation, allowing them to watch the show without commentary from the male staff. It wasn’t just out of politeness—it was good business. Let them see the wares without judging or being judged by their male associates.

Another day, another show.

Andrew Trainer, the foreman, lifted his hands in an attempt to hush the crowd, and stepped away from the podium. A minute later, and he was in the front row of eager spectators, dressed in the same drab grey clothing as the rest of the miners. The only thing showing his rank was a black stripe on one sleeve. He wiped the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve even though the room was cool, the air-conditioning roaring over the crowd.

Sam gave him a wink, causing the dark-haired man to rock back and forth on the metal bench.

Inside she laughed. If she could get a rise out of the old guard with nothing more than a wink, she might have a damned riot on her hands by the end of the presentation.

Her lips twitched once, and then curved into a smile at the thought.

She’d enjoy a riot. It’d been a long time since she got in a good old-fashioned brawl, two landfalls ago when some idiot thought he’d jump the line when she was walking through the landing bay. If she hadn’t gotten to him first, he might have not survived the rough justice being handed out by his fellow miners.

It’d been a pleasure to kick his ass. Almost as good as sex.

Speaking of—

Hello, Branson Prime, she purred into the microphone, grimacing as her vocal cords protested at going so low and slow. It was a necessary evil; her command voice wasn’t going to work here.

The resounding cheer was deafening. She withdrew a small data chip from her pocket and inserted it into the waiting slot on the console. The yelling subsided when she waved them down, but a low murmur continued to run through the crowd, a delicious anticipation of what was to come.

"I’m Sam Keller, Captain of the Bonnie Belle—that sweet little Mercy ship that docked with your fine manufacturing facility an hour ago. And I’m here to declare that we are— she paused for three heartbeats, seeing the hungry eyes, —open for business!"

The two hundred-plus miners jumped to their feet as one, stomping on the metal grid in a deafening chorus. Given the sparse decorations, they looked more like prisoners than potential customers. But they were buyers, and she was here to sell a product.

Sam pointed at the large screens set around the mess hall as they flashed to life, the bright pictures drawing even more yells from the workers. Usually, they displayed boring litanies of production quotas and the occasional sports competition piped in from the inner planets. Now they rotated through the images of the six courtesans aboard the Bonnie Belle, expertly posed and photographed to provide the most titillation for the money. No outright nudity, just a flash of skin here, and a wink there. More than enough material to fuel a man’s or woman’s fantasies for those long, dark, lonely nights out here on the edge of colonized space.

Two hundred credits an hour, and you can do anything you want. Sam leaned over the podium, and pressed her lips to the microphone. Anything. She exhaled over the black nub, drawing the word out as long as she could.

The roar of the crowd continued until she raised her hands again. It was time to get down to the nuts and bolts of the business, seal the deal and start filling the Guild’s pockets.

Sam cleared her throat. Now that the seduction was over, time for the paperwork. Reservations are available starting right now for the next two weeks, one-hour appointments only. Return visits welcome, but be considerate of your fellow workers. Please read the contract, and understand all the clauses before you sign. We’re not into giving refunds, and the fees are non-negotiable—they're set by the Guild, so don't try to bargain, barter or beg for a lower rate. Tips are encouraged, and appreciated by the courtesan of your choice—if you liked what you got, show it with a few extra creds.

She nodded to Trainer. And, of course, clear every visit with your shift supervisor to make sure you’re not bringing the rest of your team down while you wait for your turn to come visit. She dragged out the last two words, as Jenny had suggested in their preshow rehearsals.

Sam shot a sly wink at a youngster in the front row, capturing his attention.

Probably his first trip out to the Edge. He hadn’t seen a Mercy ship yet, judging by the way his mouth hung open.

Time to prime the pump.

She leaned in again, locking eyes with the fresh meat as she started a mental countdown. Because it’s all about giving you what you want, and what you need. And we are here to make your dreams come true. Sam threw her arms up as the screens erupted in virtual fireworks, the bright explosions bursting out from behind the courtesans’ images.

Perfect timing.

A handful of men climbed onto the benches, whooping loudly and thrusting their fists into the air. It was what she’d expect from this boil on the butt of the mining universe, a small base hardly large enough to warrant a Mercy ship visit.

But they paid. And if they paid, the ships continued to come.

Sam gave a short bow, and stepped away from the podium with a wave to the foreman. Her job was done.

Now all she needed to do was not die of boredom for the next two weeks.

Trainer glanced up at the flashing images as they cycled through again, a broad grin on his face. He walked back up on the platform, and waited for the roaring to subside before waving the men back to their seats.

All right, fellows—a few things before you all rush the terminals to make appointments…

While the middle-aged senior foreman went through a list of announcements, nothing of which had to do with the Bonnie Belle, Sam stood to one side and listened to her comlink.

Bianca’s pissed, Jenny whispered into her ear. She’s saying that’s not the portfolio she approved.

Tell her to fuck off, Sam growled through her teeth, still smiling. Go file an official complaint. She approved them, and I’ve got the signed papers to prove it.

Roger that. Jenny chuckled. I’ll get your slippers ready. Meet you at the hatch. The link went dead.

Sam’s focus returned to the crowd in front of her.

Most of the men were ignoring Trainer, too busy pointing at the images, with bawdy comments rolling through the crowd in a heated wave of lust.

The images on the screen morphed into short movies now, carefully manipulated to increase the demand for the courtesans’ services by showing off their specialties.

Kendra strutting her stuff in an evening gown, her dark skin an enchanting contrast to the cream-colored dress. Bianca smiled as she offered a cup of tea, the various coffees and teas on display behind her. She took a sip, running her tongue along her lips.

April executing a flawless kata wearing her gi, black belt prominently displayed. Halley wearing a teeny tiny bikini with a false beach setting behind her, frolicking with an inflated beach ball decorated with a large green money symbol.

Dane, the young, blond boxer, putting his hands up in a fighting pose and grinning as he urged both sexes to consider his talents.

Last, but by no means least—Sean, the medic and the old man of the crew at forty years old, giving a flirty wink as he peered out from the screen with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, offering a more relaxed visit for the handful of women on duty.

Never let it be said the Guild didn’t try to satisfy everyone. If what you wanted wasn't on this ship, it'd be on the next.

The miners gazed at them like starving men crawling up to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Except for the kid, who couldn’t take his eyes off her. She felt a smile coming on, an honest-to-goodness grin, something she hadn’t had a reason to do for days, maybe weeks.

He was fresh off the boat and had no idea what he was doing.

This was going to be—interesting.

The pup cleared his throat.

How come you’re not up there on the screens? The shrill voice rose over the whispers, moans and groans of the crowd.

The youngster had a voice and wasn’t afraid to use it.

Sam smiled as she walked down the steps, ignoring her throbbing feet.

His teammates' reaction was priceless. Half of them edged away from the kid while the remainder moved in, curious as to what she was going to do.

Obviously, the rookie hadn't read any of the Guild's material, distributed to every person before a ship arrived.

The first rule of Mercy ships was that you never made a bid for the captain.

Never.

She wasn’t for sale.

Ever.

Or, in coarser words—don’t fuck with the captain.

The kid let his breath out in a gasp as she approached, his eyes frozen like a deer in a car’s headlights. His tongue flicked out over dry lips.

Sam stopped in front of him. It’d been a long time since she’d been asked out, even as roughly as this puppy had. She wasn’t going to take him up on the offer, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some fun.

He didn’t flinch as she leaned in, far inside his personal space.

Sweetie. She rubbed her hands over the short blond fuzz covering his head. You’re going to have to grow some more to satisfy me. Sam leaned down and put a loud, raunchy kiss on the pate, pulling his face down into her bosom before pushing him back in his chair.

The kid went scarlet from the tips of his ears down into his dirt-stained shirt. His mouth hung open, and a sound between a whimper and a sigh escaped. Sam winked to his buddies before spinning on one spiked heel and walking away. A roar went up from the crowd as a swarm of supporters descended on the young man.

Sam chuckled to herself, heading up the center aisle toward the back of the room and, thankfully, escape.

There was always one smart ass at every stop, some jerk who figured the rules didn’t apply to him. At least this pup was cute. She’d shot his reputation into orbit with that little stunt.

It could have gone worse.

Whore! The room went silent at the single shouted word. Sam stopped, then turned around.

Spoken too soon. There was always one, one employee who thought himself morally superior to his buddies.

The middle-aged man wagged a finger at her.

Whore! he repeated, spittle staining his chin. He got to his feet and shuffled past his shocked comrades into the middle of the aisle. His shirt was threadbare, patches outnumbering the original material. A thick, jagged scar ran across his right ear, almost slicing it in two before disappearing under short, raggedy grey hair. His wide eyes locked on Sam with the intensity of one of the large mining lasers set up miles underneath them.

She took a step toward him, keeping the pasted smile in place. Inwardly she flinched. The pain in his face took her back to the Hub, and her old squad. She knew what he wanted, why he’d called her out.

Sometimes the pain overwhelmed everything, and screaming was all you could do to stay sane.

She’d done her fair share of screaming after the Hub, remembering the faces of those she’d lost.

Those she’d let down.

Those she’d let die.

It took her a second to push the memory back into the box, slam the lid shut and lock it away for a better time.

Or a worse one. Either way, she wasn’t doing her job.

She swallowed hard, and pushed through the pain to do what she had come here to do.

Actually— Sam raised her voice, drawing in the gathering crowd, "—the women and men aboard the Bonnie Belle aren’t ‘whores,’ friend. We’re running a Charity ship, not a Mercy ship—and there is a difference. ‘Anything you want’ does mean sexual favors, if that’s what you want, but we also offer other resources for your pleasure."

She waved at the images flashing around the large meeting hall. Dane there holds past titles in boxing and wrestling. If you want some real competition, try to knock his lights out instead of fighting the smallest punk on your team or seeking out underground cage matches. Safe, sane, and consensual—and your foreman won't yell at you for fighting. Sean has a degree in English Literature, and has performed Shakespeare at the New Globe Theater on Ares, so if you’d like to get a private performance of the classics, there’s your man. He'll also discuss literature with you, from the old pulp novels right through to the techno-pop interactive novels you're paying top price for in the company store.

Sam drew a deep breath and continued. "Kendra is a twelfth-level chess grandmaster along with a level three dan in competitive go. Good luck in winning a game against her. She’ll empty your pockets of any extra credits before you leave the Belle, but you'll learn so much with each and every game. Bianca is an expert at making coffee and tea—I'm not talking about the crud that comes out of the machines here in the cafeteria. She's got exotic coffees on hand, and can whip up a chai that'll bring you to tears. If you're looking for a quality drinking experience, she's your woman. April is a qualified tai chi instructor along with a black belt in various martial arts, so you can have a partner for a workout guaranteed to push you to your limits. She also has vids for sale, if you'd like to keep improving after we're gone."

One last stretch to go. Halley is a paralegal and financial advisor with a business degree, if you’re shopping for investment advice or want to update your will or life insurance. She cast a wary eye over the potential customers. Make sure your finances are in order, and you’ll sweep out of here with a sweet retirement fund to live like a king in your old age.

That brought a few guffaws from the men.

Now for the small print. All references and services are Guild-approved and offered in low-g—the same as to what you've got here, since we're parked in your docking bay. You’ll have to pay extra for full gravity, or for zero-g, if that's your preference. Every room has the ability to adjust the gravity, so decide what you're most comfortable with.

Sam returned her attention to the heckler, dropping her voice down to a softer tone, almost whispering to him. Maybe you received a ‘Dear John’ letter from your wife or girlfriend, dumping you because of the time you spend out here on the rock. Maybe you just want to sit, and talk about that guy on your team who got crushed when that cable snapped. Maybe you got scared, and need to make sure your family’s provided for in case you don’t make it back home.

A spark of pain in the man’s eyes signaled a connection.

She’d hit home. Two hundred credits, and you get exactly what you want for an hour with total privacy. No questions, no judgments. Nothing but what you want.

She pulled a small metal token out of a pocket. The eyes of the men around her went wide, seeing the shiny octagon. Each of those was worth two hundred Guild credits and Sam kept only one in her pocket on each landfall, to use as she saw fit.

The same coin hadn’t left her pocket since she’d taken over the Belle.

She approached the old man and pressed it into his right palm, covering his hand with both of hers. Anything you want, Sam whispered.

He flexed his hand against hers, a concentrated effort to shake her off.

She felt the calloused fingers try to shift, a look of pain flashing across his face. Sam loosened her grip, mentally berating herself for being so rough with the older man.

A second later, the miner tugged his hand free with a shake of his head, and stepped back into the crowd, coughing and covering his face as he fought his way toward the rear of the room.

She might have connected; she might not have.

Point was, he wasn’t causing any more problems. Let the base counselor take it from here, sit the man down and have a talk about his personal demons.

She couldn’t cure his ills. Hell, she could barely handle her own.

Sam forced a smile back onto her face. Time to stir the pot again.

She put her hands on her hips before twirling around to face the rest of the men. I’m sure some of you little perverts want something more than playing chess and drinking tea, right? She pursed her lips, matching the imprint left on the pup’s head.

The reaction was exactly what she’d aimed for. This group was so keyed up they’d burn themselves out in two days, never mind two weeks.

Sam scanned the roaring crowd and caught Huckness’s eye. He nodded, then nudged two of his men.

They headed for the exit doors, preparing for her escape.

The yelling followed her down the aisle. The crowd started splitting off into smaller packs, talking about what they wanted, and who they wanted it from.

Huckness’s men opened the doors and fell into step behind her, scowling at anyone who got too close. Sam steadied herself on the wobbly heels, and began the walk back to the Belle, making sure to hit every metal strip.

It took longer than it should have, thanks to the on-duty men clogging the side hallways and hanging out of every door, anxious to see the captain of the Mercy ship. Never mind that she wasn’t up for rent; she was a woman and she was live.

Different monitors throughout the ship ran the courtesans’ portfolios in a loop, the images flashing from screen to screen as she passed them. The ads would run for the next two weeks in an unending cycle, pushing the product up until a few hours before departure. It seemed like overkill, but they’d met their quotas and filled up the appointment books on every stop up to this point, so something was working.

The Guild was nothing but efficient when it came to selling their products.

A sigh escaped her lips as they rounded the final corner. Thanks for the escort, boys. Sam nodded to the two men as they reached the connecting hatch. The umbilical tunnel stretched out in front of her, leading to the door to Belle’s landing bay. By the way, we offer a ten percent discount to security personnel. Our way of supporting the troops. Another saucy wink and she was through the door.

Leave them wanting more, as the saying went.

Just not the captain.

With each step down the long circular corridor, her pace became slower and slower as she staggered the last few yards. She didn’t dare look down, but she was sure her damned feet were bleeding. Those shoes were going into the garbage as soon as she could get them off.

The entrance to the Belle was unassuming, just another metal door into another ship. She’d gone through enough of them in her thirty-five years. But what lay on the other side wasn’t anything she’d been prepped for in the military.

The landing bay held a dozen folding chairs and card tables magnetically attached to the floor, a makeshift waiting room. It’d been surprising on her first landfall to see the men chatting nonchalantly about this and that as if they were waiting for a doctor’s appointment. Some played cards, some rolled dice, and a few buried themselves in magazines while holding boxes on their laps filled with God-knows-what.

A single monitor over the far door listed the six rooms beyond, red bars indicating they were occupied, and green for when they weren’t. Every hour a soft chime would go off, and a name would be called. The hatch unlocked for the men or women to exit and enter.

The appointments were staggered every half hour to keep the traffic to a minimum.

Clean, safe and sanitized. No one knew what went on behind closed doors.

Not even Belle. The computer AI was technically blind in the living areas, restricted to the landing bay and the cockpit for monitoring purposes. The Guild took their business seriously, and not even the captain was allowed to know what went on.

She was just an accessory.

Jenny, her mechanic/cleaner/go-to girl was waiting just inside the main hatch with a change of clothing in her hands. Permanent oily splotches dotted her dark gray jumpsuit.

She began talking as soon as she saw Sam. Repairs are going well. Nothing major to replace, just the usual bangs and scratches from crap pinging off our hull and basic wear and tear. I put in an order for an extra set of T-span bolts—those will be loaded up later on today. Rather have them on hand in case we get caught shorthanded between landfalls. Didn’t think you would mind.

Sure, Sam replied. Like I know what those are. Just keep the receipt. She began a slow somersault, gasping as her aching feet left the ground. It'd be a difficult maneuver for most people, but she had years of experience dealing with low gravity—it was all in the timing.

The blonde woman answered with a wink and a nod. As long as the ship keeps running, right?

Right. Anything else?

Jenny jerked a thumb toward the hatch at the far end of the landing bay. Kendra laid out the morning snack a few minutes ago. Landfall fruit salad. She beamed. Already got my share. And the girls are already complaining about spending too much time between landings. Again.

"They’re always saying that. Like any of them could make the Belle fly faster. Besides, they need the recovery time to work up to the next bitch session. Two weeks on, two weeks off. It’s been the same for the six months I’ve been here, and for years before that, so I don’t see the Guild changing it anytime soon. They’re just whining for the sake of hearing their own voices."

She stripped off the stilettos and studied the damage.

Her feet weren’t bleeding, but darned close.

Jenny winced upon seeing the scarlet stripes but said nothing.

The leather bodysuit was next, a series of curses escaping Sam as she peeled it off, twisting and turning.

Finally, she was free, panting and exhausted from the struggle. Sam shoved the outfit away, wishing it would accidentally slip