Page 28 of Red Scale Daddy
I watch her go with the taste of ozone still on my tongue and the strange, fierce certainty that the night has just handed me something dangerous enough to matter.
CHAPTER 5
ROMA
By the time I reach Docking Bay Twelve, the ache along my cheek has settled into something steady and persistent, a dull pulse that syncs unpleasantly with my heartbeat.
The corridors outside Shot in the Dark feel cleaner, but only in the way a surgical table feels clean after a bad operation. The air is colder, stripped of the bar’s suffocating humidity, and carries the dry, metallic tang of recycled oxygen and overheated circuitry. Each breath rasps faintly against the back of my throat. Overhead vents hum with mechanical indifference, while somewhere deep in the station’s spine, cargo lifts grind and lock into place with heavy, echoing finality. My boots strike the floor in controlled rhythm, though the faint stick of spilled residue still clings to the soles.
I adjust the torn edge of my hood, then stop bothering. Concealment is no longer part of the equation.
Improvisation never should have been.
My ship waits below the gantry, exactly where I left her, untouched by chaos, indifferent to it. The Lamplight rests beneath sterile overhead lights, her hull absorbing brightness rather than reflecting it, her shape compact and deliberate.There is no ornamentation, no excess curvature meant to impress or comfort. Every surface exists to serve a function. Every line exists because I put it there.
For a moment, the pressure in my chest loosens.
“You’re still here,” I murmur under my breath.
The ship answers with a low, reassuring hum as systems recognize my proximity and begin to wake. That sound settles something inside me more effectively than any human voice could manage.
My compad pings.
I already know who it is.
I let the call linger just long enough to irritate him before answering.
Harl Venn’s projection blooms into existence above my palm, polished and composed, his expression carefully curated into something that passes for warmth in transactional environments.
“Roma,” he says smoothly. “I hear your evening has been… eventful.”
“You sent armed collectors into a public bar.”
“I sent representatives to address an overdue concern.”
“They escalated to violence.”
“How unfortunate,” he replies, tilting his head slightly as if considering a minor scheduling conflict. “Some individuals lack restraint.”
“One of them suggested payment in body parts.”
His smile widens a fraction, controlled but unmistakable. “Creative negotiation is common in less refined sectors.”
“You sold my debt prematurely,” I say. “That violates contract.”
“My dear, you are approaching launch with incomplete crew certification and outstanding balances. I have demonstrated remarkable patience.”
“I am not your dear.”
“No,” he says, voice softening in a way that feels deliberate. “You are a liability with ambition.”
“I will pay upon mission completion.”
“And if you fail?”
“I won’t.”
A soft laugh escapes him, polished and faintly indulgent. “Confidence is admirable. Misplaced confidence is profitable.”
