Book One - Chapter Twenty-Four: Smuggle Me Harder

On the way back to my chamber, Whipsteele did something that made my brain hiccup. One moment he was beside me, boots clicking against the polished floor, the next, he just... wasn't. No flash of light, no dramatic swirl of coat. Just gone, like reality had simply forgotten to render him.

Then I was back in my room, doors sealed, and there he was. Standing behind me like he'd been admiring the architecture of my ass-exposing formal wear for the past ten minutes.

“Cloaking device,” he said, voice carrying the kind of casual pride you'd use to show off a new kitchen gadget. “Picked it up from some Vorthan smugglers after they tried to double-cross me on Kepler-42b. Turns out their idea of 'payment' was a plasma cannon to the face.”

He produced what looked like a TV remote that had been crossbred with a medical scanner. The device swept around my room in lazy arcs, humming with the kind of electronic satisfaction that suggested it was finding exactly what it was looking for.

“Seventeen listening devices,” he noted conversationally, like he was commenting on the weather. “Two video feeds. One aromatic analyzer, which, frankly, is just rude. Someone’s been real curious about you, friend. And I’ll give you two guesses who, but you’ll only need one.”

“Wait, what? The Karens have been spying on me?”

“Don't panic, kid. Looks like someone's already playing interference. These bugs are deader than chivalry at a Karen convention. Professionally neutered, I'd say. Real artisan work.” He tapped the scanner with something approaching professional admiration. “And if it wasn’t you that blocked ‘em, I’d say Cassandra was wrong about one thing. You do have a friend here, somewhere.”

The scanner's beeping shifted to a satisfied chirp.

“Still,” he continued, producing an orange disk with a flourish, “a little extra paranoia never killed anyone. Well, except for my Uncle Jeremiah, but that's a different story entirely. As my dear departed mother always said: 'Trust everyone, but cut the cards and bring your own condoms.'“

When he slapped the disk onto the ceiling, it pulsed with dull orange light and for a moment it felt like my ears were underwater.

“Privacy field,” he explained.

Then he turned, dropped the robe and I finally saw him fully.

He claimed my coffee table with one leg, like he’d never met a piece of furniture he couldn’t dominate.

He was exactly what I'd expected and absolutely nothing like I'd imagined. The swagger was there. That much was obvious from his Riker posture alone. But it wasn't only the cartoonish bravado I was picking up. Underneath that was the quiet confidence of someone who'd been shot at by professionals and lived to critique their marksmanship. Tanned skin that spoke of real suns on distant worlds, not some cosmic tanning salon. Lines around his eyes that suggested he'd smiled through more dangerous situations than any sane person should survive.

“So,” he said, “care to tell me why the hell I'm here?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Listen, pal,” he said, tone shifting suddenly. He jabbed a finger at me like I’d just insulted his mother and his ship in the same breath, “I was on the other side of the gorydamn System, soaking up sunlight with three absolutely criminally attractive companions. I'm talkin’ tropical moons, floating pools, pillow talk lies and drinks that made you believe 'em. It was going so well I started thinking maybe the universe had finally forgiven me.”

He paced like a preacher on amphetamines, arms flailing, eyes wide.

“Then weird shit starts happening. Like, disturbing weird. Doors locking on their own. My AI starts speaking in riddles. My playlist? Wiped. Replaced by vintage Terran jazz. Fucking Jazz, Jerry. I hate jazz. It's music for people who never learned how to end a sentence. And then my feeds start glitching. Every single title replaced with your name. Jerry. Over and over.”

He stopped, squinting at me. “I closed my eyes and saw you frothing milk like it was sacred ritual. I blinked and there you were, making cappuccinos with this creepy-ass glow around your head like a barista saint. Do you know what that does to a man?”

“That brought you here?”

“No, Jerry, it did not bring me here. I figured it was the shrimp. Or maybe a targeted neural ad campaign. I tried to sleep it off. But it escalated. I started seeing your face in mirrors. Do I look like a Jerry to you?” He leaned in, eyes wide. “Do I?”

I didn’t answer.

“I kept seeing your face everywhere I looked. One of my companions—during a massage, mind you—morphed into you. I even called out your fucking name mid-fuck. I called her Jerry. Not baby. Not sweetcheeks. Jerry. I nearly jumped out the airlock right then and there. And when I saw your mug on the Council trial broadcast, I knew that this wasn’t shrimp. This was cosmic harassment.”

He sighed, dragged a hand down his face. “So I did what any wanted man in his right mind would do. I packed a bag, ditched my signature ship, couldn't bring the Doughty Whore into Council space, she lights up every warrant scanner from here to the Crap Nebula, stole a diplomatic pod and snuck aboard this floating tribunal.”

Whipsteele paced like the walls were closing in. His fingers brushed the doorframe, his jacket, the side of his face, like he didn't trust the room to stay still. His shoulders sagged. He looked tired. Really tired. And I couldn't help but feel like that was partly my fault. But how was I to know Todd would be that heavy-handed in getting him here? Still, I was a little proud of Todd for pulling it off.

“Okay, here's the thing about being wanted, Jerry. Not parking-ticket wanted. Real wanted.”

He stopped and stared.

“It makes you careful. Careful about who you trust. About who you help. I’m top ten on most lists. And yet, here I am. On a fucking police cruiser… with you.”

“Whipsteele—”

“No. I'm talking. Normally, when someone rips me across the galaxy like I'm cargo, I kill them. Not out of spite. Just business. Can't have my good name dragged through the mud, people thinking I'll just go and help any pity case that comes my way. I've got a reputation, Jerry.”

His pacing tightened.

“But your friend or tricks or whatever it was that's been in my head for the past three days? You didn't just summon me. I thought I was spiraling. Going fucking crazy. So, now that you have me here, what the fuck can I do for you?”

“Look, I'm sorry. I didn't…” I considered trying to explain Todd to him. The whole degrees of separation of influence thing. How he must have done the cosmic equivalent of key mashing or spamming A-B-A-B-UP-DOWN-LEFT-RIGHT or whatever to push Todd to get here as fast as he did. But I thought better of it. “I'm sorry. I had hoped you'd be able to help me talk some sense into these people. To convince them Earth was worth keeping. That they shouldn't just slag it all, and sell us off for parts.”

“Jerry,” he said. His eyes dropped to the floor, just for a second. “That’s not how it works here. They don't care if you guys have heart. Hell, I'm shocked you even got five Civilization points. Their metrics are insane. If it were my system? You humans would be at two hundred. Minimum. That planet is like watching a fire juggler sprint through a fireworks factory. Beautiful. Deranged. Inspiring. Your version of Earth is fucking hilarious. Our version wasn't nearly that fun.”

“What do you mean, 'our version'?” I looked at him more closely. Something had been nagging at the back of my mind. “You mean, you're human?”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, well, technically. Just, uh… slightly off-standard timeline from your point of view. Back home, Queen Elizabeth ruled for about a thousand years after we figured out the whole immortality thing.”

“So you can’t die?”

“We don't wrinkle, but we definitely still explode, bleed, and get disintegrated. Makes a life sentence pretty expensive. So, with people like me they do away with prison and just space you. Which, I've got a fifty-percent chance of happening to me because of this whole thing. So, if you don’t mind, are we done? Because I’d like to get off this deathtrap.”

“If you can’t help me convince them, can you at least help me smuggle people off Earth.”

He winced and shook his head.

“You came here on a ship, right?” I persisted. “Help me sneak as many people as possible off the planet. We can make trips, maybe get some pirate buddies in on it. I don’t know. Something.” I thought of my uncle and his wife and kids.

He looked genuinely sad then. “Bucko, I'm sorry but I can't.”

“What the hell do you mean, you can't? Then what the fuck are you here for? This whole cosmic fuck-up is your fault, Whipsteele. You knocked the Core from the sky, you fucked us. And you can't even send a ship over to help get some of us out of this mess?”

“Whoa there, hold your fucking horses, Jerry. I'm here, aren't I? I am risking everything to be here. And my current ship, it's a fucking pod, Jerry. My main gal, the Naughty Whore, she's tucked safe and far away. But even if she was on your moon, I couldn't help. Your planet is being watched very closely. Your people are the property of the Council and you think they'd let us fly a ship down and start loading up thousands of their property?”

“We aren't fucking property! We are—”

“Your planet's gone, Jerry!”

Flat. Final.

“Not troubled. Not in danger. Gone. It's fucking done, friendo.”

He pointed to his own chest.

“Maybe I hit the Core. Maybe I accidentally broke your sky open. But your people couldn’t leave it the fuck alone. You all set it off and got yourselves into this. And now they're coming. What the fuck you want me to do, take on the whole damned Council?”

I started to speak, but he cut me off again with a raised hand.

“I can get you out. Just you. My pod is big enough for a few and hidden nearby. I know places to disappear. You'd be safe. Forever.”

He dropped to the couch. Legs out. Hands loose.

“All you have to do is walk. Leave them. Every person. Every thing. Let it all burn behind you. It’s gone anyway, just waiting to die.”

The silence didn’t fill the room. It hollowed it. He didn’t blink.

And here’s the part that wrecks me. I consider it. And he can see it.

A chirp came from his wrist.

“Shit. We’ve got company. We have to go.”

He didn’t vanish yet. Just stared through me like he already knew the answer.

“Now or never, buddy. You coming or staying?”

He started to fade.

I wanted to go. Every part of me screamed for it. Survival. Escape. Live now, figure it out later. Staying meant dying. I knew that. But—

There was still a chance. Small. Stupid. A thread so thin it barely counted. But I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t jump ship while it was sinking. Couldn’t walk away from the fire I helped light.

I felt sick. Frozen. A perfect idiot with his feet glued to the floor and his gut tied in knots.

This wasn’t fair. I’d done everything I could. It wasn’t my fault. Not really.

I should go. Save myself. No use dying for no reason. The world was screwed either way.

And yet, I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

His eyes locked with mine. No judgment. Just understanding. Then he clicked something on his watch.

The fade sped fast.

“Good luck.”

Then he was gone.

His voice echoed from nowhere, cheerful and terrifying: “Oh, and Jerry. Tell anyone I was here and I’ll vaporize you. In the friendliest way possible.”

And when the door hissed open, I thought I was hallucinating.

Three silhouettes in the doorway.

My heart kicked like a shotgun.

Whiskers. Riley. And fucking Peña.