The Moments Between
“I have just the thing for you,” the hologram intoned conspiratorially. The agent smiled a predator's grin, and Toulu's blood warmed with the promise of challenge. It was a simple mission – deliver some slaver hounds to one of the more unruly colonies in San Matar.
Apparently the Amarr had their hands full, to offer a mission like this to a Caldari. But Toulu had never been interested in the political fallout of his missions. Let the beancounters and glad-handers figure that part out, he had sometimes thought to himself while watching this mining colony or that pirate hideout explode in a shower of incandescence. After all, he was a capsuleer. An independent businessman of sorts. Besides, the Amarrian agent paid well, and Toulu's Drake was long overdue for a refit.
He accepted the agent's mission, simultaneously checking his supply of rockets. Even the simplest courier mission could bring heat, and an ill-prepared capsuleer was a dead capsuleer – for a few moments, anyway. He briefly considered jumping out to Jita to replenish, but his agent had offered him a bonus if he got the job done quickly. He decided against it and paid the markup at the station. Toulu sent the signal to undock, and programmed his autopilot for Ammatar. He'd get there quicker if he warped himself, he knew, but he was already forming grand plans for money that had not yet had the opportunity to burn a hole in his pocket.
Toulu walked through the station at Villore, absentmindedly fingering the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his vest. He had just spent the lion's share of his reward, but he had enough ISK left over to feel like celebrating. The bottle of Mind Eraser he had in his quarters would help him along that path. He keyed his security code into the pad next to the door and cursed to himself as he missed a digit and had to start over. I should save those sorts of screw-ups for when I'm drunk, he thought to himself. At least then I'd have an excuse.
He peeled off the tactical vest, took the cigarettes from the pocket, and lit one. He drew slowly, feeling the bite of the smoke in his three-week-old lungs. He settled into a chair and flipped through the holos available on the station. Here in the heart of the Federation, the selection was astounding. He skimmed past the names, sneering a bit at the titles of the most jingoistic Gallente-Caldari War holos, and laughing to himself at extensive list of porno holos, each attempting to exploit some dark tendency of human drives.
Toulu tried to remember the last time he had actually been with a woman. He played into the capsuleer stereotype much too well, receiving the vast majority of his stimulation from either the same cheap pornos playing across the station's holoscreens or the adrenaline-inducing sight of a Bloodclaw finding its mark. He remembered the night two weeks before his implantation, but only in parts. An early evening walk through the gardens on Todaki IV, impressed eyes the color of the taima trees that surrounded them longing for recognition, lithe, muscular thighs sliding – what was her goddamn name?
It felt like an eternity ago. Toulu tried to brush his hair away from his eyes, only to find his hair a good ten centimeters shorter than he remembered. They were the silly habits of a soul older than the body it inhabits. He laughed out loud. Deciding he needed some fresher memories, he lifted the datapad from its haphazard perch on the arm of his chair and checked through the listings of the less reputable businesses on the station. Hey, he thought to himself, everybody's got to make a living, so why not help the economy?
A few hours later, the door chimed. He had dozed off while waiting, and hastily tried to make the place look presentable, before realizing how absurd that thought was. Instead, he set two glasses out next to the bottle on his dresser before opening the door.
“Mr. Kailonen?”
Before him stood a tall woman dressed in the simple but elegant clothing in vogue in the Federation. Her dress was a deep jade that positively glowed against her cafe au lait skin. Her cheekbones were quite high, below eyes only slightly darker than her chestnut hair. His man had come through, though it had cost him most of his bonus. Toulu had little doubt that he would, in fact, get his money's worth.
“Please, come in, Miss...?”
“Just call me Thalia,” she purred in a voice two semitones too deep for her slight frame.
“Thalia,” Toulu said, revealing his nervousness. He could keep his hands from shaking, apparently, but not his voice. “Please, make yourself at home.”
She took care to brush him slightly as she stepped into the room. She sat on his bed, the only piece of furniture in his quarters that could possibly hold two people. He closed the door and turned to face her. He realized he had no idea where he should sit – would she take it as forward if he sat on the bed? Or should he sit in the chair to let things happen organically? Again, he reminded himself this was her job, and he should have no compunctions about allowing her to do it. He tried to sit on the bed with a little bounce to show how comfortable he was, but he misjudged it and looked more like an overeager teenager. This close, he could smell a perfume that reminded him of the botanical gardens at home. I really don't know what I am doing here. Maybe this was a mistake.
As if sensing his thoughts, she put her hand on his leg. “So, Mr. Kailonen -”
“Toulu.”
“ - Toulu, are you a capsuleer or do you just like the military look?”
Toulu was taken aback by this. How could she possibly know that, he thought, before once again realizing that his short hair and smooth, unlined face spoke volumes.
“Oh, yeah, I'm a capsuleer,” he told her with no small amount of pride. “I guess the hair gave me away.” Suddenly, he wanted desperately to impress her.
“That, and these top-level quarters. And maybe that hardware in your head. Do you stop at this station often?”
“Occasionally. I don't run missions out of here, but this tends to be the first place I head to when I have some iskies on the account – well, after Jita,” he added with a laugh.
“Well, I'm glad to hear you aren't a stranger,” she cooed at him, running a long fingernail across his cheek. “Are you going to offer a lady a drink?”
“Of course!” Toulu sprang from the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. She smiled at him with a perfect mixture of ease and expectation as he poured the purple-tinged liquor into the glasses and handed her one. She sipped it in a ladylike fashion more coached than bred.
“Oooh, Mind Eraser,” she almost whispered, her voice husky from the whiskey. “Big spender. Someone went to a lot of trouble getting that here.”
“Well, in all fairness to myself, I went to a lot of trouble to earn enough to buy it. But a bonus is a bonus, and sometimes you have to treat yourself,” he explained, before hastily adding, “a-and whatever company one might be...fortunate enough to find.”
She smiled, showing the slightest bit of teeth between her lips.
“Oh yeah? Well, work must be good for you then.”
“Very! I barely even had to lift a finger for this, just dropping off a load of slaver hounds to San Matar, it doesn't get -”
“You did what?” Her voice carried a note of disbelief supported by a chorus of welling hatred. Toulu realized his mistake, but of course, the damage was already done. “How could you possibly...and to say that to me!”
“Look, I'm sorry,” Toulu squeaked. “It's just a job, I mean -”
“A job? Just a job?”
“If I didn't do it, someone else would,” he told her, verging on panic.
“And that should make it alright? You helped those murderers!”
“I didn't help any murderers, I just -”
“I've dealt with a lot of lowlifes, I mean, I guess it's part of my job, but I would never lower myself to that,” she screamed, heading towards the door.
“To what, exactly?” Toulu was incredulous.
“To trading lives for money!” She turned, her back facing the door. Toulu's confusion turned to ice in his veins.
“I'll be goddamned before I take a lesson in ethics from a Minmatar whore!” The silence hung in the small room like a contrail. Perhaps a second went by, but it felt to Toulu like an hour, before Thalia broke the brittle quiet by throwing the full glass against the wall. It hit with a thud, not breaking, briefly tinting the wall the color of dying lilacs.
“At least I know I'm a whore,” she whispered, her voice utterly contrasting the sound of the glass. With that, she turned and left the room.
Toulu sat in stunned silence for a moment, and then tried again to brush his hair out of his eyes. He sighed deeply and walked to the small mirror in the corner. His face still looked new, as if thrust into the world fully formed some scant weeks ago. He thought back to that night on Todaki, feeling the cool winds of that autumn evening blowing through the open window – Miliko, he thought, that was her name. He wondered if Miliko would want him today, if they were to meet in some crowded bar on an orbiting station, or if there was some ineffable quality to potential that had made him attractive to her.
He ran his hands over his face, hard, and sat back down on his bed. He started to run through the holos again, but instead he switched to a news report. Some Gallente academic was pontificating on the role of capsuleers in politics. “The gods of New Eden,” he called them. Perhaps that's what happens to gods, he mused to no one. They look at humans, and can't see themselves anymore. He drained his whiskey and, feeling queasy, turned the holo off in disgust.
He laid down in his bed, annoyed at the lingering hint of perfume. Some minutes later, the quarter's sensors no longer detected significant movement, and dimmed of their own accord.