A Note to the Reader

Bis Rose is a character of Barbadian descent. As such, Bis Rose and another character, Colleton St. John, use words and terms unique to the island. For convenience, I’ve provided a short glossary for reference.

Glossary of Barbadian Words

Steups — The hissing noise made from sucking teeth. A true talent if one can do it loud and proud. Can be used to convey almost any emotion, but best paired with frustration. Used either before or after with an utterance of rasshole, will bring out a better flourish to your emotive delivery.

Rasshole — A colourful, multi-purpose sentence enhancer. A noun, verb, adjective and even an adverb. Most likely a derivative of asshole, it can be used any-which-way due to its versatility. Commonly known as a descriptive way to say idiot or foolishness, it can also be a great expletive.

High-brown — Brown-skinned, but more on the lighter side.

Ruck-a-Tuck — An awful noise, sound or commotion. Can also be used to describe something that is in a rough condition.

Obeah — A practice/religion, drawing on elements of African religions, and adopted throughout many Caribbean islands, especially associated with Jamaica. It can encompass supernatural practices of castings spells and enchantments, to being knowledgeable in plants and animals to heal illnesses.

For reference: Barbados Pocket Guide

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barbadospocketguide.com/our-island-barbados/about-barbados/bajan-dialect.html

THE KUIPER BELT

Both Arrokoth (visited by NASA’s New Horizons mission) and Pluto are in the Kuiper Belt – a donut-shaped region of icy bodies beyond the orbit of Neptune. There may be millions of these icy objects, collectively referred to as Kuiper Belt objects (KBOs) or trans-Neptunian objects (TNOs), in this distant region of our solar system.

Similar to the asteroid belt, the Kuiper Belt is a region of leftovers from the solar system’s early history. Like the asteroid belt, it has also been shaped by a giant planet, although it’s more of a thick disk (like a donut) than a thin belt.

The Kuiper Belt shouldn’t be confused with the Oort Cloud, which is a much more distant region of icy, comet-like bodies that surrounds the solar system, including the Kuiper Belt. Both the Oort Cloud and the Kuiper Belt are thought to be sources of comets.

The Kuiper Belt is truly a frontier in space – it’s a place we’re still just beginning to explore and our understanding is still evolving.

—NASA

Everyone is guilty of all the good they did not do. — Voltaire

(apologies to Voltaire for modernising his quote).

1

Agent Bis Rose groaned and shook her head, making her short dreadlocks bounce, then rolled her shoulders a few times. The tight muscles sang with relief. The narrow seat she’d been assigned had been really cramped. Stepping off the transport shuttle’s gangplank, she surveyed her surroundings. Despite the enormous domed Arrivals hall, which boasted a panoramic vista of the congested docking berths, the sheer volume of travellers weighted the air with heat and odours. The stink of fresh over stale urine, and other decomposing organics, punched the air. Making sure her weapons were strapped securely on her belt, she pulled the lapels of her overcoat with a sharp snap and proceeded towards Customs and Immigration.

Moving with the press of human traffic, she joined the line to Immigration, which was moving at a sluggish speed. The chatter, and general grumpiness, of visitors and locals alike waiting their turn grew louder, becoming edged with frustration. And was it her imagination, or were all run-down ports humid and muggy, with malfunctioning cooling systems? A line of sweat ran down her spine. She shifted her torso, hoping to staunch it with her shirt. She contemplated taking off her coat.

Had it been like this the last time? It was bad enough the hot, stinking air didn’t circulate, but to add sweaty bodies to the mix was a bit much. Already, some locals were making deals with hot, bothered, gullible travellers, informing them of excellent, affordable accommodations they had connections with, or even a way of being fast-tracked through Customs and Immigration because they knew a person or had a scramble code. She’d already overheard five such transactions. It wouldn’t surprise her if the port officials weren’t in cahoots and purposely keeping the place hot and grimy so travellers would want—for a fee—the fastest way out possible.

Like any other underdeveloped nation in the Kuiper Belt, Azura tried hard to rise from the foul muck with much window-dressing and false advertising of its purported luxury hotels and entertainment establishments. Duty-free signage screamed everywhere one looked; even the beacon buoys had splashy advertisements. If only their goods matched their prices and citizens.

But that was just it. Azura revelled in its underdeveloped status, whinging and moaning to all who’d listen, purely to hide what actually lurked beneath the façade. They struggled—true enough for the most part—and Bis knew this from experience. But, instead of pulling out from the mire, Azura attracted a slew of unsavoury types that kept it there. The corrupt government and officials of the station did little to help, instead lining their pockets from said unsavoury clientele. And the citizens and permanent residents were no better. Everyone had a hidden agenda or an ulterior motive.

And that was how Azura operated. It worked for them. All things considered, it made Azura a refreshingly honest place.

Bis wasn’t fussed. She wasn’t here to enjoy Azura’s questionable facilities or their conniving ways. She had a job to do, to add another notch on her impressive record. She drummed her fingers on her weapons, tempted to draw them if only to make the line move faster. Weapons were an everyday thing on Azura, unlike most stations; perhaps because of its undisciplined nature. This far out, sitting side by side with the icy asteroids and rocks, it was in the region designated Untamed Space. Bis had seen and been to worse places. Azura was a walk in the park, a veritable overpopulated urban paradise. And, to be perfectly honest, she kind of liked it here. But, whether specially licensed or falling under the jurisdiction of the law, she still had to first check in the weapons so a governor pin could be inserted. For the safety of Azurans. A small price to pay. Didn’t matter. If push came to shove, she was well capable of hand-to-hand resolutions.

Waiting in line amid the other travellers, Bis checked her wrist relay, and paired it with the station’s chronometer and network signal. As her agency sim cycled through its list, it pinged to let her know the network was active.

After several long minutes, and another overheard deal behind her, Bis was third in line for the immigration booth. She took the time to double-check her status on her relay, making sure everything was filled out properly. Azura was known to fleece unsuspecting travellers for the simplest of mistakes. Even agents. All it took was one mis-tap on the already confusing forms, and she’d have a lengthy stint in the interrogation room and a whole bunch of explaining, maybe even more fees to pay. Immigration officials were, by far, the most disbelieving bunch of mechanical cretins in the entire galaxy. And the E-S610 models manning Azura’s ports had a particularly pedantic OS.

Yep.

She scrolled to her ID authentication. Yep.

Her dues were fully paid and her license valid for another two solar years. She was good to go, and had every right to troll about on Azura as an official retrieval agent—Level One—for GAJA. As a senior agent with the Galactic Judicial Authority, she had a long list of acquisitions and field experience. Fifteen years’ worth, to be exact. Her name was known—especially in places like Azura. But all it took to throw multiple wrenches in the mix was to have outdated credentials or get the wrong date order on the entrance forms. It happened, usually due to the length of time it took for updated files to reach this far out in the Belt.

Next in line, the E-S610 mechatronic warbled in its genderless tone, which matched its generic appearance. This one has a small dent and scratch on its metallic forehead. Maybe courtesy of a disgruntled traveller.

Bis approached the booth. The mechatronic scanned her, and the hand she held up with the embedded QR code in her wrist.

Hibiscus Rose, Agent 3202, Galactic Retrieval Agent. Level One. Code Grey Status. The mech’s headlight flickered red as it checked her details against the database. What is the purpose of your visit to Azura?

I’m in pursuit of an escaped convict. As if her presence as an agent wasn’t obvious enough. And Code Grey meant she could do whatever she needed to do—within reason—to capture her prey. Reference file 6972400191264 dash CX on record.

Identity and objective confirmed. A green light replaced the red on the mechatronic’s head. Please proceed to Customs and Excise to declare any taxable items, restricted organics or weapons. Have a wonderful stay on Azura. Next in line.

Customs and Excise wasn’t as arduous an experience as Immigration, especially since only honest travellers bothered to declare items of interest. Three mechatronics were stationed there, along with a lone human agent who spent longer than necessary ogling her weapons. They were her pride and joy, especially since she’d had them custom made to her specifications. The extra-wide, longer cylinder on her concussion gun, guaranteed to stop an escapee in their tracks, bucking them with a concentrated line of compressed air to send them airborne. Some even bled. The concussion gun was also particularly effective, and handy, for blasting down locked doors or objects thrown in her way—it happened a lot during a chase. Bis had had her weapons maker decal it with a mesmerising orange and red marbled airbrushing, so when the cylinder spun to cycle back for another round, it gave off a fiery effect, and encouraged a grin on her face. Her other weapon was a standard Agency-issue pulse stunner with multiple settings from light sting to full-on kill mode. She’d had it decaled with blue lightning streaks that stood out against the boring dull black.

Your file indicates a Code Grey status, one of the mechs said, its head flickering with a red light to indicate it too was scanning and perusing her details.

Beside Bis, a man grumbled about having his bag of oranges confiscated and destroyed on the spot in the portable incinerator. She bet he wouldn’t be so honest the next time. If he ever returned to Azura. And she also bet the incinerator wasn’t real. The customs officials would be enjoying oranges on their next break.

Correct, Bis responded to the mech, but narrowed her eyes at the human officer. He was fondling her concussion gun a bit too amorously, running his finger into the chamber in a slow, rhythmic circle. She steupsed quietly to herself, then ran her tongue over her teeth in distaste.

Your weapons are required to be governed in accordance with the laws on Azura. Do you consent? the mech said. A record of the weapons presented will be uploaded to the district Galactic Judicial Authority’s main precinct. Do you consent?

Yes, yes. I consent. Because if she didn’t, it meant time wasted in a holding cell, GAJA agent or not, while they threw wrenches in the works before they deigned to release her. She might even have to pay a bribe here and there to speed things along.

And sir— She addressed the human officer. —if you touch that button, it will activate an anti-theft electric charge and incapacitate you. Your biometrics are not coded to that weapon. Only mine.

The officer goggled, but nodded with an impressed smile. Right. He kept nodding in appreciation. This is a sweet little piece you have here, Agent. He clicked his tongue. Pity about the governor pin.

And with that, he placed a device over a small opening at the side of the weapon. Then, with some enthusiasm and a leery grin, he clicked a button. The device pinged, indicating the pin was inserted.

The officer shivered in delight. Love that sound.

He winked, then grabbed her other weapon and did the same.

On your return trip, make sure to have these removed before you board. Have a nice stay, Agent Rose. I’ve heard of you. Good hunting.

Rasshole, gross-ass people they got here. Bis rolled her eyes and left.

* * *

Bypassing a courtesy check-in with the district precinct, Bis went to the first place she figured her target would head to. The Dikephobia Tavern. The owner had a wry sense of humour with a name like that. Positively hilarious. Come to think of it, most Azurans liked to poke fun at the authorities. The first time she encountered the place, she’d had to look up the odd name and its meaning. It literally translated to fear of justice. Fitting.

Getting to the Dikephobia was the trying part. Because the docking port was on the upper-level tier of the northern sector, it required taking two trams—one to reach the central sector, another to descend to the mid-level, over-populated commercial districts. From there, a tedious walk through a lively ghetto town through which more wealth rolled than in Azura’s purported capital city, a stone’s throw away. Caffeine Street, or Caffy, stretched from the back of the station’s hydro plant to the edge of the merchant district. Within the stretch, many smaller streets and alleyways were stacked high on multiple levels, and branched out into a thick, intricate network. A heaving sea of humanity, Caffy, riddled with merchant businesses and food stalls crammed into every conceivable space and level, thrummed with life. The tangled stench of human waste, body odour and food was everywhere. The buzz and activity of thousands of people made the place sound like a perpetual street fair. To the best of her knowledge, and as the name suggested, Caffeine Street never slept.

Of the many station colonies and nations in the Kuiper Belt—a veritable multitude—Azura remained the most famous, and infamous. Seven hundred years ago, the Starlight Azura, as it had once been called, had been a beautiful generation ship crammed full of people seeking out life in the Belt. While waiting for Triton to be terraformed for human habitation, the Kuiper Belt became congested with pioneering generation ships. Many, including Starlight Azura, converted to station nations to stake their claim on their little pocket in the Belt. Over the long years, their descendants established themselves as Belt natives. The majority of those who lived on the station nations never left to colonise Triton or the small terraformable asteroids riddled throughout the Belt. Their ship became their home.

The Dikephobia Tavern was three alleyways in from the main street, on a feeder alley called Exhaust Row. Bis had only been there once before. Once was enough, and the proprietor’s character liable to induce migraines thanks to the circuitous manner with which he spoke. He was a good sort, for a bad sort. She’d met him once in person and, on a few occasions, spoken to him via relay. To say she understood him was a bit of a stretch, but she did sort of get him. They had many things in common, if only he could step out from the murky, grey side of the law.

The tavern’s name alone suggested law enforcement agents, and anyone remotely law-biding, were not welcome. With a sweet bribe, the employees looked the other way, but only for a few minutes or until a better offer came along.

From the outside, the tavern glowed, welcoming and cosy. It was fashioned after the ancient stone taverns from millennia ago, the kind with a hanging wooden sign swaying in the wind on rusty posts. The street was quieter here, out of the way and off the beaten track. The vibe calmer—and the stink not as potent. People came to Dikephobia for a nice sit-down meal and a drink. They also came, those in the know, to conduct some high-stakes gambling deep in the basement. Bis had never seen the basement, but had heard from fellow agents, who’d made it that far, how it was set up like a luxury casino with top-notch security. One had to be invited to play from a select list many coveted a place on. The waiting list for new players was years-long. However, for a hefty, mind-numbing price, you could buy-in to play for a single night only. The number of one-time players, even repeat one-timers, was astronomical, and served to prove how wealthy Azura and its clientele really were.

And Bis’ prey, Jun Hiro, despite his many entanglements with GAJA, was saturated in wealth. Old wealth, to the point of it being obscene. It always boggled her how people became so rich, and how, regardless of how much money they flung about, stayed rich. Something didn’t add up. At a guess, she’d have to keep working until she was close to eighty-five before earning even an eighth of what some of these individuals spent in a day. Pocket change, in their opinion. No matter. She did honest work and deserved every single credit she earned. The likes of Jun Hiro and his generational wealth only meant he’d never worked an honest day in his entitled life. And it was the reason he’d escaped from prison. Escape being rather generous, since he’d paid the guards to look the other way while he walked out the door. When she got her hands on him, she would make sure he got locked up for good—straight off to Pluto Penitentiary to join his father. No one got out from that place.

According to his file, Junjiro Hiro was a flashy high-stakes gambler, a player, poser and social influencer. All of which created the perfect front for being a contraband and illegal arms dealer. Not to mention an heir to, and member of, the most notorious criminal dynasty going back three hundred years—the Hiro Syndicate. As expected, he’d inherited the family trait for criminal activities from his father and grandfather, and whoever else there was before them. Bis would make sure he inherited the same incarceration and sector code as Daimyo Hiro. There wasn’t a criminal who needed catching she didn’t catch. Her retrieval record was solid. And she would catch Jun Hiro.

Dealers like Jun usually earned the Judicial Authority’s full beady attention. And multiple years to a life sentence in a maximum-security prison. But there was the murder conviction on top of that, not to mention the escape, so right now, Pluto Pen looked really good for him. His file also said he was usually armed, his choice of weapon a Glock 19—an antique projectile gun from Earth. He’d never been known to discharge it, but had certainly waved it about enough times with intent to shoot. If that didn’t suggest murderous intent, then she was a homemaker living on a farm on Earth, raising a gaggle of children and livestock.

Jun Hiro, I’m gonna getcha. She could feel it in her bones as she neared the tavern.

Bis couldn’t imagine how such a doe-faced, affable young man could harbour such criminal behaviour. But looks were deceiving, and he’d been waltzing about with GAJA since he was seven, debuting with his father and repping the Hiro Syndicate. Now the man-boy was twenty-three, and his mugshot, though dishevelled and displaying that standard disbelieving gawp that he’d actually been caught, didn’t even show stubble. Had he even reached puberty? He was still a child. She was old enough to be his mother. Grandmother, even. But she also knew, even though he might well be tough, unless he paid for protection, Pretty Boy wouldn’t last a day at the Pluto Pen.

She approached the Dikephobia Tavern and stood outside, giving it the once-over. The medieval façade was convincing enough; the torches affixed on either side of the faux wooden door added a nice touch. A burly guard, dressed in era-appropriate costume, stood sentry. Though, Bis imagined, back in those days it wouldn’t have been a buxom woman with an off-the-shoulder ruffly dress in a hideous shade of peach. She wore an ill-fitting red wig—overly bouncy with curls and a high up-do—and a horrible pink and white-chequered bow. It did nothing for her already ruddy face and large nose.

Bis pulled back her overcoat, tucking it behind her sidearms, exposing her physical badge pinned clearly on her shirt. The gold and silver emblem flashed against her black shirt. With a flick of the wrist, she activated her e-badge on her relay. Her credentials and the GAJA badge, along with the Grey Code warrant, popped up in a hologram before her.

Retrieval Agent Bis Rose, GAJA. I’ve official business to conduct. She kept her arms loose by her side in case she had to draw weapons. The other woman didn’t react, but did sort of appear to grow…bigger. And was it her imagination, or did her biceps flex a bit?

Agents are not welcome, the guard said, her tone surprisingly mellow. She could be singing crooning folksongs on stage with an acoustic guitar.

I have multiple warrants. I’m well within many jurisdictions.

I have an empty bank account.

Wow. Bis shook her head. Subtle.

I know you have funds. You’re famous. The big woman smiled, making her somewhat attractive. Agent Hi-bissss-cusss Rose.

Bis made a face to cover the cringe. Famous doesn’t always mean rich. She took a breath and rolled her shoulders. I do pay taxes, you know. Like, a lot.

Come on, Agent Rosie. You’re a household name in every criminal’s home. ‘Don’t run away, or Rosie’s gonna get-cha!’

I’m retrieval, not enforcement.

Don’t matter. One and the same. The law.

I’ll only pay up if I get something in return. Bis paused, hoping she’d take the hint. She waited another beat. Obviously, not. Rasshole. So, how much is dinner in this place?

Evening’s special is filet mignon, braised asparagus, fingerling potatoes and a red wine horseradish reduction sauce with a touch of honey. All fresh, straight from the Organics. Dessert is fresh-baked peach cobbler. Only the best quality here at the Dikephobia. No flash frozen, pre-packaged, imitation plant-based shit. You do the maths. She made the universal hand signal for money.

I’m vegan, Bis lied.

Sucks to be you. The woman sucked something from her tooth. Imitation shit’s around the corner at the Pork Pie Stop. Don’t eat the pork.

Wasn’t planning on it. So, come on then, how much are you bleeding me for?

Depends. Who’re you after?

Not at liberty to say.

Then keep transferring until I say when.

You know, I may be in Retrieval, but I could still arrest you for taking bribes.

Enforcement agents, retrieval agents, legal agents, meta agents…they’re all the same and don’t mean shit around here. Pay up. Or get lost. She offered her wrist relay by extending her meaty arm. "And who’s really guilty? Me for taking a fee, or you for paying? Ready and waiting, Rosie-girl. I wanna hear it go ka-ching."

Groaning, Bis pulled up her working expense account. She selected three hundred Galactic dollars and hit the transfer icon when the woman’s relay signature appeared. It’s all I can spare.

It’ll do. For now. The woman smiled. Enjoy your dinner.

2

The Dikephobia Tavern did have a cosy appeal. Whoever had done the interior was a genius and had done their homework. Bis only had ancient film reels and historical literary files as reference, but the tavern had all the antique flair and charm of a bygone era, right down to the smallest of details. From the brick walls, rustic fireplace, the cast irons pots and pans to the pewter plates, mugs and the thick wooden benches and tables. Goblets and tankards were scattered on tables, as well as small shot glasses made from thick brownish-gold glass designed to look grubby and cracked. A scent-chip permeated the establishment, giving off a woodsy, herbal fragrance mingled with roasted meats. Bis half expected to see a medieval knight clomp by and sit down with a creaky clank and, with great gusto, bellow for a tankard of ale.

Bis noticed a new addition to the décor; several old portraits of ancient monarchs on the walls. From the look of them, oil paintings on canvas in fancy gold frames, and real, even to her untrained eyes. No doubt acquired through questionable routes. She also noticed, like the last time she’d been here, many side-eyed glances and surly scowls from the staff and patrons. Though badge and holo-badge were tucked away, her appearance alone screamed judicial agent. Whatever. She had a job to do and a criminal to retrieve. She sniffed the air. Now, where would Jun Hiro be hiding?

A waif-like man dressed in a stylish white suit approached her like an undulating sea fern. His dark, coppery hair was slicked back with a shiny treatment, matching his glossy bronze-like skin, and the dusting of gold blush on his cheekbones. Greetings, Agent Bis Rose, my high-brown sister from another universe. It’s been…too soon. He spoke with an airy aloofness, his accent mixed with essences of the Caribbean. Sort of like Bis’, but different and more pronounced—and clearly all for show.

Colleton St. John. A pleasure to see you—in person—again. You haven’t changed a bit. How long has it been?

Not long enough. Colleton, the Dikephobia’s proprietor, offered a wan smile, making his shiny lips glisten. What do you want? I do hope you paid Elodie at the door? These are struggling times, you know. Every little bit helps.

Bis smirked. It’s always struggling times here. And how else am I in here if I hadn’t?

She disliked the inane idle small talk she had to suffer through in order to do her job. Always the same; the unlawful spoke in circles and acted the same way. Colleton was the king of bullshitting. And the king of many other things too, most of them criminal in nature. The migraine was coming on.

Look, Colleton, I’m in a hurry.

You’re on Azura, and rushing isn’t our thing. You know that, girl child. Besides, you’ll miss our dinner special. You must be famished, coming all the way from Triton. How long must it have taken you on that little tiny ruk-a-tuk ship of yours? Two weeks? Twenty days? A month? All that alone time travelling can be very disagreeable, you know. And how is that cosmopolitan nightmare, by the way? He shuddered for effect. Why not just sit back and take a load off? Enjoy your meal, and then we can discuss what it is you require. Colleton raised a hand with a fluttery wave to summon a server.

There’s only one special I’m interested in, and it’s who I’m here to retrieve.

"We’re all just humble servants. There is no one here who is of any interest to you. My customers only want a little peace and quiet to enjoy their meal after a