Blood Impulse

Part 29.3 - SUITING UP

Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

They stood in front of a set of mirrors in one of the ship's supply rooms. The large space was stacked around the edges with storage crates, but the center of the room had been repurposed over the years into a workshop of sorts. Here, the yeomen, supply and maintenance workers would stitch and mend sheets, uniforms and costumes. Bright lights illuminated sewing machines, work tables, and racks of fabric bolts, ribbon rolls and thread spools. The scent of fresh linens perfumed the air.

Jazmine had a big grin on his face. "Well, what do you think?"

Monty tugged on the sleeves of his new navy-blue suit. It fit nicely. Still, "There's no way they actually wear suits in the illegal trade business." That was the stuff of fiction. Hitmen dressed in camouflage, be it to blend into terrain or crowds. Stiff and clean suits just weren't practical.

Jazmine brushed his luscious hair into place, the lightning bolt cufflinks on his sleeve glittering. "I told you, Monty. Midwest Station is civilized. It's where people make deals and trades, not where they do their dirty work. Reputation is everything. If you show up dressed like a street-level thug, they'll laugh you off the station."

"If it's so professional, how did you manage to work there? You're a clown, and those cufflinks look corny as hell." Monty had done a few escort missions for rich businessmen. Their sense of style was usually less ostentatious than the bolt cufflinks and brightly colored pocket square Jazz wore.

"These are my calling cards. I do have a reputation to uphold." He'd made a name for himself as the fastest smuggler in the region, working out of Midwest Station. He'd adopted brightly colored lightning bolts as his symbol, donning them on his clothes, printing them on his business cards and painting them on the hulls of his ships after a run. "Showing up without that bit of my pride is about the most suspicious thing I could do, right sir?" He turned to the shadow that had been lingering in the room.

"Yes, Lieutenant," came the calm response. "Those calling cards of yours should get the stationmaster's attention." That was all genuine. The calling cards, Jazmine's reputation, and his history at the station. That was all real and couldn't be faked. At the moment, it gave them the credentials they needed to carry out this mission. Without that, Admiral Gives would not have even considered such an operation.

Jazmine's grin widened. "See?" he nudged Monty. "Even he acknowledges my reputation."

Montgomery Gaffigan was exhausted by this charade already, and the mission hadn't really even started yet. "Is this really necessary, skipper?" he sighed.

"Unfortunately, yes, Lieutenant, it is." Jazmine was known to exaggerate, and he certainly valued his appearances, but on this point, he was correct. "If you are to command any degree of authenticity on Midwest Station, you must look the part." The organized crime syndicates enjoyed flaunting their physical riches in any way they could – including by dressing flamboyantly. The same was very much true for the heads of the worlds' corporations. Though legal, they and their private armadas mirrored the syndicates.

Gaffigan groaned a bit and began pulling at the stiff collar of his dress shirt. He didn't spend much time out of uniform. Other clothes lacked the utility pockets he relied on to store his tools and detonators.

Admiral Gives easily read his discomfort. "If you are unwilling, Lieutenant. We can still find another candidate." However, even the Admiral would admit, Gaffigan looked the part. His fiery red beard was kempt, but still made him look roguish. Out of uniform, no one would expect that he was a high-level officer on a battleship.