Honourable Enemies

III. Spaghetti Puttanesca

III. Spaghetti Puttanesca

In a small restaurant on the edges of the spaceport of Cabiria, a young couple shared a platter of pasta and a bottle of wine.

The man was tall with pale skin, striking blue eyes and long dark hair that he wore in a simply ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was clad all in black from the tips of his synth-leather books via his utility pants and shirt to the long synth-leather coat that was lying folded up on the bench beside him. He wore a blaster strapped to his thigh and a smaller back-up piece in a holster on his right ankle, neither of which earned him a second glance on an outlaw world like Maciste where pretty much everybody went armed. This was Captain Mikhail Alexeievich Grikov, formerly of the Republican Special Commando Forces, now wanted as a deserter and traitor.

The woman sitting opposite of him was a good head shorter, with brown skin, dark eyes and glossy black hair that fell down her back in gentle waves. She was clad in utility pants and a dark red synth-silk tunic embellished with sequins and embroidery. Like her companion, she was armed. At her waist, she wore a dagger with an ornamented hilt. A gun — a sleeker and more elegant model than the bulky Republican blaster favoured by her partner — was strapped to her thigh. This was Lieutenant Anjali Patel, formerly of the Imperial Shakyri Expeditionary Corps, now wanted as a deserter and traitor.

They had met on the battlefield of the eighty-eight year was between the Republic of United Planets and the Empire of Worlds and fallen in love. Rather than to hand over the other to certain death at the hands of their respective governments, they’d decided to run away together to the independent worlds on the galactic rim, pursued by the Republic and the Empire both. And now their flight had brought them to Maciste.

“It was a good idea to come here,” Anjali said, “Even though we can’t really afford it and besides, we still have leftover chana masala and jeera rice in the fridge.”

“We can afford to eat out once in a while,” Mikhail said, “And as for the food, it will keep…” He shot her a questioning glance. “…won’t it?”

“As long as we don’t go out for pasta every night…” Anjali flashed him a quick smile. “Sure.”

The other patrons in the restaurant were all staring at a viewscreen on the wall, where the latest fights from the Arena were being shown. Anjali took a quick glance and shook her head.

“Not that I don’t get the attraction of martial arts tournaments and nearly naked, oiled bodies, but this Arena obsession is a bit extreme,” she remarked, munching on her pasta.

Mikhail shrugged. “It’s traditional. Sports event, public entertainment, court of law, execution site, the Arena is all that and more.”

“And the fights are really all to the death?” Anjali wanted to know, “Cause that seems like such a waste of skill and potential.”

“To the people of Maciste, the fact that the fights are to the death is the point,” Mikhail replied.

“It’s still a criminal waste,” Anjali said. On the viewscreen behind her, a man had just gotten mauled by a giant fire lizard. “Only a world at peace can afford to waste its best warriors on fighting and dying for sport.”

“I don’t like it either,” Mikhail said, “But that’s just the way things are around here.”

“So…” Anjali took a sip of wine. “…this other job that Leonviola mentioned, any idea what that’s all about?”

Mikhail shook his head and helped himself to some pasta. “No idea and I suspect Leonviola doesn’t know either. He just said someone approached him, asking for reliable security personnel, and he recommended us.”

“You think he’s honest?” Anjali wanted to know.

“Leonviola? Well, by the admittedly low standards of this planet, he probably is. As for whether this job is…” Mikhail shrugged. “…I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

“Actually, I was wondering whether it’s a trap,” Anjali said, “Cause it sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well, anything is possible, but…” Mikhail took a sip of wine. “…in this case, I’d say it’s rather unlikely. Cause what makes Maciste such a haven for pirates and outlaws of any stripe is that its government or whatever passes for it has the firm policy never to extradite anybody anywhere, no matter how serious the crimes they are accused of.”

“Sounds good.” Anjali said. After all, the crimes they both were accused of were extremely serious, the sort of crime that earned you a quick trip to the gallows or the firing squad. “So why are you so eager to get away from here?”

Mikhail paused with his fork halfway to his mouth to look Anjali straight in the eye. “Because some of the criminals that have found refuge here are the bad sort…”

“I though that was obvious. They’re criminals, after all.”

“There’s criminals and criminals,” Mikhail said, “And some of the ones here… well, they’re the worst sort. The very worst. Slavery, drugs, torture, murder, rape, there’s nothing these people won’t do.”

For an instant, a haunted expression flitted across his face. It was gone as quickly as it had come, invisible to any casual observer. But Anjali knew Mikhail too well and so she noticed.

“You speak from personal experience, don’t you?”

Mikhail hesitated for a split second, then he nodded. “There are some people hiding out here that the Special Commando Forces have been after a long time. Bad people…”

Anjali was about to point out that the Special Commando Forces were also after the two of them, but then she saw the haunted look in Mikhail’s eyes. Silently, she reached out across the table to take his hand.

“These folks are monsters, Anjali. The sort that kidnap and sell people, even little children into s****l slavery. The sort that slaughter civilians and torture people to death for sport. I’ve seen some of the dossiers and trust me, it’s enough to make you sick.”

Anjali squeezed his hand. “So why didn’t the Special Commando Forces take those monsters out, if you had sufficient intel?”

“Because we couldn’t. We never got authorisation, because our superiors feared diplomatic entanglements due to Maciste’s ‘no extradition ever’ policy. All we could do is watch helplessly and prepare to grab the bastards, the second they left orbit.”

“So that’s why you didn’t want to come here and why you’re so eager to leave,” Anjali said, “Because you don’t want to be on the same planet with people like that without taking them out.”

Mikhail nodded. “That’s more or less it. Also, I…” He coloured ever so slightly, the blush highlighted by his pale skin. “…I worry about you. I’ve seen what some of these monsters do to women and I… I don’t want you present on a planet where that sort of thing can happen without repercussions.”

His concern was absurdly touching. Nonetheless, Anjali said, “I can take care of myself, you know?”

Mikhail flashed her a smile. “I know. But I still don’t want you here. And I don’t want to be here either.”

On the viewscreen behind them, a new fight had just started. Two women this time, one of them with several cyber-implants. They charged at each other and were soon engaged in furious hand to hand combat.

Anjali turned back to Mikhail. “Well, then we should check out this job Leonviola mentioned, if only because more money will get us off this rock sooner.”

She stabbed her fork into the bowl of pasta, twirled it around and put the loaded fork into her mouth. The pasta had just the right texture, not too soft and not too hard, and the sauce was delightfully spicy and briny.

“Though whatever else you can say about this planet, they do make great pasta,” she remarked, still munching, “What was this dish called again?”

“Spaghetti puttanesca,” Mikhail said. Again, he coloured ever so slightly. “The name means… Well… uhm… actually, it means ‘prostitute’s pasta’. Though the literal translation uses a much less polite term.”

Anjali grinned, enjoying his discomfort. For someone who was a wonderful and attentive lover, Mikhail could be such a prude at times. “And why is it called that, pray tell? Since I rather doubt that local working girls, boys and inters offer a hot dish of pasta with their other services.”

“Supposedly it’s called that way, because it’s so quick and easy to make from pantry staples that even an… ahem… prostitute can make themselves a platter between customers.”

Anjali took another forkful of pasta. Whatever the origin of this dish, it really was good.

“I have to find out how to make this,” she announced, “Especially if it’s really as quick and easy to make as you say.” She winked at him. “Though I hope I don’t have to pay a spaceport prostitute to show me how.”

Mikhail near choked on his wine. “If you ask nicely, I’m pretty sure someone will tell you how to make it.” He checked his com unit. “Though for now, we have to hurry, if we want to make that meeting with this new client.”