Huntress

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## Revised Text

Jamie chuckles after he pushes through the door.

Nate holds court at a table in the middle of the room, directly under what's probably the brightest light in the place, now her spotlight, putting her in the center of attention.

Of course.

He saunters over, greets, "What're you drinking, Ms Barclay-Harvey?"

"I could use another dirty martini, Mr Walker." Grins, showing perfect teeth. "/**Very** dirty."

Jamie sweeps an exaggerated bow, retreats to the bar. A minute later, he sets Nate's drink before her, slides in the seat adjacent.

"What brings the incorruptible Jamie Walker to my little hive of scum and villainy?"

"Jaeger pilots."

Nate smirks, swirls her drink with the skewered olive. "Sorry to disappoint you, but there aren't any him Rangers in town right now looking for other hims."

"Feeling a bit monogamous lately anyway." Jamie shrugs.

"/**You?** Off the market? Aww ... tell me it isn't so, Walker!" Nudges his shoulder.

Jamie grins. "It's probably only a temporary fit of insanity."

Nate tilts her head back and laughs. "/**That's** the Walker I know and love." Chin-hands. "Platonically, of course."

"Of course," agrees Jamie. Sips his beer. "If I throw out some names, will you tell me about 'em?"

"Ask away."

Jamie grins—

"You look like a dog whose owner left a steak on the floor."

"I feel kinda like one." Deep drink. "Let's start with Jason Egan and Lachlan Riley."

Nate dims.

"Touchy subject?"

"One of my greatest failures."

"Missed your chance with them?"

A deep, deep sigh. "I've only scored one so far."

Jamie blinks. "'So far'? I thought they were dead."

"Lachlan Riley, the oh-one, died; Jason Egan is in a coma."

Winces. "Whose notch is uncarved?"

"Egan's." Nate wrinkles her nose. "He would say all the right things, give every sign of being interested, but would never follow through." Flips her hair over her shoulder. "I think he was head-over-heels with someone else and only flirted with me out of reflex."

"You know how much like sour grapes that sounds, ay?"

Nate looks down her nose.

Jamie serves up a winning smile.

Nate softens. "It's not just my sour grapes, then. Every Fly in Sydney has the same story." Leers. "We all have the same story about Riley, too."

Jamie waits expectantly.

"He was easy to please and did this thing with his fingers that was /**magical**." Wistful sigh. "Such a shame."

Deep draught. "I suppose accidents are inevitable around so much dangerous equipment."

Nate taps a finger on the foot of her glass. "I'm not convinced it was an accident, Walker."

Jamie's ears prick.

Deep breath. "Riley wanted to quit." Stirs her martini. "Then he didn't, then he died."

"Think someone changed his mind?"

A downward twist of her mouth. "He wasn't the sort to change his mind once he made it up," she agrees. "After he did, his mood got worse and worse, he started coming out less and less and then we hear about an accident: he was dead and Egan was comatose." Catches Jamie's eye. "It happened very quickly: maybe three months from beginning to end."

Jamie rolls his bottle between his hands. "The accident could just be a coincidence, Nate."

She shakes her head. "You didn't see the change in him. He was always smiling and laughing and, then, he wasn't. It was like someone turned off the sun."

Jamie picks at the label on his bottle.

Nate sips. "What else do you want to know?"

Deep breath. "What can you tell me about Riley and Egan's replacements?"

"Next to nothing," she pouts. "That terrible picture from the /*Daily-Herald* and its caption are all that's been made available. The consensus among my kind is they're likely male-identifying and siblings. Anything further would be base speculation." A dainty sip of martini.

"Is the Corps normally this secretive about its Rangers?"

Nate huffs. "This is the first time it's gone this way, in Sydney, at least." Toys with an earring. "Usually, there's a press release, a meet-and-greet, plenty of video online, and I would've seduced at least one of them already."

Jamie grins. "I just /**may** have something of value to offer you."

"Oh, /**really**, Mr Walker? What do you have I could possibly want?"

"Their full names." Grins wider. "And a little more."

"Hmm. Let us open negotiations." Folds her hands. "Describe your offering."

Jamie taps the pads of his index fingers together. "I've turned up the likely names of the new Rangers, along with their basic biographies, in the course of my current investigation."

"What do these 'basic biographies' of yours include?"

"Standard vital statistics: birthdays, hometown, heights, weights, a spot of family history." Bats his eyelashes. "A little something, ah, /**colourful** about one of them."

Nate ponders. "You're looking for sources for your investigation. Specifically, sources among Sydney's current Rangers about—" Tilts her head. "—the new pair."

"Got it in one." Jamie smiles. "Your reasoning's /**amazing**, Nate."

Nate blushes lightly, lowers her eyes.

"Why the sudden attack of humility?"

"My brain isn't usually the part of me to attract compliments."

"You need to hang out with more strict androphiles like me, then."

Nate snorts.

Jamie grins around his beer.

"For your names and brief biographies, I bid one source for this investigation."

"Tempting. But what if you lack a source for this investigation to give me[?]"

"One source, which you may collect on this or a subsequent story."

"Deal." Jamie offers his bottle.

Nate clinks it with her glass. "Spill."

"It's pretty damn likely our newest heroes are Jackson and Logan Jones—he's the one next to the Marshal in the picture. Both cisgender males, one-hundred-eighty-five centimeters tall, eighty kilos, born in Port Macquarie. Jackson's the older: born thirtieth November nineteen-ninety. He's married, two kids."

Nate perks up. "That's certainly unusual for a Ranger."

"Think of it as a new challenge."

"I do so enjoy new challenges," she purrs.

Jamie snorts. "Logan's born eighteenth October nineteen-ninety-two. Lifelong bachelor. Man's got a criminal record roughly the size of a phone book: burglary, breaking and entering, trespassing, and getting busted at raids on underground fight clubs."

"Ah."

Jamie raises an eyebrow.

"I have your source for this story."

Jamie pulls out his notepad and pen. "Spill."

"She's /*Whisky Juno*'s oh-one: the singular, gorgeous Quinn Macrossan, the Lady Bubbles."

"Not a very Ranger-y nickname."

Nate laughs. "She was 'Bubbles' before she was a Ranger. Back home in Townsville, she was a diver—"

Jamie snorts into his drink.

"—and her sunny personality ensured the name stuck." A warm smile and a shiver. "She's a good time."

"She used to be a on the fight scene?"

"It's in her Corps' media file." Sips. "They like the whole 'feel good-turn their lives around' story."

Jamie grunts. "So why do you think she can help me?"

"That's all you get, Walker."

"That's not /**nearly** enough for what I gave you!"

"I promised you a source. I gave you a source." Nate smiles like a shark.

"You're too good at this," pouts Jamie.

"I know."

"At least tell me she mentioned this Jones guy to you."

"Even if she had, I wouldn't tell you."

"Hmm?"

"Part of my appeal, Walker." Smugly, "I keep secrets."

"Ah, yes, 'Nate the therapist-of-sorts'."

Nate hides a smile behind her glass. "Of several sorts."

Jamie snorks. "Off the record then, did Macrossan mention Logan Jones?"

Nate trails a manicured nail along the tabletop. "She didn't mention anyone with that name—" Eyes sparkle. "—but she did say she used to run with a couple of friends named Blossom and Buttercup."

Jamie rolls his eyes. "Of course she did."

Nate grins, offers, "She used 'her' for Blossom and 'him' for Buttercup."

"Ah." Jots another note. "I'll have to make arrangements to talk to Ranger Macrossan, then."

Nate shifts, hums.

"Has the mighty huntress spotted prey?" whispers Jamie.

"Mmhmm."

"I'll take my leave, then." Jamie scrapes back his chair, pushes to his feet. "Best of luck tonight."

"Luck is for the unprepared," purrs Nate.

Jamie laughs, makes his exit.

## Original text

Jamie chuckles after he pushes through the door.

Nate holds court at a table in the middle of the room, directly under what's probably the brightest light in the place, now her spotlight, putting her in the center of attention.

Of course.

He saunters over, greets, "What're you drinking, Ms Barclay-Harvey?"

"I could use another dirty martini, Mr Walker." Grins, showing perfect teeth. "/**Very** dirty."

Jamie sweeps an exaggerated bow, retreats to the bar. A minute later, he sets Nate's drink before her, slides in the seat adjacent.

"What brings the incorruptible Jamie Walker to my little hive of scum and villainy?"

"Jaeger pilots."

Nate smirks, swirls her drink with the skewered olive. "Sorry to disappoint you, but there aren't any him Rangers in town right now looking for other hims."

"Feeling a bit monogamous lately anyway." Jamie shrugs.

"/**You?** Off the market? Aww ... tell me it isn't so, Walker!" Nudges his shoulder.

Jamie grins. "It's probably only a temporary fit of insanity."

Nate tilts her head back and laughs. "/**That's** the Walker I know and love." Chin-hands. "Platonically, of course."

"Of course," agrees Jamie. Sips his beer. "If I throw out a name, will you tell me about 'em?"

"Ask away."

Jamie grins—

"You look like a dog whose owner left a steak on the floor."

"I feel kinda like one." Deep drink. "Let's start with Quinn Macrossan."

"Ah, /**Whisky Juno**s oh-one: the singular, gorgeous Lady Bubbles."

"Not a very Ranger-y nickname."

Nate laughs. "She was 'Bubbles' before she was a Ranger. Back home in Townsville, she was a diver—"

Jamie snorts into his drink.

"—and her sunny personality ensured the name stuck." A warm smile and a shiver. "She's a good time."

"She used to be a street fighter?"

Nate assesses him. "Why do you say that?"

Jamie shrugs. "Found her name in a police report of a fight club raid."

"Part of the Corps media file?"

"I got a copy from the station, if that's what you mean."

"Someone slipped up then."

Jamie raises an eyebrow.

"It's ess-oh-pea for the Corps to 'expunge' criminal records." Sips. "They like the whole 'feel good-turn their lives around' story told on /**their** terms, not from some third party filing cabinet." >wanna reuse this bit somewhere<

Jamie grunts.

"Even if she had said something like that, I wouldn't tell you."

"Hmm?"

"Part of my appeal, Walker." Smugly, "I keep secrets."

"Ah, yes, 'Nate the therapist-of-sorts'."

Nate hides a smile behind her glass. "Of several sorts."

Jamie snorks. "Off the record then, did Macrossan mention an old friend named Logan Jones?"

Nate trails a manicured nail along the tabletop.

Jamie leans closer, lowers his voice. "I need to find this guy, Nate. His brother's missing and there're two babies without their dad."

"You don't pull punches, do you?" >wanna reuse this bit too<

"Not when I'm on the hunt." Grins. "Same as you."

Nate grins back. "She didn't mention anyone with that name—" Eyes sparkle. "—but she did say she used to run with a couple of friends named Blossom and Buttercup."

Jamie rolls his eyes. "Of course she did. Any hints on their real names?"

"No, but she used 'her' for Blossom and 'him' for Buttercup."

Jamie grins at her. "Your memory is /**amazing**, Nate."

Nate blushes lightly, lowers her eyes.

"Why the sudden attack of humility?"

"My brain isn't usually the part of me to attract compliments."

"You need to hang out with more strict androphiles like me, then."

Nate snorts, sips. "What else do you want to know?"

"While I've got you, what can you tell me about Sydney's newest Rangers?"

"Absolutely nothing," she pouts. "No names, no descriptions; only that they're hims, probably brothers, and on station." A dainty sip of martini.

"Is the Corps normally that secretive?"

Nate huffs. "This is the first time it's gone this way, in Sydney, at least. Usually, there's a press release, a meet-and-greet, plenty of video online, and I would've seduced at least one of them already." Toys with an earring. "The original pair were everywhere from the minute they landed in the city."

"Including your bed?"

"I've only scored half so far." A deep, deep sigh. "One of my greatest failures."

Jamie blinks. "'So far'? I thought they were dead."

"Lachlan Riley, the oh-one, died; Jason Egan is in a coma."

Winces. "Whose notch is uncarved?"

"Egan's." Nate wrinkles her nose. "He would say all the right things, give every sign of being interested, but would never follow through." Flips her hair over her shoulder. "I think he was head-over-heels with someone else and only flirted with me out of reflex."

"You know how much like sour grapes that sounds, ay?"

Nate looks down her nose.

Jamie serves up a winning smile.

Nate softens. "It's not just my sour grapes, then. Every Fly in Sydney has the same story." Leers. "We all have the same story about Riley, too."

Jamie waits expectantly.

"He was easy to please and did this thing with his fingers that was /**magical**." Wistful sigh. "Such a shame."

Deep draught. "I suppose accidents are inevitable around so much dangerous equipment."

Nate taps a finger on the foot of her glass. "I'm not convinced it was an accident, Walker."

Jamie's ears prick.

Deep breath. "Riley wanted to quit." Stirs her martini. "[Then] he didn't, {and} then he died."

"Think someone changed his mind?"

A downward twist of her mouth. "[He wasn't the sort to change it once he made up his mind]," she agrees. "[After he did,] his mood {just} got worse and worse, he started coming out less and less and {and} then we hear {through the grapevine} about an accident[:] he was dead and Egan wouldn't wake up." Catches Jamie's eye. "[It happened] very quickly: maybe three months from beginning to end."

Jamie rolls his bottle between his hands. "The accident could just be a coincidence, Nate."

She shakes her head. "You didn't see the change in him. He was always smiling and laughing and, then, he wasn't. It was like someone turned off the sun."

Jamie picks at the label on his bottle.

Nate shifts, hums.

"Has the mighty huntress spotted prey?" whispers Jamie.

"Mmhmm."

"I'll take my leave, then." Jamie scrapes back his chair, pushes to his feet. "Best of luck tonight."

"Luck is for the unprepared," purrs Nate.

Jamie laughs, makes his exit.