By the Time I Get to Pellax

by Keith Dersley

  - 9 -

  'Were you saying something about being a Praetorian at one stage?' said Lonnie to Hollis Pierpoint, instinctively casting an eye over Pierpoint's ample waistline. 'It's not a hand-span any more, I know,' said Pierpoint, running his thumbs around inside his belt. 'The old thatch is going too,' he added with a sickly grin, touching at his dome. 'Middle age is hell,' he said with a sigh, 'especially when you have a taste for the drink and sometimes make a double go-round at the refectory. But in all modesty, yes, I was once a Guard, serving under one of the finest officers in the palace of His Majesty Lox Hiradrad, who is now, as you know, Emperor of the whole of Hortada Superior.' 'That's right,' said Thorason Blake, the Head of Security on the Tortuga. 'And I bet you Hollis is too modest to reveal here even a part of the little services he did for His Majesty while he was still uniting the planet.' 'You're very generous, Thor,' said Pierpoint. 'It's not really due to my efforts, but of course, the old place, Hortada, has become quite a beacon of freedom, as they call it, and one of the finest components of the Inter-Galactic Federation.' 'Ah-ah-ah-ah-men,' sang Drax, who had overheard their talk. A couple of respectable citizens, probably Christians, glared at Drax with distaste. 'I must agree with Thorason,' said Drax. 'Hollis here is a veteran. Anyone can read that much up in the shipboard gossip mag that's always lying around. Of course, one big guy looks after another, wouldn't you say, Thor?' The burly security chief jokingly went as if to punch Drax Deerfield, then turned and headed for the bar. 'Anyway,' said Drax, 'a guy sometimes needs some heft behind him to do the sort of work we just sorted out, wouldn't you say, Hollis?' 'You're right,' said Pierpoint, and the two of them, who had not met before that day, shook on it. Drax's girlfriend Rosalind, thought Lonnie, was definitely trying to draw her man out of the orbit of those two tubs, Pierpoint and Blake. The three of them could combine into a unit fit for propping up a bar with no trouble whatsoever. 'Why don't you grab his ear and take him back to your suite, or else give him a tour around a Holodream?' said Lonnie to her with a wink. 'Yes, you watch yourself, Drax,' said Rosalind. 'Don't get me wrong, because I'm glad you did your bit earlier, but you have already got enough prestige for one lifetime. The rest of this voyage you better see me first before you steam in, or else.' 'She tells him what's what all right,' said Lonnie complacently to Latonia Fletcher, who had just entered the bar. 'You realize that that pair of dummies from Jycona were after Ven, as you call him,' said Latonia, disregarding the previous topic of conversation. 'No, I didn't realize that. I suppose it's possible, though. Would you like a drink?' 'All right. Thanks. But yes, I believe that's why one of them jumped on you. Mistook you for Lupo Venner.' 'All-round incompetents, weren't they! Let's go over here.' To his surprise, Latonia allowed him to lead her to a shaded nook flanked by a couple of real, living plants in pots. 'What can I get you?' he asked, looking at her deep blue eyes and the silky top lip with its slight dusting of down. 'Abaya juice, please. No ice.' My next task, he thought to himself, is to avoid all talk of Lupo Venner, wonderful as he is.

  * * * * * *

  Attack is often the best form of defence, but when you strike a surprise blow you'd better be ready to follow it up. Spurgo had learned a lot on the streets at home but Achelar was obviously no bed of roses either, because the fellow with the ruined nose rolled with the blow, then exploded with a savage laugh and brought up a boot that slammed into Spurgo's hip, narrowly missing the young bantam's pride and joy. Any closer, it would have ended the match. The other fellow got to his feet, more than ready to help his comrade while the kingpin beside Kalat Hertig watched with a connoisseur's interest. He raised a hand. 'No. Between those two,' he said. Spurgo, so much shorter and slighter than the Achelaran, took two half-steps backward, but only to sum up his opponent all the better. He smiled and his small, unwinking green eyes made the other fellow halt in his tracks. There was something about him that suggested a bird of prey. Spurgo moved his head from side to side, just a touch, and the Achelaran flinched. As if gathering all his fury into one mass, he shook his head and grunted. A gout of blood fell from his swelling nose. He leapt. Spurgo twisted away from this onslaught and tried to get from under. But the guy was heavy. An arm and a shoulder held Spurgo anchored to the floor. The Achelaran bully boy had been bred for this, and so had his father and grandfather. Spurgo had sprung from several gutter-bred generations on Pluron. Still, the fight was no walkover. The birdlike Pluronian struggled to his feet and delivered several kicks and blows that made the guy pause. At the end though the Achelaran landed a combination of blows that almost rendered Spurgo unconscious. Groaning, the smaller fighter strove to get to his feet. 'Ha!' said the Achelaran, drawing a cleaver some kitchen menial had left on a side table. He inspected it lovingly, then drew back his arm, ready to strike at Spurgo's neck. 'No,' shouted Kalat Hertig, and when the man hesitated, he drew a laser pistol and blasted the cleaver from his hand.

  - 10 -

  Spurgo woke up on a divan in a bare room. 'Who's here?' he shouted. A young man appeared, in a white jacket. 'Where am I?' 'In your hotel, on the recreation and therapy floor.' 'How did I get back here?' 'Mr Kalat Hertig and another gentleman brought you in last night.' 'Kalat Hertig?' Spurgo passed his hand gingerly across his ribs. That bastard Achelaran really was a heavyweight! Carefully, he got to his feet and looked into a mirror on the wall. His head looked fifty per cent larger than when he went into that bar the night before. 'I would like to thank Mr Hertig.' 'Shall I see if I can raise him?' The orderly or nurse activated a comm bug on his ear lobe. He listened, then muttered something under his breath. 'He left a message wanting to be informed when you came to, so I let him know that you are now conscious.' In less than an hour, Kalat Hertig appeared. 'Thank you for getting me out of that hole last night.' 'That's nothing, old man. May I call you Erl? You helped me out of a bum situation on Pluron and I was glad to reciprocate. Things are not as bad as they could be. Though you took a pasting, they put a scan on you and there's no major problem. None of the injuries require anything other than rest.' Hertig was very attentive over the next day or two. Spurgo was eager to quit the divan, but his new friend encouraged him to lie still and practise visualisation exercises to speed his recovery. 'I'm recovered now,' he said one morning. 'My time will be up at the hotel here, and I must be on my way.' 'And ?' 'I am very grateful to you for saving my life, and for the care you've provided. But there's this, Kal: from things you've said I can't believe that you haven't got some idea, some project, in mind for me.' 'Ha ha ha! There's no putting anything over on a kid from Pluron! You don't think I'm in it out of sheer affection and gratitude, well, I can understand that.' He shook his head, chuckling. 'Am I wrong?' 'No, you're not wrong,' said Kal, sobering abruptly. He ruffled his well-trimmed fair hair. Kal was five feet six but came across as bigger. 'It's only a proposition, and you can answer yes or no.' The fact that Hertig had become the right hand of a cherry-skinned Achelaran was something. They were a notoriously suspicious and cold-blooded race. 'Your boss, is he behind any of this?' 'No, he's not. Tarbo was in favour of helping you all right, but simply out of a sense of fair play. He went along with it when I prevented Gugat from chopping you.' Kalat Hertig looked down at his shoes. 'You need my help in some way, is that it?' said Spurgo. 'Well yes, you would be perfect for the, uh, task. But you'll help me and it will by no means be hurtful to you. When I grow, you grow.' Hertig showed his straight white teeth. 'I've more or less got myself back in shape,' said Spurgo, 'so I can do my best for you, for both of us. There's no fractures, as you know.' 'What sets are you doing, sit-ups, push-ups?' 'Yes, and pull-ups on the bar there. Squats.' 'Well, that's great, it's all great. You're a comer, you're on the up. You have exactly the right attitude.' 'For what? Come on, for what?' 'Getting rid of Tarbo.' 'What? I had been thinking you were friends.' 'You can't be friends with an Achelaran. You can become what they call a mutual, which I is what I am as regards Tarbo. It means he isn't quite indifferent whether I live or die. They are a frozen race, a race of stiffs, man
.' 'If you don't care for his company, why don't you just move away?' 'I know too much to be allowed to leave. I know his weaknesses, his crimes, and where powerful enemies can be put in possession of some useful and lucrative information.' 'But why are you asking me to help? A guy who got beaten within inches of his own demise?' 'I saw you spirit, your attitude. That Gugat you were fighting, he's a trained man from the cradle. No one from poor old Pluron should have made any headway whatsoever, but you stood up to him. It's a marvel that you even survived. The fact you've got no broken bones is incredible to me. Along with your other qualities you are unquestionably lucky. ' 'You want Tarbo out of the way so you can take over?' 'In Tarbo's operation there are five Achelarans, the others come from under any number of flags. He didn't choose many Achelarans because being one himself he knew their points. Sincerity and loyalty are not their strong suit.' Spurgo, with memories of the dusty streets of his home town and the treacheries large and small that he lived with every day, wondered if Kalat was giving him the real snuff. Did he really see him, Spurgo, as a little tin apostle? Or was he setting him up as a cat's paw, to keep his own fur unruffled in the toppling of a big noise? Or was it all based on simple gratitude? Was this the pay-back for the little bit of legal finagling that Spurgo had asked his friend Xavier to undertake back on Pluron? 'I am not sure I can help you much, Kal. But I will try.' 'The very fact that you didn't shrivel, man, that's something. It upset Gugat. It hit him, I saw it. That little trick you had of moving your head from side to side.' 'Ah yes, that is something of my own.' 'That scared Gugat, did you see him jump?' 'Yes, I did.' 'What was in your head at that moment?' 'Nothing.' 'Nothing?' 'Nothing except, well, I could as it were see him laid out and cold.' 'That's it, that's it. What do you call it?' 'Well, I learned it from a thief way back. He called it the Mind Blow.' 'Of course.' Spurgo laughed. 'Some blow, though! You see, you can't really count on it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it will fail you. It's handy to have in your arsenal, but you can't depend on it.' 'It helped you with Gugat.' 'It wouldn't have stopped him decapitating me. You did that. But it's something to keep in your repertoire all right, if the need for it comes up at the right time.' 'It's a good stick but a bad crutch, yes?' 'That's it. And, you see, the outcome of the Mind Blow depends on where your opponent is at, mentally. Some guys see you squinting at them and, hey, what is there to worry about? In that case, if you're depending on your brassy stare, you're fucked.' Hertig shook his hand. 'It makes me feel good just to know you understand things like that, and you're not just a brawler who fights out of a grudge with the world, as it were. You're a contender.' 'I've got to be. But it's better to be a winner, what?' 'We're all contenders, and no one wins for long, in the scheme of life.' 'Tarbo has been winning everything in sight.' 'Tarbo will soon taste the bitterness of defeat,' said Hertig.

  - 11 -

  Lonnie Pascoe was keen to get another performer alongside him in the Top Hats. He couldn't play an instrument, not even a musical chopstick, and a guitarist, flute player, or even someone with a tambourine, gave the audience something else to look at. He could turn the Tunesmith on and keep up with it and that was that. Lonnie auditioned three or four people informally in his quarters and chose a guy calling himself Vince Crotchett (a terrible pseudonym). Vince was a great improvisor on the sax and keyboard. He knew all the styles and could even read the stave, which was more than Lonnie or Venner could do. Riley the Entertainments Manager gave Vince the thumbs-up after hearing the new duo perform 'The Nearness of You'. 'Fine,' said Riley. 'I would say he's even better than Lupo Venner.' 'You would, would you?' said Lonnie. 'You still haven't told me why you didn't renew Ven.' Riley ignored the remark and left, scribbling something on his clipboard. The Tortuga was due to lock into synchronous orbit over Krayko City on Dalhedra. From what Lonnie had seen, Latonia was still orbiting around Lupo Venner. Observing, but apparently not too keen to make contact. 'You travelling in on the taxi?' he said to Latonia when he saw her stranding in line in the corridor. 'I was looking for Ven. He's going down now too.' Latonia was dressed in a pale blue dress, pixie boots, and a piece of black fashion headwear modelled like a soldier's forage cap. 'I'd been hoping you'd be travelling down there to check Ven out, if not me.' 'I happen to want to see Krayko!' she said with a laugh. 'Anyway, I still haven't decided who's better-looking, you or Mr Venner.' 'The best-looking could be the new bloke in the Top Hats, Vince Crotchett,' said Lonnie. 'I haven't seen him yet. He's a head-turner, is he?' said Latonia. 'Well, I believe he's taking the Krayko City route today, as well. He might give you a signed holograph.'

  * * * * * *

  'Look at her all spread out there. Krayko, where the lounge lizards get first call on everything,' said an elderly gent as the taxi approached. Cynical though he might be, the retiree was eager for the place's famous attractions. As they coasted in over the city, Krayko resembled a massive bronze and marble artwork encrusted with bits of winking coloured glass and crawling with dot-like mannequins as well as bugs that were in reality shuttle craft and taxis. Standing beside Venner now, Lonnie glanced at his friend. Even Ven, usually so deadpan, was grinning to himself at the outrageous beauty of the galactic fleshpot. 'Hope you all got your credits and insurance!' shouted the pilot as he sat back and let the landing bay's tractor beam pull the craft onto the soil of Krayko City. Lonnie saw Latonia holding back a little as the people eagerly disembarked and were soon soaked up by the alleyways and boulevards. 'I'm sure that girl is still watching you,' Lonnie said to Venner, keeping the envy out of his voice. 'You're such a lucky man.' 'You think so?' said his friend with a grin, after looking over at the solemn brunette. 'I know so. Get in there, why don't you?' 'Not my type, man.' Released into Krayko City, the two friends decided to follow their noses and soon were in a street full of taverns and cafés interspersed with small theatres that staged exotic dances, also outright couplings between unusual creatures. A talking octopus from some nearby moon was advertised as being eager for the charms of an eighty-year-old divorcée from a run-down outpost just beyond Krayko. 'As we're here,' Lonnie said sheepishly, 'I suppose we ought to take in one or two of these educational shows.' 'You're right. After all, what happens in Krayko, stays in Krayko.' In fact, the octopus show was a disappointment. The octopus, which had a pool of warm water bubbling at the side of the stage, could not talk at all. It merely gave out beeps and screams. Admittedly, these became high-pitched and frantic when the old girl appeared, dressed in a simple nightgown embroidered with rose buds. Lonnie was not eager to watch the outcome of this 'high romance', and Venner looked ready to puke, so they made their getaway. After they had settled themselves down by playing the gambling machines at an arcade and having their head bumps and their cards read by a gypsy, they sat enjoying steak sandwiches in a beer hall. 'I've been thinking,' said Venner over a glass of lager, 'that since I'm in Krayko I'd better do something that ought to stay here. How do you feel about it?' 'Being a red-blooded son of Adam, I don't like to refuse an opportunity of that kind, and all opportunities are here,' said Lonnie. 'What were you thinking?' Venner ran his tongue along his bottom lip. 'There was a place we passed after leaving the octopus show. They had these girls sitting in there. One or two of them looked all right.' 'I think I remember the place,' said Lonnie. 'Sort of made up like a carpet shop, was it, with fancy rugs and furs? Called the Midnight Garden?' 'That's it.' They backtracked and found the place. 'So long as no one snaps us as we go in, what?' said Lonnie. Venner had not thought of this, and he stopped to look in all directions before crossing the threshold. 'So you gentlemen would like models?' said a woman not much older than the wenches she was supervising. The girls, sitting on a sofa or reclining over cushions and rugs and wearing flimsy wraps, were interchangeable it seemed. Neither punter had any trouble in selecting a suitable bedmate. Lonnie was led up one staircase, and Venner's girl took him up another. Lonnie enjoyed himself in a civilised manner and was directed to the bathroom where he was sprayed with warm fragrant water, then dried with blasts of body-wra
pping heat. While Lonnie had been enjoying the pleasures of paradise he had heard movement, perhaps furtive movement, up both sets of stairs and along the landing. He assumed that this was the normal background noise you expected in a place like this. His clothes had in the meantime been steam-cleaned, pressed, and left neatly folded. All the possessions he had with him, including his wallet full of credits, were in a stylish black and silver cardboard box standing beside his clothes. He dressed and, as he was about to count out the tariff of the place (discreetly itemised on arty posters displayed throughout), he heard a bang, a man's shriek, and the sound of fighters careening into articles of furniture. He darted into the corridor and turned the handle of the first door he came across. A milkmaid was fastening a gentleman to a contraption swinging from four chains. 'Wrong door, sorry.' He tried the next doorknob to see a whirl of confusion which proved to be two guys at each other's throats. A girl stood in the corner. Seeing her way out, she darted past Lonnie and was gone. The whirlwind on legs belabouring an oversized assailant was his friend Ven, who was not yet dressed, or undressed, for tackling his 'model'. 'There are two of those bully boys, they were following your friend,' said the proprietress. Then Lonnie saw another guy getting up from behind a couch, rubbing the side of his head. Ven had been busy. The trouble was, this guy had a pistol. Until then, neither had drawn his piece. Either the guns were imitations or the men were under orders not to harm their quarry. The guy went for his piece. The rules of engagement may not cover me, thought the minstrel to himself, and just as the pistol cleared the leather he was on the guy and holding his his wrist in a fancy lock. They're not out to kill, maybe just to rob, he thought to himself. Lonnie had been forgetting what sort of place they were in. There was help at hand here, an on-site security team in the shape of a couple of wiry pimps from one of the underprivileged districts of Krayko. Venner's attackers summed up their position and rapidly decided to put their energy into one simple solution: get out. The two punters and the pimps flailed at the intruders with feet and fists, but the villains were down the staircase and out like balls of greased mercury. Lonnie felt embarrassed when he saw Latonia's face among the few people outside curious enough to look into the ongoing chaos in the reception lounge of the Midnight Garden. One of the pimps, a brave individual and too fast for his own good, had caught up with one of the interlopers and had been slashed across the throat. Now he lay in the doorway of the establishment. It must have been a laser weapon because there was no blood. His tissues had suffered deep cauterisation and he had probably died of suffocation. As Latonia's eyes lit on him, Lonnie turned away, reddening. When he glanced up a few seconds later, her face was registering joy over the fact that Venner was still standing unperturbed as ever. Perhaps his shirt was creased, but that was it.