by Ian Cannon
Elevated stages populated the entire patron floor with the silky, swanky vision of alien sex gyrating on each one—girls from all across the solar twin system undulating in seasoned motions over their quietly grinning clients.
“And there he is,” Tawny said, pointing.
Across the floor with his feet kicked up on one of the stages wearing an ugly pair of night goggles, and quite enjoying the curvacious Lexxian honey swinging her long, cape-like hair in his face, was the man they’d come to find.
Rogan.
It had taken Tawny all of a minute to sniff him out.
“Gods,” she sneered, “is he smoking a cigar?”
“All right, you know what to do.”
“Yeah—just herd him my way.”
He chucked her with an elbow and sent her deeper into the club headed for the rear exit. Ben stepped toward the bar, eyeing the place, sensing its motion, locating its organic systems. It was the cocktail waitresses that underpinned everything that went on here like conductors before a symphony, whether they were aware of it or not.
One of them swished on by with a tray full of drinks. He stepped toward her and glided a bottle of Molta-Danoran beer off her tray. She grinned at him with a sexy, speculative look and said, “Hey, now.”
He put his wrist against the debt gizmo on her waistline depositing the necessary yield from his subcutaneous finance mol and said, “Thanks, honey.”
She gave him a big sideways grin and strutted off, hips swinging like a data stream star.
With his target in sight, Ben girded himself for action, not sure what to expect, and headed his way. As he approached he noticed Rogan had exchanged yield bits for card money—actual paper notes that he could flip and snap as he tipped the dancer like a big-roller, a top-dogger. And with that fat cigar waving around between two fingers, he was settling into the part quite nicely. It made Ben wonder where he’d gotten the yield. Or did he have to guess?
He came up behind Rogan perfectly unseen and presented the bottle of beer over his shoulder. “Here, sir,” he said. “On the house.”
Rogan looked at the beer through those big cricket-goggles, attention caught. A big grin spread across his face, and as he looked up, he said, “Heck buddy, ain’t that just fine of you. I’ll take one of th—oh bi-gods!”
Immediate recognition.
And immediate panic.
He reeled back in his chair hard enough to knock himself over, clip the dancing Lexxian with a boot, knock her over, and crash into a table … knocking it over, too. He didn’t stay sprawled on the floor for any longer than a second. He popped up, belly slid across the stage to a roaring chorus of disgruntled fellows, and barreled into a set of patrons at the other end.
Ben jumped back, surprised. He yelled, “Rogan, wait!”
Once on his feet again, Rogan bolted toward the far exit with his knees pumping, arms windmilling like mad and leaving a trail of glowing embers from the tip of his cigar marking his flight.
Ben groaned, “Oh, gods,” and took off after him.
Rogan made it as far as the rear exit before an arm reached out and clotheslined him across the neck. His feet went out from under him and he smashed into another table. Drinks and coin exploded into the air, patrons dodged frantically. He groaned, stunned, catching his breath and looking directly up at the ceiling.
Tawny stepped over him looking down with a very satisfied smirk, her expression reflected back up at her through the enormous, image-reflective goggles he wore over his eyes. They were enormous, covered half his face.
Rogan noticed her, and his mouth opened as he screamed like an Orbinii teenager, dual-toned and piercing. She reached down and snagged him by the collar lifting him gruffly to his feet and growling, “Shut up, Rogan!”
He did so, immediately.
Ben caught up to them, hustling Rogan out the exit by the arm. They stormed out onto a beach patio overlooking white sands made stark under the night sky and a far horizon of black water.
Rogan ripped his arm from Ben’s grasp and backpedaled to the railing, looking from Ben to Tawny with those ridiculous goggles. “Are you gonna kill me? Am I a goner? Awe, gee. What’d I do this time?”
“We’re not going to kill you, Rogan, calm down,” Ben said.
He pointed at Tawny, well aware of her Raylon reputation. “Is she going to kill me?”
“Bi-gods, Rogan!” she yelled.
Ben said, “I do find it funny you’re high-rolling. Where’d you get the yield?”
“I had the yield. Have! I have the yield.”
“How? That was for new eyeballs,” Ben barked. He looked into Rogan’s goggles. Each lens was a big round mirror, as awkward looking as a Molosian gecko—small head, huge deranged eyes. “Oh, sonuvagitch!” Ben exclaimed. “You skimped, didn’t you?”
Rogan put his arm up defensively and cried, “I bargain shopped, okay? It’s what people do. They bargain shop.”
Ben said with utter disbelief, “You bargain shopped for new eyeballs?” To Tawny, “He bargain shopped for new eyeballs.”
Tawny shook her head looking severe. “No one bargain shops for new eyeballs, Rogan.”
“Well, I do.” He looked around shooting for sympathy. None came. He cried, “Look, I wanted some down time, you know? A man’s got to have some down time every now and then—just to get away from it all.”
Ben said, “So you throw the rest of it all away on dancing girls?”
“Not if I score,” he whimpered.
“You’re unbelievable!” Tawny hissed.
Ben shook his head segueing into the next topic. “Well, I hope you enjoyed your down time, because now you work for us.”
“Huh?”
“That’s right, we gotta job for you, buddy.”
Rogan paused to process this information. He said, “How much?”
“Oh no,” Ben said. “We already paid you half a mil. Call it a return.”
“So you want me to do it for free?” Rogan sounded downright hurt.
“That’s right,” Ben said.
“Pro boner?”
“It’s bono!” Ben yelled. “And you owe us on this one.”
“I thought we were square and all.”
“What made you think that?”
“Because you didn’t kill me. That’s why I didn’t come looking for you. Because we’re square.”
Ben shot a glance at Tawny. They exchanged the same look of confusion. Ben said, “What do you mean you didn’t come looking for us?”
Rogan didn’t answer for several seconds, just gave them a confused grin. He said, “Is that a funny?”
“No, it’s not a funny. Answer the question,” Ben demanded, his words rimmed with threat.
“You really don’t know?”
Ben gripped him around the collar, jerked him forward. “What do you know, Rogan?”
His smile broadened, but under those stupid goggles, Ben couldn’t tell if it was a threatening grin, or one of humor. Rogan said, “Boy, I thought you were smart.” He pulled Ben’s hands off him and straightened his vest. He looked back into the club where that series of holo-image TVs showed sporting events and media broadcasts. He pointed to one and said, “Look, it’s right there.”
Tawny and Ben peaked inside. Their blood suddenly ran cold under their skin. There they were, on the holo-image, their 3-D heads rotating for full access view. It was a public attention news segment. They were wanted. They were criminals.
“What’s it say?” Tawny said.
Ben listened over the sound of Nubbie’s, but he couldn’t hear. He shook his head.
Rogan said, “It’s the Cabal. You guys are a high-priority target. Yeah— everybody and their snog is looking for you. Especially them Cabal’ers. Hey, what’d you do to make them so mad, huh?”
Not much, just turned their moon cannon into a field of screaming rubble …
“Nothing,” Ben said sinking back into the shadows of the patio.
Rogan grinned, said, “N
ah—you did something to kick their gears. I want to know what it—”
Ben turned on him showing hot anger. “You owe us a favor. We’re here to collect, Rogan.”
Rogan melted. “A favor? For what?”
“Those new eyeballs you skimped on.”
Rogan laughed uproariously, but without humor. Not even a smidgen. “Oh yeah? New eyeballs? New star-flubbin’ eyeballs? You call this a favor!” He jerked his goggles off his head.
Tawny turned away, covering her mouth.
Ben jerked back and hissed, “Ae’ahm!”
His new eyeballs were enormous, unnaturally big. They bulged prodigiously from their sockets, huge and white with big blue irises looking out from horribly different angles.
On second thought, it was far worse than any Molosian gecko.
Rogan bleated, “Awe gee—is it that bad?”
Ben cleared his throat, collected his courage and looked at him. “Uh, no. It’s not—it’s not that bad, actually.”
Rogan roared, “Molosion dino pucky! It is that bad. Look what they did to me. I look like an underwater nard creature. And they hurt, too—all the time with the itching and the scratching. Get headaches.” He waved the goggles maniacally at Ben. “I gotta wear these stupid things. You know what these stupid things are called? Bug lenses. They call them bug lenses!”
Ben looked at Tawny. Her back was turned, couldn’t let Rogan see she was loosing it. He shook his head and said, “Look, Rogan, I don’t know what to tell you. You skimped. Now you gotta wear bug lenses. Not our problem. But we gotta job, and you’re going to …”
“No!” he screamed. “This is indentured solicitude. You can’t do that.”
Ben looked straight up, exasperated, and said, “Ser-vi-tude!”
“Whatever. I ain’t gonna do it! I ain’t!”
A night shattering roar: “We need your help!”
Ben and Rogan both ducked. Tawny’s blast was so fierce and sudden it nearly quieted the club. They looked over, shocked. Tawny stood at the railing staring daggers into Rogan, heaving mad. She cooled, forcing calm against every fiber of her being. She stepped toward him, put a hand on his cheek. “Please, Rogan. We need your help on this one.”
Rogan looked utterly stunned. His eyes were—well, they were very wide. One of them shifted over to Ben, then the other.
Ben shrugged at him and said, “You still got Gadget?”
Rogan’s vessel swung around the terraced mountain tilting back and forth on its gimbal thrusters, his lander lights slicing cones of illumination down on the beach. The thing was a ramshackle combination of an enormous old land-roaming heavy construction vehicle at the front and a military transport rig at the back. With a side mounted cockpit nudged up against a towering, squared off equipment fuselage, a tall crane assembly with its arms standing akimbo, and its long, bus like transport facility, the thing lacked any flight symmetry at all and wobbled more than maneuvered. Its quad heavy duty lander limbs unfolded like the legs of an arachnid as it lowered to the ground in a blasting cloud of beach sand. It settled, squeaking and popping under its own weight. The landing systems wound down with a final blast of evacuating pressure and the giant thing quivered into rest. This thing was Gadget.
The exit hatch slid open from the high-standing cockpit and a telescoping rod with an open platform lowered eighty feet to the ground bringing Rogan down with it. He stepped out onto the sand as Tawny and Ben moved to meet him. He turned and presented his ship saying, “There she is.”
Tawny eyed its bulk. It was far more massive than REX’s fuselage and main hold—not including the towering two-hundred foot mag-spires—and with its antiquated design, interior levels congested with personnel cul-de-sacs, tiny storage cavities and levels of ladders and catwalks, the thing was a playground waiting to happen—especially for twelve curious orphans.
“Alright,” Rogan said. “What you got?”
Ben said, “Follow us.” They started across the beach toward REX talking as they moved. “It’s cargo, that’s all it is. But it’s kind of temperamental. You gotta watch over it, okay? No one can know you have it. A lot of people want it. That’s why we came to you. You’re private, you’re out of the way. No one knows who you are, or where you are. It’ll be safe with you. And as long as you don’t go running your mouth no one will come try to kill you for it either, so don’t go running your mouth, you understand?”
Rogan said, “Uh-huh.”
Ben stopped, halting the trio and turned to Rogan, seriously. “Rogan …”
“Yeah,” he said. “No talking. I got it.”
“Good.” They started walking toward REX again. “It’s cargo. That’s all it is. All you got to do is watch over it until we get back, that’s all.”
“How long you gonna be gone?”
Ben and Tawny shared an uneasy look. “Two days. Maybe three,” Ben said.
They neared REX. Rogan said, “So, what is? Is it a load full of that new solar-liquid stuff?”
“Uh—not quite,” Ben said coming to REX’s exterior cargo ramp controls. “I’ll show you.”
“Wait,” Tawny said. She gave Rogan a careful look and said, “Put your goggles on, Rogan. You don’t want to frighten them.”
“Frighten them?” He pulled the goggles down off his forehead and placed them over his big fish eyes.
Ben grunted and hit the button. The ramp lowered to a stream of escaping gas and rested on the ground. Up in the bay, clustered around the ATV at various levels—some on the hood, others standing across the top, two manning the driver’s seat—the orphans all looked out, curious. Rogan took a step back with a start.
Ben strolled up the ramp and to the kids. “Children,” he said presenting their new company. “This is Rogan. He’s … sort of a friend. Everyone say hi.”
They waved in their own unique ways offering up a chorus of “Hi’s” and “Hellos,” the little Stathoian girl saying, “Hi, mis-ter Ro-gan.”
Rogan snuffled, confused. He looked at Ben with those ungainly goggles and said, “Uh … so, where’s the cargo?”
Tawny smacked herself in the forehead and groaned, “Oh gods, this is a bad idea.”
They transferred the orphans from REX to Gadget, and as it turned out, Gadget was much cooler for a bunch of kids than REX’s cargo bay. There were levels upon levels with open areas that they could swing around on or drop down from. Railings and pylons they could hang from or climb up on. There were a thousand noisemakers like rubber tool-thingies that went poioioing when they hit them together. Other things that clicked real fast when they spun them around. To some, the place was a maze with antechambers and little spaces to explore. To others it was the perfect hide-and-go-seek place. It seemed as if Gadget had found its true calling—the perfect play area for a bunch of kids.
Ben walked across the upper catwalk from the cockpit hatch with Rogan following close behind who was in a state of panic. “These are little people, Ben.”
“They’re called kids, Rogan,” he said over his shoulder. He started down a steel ladder with Rogan quick on his heals.
“I don’t like little people. Little people make me nervous. They get all over the place and everything.”
Getting to the next level, Ben dodged a trio of little ones as they swished by. “That’s called exploring. That’s what kids do.”
Rogan dodged the three kids spinning all the way around. “They’re on my ship.”
“Don’t worry, they’re not going anywhere.” He hopped down to the next elevated walkway.
“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem.”
Ben spun on him and put a finger in his chest. “No, Rogan, that’s kinda the point.”
Rogan stared at him for a moment with the sound of feet clattering and little voices howling from above, below—everywhere. When Ben turned around, Rogan finally said, “Well, what am I supposed to do with them?”
“Nothing. Don’t do anything. Just let them stay here. They have food and water, and all the stuf
f they need. Just keep an eye on them.” He went to a central drive train for the vessel’s topside booster nacelles, a large vertical tower running down the center of the entire structure. One kid was spinning it with the manual wheel levers like a big conning tower making the nacelles pivot around above the ship’s exterior. It made Ben laugh.
“Wait, wait,” Rogan cried grabbing Ben by the arm and turning him around. “What if one of them burps something up or otherwise secretes something, you know, unsightly and such?”
Ben sighed, looking him directly in the goggles. “Rogan, relax. It’s just a few days.” He chanced putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this.”
Rogan inhaled a big tremulous breath and said, “I guess …”
Ben nodded. He’d take an I guess.
Tawny watched from the shadows of the lower deck as Sireela and the tiny Stathosian girl sat together at the end of the walkway. They’d found their perfect little hideout, a control cubicle that had once been used for operating the external crane. If the ship had been powered up, they could probably manipulate the outer arm, swinging it back and forth on its gimbal. The girls were huddled around Tawny’s holopad with the image illuminated between them. They played a game on it, giggling and punching buttons with their little fingers.
A Stathosian and a Sarcon. They were enemies in the bigger world. They were supposed to hate each other. But here, at the bottom of a long line of ascending realities that led to the warlords at the top, they were friends. They would never forget each other, holding on to the fading memories of each other’s faces for the rest of their lives. And who knew? Maybe one of them would put an end to the whole mess one day.
Tawny sighed. It was her task to make sure they had that opportunity.
She turned to leave, but stopped. Sireela made a double take that caught each other’s eye. She motioned to her friend to hold on and came over to Tawny. Her big, lively eyes glistened as Tawny got down to one knee. They held hands.
Sireela’s sweet, unassuming voice was rimmed with sadness as she said, “You have to go again.”
It wasn’t a question. She just knew.
Tawny nodded with the grimness of reality painted on her face. “Yeah, I have to go again.”