by Chris Turner
“You’re crazy and stupid, Rusco.” He walked away.
“Maybe,” I called after him, “but I have to do what I have to do. You can bug off and do what suits you. Blame it on my conscience.”
He turned back. “Don’t forget, she tried to kill us.”
“Yeah, she also saved our asses—if you remember. If she hadn’t pegged Sharki after you did your fancy roll out of that tractor, think you’d be walking around whole right now?”
Marty made a sullen noise in his throat. He knew it was true.
* * *
We scouted out the scum dives on Sunset Boulevard. Night time was creepy time in Tyrone City and Sunset Boulevard, ‘sunset’ being a joke—if you could call any of their greenish, haze-covered twilights ‘sunset’.
The first, Cuckoo’s, was the closest to a high end tits-and-ass bar you’d ever get on this scumbucket slag-heap of an industrial world. Front and center were three women climbing poles on a stage up through colored gas tubes, naked and oiled. I wondered what kept those girls at their climbing best. Certainly Deidra would not be doing it of her own free will. Sure enough, she was in Tube #2—doing the nasty, naked ascent while men hooted and jeered in the audience. Patrons inserted their gambling chips into a ‘holo jug’ at the foot of the stage to put in bids for their pick, who they thought would make it to the top first. If any of the climbers lagged, electro shocks were administered from the side to jolt unwilling climbers into action. Hard to force a happy face out of any of those nimble gals. Come to think of it, none of their painted faces looked too happy.
With bonus prizes awarded to those who picked winners and the runners-up, this was a win-win scenario. Nobody in the audience could lose. Kind of like electric bingo. Incredible and sad, but true. This is what entertainment had devolved to.
Marty shook his head in resignation. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope, this is real life, Mar, in all its gory clarity. Deidra does look good though.”
“She doesn’t look too happy.”
I saw the blue gleam of the slave mark on the left side of her neck. She wouldn’t like that. Too free-spirited. Heard the marks were permanent…forced to wear a scarf for life.
The computerized MC voice spoke over the sound system: “And the winner of the first race is Alfie Borg of Tyrone City! The main prize: a special romp with Miss Angel Heart of TUBE #2. And to go, a stuffed pink elephant, something that Alfie can take back to the missus at home.” Bright banners and silver stars and gold spangles lit and fired on the wide screen holo displays spread above the stage.
At a middle table Alfie grinned, a broad gleaming grin on a face with a lot of horse teeth.
“You can claim your prize in the back, Mr. Borg, Foyer 2,” the MC voice confirmed. Angel and the other two women were shuttled off backstage while new ones strutted onstage to take their places.
Alfie hauled his heavy bulk up from his table and waddled to the back of the sleazy place, waving the blue smoke away from his nose, lit a dusky hue by the colored light. We trailed him with grim resolve.
On pretense of using the men’s room halfway down, we headed down the hall after him past the bouncer guarding the entrance to Foyer 2. He ducked into the washroom and Marty and I strolled in at a leisurely pace. Out of sight and earshot, I put a hand on Big Alf’s shoulder. “You’re a lucky man, Alf.”
He turned to face me, his piglet eyes searching my face. “Well, you know how it is. Thought I’d claim my meat early on. Been doing some heavy drinking, didn’t want it to interfere with my pleasure. Get my business done early and I have more oomph for extra play later.”
I nodded in sympathy. “That’s a wise plan, Alfie. You’re one of the smarter ones here.”
He beamed.
“Actually me and Marty were just wondering if there’d be leftovers for us, after a lucky man like you was done. Angel Heart’s a mighty classy piece of woman.”
He garbled out a gobbling sound. “Not likely, I’m in top form. Now shove off. Don’t want to think of my beauty being used by other men, at least not too soon.”
“That’s a mighty lofty ambition.” I grabbed his hand as if to read his palm, feigning a bit of the old drunken love.
“Hey, you poofster, what’s the meaning of this?” He took a drunken swing at me and I sandbagged him in the gut. The breath sailed out of him and Marty caught his limp form and dragged him over to the nearest urinal.
“Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
Marty nodded and kicked open the stall door and pulled his new deadweight buddy in after him.
I sauntered back down the hall, whistling a jaunty tune, following the path Alfie would have followed had he been conscious. I grinned my cheeky grin, thumbing the coin-sized explosive in my left pocket, wondering how I could use it to advantage.
At a door labeled, ‘Angel Heart’, a muscled attendant looked me up and down with disinterested eyes. “Name?
“Alfie Borg.”
“Well, Alfie, tonight’s your lucky night. Go right in. Rap twice when you’re done. Angel’s ready and waiting.”
I saluted, gave him an ear-to-ear grin. He locked the door behind me.
Deidra was slumped on a small cot, her face flushed. She jerked up to her feet on seeing me, a hoarse rasp in her throat. “Rusco! What the hell are you doing here?”
“What’s it look like? Getting my money’s worth. On your back, slave. Might as well strip out of those skimpy clothes right away, dollface.”
“Very funny. What’s the exit plan?”
I looked around, examining the dingy surroundings. Small, rectangular cage, no windows. Only a single dim yellow bulb glaring from above. Stale air, the smell of sex, cigars and sour flesh, name your pick, private parts working hard, no need for luxury.
“We’ll get you out of here. Didn’t much like the thought of Sharki using you like that for the rest of your days.”
“That’s a kind sentiment, Rusco. You promised you’d protect me. And look at me now, a painted whore.” She fluttered her kohl-painted eye-lashes, hands on hips. “Remember that kiss you gave me out in the market?”
“How could I forget? I’ve a soft spot for—”
“Okay, let’s cut the crap.”
“Sure, Deidra. No need to get sore. Follow my lead. Ruff up that hair of yours. Put this on so we can get by these yobos.” I tossed her my jacket. She draped it over her slender shoulders. “Cover up your neck.”
I rapped twice on the door, held up a finger of silence to her.
The doorman poked his head in. “That was fast, Alfie. More than what you could handle?”
“Naw, just a quick hand job all I needed—” Fast as a snake I chopped him hard in the throat. He was down in seconds. I hoofed him in the side for extra measure then grabbed his neck and pulled him into the pleasure room. Deidra came skipping out, grimacing at the fallen man. I rolled him deeper into the cubicle and drew the dead bolt across the door.
“That was fast,” she said.
“Let’s move.”
The thump and beat of the electro-dance music came louder to our ears as we crossed the dim-lit hall. I signaled Marty leaning aside the door to the loo. He fell in step behind us as we made our way to the exit. I made as if to escort Deidra out into the night air. The entrance-door bouncer regarded us with suspicion—two men and a dancer always were—and he held out his arm blocking me. “Slow down, pops. You can’t take the merchandise out with you. You pulling a fast one on me?” He pulled back Deidra’s jacket and exposed the blue slave tattoo on her neck. “How’d she get out anyway?”
I flashed him my mooniest look, raised a hand. “Look at the little brown fox.” My eyes drifted to somewhere behind him.
His head turned. Marty chopped the back of his neck when his eyes were averted. I clocked him in the side of the head for safety. Some wise-ass buddy of his came running toward us. I armed my mini-salvo, lobbed it. Buddy flew high up in the air, the concussion taking out half the wall besi
de him. Buddy ended up buried under a heaping pile of plaster and metal.
I stared down at him. “Tough break, chief.” We left in a hurry out into the rain-soaked street. Deidra trembled with gratitude to be out of her servitude. That little blast’d give the lap girls and pole dancers a night off and keep those degenerates busy…though we’d have many more enemies on our tail tonight.
Chapter 7
We legged it to the market, shouldering our way through the crowd and on past the dark alleys, the smut shops and dives. Shouts and bootfall echoed behind us. We weaved in and out, through the crowds, the squares. There we lost our straggling pursuers. Finally to reach the seedy docks off Lagoon Lake.
It was well past the witching hour when the thugs come out to play and I felt no guilt at our desperate acts. I was sure there were more debauched deeds in progress than our violent rescue tonight.
We slumped down at the base of a bronze monument—an exultant miner overlooking the water. We traded blank looks, laced with that ‘what now’ look. A distant lamppost cast a dim yellow glow our way.
A seaweedy smell drifted across the black water; a foghorn blew amidst the gathering fog, a mournful dirge-like sound, some barge likely making its way between the sister cities.
Deidra was handling herself very well, but I could see her control starting to crack at the seams. Her lower lip quivered; her eyes teared up in the glowering light.
“That shitbag Sharki owned my father for many years—before he finally killed him out on Farsi. Sharki took me to pay back my father’s debt. Dad didn’t deserve to die like that.”
I looked away. “Sorry, Deidra.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay, Rusco. I’m tough. It’s over and done.”
“How’d it happen?”
“Dad got mixed up in Sharki’s schemes, his lies.” She spat venom. “By the time he figured it out, it was too late, the damage was done. Father used to do runs from world to world, gathering data, speculator prospects, intelligence from the great beyond. A high end envoy, part-time spy and diplomat, dad was. I was young at the time. He taught me how to fly a starship, other tricks of the trade. Organized a posse of vigilantes to hunt down Sharki. It soured. He underestimated Sharki’s slyness, his trickery. Bullet-holed dad right in front of my face. When he died—” her lip quivered “—let’s just say I resolved to keep a fire of vengeance burning inside, for him, for me. When I was on that pole tonight climbing to oblivion in front of those fucking low-lifes, I was thinking of my promise to my dad. And now here I am.” She brushed away a tear and snorted her defiance.
“I feel your pain, Deidra.”
She sniffed. “Haven’t been able to escape that mad bastard Sharki ever since. Because of my flying skill, he made me captain of a ship, Goliath, and automatic accomplice to his foul schemes. My purpose, and only purpose, was to make him a profit. Small wonder he said to me if I ever double-crossed him, he’d string me up like a skinned cat to dry, make me regret it for the rest of my days. Only the past month he left me on my own. And now our shared past’s come to a head. At least I shot that bastard’s foot.” She sneered. “Hope he gets gangrene and dies.”
I hooked an arm around her shoulder. “Glad you see it like that. You happy now you stumbled across us?”
She stared off in a distant daze. “Not really.”
I nodded in sad understanding.
We counted the spaces in between foghorn blows, sitting in silence like statues.
Marty at last peered at me in suspicion. “Rusco, what are you thinking? Don’t like that look.”
I rubbed my chin, staring right through Deidra who still seemed detached from reality. “You know, Marty, Deidra getting snatched and this whole caper going bad, gets me to thinking. Maybe it’s not all about the money this time.”
Marty gave a sour grunt.
“Larger stakes are at hand. Like that drive crystal. We gave Sharki a slap on the wrist—but maybe we could hurt him worse, spare a lot of planets some pain.”
“You’re talking gibberish, Rusco.”
Maybe, but somehow I couldn’t leave it alone, even though every bit of logic told me to take our shipment and never look back. The first instinct was not always the best one. Right now it felt pretty sour.
Deidra spoke at last, “You mean blow up the station or something kooky like that?”
I looked away, said no words.
She licked her lips. “But it’s—”
“Insane, like a stupid idea, Rusco, suicide?” Marty grumbled. “Forget it. We got the beryl. We get Goliath repaired then we truck out.”
“In a simple world, yes, Marty, all fine and nice.”
“What’s not simple about it? Do the math. How complex can it be? If worse comes to worse, we could dodge enemy eyes, waiting it out as we go back and forth to Goliath, fencing the Beryl.”
This sinking feeling in my gut would not let me act as Marty wanted me to. “No. We can’t be caught out here in the open with Sharki’s goons on our tail.”
A sense of duty, some attempt at justice, prevented me from taking the easy route. Some noble feeling I’d cherished at an earlier age. Though over the years I’d wandered and gone astray many times. If we took that money, without doing the right thing, we’d choke on it right down to the end. Marty couldn’t see it. He was floundering badly, getting all worked up and worried. In the end he threw his arms up in exasperation. He knew he couldn’t buck me. Without me, he’d be nowhere, especially now. He gulped down some Myscol and I even took a pop myself. We hoofed it out of that place to central station before some rat bastard honed in on us.
A quick raid on the impound yard and we ‘borrowed’ a beat up air car while darkness was still on us. Morning was coming on fast. The first glimmering rays of dawn poked over the greenish horizon, lighting the city skyline a lurid hue, the stacks and towers of the city resembling stick-like surreal things.
We found a reputable mechanic in Hell’s Acre that day, dawn a much safer time to be roaming about. The mechanic was a man who declined our business but recommended us to Baelen’s Yard just outside the city precinct. “They’ll fix you up for a decent price,” he said. “I don’t work on such heavy machinery myself.” I mulled over his words and thought to kill two birds with one stone: getting supplies in town and prepping Goliath with camo before we took her aloft to Baelen’s or any other place.
“Thing is, it isn’t going to be easy to get past Sharki’s scout ships out in space,” I said aloud to my partners-in-crime. “Remember we have no warp until we clear grav and I don’t want to lose our beryl shipment by being boarded or blown out of the sky.”
“You and me both,” echoed Marty. “So, we trade Goliath in for another ship.”
I winced. “It’s complex and time consuming. We’d have to transfer the beryl to the other craft. Many things could go wrong.”
“Or maybe just wipe the drive signature?” suggested Deidra.
“Could work. But still risky. Some Johnny Joe keener could recognize the ship by size and configuration.”
“It’s a risk either way,” Marty grumbled.
“No, this is how it’ll work. We camo the ship, wipe the drive signature and fly into Thetis station on pretext of picking up a load. Then blast the solar guns to smithereens.”
“Just like that, eh? As clean as the last time?”
“Sure.”
It was a wild but simple plan. Me, Marty and Deidra loaded some beryl in the air car and pawned it off in town for cash yols: quick money for food and supplies. We carted back with us a mountain of blue paint and collapsible ladders to the quarry. Deidra was fast recovering from her degrading experience. We painted Goliath an ultramarine dark hue, making sure we hid the telltale Goliath plate and put a new name on her—“Marmot”.
She was a fat marmot with a fortune in beryl in her hold.
“We go in disguised as a supply ship”, I murmured, “blow the solar amplifiers and beetle out of there.”
Marty still gav
e his head a grave shake. “I mean, what could go wrong?”
Deidra approached, her eyes narrowed in pained doubt. “Rusco, I admire you for being courageous here. As Sharki’s my witness, I didn’t have the guts to do anything meaningful while I had the chance. But this—well, it’s kind of crazy and I value my life—I don’t think I have the nine lives you seem to have.”
“Relax, Deedee. Trust me. I’ve lived this way this long. Not about to die yet.”
Marty exhaled a sour breath. “Yeah, and that’s a wonderful fucking mystery, Rusco. All the gods up there questioning how you managed to survive so long.”
“Come on Marty, how hard can it be to take out a few parabolas? If it looks bad, we bail. Deal? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
He shrugged. He was on board, but just.
* * *
We visited Baelen’s, got the ship fixed up, selling on the ready black market some of the beryl for cash to pay for the repair work. At last we were in orbit around Thetis and made our approach to the station. A lot of nail-biting this time as we stayed glued to the bridge: Marty on nav, Deidra piloting, me working weapons. Much activity played out around Thetis’s dovetail futuristic fuselage. Repairs in motion. Scout ships flying in and out, repair craft with extensible crane arms locked onto port doors, maintenance vessels and new ore carriers drifting hither and yon. We were just another supply craft of the dozens coming in from Tyrone City to drop off some materials to repair the damaged parts.
Like ants these drones worked away—hodging together a new anthill the next day. So much for the breach we had created a week back.
Our weapons were still out of range. We’d have to get a lot closer in order to target those monster parabolas and solar guns.
I cast Marty a clown’s grin as I spoke into the com. “Delta control, this is Marmot. Request access to Deck 3. Over.”
“Marmot…” the station voice paused. “You’re unregistered.”
“Affirmative, we know. Got a call from a Mr. Sykes at Engram Enterprises on Tyrone for delivery of piping and platform slabs to Thetis Station. Looks like a rush job. Last ship couldn’t make it, so we were called in. Over.”