“Or what?”
“Nothing.” But as Jack reached for his dinner, he wondered if he’d been looking in the right place … what if the creature were inside him … in his bloodstream or some such, the parasite Ballard thought it had to be. He shuddered.
Amber delicately polished off two more slices, then wiped her mouth and said, ‘Well, it sounds like he’s a good guy. I guess I’ll give you this, then.” She held out a thin piece of paper, a subspace message. “It came yesterday, before you got home.”
It was from the Purple and it said, succinctly, ‘Meet me at the Rusty Bolt,” and gave a time and day.
“What does he want from you?”
Jack crumpled the note. “I’m not sure. We talked about a lot of things. I don’t think there’s anything he could say here on Malthen he couldn’t say there. Maybe he has work for me.”
Amber watched him. “Are you going?”
“Yes, I think so. I’ll bring you along this time, if you want.”
Amber didn’t want, but she forced a smile. “Okay.” She hesitated, then swallowed the rest of her thoughts. She had to go along. The Rusty Bolt was one of Rolf’s favorite hangouts. She knew the ins and outs of the disreputable bar like the lines on the palm of her hand. If Jack went there, he would need her.
The Rusty Bolt was a quiet riot of neon, shaded obsidite sliced wafer thin as a façade over the concrete walls with rusted out bits and pieces of ancient robots and cyborgs tacked around. It had a certain flavor to it, aided greatly by booths with privacy curtains. Almost anything could happen at the Rusty Bolt—and did. The Purple had picked early morning for the meet, and the bar was practically empty. Jack approved though Amber was still yawning as she trailed him inside.
“Nobody here,” he said, glancing around. He’d developed the mercenary habit of not sitting or standing with his back to the door.
Amber looked around too, seeing things Jack did not, like the hidden surveillance cameras playing images to rooms in the back. Most of them looked out of commission, but one or two seemed in use. She swallowed uneasily and took Jack by the elbow. “Let’s go this way.” Surreptitiously, she guided him out of view of most of the cameras. Fat Fred, who owned the Rusty Bolt, played both ends against the middle—while cameras seemed to cover every angle, there was still a pathway through the bar, if one knew where to step and turn.
Amber telegraphed her nervousness to Jack, but before he could say anything, the curtain covering the corner booth parted suddenly, and she let out a tiny squeak.
Jack grinned as he recognized the elegant silver hair of the Purple, tanned face, dominated by those humorous brown eyes. Laughing eyes.
Amber, turning up her face, met the look in them, but she wasn’t consoled. “What in hell is he laughing at?”
Jack felt her stiffen. “This is Amber,” he said, pulling her forward.
The Purple appraised her. “I thought you told me she was just a street kid. She’s come a long way.”
Amber curled her lip. “What kind of name is the Owner of the Purple? Don’t you have a real one?”
“Amber!”
The Purple laughed and drew them into the booth. He dropped the privacy curtain, quelling the glare of the neon, and pulled his laugh into a broad smile. “Says what’s on her mind, doesn’t she?”
“Not by half,” Amber spat out. She sat sideways in the booth, looking out through the tiny crack between the curtain and the booth. If she really said what was on her mind, Jack wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly.
The Purple evidently decided to ignore Amber. He offered Jack a drink. He waved it away, saying, ‘What’s on your mind?”
“Work, if you want it.”
“What kind of work? Is it on the bulletin?”
“No, and it won’t be.”
Jack sat back in the booth, mulling over the implications of a secret recruitment. “Why me?” he asked, finally, comfortable in the knowledge that the Purple waited for him to think it over.
“I want quality. I also like conscience.”
“To do what?”
“Let’s call it strikebusting.” The Purple lifted his glass and the brown eyes continued to smile at him over the rim.
Jack felt a wave of uneasiness. What else could it be called? He felt Amber stir at his side. She looked back over her shoulder, a golden-eyed, hostile stare at both of them. What was happening here? Why did he feel it was all beyond his control? “If you want conscience,” he said slowly, “you don’t need a suit.”
“That’s right—I don’t need a suit. I need what’s inside of it,” the Purple answered. He did not seem impatient, but his strong fingers tapped the table gently.
“You want me specifically?”
“I can’t think of a better man to have at my side.”
Jack felt the tension in Amber’s wiry form, and tried to ignore it. “You’re doing more than the recruiting?”
“I’m running the operation. Premium pay, good living quarters—”
“You sound like you’re talking long term employment.”
“Could be.”
Jack felt Amber go absolutely rigid. He put a hand out to soothe her, but kept his attention on the Purple. “I don’t want to leave Amber … and I like to know who I’m working for.”
“Amber can go with you, but you’ll have to keep her out of trouble with the rest of the troops.”
Jack said, “Amber can take care of herself.”
“All right, then. As for your employer, he prefers to remain absolutely confidential,”
“But you know who it is?”
“I do.” The Purple nodded. He sat back in the booth, putting his left arm across the back, at ease. “I gathered when we talked last, you had the Emperor’s guard in mind. I can guarantee you this is one of the better, and faster, ways to meet that goal.”
Jack thought. “I don’t like union work,” he said.
“I can’t tell you the nature of your employer,” the Purple said. He shrugged. “All I can tell you is that you won’t be ashamed.”
“This is bad timing. I have some people I’ve been tracking down.” He hadn’t told the Purple who he was, but knew the other had done some accurate guessing of his own. “I don’t like being taken away from it.”
The Purple shrugged. “The kind of money I’m offering will let you access a lot of systems.”
Amber said softly, “Jack, give me the gun.”
Preoccupied, he answered, “Later,” and leaned forward on the table. “How long term and how much money?”
“For you, five thousand credits a thirty day cycle. Plus living quarters. Board is up to you, since you’ve got Amber. Besides,” and the Purple grinned, “you might not like the local fare.”
Amber pitched to her feet. “God, Jack,” she hissed. “Give me the gun and get out of here!”
The Purple and Jack reacted simultaneously, getting to their feet. Jack then saw Rolf at the front door, looking around, two very big and very nasty looking creatures at his elbows.
“Company,” remarked the Purple. “Looking for you?”
“Yes.”
Amber tugged at his pockets. Jack smacked her hand. “No guns. There’s a back way out of here?”
“Yes,” she said. “But—”
“No buts,” the Purple countered. “You two get out of here. I’ll cover you … if you still want the job.”
Amber opened her mouth to protest, and Jack squelched her, saying, “We’ll take it.”
“Spaceport tonight then. Dock 42. I’ll have IDs for you.” He pulled a very nasty, needle-nosed gun out of a hidden pocket. “Go for it.”
Jack threw open the privacy curtain and bolted, dragging Amber behind, until she dug in her heels and snapped. “This way, you slag idiot!”
He responded by throwing her over his shoulder and going out the way she pointed, the air crackling with laser fire behind them. A projectile hit an antique helmet next to the eave of the back door. It spun around and then hi
t the floor at their heels with a metallic clang as he slammed the door shut after them.
“Got any more bright ideas?” Amber sneered as the bright white-hot light dazzled them momentarily.
“Yeah,” said Jack, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a run. “I suggest you pack.”
Chapter 16
Welcome to Otterville,” Amber said. She wiped a finger along the doorframe and her lip curled. “Everything is moldy!” She took a few mincing steps into their assigned quarters, her gratitude over being off ship not extending to her new home.
“It’s not Otterville and Purple says things will shape up once we move in and use the moisture absorber on a regular basis.” Jack dropped his armful of crates in the living room and moved to a room-wide window. “Look at that view!” The platform house was relatively isolated on a beautiful curve of a wide, slow-moving river.
Amber’s nose stayed wrinkled. “It looks like a bowl of spinach, stems and all!”
“That, Amber dear, is a tropical rain forest, and a pretty thick one at that.”
“Right, and out the back window, you have a view of swampburg.”
Jack sighed. “You know, you could have stayed with Sadie.”
“Could is the wrong choice. Should is the operative word here. She wasn’t even going to put me in cold storage—said she wanted the company. I could be trying on new clothes, jewels …” Amber kicked the door shut. She sat down on a crate and folded her arms defensively. Jack couldn’t help but notice the curves she didn’t used to have. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m glad I’m here, but this place is … is …”
“Not Malthen. Look, the clouds will clear up and then, I promise you, you’re going to see a sapphire blue sky, rivers with honest to god water in them, not concrete, green trees and grass…”
“Until the next rainstorm, which is, if I remember our tape package correctly, twice a day until the rainy season. Then we’re in for it—we’re bound to get wet.”
Jack stopped in mid-protest as a knock sounded on the door, and two aggrieved loaders brought in the trunk containing the suit. They dropped it with a resounding thud, accepted a Dominion credit for a tip, and left. The room vibrated another second or two longer, and Amber looked with alarm at the floor.
“This thing is on stilts. I hope we can keep our asses out of the swamp.”
He pointed a finger at her. “And that’s another thing. You’re getting too grown up for guttersnipe language.”
Amber sniffed. “Censorship is everywhere. Well,” and she plucked at her blouse which was growing limper by the second, threatening to plaster itself intimately to her skin. “Let’s find that water sucker and turn it on before I mildew.”
The air grew more bearable as the moisture absorber whirred into smooth operation. Amber got up and sauntered through the rest of their quarters. She came back, her face lit up with excitement. “It’s a palace, I swear, a fracking palace!” Then, “I know, I know. I forgot. I mean, the place is a bloody castle.”
“It’s all ours?” Jack had sized the place up from the outside and figured it, at the very least, to be a duplex. But to find out the spacious stilt home was all theirs was a real surprise. He followed her. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms (”a tub … a real tub,” squealed Amber), a large study with a wet bar, kitchen, living room and dining room. Jack hadn’t seen anything like it for years.
Amber swung on the door-frame leading to her bathroom, the one with the tub as well as a shower. “I think I could learn to like it here.”
A laughing hiss answered them from the front door, where a sleek, sable-coated humanoid lounged against the doorjamb. Caramel brown spots, the color of Amber’s eyes, mottled the sable fur. His only concession to clothing, was a shiny, water repellent, bright yellow pair of shorts, bulging with seamed pockets full of various implements, and with a sable tail neatly hanging out the back. He straightened as Jack covered the distance to the front door, and he snapped a salute with a dark-skinned hand that was almost a paw—but not quite.
“Welcome to Fishburg,” the otter-man said, with another laughing hiss. “I am Skal.” He moved his whiskers flat against his cheeks, and his short, well-rounded ears flattened also, as though he waited for approval.
“Commander Skal,” Jack said, somewhat relieved at vaguely recognizing the name, and reached for the being’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
The otter-man twitched his whiskers after appraising Jack momentarily. “And I you. Commander Storm. A fitting name for a being stationed here, what?” And the Fisher laughed. His very large, luminescent eyes strayed to Amber. “And greetings to your mate, also.”
“I’m not—”
“Quite used to being here yet,” Jack finished up smoothly. “Commander, please come in. I haven’t raided the kitchen yet, but I’m sure I can find something to drink.”
Skal moved inside and shut the door gently. Both ears and whiskers came forward and he looked alert. “I think,” he said softly, sibilantly, “You’ll find the foodkeeper well stocked with the local beer. A rin base, but enjoyable.” He grinned, wrinkling his lips and showing jaws hill of sharp teeth. “I put them there.”
The beer was tangy, a clouded white instead of the mellow brown he was used to, but it tasted good all the same. Jack knew he had found civilization again, a planet where they understood the secret of proper fermenting. The Fisher Skal curled in his chair rather than sat, and Amber copied him, her body equally as sinuous as his. Jack sat, dwarfing the chair carved for other uses than sitting. He flexed his bulky shoulders.
The Fisher looked at him with glistening eyes, the amenities satisfied. “The Purple recommended I look you up as soon as possible.”
Jack held up a hand. He looked at Amber. “I suggest,” he said to her, “you select your room and begin unpacking.”
The girl made a face at him and left the kitchen.
The Fisher watched her go with interest. “You do not let your mate formulate strategy with you?” he commented.
Jack said nothing, and the being’s whiskers twitched, although whether in amusement or embarrassment, Jack couldn’t tell. “When can I expect to hear from the Purple myself?”
This time, he was sure he saw amusement. Skal wiped the palm of his hand along the side of his face, rather like a man stroking a mustache. “We are a backward world,” he said, “and things move rather slowly here. We should have the com lines in by tomorrow evening. They were supposed to be in yesterday, but …” and he shrugged eloquently, the gesture sending muscles rippling.
Jack looked up. The house seemed to be run totally on electricity. The foodkeeper was refrigerating more than adequately, and the moistureabsorber worked admirably. “What’s the power like?”
“Reliable. Our reactor keeps this area well-provided for, although downriver…” Again, that supple and incredible shrug. Jack blinked, thinking that he had once known a belly-dancer who would kill for muscles like that.
Jack brought himself back to the business at hand. “Reactor?” He hadn’t expected that.
“A breeder reactor. Effective, if crude.”
Jack swore. “Crude? Shit, I thought those things were outlawed. Who built that thing? And who let him?”
“You did, and we did,” said the Fisher mildly. “Don’t worry, Commander. Things will change in the future. In the meantime, our de-tox and dumping program is operating quite well.” He reached into one of his many pockets and withdrew something. “There is a custom among my people. I would like to gift you with this ceremonial knife.” Hilt first, he gave the knife to Jack, its handle made of exquisitely carved ivory.
Jack took it carefully. “It’s handsome,” he said.
“Thank you.” The Fisher seemed to be waiting.
Although Jack couldn’t remember the tapes mentioning it, he guessed the next step was reciprocation. Jack had little on him he could give. “My presentations have been delayed in shipping,” he said carefully.
“Another time perhaps.”
“Assuredly. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”
The sable face glittered with excitement. Skal forced himself to speak slowly as he answered.
“I have heard much about the battle armor. Perhaps a look?”
“No problem. In fact, I could use your help. I need to uncrate it and put it on its rack.”
“The armor is heavy?”
“Awkard, when it’s not powered. It’s in that big trunk.” Jack got up from the table, and the Fisher followed him to the living room.
The two of them got it out, with very little struggle; the humanoid was extremely strong, for all his lithe shape. He watched the Flexalinks shine as the suit hung from its frame.
“It is very beautiful,” the Fisher said, his eyes very round and glowing.
“And deadly. The weapons are recessed. Some in the gauntlets, here,” and Jack showed him the right sleeve.
The Fisher refrained from stroking it, although he put out a hand tentatively, and then drew it back. He looked outside as though weighing something mentally. “I must pardon myself. It’s getting late, and I have other appointments. Perhaps another time?”
“Anytime, Commander Skal.”
“You honor me,” the other returned, with a flick both of his whiskers and his tail. “But one last thing … in a marshy world such as ours, don’t you think this might be an inconvenience?”
“I don’t plan on wearing it all that much,” Jack answered seriously. “But it has capabilities I haven’t even touched on.”
Skal stroked the whiskers on the side of his cheek again. “I’m sure.” He bowed. “Enjoy our gift, Commander Storm. I hope to meet with you again, soon.” He flowed to the door and down the ladder, to the river where a sleek powerboat awaited him.
Amber joined Jack as the powerboat sped from sight. “I like him,” she said, even as the sky turned charcoal and rumbled threateningly.
“I do, too,” Jack answered, turning the knife over in his hands. “Let’s finish the unpacking.”
Solar Kill Page 15