Guardian Outcast

by G J Ogden

  “Fierce, as usual,” said Hudson, smiling, “but she’s saved my ass with this flight.” Then he realized he should probably thank the captain too. “As have you, Captain, so you have my gratitude.”

  “Oh, no need to thank me,” said Captain Renner, waving his hand nonchalantly as they entered the central lounge area of the transport. “Getting back into Martina’s good books is reward enough for me.” Then he let out an apologetic, but also clearly faked cough. “Well, almost enough.”

  Hudson remembered Ma’s comment about sweetening the deal, and reached into the pocket of his pants for the clip of hardbucks. With his hand still in his pocket so that Renner couldn’t see how much he had, Hudson deftly separated three hundred bucks. Folding the notes into his palm he then extended his hand towards the captain.

  “Of course, and if there’s anything I can do to help in return, just let me know,” said Hudson. The captain shook Hudson’s hand, deftly removing the hardbucks in the process, before sliding them into the pocket of his own pants.

  “My pleasure,” replied Captain Renner, now grinning broadly. “When you’re ready, you can take a seat at the rear of the cockpit for takeoff. After that, feel free to wander around and enjoy the hospitality of the ship.”

  Hudson pointed to a circular feature at the center of the lounge, “The only wandering I’ll be doing is wandering to that bar.” The captain laughed, seeming to find the joke genuinely funny. Then he bid Hudson goodbye, before heading up the stairs to the top deck.

  Hudson sighed, feeling another wave of relief wash over him now that he was safely on-board the transport. However, his frayed nerves were still in need of soothing, so he decided to stroll over to the bar. He hoped that he might be able to sneak in a drink or two before they departed.

  Sliding onto a stool, Hudson noted that there was another man sitting at the bar, curiously without a drink in front of him. He frowned, but then called over to the barman, who was busy securing all of the bottles and glasses for takeoff. “I don’t suppose I can get a quick drink before we leave?”

  The barman sidled over, and raised an eyebrow, “Nervous flyer?”

  “Something like that,” said Hudson, which was actually true in this case, though not for the reasons the barman had assumed. “I just got fired. Actually, I quit, but they fired me anyway.”

  “They fired you after you quit?” said the barman, clearly trying to wrap his head around how that worked. “That’s one I’ve never heard before. And believe me I’ve heard a lot. What was the job?”

  “I was an RGF cop,” said Hudson. The barman physically recoiled as if Hudson had just declared that he was a serial murderer. “Hey, I said I was RGF, as in past tense! I quit, remember?”

  “You also said you were fired,” the barman replied, his eyes smiling. “No-one quits the RGF, but I guess you know that, already.”

  Hudson let out a weary sigh and nodded, “Yeah, I learnt that the hard way. Harder than you can ever imagine.”

  The barman scowled, but didn’t press Hudson further. Instead, he ducked under the counter and returned a few seconds later with two miniature bottles of whiskey. “These were confiscated from a passenger earlier,” the barman said, placing the bottles on the counter. “Technically, we can’t sell them, so I normally use them to top up some of the other bottles. I get the feeling you need them more than I do.”

  “You couldn’t be more right,” said Hudson, reaching into his pocket for the hardbucks. “How much?”

  The barman looked at Hudson with an expression that he could only describe as pitying. “No charge, my friend; you look like you could use a drink. Besides, I doubt this will be the last time I see you at the bar this flight.”

  Hudson cracked open the top of the first miniature and downed it in one, before letting out a contented sigh. “Right again, my friend,” he said, cracking open the second bottle. “And I’m a good tipper, so thanks,” he added, holding up the bottle as if raising a toast. The barman smiled and continued securing his station, while Hudson sipped the contents of the second bottle. He noticed that the man on the other side of the bar had glanced across a couple of times during the exchange. He was now looking at Hudson out of the corner of his eye.

  “Odd to see a man at a bar without a drink,” Hudson called over to him.

  “I don’t drink,” the man replied, flatly, “but I find that bars are where you meet the most interesting people.”

  He was perhaps a little older than Hudson, and had a serious, chiseled face. He had the rugged look and no-nonsense demeanor of a man who’d probably spent a lot of his time on planets like Brahms Three. Either that or he was RGF or ex-military, and Hudson felt immediately suspicious of him. Hudson didn’t consider himself to have an abundance of special skills, but reading people was one of them. And even from the hunched over way this man sat, Hudson knew he was bad news.

  His quiet analysis of the stranger was interrupted by an announcement over the tannoy, asking all passengers to take their seats for take-off. He necked the remainder of the second miniature and then slid off the stool.

  “I often find that to be true as well,” Hudson replied to the man, just agreeing for the sake of making small talk. Then he went fishing to see if he could find out anything more about him. “The name’s Hudson, by the way. And you are?”

  “Cutler,” the man replied in a lifeless, monotone voice. “My name is Cutler Wendell.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The sharp jolt as the transport’s landing struts hit the asphalt at Ride Spaceport roused Hudson from a deep and dreamless sleep. The stresses and exertions of the last couple of days, both emotional and physical, had finally caught up with him. Combined with the effects of the two miniature bottles of whiskey, he’d been ready to pass out almost as soon as the transport had broken orbit out of Brahms Three. Unfortunately, the jump seat in the cockpit had turned out to be one of the most uncomfortable he’d ever sat in, making sleep an impossibility. Thankfully, Hudson was spared a long and unpleasant journey to Earth by his unlikely benefactor, Captain Renner. The jovial captain had graciously allowed him the use of the crew rest compartment. Captain Renner’s generosity – this extra perk hadn’t cost any additional hardbucks – was likely due to Hudson’s friendship with Ma. The captain seemed to have a mistaken belief that Hudson could influence the fierce owner of the Landing Strip to give him a second chance. While Hudson knew that this wasn’t even remotely likely, he’d humored the captain in order to bank his upgraded sleeping arrangements.

  Hudson slid his legs over the side of the compact bed and pulled his boots back onto his aching feet. Opening the door of the rest compartment, the Californian summer sunshine radiated inside. It was almost blinding and far more intense than the softer red hue from the twin suns of Brahms Three.

  Ride Spaceport was built on the site of what used to be Vandenberg Air Force Base. This was only a short taxi-flyer ride away from San Francisco, which was Hudson’s next destination. Where he would go or what he would do after that, he didn’t have a clue.

  A voice blared over the tannoy to announce that disembarkation would begin shortly. Hudson checked his watch, which had already updated itself to Earth Pacific Time. Out of curiosity, he looked at the local time on Brahms Three for comparison, and huffed a laugh. Considering the vast distance he’d just travelled, it hadn’t been that long since he’d been standing on that hot, sweaty and dangerous world.

  Hudson always marveled at how it was possible to reach a planet dozens of light years away from Earth in about the same time it used to take people to fly half-way around the world. In fact, it often took longer to reach the territory of the Martian Protectorate than it did to reach the near-Earth portal worlds.

  The clue was in the name. The near-Earth portal worlds were all accessed from the handful of portals discovered close to Earth. Each portal lead directly to another world, all roughly the same distance from the solar system. Typically, other portals could be found within close proximity to
these newly-discovered planets. Threading from one portal to the next, it was possible to reach distant worlds like Brahms Three in less time than it used to take to fly from London to San Francisco.

  Despite his assertion to Captain Renner, Hudson had largely stayed clear of the bar during the flight in order to preserve a clear head. Cutler Wendell, the suspicious non-drinker he’d met earlier, had been like a shadow. Had it not been for Hudson’s sixth-sense for sniffing out trouble, he might not have noticed. Despite its stiff, upright seating position, Hudson had been glad of his jump seat in the cockpit. This kept him safely locked away from the passenger compartment, and from Cutler Wendell. He had absolutely no reason to suspect that this man was looking to slit his throat while he slept. Yet Logan Griff’s words of warning were still clear as lead crystal in his mind. It was entirely possible, and probably even likely, that the lanky bastard had put a hit out on him. It was just Griff’s style – cowardly and backstabbing.

  Hudson left the crew section and thanked Captain Renner and his staff for their hospitality. Then he joined the other passengers shuffling down the exit ramp. He couldn’t help but notice that everyone else looked considerably less rested than he did. This was with the exception of the few first-class passengers that had already alighted through their private tunnel.

  His study of the other passengers had also alerted him to the fact that Cutler Wendell was following a few meters behind. Keen to keep a ready eye on his potential assassin, Hudson frequently glanced back as he progressed into the terminal building. In doing so, he observed that Cutler Wendell had been joined by a woman. She had the hood of a light, all-weather jacket pulled over her head, which only made her look more conspicuous.

  Has Griff put two hits out on me? Hudson wondered. That would have been extreme even for Griff, he realized, not to mention expensive. They were perhaps working together, Hudson reasoned. Or perhaps his suspicion that they were hired killers was just a crazed invention of his increasingly paranoid mind. They could simply be harmless fellow travelers. He hoped it was the latter, but didn’t intend to take any chances. Helpfully, since they were now back on Hudson’s home turf – he’d spent three years working inter-state taxi flyers out of Ride Spaceport – he knew exactly how to lose them.

  As soon as the crowds thinned, Hudson rushed ahead to put some distance between him and his pursuers. Pushing into the line, Hudson passed through the immigration checkpoint and ran out to the taxi flyer rank beyond the terminal building. Cutler Wendell was still waiting at the checkpoint, which gave Hudson the few extra seconds he needed. Scouring the registration IDs on the side of each cab, he found the one he was looking for and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Checking behind again he saw that Cutler Wendell and the hooded woman had now passed through immigration. With impressive swiftness, Cutler spotted Hudson at the flyer rank, and started running his way. Hudson dashed to the taxi he’d picked out earlier, yanked open the door, and threw himself into the back seat.

  “Hey, easy on the merchandise, mister,” said the taxi pilot, arching his neck around to chastise whomever had jumped inside. Then the pilot saw Hudson and a broad smile dimpled his stubbled cheeks. “I’ll be damned, Hudson Powell! I knew your sorry ass would crawl back here one day…”

  “Good to see you too, Dex,” said Hudson, reaching over and clasping hands with the pilot. “But, I need a favor, and I need it quick. Do you remember the old switcheroo?”

  Dex frowned, “Of course I do, but who are you trying to lose? Are you in trouble?”

  “Yes…” Hudson began, but then quickly corrected himself, “maybe. I’m not sure. But I’ll explain everything later.” He pushed himself back into the seat and fastened the harness. “Right now, there’s a guy and a woman after me, and I need to shake them.”

  “You got it, Hudson,” said Dex, without a moment’s hesitation. Then he checked his rear-view camera and added, “Is it the serious looking dude and even more serious looking woman, jumping into Randy’s flyer?”

  Hudson spun around and looked out of the rear window, just catching sight of Cutler Wendell entering the cab. “Yeah, that’s him, alright.”

  “Not a problem, hang on,” said Dex, engaging the flights systems and disabling the ground brake. “I’ll message Randy to hang back, and then head into the hills around Lompoc. Nadia’s just up ahead too, so I’ll radio and ask her to meet us in the usual place and do the switcheroo.”

  “Thanks, Dex,” said Hudson, feeling like a blacksmith’s anvil had just been lifted from his chest. The ‘switcheroo’ was a little maneuver that taxi flyers would employ when a customer wanted to get away without being followed. It was a problem unique to the major spaceports, due to the types of traveler that would often pass through. The typical clientele were rich socialites and shady business types. Often, they would arrive back from the portal worlds with something illicit or taxable in their possession. Whether it was to shake off the authorities or the tabloid media, Hudson had performed the maneuver many times, usually partnering with Dex or Nadia. He never expected to be needing a switcheroo himself.

  “I’ve only got a few hardbucks on me,” said Hudson, reaching into his pocket, “but I’ll make good on what I owe you as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Hudson,” said Dex, wafting a hand in the air, “it’s good to pay back a favor for once.”

  “Thanks, Dex,” said Hudson. “It’s nice to be back amongst people who aren’t psychotic assholes and murderers.”

  Dex lifted the flyer into the air, drawing a succession of blaring horns from other flyers in the rank who had priority to lift off. He then turned southeast and accelerated towards Lompoc. Hudson checked behind again, seeing another flyer take off and start to head after them. Though the pursuing flyer wasn’t moving with quite the same urgency that Dex was demonstrating.

  “So, what’s the deal with this duo that’s after you?” said Dex, reaching cruising altitude and then accelerating hard. Hudson was pressed back into his seat until eventually Dex eased off. “Are they psychotic assholes or murderers, or both?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know yet,” said Hudson, feeling the force pressing against his body weaken. “Let’s just say my brief tenure with the RGF made me a few enemies.”

  “You got kicked out already?” said Dex.

  “I quit before they kicked me out, actually,” said Hudson, feeling it necessary to highlight the distinction as a point of pride. “But I may have pissed a few people off before that happened.”

  Dex’s resonant laugh filled the cabin, “Sounds like you, my friend!” Then he became more serious, “I told you that the RGF was bad news. They’ll hound you forever and a day now, you know that, right? No-one really ever quits the RGF. Not without consequences.”

  Hudson knew all about consequences. He again pictured Ericka, laughing and drinking with him in her hostel room on Brahms Three. He tried to distract himself from the memory by watching out of the window. However, he soon noticed that the scenery, as well as other flyers, were flashing past at an increasingly perilous speed. They were also only a couple of hundred meters off the deck. Hudson didn’t like flying so fast or so low when he wasn’t at the controls himself. Pilots made the worst passengers, he realized.

  Shuffling forward in the seat, he peeked over Dex’s shoulder, noting that the speedometer in the flyer was reading two hundred and ninety-eight. “I thought these flyers were hard-limited to two hundred?”

  “Not this one,” replied Dex, glancing back and smiling knowingly. “We’ll be at the rendezvous in a few minutes, but you might have to bail without me landing.”

  “I hope you plan to slow down first,” quipped Hudson, and again there was the resonant laugh.

  An ancient CB radio crackled into life and a sparkly female voice came out over the speaker. Hudson recognized it instantly as Nadia Voss.

  “Dex, I’m in position. What’s your ETA, over?”

  Dex picked up the old CB handset and spoke into it,
“Hey there, Nadia. Expect ‘the package’ in sixty, over.”

  “I’ll be ready, over and out.”

  “I can’t believe you still use that ancient radio,” said Hudson, looking at the CB unit. “Aren’t you supposed to say things like ‘10-4 big daddy’ and ‘breaker one nine’ or stuff like that?”

  “This isn’t the nineteen eighties, Hudson,” said Dex. “We just use it because the cops don’t monitor these frequencies, any more.” Dex dropped the flyer to fifty meters and throttled back. He then expertly swung around behind a hill and headed towards an abandoned mineral mine. Hudson knew the spot well – it had been one of his popular locations to perform the switcheroo too. “We’re almost there, are you ready?”

  Hudson edged towards the door of the flyer and peered down towards the decaying warehouse building. He sucked in a breath and then grabbed hold of the door release. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Okay, hang on…” Dex called out, pitching the nose forward and pulling in just in front of the warehouse. “Go, go, go!”

  Hudson yanked open the door, and was hit with the powerful down-blast of air from the rotors. He edged out of the opening and then looked back at Dex, who was giving him the thumbs up. “Thanks, Dex, I owe you one!” he shouted, before jumping out of the taxi flyer. The drop was only about a meter, but he still grimaced as his boots slapped down onto the hard, tarmacked surface. The shock of the impact rattled through his bones, before he rolled forward to soak up the remaining momentum. The sleep on the way back to Earth had done him good, but his muscles throbbed and his joints still ached. “I’m getting too old for this shit…” he groaned, pushing himself back to his feet.

  Dex’s flyer rose up and accelerated, blasting dust and sand into his face. It was a hundred meters away before Hudson had even made it inside the warehouse building. He brushed off the sandy mineral dust and watched for a few seconds as Dex’s flyer re-joined the rest of the traffic in the skyway. If they’d timed the switcheroo just right, Randy’s flyer would have been unsighted for the drop-off. Dex would eventually circle back and land at Ride Spaceport again, at which point the pursuing flyer would realize they’d been had.