Junker Blues: Mars: Junker Blues series

by Lon E. Varnadore

  Tartarus. The neon-festooned, tin-and-corrugated-iron plated city. It was the place where the first pre-Crawl humans lived on Mars so very long ago, and it had never truly changed. He’d seen old holos of the place right after the Black Years and just had the feeling that Tartarus was aptly named as the underworld of Tharsis, that it never truly changed how it was.

  It was also where Marcus knew the Droppers made their money. He was not wrong, and the second Dropper dealer the two found knew about Jeff. The fat and balding man, sitting in a wrecked rocking chair, reeking of chemicals and body odor, laughed when Marcus tried to threaten him.

  “I’m old and half dead. You’d be doing me a favor,” the dealer said as Marcus pulled his thrower. “I dare you.”

  Marcus shoved his weapon back in its holster. “I just want to know if you’ve seen Jeff S—”

  “Oh, that asshole! Yeah, he crashes at Third and Century all the time. He cheated me out of fifty credits. Tell you what,” the dealer said, giving a laugh and leaning a little closer, the smell causing Marcus’ eyes to water. “Give me twenty, and promise you’ll sock him in the jaw for ole Weston, and you got a deal.”

  Lash turned away, but Marcus nodded. “Sounds like a deal,” Marcus said, pulling out his last cred chit and tossing it to Weston.

  “Why did you pay him?” Lash asked as Marcus came towards the gyro. They had been using it still, since most of the transportation of Tharsis was free-cars, but the cars didn’t run down in Tartarus much since the power grid kept glitching. “I told you, this gyro is his. I can find him.”

  “Yeah, and he will know we are coming. I don’t want him to,” Marcus said, patting his thrower.

  “Marcus, don’t kill him. Please,” Lash said, biting her lower lip. “He isn’t the bad guy here.”

  “Fine.”

  Lash waited outside, and Marcus entered the building at the corner of Third and Century. Its façade was a drooping Old Earth-style movie playhouse, one that hadn’t shown a movie in who-knew how long. The door was boarded up, so Marcus forced it open. He was on the marble floor of the entryway, the broken remnants of the concession stand behind them. They were not alone; there were a dozen others, all passed out from the last stage of Drops. Marcus knew to keep his wits, since Droppers tended to have random surges of adrenaline up to two days after taking the blast in the eye.

  “Jeff, wake up,” Marcus said, hand on his thrower, only to scare him, Marcus thought. He wasn’t sure if it was more for himself or for Lash. He didn’t want to chance using the mind-worm and then need her help.

  He kicked Jeff’s toe, and Jeff opened up his eyes unsteadily and wavering as they tried to focus on Marcus.

  “Hey Jeff,” Marcus said, “Rat anyone out today?”

  Jeff let out a squeak, spun, and tried to climb over his fellow passed-out addicts. Marcus pulled his thrower, hoping the powering up whine of the battery would stop him. Instead, it awoke the others who screamed, “Cops!” Then they lunged for Marcus.

  He cursed as he was brought to the ground by one, and then another, addict, and then a thick, dusky-skinned woman grabbed his shoes. “The cops are here, the cops—”

  Marcus drew back a foot, wanting to kick the woman in the mouth. He stopped himself. “I am not a cop!” He shouted, pulling himself away from the addicts, a burly and hirsute pale-skinned man and the dusky-skinned screamer. Neither of them could maintain their grip on Marcus for long. He pushed them away, rolling to his knees and saw that Jeff made his way out to the parking lot.

  He’s running.

  “I can see.”

  Thanks, Lash, such a help.

  “If he comes out, I’ll be there.”

  Marcus cursed and ran after the little man, shoulder-checking the door open that Jeff had run through. He was in a long corridor that led to other rooms. All of them were chained, and before he focused on any of them, he saw Jeff running outside into the bright neon of Tartarus. He chased after.

  Coming out, he saw Jeff had tripped. Even in the bright light of neon, Jeff looked scared, even more than before. They were outside in a side alley. It was larger than some alleys in Tartarus, festooned with overstuffed trash bags and the reek of garbage, rotting detritus, and puke assaulted Marcus’ senses.

  Before he could say anything, Lash sent, “Coming to you.”

  “Jeff, where are you going?” Marcus asked, pulling his thrower while moving towards the prone man. Jeff tried to crawl away.

  The strung-out weasel turned and looked up at Marcus. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t have any—”

  Marcus kicked out, hitting Jeff in the jaw. The weasel crumpled. Before Jeff could blink, Marcus was on top of him, pressing the muzzle of his weapon into Jeff’s temple. “I should shoot you, you stupid piece of slag. But that would be too good for you. And it’d be a waste of a plasma charge.” Marcus growled, pressing the muzzle to Jeff’s head a second longer before pulling it away. A thought came to him, which made Marcus smile. It was cold and cruel, which caused Lash, who came running, to take a step back with a look of disgust on her face. “Can’t have you doing anything to alert the authorities where I was. Have to do something to make sure you are not able to do anything for a few hours at least.”

  Jeff looked up. “What do you mean? What did I do?”

  All of the rage of loss and pain Marcus had dealt with over the past few days was unleashed. Marcus brought his foot down on Jeff’s ankle, hearing an audible pop. Jeff let out a cry of pain, then curled into a ball. He clutched at his ankle and wailed in pain. It cut to a whimper without any actual words coming out when Marcus levered the plasma thrower at him to silence him.

  “Was that necessary?” Lash asked in his head, looking at him with a bit of disgust.

  No, Marcus responded. But it made me feel better. “That was for Junker.”

  “Can we go now?” Lash asked as Jeff sobbed incoherently in the alley.

  As she asked, the lights of a gyro flared above, cutting through the neon with a bright spotlight. Marcus looked up and gave a small laugh. “I think we can, though Jeff isn’t going to want us to leave.” Marcus recognized the car with the bird and the flower. He was confused by how quickly Hazon had found them, but it was fortuitous nonetheless.

  Jeff turned his head upwards. “No… no… Marcus, you have to help me! The MDF, they—”

  “Why should I?” Marcus asked. “You screwed me over Jeff. You screwed Hazon over. Time to pay the piper.”

  Lash took Marcus by the shoulder. “Are you sure you want this on your conscience? Jeff is a weasel, but he’s helped you in the past. He’s helped us both before.”

  “He is the one who almost got me shot by Hazon and MDF since we found the probe. Since we’ve been on Mars, nothing has gone right since we got here. No, it won’t be on my conscience because he deserves it.” Marcus knew it was a lie the moment he said it. Yeah, he’d done some violence to Jeff, and it gave him a fleeting spike of joy. After he had done that though, his stomach had dropped out, and he took a few deep breaths to banish the bile that was rising in his throat. Slag it all. Damn conscience.

  He moved towards Jeff. “Jeff, give me your hand. Hazon won’t—”

  A single line of crimson red light blurred past Marcus’ knee as he knelt. He jerked to one side, looking back to see it had burned through Jeff’s forehead. The weaselly man looked at Marcus, dumbstruck, dead before he even felt anything. Then Jeff’s head dropped to the city’s alley.

  Marcus pulled away, looking around, hand going to his thrower. “What the Hells?”

  “You found the traitor, I thank you. You may continue on with your mission,” Hazon’s voice said from somewhere. When he stood, he saw Lash looking at him, then down, not meeting his gaze. “I expect the relic to be in my hands within the day.” Hazon’s voice continued, coming from Lash’s comm link on her wrist.

  Marcus was speechless. Did you—

  “We will talk later,” Lash said, looking at Marcus with an inscrutable face.


  “What is going on, Lash?” Marcus shouted, stunned by what he had just seen.

  “The only way I knew to get you out of that place without Hazon killing us both. I told them I’d get Jeff.”

  “So, why the cloak and dagger?” Marcus asked. “Why give me a guilt trip?

  “Had to. If you knew he was going to let you go to hunt down and kill Jeff?”

  “I wouldn’t have done it,” Marcus said, realization dawning. “How did you?”

  “Talking in his head.”

  “I watched you, Lash. Your tendrils weren’t—”

  He stopped. He thought he hadn’t seen it. Had she covered it up? “Did you mess with my—”

  She gave him a hard look. “Do you want to finish that question?”

  Marcus felt his cheek burn. His heart was hammering in his chest. “I never want you in my head, again. Do you understand?” He shoved the earworm back into his mind, spinning it faster and faster. “Is that clear?”

  “You are stressed, Marcus. You need to calm down,” Lash said, her voice sounding very soothing.

  “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. You messed with my head. I trusted you!”

  “Really? When was that exactly?” She asked, crossing her arms more like a human than an Ilas. “When the Ministry showed up, and you thought I did something? Or that I was working for them? Or when we were in the bunker and you had that momentary lapse thinking I might be dealing with Harley or doing something for the Eridani? You have never—”

  Marcus turned away, feeling her words hit like a physical blow. Slag, she’s right. He shook his head. “I thought that… it is difficult when the woman you married—”

  Lash surged forward. “I’m not Lisa, you cretin. I’m my own person.”

  He nodded and backed away. “You are right. I am sorry.” He backed away again, hands spread wide. He realized he had been lying, he did trust her. “Slag, Lash, I’m sorry. Maybe we can—”

  Lash sighed and shook her head. “Just leave it, Marcus. We have to get a ship and get off-planet before Hazon comes after us again. He gave us… me twenty-four more hours until we bring him this,” she said, pointing to the canister in the skimmer.

  “Where to?”

  “The ports will be crowded.”

  Marcus nodded and rubbed at his lips. Then, he felt a small spike of pain and heat from his thumb. “Damn mark is still flaring up. How can that—” He stopped and smiled, a plan coming to mind. “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “There is no way Grin is dead. He’d still be looking for us, right?”

  “Yeah,” Lash said, her eyebrow ridge raised. “Why?”

  Good, she can’t read my mind. “We should steal his ship,” Marcus said, looking at Lash with a sudden wide smile.

  Lash looked at him. “Are you insane?”

  “Maybe a little,” Marcus said with a shrug.

  “Why would—”

  “Oh, I already have a name when we steal it!”

  Lash looked at him hard, an eyebrow ridge raised. “Alright, fine I’ll bite. What is it going to be called?”

  “That would be telling,” Marcus said giving her a smirk.

  “Thought I was part of your crew?”

  “You are.”

  “Don’t I get a—”

  “Nope. Not for this.”

  Lash turned away from Marcus, rolling her eyes, to look over the gear they had stolen from Hazon’s little cache. “Human, you are beyond weird.”

  “Always. It’s what makes us a wolfling race,” Marcus said with a smirk. “So, we should give ourselves up.”

  “What are you—"

  “Unpredictability and stupidity,” Marcus said. “He won’t be thinking he’ll find us, and we find him first.”

  “You’re completely insane,” Lash said, looking at Marcus, stunned.

  “No argument here,” Marcus said.

  “Humans,” Lash said, rolling her eyes.

  “Aren’t you part human?” Marcus asked.

  Lash let out a very long sigh. “Don’t remind me,” she said. She looked at Marcus and gave him a small wink.

  “I also know where he probably is, if he is around anywhere?”

  “Where?”

  “Let me show you.”

  The private spaceport was exactly where Marcus thought it was. A spot in the middle of the sands with nothing around for tens of kilometers. The old skimmer they borrowed broke down five kilometers from Tharsis City, but Marcus was sure they were close.

  “Don’t see why we didn’t keep using Jeff’s gyro?” Lash said, following along behind Marcus.

  “Because, Hazon was tracking us with it. Whole thing was a trap. I’d rather do this next part on my own, thank you.”

  When they climbed a ridge, he let out a laugh and pointed. “Told you.”

  It was a place that had been created for those of the Saved who helped the Eridani with their more menial tasks, and to be away from the prying eyes of the MDF. Marcus knew the Defense Force kowtowed to the Eridani for many things, yet in the official ports, there were rules that the Eridani couldn’t bend or break. Therefore, they needed a place that was for them and their clientele.

  They sold the gyro and were able to get suits, but Lash’s was thirdhand and Marcus was a little worried she wouldn’t be able to make the trip. He also felt uncomfortable in the suit that he bought. It was not worn in the right spots, and it caused major irritation the last half-klick to the private spaceport.

  “I hate this,” Marcus muttered.

  “Hate what?”

  “Breaking in a new environmental suit,” Marcus said, rolling his wrists counterclockwise to try and keep his wrists from stiffening from the angle they were in while he walked.

  She shook her head. “Try using a hand-me-down one that is older than others by thirty years.”

  Marcus nodded. “Good point,” he said with a nod. “Still…”

  She shook her head. “Do we have a plan?”

  “I go in and offer myself up, and you rig up the controls to jump before they can do anything, and we take over the ship.”

  “A jump window…planetside?” Lash asked, “That’s suicide.”

  “No, we have to sneak aboard, and then—”

  There was a sudden, smoking crater a foot in front of them on the small dune they stayed behind. The dune rumbled with the hammer blow of a plasma pulse. A heavy one.

  Marcus and Lash cringed. Over their suit comms came Harley’s voice. “My master is a forgiving man. Come out and no funny stuff, and you will be treated fairly.”

  Marcus looked up and saw Harley was two hundred feet away, her own suit a much more expensive model with servos used to help the wearer move with ease and was triple the strength. She also carried a large, heavy plasma thrower longarm, pointed straight at them.

  “Well, looks like this is working so well so far,” Lash said, standing up and raising her lanky arms as well.

  “No faith in me?” Marcus asked, a small smile on his face.

  “None.”

  “Words hurt, Lash,” Marcus said with mock pain.

  “I am sure it does,” Harley cut in. “If you want to truly hurt, I suggest you stay there, or better yet, resist my master again—”

  “We surrender,” Marcus said, moving closer to her. “Come on, Lash.”

  He spotted the glare Lash gave him but turned back and focused on walking towards Harley. He kept the ear worm going and held an inward smile. This will work. Cause otherwise, I’m dead.

  Chapter Twenty

  Marcus was brought in first, and Grin was waiting for him. “Oh, why did you bring the tin soldier? Just kill her and be done with it.”

  Harley shrugged and pivoted, swinging the barrel away from Marcus.

  Marcus spun and shoulder-checked Harley. It felt like hitting a wall. At least he was able to stop Lash from getting shot at. She bolted for the forward cockpit.

  “Keep them busy,” she sent.

  Ea
sy for you to say! Marcus shouted in his head. He swung his body around behind Harley when he saw Grin’s chair turret swing towards him. “You aren’t going to shoot—”

  Before he could finish, there was a thrum of intense pressure. Marcus and Harley’s bodies were driven hard against the bulkhead and both dropped to the deck. Harley’s head rebounded off the deck hard while Marcus wasn’t sure how he wasn’t unconscious like Harley.

  “You shot your own bodyguard?” Marcus asked,

  “You know as well as I that the Saved are brainwashed idiots. She had served her purpose,” Grin said. He touched a few controls on his chair, and the boarding ramp closed before Marcus could move. “She will wake up, the pressure wave disabled some of her systems. She’ll be useful again soon. And, I will take your mark now.”

  Marcus looked at Grin, stunned. “There is no way you are going to take my mark. You said so yourself in the sanctuary, you can’t take it without some seriously evasive surgery. Why leave yourself undefended?”

  “Maybe I have gotten to the point where that would be better than dealing with you as someone knowing my agenda,” Grin-Izo49 said, the faint hint of an actual smile on his lips. “And, I am hardly without defense or offensive capabilities.”

  “Lash, we need those engines on… now would be good,” he called out, a bit worried.

  “I’m working on it,” Lash sent. Then from the cockpit, she shouted, “It’s a little harder than I thought.”

  “Do you think you will escape from me that easily?”

  “Was worth a shot.”

  The ship jostled a moment. Grin’s chair was not ready for the movement and bucked as it tried to keep him parallel to the deck, causing him to rock from side to side.

  Marcus took that moment, yanking his thrower and ramming it right to his chest. “You shoot me, you die as well.”

  “I have a clone. What do you have?” Though the Eridani could have killed Marcus, he kept his hands away from his chair control. His hands were shaking in their palsied state, held up to his sides.

  “Your ship.” Marcus held his pulse pistol on the Eridani as he waited. Dammit Lash, hurry…