by Chris Turner
The dark animal shape of Baer lunged out of the shadows and intercepted him, speaking low in his ear. “The phase-shifter or I blow your cock off, asshole.”
TK whirled, looking as surprised as I’d been. “Stay back or I nuke it,” he rasped, twisting on his hips. He jammed his weapon down at the phaso.
“Go ahead, blast it, you muttonhead, you die next.”
TK’s eyes flicked away, a trickle of anxiety running down his hollow cheeks.
“Don’t be stupid, TK,” I warned him. “Give him the phaso. Or we all die.”
“Shut up, Rusco. We’re all dead anyway!” He turned, scowling at me like a fishwife. “You let Billy die. I owe you nothing. You left him out there, you bastard.”
“Think again. Billy’s dead and you can’t save him.”
“We might have saved him,” he whimpered. The old man was all choked up. “He might have gotten away.” He lifted his gun hand to wipe at his running nose.
A moment of distraction that allowed Baer to put a ruby ray between his eyes. TK dropped like a strawman, the phaso rolling out of his hand like a pinwheel. One of Baer’s goons reached to snatch it up then disappeared in a haze of multicolored light. The idiot hadn’t grabbed it properly, so he winked out of existence much as had Billy and Mitch, unaware of the alien device’s potential.
Baer swore as I jumped up and hurled the bar in my hand like a boomerang. Didn’t care who I hit. Just that it hit. I clocked the first thug in the neck. He fell choking in his own blood with a crushed windpipe. At the same time, I scuttled out like a crab, grabbed the phaso with my sleeve, and was up and running to the next place of protection. I dove behind a component box just before Baer’s fire could eat away at me.
He cursed and I heard muffled cries coming from Wren, still trapped underneath that wretched panel, maybe injured or maybe not. She kicked and cursed, lashed out at the metal. Shut up, you stupid woman. Christ, she had a foul tongue.
“Nice move, Rusco. I’m guessing you’re right out of explosives by now by the look of that little missile you cast. Makes my job a lot easier.”
The bear-man moved forward, emptying fire into the scraps of metal that shielded me and I cried out in pain as a hot flare grazed my side, singeing leather and drawing blood.
“Feel like talking now?” he grunted. “I know you’re still there. I can smell your dirty hide. Once I get you, I’m going to cut off your head, then take your squealing bitch back for a ride she’ll never forget.”
I crouched, my heart beating, counting the moments. Come on, Rusco, think.
“Just you and me,” laughed Baer. “Your geriatric mechanic is down, but I guess you saw that, didn’t you? Sure you did. The girl? Well, she ain’t sounding as if she’s too available right now.” He laughed, an acidy hyena chuckle. “Why don’t you just come out like a good boy, and we can settle this like men, instead of rustling around in the dark, shitting in the corners like mice?”
‘That’s a nice idea for someone with a gun.”
“It is what it is, Rusco. Not leaving here until I have your head on a platter. Part of the deal I made with Mong. Either your head or mine. Mong gave me the choice, a month to track your miserable hide down and deliver the phaso. Said he’d make a captain of me in his army, with all the material perks of war.”
“That’s a nice deal, Baer. Congratulations.” Three down, only one black bear to go.
My prosthetic hand twitched. A bad time for it to act up. Control it, Rusco. It reached out and clutched the smooth, cool surface of the phaso, my last card.
“You’ve been duped by a charlatan with psi power, Baer. Parlor tricks that a well-timed hit from a blaster can end in a second.”
“You’re wrong there,” Baer grunted, loosing another spray of fire as he moved closer. “I’ve seen Mong employ telekinetic powers that you wouldn’t believe. Got ’em through his meditation on dark gods, that black religion or whatever he dabbles in. You don’t know the power of the man.”
“I could give a shit about his powers, if he sucked Adam’s dick. Give me a gun and I’ll put a bullet in the lizard’s brain.”
“Tsk, tsk. Now that’s no way to badmouth somebody who isn’t here to defend himself. Didn’t your mother teach you manners? Think Mong would have something to say about that fly-away tongue of yours. Shame on you, Rusco. Plan on getting me back that little phaso. If I don’t, the star lord’s death warrant awaits.”
“You’ve already mentioned that, Baer. Going Alzheimer on me?”
Hearing my labored breathing, he strode in with a leisurely gait. “Mong told me all about that phaso. The Mentera were stupid enough in how they employed the technology. They could have ruled the universe, and almost did, but lost it at the end. Now they’re only passing memories. Mong and I’ll not make the same mistake.”
Famous last words, reptile brain. All the while I’d been edging around his left side, inching on my stomach like an eel, leaving a small trail of blood and slime behind me. Wren chose that instant to whimper and as Baer turned his ugly head and muttered, “That’s right, bitch, you’d better—” I lurched up.
“Peekaboo.” I lobbed the phaso at him and he swatted out a hairy hand to block it, or grab it? It amounted to the same. As I dove sideways in a desperate roll, he blinked out of existence, flicked out to nowhere land like his buddy and Mitch and Billy before him. I shuttled forward, snatched up the dead gunman’s AK and did a wide sweep, expecting a host of criminals to come at me all at once. They didn’t. I loosed a spray of fire and a wolfish howl all around me in a half moon. Heart beating, I stumbled to the place where the phaso was and where Baer had last blinked out, as warily as a wolf who approaches a steel-ringed trap.
I stooped to pick up the glimmering disc with my sleeve and pocketed it. I grinned from ear to ear, familiar Rusco now, raw, crinkly grin. “Okay, good, everything’s good,” I assured myself. I staggered over to the tented hump of metal where Wren lay trapped and began pulling the sheets back. I had to use the full force of my dwindling strength, legs braced, while the aches crawled up my arms. Wren’s obvious distress gave me added haste.
“Okay, kiddo, we’re clear.” Grunting, with anguished efforts and the augmented strength of my mechano-hand, I pried back the last of the metal and dragged her to her feet. She was a dusty mess, all stooped and haggard, limping and bedraggled, but her dark eyes burned with a fierce light. A dark crust of blood caked her left forearm. She shook her slim body out, blinking. Her right hand massaged the small of her back where I’d guessed she’d lain for too long on her bulky R4.
“Took you long enough,” she groused. She looked around, scooping up her weapon from the cramped cubbyhole. “They all dead?”
“Dead.”
“Baer?”
“Dead.”
“Good.” She snuffled out a grunt of satisfaction. “All’s fair in love and war. So we’ve won?”
“I’d say so, outside of having no Starrunner.”
Wren swore. “Let’s go take a look. TK might be able to work some magic on it. Where is the old complainer?”
“I regret to say TK’s no longer with us.”
She gave her head a sad, wistful shake. “The man had a death wish right from the start. I almost felt he’d expected to join Billy one way or the other today.”
“Those were my very same feelings.”
She scowled. “Let’s get to the ship then.”
She held me tight, and I winced at the pressure of her trembling body, warm and a relief. “Thank you, Jet. You protected me when I thought I was done. You’re a good man.”
I grunted, not versed in any displays of emotion.
“Rusco, you’re quivering and all shot up.” She wiped away the blood smear off her hand.
“What about you? That nasty cut on your arm isn’t looking too good. Mine could have been worse.”
She lifted up my leathers, ignoring her own gash, and tore a strip off her own jacket and wrapped it around my ribs. “We need to get t
hat wound cleaned up. You’re going to have a nasty scar there.”
“Nothing new.” I shrugged, taking only shallow breaths. “Looks as if we both need some patching up.”
We limped back to the landing dock.
Starrunner still smoked and crackled as we drew near. Molly’s voice, a low garbled robo staccato, rang out from the interior: “Warning, warning… Barenium irrecoverable leak...”
“Yeah, I know, Molly.”
The computer voice trailed out and died.
I blinked. Starrunner looked crippled beyond repair. I kicked my boot at her hull in despair. I winced at my futile action. “Sorry, Molly. Wherever you are.” I ran a caressing finger across the smooth smoking curve of her right wing. Maybe it was time to retire her. The old Rusco too—the one before the mechno hand, and let a new Rusco surface.
“Weeping for your old girlfriend?” she muttered.
“Sort of.”
“Sorry to hear, Rusco. She was a good ship to you, I know. She took you places. She brought you to me, and TK and Billy.”
“You don’t seem too broken up by her demise, considering she’s our ride out of here.” I clutched my side where the brown leather and makeshift tourniquet bulged and grimaced.
She looked at me with puzzlement. Her gaze shifted to the stealth ship. “What about that one there?”
“Worth a try.”
We advanced with caution. The ship was a black sleek killing machine, that manta-ray stealth V. I kept low, weapon ready, in case there were others aboard.
There weren’t. No movement, no life. I forced my way through the hatch. Kindly, the crew had left it open. None of the thugs had expected to lose this fight and resort to defending their ship.
We made our way to the bridge. Immaculate. The stealth V was a beauty with state-of-the-art weaponry, compact design, chrome, posh leather seats. Mong must have lent it to the dead Baer, rest his black soul. It would have trackers aboard, and that was a problem. We no longer had TK’s expertise to help us out with that. We’d have to make our getaway quickly then ditch the vessel first chance we got.
One more loose end to attend to. I jumped out and dragged two hulks of the shrapneled bodies over to Starrunner and lay them beside her open, smoking hatch. I was worried the Barenium might blow, given Molly’s last shrill warning, but risk was risk. I clambered in through the companionways, grabbing some personal effects, regen and the last bottle of whiskey from my smoked-out cabin. I coughed, edged back out in a hurry and dropped my gold watch on one of the charred remains. I aimed my blaster and blackened the remains some more, disfiguring the watch just enough so it could still be recognized. I grabbed Wren’s hand and tore off the ring that she still wore on her index finger. She protested, uttering no small number of profane words, but I ignored them. I put the ring on one of the corpse’s finger, nearly gagging from the state of the body. I made sure this one was messier than the last, and not easily recognizable as a male versus a female body. TK was next, dragged his sorry hide out, and placed it by the others, face down, what was left of it anyways. Dragged some more pieces of human torsos over to make it look more grisly and authentic. A thrum of voices ran through my head: Where’s Baer and the rest of the bodies? Who knows? Where’s the stealth ship? Oh, Baer and one or more of his thugs must have gone rogue and stolen it, took the phaso. Rusco and crew? Ha. You’re looking at them.
It was a sorrowful business, but anything that’d keep that killer Mong off my tail and make him believe we were dead, was worth the effort.
A sour taste flooded my mouth, surfacing from throat to palate, that bad bit of bile that comes from deep down as I mulled over the sordid events of the day. Up till the end it would remain a mystery to me what exactly TK’s motives were. I could only guess that he had some crazy scheme up his sleeve to try to rescue Billy or something. I was sorry he had to die, that the old man had to go and get himself killed, but he did it all under his own free will. For now, I’d give him the benefit of the doubt that he’d come back to help us.
We climbed aboard the stealth V and I slathered the last of the regen on Wren’s long gash, wiping the excess on my own ribs. I familiarized myself with the bridge controls while I invited her to take over the weapons console. I never looked back, doubted I’d ever seen Starrunner again.
Chapter 21
Maybe not whole, but I was alive and had one last piece of unfinished business to carry out. The prosthetic started to feel like a part of me, more natural. Maybe I was just getting used to the lack of sensations in my right fingers? I had this mechanized hand on the end of my wrist, something that used to be flesh and bone.
The ship crossed the gulfs back to Elphi Alpha. Returning in good time, our first priority was to ditch this stealth craft. We traded our state-of-the-art vehicle for Bantam, an Alpha-Omega Beamer similar to my own Explorer. Regzie’s WR, whom we’d done business with during the impound scam, was happy to oblige. He and his associates gave us an extra bonus in change—15k yols, citing our current track record of good business relations. I convinced them to throw in a bunch of tools and ship accessories on the side.
“A mighty fine piece of hardware you have there, Mr. Rambo. Any more trades you’d like to propose, bring ’em our way.”
“Sure, I’ll do that.”
It was time to give Jesra and her brood of planets a rest and let Baer and his men’s ghosts lie. I took the Beamer on a direct course toward the inner planets, Tarsus.
“Where now?” Wren asked from across the bridge’s conference table. A pang of worry flicked across those dark-shadowed eyes.
When I didn’t reply, she grew more restless. “Rusco, don’t do anything stupid. That fucker Mong will break your legs and pluck out your eyebrows.”
“Don’t worry, Wren, nothing so dramatic. If I want dear old Mong dead, I’ll leave the heavy lifting to Batman and the Boy Wonder.”
“Very funny, but seriously, why not let sleeping dogs—”
“Relax.” I outlined my plan to her. The fact that Pazarol was still alive was a loose end that couldn’t be tolerated. “Dollars to donuts, Mong’ll contract Pazarol to be my next executioner.” I grimaced, recalling Pazzy’s last promise of playing bounty hunter.
Wren shook her head in dim frustration. “Does it ever end?” She rubbed her eyes, heaving a sigh.
We came in smooth and low over the north end of the shell-shocked industrial zone that marked Belgen’s business section. Buzzing the haggard clumps of trees, we left Bantam just under a half mile away in an abandoned yard, not far from Pazzy’s crib. Close enough to make a mad dash if we needed to, far enough away that our landing would draw no undue attention. I cut the engines, grabbed my gear, the arsenal of weaponry and snips to cut the wire fence guarding the lot, then we’d have an exit hole readily accessible when the time came to hoof it out of there. It’d be nip and tuck. I had a remote control for the ship. I could run and operate Bantam in limited scope in case we needed the fury of her guns if the situation got desperate. I hoped to hell not.
I drew in a deep breath, inhaling the pungent odor of ozone, tar and something else—a far-off reek of petrochemicals lacing the air from some tall, grimed smokestacks farther down the way. A smoky glow lit up the early evening haze.
I convinced myself the main goal of our expedition was a rescue mission, of the workers whom I’d seen so bruised and mistreated. If Pazarol was there and just happened to get in the way, well, too bad. Right, Rusco, who are you kidding?
I slowed up, my determined stride coming to a halt at the sight of the crumbling line of the brick warehouse. Wren paused at my side, limber and relaxed, as if we were just staking out a kid’s birthday party. She had recovered nicely from her scrape at Belisar, given the regen and the efficient muscle machine she was. Those years on Talyon had sure toughened her up, surviving those scuttling dervishes and creepo mad boys. They’d blooded her like a SEAL, ironically made her ideal for the purposes I had in mind. Her loyalty was without question. We were l
ike two peas in a pod. I grinned. Bonnie and Clyde, victims of violent disaster, lost family and trauma at an early age.
We moved with low-crouching strides, noiseless, straight toward the warehouse, through the tall, dry prickle-weeds and past the broken crates and skids, the old disused machinery.
The front and side exits we needed to secure. The guards were all inside. The cameras would pose a problem.
There’d be no grand entrance, no bombs or glitter. Just a stealth op, my specialty—the lives in there needed protection and a more delicate touch than the hack and slash fireflares I was used to. Dressed in my ragged camo suit and Wren in her black Kevlar gear, we slunk in like cats, our Uzis and R4s slung on our shoulders, the backup weaponry snug at our belts. I hunched just out of the view of the first overhead camera and aimed my disrupter at it, a thin black rod, bulbed at the end to shoot out a black net of spidery film. The sticky gel covered the lens and would dissolve in three minutes, giving us time to plant our explosives and move on. The lens would revert back to its original state. Enabling the cameras again was a key component in our undetected break-in. Just a brief outage, Ned. Must have been a technical glitch.
Wren did the same to the side cam. All this in prep for our exit, if exit there’d be. The tricky part would be getting the workers out, the young women and boys I remembered vividly with their bruised cheeks and blackened, despairing eyes. There was an ample margin of knuckle-gnawing in this excursion. A hair’s separation from death. Many things could go wrong.
We crouched before the last side entrance, wasting no time. A part of me knew this venture was insane, but I couldn’t back out now. Not if I wanted to sleep easy at night. It was one follow-up promise I’d made to myself. Might even take down Paz in the doing.
The high rusty door was an emergency exit and looked to have been little used. I applied some putty to the cracks around the edges and alongside the metal ring and wired the pulse cylinder. I hoped the door wasn’t under alarm. We turned and the silent blast jerked the door ajar.