by Mark Eller
Lowering her paper, the counter girl gave Aaron a long stare with red veined eyes. She reached beneath the counter. "Around back. Here's the key," she said, tossing a ring with two keys toward him. Aaron tried to catch them with his clawed left hand but missed. They hit the floor with a clatter. The girl leaned forward to study him better. The instant pity in her eyes when she saw his condition was almost more than Aaron could take. "Oh hey, I'm sorry!"
"No problem." Aaron slung his bag over his shoulder and bent stiffly to pick up the keys. "Thanks."
When he finally managed to pry the rusty lock open Aaron discovered that the bathroom was filthy. Upper lip curling distastefully, he found a corner that looked slightly better than the others and changed his clothes. Although Gore's clothes were too large for him, a belt snugged the pants up tight enough so he would not become unexpectedly embarrassed. He rolled up the cuffs so he would not have to walk on the cuffs like an adolescent boy. The white turtleneck shirt Gore had provided draped over him like a tent, but Aaron had heard the holovision say that large clothing had been the fad last year so he figured he would be okay. Before he slid the shoes on he made sure to pull the coins out of his socks. They had already raised some blisters. Tying his shoes was more than difficult with only one good hand, but he eventually managed to finish the chore.
After using the urinal he washed his hands for a long time. The supposedly liquid soap in the dispenser was a hardened gel and there was no paper to dry his hands on. Local reading material, graffiti roughly carved into the wall, told him more about Mary Cunningham and what she would do for half a dollar than he really wanted to know.
Returning to the main store, he thanked the girl and gave her back the key. She looked a long time at his face while absently changing a ten. He stared back at her until she caught his ire, causing her to instantly blush a pretty pink.
"I'm sorry, but that cut looks horrible. Why don't you have it sealed?" Her voice was thin with embarrassment, but she actually sounded concerned.
"I will when I get to the city," Aaron answered. "But I need to call a cab to get there. Where do I tell them to pick me up?"
She looked at him strangely.
"I hitchhiked in."
"Oh. Well, tell them Arc's Charge and Go on Thirteenth. There's a card for the cab company taped on the wall by the phone."
After dropping a nickel into the phone, Aaron dialed the number of the cab company listed on the card taped to the wall because they promised prompt service. The cab arrived precisely at seven thirty, one and one half hours later. It took him to the bus station where he bought a round trip ticket to Columbia City. Twenty-two dollars thirty cents were spent on cab fare and the bus ticket. Aaron was not sure, but he thought he had been taken by the cab driver. The fare seemed high.
Several people moved aimlessly around the bus station when he got there. Once, two men dressed worse than he was sidled closer. After he allowed them to see the butt of the thirty-two they moved on because only the rich, the connected, or the law could afford a gun. Aaron certainly did not look rich. He did not look like much of a criminal or lawman either, but he did have a gun.
At eight-forty-five a black exhaust spewing white bus with gold lightning bolts and an advertisement for an energy drink pasted across the side pulled up to the station. Aaron climbed on the bus. Since he was first on he moved directly to the back so no one could sit behind him. The floors and seats around him smelled of stale urine. In all, once the bus began moving, less than twenty people rode with him. They each sat in separate seats and rode in total silence, seeming almost afraid to speak. Within minutes the purr of electric motors and the hum of the tires over the pavement were so hypnotic that Aaron had to fight to keep his eyes open. This was the first time in over fourteen years that he had been free to see his home world as it actually was, so he wanted to miss nothing.
The world looked dirtier than he remembered. Abandoned buildings ripped by his eyes as the bus reached fifty miles an hour on the expressway. Building windows were broken almost everywhere he looked. Brick walls were spray painted with slogans and curses. Bottles and discarded bags lined the roadway. Garbage was strewn where the bags had broken open on impact, a sure sign that some people thought the freeway made an excellent dump.
Aaron supposed that in comparison, the Isabellan Federation seemed the more desirable place to live. True, it had outdoor johns, but they were clean. Yes, horses and wagons traveled slowly along its streets instead of the quick moving, clean burning electric vehicles in Jefferson, but he really did not desire to go anywhere in a great hurry. Isabella had bandits and raiders and savages. Jefferson had gangs and thugs and savages. No, Aaron decided as he watched the world swirl past his window, this was not his home. This place was closer to Purgatory.
At twelve-twenty the bus dropped him off in Columbia City. He found another pay phone, called another cab, and waited twenty minutes before it arrived. The thick-necked female driver behind the wheel looked less surly than the last cabby he'd hired. She was certainly more prompt.
"Where to, mister?"
Mister? Where was the respect behind that word spoken in such an abrupt manner? She used the word like it was just a way to fill empty air.
"Hey! Where are you going?"
"Someplace with pawnshops," Aaron answered irritably. "Better yet, how about a place that deals in rare metal?"
"That would be Sim's, if you want somebody bonded," the driver said. "You got three for the fare?"
"I have it." Aaron dug it out and waved it for her to see. "Double three if you don't talk." She gave him a thumb-up. Good as her gesture, she stayed silent for the entire trip while Aaron decided that yes, the other cab driver had taken him for a fool. Three was less than a quarter of what he had paid the other cab for a trip only a bit over twice as long.
When they reached the rare metal exchange Aaron gave his driver a twenty, asked her to wait, and painfully hobbled into the exchange. Once there, he decided that Sim was either an extremely young entrepreneur or he was not in the small building. Aaron voted for the latter. He hated to think the young man behind the counter was the owner of a thriving business.
"Whatcha got?" The speaker could not have been a day over twenty. His waist length hair was dyed purple and silver with brown streaks running horizontally through the whole. MOM was tattooed in red letters on his left cheek. His right cheek was tattooed in black with the word HATE. A huge ring ran through his nose. The thing was so large that it brushed against his lower lip. Loops were embedded in his gauged ears.
One thing for sure, Aaron decided, the kid had to be somewhat honest or incredibly stupid. A fellow like him begged to be described. With the way he looked, it would be almost impossible for him to hide from the police.
Pulling out one of his coins, Aaron passed it over. The kid whistled as he bounced it in his hand.
"This pure gold?" His hands reached for test equipment and before too long he answered his own question. "Twenty-four pure and simple it is. Where did you come up with a baby like this?"
"Inherited a private collection," Aaron answered him. "Unfortunately, I have too many bills coming due." Something about the youth made him uncomfortable. It could have been the tattoos, but he figured it was probably the hair. Maybe it was nothing more than that his entire presentation was just so weird to someone who had come of age in a conservative militia. Aaron prided himself on being an open minded fellow, but in this case he had to admit defeat.
"Half ounce," the kid muttered as he weighed the coin. "I'll give you seventeen hundred for it."
Aaron's face must have shown his shock. He had been giving a fortune to Hill and Gore while they complained of his stinginess. They had given him the impression that the coins were worth only a couple hundred each. He stood mute for several seconds while the realization of his gullibility sank in.
"All right," the kid protested. "You can't blame me for trying. Today's price is thirty-two fifty. Here; look." He punched a few butto
ns on his desk computer and swung the screen around to face Aaron. Metals and prices flashed on the screen, and sure enough, gold was listed at thirty-two fifty.
Aaron was about to agree to that price when a thought struck him. Thirty-two fifty was not quite twice what the kid had offered him for his half ounce coin. He had assumed that the price was per ounce but no weights were mentioned on the screen. If the price listed was for an ounce then his half ounce coin could be worth no more than sixteen twenty-five, less than the kid had originally offered.
Reaching up, he fingered the mouse and scrolled the computer sideways. Weights rolled into view, and sure enough, gold was priced by the quarter ounce. Looking daggers at the youth, Aaron shifted so the outline of the gun in his waistband was emphasized.
"I think we will call it sixty-five hundred," Aaron said slowly. "The difference should be a sufficient fee for your services."
"That's your price," the kid said. "I'll give it to you but don't go threatening me. This place has lethal alarms all over it. All it takes is one suspicious move before something nasty hits you. You stay there, and I'll write you a check."
"No," Aaron said. "I want it in cash, but I want thirteen thousand." He pulled another coin out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter.
The cab driver was still waiting when he left Sim's. Remembering her role, she gave him another thumbs up and remained silent when Aaron climbed into the back of the cab. She looked into the rearview mirror and raised her eyebrows.
"I want to find an apartment I can rent. It must have high security, be in a safe area, and not care too much about identification. Do you know of any place like that?"
With a slight nod, she put the engine in gear. The cab's electric motors whirred as she pulled out into the street.
The place she found was a thirty story high-rise on the edge of Columbia City. When Aaron stepped into the lobby alarms instantly went off.
Three people jumped out of nowhere and pointed guns at his head. "Hold Still!"
"Holding," Aaron promised, though he jerked his good hand over his head while pressing the useless arm to his chest. One man lowered his weapon and moved behind Aaron. Moments later he patted Aaron down, grunted with satisfaction, and jerked the automatic from Aaron's pocket.
"Well now, what have we here?"
"A gun," Aaron ventured when the man moved in front of him. The fellow was balding, overweight, and had very serious eyes. "It's legal, registered and everything." He hoped the man was not in the mood to call for a police check.
"Do I look like I care?" the man asked. "No weapon is legal in my building unless it's carried by one of my people." He eyed Aaron suspiciously. "You look more like street scum than someone who belongs here."
"I know I look bad," Aaron said desperately. Looking down gun barrels made him very uncomfortable. "But I came here to rent an apartment. My cabbie outside told me this was a really fine place." He looked quickly behind him. The cab was visible through the lobby window. The driver gave him a quick thumb-up.
"We don't do temporary leases."
"A year. I want to prepay for a year if you can guarantee privacy."
The man's expression changed from hard to business. "One of those then. That explains your clothes. Okay. We provide a safe and secure place, but we have rules. First rule. No weapons. Every doorway and most of the hallways have sensors so don't even think you can get one past us. If you want a weapon in your room we will have to carry it there for you. Rule two. You don't do business here. We don't care what you do so long as you do it someplace else. Rule three. Almost no visitors. You can have two guests in your rooms for four hours twice a week and an overnight guest once a month, but that is all. We do not allow hooking, drugs, or gambling, so any reason you might have to invite guests in are limited. You don't need to give us your name. In fact, we prefer you don't. All we require is payment up front and a thumb scan so we can program your front door. Rule five is especially important. You don't mess with the other guests. People come here because they want privacy and security. Every once in a while somebody gets the bright idea that they can rent an apartment and stalk some celebrity who happens to rent from us. That is bad and we do press charges. Twice, someone tried to assassinate a guest. We felt no need to prosecute their remains. Our protection and security only holds inside the building. Once you walk outside you are on your own."
"I can live with that," Aaron said, wondering if he should have been nicer to the cabby. Surely there was someplace with friendlier staff. "How much?"
"Five seventy five a month, with a thousand dollar security deposit."
Almost half a year's wages for an average worker, but the security and having a travel point away from the compound would be worth it.
"A deal." Aaron paid for a year and handed over eight thousand dollars. "Keep the change."
"I'm the manager," the man said, "and that is all you need to know. I won't give you my name because nobody in this building has one. If you need me, just ask for the manager."
Twenty minutes later they finished processing him through the system, and then they had to take him up to the twenty-second floor, Room 2217. Aaron thought the apartment was really nice if you liked white empty, but it would not remain that way because he made a deal with the elevator operator, a short blond woman with surgically enhanced breasts. Aaron knew they were surgically enhanced because she made a point of telling him so. By some not so strange coincidence, she just happened to have a furniture catalog he could leaf through. After five minutes of flipping pages Aaron decided he did not care what his furniture looked like so he handed her a thousand, and she promised that his room would be furnished by early evening.
"Would plan three be best?" she asked.
"I suppose," Aaron answered. "It really doesn't matter." He handed her another couple hundred because the Traveler's Rest had a limited drink menu. "Could you stock the room with some liquor? Nothing too fancy. I'm as interested in quantity as I am quality."
"Yes sir," she answered, and she gave him a welcoming smile while her fingers caressed the money. Cocking her head slightly to one side, she slowly unfastened the two top buttons of her uniform to give him a better view of her surgical results. "Would you like some company tonight? I'm free, and my rates are reasonable."
Aaron swallowed. "I thought there was a rule against that?"
"The rule concerns outsiders, sir. It does not apply to in-house services."
"Maybe another time."
Shrugging, she pocketed the money and refastened her buttons. "Your loss, crip."
* * *
The cab still waited when he left the building. Several men waited just outside the door.
"There he is!"
They rushed him.
Weight struck him in the side, and he hit the sidewalk with his shoulders. His arm screamed at the abuse and his convoluted legs twisted spastically. Fire ran through his wounded back, and he could not breathe.
"The gun's gone!" A fist hit him in the face. Hands clawed at his pockets.
"That's my fare!"
Clawing, trying to suck in just one lungful of air, Aaron heard flesh striking flesh. Somebody groaned, and Aaron's breathing eased. When a body rolled off him he stabbed out with a stiffened finger on his good arm. A yellow-haired head pulled back before Aaron's finger connected with an eye. He heard a crack, and the figure rolled limply away.
"Are you all right?" the cab driver asked anxiously, a short length of a wooden pole hanging from her right hand. Nearby, one body lay supine on the sidewalk while the blond figure staggered away.
Aaron shifted his twisted arm. The thing hurt like hell but it would serve as well as it usually did. Of course, it never did all that much normally, not on this side anyway. Slowly, with the help of the driver, he pulled himself erect and found that his legs ached more than usual. The pain centered in his hip joints, radiated down to his knees, and sort of gathered up in a huge ball somewhere in his thighs. Well, it hurt, but that was so
mething he would have to live with. He had lived with worse.
"I'll be fine," he said. "Could you wait here?"
"I'll wait for as long as you're paying the meter," she answered as Aaron limped towards the front door.
Staggering inside, Aaron handed over his receipt and retrieved the .32 from a guard who carried it outside the building for him. The cabby opened the passenger door, waited until he climbed in, and closed it with a soft thunk. She walked around to her side of the cab, slid into her seat, turned to face him, and released an infectious smile. "Well, I guess I sorta broke the rule."
"What rule?"
"The not talking rule. By the way, I recognize those two from earlier. They were hanging around outside of Sim's when we drove up. My guess is that somebody tipped them off that you have a good deal of cash." She smiled. "So much for being bonded. Where we going now?"
"We are going to eat," Aaron told her. "Your choice where. I'm starved, and you get a free meal."
She shook her head. "Sorry, the company won't let me have lunches when I got a fare. The meter runs until you're done with me."
Now that Aaron could see her better he saw that she was quite a bit younger than he had originally thought. His original estimate had placed her somewhere around thirty-five, but it was now apparent she could be no older than twenty-eight. Though not beautiful, she was still attractive in a rugged sort of way. Her red hair was cut short around her ears; freckles generously dotted her face, and silver studs gleamed in her ears. Two jade studs decorated the right side of her nose. She had broad shoulders, strong looking wrists and thick fingers. A weight lifter maybe.
"How much would it cost to keep the cab for the day?"