They were driving through a sprawling shantytown. Countless shacks rose along rivers and train tracks, stacked three or four high like boxes. The lowest levels teetered on crooked struts to allow water and sewage to flow below. The shacks were built of plywood, corrugated iron, and tarpaulin. Everything wooden was rotting, and everything metal was rusting. Bundles of electric cables stretched between the shanties, tangled into crackling, buzzing webs, so thick in spots they blocked the sky.
Rickshaws, mopeds, and jeepneys clogged the narrow streets, plowing through trash. The garbage was everywhere, covering the streets, rotting around the struts of shanties, floating over the rivers, and rising into hills.
Just as shocking was the density. Jon had never seen so many people in one place. The city wasn't large, probably not much larger than Lindenville, his sleepy hometown back on Earth. But two million Bahayans crammed in here. At least, that was the official number. With all the refugees flooding the city, the actual population was probably triple that. The people crowded the shanties, lined the roadsides and train tracks, and rummaged through the garbage. Most were children. Naked. Filthy. Maybe close to dying.
"It's horrible," Etty whispered.
Jon's heart shattered. His mind leaped back to photos of Nazi death camps, Soviet gulags, and alien slaughterhouses. This seemed to him a humanitarian disaster on the same scale. Or at least close enough to send shivers down his spine.
"Many must be refugees," Jon said. "They fled the burning villages, seeking hope in the city. Looks like they found slow death." He frowned at the corporals and sergeants. "Tell me again, guys, why are we here?"
A grinning corporal slung an arm around Jon. "Trust me, my boy, once we're past the shantytown, and you behold the glittering inner city, you'll change your tune."
"Get ready for some slit-sluts, boys!" said another corporal. He stood in the center of the bus and thrust his hips.
Jon groaned. "We could have spent our time back at the Old Mig, relaxing under a tree, drinking cold Cokes."
"No," George said, the first word he had uttered all day.
Jon looked at his friend. "George?"
"No, I don't want to spend my vacation days at Fort Miguel." The giant's voice got louder, shaking. "I don't want to be near that place! I don't want to go back. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't…"
The giant hung his head and said no more. Jon put a hand on his friend's back. They rode in silence.
The scenery gradually changed. Shanties gave way to concrete buildings, several stories tall. They were old and crumbling, stained with smog and rust from leaky, rattling air conditioners. The homeless lay outside upon beds of newspapers, cardboard, and paper cups. But as Sargas began to set in the east, lights turned on. Neon lights. Countless lights in every color and shape. And the decay faded into shadows.
Jon saw soldiers. Earthling soldiers. Thousands of them. They walked through the inner city, laughing, drinking. Many of them had Bahayan girls on their arms—not meek village girls like the one Jon had seen herding sheep. These girls wore miniskirts, high heels, and lots of makeup. Some soldiers walked with local boys, hand in hand, pausing to steal kisses in the shadows.
The sun vanished behind the horizon, and the neon lights shone even brighter. There must have been dozens—maybe hundreds—of bars here. They lined the roadsides, glittering, beckoning. Jon read some of the glowing signs.
BLUE PEARL GIRLS
SECRET PARADISE
BOYS NIGHT
HOT GIRLS COLD BEER
EARTHLING'S DELIGHT
The signs were in English. These were bars for Earthlings. They must have popped up like mushrooms after the rains of war.
"Drop us off here, my good man!" a corporal said and tossed a few bills at the driver.
The bus rolled to a stop, and the soldiers spilled out onto the street.
At once, the city accosted Jon.
A Bahayan man wearing a green leisure suit approached him, grinning. "You want a good time, soldier? Choose, choose your girlfriend!" He held out a photo album, each page showing several photographs of Bahayan girls.
An old man grabbed Jon by the shirt. "Please, Private, please, take me to Earth, I'll be a good Earthling, I can cut hair, cut grass, I can cook, if you take me to Earth, I can—"
Jon shook himself free. A Bahayan woman approached him, eyes sunken, arm poked full of needle holes. She carried a baby, and several young children gathered around her legs. She held out a grubby hand.
"Shabu, shabu?" she said. "Medicine?"
Mopeds and tuk tuks rumbled everywhere. Jon had to leap back to avoid being run over. A young girl sat on a curb, filthy, wasting away, only six or seven years old. She held out a grimy hand. A white-haired Earthling in a Hawaiian shirt strolled by, a rare civilian in this world of war. A Bahayan girl clung to each of his arms, both probably younger than Jon. A Bahayan man stood at a street corner, playing "Hey Jude" on guitar, trying to get the crowd to sing along—and hopefully toss him a few coins.
Jon even spotted an alien. The green giant lumbered down the street, ten feet tall, wearing a shaggy zoot suit. He held four beers in his four hands. He winked at Jon, stepped right over him like a man over a small dog, and continued down the street. It was an Altairian, Jon realized. He had read about these towering aliens, but Jon had never seen one. Hell, he had never seen any alien until now.
The lights, the people, the sounds—they all spun Jon's head. He could only stand there, stunned.
"Come on, boys!" The Lions' corporals strutted down the street. "Let's find a watering hole."
The corporals were soon whistling at girls, catcalling, and high-fiving one another. A gaggle of local girls gathered around them, chirping with seductive delight, their miniskirts barely covering a thing. Even in their high heels, they stood no taller than Jon's shoulders. In the jungle, the Bahayans had seemed like monsters, but here Jon could see how much smaller they were than Earthlings. The corporals hooted, slung arms around the girls, smacked their backsides, squeezed their breasts. The girls giggled. Their children crowded in the alleyways, peering with hungry eyes.
Jon knew that everyone here was scared. The hungry children, waiting for their mothers to return with Earth dollars. The prostitutes, so fragile next to these Earth giants. And the Earthlings themselves. The corporals—with all their posturing. They were so scared.
They were broken. They had fought in the jungle at Jon's side. They had lost friends. They had faced death. As the neon lights filled their eyes, Jon saw terror. They were like him. Just a year or two older. Boys who missed home. Boys who were so terrified.
A burly figure stomped toward Jon, interrupting his musings.
"What's a matter, asshole?" Clay smirked. "Scared of all the tits?"
Jon groaned. Unfortunately, Clay had survived this far, and he was here with them. Here was one Earthling soldier, at least, who had not shattered in the jungle. Clay's soul had broken long ago. If he ever had a soul.
"I need a drink," Jon said, turning away from his tormentor.
"Me too," said George.
"Me too!" said Etty.
They walked away from the others, heading down the street. On this block alone, a mere sliver of the electric boulevard, they encountered a dizzying array of options. Pool houses. Drug dens. Strip clubs. Fried chicken joints. And mostly—bars.
Etty pointed at one bar. The neon sign featured a cowgirl riding a bull. Words appeared below the luminous figure:
GO GO COWGIRL
A poster on the wall promised cold beer, spicy wings, midget boxing, and the prettiest girls on Bahay.
The flesh is cheap on Bahay, Jon mused. They sell the girls like they sell chicken wings.
"Let's try this one," Etty said.
Jon cringed. "I dunno, it looks pretty sleazy."
Etty raised an eyebrow. "You prefer Pussy Palace next door?"
"Go Go Cowgirl it is," Jon said.
They stepped inside. The rest of their platoon follo
wed.
They found a bar already crammed full of Earthling soldiers and Bahayan girls. Local music filled the bar, a pop tune sung in Tagalog. It was far too loud. Soldiers were drinking and dancing with girls. Lights flashed and bottles rolled. Drugs and drinks flowed. Soldiers sat at tables, bouncing girls on their laps, faces flushed with booze. The place reeked of beer, sweat, and sex.
"There are barely any Bahayan men in the city," Jon said softly. "They're all fighting in the jungles. Or we killed them all."
A corporal slapped him on the back. "Relax, buddy. Now's the time to drink and be merry. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."
Jon glanced at his friends. Neither George nor Etty looked particularly merry. They were all new on Bahay, green privates. Jon wondered how long it took before death lost all meaning. Before he could become like these corporals, dead inside.
"Welcome, welcome to the Go Go Cowgirl, the best bar on Bahay!"
A man walked toward them, arms wide. Finally—a rare Bahayan man still in the city. He was middle-aged, maybe too old for fighting, but powerfully built. He sported a meticulous goatee, slicked-back hair, and a flashy purple suit. It looked like cheap polyester, but the man wore many rings, bracelets, and chains of gold, and those looked real enough.
"Hey, Magic Man!" a corporal said, slapping him on the back. Other corporals joined, shaking the Bahayan's hand, slapping his back, and mussing his oily hair.
"Howdy, partners!" the bar owner said, nervously laughing and fixing his hair. "Welcome back! And who's the fresh meat? Ah, privates from Earth! My God, and the redhead is a giant!" He turned toward Jon and his friends. "Welcome to Bahay, friends! I am Rodrigo Reyes, but my friends call me the Magic Man. Anything you want, I can get you. Like magic." He snapped his ringed fingers. "Beer? Shabu? Girls? Boys? Boys who look like girls? Whatever you want. I can make it magically appear."
The man grinned, revealing a golden tooth, and winked.
"Just beers," Jon said. "And a quiet table."
The Magic Man laughed. "You're in the wrong bar for quiet, friends! Ah, but the beer is as cold as the girls are hot. Come, come! Are you back from the jungle? You deserve a treat. I'll seat you at the best table in the house!"
Etty leaned toward Jon. "He seems friendly."
"This whole city seems friendly," Jon said. "At least if you have Earth dollars." He patted George on the back. "You okay, buddy?"
George was looking at a few girls dancing on the bar. They were topless, and George's cheeks were flushing.
"Um, yeah, I…" The giant loosened his collar. "I am now. I think. Sorry for my outburst before, I…" A girl in lingerie strutted by, pausing to rub against him, and George gulped. "Um, yes, a cold beer would be good."
"And maybe a cold shower," Etty suggested.
The group sat at a table.
The lights dimmed, and the music died.
The Magic Man hopped onto a stage and spread his arms open.
"Welcome, friends!" he announced, teeth sparkling, haloed in neon. "Welcome to the Go Go Cowgirl!"
The lights flared. The music pounded. The girls stepped onto the stage. And Jon's life changed forever.
Chapter Forty-One
Angels of Dust and Bruises
Maria was so scared.
The lights blinded her. The music deafened her. All around her, they were dancing, drinking, cheering. She cowered behind the bar and trembled. She wanted to run. Every instinct in her body cried to escape, to barge out the door or climb out the window, to vanish in the city. To return to the landfill. Or the train tracks. Or even the wilderness.
She didn't even have Crisanto with her. She wore her white silken dress, the fabric translucent, virginal yet dripping sensuality. There was no pocket for her friend.
"Welcome, welcome to the Go Go Cowgirl!" the Magic Man said, standing onstage nearby.
Across the bar, a hundred Earthlings cheered and raised mugs of beer.
"Take off your shirt!" a soldier shouted.
The Magic Man strutted across the stage, pulled open his jacket, pouted at the crowd—a mocking pantomime. Soldiers laughed and hooted. Somebody tossed a can of beer.
"Bring on the girls!"
Hiding behind the bar, Maria wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she could disappear. She was trapped. The exit lay across the crowd of Earthlings. She would never make it. There was no way out.
Oh God, she thought, clutching the cross that hung from her neck. One of these men will buy me tonight. Will… will have sex with me. She shivered.
"It's all right."
A soft voice spoke. A hand caressed her hair.
Maria looked up to see Charlie kneeling beside her. The bargirl wore red lingerie, high-heeled boots, and a cowboy hat—a ridiculous getup. But her eyes were soft and kind.
"I'm scared," Maria whispered to the older woman.
"I was scared my first time too," Charlie said. "Remember what I told you, Maria. You find a husband here. A good man. Somebody who doesn't just want to fuck you—but also love you. You find a man like that, and you marry him, okay? And you go with him to Earth. Don't wait until you have four kids like me. No Earthling will want you then."
"But they're horrible," Maria said. "Loud and drunk. Killers. They're the giants who bombed my village. Who killed so many of us."
Charlie stroked Maria's hair. "They're boys, Maria. Many are no older than you. They're boys who were fighting in the jungles. Who watched their friends die. Who come here to drink, to fuck, to forget. But sometimes, Maria, they fall in love. They take a girl home. Don't end up like me."
The Magic Man's voice boomed from the stage.
"May I introduce the first lovely lady of the night. Welcome, Charlie Wonder!"
The crowd cheered.
"Charlie!" the Magic Man said, gesturing at her. "Get your little ass up here. Here she comes, boys—Miss Charlie Wonder!"
Charlie gave Maria a sad look, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Then she snorted some shabu, spun on her heel, and strutted onto the stage.
"Hi boys!" She waved, leaned forward to showcase her cleavage, and blew the crowd a kiss.
The crowd howled and hooted. Charlie struck pose after pose, each more seductive than the last. The Earthlings roared, rose onto the tabletops, and tossed dollar bills her way. The speakers played "Cat on a Roof," a popular Bahayan tune, while Charlie danced.
"Isn't she beautiful?" the Magic Man said. "Don't you want her to be your girlfriend tonight?"
A sergeant stood up and raised a bill. "Five dollars!"
From the stage, Charlie blew him a raspberry. The crowd laughed.
A corporal raised his wallet. "Ten dollars!"
Charlie pouted and trailed an imaginary tear down her cheek.
More soldiers rose and bid. Finally a mustached, pot-bellied sergeant won her for the night. He paid twenty-three dollars. With a beefy hand, the Earthling pulled Charlie back to his table. Soldiers howled and slapped him on the back. Charlie sat on the fat man's lap, tried to flirt. But the sergeant spun her around, shoved her onto the table, and unzipped his pants. He took her then and there. Charlie cried out, a pained imitation of pleasure, and soldiers cheered.
Maria watched from behind the bar, eyes wide, and her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird.
"Now, please welcome our next lady of the night!" the Magic Man said. "Come onstage, Kitty LaRue!"
Another bargirl stepped onstage, strutted back and forth, and blew kisses to the crowd. Maria had spoken to her that morning. The slender woman had lost her daughter in the bombing. Her son lived above the bar. She had been a rice farmer once, but onstage, she was Kitty LaRue, seductress.
Men roared and raised wads of cash. A group of privates bought her, pulled her back to their table, and had their fun. One by one. In the open.
Another girl danced. A corporal began leading her upstairs, found that he could not wait, and took her right on the stairway.
Girl after girl. Rice farmers. Fishermen's daug
hters. Refugees of the jungle and outcasts of the landfills. Bruised. Scratched. Haunted. Beautiful. Cheapest flesh in Mindao.
"Will one of you marry me?" Kitty LaRue was asking the privates who hired her. "Will you take me to Earth?"
A few privates laughed.
"Shut up, slit," one said.
Kitty stroked his cheek. "I'll cook for you. I'll love you. If you marry me and take me to Earth, I'll—"
The private struck her, knocking her down. His friend laughed.
I have to get out, Maria thought. These are not good men. These are not frightened boys like Charlie said. They're cruel. They're killers.
She began to crawl away, still hidden behind the bar. If she could crawl between everyone's feet, perhaps while a dancing girl distracted the crowd, she could reach the exit. She could flee into the streets. Even the landfills were better than this.
Hands grabbed her.
Somebody pulled her to her feet, spun her around.
Maria found herself facing the Magic Man.
He sneered at her, his fingers digging into her arms. A girl stepped onstage and began to dance. Others girls cavorted between the tables, wearing flimsy lingerie. Nobody was looking at Maria and her captor.
"Where do you think you're going?" the Magic Man hissed.
Maria struggled against him. "Let me go!"
He slapped her. Hard. Slamming her against the wall. Lights floated around her like little Santelmos. The Magic Man pulled her closer, and snarled in her face.
"Where would you go, girl? Back to the garbage heap to live like a rat? To the poisoned villages where the air and soil deforms you? You're mine now, girl." He tightened his grip and shook her. "You belong to me, the Magic Man. Now get up there onstage! You will fetch the highest price tonight."
He dragged her onto the stage.
Maria stood there, dazed, her cheek still stinging.
She faced the crowd. A hundred soldiers or more, many drunk, many with girls on or under them. The lights spun Maria's head. Clouds of smoke invaded her nostrils. She nearly fainted. She stood there, still, not like the other girls. She did not dance, did not strut. She wore her white dress, and she saw the fields and mountains of San Luna, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
The Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 1) Page 30