by M. D. Cooper
Starl emptied another beer. “Everybody steals,” he said. “It’s what we do on Cruithne. People don’t respect you if you aren’t trying to get over on them somehow.”
“Respect is bullshit,” Zanda said, starting to mumble now.
“Look,” Starl said, stumbling to his feet. “We’re going to go down to the recycling pits and piss off the edge into the vats. Add a little of ourselves to the mix. And then we’re going to shout our greatest desires at all those dead people.”
“I’m going to tell them to fuck off,” Zanda said, chin on his chest. “I’m not going down to the recycle pits. That’s stupid. It smells like mushrooms down there. I hate mushrooms.”
“I’m doing it,” Starl said. “You coming with me? You better come with me, Zanda.”
Zanda rocked his head back and gazed at Starl with bleary eyes. He squinted slightly. “You look like a ghost. You aren’t going to go throw yourself in down there, are you?”
“Why would I do that when I’ve got cash in my pocket?”
“You’re weird sometimes. Where’d that pistol go? You drop it?”
“It’s in my pocket,” Starl said. He struggled to reach for the small of his back where the pistol rested. “Where’d yours go?”
“I sold it,” Zanda said in a low voice.
Starl stared at his friend, trying to connect the words to what they meant. He’d sold the pistol. “Why did you do that?”
“I had to pay Mama to get your stuff.”
“What?”
“She was gonna burn it all, and she wouldn’t let me have it unless I paid her. I didn’t have the cash, but I had the pistol.” He shrugged. “You needed your stuff. That’s all you’ve got. That’s bullshit, how she just kicked you out like that. She’s going to do it to me, too. I thought she was home, but we don’t have homes, Starl.”
Starl weaved back and forth, looking down at Zanda. He suddenly needed to take a piss very badly. He held out a hand to help Zanda to his feet.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ll go to Night Park. I have to take a piss. And I want to look at the birds. You want to look at the birds? We’ll talk to the bird god. The bird god looks out for us.”
Zanda snorted a laugh. He reached for the bag of beers and found it empty. He held it up with a forlorn expression, and then took Starl’s offered hand.
“You and me,” he said when he got his feet. “We’re some sorry motherfuckers.”
Starl straightened his bowtie. “But we do look fine while doing it,” he said.
9
Fug glanced back from where she was standing in front of the platform and gave Starl a slight headshake. Her face looked even more ghoul-like than usual. She turned back to stare up at the two giant avatars attacking each other on the platform, light shining through their muscled bodies when they turned at certain angles. One had an upper body that looked like a ball of spaghetti, while the other was a schoolgirl on a hoverboard with plasma guns.
Starl leaned toward Zanda. “Something isn’t right,” he said in a low voice.
The words were lost in the crowd noise.
“What?” Zanda shouted.
Starl jerked his head toward Fug. “Something isn’t right with Fug. She keeps looking back at me like she’s upset about something, like something isn’t working.”
Zanda shrugged. “This is the best match yet.” He jammed a handful full of fried crisps in his mouth and chewed loudly.
Starl glanced back at Fug, who was standing as she had during the previous match, hands at her sides and fingers tapping randomly. There were no guards at the platform this time; they had all been pulled back to the perimeter, and every door had four guards on it. Starl didn’t figure four guards per door were going to stop the crowd from getting out if they wanted to, but they could certainly grab individuals who might be trying to get out.
He straightened his bowtie as he looked around, checking for other wanderers in the watching crowd who might be security, or on Slarva’s payroll. The guards were all wearing the same dark glasses, which might be hiding retinal implants or serving as HUDs. He couldn’t tell from a distance.
The spaghetti monster leapt back and sent its arms out like whips, trying to catch the schoolgirl before she leapt into the air on the hoverboard. Its arms closed on empty air and the girl rained plasma bolts that devoured chunks of the spaghetti monster’s life bar. The crowd went wild, cheering and booing.
Starl caught sight of Slarva behind the two players at the console. These two looked a lot more serious than previous sets. Both were hunched over, squinting at the screen, arms tense. Slarva spread his cloak and turned to face the crowd, raising his arms in a gesture that seemed to want more shouting. The vid producers on either side of him ate it up.
It occurred to Starl then, as he watched Slarva strut and wave like a clown, that he, Fug, and Zanda were the bad guys in this situation. Slarva was providing entertainment that didn’t get anybody killed, and they were working to take advantage of what the man had built.
Like a lightning bolt, Starl realized he had been watching the wrong person. Fug wasn’t stealing from Slarva; she was ripping off the bookies. He glanced around quickly, looking for anyone who might be there from Rack Thirteen. Hadn’t Fug said that syndicate was the biggest better on Crash? They would be the ones who had lost heavily in the previous matches, and they would be trying to figure out why.
All he found were the guards at the doors. All the other Crash-heads were laughing and cheering, or booing wildly their eyes on the platform.
Starl debated pushing his way up beside Fug to ask who was here from Rack Thirteen. She had to know. But if he were seen with her, that would incriminate him even more. He glanced at Zanda, who was still shoving chips in his mouth.
If Fug was doing something to control the match, Starl couldn’t see it. The characters were well matched, and their health bars were dropping in equal increments. The only one to get in a super-Crash was the spaghetti monster, but that didn’t help it against the constant onslaught of the schoolgirl’s fiery plasma pistol.
When the match ended with the schoolgirl wrapped in thick noodles that squeezed the health out of her, the crowd went crazy. Starl worked his way up behind Fug, who was standing with her shoulders slumped, breathing hard like she had just run a race. She looked more green than usual.
“What’s wrong with you?” Starl said in a low voice.
“You shouldn’t be near me,” she said, panting. Fug bent to put her hands on her knees.
“Something isn’t right. Which syndicate made the biggest bets last time?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Of course you do. Why’d you have me follow Slarva when he doesn’t have anything to do with the betting? He’s a briki-nose who puts on theater shows. He’s not a gangster.”
Fug narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him but wasn’t able to straighten. She tried to take a deep breath, but only started coughing.
“What’s wrong with you?” Starl asked.
“There’s some kind of new barrier in place. The interference has doubled. I have to try twice as hard to affect the inputs. I can’t tell if it’s doing anything.”
“Did it work out–” Starl paused, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. “Did it work out how you wanted?”
She nodded without saying anything.
So she’d still thrown the bet. The schoolgirl had been favored three to one. It wouldn’t be a huge payout, but it would come out respectably.
“We should go,” Starl said. “There are two more matches. We cash out now, and let the others play out. Wait a couple days then come back.”
Fug shook her head. “I’m finishing tonight.”
“Why?”
She was able to straighten finally. Fug took off her visor and pushed her hair back.
“You look terrible,” Starl said.
Fug gave him a dry smirk. “Thanks,” she said. “You’re
hot, too.”
“No, I mean it. Have you been sleeping? I guess I didn’t notice it before, but you’ve got black circles around your eyes, girl.”
“It’s the strain. I’ll be all right.” She looked back at the console where the players were performing goofy arm stretches as Slarva mugged for the cameras.
Starl wished he’d paid more attention to the bookies as they’d come down the main corridor into the Hangar. Whoever had the biggest outlay had probably increased the security. They might also be actively scanning for whoever was interfering with the match. That was assuming they knew how the hack was working.
“Look,” Fug said, stretching her neck. “If you want out, get out now. I’m not going to force you to stay here. I’m doing it. This is my ticket off this rock, and I’m not going to let a little increased security get in my way. But if you leave now, I’m not paying you. You’re here to cover my back and you’re doing a shit job right now. Where’s your idiot friend?”
“He’s still back there,” Starl said, grimacing. He continued to scan the crowd, not finding any indicator they were being watched. He glanced up at the giant projector lights above the platform, which made it impossible to see the Hangar ceiling. They could be hiding all types of scanning and surveillance equipment up there.
“Fine,” he growled. “I’m staying. But if I find out you’ve been lying to us, Fug, you’re never getting off Cruithne.”
She rolled her eyes. “You trying to make threats like you’re some kind of gangster now, Ngoba, with your bowtie? You can’t fool me. I know where you came from.”
Starl shook his head. “I know the same thing about you. We both came up under Mama Chala, kicked like dogs then cuddled like kittens. I wouldn’t fuck you over, Fug.”
“Fug’s just a weak word for fuck, right?” she asked.
The conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Starl turned to push his way back to where he had been standing before. When he found the general area, a new clot of drunken fans had taken up residence. One of them offered him a beer, and he waved it away, smiling.
He found Zanda where he had been standing before, now with his friend Tithi resting her head on his shoulder. Zanda looked confused but not displeased. He was offering her a chip when Starl walked up behind him.
Starl jabbed him in the rib that wasn’t pressed up against the bartender.
“Hey!” Zanda shouted, jumping. Tithi pulled away.
“You’re not paying attention,” Starl said. He glanced at Tithi. “Now isn’t the time for a date. Sorry, but we’re here to focus on something.”
“He was focusing on me,” she said.
“Zanda,” Starl said in a tight voice. “You know we’re busy.”
“I know,” he said, giving Tithi an uncomfortable grin.
“Busy doing what?” she asked.
“Helping a friend,” Starl said.
“What friend?” She looked around. “I don’t see anybody else here.”
“They’re not nearby.”
Tithi had been pouring a shot from the implant in her arm as she talked. Starl had tried to look away, since it reminded him too much of someone taking a piss. When the arm came up, however, the shot glass was gone, and she extended a pistol in his face.
Zanda’s mouth dropped open.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tithi said. “We know you’re using that girl Fug as cover so you can hack the matches.” Her face compressed in a satisfied smirk. “Rack Thirteen is going to tear you apart. We want our money.”
10
Starl raised his hands in a placating gesture, glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed the weapon embedded in Tithi’s forearm. Conflicted feelings ran through him as Tithi’s perfume filled his nostrils. This close, he could see that her eyes were nearly purple.
A kid next to them shouted “Whoo!” at the stage, raising his beer can. Others joined in, and an angry-looking woman threw an empty can at the whoo-kid.
“Zanda,” Starl said in a tight voice. “She thinks you hacked the match. Isn’t that funny? You should tell her you aren’t able to do that.”
His friend got a sheepish look on his face. “I kind of told her I could.”
Starl stared at him, swallowing hard. He expected Rack Thirteen heavies to hit them any second. “Then explain how in some alternate universe you could do this, but you didn’t do it here. I’m sure Miss Tithi there would like hear our alibi, right, Zanda?”
Zanda gave Tithi a look that was half-pathetic and half-possessive. “She told me she loves me, Ngoba.”
Starl couldn’t help laughing.
Tithi didn’t seem to like that response. She rushed forward to shove the pistol under his chin, and Starl choked his laughter short.
With his chin in the air, he rolled his gaze toward Zanda. “Are you going to do something?” he gurgled.
“Tithi,” Zanda said. “We’re–” Zanda looked around, apparently struggling for something to say. “We’re not holding any money. Fug’s got all the funds. She’s the one that set up the bets.”
Starl gurgled derision and clenched his fists. He hadn't wanted Zanda to completely turn on Fug.
Tithi’s blonde hair swirled as she turned her head to glare at Zanda. “You told me you did all the planning. Why aren’t you holding the money, Zandi? That would make all this a lot easier. I get the money back, and then I ask the Rack to let you go under my supervision.” She rotated the muzzle of her pistol slightly, twisting Starl’s beard hairs. “They owe me what’s mine.”
“Yeah?” Zanda asked.
Tithi smiled. “And you’re mine.”
Starl struggled to take another breath. He didn’t like the wild expression on the woman’s face. She couldn’t be much older than he or Zanda, but the extensive implants meant she had to have money somewhere – or that she belonged to someone or something.
“How long you been with Rack Thirteen?” Starl asked.
“I was born into the Rack,” she said with a proud look. “Harav is my mother.”
Starl’s knees nearly fell out from under him. Harav was the matriarch of Rack Thirteen, famous for murdering whole crews and people who annoyed her. It was rumored she had a glass-cased airlock in her office where she liked to watch people suffocate slowly before jettisoning them into the Big Dark.
“You think Harav is going to like Zanda?” Starl asked. “You know we’re just street trash from Lowspin, right?”
“Hey!” Zanda shouted.
The second match had begun. Starl couldn’t get his eyes to focus on the flashing lights over the platform, and only saw multi-colored blobs dancing back and forth.
“Oh, yeah,” Starl continued. “You know Mama Chala? That’s where we come from. Beggars and thieves, digging through other people’s trash. Any hacking Zanda knows, he learned from busting low-level security on dumpsters.”
Tithi pressed her lips together. “I don’t care. You keep trying to put him down so I won’t care about him, but it only makes you look bad, Ngoba Starl. I know all about you. I’m getting him away from you.”
She worked the pistol’s muzzle some more, pushing it up under his jaw. He supposed his only options were to let her blow his head off, wait for the Rack Thirteen goons to show up and deal with them, or create some chaos in the crowd and see what happened. He couldn’t count on Zanda, obviously. He was going to have to act and let the chips fall where they may. He wondered how fast a mind-controlled trigger could respond to surprise.
“Zanda,” he said. “Did you tell Tithi what it really means when Mama Chala wants to cuddle? Did you tell her about the back scratches?”
“No!” Zanda shouted, turning red. “Why would I do that? Why are you bringing that up?”
“I think honesty is important in any new relationship. You know that? How are you going to form a lasting bond with someone if you don’t start with a full description of what it’s like to pop Mama’s back zits?”
Tithi’s mouth pulled to one side in horror an
d Starl rolled to the side, jerking his head away from the pistol. As he had wagered, she didn’t fire. He slid around her but didn’t bother trying to grab her. Instead, he pushed her hard into Whoo-boy, who gave an excited “Yeah!” as the blond girl fell into him, apparently missing the pistol attached to her arm. They collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs.
Starl gave Zanda a quick glance, motioning for him to follow. Zanda looked thunderstruck, his arms hanging at his sides.
“Damn it,” Starl breathed. He grabbed his friend by the collar and pulled him into the crowd with him, moving quickly toward the platform. He didn’t want to break into a full run – they would stand out among the wandering spectators.
In a few seconds, they reached the place where Fug had been. The crowd parted to reveal she was gone.
“The bookies,” Starl said. “She’s going to try to cash out on the first match.”
“Why do we even need her?” Zanda said, sounding morose. “She’s not going to do anything for us against Rack Thirteen. At least Tithi could help us.”
“You want to take your chances with her, go ahead,” Starl said angrily. Then he saw Zanda considering the idea, and caught himself. “On second thought: No. You stay away from her. We’re getting out of here together.”
With his back against the platform, Starl scanned the crowd for anyone coming their way. All he could see were faces gazing up at the match on the platform behind them. The Hangar seemed to have become twice as crowded in the last few minutes.
“You can’t keep trying to run my life, Ngoba,” Zanda said, hanging his head. “We came up together, but I have to do things on my own – sometimes, at least.”
Starl raised his hands. “Hey, brother. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But in this case, I got us into this job and I want to get us out. That’s it. Afterward, if you want to go looking up Miss Tithi, have dinner with her Mama Harav and all the rest, you do what you want.”