Didi and the Gunslinger

by Larsen, Patti

  It’s a long walk to Putter’s territory, though she knows it well and doesn’t mind the distance. His spot has a lovely oasis of green in it, the source of her seedlings and slips now growing in her greenhouse. It still amazes Didi how life can flourish on a place like this and, while she grits her teeth against her heart’s hurt, she sends out a silent word to Dad. She’ll happily go with him anywhere he wants, leave Trash Heaven, if he just comes back to her.

  Didi’s got Pip, sure. But she’s never felt so alone in her life.

  The filters in her nostrils buzz at the extra demands on them. Didi can’t help but wrinkle her nose, grateful for the distraction of the smell. Putter has a nice organic spot in his territory, but it comes at a price. As the piles of shining garbage turn to teetering, sagging heaps of rotting organics, Didi stumbles over the slick surface of the ground, turning off her deflectors that are only making her passage harder. Thick, oozing pulp squelches under her feet, her open mouth breathing heavily through the plas guard. Filter or not filter, the taste in the back of her throat will linger for days. She has that on experience. And whether it’s worse today than usual or she’s just acutely aware, Didi is almost tempted to turn back.

  “That stench.” Pip’s complaint instantly seals her path, driving her forward faster. “How can you stand it? I can barely smell and I want to vomit.”

  Didi grits her teeth. “It’s pleasant to humans,” she says. “Thought you knew that.”

  He snorts. “Such a liar, Didi.”

  She is half tempted to turn around and just go home as her feet squelch through the mess growing sloppier by the second. The heat of the day won’t hit for at least another two hours, right around when she’ll be arriving at her destination. But, it doesn’t have to be at maximum temperature for the liquid under her boots to begin evaporating into the air. It might stink now, but as time goes on, she’ll be drenched in sweat and organic fluid in equal measure.

  Pip soars up overhead to escape the smell, leaving her to trudge on alone, stubborn, head down, heart hurting. She has no choice. Going home isn’t an option. She needs answers and, at the very least, advice. And Putter is the only person she can think of who won’t lie to her or try to take advantage of her when he finds out her father is gone.

  Of course, Dad will be upset with her for talking their business to other squatters. But, at least Yos Putter is a good friend, someone even her father trusts. She has to believe Dad would approve of her seeking out his help.

  If only they’d taken the time to figure out what to do if something like this happened. Dad never wanted to talk contingency plans or what if’s. He refused to even discuss what she should do if he got hurt. She eventually stopped asking and, like him, settled into the rhythm of her life, ignoring the obvious danger than any moment either of them could vanish into the trash.

  Didi shudders, fear appearing all over again as she sheds her coat in the rising heat, draping it through the strap of her bag. She’s always felt secure here, relatively so, anyway. A child of the garbage heap, even when hunting or confronted with danger, she’s only really ever felt excited and confident. She pictures the snout of the trash rat yesterday, realizing even then her fear was more a surge of adrenaline and not real terror.

  That emotion, she’s realizing only now, is a far different animal, a beast stalking her as surely as the pack of rats had. Only it’s inside her and she can’t escape it by burrowing into a pile of trash.

  She’s distracted by her thoughts, the miles passing under her boots. This territory might have been contended, a place the most eager squatter would try to claim from its owner, if not for the chemicals. The sludge stream carries them through the garbage. While green grew, Didi knew better than to sample their flavor. Unless a slow and agonizing death was her desire. She hunted here quite often, the mini moles delectable, certainly. But only the flesh, and never anything else. She can’t even use the intestines for sausage casings. Too risky. The moles themselves have evolved to process out the deadly spew left over by the dumped garbage, the concentration of which actually making their meat tender and delicious. But, she knows better than to push her luck.

  Putter’s ability to cleanse enough water—liquid gold in these parts, thank goodness for the new distillation unit in her greenhouse—meant he grew his own plants, safe and protected from the ruin of the planet. But the slim margin of profit he gleaned—at least from his estimation—is enough to discourage any squatter from trying to take his territory.

  Didi wipes her face on her arm, the sweat tinted green, and grimaces. Anyone who wants his territory that badly can have it.

  She shuffles past the edge of the sludge stream, over the rickety bridge she’d helped Putter build two years ago. The slab he’d previously employed had given way to the continual excessive moisture and drying cycle that happened every single day, crumbling even the most enduring metal into dust in a short period of time. Didi’s deflector tech, wound through the new structure, is enough to keep decay at bay, powered by the tiny generator cell she scrounged from the dying power pack of a space suit someone dumped. While the cell itself isn’t limitless, Didi’s solar coil allows it to charge each morning, more than enough power to carry through overnight.

  She runs her hands over the rough rails, rather proud of her invention. She comes by her talent honestly, at least. Though thinking about her father just them makes her chest constrict. She should be focused on finding him, not patting herself on the back like some vid heroine on a quest.

  Putter hovers over a cluster of pots outside his domed house, old back bent into a curve. His long, white hair braided, the end sweeping the ground next to the tail of his beard. He looks up at Pip’s squawk of welcome, shading his eyes before he hurries toward Didi, face wrinkled and fearful.

  It’s enough to bring her tears to the surface again, the way Putter looks at her like that. As if he knows something she’s not going to like.

  “My dear, dear Didi,” Putter says, grasping her arms in his hands, kissing her cheek. “We feared the worst when we heard.”

  That’s the end of it then, she thinks. Proof.

  Pip mutters before speaking. “You know about Tarvis?”

  Putter gestures toward the door of his house. The round, squat structure crumbles around the edges, the old poly and plastic sheeting barely holding together. A woman stands in the doorway with matching long, white hair and pale blue eyes, wrinkles and a faint smile. Didi’s only met Putter’s new wife once, but Murta was nice to her when she was here a week ago.

  “Come inside,” she says, gesturing for Didi to precede her. “You poor dear thing.”

  Didi enters, ducking her head to do so, Pip soaring in over her shoulder to land on the low chair next to the back wall. Stairs lead down into the garbage, subterranean living keeping the interior cool even without the benefit of a conditioning system. The smell is stronger in here, but Didi ignores it, is getting used to it again. Putter closes the door behind him, descending past her to gesture her on.

  The pit at the bottom rounds out toward a cooking space, surprisingly comfortable with rescued furniture and a few new pieces Murta must have supplied. The old woman’s hands take Didi’s and she leads her down into their living quarters, the hushed sound of quiet taking over as they descend twenty feet under the trash.

  Putter has been alone so long, Didi is happy to see him with a new wife.

  “You know what happened to Dad.” Didi stands in the middle of the space while the old couple join ranks, holding hands, nodding and tsking while Putter sighs.

  “We’ve heard rumors,” he says. “Feared you were gone, too, but neither of us with the strength to go find out. I’m sorry, Didi. From what we heard over the line, your father’s been taken.”

  The line runs from territory to territory, a monorail system transporting workers and settlers from the outlying areas of Trash Heaven where more productive and valuable garbage is sorted and sent to the city for sale. A perfect source of gossip. A
nd, she realizes as she struggles with asking what else they know, an opportunity for her to reach the city if she’s willing to take it.

  If she’s brave enough.

  “Who took Dad?” They know, she can tell from their expressions, from the way Murta twitches next to Putter, how he pats her hand before turning his watering green eyes on Didi.

  “Not sure what your father did to warrant it,” he says, voice soft and afraid, “but it’s not good Didi. Not at all. Your dad…” he looks to Murta whose lips thin, blue eye hard.

  “Your father was taken by an Underlord.”

  ***

  Chapter Nine

  Didi’s fears compress her, push her down to sit in one of the chairs, an overstuffed affair that smells faintly of oil and some kind of chemical cleaner used to hide the scent. She can’t speak, can’t hardly think, but Pip does both for her.

  “An Underlord?” The crow ruffles his feathers in shock, a few sticking out at odd angles in response to his unrest. “How can that be? Since when did an Underlord move into Trash Heaven?”

  Murta’s expression tells Didi the crow is an annoyance, even more so when she turns to address Didi instead of the fluttering creature. “We’d be foolish to assume a place like this is immune to the touch of the Underlords. What with all the valuables people call trash, this planet is a haven for criminals looking to capitalize on such throwaways.”

  Didi nods slowly, weirded the woman sounds so certain of such things. She comes from a distant territory, though, closer to Trash City, so she’d know. “Why would an Underlord take interest in Dad?”

  Putter sighs as he sinks his old body onto the wide, burnt orange sofa. It creaks under him, one leg half-snapped, supported by a stack of twisted metal plates. “Your father’s tinkering and inventing must have caught attention at last.” He pauses as if he has more to say before shaking his head, pale with a faint sheen of perspiration on his lined forehead and upper lip. He wipes at it absently with a stained handkerchief he fetches from under his worn jacket. Murta’s upper lip curves, almost sneerlike, before settling again.

  Didi must have seen wrong in her distress. “What’s to be done?” She hates feeling without options, cornered like a trash rat hunted by waste snakes. She shudders, imagining one of the dark green creatures coiling around her, swallowing her whole. “Maybe the outpost? I could report him kidnapped to the Conjunction.”

  Murta snorts, crosses to sit on the arm of Didi’s chair, strokes her hair. “I fear the Galactic Conjunction’s reach is weak and useless out here, my dear girl.” Didi’s only seen one mechcop ever in her life, the robot peacekeepers of the galaxy collective burned into her mind. Towering, three-legged, loaded with weapons and not a scrap of compassion in their metal brains.

  “Everyone knows the Underlords are the real rulers of the galaxy.” Murta almost sounds proud of that fact. She clears her throat, still petting Didi’s hair. She doesn’t want to be rude, but the woman stinks of garlic and too much perfume, almost worse than the stench of the muck outside, truth be told. “And a place like this… well, I can tell you, more than just trash passes through this planet’s atmosphere.”

  “Agreed, dear,” Putter says. “I’m so sorry, Didi. But whatever your father was building, it has caught the attention of the worst possible sort.”

  Didi sinks back into the chair while Murta frowns at her husband.

  “Let’s just examine this a little,” she says. “Seems to me there might be a way for Didi to get her father back and live in peace after all.” She turns, her blue eyes locking on Didi who feels a faint wash of hope mixed with the fluttering feeling Murta isn’t exactly a friend after all. “Things the way they are, if Didi can offer something more valuable, this Underlord could be swayed to let her father go.”

  More valuable? She doesn’t even know what the Underlord was after in the first place. She stares into Murta’s eyes, lost for an answer, while Putter surges to his feet, distracting them both. His face has twisted into concern, worry, fear. And, for a moment, Didi is sure he’s going to speak.

  Murta glares at him, eyes narrowed, while the old man’s mind seems to settle. He offers a faint smile to Didi, a shrug to his wife. “If only there was something. But, until we know why Tarvis was taken…”

  “What was he working on, sugar plum?” Murta turns to Didi. She can’t stand it any longer, the woman’s long, thin fingers sliding through her hair, nails scraping ever so softly over Didi’s scalp and giving her the willies with each pass. She stands too, hugs herself as she paces back and forth. Pip rises, flaps to her, sits on her shoulder in his comforting place.

  “Another foolish invention.” Didi lets it go at that. “Nothing of his ever works, don’t you see? Well, it might work, but not in a way that’s helpful. This Underlord has made a terrible mistake. Dad’s inventions are as useless as Pip.”

  The crow flaps his wings in protest.

  Murta doesn’t seem happy with that answer, but Putter speaks first. “I hope you’re wrong this time, dear,” he says, mournful and low. “Underlords aren’t known for their patience or compassion. If he can’t deliver what is believed to be offered, his life won’t last much past discovering the truth of it.”

  Murta nods, chewing her bottom lip. “Child, you’re certain there’s nothing to the machine he’s building?”

  Didi shakes her head. “Not certain, no. For all I ken, Dad’s on to the greatest discovery in the history of the galaxy.” That would be something, wouldn’t it? Her father, a success at last. “I can’t know, because the machine is gone, along with the ability to examine it.”

  Murta sweeps toward her, tries to embrace her, but Pip’s beak snaps set the woman back a pace with a grimacing smile. “There must be a way.” She turns to Putter. “Surely we can find a way to help this poor girl.”

  He grunts, shoulders hunched forward. “I’ve failed my friend, it seems.” Just a mutter, almost a whisper, as though not intended for them. When he speaks again, his voice is stronger. “You can’t go home, Didi. It’s too dangerous.”

  Her whole body rejects his words in an instant, feet carrying her forward, toward the door, before she forces herself to spin back and face the old couple. The dim light filtering through the filthy plastic dome makes them seem feeble and weak, just like Didi is feeling.

  “Of course I’m going home,” she says. “Then I’m gathering my things and hopping the mag rail and going to Trash City.”

  “My dear girl,” Putter says, choking on the words, “you won’t find him alone.”

  “And you two won’t help, I reckon?” She waits for his response, surprised when Murta speaks first.

  “Stay with us,” she says, holding her hands out to Didi, a smile strained and tight on her face. “We’ll do what we can to find out where your father is. Maybe go further, make contact with the Underlord, find something to trade.”

  Putter sputters but his wife waves him off.

  “Don’t be naïve,” she snaps. “I know more of these things than you. My people have had dealings with the folk in Trash City.” Her imploring tone returns, focusing on Didi. She wavers slightly as Murta goes on. “Let us try, sweetness, before you go out there into danger alone.”

  It’s tempting. She’s afraid, and she has no one to help her. But Putter and Murta aren’t the kind of allies she needs. Not when an idea so radical and almost painfully exciting races through her chest and hits her heart with a blow.

  “Thank you,” she says, gasping the words in the aftermath of her idea. “I have to go.” Didi spins and darts out the door, feet thudding on the wet ground now firming as the full heat of the day embraces her. She ignores the sound of Murta calling her name, races for the bridge, only slowing her pace, panting and exhausted, when she’s crossed.

  The sludge oozes past as she follows the edge of the stream, plopping and gurgling as it passes over trash, the height of the moisture lowered in the rising temperature. Didi pauses to sip some water through her mouth guard, savor
ing the clean taste around the vile backwash of the air’s flavor before hurrying on.

  Pip flies ahead, wings silent but for the occasional flap as he rides the heated air. She can’t tell him what she has planned. He’ll never let her do what needs to be done. And she’s not even sure her idea is possible.

  But she knows in her heart it’s the best option. She needs backup, someone to watch over her while she hunts for her father. And she can only think of one way to accomplish that.

  When she reaches home, she pauses on the edge of the clearing she and Dad made, a safety ring of visibility around the house. Putter and Murta said she might be in danger here. And while she doesn’t believe that’s true, well, there’s no need to rush into anything without checking things first.

  The protections seem active, no sign of intruders. Pip floats forward and lands on the ground near the front door, head cocked to one side. He clacks his beak at her, fluttering his wings. She takes his word for it, easing forward, looking around. Then shakes off her anxiety.

  She will not be afraid. She can’t afford its crippling control.

  The interior of the house feels still and dull without Dad’s energy, but she’s happy to be home. Perched on a stool in her lab, Didi’s mind whirls while she holds Pip in her lap and strokes his feathers while he leans against her, silent still. She’s sure this is the longest the bird has gone without speaking since she turned him into a cyborg and she misses the sound of his constant chatter.

  “What are we going to do, Didi?” His whisper makes her feel worse. Pip, she realizes, might be a little thundercloud of doom and gloom but he’s never sounded defeated before.

  She knows what she wants to do. “I just wish I knew what the Underlord would want with Dad.” Could he have invented something worthwhile after all? Her dad?