by M. D. Cooper
“You know what would be handy?” the woman asked, her eyes shimmering.
Konto shifted his weight onto his heels. His fists got ready, all by themselves. “For you to get out of my way?” he asked.
“An animal vac-pack,” said the woman. She waited, just a moment, to make sure he’d heard her, then nodded curtly and was on her way. Konto turned and watched her go.
“What was that about?” he muttered, then he hurried to close the gap behind Larry.
* * *
It was nine minutes before the kids were taken, and Konto was bored.
They had visited four toy shops in the past twenty minutes—four more than he’d ideally have liked—wasted several more minutes throwing credits in a fountain, and spent what felt like quite a long time waiting outside restrooms for Larry to stop throwing up.
Fortunately, they had now reached the actual purpose of the trip—the station’s one and only museum. It was the only museum in the entire sector in fact, this part of the galaxy not exactly renowned for its culture.
The exhibition Konto was keen to see—although he’d never mentioned that fact to Maris, or anyone else - was right at the start of the tour. He’d been disappointed by that. He would have enjoyed the anticipation of the build-up to it and, if he were honest, he felt it deserved to go at the end, like the headline act.
The tour guide—a reedy, disinterested woman with a long gray face and sunshine yellow hair—gestured to the glass display case behind her. Most of the kids, including Deenia, had wandered off to play with the interactive exhibits, leaving just a handful of children listening to the woman drone on. Konto and Nobosh stood at the back of the group, one of them listening in rapt attention, the other contemplating whether he’d do the guide or not and, if so, in which positions.
Maybe after a few drinks, Nobosh decided, or if the lights were low enough.
“This is the original battle armor worn by the bounty hunter-slash-vigilante known throughout the galaxy as the Magister.”
Nobosh snorted. “The Magister? Ooh, scary. You know, if you’re, like, nine years old.”
A flash of irritation flicked across Konto’s face, but he ignored his co-helper and concentrated on the presentation. Although ‘presentation’ was a generous description. The guide delivered the information as if she were reading it from a script no-one had bothered to show her until now. There was a soulless sort of roboticness to it, and a couple of the remaining kids wandered off rather than continue listening to it.
“No, it isn’t,” said Larry.
The woman blinked. “Huh?”
“It’s not the original armor,” Larry said. “The belt’s different, and the boots aren’t right. This is … I’d say … Mark Three. He improved the chest plating after his first fight with the Starbeast of Rognor. You can see where it’s been reinforced.”
Konto squinted and peered through the glass. “Huh,” he said. “He’s right.”
Larry looked back at Konto and smiled goofily. Nobosh rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he loves all that dorky stuff,” he said. Larry’s smile remained fixed in place, but his eyes betrayed him. He quickly faced front. Almost immediately, he spotted a poster on the wall. It showed the Magister in full armor. Below it, in a bold, dramatic typeface were the words: “Justice Strikes Like a Meteorite!”
“That’s his motto!” Larry announced. “I have that poster. That was his motto.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Konto. “He never said that. That’s a myth.” He glanced around and shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I heard.”
“The Magister was responsible for the capture or death of over eight thousand known felons,” the guide continued, the tone of her voice somehow managing to make that total sound disappointing. “He is believed to have died in … er… the past. His final resting place has never been found.”
“Whoa!” Larry yelped. He pushed past the guide and pressed himself against the next display case. “Is that real?!”
“Please save all questions until the end,” said the guide, sighing audibly. “But yes, that is a genuine Magister arm blaster, retrieved after his battle with the Tholians.”
“Thalians,” said Konto and Larry, at exactly the same time.
“At least, I think it was the Thalians,” said Konto. “I might be wrong.”
Larry bounced up and down, jiggling with excitement. “Can I hold it? Can I hold it? Pleeeease!”
“Please save all questions until the end,” said the guide. “But no, you can’t.”
Larry jiggled some more, then stopped abruptly. He about-turned abruptly and his classmates, now painfully aware of what the expression on his face meant, quickly cleared a path.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he said, looking up at Konto.
Konto shot Nobosh a sideways glance, but Nobosh raised his hands and shook his head. “Really not my scene, Lonth. You mind? I think we passed a restroom right outside.”
Larry raced past them. Konto opened his mouth to protest, then decided against it. “Fine. I’ll go make sure he’s OK.”
Konto plodded out of the museum in time to see Larry disappear through the door of the restroom. Before he could follow, Deenia stepped into his path. “Is Larry OK?” she demanded.
“Fine,” said Konto. “Just travel sick.”
“But we’re not moving.”
“We are,” said Konto. “The station rotates at—”
“How come you’re taking care of him?” asked Deenia, cutting him short.
“Been asking myself the same question,” said Konto. He shrugged. “Someone has to.”
Deenia considered this for a moment. She glanced over to the door of the museum. Miss Tresno was ushering some children out from inside. Nobosh was behind her, laughing and chatting with magazine woman. Konto groaned. So the Magister stuff was the headline exhibit. And, it seemed, the only one.
“His dad’s a jerk,” said Deenia. Konto looked at her in surprise. Her features hardened as soon as he did. “I mean, and so are you,” she added, then she spun on the spot and joined her friend over by the fountain.
Konto shook his head and marched towards the restrooms, swallowing back his anger. It wasn’t Deenia’s fault. She’d been four years old when he’d entered her life. Before then, she’d had her mom all to herself, and Konto hadn’t exactly been a natural when it came to bonding with the girl. He’d never really dealt with kids before, and back then, he’d been preoccupied with the worry that his old job might catch up with him. He probably could have handled it better.
The restroom door slid aside as he approached, and the sound of retching echoed noisily from one of the cubicles.
Hwaaaaargh.
Rrroooouumf.
Bleeeeeurrghmmargh.
“Hey, Larry? You OK?” Konto asked. It was, given the gut-wrenching chorus of horror, probably a silly question. He stepped into the restrooms and the door slid closed behind him.
“Not really, Mr Garr,” Larry admitted.
Yeeeeaaarmmugh.
Hooffaashkaka.
Nnngggungkpumf.
“Well, you know, get it all out, I guess,” said Konto.
“Way ahead of you, Mr Garr.”
Hoosshkagurk.
Mrrraaauurrgubunk.
Pew! Pew!
Konto tensed. That last one had come from outside.
The cubicle hummed noisily as the toilet disintegrated the contents. The echo of the restrooms amplified the sound, drowning out any other noise from beyond the door.
Larry stumbled out of the cubicle, all red-faced and bleary-eyed. “Sorry about that, Mr Garr,” Larry began, but Konto held a hand up to cut him off, then gestured with a finger to his lips for Larry to be quiet.
Screaming.
Children screaming.
“—body does what we say, and no-one gets hurt.”
Konto reached for the button that would open the door, then thought better of it. Instead, he pressed both palms against the door itself and, with a grunt
of effort, eased it open half an inch and peered out through the gap.
The kids were surrounded. A dozen or more armed figures formed a knot around them, the same number again forming a second perimeter around the first.
The assailants weren’t from any one race. They were a mish-mash of different species, different outfits, different guns. Pirates, Konto thought. Maybe Xandrie, or one of the local gangs.
Deenia sat huddled among her classmates, not screaming, but not far off. Miss Tresno had draped herself across as many of the children as she could, shielding them with her four arms. Even magazine woman was doing her bit, pulling two of the smaller kids towards her and cuddling them in close.
Nobosh stood alone at the fringes, his hands up. “Please, d-don’t hurt us,” he said, choking back a sob. “You want money? I have money.”
“Shut the fonk up,” hissed one of the … no, not gunmen. This one was weaponless, although his metal arms looked capable of doing as much damage as any blaster. Something about the way he held himself said ‘leader’. “We don’t want money. We’re not going to hurt anyone.”
Nobosh seemed to deflate in relief. “Oh, thank Kroysh,” he wheezed.
The metal-armed man grinned. “But we are going to take you all with us.”
The kids screamed as the assailants caught them by the arms, necks, throats and hair and began ushering them towards the elevator.
“Mr Garr? What’s happening?” Larry whispered.
Konto ignored him. He counted the hostage-takers. Twenty-six - thirteen male, nine female, four unknown. Twenty-five of them had blaster weapons, but less than a handful packed visible melee weapons, which ruled out pirates. A gang, then, and some of the rifles suggested big bucks, which made the Xandrie the most likely suspects.
Konto cursed inside his head, where the censorship functionality of his translator chip couldn’t sanitize it. He hated the Xandrie. Of course, everyone hated the Xandrie—even other members of the Xandrie—so that wasn’t exactly saying much. Konto, though, hated them more than most.
The crowds had scattered now. Konto watched the children being shoved into the elevator, and hoped the station’s security took their time. Worst case scenario was if a squad of those clowns turned up now and tried to intervene. It’d be a bloodbath.
Inside the elevator, Deenia stumbled, then turned around. For a moment, Konto thought that her eyes met his through the gap in the restroom door. To his surprise, he found himself longing to call to her, speak to her, to tell her everything was going to be OK, to tell her she’d be safe.
To tell her he would come for her.
But then the last of the children were shoved inside along with Miss Tresno and the two parent helpers. The Xandrie piled in, and the elevator door slid closed with a clunk.
CHAPTER TWO
Konto threw aside the door and raced out into the plaza. Before the attack, it had been annoyingly busy, filled with throngs of people of all shapes and sizes. Most of the kids had gaped and whispered excitedly at each new species they spotted, but now the plaza was silent, aside from the occasional distant sob and the clatter of approaching footsteps.
“You there! Halt! On the ground!”
Konto turned to find three station security men running at him, shock-rods at the ready. They looked more capable than the type you usually found on stations like these, in that they were neither dangerously obese, nor deep into their twilight years.
“Captain, uh, Zarc,” said Konto, reading the name badge of the most senior guard. He had slate gray eyes, a downturned mouth, and a nose which had started life flat, then been pummelled considerably flatter. “We’ve got a problem. The Xandrie have abducted the school group I was—”
“On your knees!” barked Zarc, brandishing his shock-rod in a way that said, ‘I know how to use this’ without showing off about it. “Now!”
Konto frowned. “What? No. Listen, I—”
“I said, on your knees!” Zarc roared. He lunged with the prod. Without appearing to move, Konto dodged. He caught the guard by the wrist, twisted just enough, and the weapon clattered to the floor.
“And I said you’re not listening,” Konto spat back.
There was a snikt from floor level. Konto looked down as a stubby-yet-sharp blade slid from the front of the guard’s boot. “Wait, those aren’t…” Konto began, then it clicked. Not the right sort of boots, not the right sort of guards. Xandrie.
He blocked the kick with his foot, then slammed down, shattering the man’s ankle. One of the other two jabbed with his shock-rod. Konto weaved, spun, and slammed a knife hand strike into the guy’s throat that snapped his head forwards and dropped him to the floor.
Konto kicked the third fake-guard in the kneecap, dropping him before he could attack. The guard went down in a babbling mess of squeals and snot, then a right cross turned him quiet and limp.
The second man was rolling on the floor, wheezing and choking on his own rapidly-swelling throat. That left only Zarc, or whatever his real name was. Konto made his presence felt by pressing his boot down on the man’s shattered ankle. To Konto’s immense disappointment, the Xandrie didn’t scream.
“What do you want with the children?” Konto asked.
“Who are you?” Zarc hissed. Konto pressed harder, and a yelp burst from the Xandrie’s mouth.
“I ask the questions. What do you want with the children?”
“Whoa, Mr Garr! That was awesome!”
Konto glanced back over his shoulder. Larry stood behind him, his mouth wide, his eyes flicking between the fallen men, before settling back on Konto. “Seriously, Mr Garr, that was, like, the third greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!” Larry yelped. He pointed at one of the fake guard. “What’s that thing?”
Konto turned in time to see the man whose knee was currently pointing his lower leg the wrong way flip the switch on a grenade. “We are the Xandrie!” the man screeched, then he dropped the explosive on the floor and screwed his eyes shut.
“Larry, move!” Konto boomed, turning and hurling himself at the boy. He swept him up and ran for the only cover within reach.
The water of the fountain was icy cold as they plunged into it. Light reflected off the shiny credits at the bottom of the water, so they looked like they were all winking in turn.
Konto clamped a hand over Larry’s mouth and held his breath. Three seconds since activation. Four. Five.
Larry’s eyes bulged and he struggled against the grip, but Konto held him tightly. Seven seconds. Eight.
Fonk, how long was the timer on this thing?
Larry’s struggling became weaker, and Konto bobbed them back to the surface. Larry gasped in a lungful of air, while Konto peered over the fountain’s edge and saw the three Xandrie helping each other to their feet. The grenade was still on the floor, and Konto quietly cursed himself. A fake-out. Or maybe a dud and the Xandrie had just got—
The explosion tore through the gangsters like fire and fast-moving shrapnel through three fleshy sacks of bone and organs. Konto pulled Larry below the water. It rapidly turned red around them as guts and limbs and forty-percent of a head rained down.
The shockwave followed a split-second later. The fountain’s low walls broke with a series of crunches that managed to be ear-splitting, even underwater. Although, Konto noticed, they weren’t underwater anymore, as it was all rushing out through the cracks and spilling onto the plaza. The few smoldering remains of the Xandrie that hadn’t been catapulted through the air at incredible speeds hissed faintly at the water extinguished them.
Konto jumped to his feet, pulling Larry along with him. “Larry! You OK?” he barked.
Larry wheezed. “Be better once you put me down.”
Realizing he was holding the boy a clear three feet off the floor, Konto lowered him, then let him drop the last few inches.
“Never sneak up on me like that again, Larry!” Konto warned, thrusting a finger in the boy’s face.
“Why?” Larry asked.
Konto realized that Larry wasn’t listening. His hair was standing on end and his clothes had inflated as warm air blasted upwards from within the neck.
A moment later, the gust stopped. Larry ran his fingers through his fluffy hair and smiled. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you,” he said. “What did you say?”
“How are you dry?” Konto asked, looking him up and down.
“Self-drying clothes,” said Larry. “Don’t yours do that?”
Konto shifted slightly. He squelched. “Guess,” he said.
Larry puffed out his cheeks. “Yes?” he said, the inflection rising at the end.
Konto sighed. “Guess again, Larry.”
“Oh,” said Larry. “You should really get some dry clothes, Mr Garr. You could catch cold. Or your toes might go wrinkly, or—”
“I’m fine, Larry,” said Konto, turning. He squelched again. It was noisy. Stealth would be out of the question.
“Wrinkly toes, Mr Garr. Wrinkly toes.”
Konto sighed. “This isn’t a retail deck. There’s nowhere to get replacements.”
He had barely made it two paces closer to the elevator when Larry spoke again. “Hey, Mr Garr.”
Konto muttered below his breath, then turned. “What?”
Larry tucked his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “I know where you can get some clothes.”
* * *
Konto stood before the display case, his reflection in the glass aligned almost perfectly with the costume inside.
No, not ‘costume’. That’s what the press had insisted on calling it. The armor.