Pew! Pew! - Sex, Guns, Spaceships... Oh My!

by M. D. Cooper

  “You’re the Magister.”

  For a long time, Konto said nothing.

  “The Magister’s dead, Larry.”

  “But—”

  “He’s dead, Larry,” Konto said, and the tone of his voice made it very clear the conversation was over. He marched on ahead up the stairs. “Now, are you coming, or not?”

  After dealing with the two Xandrie, and the subsequent Larry-based vomit episode that had immediately followed, Konto had taken the time to raid the bodies for anything useful. As well as the blaster rifle, he now had a grenade, the whip, and a comm-device. The whip was coiled around his left shoulder, but everything else was either clipped onto or tucked into his belt and within easy reach. The grenade jingled merrily as he hurried on up the steps.

  Two flights later, Larry was flagging. “Mr Garr, I need to stop,” he panted.

  Konto tutted in annoyance, then gestured to the tracking device. “They’re only maybe thirty decks above us,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

  “Thirty?” Larry wheezed. His legs gave out and he flopped onto the steps. “I’ll be dead by three.”

  Konto sighed. Five years ago, he could have carried the kid.

  He looked again at Larry’s bulky frame and pudgy limbs.

  OK, maybe ten years ago. In his current condition—and he didn’t just mean the recently inflicted damage—he’d be lucky to make it halfway without exhaustion kicking in.

  Konto backtracked down until he reached Larry. The boy was looking longingly at the doors that led out onto the deck. A notice on the wall announced it as: “432—Fine Dining & Nightlife”. It needn’t have bothered. It wasn’t like anyone ever took the stairs except in an emergency. Or, apparently, a kidnapping.

  Larry’s face was so red it practically glowed. It was mostly from the effort of climbing, Konto thought, but there was embarrassment mixed in there, too.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Garr. I’m too fat.”

  Konto blinked, taken aback. “Huh?”

  Larry hung his head. “I’m too fat. Everyone says so. I’m a fatty-fatty-fat-fat. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep going. Are you mad?”

  Konto shifted uncomfortably. The kid looked on the brink of tears. Killer alien lizards he could handle. Crying children? Not so much.

  “Hey. Uh, no. I’m not mad,” said Konto. “It’s fine. Seriously. And who calls you fat?”

  Larry shrugged. “Everyone. My dad. The kids at school.” He shrugged again, then raised his head. “Not Deenia, though. She tells the other kids to stop, but, well, they don’t always listen.”

  “Oh. OK,” said Konto, which was pretty much the best he could come up with. He felt a pang of … something. Guilt or regret, maybe. He hadn’t said anything to Larry about being fat, but he’d definitely thought it. Deenia, on the other hand …

  He awkwardly rested a hand on Larry’s shoulder. “So, um, you should just ignore those people. And don’t worry about the stairs. Everyone has their own, you know, things they find difficult, but also things they’re good at.”

  Larry’s face brightened, just a little. “What do you think I’m good at, Mr Garr?”

  In hindsight, Konto should probably have been prepared for that. His mouth flapped open and closed a few times, as he looked Larry up and down. “Well!” Konto ejected, more loudly than he had intended. “I mean … where to start? For one thing you have, uh …”

  Konto’s sense of relief when the doors flew open and lots of people with guns rushed in was immense. People pointing guns at him was far more familiar territory. He pushed Larry behind him and quickly calculated the odds. They weren’t bad, but weren’t great, either.

  Twelve uniformed station security officers had him in their sights. He could feasibly take them all down without a shot being fired, but there was a reasonably high chance of a few blasters being fired wildly, which meant a reasonably high chance of Larry being hit. Short of shoving the boy down the stairs, there wasn’t much Konto could do to protect him, and it was a long fall to the landing below.

  “Freeze!” wheezed the lead security officer. She had sallow skin, crow’s feet, and an expression that said, ‘I’ve just run for the first time in a decade, and didn’t enjoy it.’

  It took her a second or two to catch her breath before she could speak again. “You’re under arrest!”

  * * *

  Konto sat in an interview room, his hands cuffed to a metal table, the beady eye of a single camera staring down at him. He’d been formulating a plan that would’ve taken down the security team without putting Larry at risk when the kid had wandered over to them and started babbling about everything that had happened to them since his classmates had been taken.

  At first, Konto had considered running and leaving Larry in the care of the station guards, but then he’d remembered the first security team they’d met, who had turned out to be Xandrie in disguise.

  This lot had looked much more like Konto would expect station security to look—overweight and underwhelming, and several years past retirement age—but he couldn’t take the chance.

  They’d been bundled into a wagon and taken to the nearest station. Another twenty or so officers milled around there, most of them pre-occupied with the eating of various sweet pastries. Yep, these were the real thing, alright.

  Konto was studying the cuffs when the door opened. A short but rotund older man, with a mustache that appeared to be winning a turf war with the rest of his face, stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him.

  He carried a cardboard box, which he sat on his side of the table, safely out of Konto’s reach. Before he sat, he walked over to the camera, took hold of the wire dangling beneath it, then pulled, cutting off the feed.

  Konto snorted. If this guy was going to try to be ‘bad cop’ he’d be in for a shock.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Not really.”

  “Captain Howlanzer,” the man said. He reached across the table to shake hands, remembered the cuffs, then, in a futile attempt to save face, turned the gesture into a thumbs-up. He held it for quite a long time as he tried to figure out what to do next, then decided to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened and to just sit down, instead.

  The chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. Reaching into the box, he produced a slab-like Datapad. It was an older model. It had been an older model last time Konto had been on a station, in fact.

  “So,” said Howlanzer. He tapped the screen and waited for something to happen. The Datapad whirred faintly as it struggled to wake up. “You’ve been a busy man, Mr …?”

  “Garr.”

  Howlanzer smiled and nodded, just once. “Right. Multiple counts of homicide, wanton destruction of station premises and property, endangering a minor.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the now-lifeless camera. “We see all.”

  “Then you know why I’m doing it.”

  The captain regarded him for a while, sucking on his mustache. “The children. Yes. But we can’t just take the law into our own hands, Mr Garr. Where would we be then?” He slid the Datapad towards Konto and tapped a video icon. “There’s something I want you to see.”

  The Datapad’s ancient innards clicked and churned. A spinning icon appeared over the video image and stayed there for several seconds.

  “Give it a minute,” Howlanzer said.

  The icon spun. The pad strained. And then, a recording from a security camera filled the screen. Konto leaned closer and peered down. Larry’s dad, Nobosh, was trying to negotiate with the metal-armed Xandrie. At least, that was how it looked. When the audio kicked in a second or so later, it told a different story.

  “You idiot,” Nobosh whispered. “You didn’t get Larry! I told you to wait for my signal.”

  “What did you call me?” the Xandrie asked. There was a flat, even tone to his voice, and Nobosh’s attitude immediately changed.

  “No, I mean … Sorry, Ranock,” Nobosh said. “I didn’t … I just meant, you should have waited for
my signal, like we planned.”

  Ranock shrugged his alloy shoulders. “What does it matter? We have enough children.”

  For a moment, Nobosh looked like he was going to start slinging around insults again, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Yes, but I don’t have an insurance policy on these kids, do I?” he hissed. “My insurance will only pay out for Larry. We need Larry.”

  On screen, Ranock made a beckoning gesture. The gunman who had shot up the museum stepped into view, then Howlanzer tapped the pad and the image froze.

  Konto hadn’t noticed his fists clenching during the video, or the way they had made his wrists swell so the cuffs cut into them.

  “That son of a bedge,” he muttered.

  “You can say that again,” agreed Howlanzer, sliding the pad back across the table towards him. He interlocked his fingers in front of him and leaned forwards. “I’ve just been talking to Larry. I haven’t shown him this, obviously. Probably couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to. That boy can talk.”

  Howlanzer watched Konto closely. “He tells me you’re the Magister.”

  Konto rolled his eyes. “That again. Yeah, he told me the same.”

  “And what did you say?” asked Howlanzer.

  “I said not to be so fonking ridiculous,” Konto replied. “Now, captain, what about those kids? My step-daughter is with them.”

  “That’s beyond our remit, Mr Garr,” said Howlanzer, grimly. “I’m afraid there are shock-troops incoming to deal with it.”

  Konto’s stomach tightened. “No.”

  “There was a squad on board, but they’ve left in pursuit of some other target. That means—and I want you to listen to me very carefully here, Mr Garr—that means we have twelve minutes until the first squad arrives, and approximately twenty minutes until they begin the rescue mission.” He lowered his voice. “Have you ever seen a shock-troop rescue mission before, Mr Garr?”

  Konto nodded. He had. It was not something he’d ever forget.

  “Then you understand.” He sucked on his mustache for a moment, then folded his arms across his round chest. “It’s unfortunate, you know? That you’re not the Magister. See, I met him once. You know, with the armor on and everything. It was on a station much like this one, but a little further out by the Remnants.”

  “Look, we don’t have time for—”

  Howlanzer raised a hand, gesturing for silence. “The station was under attack. There was a fire on one of the decks. Smoke everywhere. People screaming. I remember trying to get through it, you know? The flames. But the heat. The heat, Mr Garr. It was … I couldn’t …”

  He looked down, just briefly, steadying his voice. “I could hear them, through the fire and the smoke. My children. I could hear them, but I couldn’t reach them.” Howlanzer’s face lit up with the memory. “And then, there they were. There he was. Bounding through the flames, my children—just babies then—in his arms.”

  The captain rubbed a hand across his face, trying unsuccessfully to disguise the fact he was wiping tears from his eyes. He cleared his throat. “I never did get a chance to thank him.”

  Howlanzer’s chair squeaked across the floor as he stood up. “The Bioscanner you destroyed, it processes samples faster than I can tie my boots. Transmits its finding wirelessly, too. The whole chase thing you did was fun to watch, but ultimately pointless.”

  Konto clenched his jaw and silently cursed modern technology.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t Konto Garr,” Howlanzer said. “Unfortunately, there’s going to be a system malfunction in the next few minutes and that information, as well as all security camera footage of you, and Larry’s recorded statement, are going to be irretrievably corrupted.”

  He patted the cardboard box meaningfully. “If you had been the Magister, those cuffs wouldn’t pose a problem.” He glanced at his watch. “Eighteen minutes until that room is stormed.”

  Konto nodded his understanding. “Is Larry safe here?”

  Howlanzer shook his head, just a fraction. Konto nodded again. “Thank you, captain.”

  “No, Mr Garr,” said Howlanzer, snapping off the most polished salute he’d managed in years. “Thank you.” He smiled. “Justice strikes like a meteorite.”

  “He never said that. It’s a myth,” Konto protested. “Seriously. It sounds so dumb. Why would he ever say something like that?”

  Howlanzer shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  Crisply lowering the salute, the captain about-turned and left the room, taking care to not quite close the door behind him. It took Konto a little under three seconds to lose the cuffs, then less than one to get up from his seat and flip open the flaps of the box. There, neatly wrapped in evidence bags, were the blaster, whip, tracker, comm-device and grenade he’d been carrying when the security team had arrested him. The folding knife was there, too, the blade scorched and black.

  Tearing open the bags, Konto attached everything to his belt, then hurried to the door. He listened for a moment, before easing it open. The corridor beyond was empty of cops, but a solitary figure sat on a chair across from the interview room door.

  “Hey kid,” said Konto, stepping into the corridor. Larry looked up. For a moment, he looked shocked, then a smile spread across his face. “You ready?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The elevator hummed gently as it glided upwards. Konto checked the charge in the blaster pistol for the third time in as many minutes, then tucked it into the back of his belt.

  “I still don’t get it, Mr Garr,” said Larry. “Why did they let us go?”

  “Because we hadn’t done anything wrong, Larry.”

  “What about all those people you killed?”

  “They were bad people, and they attacked us first. That’s allowed. Encouraged, even.” He thought about this for a moment. “No, allowed. Anyway, the captain … owed me one.”

  Larry shrugged. “OK. So what’s the plan? We just jump out and start shooting?”

  “No, that’s a terrible plan. We’re not taking the elevator all the way. We’ll get off on the floor below and—”

  The elevator jerked to a stop with such force, Larry and Konto were both slammed against the ceiling. They hit the floor again just as the comm-device let out a squawk.

  “I trust you are bringing the boy to hand him over.”

  Konto recognized the voice. It was the metal-armed guy from the video. Ranock, he thought.

  “Please wait where you are. I have sent some men to retrieve him,” the voice continued. “If you could possibly refrain from killing these ones, I’d appreciate that.”

  Konto looked around, cursing himself. A tiny camera, no bigger than his thumbnail, was mounted in the corner of the elevator car, angled so it gazed down on them. Whipping out the blaster, he used the butt to smash the camera from its mounting, then crushed it underfoot.

  Ranock tutted several times over the comm-device, like a parent telling-off a child. “Such needless destruction. We already know where you are. That achieved nothing.”

  Konto raised the device to his mouth. “I guess you already know there are shock-troops on the way. You have maybe fifteen minutes until they storm the place. If I were you, I’d spend that time praying.”

  Ranock let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, really? And tell me, friend, what should I pray for?”

  “That they get to you first,” said Konto, then he snapped off the communicator, shoved it into his pocket, then slammed a fist against the elevator’s ceiling. A square hatch flew open on its hinges.

  Larry peered up into the dark void beyond. “Whoa. How did you do that?”

  “Maintenance hatch,” Konto explained.

  Larry frowned. “Huh? Elevators don’t have maintenance hatches.”

  “Well, clearly they do,” said Konto, gesturing upwards.

  Larry puffed out his cheeks. “Mr Garr, I have been in hundreds of elevators, and not once have I ever seen one with a hatch in the ceiling.”

  “Well, I
’ve been in thousands, and they’ve all had hatches in the ceiling,” Konto said. He jumped up and caught the edge of the opening. “How else are you supposed to climb out and shimmy up the cable?”

  Larry’s frown deepened. “Uh, cable?”

  Hanging from one arm, Konto beckoned Larry closer with the other. Catching the boy’s shirt, he tried very hard not to show how much effort it took to lift him up through the hatch.

  “Yeah, the cable. As in the thing that moves the elevator up and down.”

  As Konto shoved Larry through the hatch, the boy suddenly became lighter. Much lighter. This was unfortunate, as Konto was still pushing with the same amount of force needed to lift Larry’s previous weight.

  Larry flapped frantically as he sailed upwards, his shirt slipping through Konto’s fingers. “There’s no cable, Mr Garr!” Larry yelped. “It works on anti-grav.”

  He bounced off one of the elevator shaft’s walls, and began to flip lazily as he soared up through the darkness. “Help!” he cried, his voice echoing around the narrow passageway.

  “Oh, shizz,” Konto muttered. He caught the other edge of the hatch and heaved with both hands, launching himself upwards through the gap. The anti-gravity effect pulled him through, and he soared upwards. “Try to grab onto something, kid.”

  “Trying, Mr Garr,” said Larry, grabbing uselessly at thin air as he spiralled slowly upwards. “But I don’t feel so good.”

  “Larry, don’t you dare!” Konto barked. “I mean it, don’t even think about—”

  Brrrwoooaaaaak!

  The puke emerged from Larry’s mouth as a series of chunky brown and yellow bubbles. The force of their ejection, and Larry’s angle at the time, propelled the blobs downwards.

  “Ugh, fonk.” Konto grimaced, then shut his mouth as he soared through the oncoming assault of barf bubbles. A few of them bounced wobbily off his face and upper body, their gloopy, gelatinous contents quivering from the impact. The others sailed past him, and he was able to catch Larry’s arm and steady him before the boy could throw up again.

  “Th-thanks, Mr Garr,” Larry croaked.

  “Don’t mention it, kid. Now hold on while I—”