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.
2.
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 hesitated. “What? What do you mean, ‘why’? Look.” Water poured from his sleeves as he gestured at the carnage around them. The floor was designed to withstand carelessly discharged mining explosives, so it was lightly scorched and nothing more. The museum’s windows had all shattered, though, and the front of the restrooms was painted in chunky streaks of red. “You see what happens, Larry? You see what happens when you sneak up on me?”
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 som
e 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.
Triple-galvanized neutronium alloy plating over a treated Gronth-hide jumpsuit. Tough, yet flexible. Sturdy enough to resist blaster pistol file, but light enough not to affect speed or agility.
The Mark Five was the pinnacle, of course, but even that was really just a tweaked version of the Mark Three with a few more pockets and a bit more juice in the shock gauntlets.
“This? I don’t know, Larry,” Konto said.
Larry snorted. “Ha! No way, you’re way too fat for that.”
Konto looked at the armor’s waist, then patted his own. Much as he hated to admit it, the kid had a point. Larry gestured to a sales counter in the corner, where a tall, heavily-built guide was cowering in fear. “I thought maybe that guy.”
A brief, one-sided negotiation later, Konto pulled on the guide’s shirt. It was a little on the large side, but he rolled up the sleeves and tucked it into his borrowed pants, and decided it would do the job.
“What are we going to do now? Go after them?” Larry asked.
“We? We’re not doing anything, Larry. It’s too dangerous.”
Larry nodded grimly. “You’re right, Mr Garr. We need to find security. Real security, I mean.
“No,” said Konto. “I’m going to get them back. Me. Not us. Not you. Me.”
Larry frowned. “You? How can you get them back, Mr Garr? I mean, no offence, but don’t you take out the garbage?”
Konto wriggled his feet back into his wet boots. He’d tried wearing the guard’s shoes, but they were ridiculously huge and his feet kept sliding around inside them.
“That’s right, Larry. I take out the garbage. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
“The arm blaster!” Larry yelped. He pressed his hands against the display case, as if he could reach right through the glass. “We should take the arm blaster!”
Konto started to shake his head, but then stopped. If things went wrong – and they would - the blaster could come in handy. Besides, it wasn’t like he was stealing it, exactly.
“Good idea, Larry,” he said, retrieving a fragment of the buckled doorframe from the floor. “Stand back.”
Konto hefted the metal in his hands a few times as Larry hurriedly jumped back, then he swung it with all his might.
CLUNG.
The metal vibrated in his hand, shaking his entire skeleton. The glass remained intact, the blow not leaving so much as a scratch.
Konto gritted his teeth and waited for the vibrations to stop. Larry, meanwhile, turned to the guide, who was now sitting on the floor in Konto’s dripping-wet clothes.
“Hey, can we get the arm blaster please?” he asked.
The guide raised his eyes to Larry. He looked across to Konto. He shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
Larry watched in a hushed, reverend silence as the guide opened the case and withdrew the arm blaster. He held it out to Konto, who hesitated for a moment, then took it. Konto turned the weapon over and over in his hands, taking it in.
“You put it on your arm,” said Larry. “Here, I’ll show you.”
“I know how to use it,” said Konto.
Larry raised his eyebrows. “Really? Well, I’ve got a whole datastack of schematics for the Magister’s equipment, so I think I know best.”
He reached for the arm blaster, but Konto raised his out of his reach. “Oh, you think?” Konto said, slipping the dented metal cuff over his arm. He flexed his fingers and the cuff hummed, just briefly and only faintly, then a series of pinhead-sized green lights illuminated along his inner wrist. It took all his willpower not to blast something, just for the fun of it.
But the Xandrie had Deenia, and ‘fun’ wasn’t on the agenda.
“OK. I mean, I’d have done it better,” said Larry, shrugging. “But yeah, that’s how you switch it on. If you need to know anything else, just ask me.”
“You’re staying here with this guy,” said Konto.
“What?” said Larry.
“What?” said the guide, whose day was already bad enough, thanks very much, without babysitting duty being added on top.
“You’ll be safe here,” Konto told him.
The guide seemed to brighten at that. “Will I be safe, too?” he asked.
Konto nodded. “They got what they came for. They wanted the kids. I don’t know why, but I’m going to find out.” He shrugged. “Or I might not ask. Never really cared about the ‘why’. But my point is, nothing’s going to happen to you here, Larry. You’ll be safe.”
A blaster bolt erupted through the guide’s chest, spattering Larry with his blood. Larry blinked rapidly for a few seconds, then threw up. Konto caught him, mid-puke, and spun him to the floor just as another bolt of energy streaked overhead and ricocheted off the case containing the armor. Konto was quietly pleased that the glass didn’t break even with a direct blaster strike, but then the air above him was filled with scorching beams of energy, and the museum echoed with the high-pitched pewp-pewpews of a rapid-fire blaster rifle.
3.
“I don’t think we’re safe here, Mr Garr!” cried Larry, ducking and covering his head with his hands as the blaster fire streaked by.
Konto caught the boy by the arm and swung him behind the armor case. “Stay down!” he hissed, then he waited for a break in the gunfire and jumped to his feet. A bulky Xandrie with oversized pecs and an undersized waistcoat stood just beyond the shattered museum frontage, hitting the cooling flush on his rifle.
Seizing his chance, Konto raised his hand, took aim with the arm-blaster, and unleashed Hell.
At least, that was his intention. There was no satisfying thunk of the blaster round ejecting from the chamber, no frantic scream of the energy bolt tearing through the air, or explosive ker-splat of innards becoming outtards.
Instead, a small red LED light illuminated somewhere near the front, and an in-built speaker emitted a tinny-sounding poo-poo.
“What the fonk?” Konto muttered, gazing at the device in horror.
“I think it’s fake, Mr Garr,” Larry whispered.
“Oh, really, Larry?” Konto spat. “You don’t—”
The Xandrie’s rifle stuttered into life again. Konto spun on his heel and took cover behind the reinforced glass as round after round ricocheted off it.
“Shizz,” he spat, searching frantically for an exit. There was only one door in and out of the place, though, and it was currently blocked by several hundred pounds of heavily armed bad guy.
“I suggest you boths come out, ya?” called the Xandrie, easing back on the trigger. “Or I blow you boths to bits, I think.”
“What do you want?” Konto shouted out to him.
“I want you boths to come out. I think I am already saying this.”
Konto muttered under his breath. “Why?”
There was another spray of blaster fire. Larry let out a whimper. Konto couldn’t exactly blame the kid.
After a few seconds, the shooting stopped again.
“Fine. If you must know, we just want the boy. That is all. Send him out, and maybe I won’t be shooting you, ya? How does that sound? Maybe you just send him out, and he and I walk away, and then you can go home, and not be dead. Ya? Is good idea, ya?”
Konto looked down at the useless blaster on his arm. He looked at the boy, cowering at his feet. “Stand up, Larry,” he said.
Larry, to his credit, didn’t argue. He stood up. “You’ve got a plan. Right, Mr Garr?” he whispered.
Konto nodded, but didn’t meet the boy’s eye. “I do,” he said, then he placed a hand on Larry’s back and pushed him out of cover and into the sights of the Xandrie. “I’m sorry.”
“Excellent! I knew we could be coming to an agreement,” said the Xandrie, the words coming out almost as
a giggle. “Come to me, boy,” he said, beckoning Larry closer. “Come. Ya? Come.”
Larry’s wide eyes gazed up at Konto. “Mr Garr?”
“Go, Larry,” Konto said, sliding the hunk of metal junk of his arm. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
“We don’t want to. All we want is the ransom,” said the gangster. “But if anyone tries to mess with us, we will fonk this kid up, and all his little buddies, too. Because we are the Xandrie, and no-one messes with—”
The arm-blaster cracked him between the eyes. His nose somehow succeeded in both exploding and imploding at the same time, and as he began to topple backwards, his hands grasped for something to hold him up.
All he found was the trigger of his rifle. Konto threw himself at Larry, knocking the boy aside just as a staccato burst of blaster fire drowned out the gangster’s groans. There was a sizzle of flesh, a brief hiss from Konto as one of the bolts scorched his ribcage, and then the Xandrie hit the ground with a thud.
Silence followed. Larry cowered, hunched-over, Konto draped protectively across him. Several seconds passed while they both figured out if they were still alive and, if so, how many pieces they were in.
“Thanks, Mr Garr,” Larry whispered, once they’d both come to the same conclusions – ‘yes’ and ‘one’.
“No problem, kid,” said Konto.
“I mean, it would’ve been nice if you hadn’t sent me out to him in the first place …”
“I needed intel. This is a ransom gig. That’s good news.” Konto stood up and took a half-second to check his wound. The heat from the blast hard torn him open, then sealed him shut. It probably hurt, but not enough for him to pay attention to it.
“Everyone’s been kidnapped, Mr Garr,” said Larry, quite slowly, as if breaking bad news to an in-denial idiot. “That doesn’t seem like very good news.”
“It is,” Konto said. “Ransom means they’ll keep them alive. This could have been terrorism-related, they might have been on a slave-gathering expedition, they might have been on a food hunt for a Drickon Pus Queen …”
Space Team: A Lot of Weird Space Shizz: Collected Short Stories Page 6