by G J Ogden
“I don’t owe you a damn thing,” Hudson growled, turning his back on Griff and heading out of the cargo bay. He reached the corridor leading back to where the patrol craft was docked, but hesitated, compelled to take one last look at Ericka. His hand tightened around the door frame, squeezing the blood from his fingers so that his knuckles went white. He peered up at Griff, seeing a face that would now forever be etched into his memory, his waking thoughts and his dreams too. The face of a murderer. The face of someone who, no matter how long it took him, would pay for what he’d done. “And you won’t need to come looking for me, because I’ll find you,” Hudson added, darkly. “We have unfinished business…”
CHAPTER 17
The last few hours had been the hardest of Hudson’s thirty-eight years. Although his plan to alert the CET had saved his life, he now had to follow through with the lie that they needed help. Far worse was having to tow the line with Griff’s more sinister falsehood about how Ericka had died. Hudson sorely wanted to expose Griff as the cowardly murderer he was, but doing so would only reveal his own conspiracy to defraud the CET and the RGF. It wouldn’t be difficult for a CET court to find evidence that Hudson and Ericka had known each other. Besides, there were communication logs between the two ships that would also indicate his guilt. So, he had no choice but to let Griff walk away this time. However, Hudson would never forget, or forgive, his crime.
Hudson and Griff stayed well clear of each other while the CET engineers checked the RGF Patrol Craft. They found the loose bus cable within minutes, and enjoyed making smart-ass comments about how easy it had been to spot. At the same time the CET Commander, Roach, had duly seized Ericka’s entire score from the alien wreck on Brahms Three. It would later be impounded back in the CET’s presidio in the scavenger town, to be auctioned off for sale. The RGF would get a piece of that action, but Griff was no longer able to line his greasy pockets with an illicit slice of the score. He knew Griff would not forgive him that, but he didn’t care. Denying that sadistic bastard his profits was the only satisfaction Hudson could glean from the entire sorry experience.
At least the trip back to Brahms Three had been calm and uneventful. As per RGF regulations, an RGF officer had to accompany any seizure of relics back to the checkpoint district. Ironically, this was in order to confirm that nothing was stolen en route. Griff had traveled back on the CET corvette, with Ericka’s repaired freighter following behind, piloted by one of the other CET crew. Ericka’s corpse had remained on-board in a body bag. It was now just another item for the coalition authorities to process once they got back to base.
It was only once Hudson was alone in the RGF patrol craft that the full magnitude of what had happened hit him like a bodyslam. He was overcome with anger, grief and guilt, each emotion smashing into him in waves that were unrelenting in their savagery. Eventually, the waves subsided, like a tide going out. However, in their place the stillness of space travel coupled with the void of darkness outside the cockpit left him numb. He had sat in his pilot’s chair, simply staring out into space for what ended up being hours. Finally, Hudson’s logical mind reasserted itself and told him to pull himself together. Sitting around moping won’t bring her back… he had told himself. Don’t give in… Don’t give Griff the satisfaction of knowing he beat you. Broke you. You have to move on…
Soon the peace of deep space was replaced by the fiery roar of re-entry through the planet’s atmosphere. Before he knew it, Hudson found himself back at the RGF compound, feeling more alone than he’d ever felt in his life.
He finished the shutdown procedures for the RGF patrol craft and opened the rear ramp. The sweaty, pungent heat of Brahms Three flooded the cabin, clinging to his skin like oil. Still numbly operating on autopilot, he stepped outside and logged his arrival into the docking computer. Seismic bass rhythms from one of the nightclubs in the scavenger town vibrated through him. He remained at the computer terminal for a minute or maybe more, feeling the beat resonate in his bones. Each thump was a reminder that his heart was still beating, while Ericka’s was not.
Eventually, Hudson headed inside the RGF compound and found the desk sergeant in his usual place, head bowed, reading an epaper. The officer heard Hudson’s dragging footsteps and looked up, greeting him with a loud, wide-mouthed yawn.
“Oh, it’s you,” said the sergeant, once the droning noise coming out of his mouth had subsided. “I don’t know what you did, son, but I’ve never seen discharge orders come through so fast in my life.” The sergeant massaged his unshaven face and then lazily slid a datapad across the table towards Hudson.
“Discharge orders?” queried Hudson, walking up to the desk and taking the pad. On it was a memo from Chief Inspector Wash. It began, ‘For the attention of the Duty Sergeant, RGF compound, Brahms Three. You are duly notified that Officer Hudson Powell is dismissed from the Relic Guardian Force, for repeated lapses in judgment and gross incompetence in the line of duty. This termination is effective immediately.’
“They can’t fire me; I already quit,” grumbled Hudson, re-reading the memo to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Hudson had transmitted his resignation letter from the patrol craft, before he’d landed back on Brahms Three.
“No-one ever quits, you should know that,” the sergeant replied, sagely. “You try to quit, you get fired. That’s how it works.”
“But why? What the hell is the point of that?”
“Read on, son, and you’ll see…” replied the sergeant, ominously.
Hudson skimmed on to the addendum section and saw what the sergeant was referring to. Wash had deducted Hudson’s outstanding relic claim quota for the entire remainder of the year from his pay. This effectively left him with nothing but the hardbucks in his pocket. Not content with this, Hudson’s RGF-owned apartment back on Earth was also to be repossessed, and its contents auctioned off to cover his supposed debts. Finally, he noted that the Desk Sergeant was to immediately evict him from his quarters in the RGF compound. Hudson read it all again twice, intermittently laughing at the spitefulness of the language used. However, there was nothing amusing about the fact he was now stranded on Brahms Three, with no way back to Earth. Not that there was anything left for him there now.
“I sure as hell would like to know how you’re finding this funny, son,” said the desk sergeant in a condescending, fatherly tone. “They just ruined you. Your room has already been cleared. You’re out on the street.” Then he reached down under his desk and brought up a black plastic bag, which he tossed towards Hudson.
“What’s this?” Hudson asked. The sergeant just raised his eyebrows, prompting Hudson to open the bag and peer inside. He was half-expecting a poison cloud to explode in his face, but what he actually found was his civilian clothing, scrunched up into an untidy bundle. “Well, at least you don’t kick me out of here naked,” he said, more than a little relieved. “That’s something, I suppose.”
The desk sergeant let out a deep, throaty laugh and then got up out of his chair. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, son?” he asked, resting his thumbs inside his belt loops. He smiled and added, “Because I like you. Also, I clock off in ten minutes.”
“No, sir, no trouble from me,” replied Hudson. He was glad he’d found at least one RGF officer that wasn’t a total asshole. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
The desk sergeant nodded, and then slumped back down in his chair again, “It’s a shame, really; the RGF could do with a few more like you. It’s just a mob of hotheads and crooks these days, like your lanky friend.”
“He’s not my friend,” snapped Hudson, with far more bite than he’d intended. The image of Ericka’s dead body invaded his thoughts again. He forced the memory away, driving it as deeply as he could into the furthest recesses of his conscious mind. He knew it would surface again soon, like a whale coming up for air, but right now he didn’t want to feel that pain again. Turning his attention back to the desk sergeant, he added, “Anyway, if you hate
the RGF so much, why didn’t you quit?” His words were still tainted with bitterness, which meant the question came out almost like an accusation.
“Hell, I’m just too much of a coward, son,” replied the desk sergeant. His frankness took Hudson by surprise. “I tried to do things right, back when I was your age, but I just ended up stuck here instead. I figured that’s better than what you just got served.”
Hudson raised his eyebrows and stared around the decaying halls of the RGF compound. It was just a squalid collection of rusted shipping containers and cheap, fiber-reinforced cement walls. A fat, black rat scurried along the corridor behind the desk sergeant, heading towards the canteen. “You sure about that?”
The desk sergeant laughed and then shot Hudson a crooked smile, “No, I guess not.” Then he thrust out his hand, offering it to Hudson, “Good luck, son. I hope you find your way to wherever you need to be.”
Hudson took the sergeant’s hand and shook it. “Thanks, Sergeant. Me too.”
“Call me Larry, I’m not your sergeant anymore.”
Hudson nodded, “Okay, Larry. Take care of yourself.” Then he turned to leave, but made it only a couple of paces, before a loud, deliberate cough caused him to turn around again.
“You’ve got to leave that here too, son,” said Larry, pointing to Hudson’s black and blue uniform, “and your sidearm of course.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” said Hudson, forgetting what he was wearing. He removed his weapon, which Griff had returned to him earlier with an empty clip, and placed it on the desk. Then he went to unbutton his shirt, but was struck by an awkward sense of modesty. “You got somewhere I can change?”
“Well, you ain’t allowed back in here, so right there’ll have to do,” replied Larry. Then he shrugged, and turned his back. “I’ll just give you a moment of privacy, son.”
Hudson looked around, noticing half a dozen other people within the vicinity of the desk. They were all now staring at him, like he was a window dancer in one of the scavenger town’s vice dens. Hudson sighed, before unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants.
CHAPTER 18
Hudson threw back his head and downed his third shot in as many minutes. He let out a contented sigh and placed the glass back onto the counter top with a satisfying thump. Either the flavor of Ma’s whiskey was improving or his taste buds were steadily eroding away, much like what was happening to his life. In a matter of hours, he’d gone from being an RGF cop with a steady paycheck and a decent apartment to a broke, homeless nobody. Worse still, he was stranded on a backwater planet with nothing but the clothes on his back and the hardbucks in his pocket, most of which he was frittering away on Ma’s whiskey.
“I can’t believe he made you get changed in the damn hallway,” said Ma, after throwing back another shot of her own. She’d just listened to Hudson’s entire sorry story.
Hudson laughed, weakly, “Out of everything I just told you, that’s the part you find most surprising?”
Contrary to what he expected, Ma didn’t look even the slightest bit amused. In fact, she looked like Hudson had just shot her dog.
“No, that’s the only part I find surprising,” replied Ma, looking unusually serious. “Larry was one of the few good guys, but it looks like the RGF has finally sucked the decency out of him too.”
Hudson shrugged, “Larry was alright. He was just doing his job.”
Ma re-filled both of their glasses and set the chunky square bottle back down on the counter. “No, he had a choice, same as that pond scum piece of shit, Griff, had a choice.” She raised her glass and pointed it at Hudson, “Same as you had a choice about whether to believe Ericka or not, and to help her or not.”
Hudson picked up his glass and took a sip, “Yeah, well that didn’t work out quite so well did it? For either of us.”
“Especially not for her,” replied Ma, which drew a pained look from Hudson, but Ma was quick to clarify her comment. “I’m not having a go at you, Hudson, only stating a fact. Truth is, I respect what you did. It took guts, even if it was your pecker doing the thinking, and not your head.”
Now Hudson’s expression was a mixture of pain and disgust, “Is that what you think? That I helped her because we slept together? Because that’s not why I did what I did.”
“Why then? Because you loved her?” offered Ma, with a slight raising of her pencil-thin eyebrow.
Hudson necked the rest of the whiskey and thudded the glass back onto the bar, a little harder than he’d intended. He was getting used to the taste again, but he still wasn’t immune to its potent after-effects. And one of its byproducts was to strip away the walls he’d erected to box up his feelings.
“I didn’t love her, Ma,” Hudson replied. He was ashamed and embarrassed to admit it, but it was the truth. “I barely knew her. Sure, I liked her and there was an attraction, so who knows, maybe we could have had something more. But I didn’t love her, and I didn’t do it for her.”
“Then why the hell did you do it?”
“I did it for me,” Hudson admitted, again sounding like he was confessing a dirty little secret. “I wanted to ‘stick it to the man’ and stop them from ripping people off. I hated the way they made me feel; so… dirty and sleazy.” Then he shook his head and started to toy with the glass. “So, I bucked authority, and look what it cost.” He met Ma’s eyes, which were not unsympathetic, yet she was also examining his every word and facial inflection in the way a magistrate might judge a felon. “I don’t care about me, Ma, that’s not it,” Hudson added. He didn’t need anyone else’s judgement; no-one could judge him harder than he’d already judged himself. “But she didn’t deserve to die.”
Ma sipped her own whiskey and thought for a moment. She had kicked out the regulars of the Landing Strip over an hour earlier and locked the door. However, habit compelled her to check around the bar to make sure no-one else was still lurking, or lying in an alcohol-induced coma under a table. When she was fully satisfied that they were alone, she locked back onto Hudson’s eyes. “Would you do it again?”
“What?” asked Hudson, genuinely not sure if he’d heard the question properly due to the mounting effects of the whiskey.
“You said you wanted to stop the RGF from screwing people over,” Ma added, trying to re-frame her question in a way that the inebriated former RGF officer might better understand. “If you could roll back the clock, and you were sat here again with Ericka on the other side of the bar, would you try to help her again?” Ma’s tone was chilling, serious. “Knowing what you know now.”
“I wouldn’t want to get her killed again, no,” said Hudson, not really following Ma’s trajectory of thought. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
“Look, Hudson, here’s how I see it,” Ma went on, “You rushed out of here to help her on gut instinct. And if you’re being truthful with me about thinking with your head and not your…” Hudson coughed loudly, “your you-know-what…” said Ma, which was about as subtle as she ever got, “and that you stood to gain nothing from it, other than a fine sense of wellbeing for helping out a stranger, I don’t believe you did it for yourself. You did it because it was the right thing to do.”
“Jeez, Ma, if you’re going to hit me with this sort of deep psychoanalysis, you could at least pull up a couch for me to lie on. Or pour me another.”
Ma smiled and obliged by refilling both of their glasses. Then she pointed a manicured finger at Hudson as if she was about to make another incisive observation. “You know what I really think?”
“Hit me…” said Hudson, sipping the whiskey.
“I think you’re a good man, Hudson Powell,” said Ma, enthusiastically.
Hudson smiled and raised his tumbler, which Ma met with her own. There was a crisp chink of crystal glass and then both of them drained the contents in perfect synchronization. “Thanks, Ma,” said Hudson, genuinely. “But, it seems the world doesn’t care about good guys. The truth is, good guys get people killed, and end up with nothing,
while the bastards from the RGF get away with murder.”
Ma reached down underneath the counter and returned with two objects. One was a little pill box, and the other was a black carton, about the size of a cigarette packet. She slid both towards Hudson and then looked at him expectantly.
“What are these?” asked Hudson frowning at each item in turn.
Ma tapped her finger on the black cigarette packet-sized carton first. “This little gadget got me out of a fair few scrapes when I was a relic hunter,” she began, as if reminiscing the good old days. “It’s a skelly; something that will help you get into places you shouldn’t be.”
“A skelly? You mean a skeleton key?” queried Hudson, picking up the device and turning it over in his hands. He blew out a long, low whistle. “You do realize these things are highly illegal, even in the Outer Portal Worlds.”
“Relic hunting is a complicated business,” replied Ma, with a little extra verve. “It’s old, and many of the portal worlds have upgraded their encryption since I last used it, so in most places it’s obsolete.” Then she smiled, showing her perfect white teeth. “Most places, but not here.”
Hudson’s eyes widened. “What can it open?”
Ma shrugged, “Pretty much any door in the scavenger town, apart from mine of course. Plus, the RGF compound, the back door to the CET’s barracks, and, oh… the vaults too.”
Hudson laughed at the accidently-on-purpose way Ma had highlighted the skelly’s ability to open the vaults. “The vaults, huh?” he said, playing it coy.
“Yeah, you know, just in case there was something in there that someone might want to get back,” continued Ma, matching Hudson’s cloak-and-dagger tone. Then she ruined the act with her characteristic lack of subtlety. “As in, get back a certain somebody’s score and then pass it along to her brother.”