by Chris Turner
Fenli gave a triumphant cry. “Look, Skullrox is one of those live and let live places where sin and debauchery are the watchwords. I told you! The Skullroxers are a bunch of cowboys. They are descendants of rogues and gangsters. Back in the old days, outcasts would come to this planet to escape the law on their own worlds. Lovers of the Mentera, they are not.”
“Mentera?”
“The ‘Locusts’, or suckbugs. Some call them the Ligin. I was thinking it would be the last we’d see our friend Usk. And here he is...” He patted the locust on the carapace, causing the creature no small amount of annoyance.
Usk jerked away, Miko guessed less from distrust but more from the fact that he hated to be touched by humans. The locust’s sudden recoil drew startled looks amongst the millers-about, but not undue attention. Skullrox was a universal port of call. There were many offworld races present. Miko could hardly count the number of shaggy Caluses and sleek Borthes he saw: the Borthes had that do-no-wrong statesmen-like expression of ocean seals, the Caluses were more warrior- and ape-like than Miko would have expected. Also conspicuous were tall lean Phenodeans with grey-green cone caps and elaborate headdresses, and a few dour-faced Dimors. Many scanned the electronic billboards or booked surface cars or air tram to outlying areas.
Fenli was up next. He plugged the blue disc into the machine. The machine stood ten feet high like one of the old telephone booths of Earth. Casually, he withdrew Salhan’s bloody finger and swiped it across a black metal plate: the holographic image of the Jakru woman came up, floating in her tank. Her expression was one of grim vindictiveness.
Fenli gave a hiss which turned into a chortle of triumph. “Ha, bonsai!”
“What are you doing?” croaked Miko.
Fenli clicked transfer, and an automated voice crackled out: “You will have to create a free account.”
“No problem,” Fenli muttered. He punched in a series of numbers and turned some dials. The console blinked in rapid succession, waiting for name and finger scan.
“Now we can call her up again when we want,” Fenli informed Miko. “That bastard Salhan will not have his prize. My payback and revenge on him for roughing me up.” He flung the bloody finger into a garbage receptacle to the side. “There!” A sucking sound ensued and a whoosh of air and the evidence was destroyed.
Miko’s jaw sagged. “She’s in that virtual maze.”
“Not virtual, only the interface. She’s stored somewhere for real. Remember, this is a traders’ town. Everybody is wanting to sell, trade and barter goods. ‘Instastore’ is the platform or technology to support it.”
“How does it work?”
“Beats me. Holo-digital splicing. But I suspect all these tubes and pipes have something to do with it too.”
“But why is it free?”
Fenli shrugged. “Why not? The profits that hotels, bars and other business get from domestic transactions and outworld traffic is huge. It rebounds to the Skullroxers.”
Fenli pushed some more dials and Miko watched in amazement as the machine spat out a green disc the size of his fingernail. Fenli happily pocketed it. “This machine and many like it across the city accept any cargo. They will store or ship it to any destination. One of the main innovations of this planet. A free service, as I say; all the unicoin and tokens they get for follow-up transactions in return makes it worthwhile. Even the military and custom and excise people use it. With the added security of eye or fingerprint scanning, of course.”
“It’s obviously not secure enough,” muttered Miko, peering idly at the receptacle that had swallowed Salhan’s finger. A sudden image of the blood aboard the battered locust craft caused him to shudder. “Can’t say as I’m sorry to see the last of that heap of trash of a locust vessel.”
Fenli sniffed. “Relax. Forget it, the past is done.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
“We take a stroll down ‘decrepit lane’ to my special haunts.”
“We’re dead men as long as we linger on this world,” commented Miko.
“In order to escape, we need money,” Fenli grunted. “We pawn her off and scram.”
“No way, you can’t.”
“We can and will. Do you want to alert the whole borough? Quiet! You’ll get us arrested,” he hissed. “I don’t doubt the Skullroxers are lawless, but they’re not that stupid. Listen, we draw some marks in, soak them for some spoils, send an anonymous message to the authorities about a woman in a tank, then we fly the coop.”
Miko remained obstinate. “We have to let her out of this cage at some time.”
“Why?”
“Suppose we never return? Then what?”
Fenli gasped in exasperation. “You worry too much, Miko! A bird in the cage is worth three flying free. It’ll be easier to gamble her inside Instastore than out.”
Miko resented Fenli’s arguments. He balked at the concept, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see a better plan.
Fenli led them into darker, shadier alleys of the city. Miko, ever cautious, urged them to stay in the shadows to avoid scrutiny of their torn, blood-stained garments.
An acidic rain had fallen, and the stone streets were slicked with black stuff. A whiff of sulphur hung in the air. Strange music played in the night: speakers, bars, trumpeted noise, along with muffled voices and laughter. People milled everywhere—offworlders, tramps, sharpers, grifters, peddlers, drug-pushers—tall men in trenchcoats accosting them for donations, free sex, free anything. Miko ignored the grubby hands that reached for him. He pushed roughly through, hustling Usk along, who they gawked at without mercy.
Large smokestacks hung in the distances, looking like strange inverted fish, standing on their tails with grouper-like mouths or inverted funnels belching fumes lit in yellow by hydrogen lamps. Miko guessed it was all an ongoing effort of the administration to terraform the planet.
All around them, pipes, and more pipes—snaking like sinuous serpents—up and down damp alleyways, along overhead balconies, to and from sewers. Transporting what? Perhaps the pipes belonged to some underground warehouse network or public works system? Or this instastore?
The other ‘underground’ Skullrox was seedy with people and strange animals, wolverine-like, unfriendly creatures, roving masterless. Usk’s red eyes peered wildly. The strange sights and sounds overwhelmed him. He got his fair share of looks, prods, growls and jeers, but he seemed immune to the unwanted attention.
“All is not so familiar here...” muttered Fenli. “Ah, here we are.” His eyes lit up as recognition dawned.
They paused before a shop with barred windows. A woman leaned provocatively against a lamp post, wearing a tan-furred shawl. She sized them up with sharp eyes. Miko saw tight black leather hidden underneath her furs and a challenging look blazing on her face. He could not miss those darting looks to the blue glint that flashed in Fenli’s palm—the Jakru cargo chip. Her husky voice struck out like a whip, surprising him.
“Hey, soldier, you look as if you could use a boost.” Her drawl was unfamiliar to Miko. “Why not take a walk with me? You can’t go wrong.” She flashed her dark lashes at him in invitation.
Miko inspected her with a curious eye. “No doubt, sister. But you look a tad young for this profession.” He looked around critically. “My suggestion: find something more palatable to occupy your time. A nice girl like you shouldn’t be out in rough and dirty streets like this.”
“Rough?” She barked out a caustic laugh. “This is as good as it gets, soldier. I’m not quite as nice as you think—if nice is what you’re looking for.” Then she was all sweet and flashing eyebrows again.
Fenli brushed past the two. “Come on, ‘soldier’. We’ve work to do.”
Miko and Usk followed Fenli into the shop, which was looking more like an underground hedge market than anything. The girl did not follow.
Dim lamps bathed the interior of the pawnshop in a maroon glow. Incense burned in reeking coils at the back, catching the thin light like an i
ridescent snake. A man with dark oily curls sat on a stool behind a caged mesh. He poised at the far end, blinking idly, listening to some distorted music on his star-shaped earphones. He turned and nodded, with his black, beady eyes pinning them through thick spectacles. Behind him, boxes, figurines, all manners of pipes ranged: containers and bottles and vials of what Miko guessed were contrabands. A wide holographic screen flashed newscasts and lewd images, excerpts from movies. The volume was dimmed, to their fortune.
“Welcome, friends!” he cried. “My house is yours. What do you need? We have everything here.” His penetrating dark eyes took in Miko at a glance.
“I bet you do.” Fenli stared at the vendor, calculating, probing. “I see you have ‘snow’.”
The vendor uttered a bleak laugh. He shrugged. “Anything if you have money to pay for it. Do you have money?”
Miko gripped Fenli’s shoulder. Usk clacked his pincers.
The vendor frowned. “We don’t allow their kind,” he warned Miko.
Fenli murmured apologetically. “Relax, he’s harmless.” He took Miko aside. “While I was in the tank, I told myself the moment I got out, I would get my fix. Now is the time. I’ve got to get me some of that snow!”
The vendor, overhearing Fenli’s mutters, gave a chuckle and nodded. “In my younger days, I used to live on the edgier side.”
“We have some product too,” began Fenli. “A trade for passage to Deneb.”
The man’s eyes glinted with interest. “What kind of product? No money, no credits, funds, eh?”
Fenli wagged his head back and forth. “Of the skin variety. Pretty skin. Let’s just say worth your trouble.”
The man looked away. He gave a low whistle. “Here’s what I can do. I can set you up with certain friends of mine. A private meeting. ”
Fenli shook his head. “No. It’s too risky. Only a public place. Where are the gaming pods about this town?”
The vendor scowled. “North end, east bloc, by the glass skull tower and the docks. I’ll set it up for you. It will go bad for you if you lose.”
Fenli waved a hand. “Set it up.”
The agent rolled his eyes, perhaps in amusement and admiration. “I admire your confidence, stranger.”
Miko hissed at Fenli. “What are you doing? We’re already in enough trouble as it is.”
“That’s the point, Miko. Kind of hard to sink any lower when you’re ten feet in the mud.”
The agent spoke impatiently to Miko. “You’ll see a Daulk in a blue suit at the Grand Skull hotel, second floor. Can’t miss him. He has rabbit-donkey ears and plays the water-whisperers. He’ll be loitering about, playing out his fantasies at the water pipes. Whisper the word ‘Maestro’ in his ear. That’s all, he’ll do the rest.”
“And what if we don’t find this ‘Daulk’ of yours?” said Fenli.
The agent shrugged. “You will.”
A short stocky man who had sidled in from the street, chanced to overhear the conversation. “My brother-in-arms has a better place. Overons. It’s more quiet and—”
“Shut up, Gasly. Go home.”
The man ignored the vendor. A stubbled grin broke out on his face. “My bro-in-arm’s a casino owner. Back over on the boardwalk down to the Quicksilver lake. Just a skip and a jog from the glass tower. Seems you lads are feeling lucky and looking to let off a little steam?” He paused, scrutinizing their blood-stained attire and their battered appearance. “Maybe you’re just fugitives? Well, my brother-in-arms, he can fix you up nicely. Safe place. Newcomers get a 300-credit start, courtesy of the house.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” said Miko. “Come on.” He practically dragged Fenli toward the door—Fenli who was looking pie-eyed at the ‘snow’ on the shelf.
“Wait,” cried the pawnbroker. “You’ll never get in the joint looking like you came from a war zone.” He tossed two pairs of plastic-wrapped garments through the mesh. “Here, put these suits on. Not very elegant, but at least they’re clean.”
“What’s in it for you?” queried Miko. With a wary frown, he assessed the cheap blue imitations of what looked designer wear.
“Kickbacks from my clients. I give them the business, they provide the accessories.”
Fenli opened up palms. “Sounds good to me.”
Miko pursed his lips and the two reluctantly donned the baggy garb over their tattered uniforms. Usk stared on curiously, pincers twitching and mandibles working. Miko hastened Fenli to the door, but the vendor offered something else.
“Here’s another token of my good will.” He pushed a wad of snow taped in a bundle. “As much as I hate to part with valued product, I have the feeling I may not see you two again—and I am feeling generous today.”
Fenli snatched at the package and all too hastily ripped it open. He eyed the sparkling crystals with avid eyes.
“Why waste money on dead men?” snarled Miko.
The vendor showed a toothless grin. “Who said anything about ‘dead’?”
Fenli pinched a fingerful under his tongue and tipped his head back. His eyes grew very red and glassy. He shook his head like a dog. “I’ve been waiting for that hit for years. Hot damn! You’ll get a bonus, Captain! We’ll be back with a gift for you.”
The vendor saluted. “I look forward to that. Until then, happy trails.’”
Miko shook his head.
“Glad you got your fix?” he grunted sardonically when they were out on the street.
Fenli looked at him with sly mockery. “You should try some, Mikky. It’d loosen you up a bit.”
“I don’t want to ‘loosen up’, curse you! I want to get out of this hellhole!”
Fenli wagged a finger. “Patience. The ancient teachings impart, ‘put your attention on the act of surrender, not on the result of your actions, lest it squander your energy’.”
“Shut up! I could care a whit for your flaky philosophy.”
Fenli shrugged, coddling an idiot’s grin. “Temper, my friend. Your downfall is temper.”
Miko chewed on his lip, nearly drawing blood. This plan might succeed, if Fenli could keep his head on his shoulders long enough to stay lucid.
“Right then. To the docks!” remarked Fenli with a jaunty wave. Down toward centre town he sauntered, where the lurid lights glowed.
V
With quick steps, they made their way out of the alley and down the hardtop. The woman of the night was not to be found. But Miko saw a group of her nocturnal friends farther down the way, sharing a pipe. Purple fumes coiled about their slinky numbers, veiled under the light of one of Demen’s moons shining through the rough cloud overhead. All had frizzy blue hair and wore black lace. Miko pulled the others in the opposite direction, fearing somehow that Fenli would get the crazy idea of hooking up with their lot, juiced up as he was on snow.
It was riskier to head back toward centretown, but without funds they would get nowhere. If he could keep Fenli on top of his game...
The main boardwalk bristled with life. Couples roamed hand in hand and businessmen in elegant suits talked and laughed. It was strange to see all this humanity after being so long cocooned, Miko thought. If this situation wasn’t so dire, he might even have enjoyed it. The glass tower, shaped like a human skull, glowed like a pariah, dwarfing those around it, pale green, ghoulishly festive.
The skull palace. What fortune would it bring?
Low-lying clouds pushed down on them, creating a sense of claustrophobia while sonic booms rattled in their eardrums as twin air guard Venu-cruisers buzzed overhead. Bullet-shaped surface cars, black and electric-powered, coursed three-wheeled down the slick streets and dropped passengers off and picked up others. The twin moons now shone crescents through the tattered cloud. A salty, sulphurous air still drifted from the silver sheen of the lake. Miko smelled cheap fried food, meats and fruit he could not name. Lucifer’s hell but his belly ached with hunger!
Seeing his famished look, Fenli motioned. “You can have all the Skullrox tamales you ca
n eat, once we secure this deal.”
“Sounds like something to look forward to,” Miko grunted.
“Well, you saw what a good negotiator I was,” said Fenli glibly. “We gleaned information and a deal, without dropping a coin.”
Miko firmed his lip. “Nothing’s ever free.”
“Everything’s free, if you know how to deal.”
The Overons sign blazed ahead, a testament to garish red neon. The symbol was a man and woman dancing, half-naked, and coins fluttering around them on golden wings. Fenli gave an amused chortle at the lewd signage, affording it no more than a passing glance.
Miko frowned. “Why don’t we hit that Overons joint first? Seems like a safer bet than what ‘greasy curls’ back there was priming us up for?”
“And have our pockets picked clean, you mean?” Fenli sneered. “These lesser underground sheds are notorious for touts gulling off-worlders into scams—Let me do the choosing.”
Miko threw up his hands. He hated leaving Fenli in charge of operations, but the cargo master did know the city—supposedly. Yet it was no secret he had already gotten them into this jam by insisting on dragging the Jakru along with them.
The glass skull, grinning down on them like a cosmic joke, did nothing to ease Miko’s spirits. He shivered and tugged at his chin. “These architects really need to erect something a little more aesthetic.”
Fenli, for once, agreed. He looked warily at the locust. “Usk, you’ll never get in there. Might as well beat it. And don’t wait up for us. Make yourself scarce. Vamoosh.” He flicked his fingers in insolent fashion.
Miko gave Fenli a disparaging look. He glanced at the locust and felt some pity. Inclining his head towards the side street, he looked back the way they had just come. “Wait up for us there, Usk. As soon as we get out of this joint, we’ll get you,” he murmured.
The locust cocked his head, made champing noises with his teeth. If anything, Usk was clever. Down the street he clacked, clutching the weapon he had plundered from fingerless Salhan. He probably went off to seek out food, Miko thought. He hadn’t eaten for a long time. But then again, how? He had no more tanks out of which to feed.