by Ben Wolf
With his last exhale, amid the clouds of smoke all around him, Justin said, “Kids for discreet clients, huh?”
Jonesy just blinked at him.
Then Justin pulled his metal fist back and drove it into Jonesy’s sternum so hard that his whole chest caved in with an earsplitting crack.
Jonesy convulsed once, and then he went limp. His wide jumpsuit-blue eyes glazed over, and his blackened soul dissipated into the clouds of white gas.
Justin’s lungs forced him to inhale, and he used the last of his cognition to stumble away from Jonesy. Better not to be found on top of his victim’s body if he could help it. He landed atop two other prisoners, and then he fell asleep to the scent of burning cotton candy.
Justin awoke to a female voice and a stinging sensation alternating on his right and left cheeks. Someone was smacking him, and not lightly, either. The last one hit him so hard that his teeth clicked together.
He moaned and swatted at his attacker’s hands, but he hit nothing.
“Wake up,” the female voice said.
Justin’s eyes cracked open, and a feminine form overhead blocked out some of the harsh prison lights. He noticed a silhouette of a bald head next. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember why.
He began to cough, and hard. Hacking coughs out, wheezing breaths in, repeat.
Justin turned on his side and gave into the fit until white-tinged mucus oozed out of his mouth and onto the floor. The familiar scent of burnt cotton candy now tinged the back of his throat and tongue.
He spat a few times, then he sat up and blinked until his vision cleared.
Aside from the bald woman with the tattoos and Justin, everyone else was still out cold. She looked at him with dark, mysterious eyes, and he tried to take in her awesome tattoos, but his mind still couldn’t focus enough to identify most of them.
She wore a tight black tank top without a bra and black cargo pants. Rugged black boots covered her feet, and tattoos covered her neck, shoulders, and arms all the way down to her hands.
Now that he was closer to her, Justin noticed she had piercings in her face, too. She had one through her septum that ended in two red orbs, one in her lip, and another in her left eyebrow. Each of her ears had about a million piercings running up and down in a scattered rainbow of colors.
“Ouch,” Justin said, still seated on the floor.
“You’ll be fine,” she said in a voice that was deeper than he’d expected.
“No. All your piercings,” he said.
“You get used to it. Some of the tattoos hurt worse.” She crouched beside him. “Whenever the tattoo is close to bone, that’s what really stings.”
“I bet.”
“You did well back there.”
“Well at what?”
“Dealing with Jonesy.” She motioned toward his body with her bald head.
“Oh. Yeah.” Justin glanced at Jonesy, who still lay there with his chest caved in. Then his eyes widened. “Shit. You saw that?”
“I saw how you kicked him away. Then the gas came down, and he disappeared in the fog. Now he’s dead, with his chest caved it. Your kick couldn’t have done that.” She shrugged and eyed his prosthetic arm. “But hey, accidents happen. We’re in a brig aboard a military ship. People die in here all the time.”
An accident? Either she had seen Justin kill Jonesy and didn’t seem to care, or she was being truthful and hadn’t, and she still didn’t care. Justin had to trust that the cameras hadn’t seen anything thanks to Keontae, but the last thing he needed was Jonesy’s goons coming after him if they figured out what happened. He looked at her expectantly.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she assured him. “Would’ve done it myself, but I never got the kind of opening you did. He was an asshole.”
“Selling kids as prostitutes? Yeah. ‘Asshole’ isn’t a strong enough word.”
“You think that’s bad… you don’t know how he got rid of those kids when they were done.” She shook her head. “Know how an airlock works?”
Justin closed his eyes. “Fuck.”
“Don’t worry about it. You more than avenged them, and he’ll never hurt anyone—children or otherwise—again.” She extended her tattooed hand, and Justin caught sight of tattoos on her palm, too. “Name’s Valkyrie Moon. Call me Val.”
“Justin Barclay.” Justin took her hand and started to shake it, but instead, she stood and hauled him up to his feet. It made his head swim. “Whoa.”
“Man like you deserves to be standing upright on the battlefield. You were great.” She eyed him. “Not sure how you managed to get the gas to turn on, but good for you. Good planning, and nearly perfect execution.”
“Uh…” Should he keep the lie going? He couldn’t exactly tell this person about Keontae, and taking credit was still pretty close to the truth, so he decided to roll with it. “Yeah. Thanks. I didn’t know if it would work, but it did.”
“Well worth the risk, in my opinion. And one less asshole in the galaxy. A major one, at that.”
With both of them standing, Justin guessed she was right around five-foot-six. The boots might’ve given her a bit more height, though.
“Right.”
“Interesting that you had it voice activated. I don’t know that I would’ve gone that route.”
“Only way I could time it right,” Justin lied.
“What if they covered your mouth?” Val asked.
Justin blinked at her with his mouth open. He managed to say, “Like you said, worth the risk.”
She nodded and then sauntered over to the nearest Plastrex bench. She stepped up onto it and sat on the edge of the table instead. “So what’s your plan for when the rest of these cockmunchers wake up?”
Justin suppressed a grin. He already liked Val. She wasn’t really his type as far as romantic potential went, but in another life, he could see them being friends. Hitting up bars, throwing back a few, maybe having each other’s backs in fights in the parking lot. She seemed cool.
“I figure I’ll stay quiet and let them slowly realize their leader is dead. Then I’ll watch as one by one, they realize how he died. Then I’ll deal with any pushback after that.”
Val frowned. “Shit. You’re not here to take over Jonesy’s book, are you?”
“Huh?” Justin shook his head. “God, no. I’m just biding my time until I get out of here.”
“What about that mine stuff? He said you were with Carl Andridge when he died or something?”
“Long story,” Justin replied. He really didn’t want to get into that now. Sure, Val seemed cool, but they hadn’t actually been friends their whole lives, hadn’t gone drinking together, and hadn’t gotten in fights together, so he felt no obligation to tell her anything else. “I don’t work for ACM anymore, though. I’m here for other reasons.”
“Which are?” She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.
“None of your business,” Justin answered. “No offense, but I don’t know you.”
“It’s the tattoos, isn’t it?” she asked. “Or maybe the piercings.”
“Hell no. Don’t care about any of that. I think it suits you.”
“You might not think so if you knew about all my piercings. Including the ones you can’t see.” She winked at him.
Justin resisted his urge to flinch at imagining the pain of what she was insinuating. He probably wouldn’t have had a problem with how it looked.
“Hmm. Not even a blink. Usually I can get most guys with that one.”
Justin inhaled a long, calming breath. “You were close. I’ll say that. But my cold heart is basically a frozen rock at this point. Takes a lot to unnerve me.”
Keontae would’ve taunted him for that one. Good thing he was somewhere in the ship instead of in Justin’s arm.
“Looks like they’re starting to stir.” She nodded toward some of the other prisoners behind Justin. He looked, and they were indeed waking up.
Great. Now what? His big tal
k about sitting back and letting them realize he’d killed Jonesy was all well and good, but if they rushed him, he couldn’t take them all at once—not a chance.
Several of them began coughing and hacking just as Justin had. The cacophony of retching sounds made Justin want to throw up. So much for nothing fazing him anymore.
“Sit over here, with me.” Val patted the Plastrex table next to her. “They’ll think twice about causing trouble if the two of us are both sitting here, looking fine and healthy when they wake up. It’s psychology.”
Justin saw no reason not to. If she’d wanted to do him harm, she could’ve done it while he was out from the gas. Instead, she’d helped wake him up first so he’d be prepared when the others woke up. So he went over and sat down next to her.
“Here.” She smacked something hard and metal against the table between them. It was Jonesy’s shiv. “Show this off, and they’ll fear you. Aside from your arm, it’s the only weapon in here… least as far as I know, and I’ve been watching for a long time.”
Justin picked it up. Another sign of friendship, of cooperation, sure, but he was mostly glad he didn’t have to worry about someone jabbing at him with it. “How long have you been in here?”
“Hmm. Hard to keep track, but maybe five or six months? All the days run together.”
“What for?”
She blinked at him with those dark eyes. Really beautiful dark eyes. “You mean my crime?”
“Yeah. You innocent, like everyone else in jail?”
“No.” She gave a small laugh. “No, I’m guilty.”
“Of what?” Justin asked.
“Assassinating someone important.”
Justin’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. Who was this person?
“Got you that time,” Val teased. “If the ‘pierced lady bits’ joke doesn’t get ’em, the ‘lady assassin’ part usually gets the job done.”
“Guess I’m not the coldhearted bastard I said I was.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his human hand.
“You’re still alive in here after the ship’s most dangerous criminal came for you. I’d say you’re a straight-up badass.” She gave him another wink.
He wanted to ask her more about the assassination, but the other prisoners were beginning to rise like the undead from their graves.
By then, the prisoners’ coughing had devolved to a lot of spitting and even more cursing.
“What the hell was that?” the fat guy asked as he sat up.
“Thought it was a nitrogen leak at first,” another guy said.
Instead of human eyes, two orange orbs protruded from a pair of black goggles clamped over the top of the guy’s head. The orbs danced on articulated metal tubes, extending and contracting and moving freely and independently of each other—which normal eyes weren’t supposed to do. He looked like a giant insect.
Several others woke up shortly after, but the guy with the lower half of his face missing stayed down. Had Justin’s punch killed him, too?
The fat guy waddled over to him and shook him a few times, then he jerked upright and shook his head like a dog covered in water. In his electronic voice, he asked, “What happened?”
“We got gassed,” the fat guy replied. “Some sorta prisoner-suppression stuff.”
“Unlikely in my case. My prosthesis is optimized to filter out all contaminants. My lungs can’t handle anything but perfectly mixed air.” His golden, jaundiced eyes fixed on Justin, and he pointed a pale finger at him. “He punched me.”
“You deserved it,” Justin countered.
“Wait a sec…” the fat guy said. “Where’s Jonesy?”
The first guy froze in place, but his robotic bug eyes kept moving. They zeroed in on one specific spot—where Jonesy lay, dead from Justin’s fist crashing through his chest—and his mouth dropped open.
“Here,” he said.
“Oh, dang,” the fat guy said as he approached. His pudgy face contorted with concern. With great difficulty due to his size, he crouched down next to Jonesy and looked him over.
Justin hadn’t noticed before, but the fat guy’s hair had a purple tinge to it. Justin had just thought it was black and that the light was hitting it weirdly, but he’d been wrong.
“Oh, daaaaang,” the fat guy repeated. With even more difficulty than crouching down, he managed to stand back up. “Y’all know what this means?”
No one responded.
The fat guy’s anguished face morphed into a joyful expression, and he raised both of his thick arms into the air. “We’re free of that bastard once and for all!”
He let out a whoop, and most of the others followed suit. The guy with the breathing mask raised his hands halfway, still with a crazed look in his eyes, and said in monotone, “Yaaaay.”
The guy with the bug eyes danced a little jig and bounded around the small room, offering high fives to anyone and everyone who would humor him. He even got one from Justin, because why not?
But despite the bug-eyed guy’s revelry, Justin still didn’t know what was going on. These guys had all been working for Jonesy, yet now that he was dead, they were celebrating?
When he looked over to Val for answers, she just shrugged. “No one wants to have a master. You serve one if you have to, and if you don’t, then you don’t.”
Slowly, they all turned toward Justin, recognizing him. The majority of the other prisoners gave him a wide berth, but the bug-eyed guy, the half-face guy, and the fat guy all tentatively approached him.
“Hey, uh…” The fat guy glanced between Justin and Val—more so at Val, though. “Look, I hope you don’t hold it against me that I was holdin’ your friend in place for Jonesy. You know how it goes. Didn’t really have no choice. It was either cooperate or see my guts spillin’ onto the floor, y’know? Without my mech suit, I ain’t good for much of anythin’.”
Justin tilted his head. The fat guy was talking to Val, not to him. Did he think Val had killed Jonesy?
“Same here,” the guy with half of his face said. His crazed golden eyes focused on Val most of the time as well. “I mean about restraining him. Not about being useless. ’Cause I’m pretty skilled in a lot of different areas.”
“Wait…” Justin interjected. “You all think she killed Jonesy?”
All three of them nodded, including the bug-eyed guy.
Justin looked at Val, and she shrugged again.
“What can I say? I told you I was an assassin.”
Justin gave a small nod. Probably best to let her have the credit on this one. The less attention he drew to himself, the better—and he’d already drawn more than enough. Better to slip back into obscurity until Keontae finished everything on his end.
“This is Justin.” Val motioned toward him. “But you already know that. Introduce yourselves, boys.”
“Name’s Arthur Henry.” The fat guy extended his equally meaty hand. “But everyone calls me Bear on account of my size.”
“Justin Barclay.” Justin shook his hand, but it felt like shaking a cold, clammy dead fish. “Nice to meet you.”
“Again, I’m real sorry ’bout all that before,” Bear said. “Didn’t have no choice. Bein’ locked in here is… hard.”
“Apology accepted,” Justin said. “No harm done.”
“Thanks, Justin. Really ’preciate it.” Bear moved aside, and the guy with half a face stepped forward.
“Zed Cavale,” he said in his electronic voice. He motioned to his artificial chin. “And since I know you’re gonna ask—everyone does—I’ll tell you how this happened. When not incarcerated like a street dog, I like to play with chemicals. Sometimes they go boom, and one time they went boom when they weren’t supposed to.
“Probably shoulda killed me, but it didn’t.” His golden eyes widened slightly. “Tore off the bottom half of my face, ruined my mouth and nose, and the fumes trashed my lungs. So now I breathe and eat—liquids only—through this thing.” He tapped his chin again. “Anyway, I’ve said what I had to say,
so don’t talk to me about this again. Ever.”
With that, he turned and retreated toward Bear, who frowned at him.
“You didn’t apologize,” Bear said.
“Yes, I did,” Zed insisted. “I said, ‘Same here.’”
“That ain’t no apology.” Bear’s tone was corrective, but it reminded Justin of a kindhearted grandfather’s correction. “I think you should try again.”
A low groan issued from Zed’s breathing apparatus, and he rolled his golden eyes. Without looking at Justin, he said, “Sorry.”
Justin figured that was as close as he was going to get, so he didn’t push it any further. “I forgive you. We’re good.”
When Justin looked to the bug-eyed guy, both of his eyes were extended and pointed in two different directions. How that wasn’t scrambling his brain, Justin had no idea.
Val cleared her throat, and the bug-eyed guy’s eyes snapped back forward and receded into his skull.
“Sorry. Wasn’t trying to get you killed, but I’m still sorry. Would much rather be friends than enemies.” His words came out quickly, almost frantically so. “Name’s Ritzveld Townsend. Ritz’s fine. I don’t suppose I can call you ‘Justy,’ though? If I could, that’d be swell.”
“Uh… no. Justin is good, though.”
“Alright. Alright, I see.” He snickered. “I mean, literally, I see. That’s my thing.”
“Let me guess,” Justin said. “An accident as well?”
“Nope. Elective surgery. Thought it’d make me more valuable to the military. Turns out, I was right… mostly. But one wrong move, and I got myself thrown in here.”
“What did you do?” Justin asked.
“It’s… embarrassing.”
Justin shrugged. “Well, I guess you don’t have to—”
“Tell him,” Zed said, “or I will.”
“Don’t you dare, metal-mouth.” Ritz jabbed a finger at Zed. “You know I can kick your ass from downtown to Chinatown and all around the merry-go-round… so don’t fuck with me.”
“He pissed in his commanding officer’s soup,” Zed said.
“You bastard!” Ritz raised his hands and balled them into fists. He made small circles with them, and his left bug eye also started circling while his right eye remained fixed in place. “Put ’em up. I’m gonna knock the rest of your ugly face off.”
