Dependent Days

by Chris Sapp

  If killing him wasn't part of the plan then maybe there was a way out of this. He rolled over as soon he felt Larkin get off. Trying to move only his head, he looked around. Now where had Larkin hopped off to?

  "Up here,”Larkin said.

  Roe craned his neck and saw that Larkin was perched against the wall about five feet off the ground. Larkin was a “G” head, which meant that his drug of choice was Zero-G chewing tobacco. The morphagen hollowed the user’s bones, turned their skin blue, doubled the size of their hands and feet, elongated their fingers and toes, and allowed them to manipulate gravity however they desired. Two mobicams, spherical recording devices, floated dutifully on either side of the blue skinned bounty hunter. Every time Larkin went after a stray, the mobicams went with him, recording every second. The “G-head” then edited the footage and aired it on his weekly TV show aptly titled Grundy’s Grind. It was the second most popular show behind The Crucible Games.

  "Sorry 'bout the bike. It looked like a nice one,” Larkin said.

  "Payments were too high, anyway,” Roe confessed.

  Larkin smiled and then he spit. The brown juice slowly dripped down the brick wall.

  Roe finally spotted his stray. Her feet were sticking out from behind an overturned trash can, either dead or unconscious.

  “I marked the elf as my stray. Why’d you attack me?” Roe asked. There were enough strays to go around so most bounty hunters steered clear of strays that had already been marked as targets. But Larkin wasn’t most bounty hunters.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know. She’s a priority one and marked by the infamous Roe Driskell. I’d be a fool to pass up those kinds of ratings,” Larkin answered.

  Roe had had his fair share of run-ins with Larkin and supposedly the events of those run-ins were the most watched episodes in the history of Grundy’s Grind. Roe had lived them, so he never had any desire to watch them.

  “To hell with your ratings Larkin! This elf is my last stray,” Roe growled.

  “You hear that Larkinites?” Larkin said to the nearest mobicam, “Driskell has finally reached his thousandth stray and I stole it from him.” Larkin laughed heartily.

  “Listen to me,” Roe said. “Maybe we can work something out?”

  “ You should be less concerned about me and more concerned about them,” Larkin said. One of his bulbous eyes turned and looked further down the alley. Roe followed and he saw three adult male Chromeys enter the mouth of the alley. Even from this distance Roe could see that they were boiling with anger.

  He turned back to Larkin, intending to ask to him what they wanted. But Larkin had already relocated. Roe craned his neck and he saw that Larkin was kneeling next to the elf. His hand was on her neck, checking for a pulse.

  “How is she?” Roe asked.

  “Better than you’re gonna be,” Larkin said.

  Damn. A hoverbike accident was a kinder death than slavery. Of course the girl had shown some guts. She might choose to run The Crucible. But that didn't matter because it was no longer his concern. What mattered was the three Chromeys that were standing over him. Unfortunately, none of them seemed happy to see him.

  "Roe Driskell, as we agreed,” said Larkin as he scooped up the unconscious elf.

  "Wait. We agreed that he would be unharmed,” said one of the Chromeys. Unharmed? Roe liked the sound of that.

  Larkin sighed. "Did we?"

  "Yeah and his beak is busted,”

  "Give it a minute." Larkin snorted. "It'll heal."

  Actually his beak was already healed. But correcting them would probably result in another break.

  With the elf cradled in his arms, Larkin glanced back at them and said, “Give Wren my best.” He took his leave of the alley with one bound. His mechanical shadows whirred after him.

  The Chromey that had conversed with Larkin, grabbed Roe by the coat collar and stood him up against the wall.

  "Good evening gentlemen, what can I do for you?" Roe asked.

  "Die." The lead Chromey rammed his rock hard fist into Roe's stomach. The air rushed out of his lungs and he doubled over. So, much for being unharmed.

  "Stand his ass up." Not only did the other two steel chums stand him up, they also pinned his arms. The lead Chromey was backing away. But only so he could get a running start.

  Shit. This isn't good. "What's this about?" Roe asked.

  "Retribution,” said the lead Chromey as he bent his knees, lowering his center of gravity. "You caught my brother last year. He died in The Crucible."

  Roe would've apologized if he thought it would have helped. But the Chromey didn't want an apology. He wanted revenge. Apparently Roe was meant to die tonight after all. The only thing he could do was make it as quick as possible.

  "What was his name? All you guys shine the same to me."

  It had the desired effect. The lead chromey roared in anger, lowered his head, and charged. Getting speared by the Chromey’s head was like getting hit with a bowling ball. It shattered Roe’s rib cage and ruptured both of his lungs into fiery ashes.

  AUGUSTO

  AUGUSTO COULD HEAR his father’s shouting as he mounted the steps. He had been summoned to his father’s luxury cruiser nearly half an hour ago. He hadn’t wanted to come so he’d put it off as long as he could and now someone else was paying the price. The armed guard standing at the top of the steps, admitted him into his father’s quarters. Cowering beneath the great Paco Valdez, ruler of Valdez Industries, was a beaten and bloody servant. The slave’s three misshaped arms, hairless body, and crooked spine made it impossible to tell what morphagen he’d used prior to detoxing.

  “What’s going on here?”Augusto demanded.

  “I’m remedying an error,” said Paco, driving the pointed end of his peg-leg into the slave’s flesh. The servant screamed. Augusto had never seen his father without his wooden leg. Paco had challenged Augusto’s grandfather, Ferdinand Valdez, before Augusto had even been born. Winning the right to rule had cost Paco the lower half of his left leg.

  “What error might that be?” inquired Augusto.

  “Cold soup.” Paco stomped on the servant again. He screamed!

  “Cold soup?” Augusto asked.

  “On the table,” Paco said.

  The dining table had been set for two. Two wine glasses, two sets of utensils, and two bowls of soup. One of the bowls was empty. The other hadn’t been touched. Neither had the wine glasses. The bottle of wine or what was left of it was clinched in his father’s hairy hand. Augusto glared at Paco.

  “You’re punishing this slave because my soup is cold?” Augusto asked.

  “Of course. The chief administrator of the Crucible Games can’t eat cold soup,” roared Paco, stomping the servant again. Augusto couldn’t believe it. His father enjoyed his company about as much as Augusto did. Paco had invited him to dinner. He said he had something important to discuss. His father had most likely known that Augusto would be late. So, this was all an elaborate scheme to provoke him into challenging his father. This had been the driving thought in Paco’s mind since Silvio’s accident but Augusto had never seen his father this agitated over it before.

  “That’s enough!”

  “What?” Paco fixed his thousand yard stare on Augusto. That look had frighten him when he was a boy. Now it only enraged him.

  “I said that’s enough.”

  “Are you challenging me?”

  Augusto’s jaw muscles tensed.

  “No, sir. I’m simply stating that for the crime of…cold soup…I believe adequate punishment has been served and if you stop now the slave might recover.”

  Paco scoffed at his son and then he rammed the end of his peg-leg through the slave’s skull. The poor servant was still convulsing when Paco removed his leg.

  “How about now?” asked his father, as he wiped the blood and gore off his leg. “Will he still recover?”

  “What do you want?” Augusto asked, suppressing his rage.

  “Well, I wanted to e
njoy a meal with my only able-bodied son.”

  “I don’t have time for your games.” Augusto turned and headed for the door.

  “That’s right. Run away. Back to your precious Crucible. Back to your elf whores.”

  On his way out, Augusto stopped by the bowl of cold soup. He picked it up with both hands and dumped it down his gullet. When it was empty he tossed it back on the table so hard it rattled.

  “Thanks for the soup,” he grabbed the door handle.

  Augusto froze. Pinned to the inside of the door with a serrated bread knife was a scroll. There was no doubt in his mind that his father has placed the scroll there for him to see. He couldn’t see what was written on it because the paper was curled up on itself.

  “What is this?” Augusto asked.

  “I may have my failings as a father, but I know I taught you how to read,” Paco said. Augusto released the handle and he pulled the knife out of the door. He unrolled the scroll and read. It was a decree to his father from the Czar, Daedalus Shaw. It stated that his father had exactly two weeks to persuade Augusto to replace him as heir of Valdez Industries, or the Czar would remove Paco from office and anoint his own Drug lord. That’s why his father was more irritated than usual. The Czar did not tolerate instability. If a Drug lord died then an heir needed to be ready to step up and replace them. Augusto knew that Magnus Slade was under similar duress from the Czar until he could provide a suitable heir.

  Augusto looked up at his father, who was now slumped in a chair. He looked old and defeated.

  “Ever since you were born, you’ve always been the most difficult of my two sons. I had hoped that your stubbornness would dissipate as you journeyed into bullhood. But it seems to have only gotten stronger. But that no longer matters. Becoming my successor is not only your destiny, it’s your birth right,” Paco said.

  “No, it’s Silvio’s,” Augusto said.

  “It was,” Paco yelled. “But your brother is never going to wake up! Which means the responsibility of Valdez Industries falls on your shoulders, whether you like it or not. You don’t have a choice.”

  “That’s not what this says. If you taught me how to read, then someone else must’ve taught me comprehension,” Augusto said, holding up the scroll, “This says if I don’t replace you, the Czar will anoint someone else.”

  “Valdez Industries has been ours for five generations. Are you really prepared to sacrifice that for a fucking game show?” Paco asked.

  The Crucible was much more than a fucking game show. At the very least it was a necessary and profitable way of eliminating the galaxy’s undesirable citizens and they both knew it.

  “Yes,” Augusto said. Without another word, he turned for the door.

  “If you walk out that door, I will find a way to force you to challenge me,” Paco warned.

  “Pardon me if I don’t tremble with fear. It’s just the right now you look as if you would have trouble finding a way out of that chair.”

  “Looks can be deceiving boy,” Paco leered.

  IZABEL

  WHEN IZABEL WOKE up she expected to be a bloody smear on the alley wall. Instead she was lying on the wet concrete behind an overturned trashcan. Her ear was on fire and her leg was throbbing but other than that she felt fine. She was about to sit up when she heard--

  "Sorry 'bout the bike. It looked like a nice one,” Izabel knew the voice didn’t belong to Driskell. But it sounded vaguely familiar.

  "Payments were too high, anyway,” Driskell confessed. Whoever it was, Driskell knew him. The suspense was killing her. She opened her eyes and took a peek. Oh my God! It was Larkin Grundy, the bounty hunter with the TV show.

  “I marked the elf as my stray. Why’d you attack me?” she heard Driskell ask.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know. She’s a priority one and marked by the infamous Roe Driskell. I’d be a fool to pass up those kinds of ratings,” Larkin answered. Priority One? For what?

  “To hell with your ratings Larkin! This elf is my last stray,” Roe growled.

  “You hear that Larkinites?” Larkin said to the nearest mobicam, “Driskell has finally reached his thousandth stray and I stole it from him.” Larkin laughed heartily.

  “Listen to me,” Roe said. “Maybe we can work something out?”

  “ You should be less concerned about me and more concerned about them,” Larkin said. Who's they? She wanted to look but then she heard footsteps. They were close. Real close. She stayed put and concentrated on not moving. It was Larkin. She could smell the sweet odor of his chewing tobacco. He touched her neck. She started to freak but then she realized that he was only checking her pulse.

  “How is she?” Roe asked.

  “Better than you’re gonna be,” Larkin said.

  "Roe Driskell, as we agreed." Larkin must be talking to they. Whoever they are. Oh, no! He's picking me up? She went limp in the G Head's arms. He was skinny, but strong.

  "Wait. We agreed that he would be unharmed." They sounds like a dude. She peeked. Driskell was lying on the ground and three Chromeys were standing over him. She didn't know what was going on. But whatever it was…it wasn't good.

  Larkin sighed. "Did we?"

  "Yeah and his beak is busted." The Chromey was right. Driskell's face and shirt were covered in soot.

  "Give it a minute." Larkin snorted. "It'll heal." Very funny, she thought.

  “Give Wren my best,” she heard Larkin say and then she felt him leap up. She watched the alley shrink as the bounty hunter's addiction carried them high into the air. Looking at everything upside down made her dizzy so she closed her eyes. She didn't open them again until there was a hard jarring motion. Larkin had landed on some rooftop and now he was walking. She closed her eyes and only opened them again when there was a loud hiss and she felt Larking going uphill. He was ascending a ramp, presumably to his ship.

  He sat her down in what felt like a seat. Yeah it was a seat because something was pulled tight across her chest and then clicked into place. The ship rumbled and began to vibrate as Larkin fired up the engines. Unless she wanted to meet Magnus Slade she had to find a way off this ship. And it had to be better than her last exit strategy. She had barely survived that one. But how? She could try to find the escape pods on this ship. Presuming there were any to find. No, that was no good. Larkin's addiction made him too fast. She could never out run him. Think. Think. Okay where am I? In a cockpit. Okay, what do cockpits have? They have viewports. Uh...they have controls. I could sabotage the ship! Yeah, right. What do I know about sabotaging a ship? Okay, moving on. Cockpits have seats. Seats are good. You can't fly a ship without seats. This was hopeless. Larkin would be off planet in a matter of minutes. The quickest way off the ship was to eject out of an escape pod. Wait. Ejection. She may not know where the escape pods were but she knew where the ejection seats were. She was sitting in one. She felt around blindly with her right hand until she found the ejection lever. She was about to pull it when she realized that once her chute deployed she would be at the mercy of the wind. What would stop Larkin from swinging the ship around and coming after her? If she couldn't sabotage the ship then she needed to sabotage the pilot. But how? She could punch him. But that was only temporary. She needed something that would really slow him down. She could stab him. Yeah! With the knife in her boot. Moving as slow and quiet as possible, she slipped her hand down into her boot and found her knife. She was doing all of this with her eyes closed so she had no idea if Larkin was watching her or not. The mobicams were probably recording everything but who cared. If she got caught she would forget about stabbing him and just pull the ejection lever. The knife was out of her boot and open. But Larkin was sitting to the left of her, so she needed to transfer the knife from her right hand to her left.

  She was suddenly thrown forward. I'm caught, was her first thought. She took a quick peek and realized that the restraining harness was the only thing keeping her from crashing into the control panel. "Keep it in your lane asshole!" yelled Lar
kin. Obviously he was having a dispute with another traveler. She used the distraction to transfer the knife into her proper hand. She was about to stab him when a terrifying thought occurred to her.

  Larkin was currently navigating traffic. What if she ejected out of his ship and crashed right into another? She'd be killed instantly. Even more terrifying was knowing that she was going to have to take that chance. It's either this or detox. She opened her eyes and looked at Larkin. She halfway expected him to be looking right back at her, but he wasn't. Flying required his full concentration. Wielding the knife with a reverse grip, she stabbed. She was well rewarded for her efforts. She hit him in the face just below his cheekbone. The blade sank into his blue flesh up to the hilt. He screamed and bright yellow blood squirted into the air. He was still screaming when she yanked the ejection lever.

  The canopy broke away and Izabel, seat and all, shot high into the air. She kept her eyes closed because if she was going to die she didn't want to see it coming. She heard honking horns and felt numerous wind blasts from what must have been incredibly close calls. Only after the abrupt jerk from her chute deploying, did she finally open her eyes. She was floating below the traffic lanes but above the rooftops. Saving her own life had most likely cost the lives of others. She could see one ship on fire and floating listlessly through the air. Another, this one also on fire, was plummeting towards the ground. She thought one of those might be Larkin's but considering she only saw his ramp and some of the cockpit it was probably just wishful thinking.

  The wind carried her away from the accident and back towards Harmony district. Which was good, because now that she had gotten rid of her bounty hunter problem, she would go back to her original plan, borrowing a loan from Spanky. She landed in the parking lot of a Home Improvement store. It was closed so no one noticed her untangling herself from the parachute.

  She looked at her watch. It was 12:15. That gave her forty-five minutes to get to Spanky's before he closed. She didn't know if she could make it but what choice did she have? She started jogging north on Violin Boulevard.