“How are we ever going to find our way out of here without you?” asked Rex.
Pepper pointed at the wall behind our heads. I turned to see a sign the height of a three-story building that had been painted in fluorescent orange paint on the wall. The sign read:
EXIT ⇧
“That tunnel exits about five kilometers south of the prison complex,” said Pepper. “They’ll try to shoot you out of the sky if they see you leaving, so stay low until you’re out of range.” Suddenly a stunned expression came over her face. “What in the hell . . . ?”
We followed her gaze and saw that she was staring at a small spacecraft parked in the corner of the landing bay.
“Was that there when we landed?” asked Rex.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I didn’t notice it.”
Pepper drew her lazegun and strode toward the ship. Rex drew his own lazegun and we followed. When we were twenty meters or so from the ship, a hatch opened up and two neatly dressed young men stepped out.
“Hi there!” said the first man cheerfully, holding out a glossy paper tract. “Do you have a few moments to talk about Space?”
Rex groaned and holstered his weapon. “Sp’ossels,” he said.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Pepper, sliding her gun into her holster. “How did you even get in here?”
“We’re just spreading the good news about Space,” said the second man.
“In an abandoned landing bay three hundred meters below the surface of a prison planet?”
“We go where Space takes us,” said the first man.
“Cripes,” muttered Rex. “When is everybody going to figure out that there’s one universal force that controls everything in the galaxy and it’s spelled M-O-N-E-Y?”
“That’s a very common view,” said the first Sp’ossel. “But has money ever made you truly happy?”
“No,” said Rex. “But the lack of it has made me unhappy, and I’m pretty good at extrapolating. I’d be willing to take any money you have off your hands if it’s interfering with your oneness with Space, by the way.”
“Money is only a tool,” said the second Sp’ossel. “We use it to spread the word about Space.”
“I understand,” replied Rex. “Well, if you can’t part with your money, I’ll take a look at any Space you have on you as well. Just put it here between us.”
“Space is not something that can be held on to or controlled,” said the first Sp’ossel.
“It cannot be bought or sold,” said the second Sp’ossel.
“Man, did you pick the wrong sales pitch,” replied Rex. “OK, let me try to break this down for you: We are not interested in Space. Space holds no appeal to us whatsoever. Humanity has spent hundreds of years trying to find faster ways to get through Space precisely because we hate it so much. Space has no food, no booze, no women, none of the things that make life tolerable. The only reason I put up with Space at all is because I need somewhere to put my stuff. Capiche? Now scram!”
“We understand your hesitance to abandon your former ways of thinking about Space,” said the first Sp’ossel, “but surely you could take a moment away from your highly illegal prison break to look at some of our literature.”
Rex’s eyes narrowed at the Sp’ossel. “Is that some sort of threat?”
The Sp’ossel smiled and spread his hands. “Not at all,” he said. “But if we leave now, we may inadvertently draw attention to your activities. So it may be in your best interest to sit with us awhile and have a nice conversation about Space.”
“They’ve got us,” said Pepper quietly to Rex, herding us out of earshot of the Sp’ossels. “If they fly out of here, security will see them leaving. They’ll send a team down to investigate. Anybody suspected of participating in a prison break is shot on sight.”
“Won’t they get shot down if they’re seen?” Rex whispered.
“If they blast out at full speed, they won’t take more than a couple of lazecannon hits. They’ll live. We won’t.”
“Blast it!” snarled Rex. “I’m all for delaying this stupid prison break for a while, but I’d rather lick Heinous Vlaak’s boots than spend an hour talking to Sp’ossels. I’m telling you, I can’t do it. Am I allowed to shoot them?”
“Not a good idea, sir,” I said, eying the Sp’ossels beaming at us across the landing bay. “Sp’ossels are very protective of their own. If they find out we shot a couple of their missionaries, they’d hunt us down. And they’re everywhere, sir. They just appear out of nowhere. Space knows how they even found us down here.”
“So what if they hunt us down? What are they going to do, kill us?”
“No, sir,” I replied. “They’ll convert us. By force. Cerebral reconfiguring. Some say it’s worse than death.”
“Isn’t that what they’re going to do anyway?” asked Rex. “I mean, they’ve got us over a barrel here. Are they ever going to let us leave if we don’t convert?”
“We could pretend to convert,” I suggested.
“They’ll expect us to come with them to be indoctrinated into the faith,” Pepper said. “By the time we’re done, we’ll be converted for real.”
“So that’s it, then,” said Rex. “All my brilliant plans short-circuited by a couple of wandering religious wackos.”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” I said.
“Fine,” announced Rex to the Sp’ossels. “Let’s hear your Space drivel. But if we’re not converted by the time you’ve said your piece, you leave us alone, got it?”
“Oh,” said the second Sp’ossel with a smile, as the two men crept closer, “you’ll convert. Everybody converts. Eventually.”
“How long is this going to take?” Rex asked.
“It takes as long as it takes,” said the first Sp’ossel. “Our ship has a nutrient fabricator, so we can stay for years if we need to.”
“Fantastic,” said Rex glumly.
“The first thing you need to know about Space,” said the second Sp’ossel, “is that it’s big. Really big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is.”
“Gaaahhh!” howled Rex. “I can’t take it. Somebody shoot me in the head.”
“OK, that’s enough,” said Pepper. “What if I come with you?”
“What?” Rex and I gasped simultaneously.
“I’m pretty much resigned to being killed by the Ursa Major Mafia anyway,” said Pepper. “I’ve heard of fugitives seeking sanctuary among the Sp’ossels.”
“It’s true,” said the first Sp’ossel. “Many of our number have made a new life for themselves after finding a path of violence and larceny to be a dead end.”
“But you’ll be a Sp’ossel!” cried Rex. “Is this how you want to spend the rest of your life? Traveling across the galaxy pestering any hapless morons who cross your path with blather about Space?”
“It’s a life,” said Pepper. “And, frankly, it doesn’t sound that much worse than traveling across the galaxy tracking deadbeats and bottom-feeders. No offense.”
“If you agree to come with us and learn about Space, we will leave your friends to their illicit activities,” said the second Sp’ossel.
If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought Rex was genuinely concerned about Pepper. I think maybe he saw in her a kindred spirit, and he didn’t like the idea of her giving up her life of freedom and adventure to become one of the Sp’ossel hive. Still, his own interests won out, as they always did. For my part, I was surprised Pepper went along with the Sp’ossels so willingly. It made me wonder whether she knew something about them that I didn’t.
“OK,” said Rex, “but don’t expect me to track you down on some Sp’ossel commune to give you your twenty percent. You snooze, you lose.”
“Good-bye, Rex Nihilo,” said Pepper with a smile. “OK, boys, let’s
go. I hear you’ve got some things to tell me about Space.”
“Oh, yes,” said the first Sp’ossel, as they escorted Pepper toward their ship. “The first thing you need to know about Space is how big it is. It’s really just amazingly, astoundingly huge.”
“Is it?” asked Pepper. “I had no idea.”
They disappeared into the ship and the hatch closed. We watched as the ship took off and vanished into the darkness of the tunnel above.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The good news was that the Sp’ossels were gone. The bad news was that there was now nothing keeping us from proceeding on our mission to rescue Wick. Rex was worried that despite wasting four days flying around inside Gulagatraz, we might actually succeed in breaking Wick out of jail and get back to the forest moon before the plasmatic entropy cannon was ready. We had retreated into the cockpit of the Flagrante Delicto for the ostensible purpose of preparing the ship for a quick getaway once we found Wick. General Issimo and his men waited impatiently in the main cabin.
“If it’s any consolation, sir,” I told Rex, “I think the odds of us breaking Wick out are slim. We don’t even know how Pepper managed to get out.”
“Well, I can’t stall the general any longer. We’re just going to have to let them poke around a bit and hope they don’t get us all killed. If we can manage to waste another couple of days down here, there’s no way we’ll be back to the forest moon before the pederastic encephalopathy cannon is ready. We’ve already missed Princess Willie’s deadline for the sabotage mission.” He threw open the door to the main cabin. “All right, General. Let’s go find your man.”
I opened the outer hatch and the crew poured out into the cavern, led by the eager young recruits with their lazeguns drawn. The general exited next, followed by me and Rex, who had stopped to pour himself another martini.
“Where is he?” asked the general, surveying the vast cavern dimly lit only by the Flagrante Delicto’s running lights. “Where’s the prison?”
“Pepper said the reactor is over there,” I replied, pointing toward a human-sized door. “The prison should be right above it.”
The men charged eagerly and Rex and I trailed behind. We all stopped dead at the door.
“It’s locked,” said the lead man.
“Well, let history note that we gave it our best shot,” remarked Rex, taking a sip from his drink. “All right everybody, back to the ship.”
“I’m in charge here,” snapped the general. He turned to one of the recruits, a sweaty, bucktoothed nineteen-year-old with thin blond hair. “Fingers, blast that door open.”
“Fingers?” asked Rex, cocking an eyebrow. “We’ve got a guy on the team named ‘Fingers’?”
“Sir,” I said, “we’ve been confined on a small spaceship with these men for five days. How is it possible you don’t know their names?”
“Oh, like you know everybody’s names,” said Rex. “I mean, who’s that guy?” He pointed at one of the rebels, a short, red-haired kid.
“That’s Gabe Loninger,” I said. “He’s an orphan from Ballanchine Twelve. He joined the Frente when the Malarchy burned his village. He just wants to do his part to see freedom restored to the galaxy. Tomorrow’s his eighteenth birthday.”
“Yikes,” said Rex. “With a backstory like that, he’s a goner for sure. This is why I try not to get too close with the redshirts. What about this one?”
“Cole Arugula,” I said. “From Sorbonne Prime. Enjoys swing dancing and whittling.” Cole smiled shyly and waved at Rex.
“Uh-huh,” said Rex. “And the towheaded one?”
“That’s Fingers, sir. We already covered him. His real name is Dag Hammerstall.”
“So,” Rex said, turning to the man, “why do they call you ‘Fingers’?”
“It’s sort of a joke, I think,” said Fingers. “Lots of demolition guys are missing fingers, but I still have all mine.”
“That’s kind of a cruel nickname,” said Rex. “What happens if you lose a finger?”
“Then I guess I’ll need a new nickname, sir.”
“Well,” said Rex, “if you get any choice in the matter, I’d go with ‘Virginity.’”
“Enough of that,” snarled the general. “Fingers, set your charges. Everybody else, get back from the door.”
We did as instructed. Fingers, a pale and skinny youth who was full of nervous energy, managed to prolong his streak, successfully blasting the door open without losing any appendages. When the smoke cleared, the recruits rushed into the opening, shining lights into the dark corridor on the other side. Rex and I hung back, in case the blast had alerted someone to our presence. It was nice not to be the vanguard for Rex’s adventures for once.
Having apparently encountered no one investigating the sound, the general and his men rushed down the corridor, the flicker of their flashlights receding in the blackness. Rex sighed and downed his martini. “All right, Sasha,” he said. “Let’s see what we’ve gotten ourselves into this time.”
We followed the men into the dim hallway. Every ten meters or so there was a door in one side of the corridor; these were unlocked and opened into various storage rooms, utility rooms, and break rooms. None of these appeared to have been used for quite a while. Finally the corridor dead-ended at a locked door that bore a warning sign reading:
REACTOR PERSONNEL ONLY
“It appears we’ve located the misery reactor,” I observed.
“Is the prison near here?” demanded the general.
“It can’t be too far,” I said. “The reactor is powered by the channeled and amplified misery of the prisoners. I would guess that the prison is directly above the reactor itself.”
“You would guess?” growled the general. “I thought you landed us right at the prison.”
“I landed us closer to the prison than anyone could reasonably expect,” I said, which was true.
“All right,” said the general. “Fingers, blast that door.”
But as Fingers approached, the door suddenly swung open and a man in blue coveralls burst through. “ . . . did I tell you guys about screwing around in the old landing bay?” he was saying. “I ought to report you to . . .” He trailed off as he saw three eager-looking teenagers pointing lazeguns at him. “Oh, shi—”
The three rebels fired simultaneously and the man disappeared into a puff of smoke, leaving behind nothing but a greasy puddle on the floor.
“Let’s go,” said the general, stepping over the puddle. On the other side was another empty corridor ending in a door that was marked:
GULAGATRAZ MISERY REACTOR
MAIN ENTRANCE
TURNING AGONY INTO AMPS SINCE 2976
“Hang on,” said Rex. “Haven’t you ever infiltrated a reactor before? We should all be wearing coveralls like that guy was. I think there was a locker room a few doors back. Prop that door open and let’s go take a look.”
We located the locker room and found coveralls for everyone. General Issimo’s bunched up around his ankles and stretched tight around his waist; evidently there weren’t any Norks working at the reactor. Robots don’t generally wear clothing so I occupied myself by studying a map of the facility on the wall near the door. It didn’t include the prison, of course, but assuming that the prison was directly above the reactor, it shouldn’t be hard to find.
Satisfied that we looked vaguely like a crew of workmen, we headed back to the door. Passing through the corridor, we opened the door to the main reactor floor. It was a stadium-sized room dominated by a translucent cauldron the size of a five-story building. Inside the cauldron swirled a mixture of efflorescent substances that ranged in color from an unnatural greenish yellow to a foul-looking brown. A shaft arose vertically from the center of the cauldron, connecting it to a manifold that was fed by six massive steel conduits that angled to disappear into the rocky ceiling. The misery reac
tor.
We were standing on a catwalk that ringed the roughly spherical room, some ten meters above the floor. Below, dozens of workers milled about or sat at control stations placed sporadically about the reactor. The hum of the infernal machinery was almost deafening; I was surprised anyone had been able to hear the explosion over the din. No one seemed to take any notice of us.
“Which way, robot?” demanded the general.
“The prison should be above us,” I said. “I suggest we follow this catwalk to the far wall and then look for an elevator.”
“You heard the robot,” said the general. “This way!” He led his men across the catwalk. Rex and I followed.
We found a door on the opposite side that led to a lobby containing a bank of elevators. Coverall-wearing workers milled past us to and from the elevators as we walked in. Nobody seemed particularly interested in us. A sign next to the doors promised access to several other reactor floors; above these were a dozen floors that seemed prison-related.
“I expected this to be a little more difficult,” Rex grumbled to me. “At this rate, we’re going to be back to the forest moon well before Larviton’s cannon is ready to blast my planet.”
The general turned to me. “What floor is Wick on?”
“Oh, for Space’s sake,” said Rex. “Why don’t you and the kids just wait in the spaceship and we’ll have Wick gift-wrapped and sent down to you?”
I regarded the sign on the wall. “I think they had us in ‘New Arrivals’ when we first arrived,” I said. “They’ve probably moved him to more permanent quarters by now. Oh, here: ‘Collateral.’ On Level Four.”
We got on the elevator and the general pressed the button for Level Four. The elevator shot up and stopped when a light indicated we were on the right level. The doors slid open and we exited into another lobby area.
“May I help you?” asked a blue-skinned Tularean receptionist behind a desk to our left. If she was surprised at the sight of our motley crew, she didn’t show it.
Starship Grifters (A Rex Nihilo Adventure) Page 12
