by Chris Turner
Kragen scowled. “Friend of yours?”
“You could call him that,” I mumbled.
He growled. “You carrying stuff you shouldn’t could get you in trouble. I’ll deal with this. You sit tight.”
He swaggered across the yard and Marty, me and Deidra ducked behind some rusted metal bins. No use ‘Silas’ getting a fix on us. Fortunate that we’d moved the ship to a secluded area.
I caught a brief glimpse of Silas, Sharki’s so-called bounty hunter. Recognized his gunmetal garb. Tall rangy sod with a metal-silver shielding up his left arm, the same color as his boss’s ugly space suit. He and Kragen spoke at length at the end of the yard, waving arms and raising voices. The yardhands stood around, trading dark murmurs.
Strident words drifted across the open space, the air clammy and smelling of swamp stuff like snails and muskeg.
“Their ship trailing smoke was spotted circling around here.”
“Sorry, chief, can’t help you. Whoever they are must be long gone. Try Smilly’s on Barrowfen.”
There were grunts and some more curt words traded then the bounty hunter left. A disc-shaped ship with turbo boosters took off in blue jet blasts and headed toward Tyrone City.
We came out of hiding and brushed ourselves off. “Appreciate your quick cover story,” I said gruffly.
Kragen shrugged. “Don’t mention it. Considering my good deed of the day, how be you give us something too?”
“I told you, you can’t have the woman.”
“Well, if you’re not going to throw her in, how about joining in on some recreation? Winner takes all.”
“Come again?”
“A little friendly yard play. Nothing to wet yourself over. You win, I get Malley do your repairs. You lose, we take your shipment, and the girl.”
Deidra objected strongly to the deal and Marty gave a coarse laugh. I waved them to silence.
“Quite a deal, Kragen. You’re a real regular, all round guy.”
He beamed. “Glad you think of me that way.”
I questioned my wisdom at dropping in on this yard. My fingers flexed around my R4, liking the warm stock and its feel. I toyed with the idea of blasting my way out of here. Not a good plan. Our ship was disabled and we were outnumbered. They all seemed to carry only knives and workman’s tools, yet—
“Put that blaster down.”
Before I knew it rude hands were groping me from behind. What the— Didn’t hear them coming. Two rag-bearded fellows, all grins. Someone snatched Marty’s weapon and as quickly, Deidra’s. Like pros, these weasels.
Now we were even more outnumbered.
“That’s better,” Kragen rumbled. “A more even playing arena. Don’t like strangers with guns in my yard.”
“I still don’t get—”
“I mean—you against me. Ratchets, Dongels, Hammers, Gongs. You pick.”
So, have some sport with the pigeon Rusco. Gain a few laughs and some points with the buds. Okay, I could run with it—old boy throwback tried and true. A bait and impress your yard-dog followers with a trick.
“Ratchets.” I could handle this.
Kragen shrugged. “Interesting choice. I see you like pain. No matter.” He motioned to one of his men and tossed me a pipe wrench. He gripped one in his own hand and patted one end against his palm. It fit nicely. “Your move, captain.”
I raised my weapon.
“Wait,” Kragen grunted. “Just to make this more interesting, let’s move the arena closer to the workflow.”
I flashed him a quizzical glance.
“Sometimes Bessy and Zeke get a little sloppy with their janitorial work. Slop acid drips down from the main crucible. See?” He motioned to a place under the catwalks where acid-scored scaffolding ran up in complex configurations. “Real bitch if somebody steps in those acid pools or heaven forbid, falls in it. Last guy did—well, you don’t want to know, Rusbo. I’ll leave it to your imagination.”
I did and I got it loud and clear. “An amusing game,” I murmured. Me, Marty and Deidra followed them over to the crucible pad. “You play this game often?”
“As much as we can. Suffice it to say, a few men are off each week tending to burns and other wounds. This week’s unusual though—three guys laid out.” He grinned. “Just saying.”
I grinned back. “Not surprising.” I examined the bilious yellow pools staining the tarmac. A sulfurous reek wafted from the acid-pocked hardtop. One of the massive crucibles had been recently forklifted away and curls of acrid steam still rose from the spillage.
“Shall we? Day’s getting on.” Kragen gave a brisk flourish.
Mumbling in anticipation, Kragen’s drones climbed the scaffolding to watch. I cast them a menacing leer and an exaggerated salute.
“After you.” I held out my hand to him.
Marty looked on in amusement. “All the luck to you, Rusco.” He slapped me on the back a bit harder than necessary. “Break a leg.”
Wish he’d given me some Myscol earlier on. Bugger. I could handle this creepo game solo. We get the repairs done and scram from this joint, before some bitchface, heavy-hitter dirtbag like Silas sidled back looking for us.
Kragen came in strong, beating me back with his pipe and making me sweat. The clinks of cold metal on metal echoed up the yard. Marty moved in closer for a bird’s eye view. Deidra stood at a distance, her body rigid. The crowd hollered and cheered for Kragen. I backpedaled, narrowly missing a whistling swing that came a hair width from my ear. Christ, was the sod trying to kill me? Sure, why not? Gain a free ship and cargo, once he gets rid of Marty and uses Deidra.
I stepped in a puddle and howled as sizzling smoke rose from the sole of my left boot. I hot-potatoed it out of the way, at the same time shucking off my boot while Kragen grinned, shaking his head in admiration. “Tricky business there, Rusbo. You’re a real acrobat, doing that jitterbug.”
I coursed forward, in a shambling hop, trying to duck under Kragen’s next pipe swings which came faster and more furious while I shouldered up heavy and blocked him with my own tool. Now I was lumbering around with one sock foot. Easy prey to more yellow sludge if I wasn’t careful. Likely lose half my foot if I mis-stepped.
Kragen’s grin grew ever broader. “Good save there, Rusbo. Haven’t seen that done in a long time.” He guffawed. “Think you just won tipsy award of the week.”
He vaulted in and gave me a good wallop with his pipe-wrench that grazed my forearm. Enough of a wicked nick to make me want to howl. But I didn’t howl. Never would give that clown the pleasure of thinking he’d scored even half a point.
Two of his monkeys butted in to shove me closer to his swings.
Deidra came in with both fists to box the first of the two joker’s ears. “You buggers ever hear of fair play?” She held her ground, ready to deal out more. Marty was beside her, sleeves rolled up, hating dirty play as much as she.
One barked out a lewd remark.
“Yeah, your mother too,” Deidra called back.
That last move snapped a wire in my head and now the old Mr. Hyde burned bright and strong. Just an instant hurricane of evil. Not for too long. That mean ugly fucker side wouldn’t need it for long. I feinted left then right, ducked his steel and tripped his heavy padded ass. He fell hard and cried out and I beamed him soundly across the back, prompting a howl and a groan. He fell face first to the tarmac, inches from an acid spill. My ratchet head went up to brain him for good but he held up a restraining hand. “Okay, okay, truce, Rusbo. You won that fair and square. No heavy hitting needed. We go get us some brews, dark ones in the back hangar.”
“Sure, sure…and it’s Rusco.” I took his hand and helped him up. “What of our guns?”
“Nah, no guns. They scare me.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Malley can fix your rig up. He’s our best mechanic. I’ve taken a shine to you, Rusbo, so what’s say I swing you a deal? Fair price.”
“Rusco.”
“If it’s structur
al, be longer. Internal drive conventional stuff.”
“How long?”
“A week?”
“Fuck, we don’t have a week,” Marty cried, fists pumped. “Sharki’ll be all over us by then.”
I cut Marty off with a chop of my hand. “Not much choice, Marty,” I hissed. “We can scout out Tyrone City in the meantime, see what’s up.”
Deidra’s face looked bleak as a cold winter day. “So what now? We just wait around for some sharpshooter like Silas to blow our brains out?”
“You can lay low here,” Kragen offered. “No one will bother you. I’ve got odd jobs for the lot of you—help pay for those repairs.”
* * *
So we stayed on and joined part of Kragen’s yard gang, working chain rig, hauling buckets of smelt, doing crucible watch, cleanup, any odd piss-pot jobs Kragen had for us. I was soaked with sweat by the end of the day. Deidra too, who lolled at my side, grimed and looking none too happy. Marty raked up piss and shit from the animal yard. He turned to me. “Why they have a rescue station here for every firrit that ever lived is beyond me.” He plugged his nose, bawled a curse, plugged his nose again. “Must be a hundred shitters here.”
“Because the boss loves firrits, is why,” said Edgar the maintenance man. “Keep working. Everybody can have a pet firrit here. Maybe you’ll get one too.”
Marty shook his head and exhaled a sad breath. “Sure need those nightly plunges in the shallow lake nearby.”
Turns out Kragen’s mini refinery did everything under the sun…and the old-fashioned, conventional way, heating crucibles of mineral with fire then jolts of electricity getting it to proper ionization level. Used loaders and cranes to lift the smelt to a cooling bin before it was cut up into bite-sized crystals then cleaned.
Thetis still had these shops and factories going, though as Deidra pointed out, they pumped out nowhere near the volume of Sharki’s operation.
I kept Deidra out of harm’s way and under tight watch, a spare tool hid in my back pocket in case anybody got too frisky. That brazen swagger of hers with loose-hipped stride was mighty tempting. Coupled with her full lips, tall bearing and ash blond locks trailing past shoulders was enough to put most men over the edge. Not that she couldn’t handle herself. We ate in the mess hall off Malley’s yard. Mostly cheap fare, looking like some sort of boiled swamp scallops and white stringy vegetable. But the food was included so I couldn’t complain. Marty ate heaping double helpings while Deidra seemed to eat like a bird. All in all, Kragen was a fair host who organized entertainment for us in the evenings, like homegrown comedy hour, dress up night, beer-drinking races, and such, all to the drunken jeers of the slave help. Marty turned out to be a hoot, dressing up like a spinster and giving his ham-handed version of her violent acts with a tire iron when accosted by the rowdy yardhands in an improvised skit.
By day, Kragen worked us hard and Marty was ready to murder someone. “From riches to rags,” he griped. “We should be getting that shipment to buyers and be laughing it up.”
“But we aren’t, are we? So quit your grousing and keep looking to better days. We have the chance to be rich men.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it, Rusco.”
Deidra took a more relaxed stance and did her work without complaining. At night time Marty, Deidra and I camped out in Goliath, spared us having to sleep in the communal barracks. Good thing too. Deidra’s good looks and figure would have been a magnet for trouble.
After hours the third day she approached me after the other workers had hit the barracks, those crude tin lodgings much like an army provides its soldiers, located behind the equipment service yard.
“Still haven’t forgiven you, Rusco, for locking me in that closet-crib. That was unnecessary. Who are you anyways? Can’t put my finger on you. A wise-ass with some smarts and grit, but unpredictable. Vagabond, thief, rogue, take your pick. There’s something not quite right about you and that cross-eyed grin of yours under all that dark, murky, cynical exterior, with a few little idiosyncrasies thrown in that don’t add up.”
I smirked. “Don’t think too long, Deidra. You’ll never figure me out. Nor will I.”
“Clever answer. Why’re you chumming around with that hothead bullet-face, Marty? Seems a bad match. Surely you can do better?”
“Mar’s a little rough around the edges, but a loyal accomplice and one who gets the job done.”
“Yeah, that’s an overstatement.” She shook her head and made a sour face. “Still can’t figure you out.”
“Forget it. You’re in over your head. Concentrate on getting yourself free from Sharki. Until we’re off this planet, you’re just as much shark-bait as me.”
Chapter 4
Three days later, Kragen put a rough hand on my shoulder as I was about to haul a bucket of reagent up the scaffolding to drop in the feeder chute. “Repairs are done, Rusbo. Warp is still screwed but impulse drive is working fine. A fine ship that is—antediluvian as she may be.”
Marty looked up with a growl. “The impulse was working fine before.”
Kragen shrugged. “Just relaying Malley’s words. The bad news—the ship’s clocked up more repair and parts than any of us ever expected. We went ahead with the repairs anyways. Hope you and your pals aren’t in any hurry somewhere?”
My throat felt dry as I drew in a hoarse breath. “How much repair?”
Kragen winced, wiped his chin, “About 10k yols.”
“10k? Get serious!”
“We can amortize the cost over time, relax. Strictly labor. You people seem to be doing a half decent job here.” He pointed and smiled. “That’ll be three of you working nights. Say about three months work? Maybe two and a half, if you work overtime.”
“No fucking way!” Marty bawled. “I’m no roustabout.”
Kragen screwed up his eyes in a fierce scowl. “You know, I don’t like you, bullet-head. Got a dirty mouth. Seems you need a lesson in humility. To show proper respect for the working class.”
Marty reached for the hammer at his feet in the toolbox. “Screw your respect. None of that in this twisted universe, so piss off.”
“Hold on.” I broke up the inevitable fight before it began.
Our heads turned at a sound of a sneering voice. “Hoy!”
Six men coming our way, all swagger and heavily armed.
Kragen stepped back with a grimace. My blood ran cold. The old feet didn’t want to move but I forced them edging back into the late afternoon shadows, drawing Marty and Deidra with me. My worst nightmare, if ever there was one. We huddled behind some oil drums. Four of Sharki’s henchmen stood with R3s cocked alongside that robotic bounty hunter we’d seen with the dart gun embedded in his left forearm.
The firrit at Kragen’s side sniffed and growled.
Sharki approached with a palm extended. “What’s a matter, pooch? Don’t like the smell of a real man?” He laughed.
The firrit scuttled away and sank teeth into Silas’s leg.
“Ah, mother fucker,” the bounty hunter moaned. He smashed down with his metal dart gun arm to brain it but it deked away, snarling. He had only grazed it. The beast made a beeline for Sharki who blasted it between the eyes. The creature fell in a limp heap, convulsing, rotating a few rounds before lying still.
Kragen’s face turned beet red. “Hey, you fucker, that was an innocent animal.”
Sharki shrugged. “Didn’t like the look or smell of it.”
“Tough shit. Fifer didn’t like you. That’s why she attacked. Animal’s doing only what it should, protecting its own.” He pulled out his knife.
“You might as well slit your own throat with that penknife, friend,” Sharki said conversationally. “What you got there is worse than two pairs against a five card stud. Unless you’re a knife-hurling ace?”
“What you want? This is a respectable business. Take your bully-boys and get off my property.”
“Where you hiding them, crog? Seems I saw brisk activity a moment ago
by those bins.”
“Employees is all, under my protection.”
“Oh, yeah?” With a vile sneer, he cocked his weapon and pegged a bearded slave trying to creep away. “There’s one dead employee. How many more will it take?”
Kragen made to throw the knife but Sharki lifted his weapon and capped the yardmaster in the fleshy part of the leg.
“OW, you son of a bitch!”
Sharki frowned and capped him in his other leg. Kragen rolled, moaning on the ground, hugging his bleeding lower limbs.
Vagas, Kragen’s chain gang man, leaped in to club Sharki on the side of the head but the bounty hunter got to him first. A gleaming dart went whistling right through his larynx. He clutched his throat and fell to his knees, gurgling.
“Any more of you pipsqueaks have any objections?”
Dead silence except for the Vagas’s and Kragen’s gurgles and moans.
“No? I thought so.” Sharki laid his boot on Kragen’s rasping throat.
Kragen had been good to us and I hated to see him die like that. “He’s an innocent man, leave him alone,” I rasped out from behind the barrels.
“Nobody’s innocent, fucknut. Come out and show yourself. Little Tweety-Bird has to pay for lying to the big, bad wolf. See, truth is, Silas here was not that bright and listened to lies the first time round. I ain’t the credulous fool he is.” He lifted his foot and ignoring Kragen’s bellowing protest, stamped down on his neck, snapping it like a rotten branch.
I winced. We slumped behind the oil drums, all three of us gritting our teeth. What an utter cockup. We were dead meat.
Three wasted, more to come. How to get to the ship with six armed men cutting off our escape?
“This voice have a name?” Sharki bellowed. “Let me guess… Jet Rusco. Two bit bandit, demolitions man, hustler, wise-ass. Rusco, I think you and me have some bones to pick.”
Damn Kragen. Lost his life, now reduced to a bleeding, shameless heap. Stupid fool no-gun policy. We had no weapons to protect ourselves but for a few monkey wrenches, tire irons and cans of paint. Great.
“I made it my personal mission to hunt you bastards down,” Sharki went on. “Messed up my station back there. Nobody crosses Sharki and gets away with it—all of them are six feet under, every one of them.”
