by M B Wood
Voices, indistinct at first, became clear. "Why we have to go on patrol at midnight is beyond me. I busted my fuckin' ass all day long. Now I gotta walk around this fuckin' building half the fuckin' night while Thompson’s porking his new piece. It ain't fair." The flashlight's bright circle danced across the ground, closer and closer, and landed on the door.
"Thompson’s worried someone's gonna break in. He's crazy." The light flashed to the overhead door, briefly stopping at the bottom. "See, tight as a virgin’s pussy.”
Still complaining, the two men continued in the same direction and disappeared around the next corner.
A minute later Fred eased the van out of the building. Taylor installed another padlock on the door. They took the same route as the guards around the warehouse. They paused at each corner, checking the way ahead was clear. Once at the front of the building, they headed for the exit road.
A flash and bang came as the van’s rear window shattered.
Fred stomped on the accelerator.
There were several flashes from the building and bullets thudded into the back of the van. Tires squealed as Fred drove fast around a corner. The van’s chassis creaked and groaned. On Sheldon Road, he increased speed and soon they were out of range.
"Hey, hey, Fred, slow down." Taylor was afraid the overloaded van would tip over. "We've still got to get home."
"Yeah, you're right." There was an almost hysterical edge to Fred's voice. "It's time to go home to momma."
Chapter 7
Outward Bound
Bilik argued with Mata ChaLik about the assembly of the drive system during the Egg-that-Flies' final construction because he refused to skip tests to confirm the reliability of the drive system. Angered, Mata ChaLik didn’t allow Bilik to go on the ship’s shakedown cruise-–he had to stay behind and make spare parts for the drive. The ship would gather fuel from Bata, the giant gas planet’s atmosphere just beyond the asteroid belt where they would deploy mining spacecraft.
"I'll miss you," Cha KinLaat said.
"Mata ChaLik had to accept a reduction in the Egg-that-Flies' self-sufficiency,” Bilik said. “That means more space inside the gravity centrifuge.”
"Yes and no. All the extra space is allocated to food production instead of supplies. Did you hear one of the hangars for space craft in the rear section was eliminated?"
"That, too?"
"Yes, and no armored scouts, no Birds-of-War."
"That won't make Mata ChaLik happy." Bilik heard rumors the leader of the Defenders wanted to turn the Egg-that-Flies into an impregnable fortress. "Will we get the Birds-that-Soar?" He knew the mission would be severely handicapped without the three fusion-powered heavy lift shuttlecraft.
"Yes, but Mata ChaLik insists they be fitted with beam weapons to give them some claws."
"What a surprise.” Bilik lowered his voice. “Did you hear Mata ChaLik must now have every command approved by the Keepers-of-the-Egg?"
"That should give me comfort. Somehow it doesn't," Cha KinLaat said. "I'll let you know how that works out."
#
Bilik watched the Egg-that-Flies depart for Bata. Its drive made a long, thin blue-white trace of fire in the dark night sky. The ship's motion was slow to see as it descended below the horizon in a slow dance with Qu'uda's moons. The next night, its flame rose like a distant glow-fly, shrinking over the passing hours as it headed toward the outer reaches of their system.
Bilik felt alone, for he was the only crewmember left behind. He struggled to produce the spare parts on schedule. As his patience wore thin, his circle of friends shrank.
It was, Bilik thought, the price I had to pay to be a part of the expedition. He had little time to call Cha KinLaat, and when he did, his friend was too busy to talk for long.
The Egg-that-Flies returned, appearing as a twinkling light among the stars. The huge ball of deuterium ice attached to its front made it brighter in orbit than on its departure. The ship would use the ice first and reserve the fuel in its tank for deceleration at their destination.
"Bilik," Cha KinLaat called. "The commissioning cruise went well except for the loss of two mining craft. One collided with an asteroid, and the other lost control and crashed into Bata. We brought back lots of metals from the asteroid belt."
"How did the propulsion system function?"
"Thrust was within design parameters. No problems. No one said anything about it. So it must have worked--"
"All crew members report to stations." A voice overrode their biocomputer's comm-net.
"That’s Mata ChaLik BuMaru," said Cha KinLaat. "He no longer seeks consensus. He just orders us around. I must go.”
"I need the Birds-that-Soar to take the spare parts to the Egg-that-Flies," Bilik said. "I’ve got a mountain of material and parts for the ship."
#
Bilik shuttled equipment non-stop to the Egg-that-Flies and brought down the metallic treasures harvested from Bata's asteroid belt. Finally, he took a last load of water up to top off the tanks, bathing pools and the food growing systems. The ship was ready.
Few attended the departure ceremony in person. Most watched the holographic images on the universal communications link. The Egg-that-Flies' trip to another star system was a historic event. Some feared the consequences, while others anticipated it would add a new world for their expansion. A few wondered if the aliens of Kota had anything to offer. Most viewed the mammalian species as vermin that could be safely eradicated.
Once on board, Bilik felt like an outsider. Everyone else had bonded during the trip to Bata. Cha KinLaat seemed distant.
This will change, he told himself. It's just temporary. Maybe it's me. I need to rest and recover from this past year.
On the outward acceleration leg, Bilik found Cha KinLaat still preoccupied while crossing the planetary orbits. When he did call Bilik, all he talked about was how he’d modified and corrected the thrust vectors, refining their course, adjusting for stellar aberration and relative system drift.
The deuterium ice-ball at the nose of the ship shrank as they passed the asteroid belt. The ship cleared the outer limits of their system and accelerated at one gravity to reach almost one-third the speed of light.
Once up to speed, the drive system shut down and the ship coasted on through the dark of interstellar space. There could be no turning back now from their thirty year-long voyage to the Kota system. They only had enough fuel remaining to bring the ship to a stop. They would have to find fuel at their destination, Kota, the home of the alien vermin.
Chapter 8
The Warehouse
"Mark, Mark." A fist pounded on the bedroom door. "Someone broke into the warehouse." The knocks grew louder.
Mark Thompson's erection wilted. "Shit. Perfect timing." He climbed off the tiny, brown-haired woman who quickly dragged bedclothes over her nakedness. Tears stained her face. A crack in the boarded-up windows above a chest of drawers barely illuminated the room. Empty beer cans lay scattered across the floor, along with discarded clothing.
"I'm coming. Listen, bitch," Mark said as he pulled on his jeans. "You'd better check your attitude. When I get back, you’re gonna hafta get with the program. If you don't, I'm gonna give you to the boys. They won't be gentle like me."
"No, dear God, no," the woman said through bruised lips. "Look, I own you, remember? If you piss me off, you'll be sorry." Mark slammed the door hard. He knew it had an intimidating effect. He checked the door’s lock. He liked young girls, and in dim light, he could fantasize this one was a teenager. He got hard again thinking about her.
#
Mark’s control of the warehouse gang started after he’d lost his construction job. His unemployment benefits ran out and the Union hall had no jobs. He needed work, something, anything to put food on the table. He answered an ad for a security guard at JB’s Warehouse Store.
Mark had been an MP in the Marines and knew the jargon used by police and security officers. He was six feet two inches tall,
two hundred and fifty pounds and he liked to fight. He cultivated an honest and open expression that was deceiving, which helped him get jobs and con people.
Manny Jerzy, the manager of JB’s Wholesale Food Club (Always the Low Price), a fat little man with thin, greasy hair, needed guards to prevent looting and vandalism at his store. “I've got over four acres under one roof,” he said often. Now he talked incessantly about rioters targeting supermarkets. He wanted more security.
"...and I can start immediately," Mark said.
"Military police?" Manny asked.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Jerzy.” Mark nodded. "Hand-to-hand combat, crowd control, whatever you need, whatever it takes."
"Can you get uniforms and security equipment?"
"Yeah, I know some police officers who'll help."
"You're hired." Manny shook his hand. "Start tomorrow."
#
Mark bought six AR15 rifles and fitted them with thirty-round magazine. "Mr. Jerzy, it's getting tougher out there. I'm good but I can't handle a riot by myself. I need more guards. Y'know, so people think the military is here.”
Manny nodded. "Sure, Mark, sure, that makes sense." Sweat beaded on his forehead. The damp patches at his armpits grew larger. "Where can I get reliable people?"
"Well, I know a couple of ex-Marines. They were MP's, too. I could have 'em stop by tomorrow." Mark's construction buddies needed jobs and he was sure that he could teach them enough military buzz words to fool Manny.
"Do that. I really need to protect my store."
"Sure," Mark said with a wink. "Be glad to.”
#
That afternoon, Mark coached Dave Luken and Bubba Eaton in security jargon for the interview. "Be at JB’s first thing in the morning," he said. "Spic and span, got it?"
#
"You were in the military police?" As Manny looked up, he mopped his brow. "Is that right?"
"Yeah, I was a tough cop," Dave Luken said. "I didn't take no crap from nobody. I, uh, protected property from, er, getting damaged." He struggled to get the words right. Even cleaned up, he still looked like a thug.
"How would you prevent situations from getting out of hand?"
"Well, er, Mr. Jerzy, you gotta apply enough force and, um, use it early before the troublemakers can instigate others in their unlawful activities." Luken's eyes wandered over the ceiling as though he might find the words there.
"Thank you, Mr. Luken. Will you wait outside, please?" After Luken closed the door, Manny turned to Mark. "I'm not sure he's the right man. He doesn’t project a military spit and polish image.”
Mark wanted his buddies on the inside with him. "Yeah," he said. "They have some rough edges, but under that tough exterior, they've got solid family values, great loyalty and they'll do what they're told." He paused. "I'm not sure I could work with someone I didn't know, especially in these times, if y'know what I mean."
Manny's nod was barely perceptible.
"Trust me," Mark said. "Those guys'll beef up security, so shoplifters will think twice. I can't work with anyone else.”
"Well, if you put it that way, I guess it’s okay." Manny narrowed his eyes. "They're your responsibility, you understand?"
"Sure, Mr. Jerzy, I guarantee they'll do what I say," Mark said. "Okay for them to start tomorrow?"
"Yes, the sooner the better. Make sure they're briefed on company policy. Have them wear the uniforms with the gold badges." It was obvious that he liked that appearance.
"Yes, sir. JB’s security guards mean business."
"That'll be all, Mark," Manny said. A trace of a frown creased his brow.
#
In unison, the TVs in the appliance department showed the National Guard in action in Cleveland, Columbus, and Cincinnati. Later, there were unconfirmed reports of police losing control in major cities and rioters routing several Guard Units.
As Manny watched TV, sweat began to trickle down his back. Police from the west side suburbs had gone to contain a riot in Cleveland and had lost. Live coverage now showed armed mobs overrunning both the Police and the National Guard in downtown Cleveland. Only one television station remained on the air.
"Mark. Close the store," Manny said. "Chain the entrance and patrol the parking lot. We’ve got to keep looters out."
"Sure, Mr. Jerzy." Mark knew anything wearing a uniform would be a target for drive-by shooters. It was time for him to make his move. There was one more detail. He wanted his friends inside. And, he wasn't going to patrol the parking lot.
#
Mark locked the exterior doors and went up to the roof with his men. "You two, stay up here. If anyone comes in the parking lot, shoot ‘em," he said.
Manny arrived, wheezing and puffing. "Why aren't those guards patrolling the parking lot like I told you? Who're these other men?" He pointed at a dozen armed men. "Who gave them store uniforms?"
"I did."
"Why?"
"Well, Manny, times have changed." Mark felt a smile start. "I'm in charge now."
"The hell you are. This is my store. You're fired. Turn in your equipment and get out."
"Luken, Eaton." Mark gestured toward the parking lot twenty feet below. "Get rid of this piece of shit.”
"No, you can’t." Manny screamed.
Luken and Eaton grabbed Manny and threw him over the edge of the parapet. As his body landed on the concrete sidewalk below, it sounded like a ripe melon bursting. He didn’t move.
"Target practice." Mark took a shot at Manny's body.
His men started to shoot.
"Okay, okay," he said a moment later. "That's enough. Don't waste your ammo on him. He’s history."
When a mob marched into JBs' parking lot demanding food, Mark's men opened fire. The mob fled. He remembered another group of people, in a van, that tried to buy stuff. A couple more shots and they too, disappeared. Soon, no one came near the warehouse and it became safe to move into the nearby houses.
Really, Mark thought. It was quite simple.
#
Mark drove along the side of the tall concrete block warehouse for about a hundred yards. "Which dickhead got me out of bed with this break-in crap?"
"There really was a break-in," Luken said. "There're fresh tire tracks inside, on the floor. A bunch of stuff is missing. This door has a different padlock now."
"You're shittin' me," Mark said.
"Eaton and Weeks almost got them. It was a van." Luken creased his face with a grim look. "They nailed ‘em - there's blood, lots of it.”
"Yeah? Show me."
In the morning light, a trail of dark drops made a wobbly line down the driveway and turned onto Sheldon Road.
"There, see." Luken nodded toward the road.
Mark touched the fluid and rubbed it between his fingers and sniffed. "Asshole, this ain't blood.” He tasted it. “It's tomato sauce."
"Look." Luken pointed to a trail of drops that went north on Sheldon Road. "It goes that way.”
Mark glared at the men around him. "Get Baker and his dog to track ‘em. Nobody screws with me and gets away with it. Nobody."
Chapter 9
A Small Justice
As the van leaned through the curve, its suspension bottomed out with a bang. Fred checked the rearview mirror. "Almost home," he said.
Shadows hid the road; no lights anywhere. Through the bare trees, moonlight glinted off the Rocky River, its appearance was like a ribbon of gems.
Fred slowed the van as he crossed over the bridge and turned onto the trail to the Hill. As the track got steeper, the van's parking lights barely penetrated the tall trees.
"We'd better wait until daylight," Fred said. "It's too risky to continue." He halted the van and got out. "I wanna see what those punks did." He flicked a flashlight onto the rear doors. "Jeez. Will ya look at that?"
The rear window was shattered; tomato juice and olive oil trickled down the bumper. Fred opened the rear door and cans fell out, leaking spaghetti sauce and olive oil. Red liquid oozed down the
doorsill.
He frowned. "Shit, that'll screw-up its trade-in value."
"Maybe your insurance will cover it." Taylor tried to hold his face straight. "Tell them it was vandalism. Y’know, it was done by vandals."
"You think they'll believe that?" Fred looked up and caught Taylor's smile. "Aw, man. I paid a lot for this van. I really wanted..." He closed his mouth.
#
A delicate peach rimmed the indigo sky in the east. Distantly, water tinkled. In nearby pin oaks, wood thrushes sang flute-like notes. A soft, southern breeze caressed the treetops.
"Let's go," Fred said. "I wanna go home to my family.”
The van creaked and groaned, all four wheels scrambling for traction up the gullied trail. Taylor and Chris followed on foot as the van struggled over the crest of the hill.
"Oh, Sant'Andon', grazia, grazia.” A pale-faced Maria Del Corso stepped forward, hands clasped before an ample bosom. “Caro mio, are you all right?" Lines creased her round face.
Fred jumped out of the van. "Yeah, I'm fine." He slipped his arm around Maria's waist and pulled her close. "You worry too much about me. I wouldn't have you any other way."
"Not here." She pushed his hand off her buttocks.
"Let's get this stuff unloaded." Taylor pulled out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt. "Franny, look at what I've got for you. I hope they’re the right size."
Franny stared wide-eyed, waif-like in her over-size clothing. The bruises on her face had faded to a greenish-yellow. "Uh, thanks." Blankly, she looked at Taylor's offering.
Cathy took the clothes. "Mom." She tugged on Franny's sleeve. "Aw, Mom, come on, let's go change."
"Oh.” Franny's eyes came into focus. "I can't put them on. These clothes are clean. I need to wash first."
Taylor hadn't bathed since arriving on the hill and his clothes were dirty, too. It wasn’t just a good idea--it was an excellent idea. "Hey, Fred, did we get detergent?”
“Yeah, I think so. Why?”
“Laundry. Let's go to the river, clean up and do laundry."
