by S F Chapman
If they were feeding her twice a day, Jana reasoned, then she’d been taken prisoner about three days ago.
Her stomach growled in disagreement. Perhaps her meals were served only once a day, in which case she’d been locked in this tiny room for a week.
Reluctantly, Jana concluded, that seemed the more likely scenario.
• • •
“Try it again, you bonehead,” Captain Olin Gristle wearily told his First Mate.
“Fine!” Bosco Kremerling slammed the metal cover shut on the back of the communication console, “But I’m not talking to the bastard if we do manage to fix it.”
Olin rolled his eyes, Bosco was particularly short tempered even for a pirate.
Perhaps reason would work with his testy subordinate, “Look Boz, we’re never gonna get paid off for this little crime spree unless we finish things up the way that he wants them.”
Bosco adjusted the output controls and reset the frequency. “You talk to him then,” the belligerent second in command of the recently expropriated Butin Belle balled his fists in displeasure, “Given the chance, I’m likely to slit his throat or ram this ship into his friggin' living room.”
“Alright, I’ll talk to him.”
It had been over a week since the band of seven pirates had snuck into the Moon base and made off with five prisoners and much more loot than they had expected. Their employer had asked for only one particular man and woman who were locked up separately in two of the ship’s cargo holds and about five kilos of the weird antimatter iron that they made at the lab. He and Boz planned to ransom the others and sell off the rest of the valuable stolen materials.
And of course the device, Olin grinned. The heavy little sphere that they had nabbed from the Lab was the center piece of the whole scheme.
They were supposed to contact their employer three days ago, but the communication system was on the fritz. The Captain bit his lip and began his much-delayed message, “This is bluebird calling big boy. We have your birthday presents and the guests of honor. We’re awaiting your invitation to the party.” He pressed the send button.
Due to the huge distance that the message would travel, they wouldn’t receive a reply for at least two hours.
The First Mate had a sour look of contempt as he watched the Captain send off the cryptic dispatch.
“I’m gonna look in on our precious passengers,” Bosco finally muttered as he drifted out of the control room.
• • •
“Indium, Atomic Number 49. A very soft silvery-white post-transition metal,” Jana whispered to herself, “Symbol: In. Atomic Weight: 114.818. Eighty-six known isotopes, two of which are stable.”
She grinned waggishly, “One of the ‘stable’ isotopes is mildly radioactive.”
“Tin, Atomic Number 50....”
A distant clatter interrupted her solitary discourse.
Jana stiffened in dread, someone was coming.
The cover over the small rectangular window on the door slid open, two disquieting dark eyes scrutinized her for nearly a minute. Finally the bolt of the heavy hatch disengaged and the thick metal door opened.
It was one of her capturers, Jana surmised uneasily.
A glowering and scraggily brute propelled himself into the chamber. His forward momentum slammed them both against the cold outer wall. The intruder clamped his big hands around her waist.
Jana stared at him in terror. His odor was hideous, like a sickening combination of carrion and rubbish bins.
The hoodlum growled, “I would have porked you days ago.”
He drew out a long, thin and very sharp dagger from a well-worn sheath dangling from his hip.
The thug’s rough hand tightened around the knurled black handle as he brought it slowly and menacingly towards Jana’s neck.
“You’re too damn old and ugly to sell off to the Sex Slavers,” he snarled.
The point of the grimy blade traced the line of her jaw bone.
Jana could feel her skin part under the tip. The warm wetness of fresh blood trickled out.
She clinched her eyes closed in horror.
Surely he meant to kill her.
The beast cackled at her squeamishness.
He finally shoved her away in disgust, “Luckily for you, the Captain says that you’re most valuable to us in unmolested condition.”
Jana opened her eyes.
He returned the now blood-streaked dagger to the sheath and sneered lasciviously at her, “Our employer requires your services as a forced laborer.”
She stared at him in disbelief, “Forced labor for what?”
Jana wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to hear the answer.
The big man twisted Jana’s wrists painfully behind her back and dragged her out of the cell, “Something to do with strange stuff that you made on the Moon.”
• • •
Olin Gristle listened to the scathing message from his employer. He realized with some remorse that their current predicament was largely due to his First Mate’s propensity for destruction.
He could hear Boz rattling down the passageway now. The big man was the only one of the seven pirates on board the Butin Belle that didn’t traverse the ship in cat-like silence. Even the clumsy and dull-witted cabin boy could carry out his activities without making a sound.
Bosco blustered into the control room dragging one of their indispensable hostages.
The Captain scowled, “What the hell are you doing with her?”
The First Mate grinned contemptuously, “Just taking the bitch around for a little tour of our splendid ship.”
The woman seemed to be horrified and, except for a thin bloody gash on her jaw, unharmed.
“Stop fooling around,” Olin glared at him, “we got a reply from the boss.”
He played the message again, “You idiots! You busted up the candy store when you collected the guests and presents. Now the shop owner’s on the prowl with the watchdog. The party has been moved to the winter house. Get the package ready for Air Mail delivery. DON’T drive off the road again, you morons!”
“Well, he seems a little pissed off,” Boz smirked, “I guess my work is done.”
Olin frowned, “I’m still trying to figure out the message.” He doodled on a scrap of grimy paper, “I know where the winter house is and I’ve adjusted our course to get us there.”
He stared at the prisoner for several seconds before smiling, “I don’t believe that we’ve been properly introduced; I am Captain Olin Gristle, currently the Master of the Butin Belle.”
He bowed with an absurdly overdone flourish.
“And you are..?”
“Dr. Jana Fesai,” she forced an uneasy smile.
Olin continued, “So nice to meet you, Dr. Fesai. Since I was tending to matters on board the ship at the time, I was unable to visit the Ultra Energy Lab when my First Mate and the rest of the crew arranged for you to join us.”
She realized that the man was apparently fishing around for something.
“I understand that the Laboratory was quite impressive. Who paid the bills for all of the fine work that went on over there?” he tipped his head expectantly.
“The lab is run by Free City University, but the Warlord Syndicate funds the research.”
The Captain winced, “I was afraid of that. So the Syndicate and probably the Free City Inquisitor's Office are poking around.”
Good, Jana thought vindictively, now these marauders were feeling a little pain.
“Boz, I told you that the explosion was too big! We were only supposed to cover our tracks, not destroy the entire complex.”
“The Lab is gone?” Jana stared at the Captain in horror.
“Yes, I afraid so,” Olin frowned at his First Mate, “Mr. Kremerling decided to detonate two kilos of antimatter, not the ten grams that I gave him for the job.”
“Hey, I love fireworks,” Boz shrugged.
Jana quivered at the revelation; the nearly three hundred peopl
e who worked at the lab had certainly been killed by the brazen stupidity of these criminals and their still unknown overseer.
The two pirates argued amongst themselves.
Although she too was likely doomed, Jana resolved to somehow resist the efforts of the thugs that now surrounded her. Just as her ancient ancestors had done in Poland during World War II, she would secretly and subtly sabotage her captors’ ambitions.
8. Beyond the city limits It was miserably early on a dreadful morning.
Ryo frowned disapprovingly as he stared out of the city transport while it plodded through the overcast metropolis.
He certainly didn’t want a sidekick, especially someone so young and inexperienced in the complexities of investigative work, but he was beginning to feel a growing affinity for Lev Fesai that he didn’t completely understand.
The man had just lost his mother, Ryo reflected, but there seemed to be more to the developing camaraderie than mere pity. They’d worked surprisingly well together the other night at Club Glut.
Lev seemed to be Ryo’s exact opposite. He apparently had no difficulty understanding the obscure intricacies of advanced Physics with its many axioms and absolutes. But he was also surprisingly dedicated to the unrestrained and nonconformist lifestyle of the Enlightenment Crusade.
Ryo had always strived to be moderate in his views and deeds, a quality that had served him well for nearly 35 years as an Investigator. His restrained centrism no doubt trailed back to his long dead Taoist ancestors.
Perhaps he just enjoyed the young man’s company in a paternal way. Ryo cringed at the sudden insight; it made him feel especially old.
He sighed ruefully; apparently his subconscious was hinting that he should end his decades long dithering and get on with cultivating a descendant.
The transport jittered to a stop at the ever-busy Breton Street. Ryo followed the dreary hourly workers out of the hulking vehicle and on to the blustery thoroughfare.
He apathetically studied the unfamiliar district. Hopefully he’d be able to locate his new cohort’s residence in the confusing Old World layout that pervaded this side of the city.
After a protracted search that involved walking up and down the block several times, Ryo selected the ornate townhouse that he believed was most likely to be Lev’s residence. He ascended the broad stairway and studied the wide front porch.
A burly gray tabby cat watched him suspiciously through the glass of the prodigious front window. It might well have been the animal that Jana Fesai had worried about in her final message to her son, Ryo noted.
He knocked tentatively on the huge white door. The cat sprang away in alarm at the commotion.
The door opened.
“Oh, Ryo. Come on in,” Lev mumbled lethargically.
The big cat warily watched the visitor from the far end of the entryway.
“I just got up,” the younger man squinted out at the gloomy weather, “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”
“Well, what do you have?”
“Ah, I think we have some leftover bagels and somebody’s just made coffee.”
“Coffee?” Ryo could not believe his luck, “Where on earth did you get coffee?”
“It’s not illegal is it?” Lev shuddered.
Ryo laughed, “No, it’s just so rare now. I haven’t had any since the Warlord Syndicate jacked up the duties on coffee beans and the Free City authorities retaliated by piling on exorbitant tariffs. I can’t afford 250 Units for a cup of the precious stuff.”
“Well, we’ve have plenty,” Lev led him into the well-appointed kitchen, “just don’t ask how we got it.”
A rotund dark-haired woman wrapped loosely in a colorful blanket and nothing else smiled at Ryo from the cluttered dining table.
“This is Cyndi, she’s one of my roommates. Cyn, this is Ryo Trop; he and I are going over to Dublin today.”
Cyndi extended her hand in greeting, causing the blanket to cascade off of her bare right shoulder. “Are you the cop?”
Ryo shook her hand and studied the now exposed woman, “Not a cop; Investigator Second Class for the Free City Inquisitor's Office.”
“OH.”
Lev filled three white porcelain mugs with wafting black liquid, “Sugar?”
Ryo chuckled, “Sure, as long as it’s not xylitol.”
Both Lev and Cyndi stared at him in confusion.
“Yeah, sugar would be fine.”
• • •
The two men bounced along in the transport towards the City Limits Check Point.
“Cyndi seems nice. Are you two an item?”
“Well;” Lev vacillated, “we do sleep together occasionally. But the Enlightenment Crusade is all about experimentation so I also pretty much bed down with everyone else in the house too.”
“How very modern of you.”
The transport groaned to a stop at the heavily barricaded Check Point. Dozens of weapons-toting Free City Militiaman watched vigilantly over the border crossing for unauthorized intruders from beyond.
Ryo and Lev joined the small group seeking to leave the civilized enclave.
A surly EurAfrican border guard summoned them through the gate, “Your names?”
“Ryo Trop and Lev Fesai.”
“What is the nature of your activities in the Supreme Imperial Fiefdom of EurAfrica?” he growled at the two men.
Ryo rolled his eyes at the pretentious sentry, “Free City Inquisitor's Case Number 2445-11057.”
“Trop and Fesai,” the border guard sneered at his interface screen, “ you are free to enter EurAfrica.”
They strolled past the Check Point.
Lev looked back at the dour sentinel, “I thought that you had to bribe the Fiefdom officials to get though the gate.”
“The job has its privileges,” Ryo smiled.
They filed past a long snaking line of destitute refugees undoubtedly all far too optimistic about their chances of entering Free City. Lev briefly studied two mucky teenage girls in the middle of the throng before offering them the remnants of a stale bagel that he had retrieved from his coat pocket.
“We need to get some ground transportation,” Ryo craned his neck. “Hopefully we can find something, there aren’t any trains or street transports on this side of the border.”
He scowled at the dreadful conditions of the shantytown. “Years ago, I was able to hire a vehicle for a day or two but apparently most people never returned the jalopies when the lease was up. We may end up having to buy something for the trip.”
They dodged past dozens of street vendors selling contraband and worthless doodads.
“Ah, here we go,” Ryo grinned.
A garishly outfitted mud lot loudly proclaimed Mwizi’s Motor Vehicles.
Ryo strolled past the entryway befouled with dozens of glittery mismatched flags. Lev cautiously followed.
The men tentatively examined several beat-up clunkers. Ryo beckoned to the lot attendant slumped apathetically in front of a tiny interface display. The man eventually approached the two potential customers.
“What do you guys want today?”
Ryo smiled superficially, “Do you rent vehicles for the day?”
“You’re kidding, right?” The salesman shook his head sarcastically, “Outright sales only.”
“Alright then,” Ryo’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, “we’d like to buy a three or four seat cruiser.”
The attendant surveyed the dozen or so vehicles strewn around the lot. “What level of Antipersonnel Protection are we talking about here?”
Ryo rubbed his forehead in dismay; long ago personal transportation in the domain of the Warlords had reverted from the cozy mass friendliness of public transit back to the antisocial safety of traveling alone wrapped in a hulking cocoon of energy-wasting steel.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this, remind me of the Protection options,” Ryo was certain that final price that he would end up paying was quickly climbing in the salesman’s mind.
A sardonic grin stretched across the man’s face, “Well, you’ve got your Level One Protection which will stop rocks and small weapon’s fire. But Level One would only be effective in your nicer neighborhoods of Free City if they still allowed personal transports in that prissy little fairyland.”
Ryo impatiently cut the man off. “We’re not going to keep the heap for more than a day. What do you recommend for a quick trip to Dublin?”
“Dublin’s a rough place, I’d go with Level Eight Protection. That will stop all common weapon’s fire and most types of explosives. If you were traveling at night, I’d insist on Level Ten.”
“Naturally.”
Forty-five minutes later, Ryo navigated a hulking rustbucket off the lot and down the pothole-pocked road toward Dublin.
• • •
Twenty minutes into the trip Lev was jolted out of an uneasy catnap by an outburst of weapon’s fire. The unseen assailants caused no damage to the heavily fortified conveyance; Ryo didn’t even bother to take his eyes off of the road during the halfhearted ambush.
The young man stared in lingering panic out the window of the creaky vehicle.
“Tell me about your mother,” Ryo asked idly.
Lev contemplated the old Investigator for several seconds as he drew his attention back to the tedious road trip. “My mother,” his shoulders slumped, “was my best friend for most of my life.”
“Did you have a dad?”
“No;” he shook his head, “mom was too busy to go through all of that; I was the result of random insemination at the fertility clinic.”
Lev tilted his head in curiosity, “What about you?”
“Cloned.”
“I would have never guessed.”
Ryo chuckled, “Not all clones are janitors and day laborers. Some of us managed to struggle our way up to Investigator Second Class.”
“Did you...,” Lev paused to consider the propriety of his question, “did you have anyone to raise you?”
“I was supposed to,” Ryo sighed. “I’m a clone of my father who was a rural bribe collector for the Fiefdom of EurAfrica.” The old Investigator winced, “When I was about four years old, he was killed by the side of the road by some highwayman.”
