Chaos Quarter

by Welch, David

  “Curious or nervous?” Governor Odemegwu proclaimed boisterously, rising from his throne. “To look at my wife that way you must be one or the other.”

  “Respectfully curious,” Rex replied.

  Odemegwu smiled at this. The guy had a huge smile. He was a tall man, nearly seven feet. His own stomach swelled outward with twenty pounds of body fat he could stand to lose. Hair tinged with grey clung to the sides of his head, but had abandoned the top.

  “It is our custom here, for royal women. A throwback, I’m afraid,” he said, motioning him in. “But an amusing one. The looks you off-worlders have when you see…ah, it is priceless.”

  The wife rolled her eyes.

  “Now, come. The man who brings such fine weapons to our world is welcome at my tables. Please, sit!” Odemegwu boomed.

  Rex moved into the room. Before the throne sat two long tables and around them sat men who ate with their fingers. Large plates of meat, loaves of brown bread, and a selection of fruits covered the table. Wine poured out of wooden carafes into plain mugs, to be gulped by the laughing, masculine faces of the governor’s entourage.

  He was led to a table and shown his seat. Two of the muscle men from earlier flanked him. Half-drunk already, they slung their arms around his shoulders as if they were life-long friends, jostling him. A plate of food appeared before him, real food. It had been six days since his last stop. Six days of canned beef and vacuum-packed vegetables made a man eager for anything fresh.

  His craving nearly distracted him from the stern looking, pale-skinned man sitting across from him. Rex blinked, not sure if the fellow actually sat there. Since landing the only person he’d seen who wasn’t black-skinned was Chakrika. This guy had close-cropped blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and a patrician face that didn’t seem capable of smiling. He also needed a shave.

  “Hi,” Rex said, wondering if pairing the two odd-balls in the bunch was another of the governor’s “amusements.”

  “My greetings,” the man replied. His accent reeked of formality, sounding distinctly British. That could mean a couple of things.

  “I know that speech,” Rex said. “England?”

  “No.”

  “Coventry?” Rex asked.

  “No.”

  “The planet, not the city,” Rex clarified.

  “Neither.”

  “So you’re Europan then?” Rex asked.

  The conversations around them died down. Eyes bore down on Rex’s back.

  “And you are a Terran,” the man replied.

  Odemegwu laughed quietly, probably not intending for his mirth to be heard.

  “Once,” Rex replied. “So what’s a Europan noble doing way out here? Got tired of harems and gobs of money?”

  The man glowered. Odemegwu laughed.

  “He is far from that,” the governor declared proudly. “Cast adrift far from his home, I have brought him into my service. The finest gunner of my fleet.”

  Rex nodded along. The muscles of the Europan’s face twitched and then tightened. People raised to be lords generally didn’t like to be treated as pets.

  “Well, Europan, do you have a name?” Rex asked and smirked. “Or a title you prefer?”

  “Lucius,” the Europan replied.

  “Lucius the lost imperial,” Rex muttered, turning his attention back to the food. Turned out it was pork and quite succulent. After about four mouthsful, he paused. Lucius was still staring at him.

  “Do we have to fight our nations’ battles way out here?” Rex asked.

  “Your people killed my grandfather,” Lucius informed him.

  “Yes, most likely. But your people raped my aunt continually for two years,” Rex replied. The voices around them died down again. They stared at each other. Rex had the distinct impression that Lucius was trying to assert dominance.

  “You gonna hold me personally responsible?” Rex asked.

  Lucius broke his stare and poked aimlessly at his food. Rex shrugged, glancing over toward the governor. He was being fed strips of meat by a serving girl. Beside him his wife had a worried look, directed at the surly Europan.

  “Would you like me to throw a chair at him, governor?” Rex asked, keeping a good amount of laughter in his voice. Silence gripped the room. The governor met Rex’s eyes for a moment and then smiled broadly.

  “Not tonight, my friend,” he replied. “We have less painful entertainment in store.”

  He clapped his hands, and a comedian came in.

  “Enjoy, my friends,” shouted the governor. “The reward for your labors!”

  * * *

  An hour of drinking and gorging had come and gone, the party moving to the mansion’s courtyard. The governor’s muscle drank and mingled with his concubines and maid-servants, who had been brought out for their enjoyment. These feasts were apparently a monthly event, the governor’s way of thanking his retainers.

  Rex had little use for them. His interest was focused, ironically, on a person who should have been a sworn enemy. Lucius seemed distinctly uninterested in the carousing. He skulked in a corner with a mug of wine.

  Rex made his way to the Europan, who saw him coming, but made no motion to get away.

  “What is your intention?” Lucius demanded with a controlled tone.

  “Job offer,” Rex replied.

  Lucius’s demeanor softened at this. He glanced across the courtyard, toward the governor, deep in thought.

  “You wish to hire me?” Lucius finally asked.

  “If you want to get away from here and off your leash,” Rex replied.

  “And be put on yours?”

  “I’m not a lord or governor,” Rex said with a dismissive wave. “Just looking for good help.”

  “I am your enemy,” Lucius replied simply.

  “Maybe back home, in another life. Out here, not so much. I know Europan lords are trained for war, and I need a gunner. It’s a pain in the ass trying to fly and shoot at the same time, and sooner or later it’s gonna catch up to me and get me dead.”

  “You, a Terran, would trust a Europan to control the weapons aboard your ship?” Lucius asked, incredulous.

  “If you’re out here, then you’re probably not a Europan anymore. I figure they must have screwed you over pretty good to drive you away. Not many men would leave the good life to scrape by in the Quarter.”

  “No…” Lucius said, looking back toward the governor. “My love for the emperor has waned of late.”

  “I’ll pay you two bits a week, gold. You get your own cabin and get to bounce along with me world to world. All you gotta do is shoot well and help move cargo,” Rex continued.

  Lucius withdrew into himself again. After a minute of hard thought, he chugged the rest of his wine and threw the mug to the ground. The earthware shattered, but the noise drew no attention. People were too drunk to notice and were being too loud for anyone to hear the sound.

  “If we do this, we must leave tomorrow, early. The governor does not take kindly to the thought of me leaving and will make us both suffer if we are apprehended.”

  “Six AM at the spaceport, pad six,” Rex replied. “And please let the governor know I had a wonderful evening.”

  “You are leaving already?” Lucius asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Got somewhere to be,” Rex said with a smile.

  * * *

  “Good god lady, who taught you how to do this?” Rex moaned. He lay flat on his stomach in his bed. Chakrika’s legs straddled his hips. They flexed again and again, grinding lightly against his skin. She was bent over him, her fingers working through the kinks of the muscles in his back.

  “Trade secret,” she said. “You’ve been spending too much time sitting in that captain’s chair.”

  “Not always,” he protested. “I do an hour’s workout every day.”

  She leaned over, trailing kisses down his neck, along his spine. Her nipples dragged across his skin. Blood rushed from his brain for more important duties down below.

&nb
sp; “You better be up for more than an hour,” she said as she kneaded his flesh.

  “Can’t keep me up too late. Leaving at six tomorrow morning,” he spoke.

  “You won’t get all the time you paid for,” she said in a mock pout.

  “We’ll just have to compress everything into the next few hours,” he replied. “If you’re up for it.”

  “Honey, you can’t handle me at full intensity,” she replied, lowering her head to his ear, whispering, “And I’m gonna make sure you learn that. Now turn.”

  She knelt up, giving his body just enough room to spin around. He stared up at her glorious naked figure. Chakrika positioned herself with a seductive sway of her hips, taking him within her in a torturously slow descent. She ran her fingers up his chest and cradled his head. Her hips began to move with purpose as her lips met his.

  “Just lay back,” she whispered. “When I’m done, you’ll be seeing my face on every other woman you ever touch.”

  He didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not, but figured it would be best to find out. Just to be sure.

  * * *

  “Wake up, Rex.”

  Violence and pain ripped through his mind as it shifted from blissful sleep to an unwelcome consciousness. His head shot up two inches from the pillow before the leaden feeling in his limbs arrested the motion.

  Chakrika’s head rested on his sternum, her limbs entwined with his. She stirred and then returned to a peaceful sleep. Liking the idea, Rex let his head fall back down.

  “Wake up, Rex,” the computer repeated.

  He grumbled and began extricating himself from his well-paid lover. She groaned, her eyes flickering open as she settled onto the bed.

  “You got about an hour if you want to shower,” Rex said. “It’s down the hall, past the steps, on the right.”

  She buried her head in the pillow, the irritation of being awake seizing her in full. Rex dressed as she slowly came around. He paused before his closet, remembering Lucius’s warning about the governor. Part of him wanted to hope for the best, but he ignored it. That part of himself would get him killed. He dug into his closet, redonning his armored shirt and side-arms.

  Chakrika, now sitting up, blinked at the sight.

  “Going to war?” she asked.

  He shook his head and took a moment to appreciate her bed-head. The seductress’s hair stuck out at all angles. He found it oddly charming.

  “Why the hardware?” she pressed.

  “Personal motto. Never leave the bedroom unarmed,” he replied.

  She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. He left her to dress, heading for the cargo bay.

  “Start the engines; keep them on idle. We might need to take off in a hurry,” he ordered.

  “Engines are ready. Do you want weapons online?” his computer asked.

  “Yes. What’s around us right now?”

  “Four cargo ships in various stages of loading and off-loading. Two atmospheric gun-ships; neither appear to have been used lately. The terminal computers report thirty-two other vessels, including one space-capable fighter craft.”

  “You got into their computers? Were you detected?”

  “No. Per your orders, I entered only upon ascertaining that they lacked the ability to detect my entry.”

  “You do good work,” he said as he reached the cargo bay. There was no response. He expected none. How could a machine react to a compliment?

  He moved down the staircase to the cargo floor. No longer cluttered with cargo, it seemed cavernous. During his months out here, this room, this bare metal room, had given him a psychological sense of comfort more than once. Everything else in his ship was small. The cabins were cramped—hell, the damn toilets recessed into the cabin walls to save space. The shower room had three stalls separated by stretched pieces of plastic curtain. He was pretty sure they were thin enough that you could have sex through them. The sick bay had two beds surrounded by machines and barely enough room to turn around.

  The common area and kitchen would pass in a decent-sized apartment, but as far as space was concerned, the cargo bay was the only place you didn’t feel constrained. It stretched seventy feet ahead of him and claimed another seventy feet of width, with a sixty-five-foot height that seemed downright agoraphobic compared to the rest of his ship. He’d done so many sprints across this span, just to feel the sheer joy of movement, that he wondered if he’d worn footprints into the steel.

  He reminded himself to stretch out his chaise in here before he took on more cargo, once he could find a quiet patch of space.

  “Open her up,” he ordered. “Left side only.”

  The left door opened, lowering to the ground to form a ramp. Once it touched down, he moved to step out.

  “Rex, the local servers are registering reports of gunfire,” his computer advised.

  He paused.

  “Regarding what—”

  The roar of people trading shots answered his question. He stared out across the pad. Lucius stood there, shooting back toward the terminal. Glass windows shattered, and Rex spotted a head ducking for cover within the terminal.

  Lucius struggled, heading for the ship. The cause of his problems was plain enough. One arm was supporting the tall, beautiful, topless, and no longer pregnant, wife of the governor. Weakened from childbirth, she clung to a baby and hobbled for the ship. Lucius fired furiously. A man went down, caught by his bullet.

  “Shit,” Rex muttered. There wasn’t much choice now. Anybody could see where Lucius was going; they knew he was in on this. One way or another, there was going to be a fight to get out of here.

  Rex pulled his pistols just as a half-dozen men reached the terminal door, moving to pursue the burdened Lucius. Rex opened fire, riddling the door with rounds, covering the Europan’s movements. The men ducked back behind the door. Two of them began firing at his ship, their bullets bouncing harmlessly off the twenty centimeters of armor that coated the hull.

  One ducked around low, firing his pistol blindly. Bullets dug into the concrete around Lucius. One ricocheted high. The woman’s head jerked violently, her forehead disappearing as the bullet ripped through. She crumpled to the ground, taking Lucius with her.

  The Europan threw himself in front of her fall, keeping her from crushing the child. On the ground he was a perfect target. Rex reloaded and fired frantically, buying him seconds. Lucius pulled the crying child from the dead woman. For a moment he froze, staring at the woman’s body, the reality not registering. Rex continued firing, catching one of the men as he tried to charge through the door. The fellow jerked back, knocking into the person behind him. Rex turned back to the stunned Lucius.

  “Get the fuck on the ship!” he bellowed.

  Lucius broke from his pause, sprinting from the ramp. He ran past Rex into the cargo bay. Rex retreated from the ramp.

  “Shut it! All weapons hot, now!” he roared, sprinting for the ladder.

  The ramp rose upward, closing quickly for something so large. Rex caught one last glimpse of the charging men, then crested the staircase and sprinted for the bridge.

  Outside, the weapons kicked to life. Long Haul’s rear auto-turret, a thirty millimeter rail-gun cannon normally used to blast fighters and missiles, came to life. It focused on the line of men. They stopped dead, moving to retreat. The turret blared, shredding the men in a hail of hardened slugs. Their bodies disintegrated into bloody pieces, smearing the launch pad.

  Rex leapt up the three stairs from the common room, into the main hallway.

  “Local authorities have been alerted to your involvement,” the computer spoke.

  “There’s a fucking surprise…” Rex grumbled.

  Chakrika popped her head out of his cabin.

  “What the hell is going on?!” she screamed.

  He ignored her, sprinting into the bridge. Bounding to the lower stations, he slipped seamlessly into the command chair. His left hand grasped the vertical controls, his right the steering yolk. His f
oot slammed down on the acceleration pedal as he yanked the ship straight upward. It lurched violently, the force throwing Chakrika to the ground as she tried to stumble onto the bridge.

  Long Haul shot upward through the atmosphere, moving from straight vertical ascent to a standard climb, nose-first. Rex looked to his monitor. The atmosphere thinned, the display numbers ticking off the feet of elevation so quickly they couldn’t be read.

  “What are you doing?!” Chakrika screamed. “Bring me back down!”

  His mind didn’t really register her voice through the adrenaline. A holographic radar sphere projected itself slightly to his right, showing his ship at the center and a trio of ships closing on him.

  “What are they?” he demanded.

  “Fighter-sized, they appear lightly armed. Will be in range in thirty seconds.”

  He punched the acceleration. Long Haul could do .1C, but it took a few minutes to get to that speed.

  “Power up the jump drive, find me an empty spot between systems and set a course. Fire at will,” he declared.

  “Jump! Are you fucking—”

  He didn’t know at first why she stopped, mid-sentence. A baby’s wail answered his question. She found herself holding a screaming infant as Lucius sprinted past.

  “There!” Rex shouted, pointing to the gunner’s seat. “Give weapons control to gunner’s seat!”

  The computer shifted control. Lucius glanced at the console, seeing the available weapons on the touch-screens.

  “There’s a visor under the seat,” Rex explained.

  Lucius found the visor, fitting it over his head. From it stuck a small plastic panel covering one eye, as if somebody had half-finished a pair of those antique glasses people used to wear. The computer routed the rear camera view into the visor.

  “Think you’re better than the machine?” Rex asked sardonically. The ship shook as the pursuing fighters opened fire.

  Lucius sat, his face dead calm. He didn’t even appear to be concentrating all that heavily. His right hand grasped a control stick, on which sat a trigger. Manipulating it, he aligned a target reticule with a pursuing fighter, leading it slightly. The boxy fighter was diving beneath them to make a run at their underside. Another auto-turret awaited it there, but Lucius decided not to wait. He squeezed the trigger. A half-dozen shells spat out into space, tearing the top of the fighter open. Atmosphere hissed out and sparks flew inside the ruined ship. It floated off into space, dead.