by P. A. Piatt
“Mr. Chive does have a valid point about preventing trouble between the groups, though. I know your Marines are tough young lads, but it would be better if we didn’t mix them with a bunch of rough-and-tumble colonists and add alcohol.”
Czrk sounded exasperated as he finished, “I’ll get together with Colonial Police Chief Schultz and Bob Drager and we’ll come up with a plan to accommodate you and your men. How does that sound?”
“Governor, if it will cause problems, then please say so. We don’t have to go out. Corporal Ystremski has a lot of experience keeping the men busy.”
“It’s really no problem. I’ll have Bob come find you after we get this sorted out, okay?”
* * *
After Lieutenant Fortis left to rejoin his men, Governor Czrk told Chive to close the door.
“What do you think you’re doing, Chive?” he demanded. “Why are you talking about the resistance to someone from off-world, especially a Space Marine?”
Chive gave an uncharacteristic shrug. “I was explaining why it’s a bad idea to mix his men and the locals.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. The resistance, such as it is, is a colonial law enforcement matter. For all practical purposes, there is no resistance.”
“You called the attack on the garage a terrorist attack, but the resistance is a colonial law enforcement matter? How did you explain it to GRC headquarters?”
Czrk stared at Chive a moment too long before he opened his mouth to answer, and Chive cut him off.
“You didn’t report it, did you?”
The governor closed his mouth and shook his head.
Chive scoffed. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Governor. If the Conglomerate finds out…”
“I run this colony as I see fit, and I don’t need a lecture from the likes of you, Chive. You’d do well to remember your place. One call from me, and your contract is cancelled.”
“Why the threats, Governor? I’m on your side, remember?”
Czrk glared at him. “Sometimes I wonder.”
“If it’s any consolation, I think the stuff about the resistance went over Fortis’ head. He’s not interested in local problems. He just wants to get drunk and laid before the Fleet arrives to pick them up.”
“Regardless, I don’t want you to discuss the resistance with anyone. Those kinds of things have a way of taking on a life of their own, and we have enough to deal with as it is.”
* * *
Fortis caught up with Ystremski in the gym.
“I just talked with the governor and his security guy, Chive. They weren’t thrilled about us staying, but what choice do they have? It’s not like we asked to be here.”
“True. What about liberty?”
“We talked about it. The way I see it, the biggest hurdle is having a way to get everyone back here if the transport shows up. It makes sense that Fleet would give us advance warning, but anything is possible. The governor said he’d try and work something out with the chief of police and Bob Drager so we can get the platoon out of here, even for a little while.”
Ystremski grunted as he heaved a loaded bar over his head and pressed it up and down. “When?” he managed between gritted teeth.
“I don’t know. Soon, I guess. In the meantime, let’s keep the boys busy.”
“Will do, sir.”
“You want to hear something strange? Chive said he was worried about us mixing with the locals because there’s some kind of resistance movement here on Eros-28. Have you heard anything about that?”
Ystremski set the weight bar down with a clang. “Resistance? What’s he talking about?”
Fortis shook his head. “I don’t know. Chive brought it up, and Czrk got pretty pissed off. He dismissed it as some malcontents.”
“That’s probably what it is. So what? You think it’s a problem for us?”
“For us? No. I don’t think so. It’s just odd to me that he reacted that way.”
The corporal indicated the weight bar and smiled. “You want to get in on this, or do you want to talk all night, sir?”
* * *
Jandahl was sitting at one end of the bar in the Cock and Tail where he could watch the hallway leading to the bathrooms, the emergency periscope, and the alcove where patrons played billiards and sought privacy for other activities. In the mirrors behind the bar, he could see the door and the stairs leading to the private rooms where customers could satisfy their carnal urges.
Although it was mid-morning, the bar was crowded with GRC employees who had just finished their twelve-hour shift. The crowd was boisterous and the drinks flowed freely. An anonymous techno-beat throbbed from speakers around the room and people had to put lips to ears to communicate.
He sipped his beer and studied the crowd. Jandahl recognized the lingering effects of China Mike on many of the bar patrons. The drug produced an energized euphoria that allowed users to work long hours in difficult conditions, but it was short-lived. Users required frequent boosts of the drug to maintain that feeling.
When users stopped boosting and started coming down, their bodies released residual China Mike, which caused a rush of frenetic energy known as “the edge.” Addicts enjoyed “riding the edge,” characterized by loud speech, sudden mood swings, and the urge to dance to the point of exhaustion. When the edge ended, they would stagger home and fall into bed until it was time to get up and do it all over again.
Jandahl spotted a familiar figure by the main entrance, and he blinked in surprise. Mikel Chive, dressed in a hooded jacket pulled up over his head as if to disguise his dueling scars, was engaged in a discussion with the doorman.
Chive left the bar, and the doorman resumed his usual perch.
What was that all about?
For the next two hours, Jandahl watched a stream of people enter the bar, shake hands with the doorman, and leave, without buying a drink. He realized he was witnessing hand-to-hand exchanges, but of what? When the doorman turned to speak to someone behind him, Jandahl saw that he, too, had a dueling scar on one cheek.
Why is a Kuiper Knight working the door at the Cock and Tail?
As the action in the bar wound down, and the crowd leaked out the door to go home and sleep it off, Jandahl mixed in with them. He chanced a look at the doorman’s face as he passed. It was definitely a dueling scar.
What the hell is going on?
* * *
Chive stared out at the darkness as his driver, Dolph, piloted the crawler along the track to their compound. The crawler was a converted ore hauler abandoned on Eros-28 by a defunct mining company. There was a boxy engine car capable of pulling two ore cars that rode on knobby balloon tires. Chive’s men had removed the ore chutes and welded benches on either side of the ore cars. Each car could accommodate ten seated people and four standing in the center aisle. It was their primary means of transportation between Fenway and the compound they had constructed seven kilometers outside of Boston.
“You know, the governor hasn’t reported the sabotage of Garage Number Seven yet,” Chive said. Dolph remained silent, so he continued. “That works in our favor.”
“How so?” replied the taciturn driver.
“It’s all about leverage, Dolph. At any moment, GRC might discover what happened and that would be bad for the governor. The governor might give up a lot to prevent that information from getting back to headquarters.”
“So, you’re going to blackmail him. Very clever.”
Chive tried to make out Dolph’s face by the console lights, unsure if the other man was smiling or not.
“Blackmail is such an inelegant word. I’m not going to demand he do anything to guarantee my silence, because I’d be lying.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “What I will do is file that information away for future reference, perhaps to influence the governor to see things my way. What I won’t do is demand he do something or else.”
“Isn’t he the client? I mean, we work for the GRC, right? Who cares
how he runs the place, as long as we get paid?”
“Dolph, you’ve got to think bigger than the current contract. Strictly speaking, we are well-paid to fulfill our contract. However, when opportunities present themselves, we need to seize them. It’s part of our responsibility to the Knighthood. Besides, it’s fun to dabble in politics.”
“I’m just here to drive this thing and fly the hovercopter,” replied Dolph. “I’ll leave the politicking to you.”
“It’s probably better that way.”
The two men lapsed into silence as the glow from their compound lights grew brighter. Dolph sounded the horn when they arrived at the gate, but there was no response. After a couple minutes, he sounded it again, with the same result.
“Fuckers are drunk again,” he muttered as he climbed out of the crawler. He wasn’t surprised to find the gate unsecured, and he shoved it open.
“You know, Mr. Chive, you might want to talk to the guys about securing this place,” Dolph said as he steered the crawler inside the compound.
“Tsk. You worry too much, Dolph. We’re in no danger out here.”
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven
Shortly after his shift ended at midnight, Glenn Deale shouldered his way through the people crowded inside the Cock and Tail and leaned on the bar. The bartender acknowledged his presence with the tip of her chin, and moments later a tall glass of beer and a double shot of whiskey appeared before him.
Deale surveyed the crowd as he sipped his drink, careful not to let his eyes linger on the doorman too long. He’d only gotten a quick glimpse of the man’s face when he entered the bar, but he was certain he was the scarred man Moore had described.
The volume of the music was turned up enough to rattle the liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar, and the crowd became more boisterous. Deale’s mood soured as his head throbbed in time to the music. People laughed and shouted as they surged and danced, and it was all Deale could do not to lash out at those closest to him.
Fucking junkies.
Deale had tried China Mike along with everyone else when the drug first appeared in the colony. He didn’t like it, but, for many others, the drug quickly went from a leisure-time distraction on a bleak planet to a full-time addiction. Deale had remained ambivalent about China Mike until a coworker, fresh off a double boost, caused a refurbished engine block to break free from a hoist and crush Deale’s hand. Deale lost two fingers and nearly his job because of it. Only a timely transfer off Eros-28 had saved the other man from Deale’s anger.
Since then, Deale had developed a deep contempt for people who used the drug and a burning hatred for those who dealt it. When Spears approached him to join the resistance, Deale accepted without hesitation. He didn’t care about politics, he just wanted to get revenge against those who cost him his fingers.
While he drank, Deale watched a steady stream of bar patrons approach the scarred bouncer and then disappear down the hall toward the restrooms. When they returned, the flush on their faces and gleam in their eyes was all the confirmation Deale needed that they were using China Mike.
The bouncer was much bigger than Moore, so Deale was uncertain how to approach the larger man. He decided to wait outside and follow his prey in hopes of finding an opportunity when the bouncer headed home.
Ninety minutes later, the burly doorman stepped outside, looked up and down the street, and began walking toward the GRC facility. Deale left his hiding place and fell in behind him. He adjusted his pace to overtake his quarry at the last alleyway before the facility entrance. Deale knew of a vacant house a few doors up the alley. A very convenient spot to interrogate his captive.
Deale was two steps behind when he reached out to put a chokehold on the bouncer. The man whirled around, ducked under his grasp, and hit Deale in the throat with a stiff-fingered strike. Deale clawed at his injured neck, desperate to open his collapsed airway. He fell to his knees. He looked up in time to see a knee in front of his face, and then nothing.
* * *
The next morning, Drager beamed at Fortis as he sat down across from him at the breakfast table.
“Good news, Lieutenant. We’ve come up with a recall signal for you and your men, and the spaceport tower is now manned around the clock. When the Fleet sends your ride, we’ll be ready.”
“That’s great news; thanks, Drager. I’ll get the men together after we finish eating and let them know.”
“Do you think it would be okay if I tagged along and gave them a short brief about the town?”
“About what?”
“Hmm, well, there are a few eccentricities about Boston, especially the bars. Local customs that your men might benefit from knowing. That sort of thing.”
Fortis looked at Ystremski, who shrugged.
“Sure. That sounds fine. We need to respect the local culture, after all.”
Lieutenant Fortis briefed the Space Marines on the liberty plan then turned to Bob Drager.
“In case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Drager is the executive assistant to Governor Czrk, and he’s been instrumental in coordinating everything for us during our time here. He’s got some important information about Eros-28 and the local customs that we need to observe while we’re in town. Mr. Drager?”
Drager smiled and nodded at the Space Marines. “Good morning, everyone. I’m sure you’re all excited to get out and see Boston, and we’re anxious to see that you enjoy yourselves.
“Most of you will likely end up on Dirt Alley. I hope you have fun there. The bars on Dirt Alley are like bars anywhere, and you can certainly have a good time. They only accept GRC scrip and I’ve arranged for a money exchange so you can trade UNT credits for company scrip at a one-for-two exchange rate.
“But, before you go, I have two important topics to discuss with you. First, there is a synthetic drug present in certain areas of the city. I can’t pronounce the chemical name, but the street name is ‘China Mike.’ It’s strictly illegal and the colonial police aggressively enforce the laws about it. I don’t know what the ISMC drug use policy and testing protocols are, but, please, don’t get involved with China Mike. Some of the local dealers might offer it to you, perhaps even free samples, but resist the temptation and report the incident to the nearest colonial police.
“The other topic deals with the prostitutes who work some of the bars on Dirt Alley. Prostitution is legal here, and there is mandatory testing to ensure the sex workers are healthy. Customers are required to undergo a finger prick blood test for safety purposes as well. It’s all proper and aboveboard. However, what you need to know is that the male-to-female population here on Ero-28 is about twenty-five to one, and most of those females either work here in our facility or are married to people who do. Very few have employment elsewhere.”
Drager cleared his throat nervously.
“What this means for all of you is simple, if you meet a woman in a bar, and she has an apple, she probably has a banana.”
The Space Marines exchanged puzzled looks, and Drager pursed his lips.
“If she has an apple,” he repeated and touched his throat. “She probably has a banana.” He pointed to his crotch.
Realization swept over the formation, and the Marines laughed uproariously. Drager held his hands up for silence.
“This is an inclusive colony and we make no judgments about lifestyle choices among consenting adults, but it’s important for you to understand what you’re getting into ahead of time to avoid any surprises later. Unfortunately, we’ve had issues with transient personnel before and I would like all of you to avoid any trouble.” Drager turned back to Fortis. “That’s all I have, Lieutenant. Enjoy your liberty.”
After Drager left, Ystremski called the platoon to attention, and Fortis looked them over.
“Okay, Marines, you heard Drager. You know the ISMC doesn’t tolerate drug use; stay away from China Mike. And make sure you know what you’re dealing with if you get the urge to pay for a date.” Fortis looked back to Y
stremski. “Corporal, dismiss the platoon and put down liberty call at your discretion.”
* * *
Mikel Chive looked up and down the dirt street before he ducked into a building around the corner from Dirt Alley. Shag Wychan, a fellow Kuiper Knight and trusted lieutenant who moonlighted as a bouncer at the Cock and Tail, was waiting for him inside.
“What’s the news, boss?”
“The Space Marines are going on liberty in Boston.”
“Dirt Alley?”
“Where else?”
“Space Marine credits spend as easily as GRC scrip. Is there a problem?”
“No problem. An opportunity, actually.”
Wychan grunted but said nothing.
“Do you still sell to the prostitutes?”
Another grunt from Wychan, accompanied by a nod.
“At some point, I expect some of the Space Marines will go looking for love. When they do, I want China Mike in the room. Fat Schultz and his clown posse will get a tip about drug activity and swoop in to make the arrest.”
Wychan chuckled at Chive’s nickname for the police chief. “Why do you want the police to arrest the Space Marines?”
“Leverage.”
“Speaking of leverage…” Wychan walked over and kicked a tarpaulin-covered lump piled up against the far wall and Chive heard a grunt.
“Who’s that?”
“Mechanic named Deale.” He handed Deale’s identity badge to Chive. “He tried to grab me on the street last night, but it didn’t go too well for him.”
“Disgruntled customer?”
“No. I’ve seen him hanging around the bar, but he’s never bought from me.”
“Hmm. Why would he go after you?”
“Maybe he’s resistance, or maybe he just doesn’t like Kuiper Knights. Maybe both.”
