“I won’t allow it,” came a smooth voice. “Someone has gone and left you all alone.”
Charley turned to face the mercurial champion of Zeba’s night races.
“I don’t know,” she said coolly. “Do you think my situation has improved?”
The driver grinned. Charley couldn’t help but notice his bright, immaculate teeth.
“Undoubtedly,” he said with quiet confidence.
Charley had to admit she didn’t mind his self-assurance at all. It wasn’t the arrogant variety, but something a little more authentic.
“Tando,” he said, extending the calloused hand of a professional driver. “It seems I’ve found a friend.”
Charley accepted the hand with considered nonchalance.
“And your name is …?”
“I’m a stranger here,” Charley said cryptically. “I’m hoping to leave tomorrow.”
That did the trick. Tando looked at Charley with mild surprise.
“So soon? But the regatta has only just begun.”
Charley met his inquisitive eye. “I fucking hate speeders. I prefer spaceships.”
Tando barked a small, incredulous laugh.
“Curious indeed,” he murmured, taking another opportunity to look her up and down. “If you wanted my interest, stranger danger, you have it.”
“What normally happens now?” Charley asked, making a show of stifling a yawn.
“Now? We could talk, perhaps laugh. Meet my friends at a club for a drink.”
“Have fun,” Charley said, making to leave. “I was hoping we could get straight to it.”
“Straight to what?” asked Tando with a bemused expression.
“To you and me,” Charley said with a raised eyebrow.
“But of course,” Tando replied, stumbling over his words. “I can’t let you leave Zeba without at least seeing my house.” He offered his arm gallantly. “Shall we?”
Charley finally allowed the driver a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
13
Tando’s home, replete with arches and alcoves in the old style, was converted from the northwest belfry of a monastery in the center of town. As such, the driver owned three storeys of cool sandstone. There was even a winter garden on the middle storey, shielded from the harsh sun for most of the day. Tando and Charley spent some time chatting amiably in the winter garden before adjourning to the living space when the night breeze grew too cool.
“I love the architecture,” Charley commented as she accepted a glass of belanto wine. “I take it you drivers sit at the top of the tree.”
“I’m lucky,” Tando admitted. “A successful driver in Zeba earns the right to take what he wants.”
Charley’s nerves returned as the driver’s gaze became somewhat predatory. She set down her glass. Had she acted rashly in choosing this man as her way out? At the canary cage he’d seemed affable enough, but here, in the privacy of his home, she could see the veneer of decency falling away. Underneath he was just a brute, just like all the others.
“I’m sure you’re used to taking what you want,” she said coldly.
“To be honest, I find taking is far more exciting than asking,” Tando said ominously as he rose to his feet. Charley forced herself to maintain a calm exterior, but her heart was beating madly. What she would give for her fucking saber!
“I understand completely,” she purred, forcing herself to remain still. “But I pictured this happening somewhere else.”
“Really?” Tando asked. Now that he’d revealed his true colors he made her skin crawl.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I was hoping for the bonnet of one of your speeders.”
The driver licked his lips in disgusting anticipation.
“So, who hates speeders now, eh?” he said glibly. “I think that can be arranged.”
Tando took Charley’s hand and led her to a drop shaft. He stared at her with hooded eyes as they descended to the basement. The room was bright with reflective chrome and large enough to house three vehicles. Such wealth was rare for Abeya. This Tando knew how to milk his status as racing demi-god. Charley’s plan gained even more urgency as Tando unzipped his jump suit and pulled his trousers free. Such men had no need for underpants. He was already hard, his manhood bouncing around in gleeful anticipation.
“Which one?” he asked with a grin.
“Sorry?”
“Which car?”
Charley nodded toward the all-terrain vehicle at the far end. A rock crawler. She heard the click of the garage doors as Tando secured them remotely. He wasn’t about to let her escape.
“D23 Nomad,” the driver said proudly. “Eats rocks for breakfast. I take it through the mountains when I go shooting.”
“It’s perfect,” Charley said honestly, tracing the stylized nomad symbol on the fender. “I can just picture you with a large gun.”
She arched back on the bonnet, removing the feathers from her belt. Next she unzipped her bodice slowly, revealing most of her breasts. Distracted, Tando couldn’t see the violence in her eyes.
“This is probably gonna hurt,” the slimeball muttered as an afterthought. “Just the way I roll.”
“Start the engine,” Charley suggested, keeping the panic from her voice. “It turns me on.”
“Whatever you say,” Tando said, activating the engine.
The D23 throbbed at Charley’s back, building quickly. Just as the driver made to press himself on her body, she rolled across the bonnet and climbed into the driver’s seat. Before Tando could kill the prop bulb Charley slammed on the accelerator, pinning him brutally against the chrome wall. When she backed away the shiny surface was slick with scarlet. Shattered in several places, Tando’s body crumpled to the floor. Charley couldn’t help but whoop in delight as she prepared to run down the garage doors. An alarm, probably calibrated to detect Tando’s life signs, echoed throughout the basement. Good - the prick was dead. Charley gunned the prop bulb a second time and struck the doors at high speed. For a moment she thought they were too strong, but the D23’s titanium strongbar held firm. The rock crawler smashed its way into the quiet street and almost careened into the opposite building. Charley giggled nervously as she took control of the beast. She noticed her breasts were hanging out, so she popped them back in. Her ridiculous dress needed to be burned at the first available opportunity. She raced her way to the hotel and left the crawler running hot in the street. Relieved to find her weapons were where she’d left them, she collected her gear and rushed back to the D23.
The next stop was the rented locker where Silverton’s body had been stored. Charley wrinkled her nose when she wrenched open the door - the dead pirate was beginning to smell pretty bad. Luckily the crawler had a separate gear compartment at the rear. Once the body was secure, she made one last stop at an all-night kiosk near the night markets. With the rest of her money she purchased a basic model wrist pad with twenty-four hours of functionality. She promised herself that one day she’d be able to buy one outright and not have to worry about renting days at a time like poor folk were forced to do. For now, she just needed to make that call to the Galactic Office of Names to confirm her identity as a Silverton. She also bought a gallon of fresh water, figuring the Dusty Mountains were probably bone dry. Once the wrist pad had been activated and the water stowed in the back seat, Charley wasted no time in taking a north road out of town. The D23’s nav screen was detailed and precise, guiding Charley through the quieter sections of the town’s residential areas.
What kind of heat could she expect from Tando’s murder? It was hard to say. On the one hand he was a prominent citizen and his vehicles were probably registered. On the other, law enforcement on Abeya was infamously lax. The only way police resources would be devoted to finding her was if a relative or friend coughed up some coin in bribes. Charley doubted any of Tando’s friends liked him that much.No, she was fairly certain her way was clear. She smiled as the eastern horizon took on a pink tinge and hinted at a brand
new day of discovery. Flushed with endorphins, she settled into her seat and allowed Tando’s deep trance set list to reverberate through the sound system.
Charley drove for several hours on the salt pans north of Zeba. The Dusty Mountains rose in the distance, soft and indistinct in the haze. Charley killed the throbbing music and let her mind drift. It felt so good to be on the road again, especially satisfying to be a woman in motion. Her time in Zeba had threatened to derail her quest, but at least she hadn’t gotten bogged down. The day grew warm and the pan was silent. The only other traffic was the odd mineral juggernaut on the eastern horizon. Even from this distance they seemed enormous - Charley almost wished she could see one up close.
The mountain range gradually grew larger as the day dragged on. She’d heard a sizable mining operation was located there. If possible she wanted to avoid human contact. She was certain that Silverton, in typical pirate fashion, had established his loot cache as far as possible from the mine. Charley’s breasts had come free again. She skidded to a halt, raising a tall plume of dust, before stepping out to change into her humble linen shift. As she was pulling off the second thigh-high boot, a wolf whistle erupted from the backseat. She stepped back, alarmed. Another whistle, clear and shrill in the still desert air.
“What the fuck …?”
Charley risked a glance inside the crawler. All manner of trash was piled on the floor. Shell casings, cologne, porn cartridges, a blinking object. She took a closer look at that last one. It came to life, humming and whirring loudly.
“Pick me up will ya?” it asked belligerently.
Charley wasn’t at all sure if she wanted to do that, but relented. The thing was the size of a shoe box, only it had wheels on one side. A primitive digital face appeared on the circular end. It was as if the thing had been made several centuries ago.
“About fucking time, bitch,” it said aggressively. The digital, pixelated mouth moved as it spoke.
Charley yelped and dropped the weird box to the pan. It landed on its wheels and began butting her ankle in apparent rage.
“Took you this long to find me? Man, you’re seriously dumb. Still wanna fuck you, though.”
“What. The fuck. Are you?” Charley asked through gritted teeth.
“Names FIGJAM, bitch.”
“What’s ‘Figjam’?”
“Fuck I’m Good Just Ask Me,” came the irritated reply.
“Really …?” Charley blurted, not sure if she had time for this. She considered leaving the rude thing on the pan.
“I’m a PalBot,” FIGJAM explained. “That dude you wasted was a total jerk. He’s the one who bought me.”
“A PalBot,” Charley repeated softly. She’d heard of these things but never seen one until now. Where rich folk in the galaxy got to hang with fully rendered and sophisticated androids, the people of Abeya were stuck with primitive robots used for cleaning, sucking and general uselessness. PalBots fitted into the latter category. They were rudimentary bots that responded over time to their owner’s personalities, slowly becoming an approximation of them.
“Great, so you’re a slimy rapist too,” Charley said with disdain.
“A PalBot can’t choose his master, bitchface,” came the husky reply. “Are you sure I can’t fuck you?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Charley said, tossing the harmless PalBot into the backseat. “And if you speak again I’m gonna blow your fucking head off.”
14
The southward peaks of the Dusty Mountains loomed large in Charley’s view screen. She hadn’t seen any mineral juggernauts and hoped they didn’t travel from this part of the range. Foothills covered in low, scrubby vegetation appeared on both sides of the beaten path. It wasn’t much, just hardy saltbush, but the splash of green was welcome. The track grew steeper as the day wore on. At length the D23 was climbing at forty-five degrees across loose scree. If it wasn’t for the thick, customized tires, Charley was sure she’d slip down the slope to be dashed against a boulder. Driving in the mountains required a certain skill she didn’t necessarily possess. The D23 was frequently dented as she negotiated a track that hugged the sides of a mountain. Still, there was no experience like the hands-on variety and soon she was controlling the crawler over rugged terrain. It was a hardy vehicle, a genuine explorer-class beast. Charley had chosen her mark well. She wondered about the level of uproar in Zeba over Tando’s death. The authorities would probably put his death down to a violent whore and leave it at that. Some things never changed on Abeya.
Charley concentrated hard on the twists and turns of the mountain track. She had no time to appreciate the imposing peaks on all sides. Thankfully the PalBot remained quiet. The last thing she needed was to hear the critical alter-ego of the creep she’d wasted in Zeba. Following another hour of steady, painstaking ascent, Charley was glad to reach the lip of a wide, U-shaped valley. The loose scree surface had been replaced by flat slabs of rock, making the going much easier. Boulders were piled high along the edges of the valley. With a start Charley noticed a winged creature circling a distant peak. It didn’t appear to be a bird of prey. Before she could get a closer look it had disappeared. Unable to shake a sense of disquiet, she lowered her foot to the accelerator. Was she being watched? Out here the concept seemed ludicrous. On the other hand … this valley was the perfect place for an ambush.
On cue a shot rang out, audible even above the grinding buzz of the D23. A bullet ricocheted off the armored windshield, then a second. Whoever was firing was a damn good shot. She slowed down to get a visual on her attacker. There, high among the rocks. Two misshapen heads, lined with scales and cold, reptilian eyes. Sand skinks. Though Charley had never seen one, they were known to exist in the deep salt pans and mountain range. Reptilian humanoids with a very basic intelligence. Humans had once tried to foster an alliance with them but they were a hunting species, unsuited to civilization. Or perhaps, Charley thought, they were unsuited to the way humans thought they should live. In any case, they were marginalized on Abeya and left to rot in their diminishing hunting grounds. That kind of treatment made sand skinks a cranky, cantankerous bunch. It was no surprise they were taking potshots at Charley with what must have been a high powered rifle. And yet neither of those skinks were carrying a weapon. A third shot cracked the windshield. Charley hit the accelerator, realizing she wasn’t going to survive if she hung around. The D23 groaned admirably up the valley, but it wasn’t built for speed. The next shot shattered the windshield. Plexiglass rained on Charley’s lap and she almost careened into a rock face.
“Get us out of here, bitch!” yelled the PalBot.
Charley turned viciously. “My name is Charley.”
The move saved her life. A rifle blast scorched the smooth leather where her head had just been. She spun round and kept her head down. The next shot punctured the water tank on the backseat. FIGJAM squealed as water poured on its head.
“Ah! Make it stop, sweetheart!”
Charley urged the D23 under a huge rock overhang and was confronted with a forking track. Checking Silverton’s coordinates, she chose the west fork, forging along a dusty ridge lined with saltbush. No further shots were fired, and she dared to believe she’d left the skink snipers far behind. She continued at full speed for several minutes, glad to have a relatively straight ridge line to work with. Eventually slowing to a stop, she stepped out to inspect the damage. Of course, the windshield was zap, but more importantly, her water was gone. The backseat was drenched. She tossed the plastic tank away with disgust.
“Fuck!”
Of all the things those beasts could’ve hit. Of course her mouth was bone dry after a hard day’s driving.
“You can always suck my fat dick,” FIGJAM pointed out.
Charley stared daggers at the PalBot. “Firstly, not sure if you’ve noticed, but if there’s one thing you don’t have, it’s a fat dick. Secondly, I believe we had an agreement that you would shut the fuck up unless I addressed you directly. Failure to do so would resul
t in scrap metal. It would only take me a couple of seconds.”
“Sure, sure,” FIGJAM enthused. “Your tits wobble when you’re angry. I dig it.”
Charley raised her right blaster.
“I dig it,” FIGJAM said more urgently. “I really do.”
“Good,” Charley said tiredly, looking out over the hazy mountain range.
She checked Silverton’s coordinates again and was pleasantly surprised to find that his cache was actually quite close. First thing was first though - she needed water, otherwise she wasn’t gonna find anything.
“Stay here,” she ordered the PalBot, and immediately felt silly.
Blaster poised, Charley clambered over a series of sharp rocks. The ridge seemed peaceful enough. Free of sand skinks at least. Not far to the north, a pair of rocky bluffs rose to either side of the track, creating a steep-sided gorge. It was in this direction that Charley stumbled, hoping for a muddy puddle or trickle of water. Anything to slake the burning thirst in her throat.
High up above the peak to her right she heard a strange squawk. It was that high-flying creature again, wheeling around in agitation. It wasn’t a bird - it was a black, leathery bat. Charley was amazed at its sheer size. The thing must’ve have had a wingspan longer than the D23 and the weight of a large man.
“Happy for you to stay up there,” she mumbled as she picked her way among the boulders. She was heartened by the sound of trickling water from the gorge wall to her right. She cleared away saltbush to find a crawl space. A slow trickle of water dropped from the edge of the hole. Charley positioned her mouth under the trickle and lapped gratefully at the water. It wasn’t exactly a torrent, but after a minute or two she felt a lot better. Less woolly-headed now, a thought struck her - could this hole lead to Silverton’s loot cache? Only one way to find out. Feeling a strange sense of foreboding, she huddled low into the crawl space and began dragging herself through.
15
The Pirate Guild Page 6
