“Which one of you is Bruno?” I try to make my voice sound strong and authoritative. The three guys look to one another and smirk. And I realize this has gone wrong. Badly wrong. How will I get my 3He now?
There is a swell in the crowd noise as the game begins, and the three men push me further into the recess.
The big guy on the left thrusts his face into mine. “Time to transfer your credits, darlin’. Here,”—he holds out the datapad with my details already entered, awaiting my authorization—“put your lovely prints on there, and then we’re out of your way.”
“I don’t have any credits.” But my lie is ignored.
“Sure you don’t,” the middle guy sneers. “And we are three lovely gents just stopping by to ask you out for a drink. Transfer them now, or we will confirm your request for plastic surgery.” The middle guy pulls something out of his pocket, just enough for me to see what it is. All I can see is a small glass-like vial with fluid inside. I’ve heard of these Jovian tactics before, and seen plenty of scarred victims to know his threat is real.
“You would do this to a lady? Not exactly gentlemanly, is it? And three of you to take care of one woman? Pfft.” I see the scowls on all their faces. “Maybe this will make you feel more like real men.”
I zip down my jerkin in front of the guy in the middle, who acts like the leader. I pull out a plasma baton from the anti-scan pocket and light it up. With one wide slicing motion across and out in front of my chest, I slash open the jackets of all three men. I stop at the guy on the right, hold his wrist with my left hand, and the baton in my right. I glare at him. “Would you like to keep your arm as well?”
His two accomplices start to back away. The one on the left begins to speak. “We only want the credits, we don’t want any trouble.”
“Well spoken, but a little too late.” I slice the baton down and open up the third guy’s forearm, just enough to cut through the skin to the muscle. He screams, but the noise is lost in the mob’s roar.
The guy in the middle looks up into the stadium briefly, then taps his two colleagues on the shoulder. “Leave it. Runners are here.”
The left and middle thug run off, but I’m still holding the last guy’s wrist. He stares at me, as if daring me to lop off his hand, but I hold his stare. “Tell Bruno I’m coming for him, and the deal had better be still on, or I will be slicing you all. Only this time I’ll take it to the bone.” I continue to look at him, let go his wrist, and in seconds he is lost in the crowd.
A strong grip encircles my elbow from behind, and I whirl around, plasma baton at the ready. It’s a Runner, one of Ganymede’s security guards. He is almost as tall as me, and wears a full bodyshield, which renders my baton virtually useless.
“Power down the weapon, Ma’am.”
I bat my eyelids and power down the baton. “Those guys were attacking me. Did you get them on camera?”
The security guy just eyes me. “Ma’am I’m sorry, your weapon is not approved for use within the stadium. I’ll have to confiscate it.”
“And if those men find me again? What do I say to Ganymede security? That they left a single female defenseless in a nukeBall stadium. Not good publicity.”
The guy studies me for a moment, then breaks out into a smile. “Ma’am, perhaps if the weapon wasn’t visible, then I may not have seen it.” He flicks his eyes down to my open jerkin, but I see this guy is decent. He is not leering.
I slide the baton back into the pocket, where it won’t be detected by security scanners. I zip myself up, lean forward slowly through his shield, and plant a kiss on the guy’s cheek. “Thank you, officer. I appreciate your discretion. I’ll make sure you have mine.”
He nods his acknowledgment to me, and moves off to continue his patrol.
I take a deep breath and feel the tension ebb from my body. But now what? Jordi has vanished on some inexplicable mission, and my 3He contact turns out to have been set up to rob me. There’s only one thing for it. I have to follow through on my threat to track down Bruno, and extract the deal from him.
I start to retrace my steps, forcing my way back, putting up with the jostling and groping, and shoving an elbow out here and there to make progress. I’m still angry: at Jordi, and my own stupidity for thinking that any deal on Ganymede would be straightforward. More than one nukeBall spectator will have earned bruises from my aggressive passage, but I don’t care. The only thing I care about is not sticking out, so I keep my head down and behave like everyone else does at the game: a violent fan.
I am slowly making my way back to the south gate, when I stumble upon a fracas, and a crowd of people standing around gaping. I can’t help myself and I peer over the top as I make my way past. Then I stop. The Runner who stopped me before is on the ground, being kicked by six or seven gang members, clearly fueled by some Jovian drug, and laughing as they boot the guy through his bodyshield. The shield is flickering, and doesn’t seem like it will hold out much longer without a reset. The guy is looking genuinely scared. It is not uncommon for there to be several deaths at a major nukeBall game, and although I knew the risks when I came, I am distressed to see it happening in front of me.
I catch the guy’s eyes briefly, and I nod at him. In a flash I have my plasma baton out and powered up, and I barge my way through the spectators surrounding the so-called fight. I do not hesitate, but I slice the hamstrings of three of the goons on one side and watch them topple.
The other three stop what they’re doing and turn to me. I push toward them, gripping my plasma baton with two hands in front of me.
“Get out of here now if you value your legs,” I yell over the crowd. They don’t move, so I stomp toward them, swinging the baton. They turn and run off, their mag soles straining to retain grip. I spin back quickly to check the other three guys on the ground, but they are gone, leaving behind smears of blood.
The security guy dusts himself off and stands up. He seems uninjured. We both look around at the crowd, and he motions them away. “Okay folks, nothing more to see here. Go back to the game.”
The crowd, realizing their bloodlust will not be satiated, place their attention back on the game. The security guy turns back to me. “Thank you, Ma’am. I appreciate your … discretion.” He looks pointedly at my weapon.
I slide the plasma baton away.
He smiles and holds out his hand. “Officer Juniper, Runner Patrol, at your service, Ma’am. I thank you for your assistance.”
I shake his hand. “Then perhaps you can assist me further, and escort me out of this hellpit of a game?” I wait for him to reply.
“It would be my pleasure, Ma’am. Follow me.” He clears a path for us, and I follow behind.
CHAPTER FIVE
I trail the officer through the crowd as he paves the way before us using his shield, which he has obviously managed to reset.
The crowd’s energy is visceral. Whenever an opponent slams into his or her opposite number and they begin to slide down the gravity well, maybe to certain death, the sudden and simultaneous cheering and booing makes me flinch. I’m not good in crowds.
Eventually we exit to the southern gate, and the officer turns to face me. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss, ah …?”
I ignore his request for my name. “Thank you, officer. Only that you say nothing about my indiscretion before.” I smile briefly. “And in return, I will mention nothing of your incident.”
He nods briefly, and is turning to go when an alert arrives on his datapad. He brings it up in front of him, and I catch a glimpse of a red message flashing on the screen. He looks up at me. “Sorry, Ma’am, I must attend an incident.”
I remember Jordi’s anxious face, and the back of my neck prickles. “Wait. Just so I have my wits about me, what is the problem and what should I avoid?”
He consults his datapad, then looks at me. “Bounty hunters. Some guy with a big price on his head is attracting their attention. Sorry again, Ma’am, I really have to go.” He turns to le
ave, but I grab his arm.
“Who are they looking for?” I tap the pocket containing my plasma baton. “I don’t want any more trouble.”
He seems reluctant to share any more information, but I wait.
He gives in. “Someone who just arrived on Ganymede. Owes big money to a gambling syndicate. There’s money to be made by bringing him in.”
He glances down at the datapad again and I run cold at the image I glimpse. I quickly look up at the officer’s face.
“Does he have a name?” I feel the tension in my jaw.
The answer comes, and it’s one that I should have expected.
“Some smartass going by the name of Snell.”
I act nonchalant. “Do you know him?” I wait.
“No, Ma’am. Do you?” He holds my gaze for longer than I would have expected. Does he suspect something?
I shake my head. “Nope. Never heard of him.”
The officer looks at me for a moment and I think he’s going to say more, but he merely inclines his head and moves back into the stadium.
I let out a sigh. This is going from bad to worse. I need Jordi to pilot me out of here and help me with the energy deal, and I need to find him now. But I don’t want to start a war with a clan bounty hunters. One plasma baton won’t be enough.
I need to extract Jordi and still make the deal for the energy cubes. Without them, I won’t earn enough credits to continue my search.
The crowd’s screams crescendo, and I know there must have been a serious incident in the nukeBall game. I hurry to leave it behind me, and I head to the place I’m dreading going. The Xpress district.
Also the home of one Bruno the Bad.
CHAPTER SIX
My research prior to arriving on Ganymede revealed that Bruno runs his operation from a tattoo parlor. A front for his money laundering operation, I guess.
The gravbelts are too crowded for me to make any speedy progress, so I use the unassisted tunnel and take full advantage of the moon’s low gravity to bound through the almost empty tube. I surprise lazy hoppers by zipping between them. I wonder why more people don’t take this path of least resistance, and instead choose the gravbelts.
I travel several hundred meters, when I realize I’m only drawing more attention to myself, and I slow down to try to mingle in. Mingling in has never been one of my great skills. Along with my height and my hair color, I’ve been readily identifiable even as a kid. Papa always used to say it’s part of what makes me the way I am.
Did he mean angry and resentful? Because that’s all I seem to be these days.
It takes me upwards of twenty minutes to reach the Xpress, but once I’m there, I only have to ask three people before I already have the location of Bruno’s parlor.
The last guy I spoke to tried valiantly to stop me going anywhere near it.
“Hey, I know this is Ganymede, but that place is … no place for a woman, if you know what I mean?” The shaggy haired guy looks up at me, curious. “I mean, you don’t even look like the type of gal who’d wear a tattoo.”
“Yeah well, maybe I do, but you’re never gonna get close enough to see it.”
Then I realize I’ve been rude to someone who has done their best to help me. I smile. “Sorry, bud, I’m just a little angry. I appreciate your help. Have a great day.”
He grins and bares a row of broken teeth. “Just make sure you’re not too angry when you get to Bruno’s. Angry and Bruno don’t mix.”
We’ll see about that.
I decide to take advantage of the low gravity, and partly hop and partly float across some of the seedier parts of the district, following the guy’s directions and dodging the flaretrikes. I ignore the looks that come my way and accept the fact that it is becoming impossible to avoid attracting any attention to myself.
I come to a halt outside a dirty and dingy tattoo parlor. I look up at the sign above the window. It says “Bad Tattoos.” Yeah, right.
I press the doorpad next to the front door and wait. A panel in the door slides away, and a typical Ganymedian rough-hewn trike-bandit stares out at me.
I smile.
He doesn’t.
“What do you want?”
“Bruno is expecting me.” I wait.
“Never heard of him. You need a skin job? Show me your assets, and I’ll see what I can do.”
I smile at him sweetly. “Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” I play suggestively with the zip of my jerkin. “How about you invite me in? Maybe you’ll get more than a look.” I see the twitch of a smirk on the guy’s face and his hand reaches out of sight. The door slides open. I step in.
The guy taps the doorpad and the door closes behind me. The place stinks of sweat, and other things that I’d rather not even think about. The guy comes toward me, and I pull my zipper down further and reach inside. His face lights up in anticipation, then turns to fright when my plasma baton jams itself under his nose.
“How about I tattoo my name on your face?” I feel my hard stare boring into his eyes and I twist the baton around—not powered up—using his nose to push his face up. I enjoy seeing the fear in his eyes.
I’m at Bruno’s and I’m angry.
An internal door opens. “You passed test, Ms Jackson. Please to step inside my—”
“Parlor?” Why does everything on Ganymede sound like a parody?
I jerk my head toward the guy stuck on the end of my plasma baton and raise my eyebrows in a question to the man I presume is Bruno. He nods briefly and turns to look at the guy. “Back off, Frankie. Lady is customer.”
Frankie holds up his hands in front of me in surrender. I leave the baton close to his nose for a short time before the tension runs out of me. I stuff the weapon back down my chest and zip up my jerkin. I ignore the guy and look at Bruno. “What test?”
Bruno gestures inside the open doorway. “Come in and I explain.”
I hesitate a moment. I know Bruno’s reputation, and I’m certain I’ve already made plenty of enemies on Ganymede in the short period of time I’ve been here. “We had a deal—”
“I will honor deal.” He holds his hand out ready for me to enter. I acquiesce and move past him into a small lounge area.
I hear loud trippy music, and take in the crimson-velvet, plush seating scattered around the lounge. The room is small, but still big enough for several small one-person stages, most with floor-to-ceiling poles. Each flaunts a scantily clad woman gyrating seductively to the beat.
Bruno indicates a chair for me and he takes a place opposite. We descend into our seats slowly in the low gravity. Some things aren’t worth rushing on Ganymede.
I look around the room to see that it is mostly empty, just one or two guys staring at the women. The girls cavort suggestively in the lazy gravity, doing occasional slow motion acrobatics to draw sometimes explicit attention to their bodies as they slowly spin around. I’m not sure if it’s a sex show or an anatomy lesson.
I try to focus on the bulky, unkempt man in front of me. “I need 3He.”
“I know this,” Bruno says conversationally. “But first, need to know you have serious plan. Is why I send test. You not arrive to Ganymede, open contract, transfer credits, and simply walk out.”
“Really? Because that’s what I was planning to do.” I hold his gaze.
He chuckles. “You something special. If you didn’t taken out my guys, you wouldn’t be talking me now. But now you tell me something straight.”
I raise an eyebrow and wait.
He leans forward. “You have credits? 1.5 million?”
I nod.
He regards me for a few moments. “If tricks, fall-back negotiation usually fatal.”
My blood runs cold. “I’ll transfer the credits. When do I get the 3He?”
He shrugs. “You send me credits. You leave Ganymede. I send you pickup location. Think of as my insurance policy.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Because you are still alive.”
<
br /> CHAPTER SEVEN
I have no option but to run with Bruno’s deal. Just before I leave the parlor, I turn back to the ugly man.
“I need to know how to get to the Blue Bar.”
Bruno raises his eyes. “I think you not to be that type. But if you want know, then go down mainway, where trikes go, until you reach”—he pauses, appearing to reconsider sharing the information—“dark intersection. You will know it because people standing on corner. Follow blue lights. Blue Bar cannot be missed.” He looks at me for a moment. “Unfortunately.”
The door slides open and I am about to leave when Bruno grabs my arm. “Be careful. I know you pay already, but you seem like smart woman. Don’t be dumb.”
Whether I’m smart or dumb is irrelevant. Either way I need Jordi. Which means that I’m going to have to do whatever it takes—even if it is not the smartest move of the century. I nod to Bruno and leave him behind me.
I make my way down the mainway, staying close to the rough-looking “establishments” on my right. Loud music blares from the odd open doorway, flanked by the usual Ganymede bouncers. They anchor themselves to the ground with special electromag shoes. It lets them take advantage of the gravity to land one heck of a punch. Most of these guys will head off Ganymede for a spell to a higher gravity jurisdiction, just to buff their muscles. It’s hard to do weight training on Ganymede.
I make it to the junction Bruno described, and sure enough he is correct. Each corner holds a small group of people—men or women, I can’t tell—loitering, watching the occasional trike passing through, clearly soliciting custom. I don’t know what type of custom is involved, but I ready myself and my plasma baton just in case.
I see no blue lights.
I draw myself up, and approach the first bunch on the corner closest to me.
“Hey.” I wait.
Everyone ignores me.
A Bar Room Brawl On Ganymede Page 2
