Just Compensation

by Robert N. Charrette

  She made a grab at Andy’s crotch. He deflected it clumsily. She backhanded him across the face and he went down into the stinking refuse littering the alley, his deck skittering out of his hands. Then she kicked him in the gut, and he vomited, as much from the garbage in his face as from the blow.

  “Ain’t nice ta refuse a lady.” Pucker Up told him.

  All the orks laughed.

  “Johnson says, ‘Don’t play around,’ ” Star Eye admonished her.

  “Ain’t playin’ around.” Pucker Up said. “I’m a real, loyal, lovin’, ork gal. I jus’ live ta give all my attention ta my pale, smooth, sweetface wuss of a breeder suitboy. I be a one-guy kind of gal. I ain’t no thankless, scummy, thieving scuz who don’t know when she got it good. I be little Miz Faithful. Don’t play aroun’ at all. He be de stupid, damfool one don’t understan’ loyalty.”

  She emphasized every adjective with a kick at Andy. He tried to curl up and protect his vital spots, but every time she found something he’d failed to cover. He lay sobbing when she stopped, each breath wracking him with pain. His tears streaked runnels on his filth-covered face. He whimpered as she went through his clothing, taking what she wanted. He felt her strip him of his carry-bag, heard the crack of his cyberdeck’s casing as she dropped it carelessly to the ground. She took her feel of him as well. He couldn’t stop her.

  All the orks Andy had met growing up were people, just like everybody else. But these, these were animals. Not just animals, predators . . . and he had become their prey.

  Somewhere far away, one of the orks grunted in confusion. Andy forced his eyes open. Bad Teeth was looking down at the Narcoject and frowning in puzzlement. The ork hefted the gun and shook his head. Mashing the magazine release with his thumb, he ejected the cartridge. When he saw that it was no more than a solid block of plastic, he snorted.

  “Dis ain’t no tough-gut wannabe. Johnson been playing us for funnies. Dis here breeder, he ain’t nothing but pure corp fluff.” Bad Teeth said disdainfully. He tossed the fake magazine to his companions.

  Each examined it in turn, snorted or guffawed, and tossed it to the next. By the time the last one caught it, all the orks were hooting in derision. Bad Teeth squatted down and stuck his face into Andy’s. The ork’s breath was fouler than his body odor, and Andy nearly lost it again. He tried to turn his face away, but the ork wrapped a meaty paw around his jaw and wrenched his head back around. “Whatchu doing out in de real world, fluff?”

  “Johnson says, ‘Don’t talk to the meat,’ ” Star Eye said warningly.

  “Dis don’t add.” Bad Teeth told him. “Maybe be healthy ta know why.”

  “Healthier to do it and be done.” Star Eye said.

  “You ain’t da boss, is ya?” Bad Teeth spoke to Star Eye, but he poked Andy with a finger. The next words were meant for him. “Listen. We talk ta dis breeder, maybe he tells us something we wanna hear, maybe he don’t become part of the garbage.”

  “Johnson won’t like it.” Star Eye said.

  “Johnson’s got a lot of ‘don’t need ta know’ for us. Well, dis is a ‘don’t need ta know’ for Johnson. It’s free enterprise. Got it?”

  “I don’t know. Bad business, crossin’ Johnson.” Pucker Up said, leering at Andy. “Less fun too.”

  They argued. Andy knew he should be thinking about escaping, but all he could think about was how much he hurt. When they stopped arguing they’d hurt him some more. Maybe kill him. He didn’t want to die lying in a pile of trash.

  A hissing from the alley mouth shut down the argument. Bad Teeth stomped down to see what his sentries had spotted. Beyond the whispering orks, people, mostly street people, flowed by on the sidewalk, hurrying away from something. The orks wouldn’t let any of them into the alley, cuffing away any who were persistent. The rest of the gang joined Bad Teeth at the alley mouth. They started a new argument. It was low-voiced and Andy couldn’t follow it.

  This was Andy’s chance, but he hurt too much to crawl away.

  The orks broke from the alley mouth like jackals before a lion. They swarmed past where Andy lay, but one stopped. Pucker Up stood over him. A knife gleamed in her hand.

  “No more time ta play, suitboy.” she said.

  Andy expected to feel the knife, but instead he felt a rain of tiny fragments of concrete as thunder echoed in the alley. A gun. Pucker Up cursed and was gone. Someone stood at the alley mouth, someone big and bulky with a swollen, oversize head. Andy’s vision was blurred. A troll? Too small. For a second Andy’s vision cleared. Not a troll, but a soldier in combat armor. The soldier fired another burst to hurry the fleeing orks, chipping more concrete from the building walls.

  “Hey, Sarge.” the soldier shouted, looking back down the street. “Looks like them tuskers were having themselves some fun.”

  With a rattle and whir a massive vehicle rolled to a stop athwart the alley mouth. Someone was standing in the topside hatch. He wore body armor and helmet like the first soldier.

  “Citizen?” the rider asked.

  “Dunno, Sarge.”

  “Well, go check him out.”

  The soldier advanced cautiously down the alley, looking past Andy, watching for the return of the orks. Andy tried to thank the soldier for rescuing him, but only produced a wheeze that startled the soldier, who pointed his weapon at Andy. Andy decided not to try to talk or to move at all. Nervous people with guns were dangerous. He’d gotten a reprieve from death, and he wasn’t going to throw it away.

  The soldier eased up his rifle, apparently satisfied that Andy wasn’t about to attack him. He knelt beside Andy and conducted a quick, one-handed search of his clothes. The soldier cursed when he got blood and vomit on his hands, and wiped it off on Andy’s pants leg. Finished, he straightened up.

  “Well?” the sergeant asked. “Is he a citizen?”

  “Maybe. He’s got a datajack, but he looks more like street trash. Ain’t got no ID. Tuskers probably took it.”

  “Give me the serial number on the jack.”

  The soldier squatted down and used the butt of his rifle to turn Andy’s head to the light. He still had to bend close and squint to read out the code on the chrome lip of the datajack. The sergeant disappeared into his vehicle, reappearing almost a minute later.

  “Jack’s registered to a dead suit.” he said. “That guy look dead to you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Tech database says he’s got a jack that ain’t his, so he’s an illegal. Damn, those black docs move fast. Suit’s only cold a few days and already his hardware’s on the street.”

  “This guy needs a doc, Sarge.”

  “Found one on his own to get his hot jack planted in his skull, didn’t he? Come on back, Espinoza. We’ve got other things to do.”

  “What about this guy?”

  “We ain’t the cops. Leave him be.”

  The engine on the armored vehicle revved and it started to roll. Espinoza hesitated for a moment, then trotted after it.

  More vehicles rolled past the alley. Soldiers moved along with them. None of them had time for a battered kid in an alley. Too bad he wasn’t a citizen. Andy had been a citizen, until he’d arranged otherwise for himself.

  He had to do something. He really didn’t want to die lying among the refuse. But he hurt so much. It even hurt to breathe.

  Sometime after the soldiers had passed, he forced himself to his feet in a swirl of gray and a blaze of pain. He collapsed after trying to pick up his deck, and then three times more before he made it to the mouth of the alley.

  The street wasn’t deserted, but it might as well have been. None of the passersby moved to help him; most didn’t even look at him. He tried to ask for help, but only a rasping croak came out. Pucker Up had gotten a kick in to his throat.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to get far. The building holding him up had office space, maybe a doctor. He dragged himself to its door and forced his eyes to focus on the sign listing the tenants. No doctors. No hope. Or was the
re? Among the second-floor listings was “Harry Markowitz Corp., Investigations.” Markowitz. Marksman. Andy had done something for him once, hadn’t he? He’d help. He had to.

  When he found himself in the stairwell on the second floor landing, he didn’t remember deciding to take the stairs. The climb had taken almost the last of his strength. He needed the wall to hold him up as he shuffled down the corridor. He reached Markowitz’s doorjamb exhausted. He was sure something was leaking inside his belly. He would die if he didn’t get help. This really was his last chance.

  He couldn’t make his fingers grip the doorknob. All he could do was slap the rebellious hand against the frosted plastic pane. It was a poor excuse for a knock. He left a smear of gore across “Investigations.”

  The way his blood was pounding in his ears, Andy couldn’t hear very well, but he thought he heard someone say something. It might have been “come in.” but if it was,

  Andy wasn’t going to be able to comply. It was all he could do to slap the door again. The last of his strength gave out and he slumped against the door. The frosted pane was cool against his abraded cheek.

  Then his world tumbled as someone opened the door. Losing his support, Andy collapsed over the threshold. He hit the floor like a Goo-Child doll.

  Someone leapt over his sprawled body. Markowitz. The man threw himself against the door frame, drawing a short-barreled automatic from a shoulder holster. He peered cautiously into the corridor, first toward the stairs up which Andy had come, then back the other way.

  Andy felt the brush of fur against his cheek. Something grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged, pulling him all the way into the office. The angle of the pull was too low to be a human—unless the person was on the floor with Andy and the tug was too steady for that. And the fur? Some kind of dog? What did it matter, he hurt too much. He shut his eyes, wishing the pain would stop.

  “Just the kid.” Markowitz said. Andy heard the door close. Claws clicked softly against the floor as the animal ran away. Markowitz’s footsteps came closer. His voice came from above.

  “Shit, kid, you’re bleeding on my floor.”

  Sorry. I didn't mean to. I’ll just die now.

  “Great. He can’t even talk.” Markowitz sighed exasperatedly. “Why’d you have to come here, kid?”

  “Shush, Harry.” a soft feminine voice said. Bare feet slapped softly on the floor, coming closer. A whiff of something floral floated by Andy’s nostrils. So out of place. He opened his eyes and saw a beautiful Asian face before him, expression concerned. The woman had a classic, ageless winsomeness that clashed with her white hair. The contrast triggered a memory. Andy matched voice and face with the memory: this was Kit. Andy focused on her dark eyes. He knew those eyes, but he couldn’t remember from where. Her delicate fingers lifted Andy’s eyelids one at a time. Her expression grew sad. “He is damaged.”

  “I can see that. I still want to know why he came here?”

  “You said he recognized you.”

  “You said he wouldn’t be able to.”

  She shrugged. “And you never make mistakes? We must do something. He needs help.”

  “Who doesn’t? Haven’t we got enough troubles right now? We can dump him at the hospital on our way out.”

  “He may not last that long.” Kit said gravely. “We touched his life. Now he touches ours. Instant karma, neh?"

  “Are you going to do something for him?”

  “I will try.”

  “Just do the minimal to get him on his feet and out of here. You don’t need to waste your strength on a street stupid like him. He’s a complication we don’t need right now. In fact, we might be better off if he stops breathing.”

  “Harry, you don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Look, I’m going back on the horn to Cog and see if he can scare us up a sub. The kid don’t show improvement by the time I’m done, we dump him. Okay?” There was more argument, but Andy faded out. It seemed too unimportant. Besides, when everything was dark, the pain wasn’t so bad. He dreamed he was a kid again, running in green fields the like of which he’d never played in. He had a fluffy-tailed white dog with him. A bitch. She loved him and would wash his face for him if he gave her half a chance. All she wanted to do was play, and her barking called him to play with her, urging him out of the dark. Out of the dream.

  His mind was clear. He remembered Kit and Marksman now. Yates, Rags, and Shamgar the ork samurai, too. There were two other runners, another ork and a female norm rigger, but he didn’t have names for them. He remembered the runners bursting in on him. The rescue of Yates, and his subsequent clash with the lethal ice. The flight through the maintenance corridors of the Telestrian complex. The machine Rags had used to suck Andy’s headware dry of the stuff Yates had crammed in there. The ride downtown that had ended with Andy staring into Kit’s deep, deep eyes. The cloud coming down, and his subsequent dumping. He remembered it all.

  He lay on a bed. Not his own. The bedclothes carried a hint of floral scent. The room, when he looked at it, wasn’t feminine at all. But Kit was there.

  “You are feeling better?” she asked.

  “I’m feeling like drek, but at least I don’t feel like I’m dead. You did something to me.”

  She looked down, like a modest girl. “You are lucky.”

  “I believe it. Thank you.”

  “Our karmas are linked now, Andrew.”

  Andy understood that he owed her a lot. He’d repay her. How, he didn’t know yet.

  “Who beat you so badly?” she asked.

  Answering her questions would barely cover interest on what he owed. “A gang of ork kids. They pulled me into the alley outside. I think they were going to kill me.”

  “They came very close. Did they have a reason?”

  “Do the street scum need a reason these days?” asked Markowitz. He was standing in the doorway of the room. Behind Markowitz, Andy could see the office in which he’d collapsed. This was Markowitz’s place, which meant that Kit was—something to Markowitz that Andy didn’t want to think about.

  “Well, kid. Did they have a reason?” Markowitz asked. “One of them kept saying ‘Johnson says,’ ” Andy told him. “I think someone hired them.”

  “You know who?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “No.”

  “How about how they knew to hit you here?”

  “No idea.”

  “Great.” Markowitz rolled his eyes. “You’re trouble, kid, and I don’t want any part of it.”

  “It’s not his fault, Harry.” Kit said.

  Markowitz shook his head. “Sure. Of course not. It never is.”

  He left the room and Kit said, “Don’t let him bother you. He is not so rough as he makes out.”

  “I want to know as much as he does.” Andy told her.

  “We’ll find out.” she assured him. “First things first.”

  Andy could hear Markowitz start a telecom call in the other room. Before long Markowitz was yelling at whoever was on the other end.

  “I ain’t got any time, and you know it. If you’re trying to hold me up for a premium, it won’t work. There are other people who can take my business.” A pause, then calmer. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

  The rest of the conversation went on in lower tones that Andy couldn’t catch. Kit kept looking toward the other room, as if she were still listening. Andy didn’t understand what was going on, but he’d obviously fallen into their lives while they were in the middle of something.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  Kit looked at him, but didn’t speak right away. “Harry has arranged to transport certain medical supplies across the border from the Confederated States. Those supplies have a limited period of usefulness. If they are not delivered to the distribution point tonight, they will be worthless. People will die without them.” Kit looked distressed by the prospect.

  “I don’t understand. Why can’t you make the ru
n?”

  “Sammy Locksley, our driver, is not to be found. It is unlike her. She knew the importance of tonight’s run. Harry is afraid something has happened to her. It makes him ... unhappy. That is why he is so harsh with you. Usually he is more kindly to our guests.”

  “I could help.”

  She smiled indulgently. “The car is special, a rigger model.”

  “I’m a rigger.” He would have said so even if he hadn’t had any experience. He wanted to do something to repay a part of his debt. And he wanted to make Kit happy. “I could drive it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Her expression brightened, warming Andy with the sun of her smile.

  Markowitz came back into the room. “We better hope we don’t run into trouble, Kit. Cog hasn’t got anybody on tap. I’ll have to drive.”

  “How can you?” Kit asked. “You always tell Sammy you are no rigger.”

  “I’m not, but the datajack will let me supervise the autopilot. Won’t do us any good if the drek hits the fan, so you better hope we’re lucky. Know any good-luck spells?”

  “Several, but they all have unfortunate side effects when focused for the benefit of the caster or those dear to her. We may have another answer. Andrew is a rigger.”

  “Yeah?” Markowitz eyed Andy suspiciously. “How convenient. I’ve been thinking about the convenience of today’s events. How do I know you’re not a stalking horse for Telestrian?”

  Andy wasn’t stalking anything. “I suppose you don’t, but I’m not working for them anymore. I helped Yates, remember?”

  “Yates didn’t exactly survive your help. Remember?”

  Andy wasn’t going to let Markowitz lay that guilt on him; he had enough of his own. “It was the black ice that got him. Yates was the one who decided I couldn’t help him against the ice. He dumped me out of the Matrix, remember? Besides, do you think I’d let myself be nearly killed just to gull you?”

  Markowitz looked as though he were considering that very possibility.

  “He really was seriously injured, Harry.” Kit said.

  “You and Kit helped me, and this will give me a chance to return the favor.”