by Chris Lowry
"To friends long absent," he said, eyes studying the woman next to him. "We are still friends, aren't we Mona Lisa?"
She nodded and sipped her tea.
"Is there a story behind the rumors which you wish to share with your friend?"
She shook her head now.
His face was a poker mask, unreadable.
Bat frowned.
He couldn't get a feel for how things were going. Was the gangster angry? Was he just toying with them while men with swords snuck up behind them?
He tried to glance around without being noticed.
Mr. Kim did.
"Introduce me to your friends."
Mona Lisa took another sip to buy time, then again to buy more.
"Tinker," the pilot held out his hand across the table.
Mr. Kim looked at it, as if the man proffered a fish. After a moment, he reached over and shook it.
"Would you look at the size of his mitt!" Tinker exclaimed.
"Yes," Mr. Kim smiled. "Quite. A gift from my grandfather."
"They say genetics are key, you know."
"Do they?"
"I think they do. If they don't they should."
"And what do you do for my friend Mona Lisa, Tinker?"
"I'm the pilot," Tinker grinned.
"Yes. A pilot is a good way to get around space," said the gangster, as if there were other ways they were yet aware of.
"And you."
His eyes turned to Bat and drilled into him.
Bat leaned back in his chair.
"You have not enjoyed the tea prepared for you," observed Mr. Kim.
"My apologies," said Bat. "I didn't mean to be rude."
He kept his other hand on the table as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a small sip.
"It is Green tea from my ancestral province. The industrial pollution has all but ruined that section of China, but the soil from deep in the ground is fertile still. My men dig it up and grow tea in a greenhouse."
Bat sipped again to show his appreciation.
This seemed to please Mr. Kim, who made a subtle motion and the girl prepared a second cup for the guard.
"You have me at a disadvantage," said Mr. Kim. "I am sure Mona Lisa has shared my name with you, but you have not shared yours with me."
"Bat."
"Like the mammal?"
Bat nodded.
"An interesting name. We think a name says a lot about a person. I wonder what Bat says about you?"
Mr. Kim took a sip of his tea and stared at Bat over the edge of his glass. He held the small cup with one finger pressed against his thumb. It looked like a child's teacup in his grip.
More of an act, thought Bat. All about making a certain impression.
But the way he talked suggested he was an educated gangster.
Another act of intimidation.
"It is short for Bartholomew Marshal. My father called me Bat and it carried over into my adult life."
There it was. A reaction.
No one knew who Bat Marshal was. Just some anonymous guard at a private prison on the edge of a colony on Mars.
But a lot of people knew Bartholomew Marshal.
Or thought they did.
Bat figured they knew a lot of stories about the man he once was.
Stories were different from life though.
Mr. Kim nodded and set the cup on the table.
Bat tensed his muscles. This was it.
"An interesting choice of companions, my friend."
He turned away from Bat and Tinker and focused on Mona Lisa.
She nodded.
"Your silence says much."
She took a sip of tea and nodded, spilling it down the front of her flight suit.
"Oh," she said in a high-pitched voice.
Then her hands were moving to wipe up the liquid, lifting her bosom, unzipping the suit to reveal more cleavage.
Mr. Kim chuckled.
"Impressive," he said. "That must work on most men."
Mona Lisa leaned forward to give him a better view and put a hand under her chin as she tilted her hand.
It was a practiced look, one designed to stir the blood and get her way.
"I'm here for a favor," she said.
"Of course, you are," he answered. "We are friends but not that kind of friend, are we?"
"I'm willing to trade for information."
She squeezed her shoulders together a micro fraction to give him an idea of what she had to barter.
Mr. Kim gazed longingly at her for a moment, then lifted his eyes to meet hers and laughed out loud.
"I could take without permission and you could not stop me," he said. "I do not need to trade for anything."
A tiny cup at the far end of the table crinkled as it cracked in Bat's fist and dropped onto the tabletop. Mr. Kim and Mona Lisa stopped looking at each other and stared at Bat.
"She is under my protection," Bat said in a soft voice. "There will be no taking of anything."
He could hear the guards rustle behind him as he locked eyes with the gangster.
The moment stretched out, hours maybe, each man taking a measure of the other.
"That is not what friends do," he nodded. "Thank you for reminding me of my obligation as your host, Mr. Marshal."
"Bat."
"Bat. Indeed, I do not want what you currently offer," he motioned to the display of flesh on the divan. "But I do have a need you may satisfy."
He glanced at Tinker.
"I'm flattered bud, but I don't play for that team."
Mr. Kim laughed again.
"Your companions are a delight, Mona Lisa. I am glad you returned at such a fortuitous time for both of us. No Mr. Tinker, I am in need of a pilot."
"You want to fly somewhere?"
"No," said the gangster. "I want you to fly somewhere."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"He didn't ask you what you wanted," Tinker said as they stalked through the corridor.
"He knows what I want," she huffed. "He just doesn't know why. He thinks I want to finish what I started."
"Not with me around," said Bat.
"Yeah, what was that whole Bartholomew Marshal thing? Are you somebody special?"
Bat shook his head.
"Just a prison guard."
"Now," said Mona Lisa, eyeballing him as they hurried toward the ship. "But what were you before?"
"Aren't you afraid we'll run into your British friend?"
She stopped in her tracks. Tinker ran into the back of her, bounced off as he struggled to maintain his balance and knocked into a cart that overturned into the crowd in front of them.
"Yes," she said and nodded forward.
Ian stood ten yards ahead of them, waiting.
Glaring at Bat.
"He does not look happy," she said.
Tinker extricated himself from the mess he made, and backed away from the pawing hands of the vendor as she shrieked at him.
He bumped into another cart, tripped and tipped it over to join the first.
"Are you drunk?" Bat asked.
"Just clumsy," said the pilot as he climbed to his feet.
But the mess brought a crowd that pawed through the fallen wares. The cart owners did double time trying to keep anyone from running off without paying.
It also served as an enormous noisy distraction with the advantage of putting dozens of bodies between them.
"This way," said Bat.
He yanked Mona Lisa by the arm behind a billowing veil that separated the carts from each other. She snagged Tinker as he pulled her along.
"He's going to see us back here," Tinker whispered.
"Louder," said Mona Lisa. "I don't think they heard you."
"He's going to!" Tinker said.
She elbowed him in the stomach and earned silence for her effort.
"Be quiet."
"I thought you couldn't hear me."
"Everyone can hear you."
"Both of you shut
up," Bat hissed.
He led them behind the stalls, sneaking from one covered wall to the next until they were well past the gang of toughs lying in wait for them.
He watched as Ian directed his thugs to spread out and search for them beyond the crowd. They would look behind the stalls eventually and see them.
But they had time to move, just a few moments to get someplace else and beyond their view.
Mona Lisa noticed and put it together.
She moved past Bat and continued to lead them further away from the madness and back to the ship.
Back at the ship, she studied Tinker as he keyed in the airlock opening code, then even closer as he prepared for launch.
Bat watched her watch him.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Tinker went through his mental checklist.
"Yet here we go."
"It's a caliphate in space," he continued complaining.
"So?"
"So! They hate you. They hate me. And they're really gonna hate her."
He rooted around under his seat and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. He unscrewed the top and took a drink.
"I know a guy," Mona Lisa said.
"How do you know a guy?"
"Don't worry about it. It's business."
"Excuse me if I do worry about it," Tinker took two more long swigs of hooch. "It's my ass on line."
"What kind of business," asked Bat.
Mona Lisa unzipped the top of her flight suit under the careful watch of Tinker who stopped his flask half raised to his lips.
"Islamists are just like every other religious nut," she explained. "Out in public, they're all off with their heads and stone us back to the dark ages. But behind closed doors it's space boats and hoes."
"Its a big ship," said Bat. "How are you gonna find one guy?"
"Don't worry. He'll find me."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Saracen was an incredible amalgamation of derelict ships melded together to form a free-floating work of art in outer space. There were thousands of them, different shapes and sizes, makes, models and configurations to maximize occupation efficiency and minimize explosive decompression.
Even as they watched on the view screen, atmosphere hissed out of one end of the construct, a steady stream of escaping air that created a slow spin that rotated the space station around.
"Is that on purpose?" Mona Lisa asked.
"I thought you knew a guy here."
"I know a guy," she spouted. "I don't know the physics behind the place where he lives."
"No," answered Tinker. "These ships are so old, they're decomposing. The metal and welds are held together with bubble gum and duct tape, so the stress breaks them open."
"That sounds bad."
"It is," he said in a grim voice. "I mean, they're extremists, but it's not a pretty way to die. Basically they're spewed into space."
"What if your guy isn't there?"
"He's there."
"But where?"
"How much do you know about this place?" she asked.
"I thought you didn't know the physics."
"I know the history."
"You're a history buff?"
"No. I'm a good listener. Especially when people are drinking."
"You wanna listen to me?" Tinker swigged.
"Do I have a choice?"
He waggled his eyebrows and leered.
"They rounded up all the extremists they could find on earth," she said. "And shipped them off up here so they could have their own Islamic state."
"In Space."
"In space," she nodded. "Only no one wanted to pay for it. And there was no oil money left to cover the bill. So they got charity ships and a ride up here."
"They built that?"
"They were supposed to go to Mars, start a new colony. But like I said, no money. When the oil dried up, so did their power."
"But they have something."
"Something Mr. Kim wants."
Bat peered through the view screen.
"You got an eye on where we can dock?"
"I need the radio first," she interrupted.
"No radio."
"We need to call it in so I know how close to get us. The Saracen is different. We can't just walk about in it."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hasan Khan stared at the blinking light on top of his communication console and debated whether to answer or not.
He took a puff on a hand rolled cigarette and waved the smoke toward the refurbished air scrubber that wheezed as it struggled to keep up with the tainted air.
"What?" he finally reached out and pressed the button.
He forgot about the cigarette when he saw who was on the screen.
"You've got some nerve," he sat up on a pillow on the floor and glared at the image.
"Hello Khan," Mona Lisa said on the static laced radio.
"He doesn't seem happy to see you."
"He's not."
Khan overheard them on the computer.
"I'm not."
"But he owes me a favor."
"I thought you went to prison."
"I got out," she answered.
"Not for good behavior, I'd wager."
"We're on a mission from God," Tinker interjected.
Bat and Mona Lisa gave him blank stares.
"What? Nobody watches the classics?"
"Blues Brothers," Khan leaned forward until they could almost see up his large nose, made more so by such close proximity to the screen. "I love that flick."
"I saw the poster," said Tinker. "Me too."
"Time," Bat reminded them.
"Khan, as much as I'd like ot let you discuss ancient film history, we are on a clock."
"You have a copy on your ship?"
"Of course, man."
"I think he just ignored you," Bat sniffed.
"You don't have a monopoly on it," she tucked in her bottom lip
"My holoprojector broke months ago," Khan explained. "Parts are difficult to come by."
"You already owe me," said Mona Lisa.
"I just have the one," Tinker pouted.
"Where's your honor?" she said to the screen.
"In a pile on the floor next to my holoporjector."
"Not my problem."
"Nor is yours mine."
"You're playing fast and loose with my stuff lady," Tinker said. "Normally I make a woman buy me dinner before I let her do that to me."
"Who is this guy?" Khan guffawed. "Him I like."
"He's the guy who's going to give you a holoprojector for helping us."
"I am?"
"You are."
"Nobody said nothing about giving up my possessions. I worked hard for that."
"Let it go," said Bat. "We'll get you another."
"It's got sentimental value."
"He has porn on it," said Mona Lisa.
"Those vids are private," Tinker snapped. "And artistic."
Bat put his hand between them.
"Strip the hard drive and give it to him. We don't have time to waste."
"Excellent my friends," Khan was all smiles. "Welcome to the Saracen."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Khan sent the coordinates to his ship berth. Tinker made the deft maneuvers to avoid the slow spin and line p speed and trajectory of the NS-17 to the Saracen.
He snaked the umbilical to connect the airlocks and Khan met them on the other side of the tube as they stepped through.
"Hurry," he rushed them to a dark corner. "Put these on."
"Gak," Mona Lisa gagged. "It stinks."
The Saracen smelled like stale curry and unwashed bodies, a million smoked cigarettes with hints of desperation and the sour reek of despair.
Khan handed over three Bhurkas and waited while they slithered them over their heads.
"I'm not wearing a dress," Tinker held the black fabric away from him.
"It's the only way to hide your skin," Khan explained. "Or you could be ripped to
shreds before we reach my ship."
Tinker shrugged the long cloth over his head and slithered into the billowing black cloth and struggled to adjust it so he could see through the lace covered slit that hid his eyes.
"Bloody hell," he griped. "This stinks almost as bad in here."
"Come," Khan beckoned. "Stay three paces behind me."
He led them through a hold door and into a cramped hallway. They could hear people, but no one was about.
"What's that creaking?" Tinker asked, worried.
They heard the sound of groaning metal and it sounded almost human in the moaning wail that seemed to never stop.
"Quiet," Khan hissed.
Just as three robed men rounded the corner and stopped to glare at him.
They spoke in rapid fire Arabic, and Khan answered.
The newcomers didn't acknowledge the three figures waiting a respectful distance away while the men conversed.
After a moment, the talk was over and the men stepped aside to let him pass.
As they did, one of the robed warriors nudged his buddy and laughed as he nodded at the giant figure of Bat hidden under the robes.
They rounded the corner and disappeared, chased by a few giggles.
Khan wiped his sleeve across his brow and rushed them into his ship compartment.
He sealed the door behind them.
"It is safe now," he said.
The trio shed the robes and laid them next to the door within easy reach. Bat didn't look forward to going back under the cloth, but it was going to be necessary if they planned to complete the mission for Mr. Kim.
At least he hoped that's how it would play out.
They still needed to hurry. There was a lovelorn madman on the loose with a plan to destroy a million people just to kill the woman who betrayed him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The inside of Khan's ship looked a lot like Tinker's except for one exception. It was a large exception. A giant eight foot view screen dominated one wall and as they entered, it flipped from an artistic nude of Mona Lisa to a raunchier action image with Buster.
Tinker pulled up short, mesmerized as it flipped back to the full body image of her reclining on a couch. He nearly drooled over the second picture.
"You son of a b-"
"Oops," said Khan as he dug around for the remote to click the screen over to something more suitable for guests. It froze on the image of her and Tinker took two steps closer to the wall.
