Chapter 2
I was ankle-deep in what I hoped was water but knew was probably not. The air reeked of feces and chemicals. Dim light crept down from overhead gratings, transforming the darkness into nondescript shadow. I did not need to see, however. I had used this emergency exit more times than I cared to admit. I unholstered my pistol and stalked forward into the shadows ahead.
The sewer pipe was about five feet high. I had to stoop slightly to keep from smacking my head on the ceiling. The faint sound of falling fluid was a constant backdrop. Every so often, there would be a far-off flush, followed by a splash, and then the steady trickling would resume. My feet sloshed through the non-water on the floor, occasionally creating a miniature wave that washed over the tops of my boots and down inside them to drench my socks. I ignored it all. I could not afford the luxury of disgust. My attention had to be completely focused on my surroundings. There were things, living things, unfriendly things, down there in the dark.
The tunnel forked and I veered left. It forked again and I veered right. It was all done without thought. The route was ingrained in my muscle memory. That was both a bad thing and a good thing. Bad, because it meant that I used my emergency exit way too much... which suggested that I might want to consider reevaluating my life a bit. Good, because I was entering a section of the sewer where the potential avenues of attack multiplied like mutant space-rabbits in heat. A plethora of pitch black openings appeared on either side of me, gaping at me like ravenous mouths. Some were up near my head, coming from above, draining all manner of foul substances into the sewer from the main level of the spaceport. Some were down near my feet, leading into the warren of sewers and tunnels and levels that extended thousands of feet below me.
I came around a turn in the tunnel onto the final straightaway in my emergency route. A sickly beam of light illuminated a ladder leading up to a hatch in the ceiling up ahead. I took a step... then the growl of a large animal froze me in my tracks. The hand holding my pistol tensed as I squinted into the dark, scanning the openings lining the corridor for the source of the sound. There was a hiss and then another growl. It was coming from somewhere down and to my left, from one of the pipes leading to the lower levels. Movement flickered in the corner of my eye. I pivoted toward it, bringing my weapon up to bear on an opening a few feet away.
A big-ass nose, followed immediately by a big-ass snout covered with big-ass whiskers, emerged from the hole. It was a rat. Don’t get me wrong... it’s not like I was known for screaming like a little girl and jumping up on tabletops at the sight of a mouse... but the native radiation on this planet did all sorts of fucked up shit to invasive species. Some species were completely unaffected. Some species turned into mush. Some species were twisted beyond recognition. Some species stayed exactly the same, except they got really fucking big. Rats were one of these. This thing was three-feet-tall from feet to shoulder. It stared at me with two bright red eyes as big as apples, opened a mouth lined with razor-sharp, two-inch-long fangs and roared.
I shot it. Twice. Its head exploded all over the sewer wall.
The twin blasts were deafening in the confined space. For several long moments, all I could hear was a high-pitched whine. Bright, round afterimages from the muzzle flashes peppered my field of vision. My ears recovered a bit faster than my eyes did. The whine died away and was replaced with an agitated series of cheeps and clicks coming from nearby. Even before my eyes readjusted enough to see the source of the sound, even before the human words being spit out by the translator in my head began to register in my brain, I knew what was making that sound.
“Fucker! Fucking motherfucker! Fucking stupid fucker! Fucking human fucker! Fucking stupid human motherfucker!” A kabebe was standing beside the dead rat, communicating its displeasure with me in rapid-fire cheeping and clicking.
Kabebes were a tiny, dirty race. They looked like walking pincushions. They were all less than two-feet-tall and were coated with sharp brownish quills. The forests of quills were so thick that you could not see their faces or legs and could only see their arms when they were using them. It was always possible to tell when a kabebe had been around because they shed quills like it was their job, leaving trails of tiny needles that stuck into everything, as if the very ground had been assaulted by an army of diminutive archers.
“Fucker! Human! Human fucker! Fucker!” the kabebe cheeped. It shook its tiny arms at me. It seemed to be getting even angrier the more it ranted. It moved from where it stood next to its dead pet rat and the hand holding my pistol instinctively tensed. If it came at me, I was ready to turn it into paste. It was the only way to avoid getting stabbed. I could not even kick it, even though it was the perfect size for it... those quills would shear right through my boot.
It turned back to the rat and my hand relaxed. My eyes had adjusted almost back to normal and I saw that the rat had bulging sacks strapped to its back. The kabebe reached into one of them and I tensed again, ready to shoot if it produced a weapon. It turned back toward me, cocked its arm, and threw a pebble at me. The pebble cut a low arc through the air and plopped harmlessly into the muck by my feet.
It all made sense then. There was a semi-rare ore that was mined on a few hundred planets and asteroids throughout the galaxy. When it was refined, this ore metamorphosed into a veritable cornucopia of waste products, most toxic, some not, and one useful product... starship fuel. The whole reason this planet was of any interest to anyone was because this was one of the places that ore was found. The thing that made this planet unique was that it was the only source-planet that was outside the Great Bank’s jurisdiction. Several of the Bank’s subsidiary corporations had tried to establish a presence here in the past but the inhospitable climate on-planet and the astrological hazards in this region of space and the sheer distance from any vestige of reputable civilization and a million and one other problems had convinced them all that fuel-speculation here was not a financially viable proposition. That was good news for the outlaw companies of the galaxy. They could obtain fuel here without jumping through hoops to stay under the Great Bank’s radar.
The big ore deposits beneath the spaceport had been mined out ages ago. Large creatures who wanted to get into unregulated fuel ore mining, a specialized type of brown work, did so at one of the countless mining villages around the planet. Since the spaceport was the only thing resembling a city on-planet and the only place you could land a starship, refining was still done here. The ore had to be transported here, which was expensive and dangerous. If large creatures could exploit the ore deposits that were still here, you could bet they would. However, those remaining veins were so sparse and hard to get to that only tiny creatures could hope to mine them and turn a profit... and kabebes were the tiniest of all the sentient species on-planet.
Like I said... it all made sense. This kabebe was a brown worker transporting a load of fuel ore pebbles to a refinery and I had just killed its pack animal. There would be no reasoning with this furious little fucker.
I moved, giving the kabebe as wide a berth as possible in the tunnel. The pebbles were no danger. There was no force behind them and, even if there had been, they were not large enough to cause any real damage. I kept an eye on the kabebe though, just in case it got angry enough to rush me.
It did not make a move. I made it to the ladder and climbed out of the sewer, leaving the kabebe chucking pebbles and cheeping and clicking obscenities behind me.
Chapter 3
I emerged onto the Promenade... the main level of the spaceport. The hinges on the trapdoor screamed like it was passing a kidney stone when I pushed it up. It slammed shut behind me with a boom. The Promenade was crowded, like always, but nobody spared a second glance for either the dude climbing out of the sewer or the noise he created in doing so. Everyone had more important things to attend to. Gold work was going on here.
The area was a colossal marketplace. Creatures moved every which way, buying and selling and stealing and reselling. They were
mostly human but there were also healthy numbers of the other five races that were most common on-planet. Grindles towered over the crowd. Kabebes scurried around the ankles of everyone else, getting underfoot and eliciting curses from creatures that got stabbed by their quills. Sagisi, a giant insectoid race, moved about, alone, if they were male, or followed by packs of drones that looked like smaller versions of themselves, if they were female. The hammang race were big globs of sentient snot that augmented their gelatinous anatomy with a variety of cybernetic enhancements... ranging from simple wheels or treads through a whole spectrum of electronic doodads and gizmos up to and including full body suits that made them almost look humanoid. The few hammangs in the marketplace were all hocking goods. That race was always selling something. There were several yandocs flying above the mob. They looked like a cross between a bat and an iguana although I honestly had no idea if they had evolved from rodents or reptiles or both or neither. They were half as tall as an average human and so thin they were almost transparent. They were easy to overlook. Only when they took flight was it obvious that there were yandocs in the vicinity.
Impromptu booths were set up all over. Creatures sat in clusters of three or four, backs to each other, facing outward, in informal alliances to protect their wares from a population highly adept at the five-finger discount. Some were in makeshift tents. Some had tables and chairs. Some simply sat on the ground and arranged their goods before them. Gold work involved the transport and exchange of innocuous items. Almost anything that fell under that description was available somewhere in the marketplace. Items that fell under the blanket of silver work... firearms, drugs, slaves, fuel, vehicles, starship parts... were bought and sold elsewhere. The uncontrolled trade of silver goods was illegal on most planets. Here, silver work was kept separate from gold work simply because it involved bigger money and thus, bigger danger.
I did not linger around the stalls. Time was a commodity I possessed in short supply. The withdrawal was rapidly evolving into full-blown dope sick. It was not coming in waves anymore. A constant drowsiness was weighing on my eyelids and a steady ache was stabbing at every muscle in my body. These symptoms, combined with a growing nausea in the pit of my stomach, motivated me to get moving.
The Promenade dome was a hundred feet above my head. It was dingy gray with large brownish-red rust splotches splattered across it at random. It looked like a poisoned sky. Massive lights glared down from the ceiling. They were placed at regular intervals, designed to bathe the Promenade in bright white light at all hours but they were all dimmed by years of accumulated grime and half of them had burned out or been broken ages before. The result was a constant state of twilight.
Immense metal pillars were spaced at regular intervals on the Promenade, holding up the dome that protected the spaceport from the hostile planetary atmosphere. There were stacks and rows of old, decommissioned shipping containers that had been converted into living and working spaces all over the Promenade, anchored to these pillars to keep them from toppling, turning the main level of the spaceport into a labyrinth. Metal staircases and walkways connected the containers in elaborate pathways that zigzagged their way all the way up to the ceiling.
The stack that contained my office was a couple hundred yards away. I could see my office on the far end of the bottom level, right next to the pillar that stack was anchored to. It would have been impossible to miss even if I had not known where it was in the stack... because of the enormous grindle standing outside it, pounding on the door with fists bigger than my head, swearing profusely in his abrasive language.
I moved through the marketplace. The dope sickness and the close proximity of the giant debt collector made me want to sprint out of there, but I forced myself to walk casually. I did not want to do anything to draw Fluffy’s attention. The various merchants and shoppers and thieves took no notice of me. Periodically, there was a break in the line of booths to my left and my office... and Fluffy... became visible. My heart would speed up, vibrating like a kabebe on amphetamines, for twenty or thirty beats, until the wall of capitalism closed once more. Luckily, Fluffy was too intent on damaging my office door to turn around. I made it to the outer edge of the marketplace without incident.
I was almost safe... relatively... there was no true safety on-planet. The way ahead crossed a short open area. After that, I would be concealed by another wall of shipping containers. Twenty yards of exposure to go and then my biggest debt collector would have to wait another day. I shot a glance toward my office to make sure the coast was clear... and made eye contact with Fluffy. I didn’t know why he had chosen that moment to turn around. I only knew it was unfortunate.
“Hey! Jobs!” Fluffy roared. He was two-hundred yards away but he sounded like he was right next to me. That was one pissed-off grindle.
I ran.
“Damnit Jobs! Don’t make me run!” Fluffy roared.
I did not listen. Grindles, all grindles, hated to run. I was not sure why. It was probably because they just were not used to it. They usually did not need to run. Their giant strides covered distance a hell of a lot faster than any other known sentient species. I was pissing him off more and more with every step that I took but I did not stop. There was work to do and I would not get it done if Fluffy broke my legs.
The main thoroughfare was just slightly less crowded than the marketplace had been. It was always busy on the main level, no matter what the time of day. I dodged and weaved around the pedestrians, drawing annoyed glances from a few, completely ignored by most. I stayed on the thoroughfare for a few hundred feet and then I angled right and headed for the spaceport’s main docking concourse.
The docking concourse was where the planet’s lifeblood pumped in and out of the spaceport. The outer wall was marred by a line of airlock doors that guarded a network of tunnels leading to landing pads outside. The area by the doors was a hornet’s nest of activity. The mass of pedestrians here was more dense and frenzied than anywhere else in the spaceport. Creatures arriving on-planet, creatures departing, creatures selling all manner of goods and services to arriving and departing creatures alike, thieves searching for marks, predators searching for prey... they all mixed together into one pulsing multidirectional blob of chaos.
Armed creatures were everywhere, at every door, at every cargo holding area, and interspersed at random throughout the crowd. Weapons were commonplace on-planet but there was usually at least an attempt at concealment. Here, guns of all types, along with plenty of blades and clubs, were brandished right out in the open. Most of the armed creatures were not spaceport personnel. They were mostly crewmembers from the ships docked at the moment... pirates, smugglers, scavengers, and the like... with a few planet-side mercenaries thrown into the mix. The apparent cost of their weaponry was a good indication of what they did for a living. For example, the guys wielding energy rifles were probably pirates who preyed on corporate shipping lanes whereas the dudes with chemical-propellant firearms were most likely scavengers or some other type of bottom-feeder.
Heavy cargo-handling equipment moved to and fro through the crowd, moving shipping containers of all shapes and sizes between the airlock doors and various cargo holding areas. There were no set avenues for these behemoth machines. Their drivers simply took the most direct routes they could find and the crowd parted to let them pass... mostly. For whatever reason... naivety, carelessness, intoxication, incapacitation... some creatures failed to move out of the way fast enough. Roadkill at the docking concourse was an hourly occurrence.
I plunged into the crowd, shoving the smaller creatures aside and squeezing past the larger ones. Angry shouts, grunts, cheeps, roars, and growls erupted around me but I ignored them all, offered up a silent prayer that none of the creatures in my wake were angry enough to shoot me in the back, and pressed onward.
I dodged around a hammang that looked like a wad of mucus riding a motorized wheelbarrow, shoved through a pack of sagisi drones that all looked like blueish hairy grasshoppe
rs, shouldered aside the female sagisi they were following, and jumped over a line of kabebes moving toward the airlock doors with their tiny luggage skewered on their quills. A grindle that was even larger than the one chasing me crossed my path up ahead. I sped up and dodged past it, narrowly avoiding getting stepped on. The grindle uttered a grunt of surprise when it saw me dart past and tried to sidestep me. That was a mistake. Its massive foot came down on top of one of the kabebes, flattening it. The grindle immediately let out a howl of pain. It stood on one leg as it tried to nurse its other foot, which was now peppered with kabebe quills. That was another mistake. The grindle overbalanced and fell backwards into a flock of yandocs, squashing some and sending the rest up into a startled whirlwind of flapping wings in the air above the crowd.
I paid no mind to the carnage I had just caused. Fluffy’s pounding footsteps were getting louder all the time. He was gaining on me. I did not spare the time to look behind me to judge his progress. I knew he would reach the concourse at any moment.
I broke out of the dense clump of creatures at the far edge of the concourse. Another commotion erupted behind me. I glanced back. Fluffy had arrived. He was forcing his way through the crowd, his entire upper body towering over the mob, swatting smaller creatures out of his path. His big, round fish-eyes were staring right at me.
“I see you, Jobs!” he roared. “You’re impossible to miss in that stupid hat! Stop now and maybe I won’t kill you!”
That was a bullshit threat. I owed his employer way too much money for him to just kill me. Plus... there was a personal connection. I knew Fairfax from back in the day, long before either of us arrived on this backwater shithole planet, before he set himself up as a crime boss and started calling himself “Lord.” Fluffy would have been in a world of hurt if he killed me... but he would have probably been just fine and dandy if he only beat the ever-loving crap out of me... so I kept running.
Odd Jobs Page 2
