by Ben Wolf
Dirk landed on top of him, and all the air rushed out of Justin’s lungs. Something snapped, and they dropped even lower. A table?
Dirk’s fist knocked the idea out of Justin’s head, along with some of his blood.
“Stop it!” Shannon shouted from somewhere.
Get Keontae! Justin thought he’d yelled it, but he didn’t register the sound of his own voice.
He blinked back into the real world in time to see Dirk raise his fist for another swing. Justin twisted his body away from Dirk’s trajectory, and Dirk missed.
Justin tried to push Dirk off, but his muscles rebelled. He managed to get his arms up, but when he pushed against Dirk, his arms burned like he’d just spent eight hours lifting weights. He planted his feet flat to push off the floor, but his legs burned just as bad.
He lowered his arms, spent, and he raised them to shield his face.
Dirk swatted them away with his left hand and drove his fist into Justin’s nose. White light flashed, and something in his head cracked. Blackness and pain followed.
He awoke the next instant. Dirk still straddled him and was raising his arm for another punch.
Justin commanded his arms to protect himself, but they barely moved.
As Dirk brought his fist down for the third time, a dark form tackled him from the side. They tumbled off of Justin and deeper into the club’s lounge area.
Keontae?
Justin blinked and tasted copper in his mouth. Blood.
The form who’d tackled Dirk stood up and backed away with his hands up. He wore all black, had silver hair and facial hair, and had white skin. Not Keontae.
Stecker.
“Leave him alone,” Stecker said.
“Like hell, rent-a-cop. Either move or I’ll roll over you.” Dirk started forward again.
By now, a crowd had formed around them. Among them, Justin saw Dirk’s goons and Shannon, but not Keontae.
Stecker backed up a step. “Last chance. I can still kick your ass, even if I’m not getting paid to do it.”
Dirk answered with a big right hand, but Stecker slipped the punch, lowered his center of gravity, and drove a right uppercut into Dirk’s chin.
The crowd gave a collective gasp.
Dirk recovered fast and swung with a devastating left hook, but Stecker ducked under it and slammed his right fist into Dirk’s jaw, right where Justin had hit him.
Dirk’s chin jerked to the side, and he teetered on his feet. Then Stecker hit him with a left hook that dropped him. Dirk hit the ground and tried to steady himself on his hands and knees.
But Stecker whipped his right leg at Dirk’s head and smashed his shin into Dirk’s ear.
Dirk sprawled out on his back, still breathing, but out cold.
Pig-Nose rushed at Stecker with his arm cocked to throw a punch. Stecker dodged the blow and drove his elbow into Pig-Nose’s face. He went down hard and blinked rapidly as he tried to sit up, then he slumped back, also unconscious.
Another of Dirk’s buddies started forward but stopped at Stecker’s quick dispatching of Pig-Nose. Then he retreated, his hands up, back in line with Dirk’s four remaining friends.
“Get these bastards out of here.” Stecker pointed at Dirk and Pig-Nose, and their friends hesitated. “Now. Or I’ll call the IPMs, and we’ll let the Marines do it.”
The four friends hurried over. One helped Pig-Nose to his feet, but the other three had to carry Dirk out of the club.
As Stecker watched them go, Shannon rushed over to Justin and helped him sit upright. She grabbed a dark-colored tablecloth from the floor near where he sat and held it against his nose. Justin recoiled from a fresh sting of pain.
“Sorry.” Shannon grimaced.
Justin took it from her and dabbed at his nose and lower lip with it. Even in the weird lighting, the bloodstains noticeably darkened the cloth.
“I’ll take a whiskey, please,” Stecker said to someone.
Justin looked at him. Everything still hurt, especially his face, and his head swam from Dirk’s blows, but Stecker’s audacity made him want to smile. “How’d you do that?”
The cute bartender slid a double down the bar to Stecker. He caught it, and she said, “You earned it. It’s on the house.”
Stecker nodded, raised the glass to her, and sipped it. He turned to Justin. “You alright, kid?”
“No.”
“I mean, do we need to get you real medical care?”
“No,” Justin repeated.
“Here, I’ll help you up.” Shannon hooked her arms under his left shoulder.
“Let him rest a bit longer. We’re in no rush.” Stecker looked at the crowd gathered around them. “And you all can go back to having fun or whatever you were doing. Excitement’s over.”
As they dispersed, Justin searched for Keontae but didn’t see him anywhere. He didn’t see either of the German girls, either.
“I’ll get you something to lean against.” Shannon left him there and headed toward one of the lounge chairs.
“How’d you do that?” Justin asked again.
“You got him started for me, kid. I just finished the job.” Stecker took another sip of his whiskey. “You were doing pretty well, too, until you let him put you on your back.”
The fresh-squeezed memory of Dirk’s fist pounding Justin’s head filtered into his mind, and he winced.
“To answer your question, I used to fight for a living. Been in my fair share of brawls in bars, in the cage, and on the battlefield.” Stecker downed the last of his whiskey and set the glass on the bar. “Gave it up for my daughter. She didn’t like that part of me, and I’d do just about anything for her. Now I’m out here, working for ACM, trying to fight against karma.”
He pulled out a worn leather wallet that looked older than Justin and produced a small square picture with ragged, frayed edges. It showed a pretty, dark-haired girl who looked about twelve years old.
Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, then Justin realized she sort of looked like the younger sister of the neighbor kids he’d grown up with so many years ago.
She was definitely Stecker’s kid, though. They had the same dark, thick eyebrows and a similar facial structure.
Shannon pulled a chair behind Justin, and he leaned against it. He closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. He couldn’t even fight his own battles. He’d gotten his ass handed to him—via his face—and Stecker had to save him. And the times before that, Keontae had come to his rescue.
Oh, and a ghost, or something, had saved him in the mine.
Justin might as well be a lost puppy, like Shannon said. He certainly felt just as helpless.
Stecker crouched down next to him. “Move that cloth. I need to check out the damage.”
Justin pulled the tablecloth away, and his head throbbed anew.
Stecker studied Justin’s face. “Nose is broken. Did you black out when he hit you?”
“I’m not sure. It’s all a blur.”
“Looked like you went out after his second hit from where I was standing. Not for long. Just an instant.”
“You were watching the whole time?” Shannon asked.
“Hmm. Probably shouldn’t have let that slip.” Stecker looked at Justin. “Gerhardt asked me to keep a watch on you once you left the medbay. He’s worried you might pass out in public and hit your head and sue the company or something.”
Justin moaned. Now the mine’s security was following him. Great. He pressed the tablecloth against his nose again.
“I know, kid. I don’t like it either. I generally like my days off to actually be days off. Turns out, something did happen. You did hit your head—well, Dirk hit it, anyway—and you did pass out. But at least it happened organically, and not because of the mine. And frankly, now I don’t have to keep tailing you.”
“Why’s that?” Shannon asked.
Stecker grinned and stood up. “Because he was stupid enough to get into a fight the same day he got released from our
medbay. Dirk clocked him enough times to render any of his claims against the mine invalid. We can just say any lasting effects came from this fight, not from the mine. So you’ve pretty well assured that you can’t sue the mine at this point.”
Justin moaned again. “I wasn’t going to anyway. I just want to work, man.”
“In any case, I can go back and report to Gerhardt what happened, and then I won’t have to follow you anymore.” Stecker tilted his head and smirked. “Then again, if you’re gonna make a habit of this sort of behavior, perhaps you’ll want me following you around.”
“I’m going to file another formal harassment claim against Dirk,” Shannon said. “Maybe this time HR will do something about it.”
Stecker nodded. “Agreed. It should never have gotten this far.”
“Why haven’t they just fired him already?” Justin moaned.
“Usually it takes more than one harassment report to get a guy fired,” Shannon explained, “but after something like this, we may have a shot at it, even though it happened off company property. I can try to pull a favor with HR, too.”
Stecker squinted at her. “You just got here. HR already owes you favors?”
“No. But I’m hoping they’ll do one for me anyway.”
Justin groaned. “Can someone please get me some ice?”
“Sure. Of course.” Shannon waved at the bar, and the android bartender looked at her. She called, “Could we please get some ice over here?”
The android nodded.
“Well, I think that about does it for my night. See you around, kids.” Stecker headed toward the door.
“Stecker?” Justin called.
He turned back.
“Thank you.”
Stecker nodded. “Make sure you get your head examined back at the medbay. Getting knocked out is a big deal, even if it’s just for an instant.”
He waved and walked out of the club.
Justin turned back toward Shannon and instead saw a chrome face close to his. He jerked back.
“Easy.” Shannon held his shoulders. “He’s just helping.”
Justin exhaled a shaky breath. Damn androids.
But as he looked at the bartending android, his anxiety waned.
It handed him the bag of ice, nodded, and left. It didn’t give off a single threatening vibe, unlike the kitchen and the medbay androids that had displayed more than their fair share of aggression.
“Justin?” Shannon looked down at him. The edges of her blonde hair were still damp from Dirk’s drink.
He matched her gaze. Would she thank him? Maybe she’d kiss him. After all, he had been extra chivalrous as of late. His heart pounded faster in his chest.
Then again, kissing with a broken nose might hurt.
“I really hate to do this, but I should probably get going.”
Justin’s heart slowed back to normal. “Oh.”
“I need to go file that harassment claim with HR.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“I don’t need to go to HR to file it. I can do that through the screen in my room. You can file one, too, if you want, and you probably should. I’m going to file it and make sure they move on it right away, even though it’s a Saturday. I have access that normal employees don’t have.”
Justin nodded, and his voice flattened. “I see.”
“Can you get back on your own?”
“Yeah, of course.” Justin waved her away, even though he doubted he could even stand at that moment. “I’ll find Keontae, and he’ll help me get back.”
“Perfect. Look, I’m really sorry to do this, but we need to get Dirk out of the mine, and fast. I don’t want to think about what he might do if he’s allowed to stick around.”
Seems like an excuse to leave me here instead. Why did she really want to get out of there so fast?
Justin forced a smile. “I get it. Don’t worry about me. Go.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at work soon. Go to the medbay when you have a chance and get your head checked out, alright? Like Stecker said?”
“I will.”
“Okay. Bye.” She turned and hurried out of the club, leaving him there alone.
Several of the original crowd stared at him from around the lounge and the bar.
“What are you looking at?” he snapped.
They turned their heads away.
Justin’s weak limbs pushed and pulled his body onto the chair, and he managed to sit on it upright. The back of the chair had a slight incline to it, but it was only enough to aggravate him that it wasn’t lower. Stupid club chairs.
He sat there for another few minutes, and then Keontae emerged from the dance floor with Tara and Misty in each arm again. They all wore smiles until they saw Justin’s face.
Keontae abandoned the girls and rushed over to him. “JB, what the hell happened?”
“Dirk.”
“Motherfucker.” Keontae stood up straight and scanned the club. “Where is he?”
“Stecker beat you to it.” Justin chuckled, and his head throbbed. “Literally.”
“What?”
The girls crowded around Justin as well, but by now he had zero interest in either of them.
“Stecker, from security at the mine, showed up. Leveled Dirk and another one of his guys. The one with the pig nose. Then he left.”
“So he just swooped in and saved you?”
“Not soon enough, apparently.”
“Apparently not.” Keontae leaned in close. “Damn, JB. He really messed you up.”
“Yeah. I wish you’d been here.” Justin shot him a glare.
Keontae glanced between Tara and Misty, then he looked at JB again. “I’m really sorry, man. When you headed to the bar and didn’t come back, I took that as ‘creative license.’”
Tara and Misty giggled, and the sound grated on Justin’s eardrums.
“Just help me up, will you?”
Keontae obliged him, and Justin stood on shaky feet.
“I assume you wanna go back to the mine?” Keontae leaned in close. “These girls might be down for another round. Or if that’s too much, I can get you some holo-strippers.”
“No. Let’s just go, please.”
“You got it, JB.” Keontae winked at the girls. “I’ve got your numbers. You’ve got mine. Next time you wanna play, call me up.”
“We will,” Misty said. Or maybe it was Tara. Justin couldn’t remember which was which since Dirk had hit him.
The girls waved and headed back onto the dance floor.
Keontae looked around the lounge, and Justin followed his gaze. Blood had pooled near where Justin had been lying on the floor. Dirk and Justin had collapsed one of the lounge tables. Shards of glass lay scattered across the floor.
“Do we need to clean any of this up?” Keontae asked.
“Let the android do it.” Justin checked to see if the android had heard him.
It had, but instead of glaring at him with dead robot eyes, it waved and grabbed a broom from behind the bar.
“Okay. We’re out.” Keontae called, “Close out my tab and add fifteen percent for the tip, alright, Chromy?”
The android nodded again and gave a metal thumb’s up, and the cute bartender waved at him and called, “Thank you!”
As Keontae helped Justin to the door, he asked, “You sure you don’t want holo-strippers?”
Justin moaned.
The rest of the weekend crawled by, with Justin feeling too drained to do much. Dr. Handabi came in to treat him in the medbay, despite it being a weekend.
Though he expressed his concerns about the long-term effects of the beating Justin took, Dr. Handabi had cleared him—again—for light duty in the mine and after sharing only one terrible poem.
On Sunday afternoon, Keontae left Justin alone in their room for another rendezvous with Tara and Misty. He returned later that night, brimming with lascivious tales of his escapades. As jealous as Justin was, he couldn’t have participated anyway, not with th
e way he felt. Nor would he have—not after the headway he’d made with Shannon, albeit slight.
Before they went to sleep, Keontae watered his growing Nebrandt plants, and they watched a pay-to-view action movie on the room’s big screen. Justin fell asleep before it ended.
When Monday morning rolled around, Justin didn’t literally have to drag himself out of bed, but he wasn’t far from it. That morning at breakfast, he garnered dirty looks from a few of Dirk’s goons, including Pig-Nose, who still sported a red lump on his forehead from Stecker’s elbow.
Even so, Justin didn’t see Dirk anywhere. Perhaps Shannon had gotten him fired over the weekend after all.
A half-hour later, before he could enter the first buffer zone, Justin found a rotund young lady standing just outside the access door. She held a handscreen that displayed his name, and she wore a white lab coat over professional clothes.
“I’m Justin Barclay,” he said to her.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m supposed to take you to the science office today. You won’t need to put on your safety gear. We’re more casual in the science office.” Though she looked Hispanic in descent, her voice twanged with some weird accent that Justin couldn’t place.
Justin looked her up and down. She looked far better suited for professional work than he did. “I don’t have anything nicer than what I’m wearing.”
“I really don’t think anyone will notice. Ready?”
Ready for what? “I guess.”
“Great. Follow me.”
She led him across the common area and down a long corridor to a small grav lift, scanned her identity card, and entered a passcode on a screen. The doors whooshed open, and they stepped inside.
“I’m Carly Wilson, by the way.” She extended her hand with her knuckles up, as if she expected him to kiss it like Earth’s knights of old.
He shook it instead. “Justin Barclay.”
“Pleasure.”
The small grav lift let them out at the admin offices, but Carly led him down a hall to a separate access point for the mine than the one he’d used for the workers, but clear on the other side of the mine.
It opened into a much smaller version of the mine’s main corridor, but with better lighting, a narrower walkway, and a ceiling no higher than eight feet tall. Metal lined the inner wall as the corridor curved, and blue rock lined the outer wall. They walked past several smaller doors marked with sector numbers.
