by S. J. Higbee
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Once Eddy died, the fight went out of the rest of his sorry collection of gutter-got scum, who immediately surrendered. Before it all kicked off, I’d pulled up the pics of those whose actions on Hawking were so depraved, they didn’t deserve any mercy and the handful of those drossers who’d accompanied Eddy on his jaunt to torture and terrorise his family didn’t make it out of the building upright or breathing. However, it was depressing how few of those on my Kill List had actually showed up and Norby’s absence particularly bothered me. There was unfinished business between him and me, for sure.
The Cap and his Tru-Faith followers did a thorough job of intercepting those dreggers who’d attempted to flee and not one of them survived the experience. As for our side, Eileen sustained a broken rib when the maser cannon punched a hole in the building, so was mostly out’ve the fighting. Though she shot one scuzzer who happened upon her behind the sandbag where she was sheltering.
Sarge and Kal had worked as a team throughout the action. During their hug and fierce kiss afterwards, when they thought everyone was busy elsewhere, I suddenly realised why Eileen had sounded so tightwound about Cerk’s security girlie in that garbled broadcast. In all the years I’d known the Sarge, he’d never had any kind’ve relationship – to the extent that gossips in Restormel claimed his genitals had been blown off and he’d never bothered to have them regenned. No wonder Chris and Eileen were spooked. Though it seemed to me that if he managed to find a slice of happiness, even if it didn’t last longer than this whacked-out adventure, then good luck to them both. However, when I recalled that Cerk was also snagged up on his security girlie, I hoped his passion for her had been merely a passing fancy, though I somehow doubted it. Types like Cerk don’t fall for someone all that often.
Love is so pitifully scarce.
While Chris saw to Eileen, and Sarge elected to act as spokesman to the local police – who managed to turn up the moment all the action was finally over – Lnard came to find me.
“Your mother’s been taken to the local med-suite, suffering from shock.”
I nodded. Now the adrenaline had leeched away, I was feeling decidedly overused. That blow of Eddy’s across my face wasn’t easing down, either. In fact, just the opposite.
Lnard shifted. “I heard what you said to Eddy. Abi loves you and is very proud of what you’ve achieved. She missed you fiercely – talks about it regularly. What a hole you left in the family…”
I laughed – and stopped. It was too jaggedly painful.
Lnard stared at me. “You need a medic. Your face is swelling.” He scurried away, while I leant against a nice cool wall as my split lip felt on fire.
Turned out that Eddy’s spit carried a toxin that would have killed me in no time flat if I hadn’t been aug’d against such attacks. Which explained why he suddenly started weeping. Once he spat at me, he’d expected me to be writhing in agony as my face fell off – and he knew only too well what would happen to him when I didn’t immediately succumb to his vile poison.
I could have probably prevailed more or less unscathed, thanks to the aug, if it hadn’t been for the split lip. But by the time the medics arrived, I was struggling to breathe through my bloody nose and my swollen jaw was pressing against my helmet. There was a sudden commotion as they eased my helmet off and through the crimson torment, I heard someone swear and Hugo Gently’s loud voice demand I be taken to the most top-end medicentre in the area.
I recalled being propped on a hover gurney, wondering if Earth’s medi-care was any good – I’d heard it was worryingly patchy. Though as I was loaded in the back of a medi-flyer – I rapidly lost interest in anything other than getting some pain relief.
My recollection gets a tad blurry after that… Though I recall sagging back into the pillow, muzzy and light-headed as Hugo smashed a sneak-cam zipping around. “If a single pic of her is released, I’ll come looking for you!” he snarled at the medic.
“You’re not s’posed to be here – she’s in quarantine till we sort out what she’s suffering from,” said the medic. Though he didn’t try to remove Hugo from my side. Or Kal who was sitting next to him.
Which was when I realised that smiling majorly hurt and Lnard had disappeared.
“Sooner you’re off this sodding dirtball, the better,” said Sarge. “Earthers’ve got to be the nosiest mudfeet in the galaxy. Your life won’t be your own till you move to some backwater colony where they don’t care overmuch who you are, so long as you pay your taxes and do your community chores.”
Pain spiked. Could’ve been my face. Or my chest – it was all a bit muddled. “Wynn wants to stay,” I whispered. “Got a solid job offer sculpting…” Which was when I figured what was wrong. I stretched out for Sarge’s hand. Its warm roughness felt like kindness, which was a comfort. Especially as my dregging eyes kept leaking. On account of the pain, you understand. Or the meds.
“Please… find him,” I mumbled.
“No more talking!” snapped the medic. “I’ve had a chance to evaluate the damage to your jaw and you shouldn’t be moving it. I’m also going to give you something stronger for the pain.”
I don’t need it. Jessica has been helping me. I know she hasn’t been saying all that much – but that’s cos she’s soaking up a whole lot’ve the pain for me. She does that sometimes… Jessica?
Yeah… I’m here, Lizzy. Always…
I fell into blackness with that promise reverberating around my head.
*
I opened my eyes to find a strange man sitting by my bed, scribbling on a piece of parch. When he looked up, I realised it was Wynn wearing a wig.
“Hi, there,” he grinned and I relaxed. Those sparkling blue eyes couldn’t belong to anyone else. “You’re in a regen mould. Your face got a bit mashed, but it’ll be good as new in next to no time.”
Which was when the idea came to me. Will it work? I couldn’t see why not – although I needed to get Jessica’s agreement, of course. And Wynn’s.
I’d be honoured… It would be – Yeah. A thousand times – yes. So long as Blondie agrees, of course… Though this being Jessica, her tone implied he’d be a vile drosser if he didn’t.
“Still want to settle on Earth?” Talking was difficult.
He shifted. “It won’t work. You’re way too well-known. You wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without being cam-crammed.”
“If that didn’t happen, would you want to be here?”
Wynn rubbed his eyes. “Why are we doing this? We can’t stay and that’s all there is to it. Though, I’m not sure where we’ll go. Since Eddy’s death, don’t think you’ve been off the journospots.”
“What if…” Talking was a major effort, “What if I wasn’t wearing this face anymore? I need major regenning, anyhow. What if I got a complete facial resculpt?”
That got his attention. His parch pad slid to the floor as he jerked upright. “You sure?”
I started to nod. And stopped. It hurt too much. “Mm.” I flipped open my com and added, Sick of being me. I want a new start. To live in peace and find what I really want to do. With you.
“If that’s what you want – yeah – I’d like to spend some time on Earth. See the sights. Work on my sculptures. Wake up in the mornings with you alongside.” He frowned, before adding, “Don’t mind how you look, though it’ll be beyond weird if you become Hugo Gently’s clone-buddy.”
I giggled. Then wished I hadn’t. Ouch! Don’t make me laugh!
“Got an idea of how you want to look?”
Yes. I swallowed before I continued, realising with a shock how much I wanted this to happen. Jessica. You remember her? When we were stranded in Basement Level, she was the one…
“Who gave me a hard time.” Wynn paused. “The one who died.”
Yes.
“You’re sure about this?”
Absolutely.
Wynn’s eyes stroked me. “Just when I reckon I’ve got the measure of you – you
go and pull a stunt that knocks me endways. You gotta be one of the bravest people I know. Want me to draw some sketches of her? You can see exactly how much of her features you want to copy.”
My eyes kept running. Reckoned it was the damage to my face that caused it. Thank you, sweetheart.
*
It took us most of the day to work out exactly how much I’d resemble Jessica. She had died when she was nineteen and in her physical prime. That she was beautiful was obvious – and that wasn’t what I was after, so much as anonymity. So we produced a pic for the maxio- facial tech that was less Jessica’s twin and more resembling her older, plainer sister. And through it all, despite the fact that I’d be looking entirely different, Wynn remained staunchly supportive.
He waded into the river of admin that fell my way with my appearance transformation – complicated by the need to keep it as secret as possible. Of course, the likes of Diana and Jasen back on the Council of the Peace and Prosperity Corps needed to know. As did my current security team – who rather than disband now that our task was done, chose to stay alongside as I clearly still needed professional protection.
The day of my regen, I recall sinking back down into the pillow, thoroughly fed up with how much my face was hurting – and looking forward to when it wouldn’t.
*
It was a while before I surfaced. Muzzy and hot. There were tubes going into places that – given my face was the bit being sorted out – had no business being messed with… I was going to protest, but my mouth was wired shut. And it didn’t seem such a big thing to make a fuss about… I drifted off, again… I seemed to be floating in a big sea, on my back. My face was being burnt by the sun… it was sore. And I was hot…
Lizzy… don’t you let go! Not now. You got Blondie. And me… Please, hold on…
Jessica was being so silly… How could I hold on? I was floating…
“Gods above! What’s going on here?” Mum! What’s she doing here?
“The medics say Lizzy needs as much sleep as she can get. I asked you to come, because she’s very sick.”
Hah! That’s a good story, Wynn.
“So – oh – Lizzy! Why is her head all covered up like that?” asked Mum.
“Keep your voice down. Her face was damaged and it became infected thanks to her brother trying to poison her and she isn’t responding properly to the antidote. Medics aren’t sure why. They think she’s reacted badly to Earth microbes. Or that it’s cos her system is hammered flat from years of overwork and stress.” Wynn sounded so lost and adrift.
Didn’t know he was such an alpha-grade actor…
Drugged up to my hair follicles to the point I was past caring, I listened, groggily curious.
“And if she gets any sicker?”
“Is there a chance she won’t…?” Lnard was here, as well.
There was a silence. Which was nice and peaceful.
Until she started sobbing. “Ah my bonny girl… Why is it whenever I think I’ve got you back – you end up leaving again?”
“She’s not gone, yet, sweetling. Lizzy is a fighter – you know that,” said Lnard.
“I gotta a-a feeling – a sense that this time around… she won’t make it,’ hiccupped Mum.
I heard Wynn surge to his feet. “You’d better leave. Now.”
Lnard sighed. “Oh, Abi…”
“What? I just—ˮ And I knew. I could tell by the tone in her voice. She was drinking again. Wonder if Lnard knows, yet?
“She’s beaten the odds all her life! Don’t you walk in here and limp all over her. Now… I reckon you should go.”
Wynn’s not acting, is he?
No, Lizzy – you’re very, very sick. And seem to have given up, the medics say. Like Romeo. Remember him?
I’m tired, is all… But now – I need to fight back, don’t I?
We’d appreciate it if you would.
Wynn needs me. And so do the boys if Mum is crawling back into the bottle. Besides… if I turn up in Hell now, Eddy would never let me hear the end of it. Can’t be having him boasting that he managed to kill me after all, now, can I?
You certainly can’t. It’s majorly not fitting for the Chief to have been downed by her bratty brother.
Ex-Chief… Which was when it finally crashed through me. I was free. For the very first time in the whole of my life. Free to do exactly what I wanted. With the man I wanted to do it with.
Mum and Lnard had gone. Chris had just put his head around the corner to let Wynn know he was handing over to Sarge, who would be guarding my door for the next shift.
I stretched out my hand, a bit shocked at how much effort it took to lift it off the bed.
“Lizzy? Can you hear me?” Wynn’s voice was a hoarse whisper, as his callused fingers gripped mine.
And I gripped right back. Determined to hang onto my new life with all its possibilities.
THE END
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Also available from Griffinwing Publishing
Running Out Of Space (Sunblinded #1)
Dying For Space (Sunblinded #2)
If you haven’t read the first book in the Sunblinded trilogy, Running Out Of Space, read on for a sneak peak!
CHAPTER ONE
Yeah, I know – Basement Level on Space Station Hawking – what were we thinking? But penned up on punishment duty with only the prospect of one chaperoned shopping trip had driven us to it. Though the charms of Basement Level wore thin as soon as we set off from the lift. One light in four was working – and then only in Dim mode. The corridors were half the width of the upper levels; a big problem as I’ve seen sewage tanks more wholesome than those walls. You wouldn’t want to brush against them wearing anything other than shipwear throwaways, while keeping off the walls was harder than you’d think, because we were wading ankle-deep in… stuff.
Jessica punched my arm. “Must be homely for you, Lizzy. Floor looks like your cribicle after you done tidying.”
Alisha and Sonja started sniggering.
“’Cept the smell isn’t as vile as your boots,” I replied.
Our laughter bounced around the filthy corridor, easing the mood for a couple of minutes but did nothing about the putrid smell. We struggled on a bit longer, until a grimy woman scuttled past, forcing us far too close to the walls. She didn’t even look our way, let alone thank us for making sufficient room.
Sonja and Alisha stopped.
“Let’s turn round. Unblocking the heads is more fun than this.” Sonja wrinkled her nose at the empty tunnel ahead. “Even the natives got sense enough to be someplace else.”
“We’ve gone promming around for less than a nanosec. And you wanna run back cos the scenery isn’t the same as on board?” Jessica clicked her tongue in scorn. “Starting to sound like those old nannies.”
Sonja flinched at the derision in her voice, but – being Sonja – wouldn’t lock horns with Jessica.
Breathing through my mouth, I straightened up. Jessica is right. So what if this is a dank disappointment? We didn’t come down here for the view – we came to prove we could handle ourselves when off-limits.
But Alisha grabbed Jessica’s arm. “Sonja and me reckon this is a vile place. We vote to head back. Tramping through filth is a tragic waste of shore leave.”
All argument ceased when the floor crud rustled and heaved behind us. A cat-sized rat scuttered through the litter into the gloom beyond.
I shivered. “It’s gotta get better soon. We’re snagging the next lift we see back to Trader Level.”
We continued trudging onwards for another ten minutes. Just as I was beginning to think the scuzzy corridor was leading into infinity, we turned a corner into a small square. With a blast of relief, I spotted the lift in the far corner and relaxed. Now we were nearly o
ut of here, we could do the tourist bit. Truth be told, the word ‘square’ probably gives the space more credit than it deserves. While the lighting was brighter and the floor litter had been trodden relatively flat, the buzz that normally goes with buying and selling wasn’t here. Under the stink of rotting rubbish was the sharper stench of desperation. I passed a trader’s eye over the ratty stalls. Everything on display would’ve gone straight into our ship’s recycler. The food canisters were filthy without the benefit of even the most basic steri-scrub. And the water on sale might have shown blue on the pacs’ purity scales, but the readings must have been blixed, because that cloudy stuff wasn’t fit to pass your lips. Even the powdered water looked like sweepings off a shower-stall floor.
If we hadn’t come down here, I’d never have known this place existed. How many on Shooting Star know about it? This is what I joined the ship for. My heart was thudding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was a hundred times better than trailing around the overpriced shops on Trader Level with a grumbling chaperone.
Though the people were a shock. There were no shades of yellow, brown, black, or white here – everyone’s skin was grime-grey. All wearing rags pockmarked with holes which only showed more scabby tatters, or dirt-scurfed flesh. I’d tried to blend us in. We were all in scut-gear with worn overalls and battered workboots. But we stuck out like a supernova on a dark night. Mostly because we were clean and well fed, while everyone here was stick-thin. Even the kids.
The Cap always says we English merchanters take care of our own better than anyone else. What if he’s right? Because I couldn’t recall seeing any children in this sorry state back in New London.
Sonja gave some creds to a pathetic, sunken-cheeked toddler sitting on the trash-covered floor and in no time flat we were mobbed by a bunch of snot-nosed kids. None of us could resist their pleading, so we handed out all our shore-leave cash. Of course, one of us should’ve kept an eye out for trouble. But we didn’t. And when the children scampered away, I looked up to see we were now ringed by another group. Far more grown-up and dangerous. I recognised their tattoos from the Pre-Dock Briefing, which marked them as one of the outlaw dregger gangs infesting the lower reaches of Space Station Hawking. My friends closed up behind me.
