by RJ Johnson
Roxanne snorted and took his glass, throwing it haphazardly into the bin. “I'm so happy it's going to a good cause.”
Meade lowered his voice, “Well Roxy, if it'll restore your faith in the better angels of my nature, bring 'em a top shelf bottle on me. Maybe the buzz will help the boys come up with a decent explanation for their wives when they get home and there's no money for the wireless again.”
Roxanne’s smile slowly spread back across her face, “You’re an asshole Jim Meade, but a generous one, I’ll give you that.”
Meade tipped his hat to the fiery bartender, and put on his duster. The long, reddish brown coat waved behind him as he moved towards the door and exited into the main thoroughfare.
New Plymouth. Every time he stepped out into Mars' largest city, Meade couldn’t help but feel impressed. New Plymouth was an incredible feat of human engineering. Reliefs the size of skyscrapers were carved into the sides of the Valles Marineris canyon that New Plymouth had been founded on. Within those reliefs were immense buildings that reached deep within the planet's bedrock. There, safe from the cosmic rays that pelted the Martian surface, and with a ready underground water supply, a city of seven million inhabitants had grown exponentially through the last few decades.
At first, no one besides the crazy or suicidal wanted to come to Mars. If it wasn’t the radiation, or some sort of tragic industrial accident that got you, a person had to contend with months, or even years of unflinching loneliness, without any hint of human contact from the Homeworld beyond what they might catch off a viewscreen. Even if you survived all that, a person might have to contend with season long dust storms which could cut the colony off from the Homeworld for years on end depending on when, or if, the weather cleared.
Once the Consortium began aggressively expanding its reach into space, the Coalition decided it had to quickly follow or be left behind. With renewed political will, New Plymouth suddenly had all the resources and manpower it needed. Safety improved, and with the news sanitized by a compliant media, folks in the Coalition became an outcast if they DIDN’T want to live on Mars. The quality of life was harsh, but, bit by bit, things began to improve and soon, the miners living on Mars had it infinitely better than the settlers who had come before, not to mention the fact that there was quite a bit of coin to be made if you were an enterprising young man.
Jim Meade had never stepped foot on Earth. According to his folks he had been conceived there, but he had been born on the Martian planet nearly thirty years before and grew up with his parents during the worst conditions the Red Planet had to offer. When he was seven, his father died in an accident, his body lost on the Martian plains during a routine survey expedition after his convoy got caught in a dust storm. His mother, a dispatcher with the Coalition, died when he was only nine years old because of the cosmic radiation she had been exposed to when she had first immigrated to Mars. In fact, very few of the initial settlers lived past their fortieth birthdays. His parents had been no exceptions.
Meade sighed pushing the memories aside as he looked around at New Plymouth. Watching the bustle and rush of nearly eight million living and breathing souls all packed together so close made a part of him miss the old days when all you could see for miles on end was pur virgin rock face, unspoiled by the quick expansion of desperate people looking for a new beginning. When Meade was little, he would often sit at the edge of the canyon and wonder about what the world had looked liked before the cataclysm that had killed the Red Planet millions of years ago. His father used to tell him stories about how they had found evidence of enormous rivers and long extinct plant life, but, all that was lost in some unimaginable tragedy. Something, Meade used to wonder about all the time - if only to satisfy his scientific curiosity.
Meade avoided thinking about the past most days now. Rule number seventeen. His main focus and goal had become to make enough money to retire on a patch of his own on one of the orbital cities back on the Homeworld, or barring that, providing himself with a comfortable enough existence to live out his golden years in New Plymouth. He wasn't an outlaw exactly, although (and Meade would admit to as much), he’d done many an outlaw type of thing. He had a code after all.
Meade wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally if a score might hurt anyone besides The Coalition or the Consortium. Meade had no use for bureaucrats. The Coalition had stood by and done nothing, when his father had gone missing - not even sending out a search and rescue party. They had ignored his mother's pleas for help, and the medical care they provided for victims of the Heavy Rain was pathetic to say the least.
With no one else to rely on, Meade had come up with a list of rules to live his life by so that he would know that no matter what he did, he always knew that he was coming down on the side of right, or at the very least, in his own best interests without hurting someone who was too weak to fight back. It was all anyone could ask for on this stupid rock, a million miles away from the Homeworld.
Meade stepped out onto the street and pushed a few buttons on his ArmBar hailing a Aerocycle. Instantly, a small motorcycle with long thin wings attached to it, appeared to melt out of the Martian Rock that made up Roxanne’s bar. The view screen installed on the tiny motorcycle rose from the seat and flashed him a message.
PLEASE ENTER DESTINATION.
A map of New Plymouth appeared on the screen in front of him, although Meade ignored it. Tapping another button on the ArmBar attached to his arm, the wireless connected with the Aerocycle. Instantly the screen changed.
DESTINATION: SECTION 785, E-BLOCK: LAST DITCH BAR. IS THIS CORRECT? Y/N?
Meade tapped an affirmative on his ArmBar. He sat down onto the motorcycle, easing himself down into the cheap leather seat. His ArmBar flashed another confirm message to him.
COST: 17 CREDITS, DO YOU ACCEPT THE CHARGES? Y/N?
Tapping another affirmative, the cycle began to purr underneath Meade as a harness extended out of his seat and secured him to the seat. An ion pulse engine extended out of the back of the Aerocycle and Meade rocketed up and away from the Lover's Lot Casino.
Drifting in and out of the other heavy traffic, Meade (as he always did when he took a Aerocycle home), attempted to count how many times he stared death in the face as the insane cycle ducked and weaved around other slower moving vehicles transporting people and various cargo across New Plymouth. He trusted the automatic pilot and the crash control sensors in the Aerocycle well enough, but he had never felt comfortable unless he was the one in control of the craft.
Forcing himself to ignore the foreboding sense of oncoming death he always felt while riding home on the Aerocycles, he began looking through his messages sent to him while he was busy taking the miner's credits.
An attractive woman popped out of his ArmBar screen pitching a medical cream that could take care of that rash Meade was suffering from as a result of wearing the ArmBar strap daily. Ignoring it, Meade flicked the tiny woman away and began browsing through the rest of his messages. One in particular caught his eye.
The message was from the Department of Coalition Federal Defense. Meade's raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t expected to hear from them again so soon, if ever at all. “What do you pricks want?” Meade muttered to himself, and he struggled to hang on as the Aerocycle pitched and rolled around a large oncoming ORI hauler.
A few years ago, Meade had done some work for the Department in an unofficial capacity. Since then, Meade had enjoyed an uneasy alliance with the all-powerful Coalition. They promised to keep in touch, and until now, Meade had done a fine job of avoiding them. He didn't owe anyone any favors - he had made sure of that. Ignoring the message felt like the best course of action.
He trashed the mail and continued to browse through his messages.
The Aerocycle stopped at an intersection and waited for the traffic passing in front of them to clear. Suddenly, a group of men, all wearing green suits riding double on three Aerocycles surrounded him on both sides.
Meade looked to his
right and left and groaned. It was the Green Men, sent by Logan O’Donnell no doubt. Ever since O'Donnell had crowned himself the latest Warlord of E-Block, he had been applying pressure. Late Eversol drop ins with menacing threats and "suggestions" of what could go wrong if he didn't pay their protection money.
For the last few weeks, he'd been successful in ducking the Green Men who were looking for their money. They knew they could out wait Meade because there was nowhere for Meade to go. Mars was fairly deserted once you got beyond the boundaries of New Plymouth, and it was well-known around the Block that Meade detested space travel. In short, the Green Men knew they would eventually catch up to him.
Meade was sure the men had been sent to collect the “rent” he supposedly owed the Warlord for daring to keep his Private Investigator business in E-Block open without the Warlord's consent. It was Emeline's suggestion that he open an office for his private investigator business, and he had resisted for this exact reason. With little to no money coming into his coffers beyond what he took from the miners on a daily basis, there was nothing to pay O’Donnell the extortion money. Two weeks had passed since the Green Men had last caught up with him and demanded payment and delivered a warning. Meade was surprised it had taken them so long; he had been expecting them much sooner. They must have been busy.
Meade smiled broadly at the five men surrounding his Aerocycle, “Hello boys! What's the good word?”
“You know you owe our man O’Donnell over a thousand credits now?”
Meade recognized the man shouting at him. It was Aaron Shane, O'Donnell's right hand man. Meade grinned at the sociopath sitting opposite of him, and hoped that his easy going manner would disguise the apprehension he was feeling – this wasn’t going to end without blood, his or theirs. He had once watched Aaron Shane scalp a man who owed his boss much less money than Meade did at the moment. Shane wasn't shy about hurting someone, it was his business, and the man enjoyed his work a great deal.
“Come to collect?” Meade shouted to Aaron floating on his left side.
“You could say that.” Aaron pointed his Scapper (an attachment for his ArmBar, a deadly reminder from the Last War) at Meade, the gun charging ominously. “We saw you at Lover's Lot boy-o, we know you've got the credits.”
“That money's spoken for.” Meade clenched his jaw. Unless he extracted himself from the situation quickly, this would not play out well for him. If he was lucky, he'd end up in a hole in the Martian desert. If he was unlucky and was brought back to O'Donnell alive, well, Meade preferred to not think of what might happen. Surreptitiously, he began to type fast on his ArmBar hacking into the Aerocycle's navigational computer. He was going to need to get away quickly in the next few minutes, and he wanted complete control of the craft.
“You bet yer sweet ass it's spoken for.” Aaron laughed and outstretched his arm pointing his Armbar at him. The Scapper attachment sparked ominously. The rest of the Green Men also had their ArmBars aimed at Meade. Meade glanced around, and wasn't a fan of the odds. The Scapper attachments were known to be a brutal way to die.
The only thing Meade had going for him at the moment was that Aaron was a businessman, and would rather continue to collect "rent" from Meade week after week. Unfortunately, Aaron also knew that Meade was not the cooperative type, and there would be plenty of Moles, or Runabouts on the next liner in who they could rent his office to, and likely to someone who could be easily intimidated.
Aaron's voice was low and dangerous, “Now, how's about you transfer the credits and we all go home happy?”
“I'm partial to the idea of going home happy.” Meade replied, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Just so happens that we have different ideas of how to go about accomplishing that.”
Meade reached into his coat and drew the FN Five Seven pistol left to him by his grandfather. Aaron cried out in shock and triggered his Scapper at Meade. Meade engaged the ArmBar's override on the Aerocycle and the engines cut off, resetting themselves as his ArmBar took control of the Aerocycle. As the reset began, Meade and his Aerocycle were reclaimed by the Martian gravity (augmented to Earth Norm Standards by the GWP's embedded in the floors of Plymouth City) and he fell quickly towards the hard Martian surface.
Meade plummeted towards the ground narrowly missing a pair of elderly Moles likely heading for breakfast somewhere. Meade typed quickly on his ArmBar hoping it would reset the Aerocycle's controls before they ended up as wreckage and the top story on the news for the next hour.
Aaron Shane cursed and his Green men dove after Meade, chasing his falling Aerocycle, sparks and bolts of energy flying out of the Scapper attachments on their ArmBars, each one missing Meade, but far too close for comfort.
The computer on the Aerocycle was reset and connected successfully to Meade's ArmBar, and he regained control of the vehicle inches from becoming a pretty explosion.
"Oh, this is not a ride I plan on paying for." Meade groaned, and he ducked, as a blast of energy from one of the Green Men exploded the rock beneath him, kicking up the grit and fine red dust that covered the Martian planet.
Dusting himself off, Meade felt ready to even the odds a bit more in his favor. He aimed his handgun at The Green Men chasing him and squeezed off three quick shots at his pursuers. Three rounds slammed into one of the Green Man's torso, knocking him and his partner off their Aerocycle stone dead. Two down.
Meade punched the accelerator on the Aerocycle moving it into the heavy traffic. The three Green Men took off after him, pursuing Meade as they weaved their way back and forth through the hundreds of Aerocycles and Haulers flying next to each other at breakneck speeds. Meade didn't look back for a minute, he was going entirely too fast to worry about how close his chasers were on to him at the moment. With the Aerocycle's AI offline, his first priority was surviving the heavy traffic in New Plymouth - the men with guns behind him were a secondary concern.
Meade spotted two ORI Haulers flying slowly through the New Plymouth sky and darted in between them to try and lose the gang members behind him. Meade was hoping to loop around and take them by surprise, but, they were too close and were having none of it. A bolt of fiery red energy shot past his shoulder burning the top of the Hauler off in front of him. Pushing the controls of his Aerocycle down, he ducked underneath the explosion and large debris that rained down around him.
“Jesus man!” Meade shouted back at his pursuers. “You're bent on making this ugly aren't you?”
Meade darted in between two more Aerocycles scaring a pair of moles moving their way into the ORI tunnels located in D-Block. He was only a few kilometers away from The Last Ditch. There, with Emeline's help, he could easily hide from the Green Men, but he had to shake the boys behind him first, which was proving harder than he thought.
Looping up and through the city, Meade spotted an open window that led into an office building. Aiming his Aerocycle for the window, he drove the vehicle into the office, scaring the people who were working inside half to death.
Undeterred by his stunt, the Green Men followed him into the office window. One of the Green Men missed the opening by just enough and clipped the side of the building with his Aerocycle, crashing spectacularly within the office Meade had just flown into.
That's three and four.
Meade felt a grim satisfaction knowing that he was down to only two pursuers, but he put that aside. He would feel safe when there wasn't anyone left trying to kill him. He accelerated through the halls of the building twisting and turning the Aerocycle as people screamed and ran to get out of the way as he sped through their hallways. Papers flying, Meade made it to the stairwell and pushed the Aerocycle down the stairs and towards the exit to the street.
Meade burst out the front door of the building he had invaded. Behind him, Meade could hear the screams from the office folk inside who were still dealing with the Green Men on their Aerocycle behind him.
Meade heard the screams and shook his head; he had to stop this foolishness now before anyone
else got hurt. Meade slammed on the brakes and grabbed a nearby laundry line a family had hung outside their window. Laundry fluttered in the breeze falling to the ground as Meade moved the line across the door he had just flown out of.
The first of the Green Men burst out of the front door and instantly shot off their Aerocycles as Meade's trap caught their bodies and threw them hard to the ground. Shane lay on the ground wheezing hard as moved to aim his ArmBar at Meade.
"Nope." Meade said quickly, jumping off his Aerocycle and stepped on Shane's arm to keep it from moving. He felt the bone underneath crack and Shane cried out in even more pain.
The other Green Man rolled out from underneath his burning Aerocycle and aimed his ArmBar at Meade. Meade whirled around, his coat flying out behind him and aimed his pistol at the prone Green Man quickly firing two shots into him.
"And then there was one." Meade said to the groaning Aaron Shane. Meade looked at Shane lying down on the ground and opened his ArmBar and scanned the man's body. "Quit moving, I want to see how long you're likely to live."
"You're a dead man Jim Meade." Shane choked out, barely coherent through the rage and obvious pain he was in. "You hear me? You're dead!"
"I'm ornery, not deaf." Meade glanced at the results of the medical scan he had just conducted on Aaron Shane. Multiple broken bones, internal bleeding. He might make it. "Besides, I don't think you've fully appreciated the position you find yourself in at the moment."
Meade reached down and took Aaron Shane's ArmBar off his arm and admired it. "Model 30x. This is some high quality stuff O'Donnell is fronting you gents. I assume this was paid for by people in the neighborhood?"
"Go to hell!" Shane spat blood out on the ground.
Meade examined the credit balance on Shane's ArmBar. "Thank you so much for your recent donation to the E-Block food bank. Seems like a fair payment for calling the Med boys, and not leaving you to die." He connected his ArmBar to Shane's and transferred Shane's entire balance into his own. "Go ahead and complain to the Credit authority, but, I'm sure they'd be more interested in why a Runabout like you is doing with nearly fifty thousand credits in his account. And I know how much O'Donnell appreciates attention from the Coalition."
