‘Are you here for the orgy, too?’ He sure hoped not.
Ruk began to pace the platform. ‘For what it’s worth, I didn’t want things to end this way,’ he said. ‘You were always entertaining, Dex—you and your little “get-rich-quick” schemes. But you kept on pushing. You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And now you’ve forced my hand. The assassination plot must go ahead as planned. No longer will we toil in the shadows. The time is upon us. Soon, we will finally be where we belong.’
For a moment, this threw Dex. ‘Wait, hold up—so there really is an assassination plot?’ He shook his head. ‘So I was right. Sonofabitch, I knew it.’
‘Come the Lord Chancellor’s party tonight, this planet will be under new rule—our rule,’ Ruk continued. ‘And together, my brethren and I will start a fire that will ignite the very cosmos itself!’
‘And let me guess—that’s when we all start shedding clothes and humping each other?’ said Dex. He shook his head again. ‘I like your style, Ruk. You are one freaky bastard, I’ll give you that.’
‘GODDAMN IT THERE IS NO ORGY. LISTEN TO THE WORDS THAT ARE COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH. NO ORGY.’
Dex only barely heard him, however. All jokes aside, he was very drunk.
Ruk lifted his hand, where a little box-shaped instrument resided, a couple of red buttons on it. Dex didn’t need a magic eight-ball to know that what he was looking at was the control for the trash compactor.
Ruk hit the button.
Immediately, the compactor kicked to life, roaring into action like some angry giant roused from its slumber.
Dex shook as the compactor began to vibrate, felt myriad bits of garbage poking into his back, his hips, as everything seemingly came alive around him.
Still staring down from the platform, Ruk grinned. ‘Well. So long, Dex. It’s been real—’
That was when the shooting started.
Our first clue that something had gone terribly wrong was when we arrived back at the Square, only to find Dex suspiciously absent.
Figuring him to no doubt be drowning his sorrows, we had scoured each of the many bars and taverns we came across, expecting to find Dex slumped over the counter somewhere, feeling sorry for himself. But in not one of the bars did we find him. It got so bad I was even contemplating calling the cops—or I guess, the “CSEA” (though, in hindsight, given Dex’s history, that probably would have been a bad idea).
Our second clue came at the very last bar we searched.
The place, turns out, was called the Snatch-Hatch, and though my experience of space life was admittedly only marginal at this point, there was zero doubt in my mind this had to be about the filthiest place in the entire galaxy. A combination of slime and dust coated the floor, looking like it had been there since around the moment the place first opened, accompanied by a series of dark stains, spread all over, that I knew instinctively to be old blood. The lighting, while not exactly “low”, was dim enough to imply shading dealings of some variety or another were constantly going down. It even smelled like a pigsty; all meaty and sweaty, and, frankly, kind of fecal.
It was Dex’s kind of place, all right.
‘You see him?’ I said.
A handful of patrons stood propping up the bar, some that even looked vaguely humanoid. In the back, two hair-covered midgets were furiously grinding on each other. No sign of Dex, though.
Luna made a bee line for the bar.
‘Hi,’ she said, placing her hands flat on the counter. ‘We’re looking for a friend of ours. Human. About six-feet tall. Likes to talk about his penis a lot. Maybe you’ve seen him?’
The bartender—who, looking at him up close now, I had the sudden impression may have been part-koala—just stared. If ever a face had looked more unimpressed, I’d never seen it. But then, I guessed that was koalas for you. ‘I seen lots of folks.’
‘So… is that a no?’ I said.
‘Look, I got work to do. So unless you’re buying, take a hike, bub.’ And he stomped off up the bar.
Luna and I shared a glance.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘He seems friendly.’
‘Think. Where else could he have gone?’
I tried to think of all the places Dex might have gone, but it was no good. Aside from the fact I was a complete stranger to this planet, the only real concrete fact I knew about Dex was that the guy liked to drink. Every opportunity, that was what he did. It was who he was. And yet, still no Dex.
We continued to brainstorm by the bar, using our collective knowledge to try to formulate some kind of idea as to where the guy might have gone.
And it was while still brainstorming that the creature in the red dress approached us.
It was some tall thing. A collection of antlers sticking out of its heads—and no, that’s not a typo. Heads. As in, plural. Goddamnit.
‘Excuse me—I hear you’re looking for a human?’ it said. The voice was unmistakably feminine. Funny the little things you notice. ‘Big chin? Hair like he’s been dragged through a thicket during an electrical storm?’
‘That’s him!’ I cried.
‘I’ve seen him,’ Antler Girl continued. ‘He was here. About thirty nik-narks ago. He and I, we were upstairs, about to—well, you know. But then the others came, and—’
‘Wait, others?’ said Luna. ‘What others?’
‘Why… the Enforcers, of course. They arrested him, said he was wanted in relation to a number of serious offences. I tried to stop them, but…’
I tried to catch my breath.
So Dex had been arrested, had gotten himself wasted, and while in the middle of attempting to do… whatever it was he was planning on doing with Antler Girl over there, had gotten himself picked up by the law. Man, it was like we couldn’t leave the guy alone for five minutes.
But then Antler Girl spoke again. ‘I don’t think they were CSEA, though…’
Luna and I shared a glance.
‘What makes you say that?’ said Luna.
‘Well—and this is going to sound crazy, I know, but—instead of loading him into a transfer ship, they tossed him into the back of a garbage truck. A garbage truck. Now tell me, is that normal?’
A sudden coldness descended over me. I shot a glance over at Luna, who by the expression on her face was thinking the same.
Wait, hold up—did she just say Dex has been kidnapped?!
What followed next was fifteen minutes of frantic driving as we hurriedly set off in pursuit of the garbage truck.
I’d like to tell you our ending up at the refuse depot was down to some keen investigative brilliance on mine and Luna’s behalf, but in all honesty it was the only place we could think of that a) a garbage truck might go, and b) where one might easily dispose of a body.
But as would soon turn out, it was the right move, after all, because before we’d so much as pulled up at the entrance, folks were shooting at us.
We hit the deck as a hail of yet more generic blaster fire quickly set fire to the world around us. I kept my head down as beams of fiery light punched holes through the windshield, through the tattered upholstery, showering us in glass fragments and bits of old fluff. Everyone always thinks it’d be awesome to find oneself in a George Lucas space drama, but it’s not.
At one point I looked up, felt myself jolt in surprise to discover a hole the size of a fist in the back of the passenger seat behind which I’d only moments ago been sitting, still singed and smoking around the edges like a cigarette burn. Only a couple of inches lower, and I’d have been perforated.
Our attackers continued to open fire, showering us in all their pew! pew!/zap! zap!
I don’t remember who it was pulled me out of the car (mostly because I’d had my eyes pinched closed at the time).
I only remember what happened next.
Taxi-Driver Guy—no doubt pissed at the destruction of what was presumably his only source of income—promptly returned fire, hip-firing f
rom the waist like the total bad-ass that he was, while screaming a flurry of curse words that would have made even God himself turn away, aghast.
So while he did that, Luna and I headed for the depot.
It was pretty much what you’d expect for a building tasked with housing an entire city’s worth of garbage. As far as the eye could see, just piles and piles of the stuff; junk and gadgets and bits of food and other stuff I had zero clue as to the purpose of, all piled high in the corners, and in some places reaching even as high as the ceiling. Along the depot’s dark metal flooring, a single walkway had been carved through the junk, flanked on either side by deep pits, filled with yet more garbage.
There was a moment staring around at it all where I began to wonder how on Earth we would even find Dex amongst all this crap. But then, stepping up to the first pit we came to, low and behold, there was Dex, lying in the center of it, grinning stupidly to himself as the walls slowly caved in all around him.
He saw me standing there and his eyes lit up. ‘Oh, hey, Bif. Luna. Come on in—the water’s fine.’
I threw a glance at Luna. ‘How do we turn it off?!’
‘There should be a remote around here somewhere,’ she said, ‘something to—there!’
I snapped my gaze to where it was she was gesturing; some small device on the floor by the pit’s edge.
We ran to it at once, Luna snagging it from the ground.
She slammed a fist down on the button—
Nothing.
‘It’s not working!’ I cried.
‘I noticed.’
‘What do we do?!’
‘I don’t know, just—let me think.’
‘We don’t have time to think!’ Down in the pit, the walls continued to thrum as they inched closer. Metal shrieked as it folded in on itself. Oh sweet Jesus in heaven. ‘Luna!’
‘I’m thinking, Bif! Just give me one—’ Her eyes landed on the back of the device, where, following her gaze, I saw a piece of fine cable poking out, all frayed and gnarly at the end, the inner wiring all but sheered clean off.
‘They cut it…’ she said. Against the sound of working machinery and things breaking, her voice sounded very small. ‘They cut the wire—look.’ She gestured toward a big, boxlike machine a few feet away to our left, where the corresponding length of cable now lay useless and bleeding wiring.
‘What the hell do we do now?’
She pulled out her blaster and shot it.
The machine farted a barrage of sparks, the lights on its side flickering a moment before going dark.
The walls immediately stopped moving.
Huh. Now why couldn’t she have done that earlier?
When I was certain I wasn’t going to puke or faint, I stared down into the pit. ‘Dex, are you all right?’
‘We’re in a trash compactor, Bif. A TRASH COMPACTOR.’
‘I know, just—stay there. I’m coming down.’
I began to fumble my way down the hill of trash towards him, feeling unknown bits sticking into me as I fell over juts of metal and old food and what may have been some kind of strange, plastic-based substitute that, on second thoughts now, was probably only plastic.
I finally reached him and knelt. There was some kind of thin, rubbery material wrapped around his body, pinning his arms and legs to his sides. I thought it would come away easily, but one tug at it was enough to know that—whatever this stuff was—it wouldn’t be coming away without some kind of serious intervention.
I sat back on the junk, suddenly drained, staring back and forth at the compactor’s sides, that were now alarmingly close. Another few seconds, and we’d have been scraping him off the walls. ‘Oh, man. That was too close!’
‘It’s okay, Bif. You’re safe now.’
‘I don’t think I can get this stuff off,’ I said. ‘I think I’m going to have to drag you.’ I shot a glance back up to the platform, where Luna was standing guard, just in case anybody else decided to try to murder us.
She saw me staring at her and scoffed. ‘Hey, don’t look at me. I’m still mad about the whole “betrayal” thing earlier.’
Well, gee, thanks for the help…
Calling upon all the strength in my possession, I slowly began to haul Dex up the rise. I pushed with my legs and pulled with my arms, feeling bits strain and cramp and pop. You wouldn’t have thought somebody whose diet consisted almost exclusively of liquids would be so heavy, but there you go. Then again, I guessed there was a reason they called it “water weight”. Dex of course helped in the only way he knew how, offering the occasional word or two of encouragement, words such as: ‘That’s it, Bif. Up the garbage hill. You can do this. I believe in you’, and my personal favourite, ‘We’re getting out of here even if I have to carry you myself’. I don’t want to say he was a detriment to his own rescue. But he really was.
Somehow, I eventually managed to pull him out of the pit.
We collapsed on the floor between two mounds of ripe garbage, me gasping so hard I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if my lungs just decided to pop right out of my chest.
When I could finally talk again, I turned to him. ‘Want to tell me what all that was about?’
‘Eh?’
‘Don’t “eh” me—that. Those guys. Guys who tried to turn you into a pancake.’
‘Oh—that.’ He laughed. ‘Yeah, that was Ruk. Turns out he and his CSEA buddies are planning on assassinating the Lord Chancellor later at his birthday party. Took off when all the shooting started. You literally just missed him.’
His words hit me like a pie to the face.
‘Wait, go back—so there really is an assassination plot?’
‘I know, right? It’s like I’m like the greatest detective ever, or something.’
‘But we have to do something! We have to warn the Chancellor.’
‘That’s the spirit, Bif—and we will. Right after another beer, or ten. Because—and I don’t want to alarm you here, but—I can feel sobriety coming at me like a speeding train, and I do not likesy. No, sir. Dex does not likesy one bit.’
‘Can you please stop referring to yourself in the third person for one moment and get serious? How are we supposed to stop these guys?’
‘Okay, first off—Dex resents that,’ he said. ‘And second of all—’ He blinked. ‘Oh no, wait, that’s actually all I had. Please, continue.’
It was at about this point that Taxi-Driver Guy caught up with us, the two rifle-style guns still poised and ready to start plugging holes in fools at a moment’s notice. He was like the John McClane of space. Even taking into account the whole “alien” part, you almost wished he was your dad.
‘Okay, that’s the last of ’em,’ he said, falling in line beside us. He looked over at Dex, still lying there all wrapped up like a burrito. ‘Hey, Dex.’
‘Hi, Henry.’
‘Keeping out of trouble, I see.’
‘They put me in a trash compactor.’
Henry chuckled. ‘Ha. Star Wars.’
We filled him in on recent developments.
‘So let me just get this straight…’ he said once we’d finished. ‘Ruk and his friends at the CSEA are planning on taking out Lord Chancellor Zeb tonight at his birthday party?’
I nodded.
‘And we can’t just call up and warn the guy, seeing as we don’t know who else at the CSEA might be involved?’
‘We would be tipping them off,’ said Luna. She shot a glance at Dex. ‘Supposedly.’
Henry was silent a moment as he digested this. Finally, he sighed. ‘We’re going to need more guns, of course.’
‘Don’t forget beer,’ said Dex.
I looked around at the four of us, suddenly uneasy. Hell, an ex-mercenary, a fake detective, a taxi driver, and a kid?
What could possibly go wrong?
Part III
The Baddest Of Bad Ideas
Dex’s illustration of our time in the “Murder Cave”.
10
We mad
e for the Lord Chancellor’s birthday bash at once, riding in what remained of Henry’s poor taxi.
On the way, I thought about salmon. It’s not often talked about, but salmon lead a tragic existence. They spend a couple years in the ocean, having a gay ol’ time with their fish buddies, until one day they get this pressing urge out of nowhere, compelling them to race back to the same stretch of river in which they were born. They risk it all fending off bears and birds and people and God knows what else, swimming up waterfalls and all kinds of gnarly crap, all in order to return to their birthplace and, hopefully, reproduce. But seeing as how labor-intensive the journey is, and the myriad perils that await them, many salmon (the good majority, you could argue) die before they get there. They throw their lives away on some fool’s errand. It’s suicide at its most basic.
And that’s what we were—salmon. Nothing but little fish in a big ocean, compelled by forces we did not understand into circumstances that would almost certainly see us all killed or worse come their conclusion. I mean, sure, hopefully we’d get compensated for our troubles—providing we survived, of course, which I think you can agree was unlikely—but even that wasn’t a guarantee.
We were just so salmon right now.
Nobody talked as we made our way back to the Square; partly, I knew, because of how tired we all were; all that adrenaline spiking and dropping, combined with how little rest we’d had ever since first arriving on this planet. But also, it was the notion that, should things go wrong, we might all be dead in an hour. And heck, if that doesn’t make you reflective, nothing will.
‘Hey, Bif?’
I looked around at Dex sat beside me. It was about thirty minutes after leaving the refuse depot. We’d spent the majority of time trying to think up a way to get him out of the flappy material, but turns out in the end all he had to do was stop struggling and it let him go, kind of like those old Chinese finger traps that were all the rage several years back. Oh yeah, did I mention the flappy thing was sentient? Yeah. Since then he’d been unusually quiet, staring through the glass and not even opening his mouth to protest about how very not-drunk he was right now. Needless to say, his silence was seriously unnerving me. ‘Yeah, Dex?’
Dex Wexler: Space Detective (Chronicles of Bif Book 1) Page 10
