I waited at the stop along with ten or so women who had obviously just gotten off work as the shift changed. I glanced at the little jewelry shop near the stop, admiring the rings and jewelry in the window. The sun was starting to go down, and that meant the rough life was beginning to come alive on the Strip. And in the town, too. Cities and towns near Strips on Frontier Worlds are usually pretty nasty for Spacers. The groundhogs don’t like us, mainly because they’re acutely aware of their groundhog status. Like Custom Agents.
The bus came trundling up on its sixteen pneumatic tires, beeping slightly as it stopped. I’m not sure why it was beeping, but I had a feeling it had something to do with safety regulations. I waited as the women climbed aboard, then I followed. I was a little shocked to see a human driver instead of a comp. I asked him where the museum was and told him to nudge me when we got near and he said he would. The bus was filled almost entirely with women getting off work. They probably thought I was insane, since I was obviously going into their city.
But I didn’t care what they thought. I wasn’t worried because I wasn’t taking an extraordinary risk. A normal Spacer would have been too afraid to enter the town near a Strip at night. I’m not. I’m utterly confident that I can take care of anyone I meet on a Frontier World. I’m modified. I had it done on Reega in 307 Central Standard Year, before it became illegal. It’s all on my ID and the papers can’t be changed back. Neither can I. I had my entire nervous system altered, plus a few little goodies were added to make me positively sure of myself. It was incredibly expensive, and it took six months to get used to the way of activating the fight mode. But I learned.
When I activate, I have fangs that are an inch long and razor sharp. I also get claws on my hands and feet that are three inches, all razor sharp. My strength is increased three times normal, and my reaction speed is boosted six times my norm. My eyes are also adjusted to infra-red or ultra-violet, whichever I need. I have ultraviolet projectors in my cheekbones that can be activated, if need be. I’m not sure how the fangs and the other stuff works, since the fangs and claws are silver bright, but if I’m relaxed, my teeth, fingernails, and toenails are normal. If I knew how they worked, I guess I’d be a Reegan. And I sure wouldn’t have to be scrambling for a living out among the Frontier Worlds.
I relaxed in the seat. I felt at peace with the world, and I let my mind drift along. It was nice to be on a world again, after three weeks of Free Space and Warp. But I knew that if we were stuck here for more than a few days, I’d start getting very irritable. It’s that way with every pilot I’ve ever met. No matter if he’s just a Cargo Hauler, like me, or an Explorer Scoutship Commander, pilots get on edge if they’re not in Free Space.
I thought of the Explorers again. That was what I’d wanted to be when I started my training. It’s a long, rough haul for a man, or a woman, to get a Central Certified Pilot’s license. It took me six years. After I’d gotten the license, I was talked into piloting this strange craft from Werewhon’s moon to the surface in an odd area of the planet. It was a wild and stupid smuggling operation. We were all caught, but I was later proven innocent. Central refused, however, to take me into the Explorer Corps after the trial. Something about not being completely suited for the rough and rigorous life out there in Free Space. I was furious, since it was obviously a crock. I was number three in my class, and the first sixteen are usually tapped for the Explorer Corps; though, out of that sixteen, only one ever graduates as an Explorer Commander. But, as Kohn always says, you can’t fight Central and win.
After that fiasco, I began to hang out with Cargo Haulers since I still had my license. I was taken aboard quite a number of ships, and had quite a number of wild adventures. I eventually teamed up with Kohn, who I liked since he was easy-going. Plus, he was good at getting Cargo, and I was good at Piloting. We made a good team.
One of the reasons I had the modification done on Reega was that in 306 CSY, the Union started leaning very heavily on independent Haulers. I didn’t want to wind up as a crippled groundhog. I’d heard that one of my former partners had both his legs broken, and one eye ripped out, and the Union goons had left him in an alley. He didn’t get to the hospital in time, and they could only reset his limbs, but they couldn’t do a thing about his eye. Too much tissue degeneration, or so he told me. I don’t know about that sort of stuff. After hearing about it, though, I had the modification. Cargo Hauling isn’t a bad job, but it’s nothing like exploring the new areas of the Spheres.
The bus driver nudged me slightly. I thanked him as I got down from the bus. During my daydreaming, the bus had half-emptied. I looked down the street as the bus went in the opposite direction. The streets were well lit, which was a little odd for a Frontier World. The sun had finally set, and the stars were really bright and clear in the sky. I smiled to myself and started humming an old Spacer’s song I had learned. I glanced down one of the alleys and it was pitch black compared to the streets. The museum was only two blocks away. There’s no mistaking the look of a museum building because of the way they build them.
A scream split the silence of the night.
I froze in mid-step. I listened carefully, trying to discern where the scream had come from. It came again, and there were other sounds. It was a young voice, probably female, and very frightened. It wasn’t a pain scream, but a terror scream. It came a third time. I could tell that it was coming from an alley up the street. I ran toward the alley, wary and on the alert. I hadn’t bothered to go into the fight mode, yet, because I didn’t know what I was going to be dealing with. I heard the scream again, and then several curses as I got closer. There was the unmistakable sound of someone getting slapped. I glanced down the alley.
Six punks were surrounding a young girl in a sky-blue pantsuit. The blouse of the suit was torn, and she held the rags against her naked breasts. I could tell the punks weren’t asking for her directions, and the alley was a dead-end. The alley was partially lit by a street lamp just across the street from the mouth of the alley. The punks were dressed in blue cotton pants and blue windbreakers. On the backs of their jackets was the gang name: The Cult. I’d never heard of that name before, but it didn’t stop me for long. One of the punks, a tall, skinny guy with brown hair, pulled a knife. The metal flashed in the twilight of the alley.
I cursed silently and shook my head. I had wanted to go and see that exhibit in the museum. Old starships are my hobby. What the hell, I thought, I might as well get it over with. I hoped it wouldn’t be too bloody.
“I’d leave her alone, if I were you,” I said loudly as I walked into the alley.
The tall guy with the knife quickly turned around. He sneered at me. His brown, beady eyes squinted in my direction, and a sick smile replaced his sneer. He laughed as the others turned from the girl to face me. They knew she couldn’t escape, and they certainly weren’t worried about her attacking them.
“Well, what do we have here?” the tall, skinny punk said with a laugh. He was obviously the leader.
“Looks like a Spacer to me, Beng,” the short, squat guy to the right of the knife-wielder said. The short guy had a mouthful of broken and jagged teeth. They looked slightly green in the dim light.
“We’ve never had the chance to stomp a Spacer before,” Beng said. “But we’re not going to pass up the opportunity, are we, boys?” He glanced at the other punks.
“Not a chance,” one of them said.
I had stood silent during the exchange, making sure I had guessed correctly about the dangerousness of the punks. The leader, Beng, was the one I had to worry about first. He looked fast. Next was the short punk to his right, who probably had a slug-gun, or a barker pistol, tucked under his windbreaker. The light was too dim to be certain which it was. Either one was deadly.
“You won’t get a chance to do anything to anyone again, if you don’t get out of my way,” I said loudly enough to let them hear, but low enough so they could tell I wasn’t worried about them.
Beng waved his kn
ife in a little arc before him as he smiled. His shaggy, brown locks looked grim. “Well, we’ve got ourselves a Spacer that thinks he’s some sort of hero, hey, boys?”
“What’s it to be then?” one punk asked.
I walked toward them.
Beng smiled. “Spread out, and let the Spacer come to us.”
I could tell this crowd wasn’t just a punk gang out for a little fun with a high-class girl that had somehow, stupidly, been out walking in the downtown section of the city. They were killers, and I imagined they liked the feeling it gave them. Frontier Worlds have the disconcerting tendency to breed punks like this.
I stopped momentarily and pulled my slip boots off. I wanted to be sure of my traction once the fighting got started. I put the boots in my back pocket, and their limber shape made it easy. The asphalt of the alley was cold, and I could tell the adrenaline was starting to flow in my veins. My vision got extra-sharp, and I could smell the stench of the punks’ unwashed bodies, plus the underlying odor of the garbage of the alley. The punks had spread out waiting to close in on me. They thought I was stupid for walking toward them. I continued walking until I was sure they could see me quite clearly.
I activated. There was a momentary feeling of vertigo, of lightheadedness, as the fangs and claws snapped into place. I was about five yards from being “trapped.”
“You’ve got a chance to leave,” I said carefully, talking around my fangs. I held my hands to the side of me, letting my fingers spread wide. There couldn’t be any doubt that they were facing a modified man. It should have told them they didn’t want to tangle with me. I guess they were just plain stupid.
“Let’s waste him!” Beng screamed.
They rushed me. A very nasty mistake on their part.
I leapt at Beng. I knew for certain the punk next to him did have a slug-gun. He was pulling it free. They all seemed as if they were moving very slowly, almost comically slow. I crossed the five yards in the air, and I gripped Beng’s shoulders with my claws. He howled in agony as I used his body for a pedestal to maneuver upon. I swept out with my left foot and slashed the hand of the punk near Beng who had the slug-gun. Blood spurted up in a slow-motion arc. He jerked like a spider in a flame and dropped the gun, watching with bug eyes as the crimson fluid, looking almost black in the dim light, squirted rhythmically out of his arm.
The punk on the other side of Beng had made a move toward me with a knife when I had first landed on Beng’s shoulders. He tried to stop and retreat. I had already shifted my weight, even though Beng was collapsing beneath me. My right foot streaked out and I raked the punk’s chest with my claws, but not that seriously. Blood welled up and flowed out, coating his windbreaker where my claws had ripped his skin. He dropped the knife and jerked his hand up to feel the blood flowing out. I shoved Beng from me, and before I landed on the ground, I had turned to face the three other punks.
They were incredibly dense. They charged me. They each had a knife, and they were brandishing them as if I was some sort of rube that would faint dead away at the sight. They must have thought my lightning-fast moves had been an illusion. They obviously knew nothing about modified men. I jumped at them, and before they could move one knife in my direction, I had them. I reached out and gripped the knife arms of the two punks on either side of me, breaking their arms with a jerk. At the same time, I snap-kicked the one in front of me in the chin with my right heel. I released the two punks and stood still. The two with the broken arms writhed like snakes being prodded with an electric wire. The other punk was out. He fell back, and I guessed I’d broken his jaw.
I looked around me. Beng had passed out from shock, and was lying on the asphalt with his shoulders coated with blood. I knew I hadn’t dug into him too deeply. He wouldn’t bleed the death, but he would carry some nasty scars for the rest of his life. The two with broken arms got to their feet and sped away like drunken iguanas waddling on a fence, whimpering like a lost puppy. The others were in shock, and would be for quite some time.
I de-activated.
I turned to face the girl, who stared at me with wide, baby-blue eyes. I smiled and took out my handkerchief. The punk with the severed artery was still standing where I had left him, staring at the blood flooding around his hand as he tried to stop the flow. I walked over, picked up the knife Beng had dropped, and made a primitive tourniquet. I looked down at him as he looked up at me with shock-glazed eyes.
“You’ve got to get to a hospital, or you’ll lose the arm,” I told him.
He nodded, and looking at the punk with the bloody chest, motioned with his head. The punk followed him out of the alley. I didn’t think the two left in the alley would ever mess with a modified man again. I got out my other handkerchief and wiped the blood from my jumpsuit. The material’s made to repel grease, so the blood wasn’t a problem.
I looked at the girl again. She was very pretty and had long, blonde hair. Her pantsuit had been expertly tailored to accent her figure. I thought it odd that such a girl would be out, alone, in that section of the city. But I didn’t have the full story, yet. She still held part of the torn blouse against her chest. Otherwise, her upper torso was bare.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
She didn’t say anything but just kept staring at me. I looked at her a little more closely, as best I could in the dim light. Her eyes were very wide, and she seemed to be staring at me with an odd, blank expression. It finally hit me. Sometimes, I’m just not too bright. She was in shock and probably didn’t see me, or if she did, she didn’t see me too clearly.
I approached her and she jerked. She dropped the remains of her torn blouse to the ground, but till held her arms over her breasts. She quivered and shook, and there were tears in her eyes. I could tell she was really trying to regain control, but having almost been raped and then having watched a total stranger knock out six guys in less than a minute must have really shook her up. I walked to the guy with the broken jaw and took off his windbreaker. I walked back to the girl, and with a flip of my wrist, tossed the thing to her.
“Here. Put it on. It’ll keep you warm,” I said. She held it tightly, but hesitated. “Go ahead,” I assured her. “I won’t hurt you.”
She turned her back to me, and quickly slipped the jacket on. She sealed it shut, and she turned to face me again. She was trembling and there were still tears in her eyes. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” I told her. At least, I thought to myself, she’s talking now.
Her voice was still shaky and she kept swallowing constantly. She was probably frightened out of her mind.
“Would you like to go to the police?” I asked. “Yes,” she nodded, and stood still.
I smiled and backed out of the alley, very slowly. She stepped away from the back wall, past the two punks on the ground, and out to the street. I was standing about five feet from her, and that didn’t seem to bother her too much. I kept the distance steady.
“Do you know where the nearest police station is?” I asked her.
“No,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“Well, no,” I explained. “I just got on planet. I’m a Spacer, in case you didn’t recognize the jumpsuit.”
“I don’t know where it is, either,” she said, and she sniffed. She wiped some tears from her eyes with the back of her right hand. She was still trembling. She was getting good control of herself, though. I admired her. She couldn’t have been more than 17 years old.
“Well, let’s go to the museum over there and ask the guard,” I suggested. “If that’s okay with you.” “Fine,” she said softly. “You go first. I’ll follow.” The walk only took about three minutes, and the guard at the door gave us directions. The girl didn’t say anything at the museum, but as we walked toward the police station, she seemed a bit more in control. She was still scared of me, but she could at least run away from me if she had to, and she knew where the police station was.
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
&nb
sp; “Renate Nicos,” she answered. “If you don’t hurt me, I’m sure my father will give you a reward.”
“Oh, really?” I asked. “Why is that?”
“I don’t live on this planet,” she said, her voice still shaky. “I live on Steel.”
I paused for a moment, trying to dredge up from my brains where Steel was. I finally had it., “That’s in the 4th Sphere, isn’t it?”
“You haven’t told me your name,” she said, warily.
“You’re right,” I said. “How very crass of me. I’m Fripp Enos. Freelance Cargo Hauler. The Union goons call us Mavericks.” I glanced back at her, and could see a bruise starting to form on her left cheek. Obviously, one of the punks, more likely that Beng character, had slapped her around. “Say, what were you doing running around down here?”
“I escaped,” she said.
“Escaped?” I asked, puzzled. “From what?”
“Some men,” she began, choking back a few sobs. “Some men . . . they kidnapped me. They . .. they said they would kill me when they got the money from my father.”
“What a stupid thing to tell a victim,” I muttered. “You escaped and then the gang found you wandering around?”
“Yes,” she said, soft sobs causing her to choke, now and then. She was a wreck, but was really bearing up well, however, considering the circumstances. No wonder she was terrified of me. I would have been a little wary of people myself, and I wasn’t a young girl that had almost been raped.
“Did you ... kill . . .?” she began.
“No,” I answered. “I should have, I guess. I don’t know why I didn’t. Getting soft in my old age.”
The Space Mavericks Page 2
