by Trevor Gregg
Debris had rained down for many years, damaging much of the city. But now there were vindel drones shepherding the debris into predictable orbits, dropping it harmlessly into the ocean or securing it for collection.
Kyren understood why the district was given the name of Junk City. The materials left over after their repurposing were discarded haphazardly in enormous piles. Kyren entered the junk maze and was grateful for the memory, otherwise he would not have been able to navigate the path.
Then he remembered the source of the memory and felt nausea rising. Choking down his revulsion, he tried not to touch those memories more than he needed to. He knew it was difficult not to think about the thing you are trying not to think about.
After navigating the maze for several hundred yards, he rounded a corner, and came upon two vindels working on a massive grav-plate. The vindels’ squat, chestnut furred humanoid frame bore two pairs of arms. The vindels were using their upper, stronger arms ending in meaty three fingered hands, to hold up the grav-plate. The lower pair of arms were still sturdy but they were using their dexterous five fingered hands to work in an open access panel with tools.
They turned their primate like faces toward Kyren as he passed, their dark stares evident. He knew he didn’t belong, he was just hoping to avoid any encounters, get in and out quick and clean.
He exited the junk maze into a broad avenue lined by multi-storied abandoned tenements. The sidewalks were piled twenty feet high with junk, nearly obscuring the second floor windows. He knew he needed to travel down the debris lined street until he reached a stair like arrangement in the wall of debris, leading up to an open second floor window. Reaching the staircase, Kyren climbed up as his memory dictated and stepped through the window.
Even with the memory of the shop, it was still nearly incomprehensible. The best way he could describe it was a curio shop. But that didn’t encompass it. Dim lighting illuminated racks of strange looking produce and barrels with unknown contents, and shelves lined with china. There was even a protein consumption converter, apparently ready to spew out a few glops of nutrition formula in exchange for a few creds.
“You must be in the wrong shop, boy,” a gruff voice called out as Kyren stepped into the store. An aging vindel with silvering fur stepped into the light.
“Um, Xavcar Xavis?” Kyren stammered.
“Yes, I am he,” the vindel grumbled. “Who flies at midnight?” he said irritably.
“Um, the reeco bird?” he spit out, tripping over his own tongue.
“Very well, wait here,” Xavcar said, going behind the counter and returning with a red thermos. The vindel cracked open the thermos. As soon as he removed the lid, Kyren’s eyes began to water. Then the smell hit him, or rather, the stench.
He stifled a gag and choked out, “what is that foul stuff?”
“The goods are hidden below the barelian stew. Smells delicious, doesn’t it. My wife made it special so don’t you let it go to waste,” he lectured as Kyren stuffed the thermos into his pack and made for the window.
6
Contraband
Kyren realized he was in trouble a fraction of a second too late. The strong upper arms of a brown-furred vindel seized him firmly, slamming him face first into the wall of metal debris, tearing his clothes. Jagged metal shards cut into him. The creature’s more nimble lower pair worked his pack open.
“What’se got, Mortis?” a high-pitched voice sounded, coming from the slender green-skinned being with a bald head that he had glimpsed while spinning toward the wall.
“Hold on Grizzok, I’m looking,” the vindel growled, continuing to rifle through Kyren’s pack while grinding him into the jagged scrap.
Out came a couple of shirts and other personal effects, which the vindel called Mortis discarded. Then his tool set, which was tossed to Grizzok the green-skinned being.
“That’s only a few creds,” Grizzok said morosely.
Then went his tablet, also tossed back.
“What, more junk? Humies are supposed to be loaded,” the green creature groused. “Get his chipscan.”
“I’m getting there,” the vindel intoned, digging deeper into the pack.
Kyren’s heart went into his throat as Mortis seized the evgalian’s thermos. Not again, come on, not again, he thought. He couldn’t bear to run afoul of another crime boss. And then the vindel dropped it to the pavement along with his personal effects. Kyren breathed an internal sigh of relief.
“Where’s your chipscan, smoothskin?” it said while pushing him harder into the wall, deepening his wounds.
“Pocket!” Kyren gasped amidst the pain.
The vindel’s five fingered hand slipped into his pocket and fished out his chipscan. He put the card in Kyren’s hand.
“Make him activate it,” Grizzok said eagerly.
Kyren obliged, fearing the vindel would skewer him completely. Holding his thumb over the corner, a holopanel illuminated with a bright green numeral. Three.
“What!? You’re kidding, you’ve got three creds, kid?” the vindel released him and stepped back, Kyren finally getting a good look at its face.
“Did we get it all, Mortis?” Grizzok asked the vindel.
“Yeah, this kid’s totally broke, lets take his shit and go hock it,” Mortis said, turning to deliver a massive blow to Kyren’s solar plexus with one of its meaty three-fingered fists.
He lost all ability to breathe, saw stars, and crashed to the pavement, writhing in pain from the blow.
Standing over him, Mortis growled, “don’t come back to Yellow Zone, humie, or I’ll find you and it’ll make today look like a walk in one of your fancy parks.”
Once Mortis and Grizzok had departed, he rose shakily to his feet, aching, battered, and bloody. Quickly gathering up the clothing they had discarded along with the thermos and his now-empty chipscan, he stuffed his remaining possessions in his pack.
Kyren followed the evgalian’s slimy memories back to the border, feeling like a dark eel was slithering around in his head all the while. Also, the foul odor of the barelian stew was still lingering in his nostrils. Snorting, he tried to clear out the stink, to no avail.
He was just about to enter the main avenue leading into Theta Block from Yellow Zone when he looked down and realized his shirt was torn and bloody. That was sure to get attention from the border guards. He pulled a clean shirt from his pack and shucked out of the ruined one, discarding it in a trash-strewn alley.
Apprehension rising, Kyren walked down Yellow Zone’s main avenue and up to the border crossing. In a moment of panic, Kyren realized he was the only human standing in the return line. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw the agents were all eying him.
A salt and pepper haired middle-aged man with a graying mustache asked for Kyren’s chipscan and eyed him suspiciously. He tapped a series of keys on the holopanel on the podium in front of him, and several agents emerged from the bullpen he had spotted earlier.
He was motioned through the scanner by the agent, while he did his best to stifle his panic. To his relief, no alarms were triggered. Whatever they were scanning for, it wasn’t what he was carrying. Nevertheless he was intercepted by the agents who had emerged from the pen just a moment ago.
“Accompany us now, sir. Right this way,” a young blond human with a flat top and square jaw instructed firmly, pointing toward the bullpen.
A gruff looking middle-aged saurian woman, her skin a pale blue with several small birthmarks below each eye, opened the door and motioned Kyren to a bare metal chair bolted to the floor, in front of a stark metal table.
“Place your belongings on the table, empty your pockets and your bag,” flat-top said.
Kyren nervously emptied his bag and pockets, arraying his remaining possessions out on the table in front of him.
“Sit down,” came flat-top’s order.
“What was the purpose of your visit to Yellow Zone?” he probed.
“My girlfriend, she lives here,” he
responded.
He rifled through Kyren’s belongings. Tapping the thermos, he asked impassively, “what’s in there?”
Kyren straightened, hoping his reaction wasn’t noticed. “Uh, that’s barelian stew, my girlfriend made it for me.”
“Well let’s have a look…” flat-top suggested, unscrewing the lid.
“No!” the older saurian cried, but it was too late.
Flat-top instantly began to gag as the stench quickly filled the small pen. He resealed the thermos with great haste but the stench continued to linger.
“Acquired taste, I guess. My girlfriend makes it for me,” Kyren played, trying not to look as repulsed as the agents were.
The younger agent looked at him with disgust and sneered, “Alien, is that another acquired taste?”
The agent scowled and paused for an inordinately long time, then continued, “You’re clean, well maybe not clean, but you’re free to go.”
The saurian agent frowned at him also as he gathered his belongings. Not giving them a chance to change their minds, he made for the exit and Theta Block, then quickly boarded the train to the Marketplace. He arrived at Mauli’s a short time later, stepping in tentatively, expecting the evgalian’s slithery mental touch any moment. Thankfully there was no contact, at least not yet. He walked to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. The insect-headed creature screeched at him and pointed at the door. He entered the small office, closed the door behind him, and set the thermos on the desk.
“Your chipscan, I’ll transfer the funds,” it said in his mind. Somehow, its nebulous tentacles became substantive enough to manipulate the desk drawer, opening it and withdrawing a card similar to his own. They waved them together and the numbers changed with a ding.
“If, ever in the future, you find yourself in need of employment, please return to me,” the evgalian wheezed in his mind.
Kyren knew he wouldn’t be around to accept another job, but refrained from mentioning his impending departure.
“I see,” it spoke again in his mind. “You will be unable to accept another job because you are traveling off-world.”
Kyren was unnerved, and a little worried. Had the thing just heard his thoughts? The notion creeped him out. But more than that made him worry. Would the evgalian pass along his destination? Perhaps Nosco would find out? He knew he had to get out, and fast. Cautiously, he backed toward the door and exited without a further word, certain the thing was still peering into his mind.
As he returned to the bar, the rohvar bartender chittered at him, holding the same bottle of liquor from before. Kyren waved him off and quickly left Mauli’s, returning to the busy streets of the Marketplace District, destined for the transit station.
7
Liftoff
Kyren walked the streets in a fog, feeling as if he were trudging through molasses, every step a struggle. His stomach churned with guilt. His life felt like a nightmare now, but one he knew he would never wake from. Athar was gone.
He knew he needed to get to the transit station and the tram that would deliver him to the shuttle launch pad. He had the money necessary to flee Dust Quarter now, to get into space. There was undoubtedly a price on his head, so staying here certainly was a death sentence.
He just couldn’t bring himself to leave quite yet. In some way he felt that leaving would somehow make it permanent. As if, somehow, it weren’t already. He looked up from his feet and stopped trudging, realizing there were several tough-looking thugs crossing the street toward him.
Realizing they were making for him, Kyren turned and dashed across the street to the other side of the intersection. He weaved and dodged the oncoming traffic, horns blaring and tires screeching. Making it to the other side without injury to his great surprise, he attempted to blend in with the crowd.
Glancing back, he could see the goons trying to cross the street after him. He waited until they were not looking, and then ducked into a side alley. This was going to be tricky, likely every goon in the city was looking for him. And the evgalian could have revealed his destination, too. He was going to have to proceed cautiously.
Emerging from the alley, into the next main avenue over, he spotted a multi-purpose store. It would have everything from clothing and accessories to food and household supplies. Ducking into the shop, he quickly glanced around, locating a new jacket, hat, backpack, and even some sunglasses. After leaving the shop, Kyren found another alley and discarded his previous garments and donned the new items. Not much of a disguise, he knew, but it was better than nothing.
This time, he avoided the main avenue, taking side streets and alleys instead. Several times he rerouted around gangs of tough-looking thugs. Even if they weren’t after him specifically, he didn’t want to risk any more run-ins, especially now that he was carrying enough money to buy a ticket to space.
A good while later, he found himself standing across the street from the transit station. He ducked into a nearby doorway and scanned the street and the entrance to the station. He couldn’t see any obvious threats, but waited a bit anyway. A short while later, there was still no unusual activity. Reaching for his courage, he said a silent goodbye to Athar and crossed the busy street.
Kyren entered the massive station and made for the automated ticket kiosk. He quickly purchased his ticket, head swiveling from side to side the entire time. Grabbing the ticket from the machine, he made for the entrance to the tram cars.
That was when he noticed them. Several humans and a saurian. Shit, Nosco! Kyren thought with dismay. The bell rang out for last call boarding, so he broke into a run, heading for the platform. Reaching the turnstile, he slammed the ticket into the slot. It beeped and clacked at him, finally sucking the ticket in and clicking to indicate the turnstile was unlocked.
“Stop, you punk!” Kyren heard Nosco bellow.
Kyren didn’t stop, instead breaking into a sprint. A shot rang out and a bullet shattered stone on the pillar next to him, spraying him with fine concrete shards. The final call buzzer for the tram sounded, so Kyren poured on a burst of speed.
As Kyren reached the platform several more shots rang out, the bullets cracking the air as they whizzed past him. Ascending the stairs, he dashed through the tram’s doors just as they were closing. Rounds stitched the plexi-steel windows of the tram as it sped from the station.
He quickly grabbed a seat and tried to look inconspicuous, but the other passengers were looking at him incredulously. Ignoring them, he leaned his forehead against the cool glass and watched the city recede into the distance as the tram sped away. He didn’t feel grief anymore, he didn’t feel much of anything, his pain replaced with a hollowness that seemed infinite. Kyren closed his eyes and let the emotional exhaustion claim him. He dozed off mere moments after.
The tram car swayed as it began decelerating, the gentle motion stirring him awake. Despite his state of mind, Kyren was unable to resist the awe he felt staring out the window, the stark white and black shuttle standing tall, outlined against the bright blue sky. Steam poured from dozens of vents lining the side of the shuttle, roiling as they billowed in the breeze.
His view was blocked as the tram car entered the launch structure and gently came to a stop. The disembarking passengers were directed through a door and into a staging room. Kyren watched from the back of the crowd as a launch attendant explained the use of the grav couches this shuttle was equipped with.
The short and rotund attendant began, “the couches have gravitonic field generation capability, enough to dampen the acceleration forces down to humanoid-tolerable levels. Without them, the g-force from the shuttle’s acceleration would crush a normal being,” he further explained, climbing into a full size model. The strange hemispherical chair rotated so the attendant was lying on his back.
The lights flickered and Kyren went along with the crowd as they were ushered to board the craft. A spiral staircase led them up several floors to the top of the tower. Crossing the wire-framed gantry leading from the
tower to the shuttle, Kyren took one last look back at the city he was leaving behind forever before stepping through the portal into the shuttle.
It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A large scaffolding ran the length of the craft, punctuated by catwalks lined by rows of grav couches. He descended to the first available seat and settled in. The soft gel-like material molded around his body and he sunk in. Once he had gone still, the seat rotated and he was lying on his back.
Several minutes went by as the remaining passengers were ushered to their seats, and Kyren felt a rising anticipation beginning to seep through the wall of indifference surrounding his heart. He was about to ride a rocket into space for the first time. Sorrow or not, he couldn’t suppress the excitement as the crew sealed the hatch and took their seats.
A disembodied voice began a countdown from ten… Nine… Eight… his heart thundered in his ears… Seven… Six… Five… instead of sadness though, he felt a sudden warmth, as if Athar were there with him… Four… Three… Two…
“Hot damn, brother! I’m riding a rocket into space!” he cried aloud, earning a sidelong glance from the passenger in the pod next to him.
One… Launch. The shuttle’s engines flared to life, plasma fire bellowing out against the hardened launchpad. To Kyren, it felt like someone sitting on his chest, at least the first few seconds did. But the pressure rapidly grew to what felt like several motocars stacked up, crushing down upon him. He struggled to draw in a breath. Just short of gasping for air, his vision narrowed to a darkened tunnel. It was the longest eight-and-a-half minutes of his life, as he struggled to breath and maintain consciousness.
And then abruptly, it was over. As the shuttle’s acceleration ceased. The pressure disappeared and he gasped in great lung fulls of air. As his vision cleared, he began to struggle with a new dilemma. He felt almost as if he were falling, even though the gel seat held him tightly. It left him feeling as though he were swimming, floating in the waters of the canal he and his brother had used to swim in as kids.
