Jolo awoke in darkness, the air around him damp and musty. And for a moment he didn’t remember where he was. He sat up and his hand touched something he hadn’t felt in some time: dirt. He grabbed a handful and let it run through his fingers. He smelled it like his father used to do when he was a boy on Pleny. He’d rub it in his hands and hold it up to his nose and smile. It was good soil, he’d always say. Good for growing daikon and tomatoes and little boys.
Another memory from a long time ago. It was a gift. He sat there in the dirt and thought of Marco and waited for his eyes to adjust. Then he stood and instinctively reached for the Colt. It wasn’t there, just empty leather holster, so he crawled around searching for it with his hands until he felt something cold and metallic, but it was a big rifle. And then the memory of the three men came back to him. Where was Greeley? He felt around some more and found nothing but more dirt and rocks, and then, on a patch of wet ice where the light was better, his gun.
He holstered the Colt and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He looked around in the pitch black and headed towards a spot where the blackness had a little gray in it. He was heading down a long tunnel--the sides, like the bottom, moist earth. The grayness getting stronger with each step he took. After ten minutes or so the grayness had given way to a white light that pulled him onwards down the long underground path.
He’d lost his pack and even the little pouch of black stuff they’d stolen from the dead man. But he continued on in this way for some time. His mind free to wander. Mostly he thought of Katy and the crew and wished that either he or Greeley was there on the Argossy. George is there, and Katy could handle herself better than most, certainly better than Koba, but after what he and Greeley had seen up top, he wished he could get a message to the Argossy. He could hear Katy in his head: I told you to take the battle suit.
But I wasn’t expecting a maniac.
Every so often a pathway to the left or right opened up on either side of him. The air changed slightly as he’d pass the openings, sometimes there was a hint of a breeze blowing. Some of the air coming from the side chambers had a fresh scent. He stopped at one, considered following his nose. But then he glanced at the light, pulling him in that direction. Other side passages were rank and foul, and he passed by quickly, his hand going for the Colt, his mind flashing back to the big thing sinking back down into the ice where the dead man was.
Soon the light took shape: a square window on the far side of a large opening. There was movement inside. Jolo skirted around the edge of the empty space, clinging to the earthen walls. When he got close to the window the ground under him got hard. It wasn’t ice or steel, but small brown rectangles all lined up together which made a rough yet somehow pleasing courtyard. There was a picture of a pig on the window with a smile on its face, Hartmann and Sons written above that. The the light shone through onto the brown and orange rectangles, a distorted projection of the pig on top. Inside was an old man leaning over something. Jolo pulled out the gun and peered inside: tile walls with metal hooks on a conveyor belt leading into a cold room.
And there, near the wall, Greeley was laying on a metal gurney, his eyes closed, but Jolo could see his chest rising and falling. The man, wearing an old apron stained black and rubber gloves, held a square shaped blade high over his head. Jolo did not like the look of that at all and ran into the room and fired one shot at the thick blade of the butcher’s cleaver before he could bring it down onto Greeley.
The bullet ricocheted off the blade and broke the top left pane of the window.
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” said the man. “Hazuki has killed men for far less than that.” He shook his head in disgust at Jolo, still standing there with the gun out. “Holster that thing. You here for pick up or delivery?”
Jolo was caught off guard, and thought at first to just kill the man right then and there, but stopped. Jolo could stitch up a scratch but wasn’t sure about bullet wounds. He decided to see if the man could help. “Pickup.”
“What took you so long. Thought this one was for prepping. Took two bots to pull this big slab o’ meat all that way.” The man peered at Jolo, squinting his eyes to gain focus. “You’re new.” It wasn’t a question. More of an accusation.
“Yes,” said Jolo, trying to act bored.
“Who sent you?”
Another difficult one. Jolo thought the man in the white jacket may be Hazuki but wasn’t sure so went for the middle ground. “The man in the white jacket.”
“Hazuki,” said the man. And then he paused. “So did he want this one prepped or fixed?”
“Uh. Fixed. He was wounded up top.”
“Yes, I see. Hmmm… I thought this one was going to be prepped for sure.” The man touched Greeley’s chest and arms, admiringly. “Almost double-sized, this one. But if Hazuki wants him for something else, then so be it. He’ll be ready in an hour or so. Small wound to the leg is all.” He stuck a finger into the bullet hole and Greeley moaned. “Doesn’t appear to be any arterial damage.”
“Can you help him?” said Jolo, ready to shoot him if he made any sort of aggressive move. Though the man didn’t seem to be worried about Jolo at all.
“I am the doctor.”
“Do you have food?”
“You lost your pack?”
“Yes, up top.”
The man shook his head. “Why he keeps topside fools I’ll never know. Especially off-worlders who don’t know anything.” The man pointed to a dirty cabinet and Jolo, hoping for anything edible, found several small pouches of the black stuff he and Greeley ate earlier. He sat down on a chair and took a bite and watched the man work on Greeley.
“You, uh, do a lot of prep work here?”
The man looked at Jolo over his glasses. One lens was round and the other taped-on and oval shaped. He shook his head again and muttered something Jolo didn’t understand.
Jolo tried another tack. “The brown rectangles in the courtyard are pleasing to the eye.”
There was a long pause while the man fished out the bullet in Greeley’s leg. Greeley groaned again but did not regain consciousness. “Yes,” the old man said, the cleaver still there on the floor under his feet. “Original and ancient. They were here long ago during the final war. This was an underground area for God knows what. When the Japanese came to stay it was known as the Chikagai.”
“So the Chikagai extends down that way?” Jolo said, pointing towards a big open space that extended as far as he could see. Jolo was pleased his info gathering session was going well, but didn’t like this man or the room and wanted out as soon as Greeley was ready.
“Yes. Go exploring if you want to die. And then Hazuki will get pissed because he obviously wants you two alive.”
“What about the thing that bores through the ice?”
“Stop talking. Ignorance and verbosity are a bad match.” So Jolo watched as the man sewed up Greeley’s leg. His face was sweaty and the man gave him a shot of something and Greeley relaxed.
“I’ll be going now,” said the man. He shuffled towards the far wall, took off his thin, brown coat, hung it on the wall, grabbed a hat and coat from a peg in the corner and put that on, then reached into a big drawer and pulled out a cat with a green collar. The cat purred in his arms and the man and the animal rubbed noses together. The man smiled, then looked up and realized Jolo was staring and put a smirk back on his face. “What you looking at?”
“Where are you going?”
“Make your delivery, wherever Hazuki wants him,” he said, jerking his thumb towards Greeley, who’d just started to stir and moan. “I see his pain tolerance is low.” He shook his head and took a step for the door. “Off-worlders.”
Jolo stepped in front of the door. “What’s with the cat?” If he went and talked to Hazuki there’d be trouble. And he couldn’t bring himself to shoot the old man, even though he nearly cleavered Greeley.
He man chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me, off-worlder, but the cat has one amazing quality t
hat not many know of.” He paused for effect. “She hates Little Richard.”
“She?
“Yes. She. The thing that bores through the ice.” He petted the cat on the head and then it started purring again. “I haven’t quite figured out why, but he’s kept me alive when my predecessors were not so fortunate. Hazuki has an agreement, you know, but protections do not extend to the lower ranks. Now move. I mustn’t be late for dinner.”
“Stay,” said Jolo. “At least until he wakes up. I can’t, uh, make the delivery if he can’t walk.”
“Why do you care?”
“We were on the same ship.”
“Oh. And now I begin to doubt your story. Though there is truth in what you just told me.” Jolo held his ground in front of the door and the old man tried to push him out of the way to no avail.
“Alright then, what if I refuse to stay?” said the man.
“Then I’ll kill you with that damn cleaver and eat that squealin’ rat you holdin’” said a groggy, drunk voice. Greeley tried to sit up on the gurney, then fell back again.
“Exactly what are your intentions?” His eyes got big and Jolo knew the game was over. “Blue razor, code 439er!” the old man yelled. And suddenly, through a hole in the roof, a bot flew in, heading straight for Greeley, who was still out on the gurney. Jolo fired twice and the bot landed on the floor, a single, round cutting blade spinning furiously, tearing through the leg of a wooden table near the wall. The whole thing crashed down in a pile of dust, the dead bot with the spinning cutter underneath it all.
“Got any more stupid tricks?” said Jolo, now pointing the Colt at the man.
“No. That was my best one.”
“What’s all the racket?” said Greeley. “Cap’n. My leg’s on fire.”
“Give him something for the pain,” said Jolo. “I’ll take the cat.”
“No one may hold Little Richard except me!” squealed the man.
Jolo grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and held him in the crook of his arm. The cat didn’t seem to mind at all.
The man took a vial from a drawer and grabbed a syringe off the dusty counter.
“If you hurt that man I’ll tear you apart,” said Jolo.
“Yes, I can’t imagine a more terrible fate,” said the man. He tapped the side of the syringe with his finger and a little of the liquid inside shot out the top.
He started to stick it into Greeley and Jolo blurted out, “If you hurt that man I’ll kill the cat!”
And the man stopped, the needle a few inches over Greeley’s good leg. “You would do no such thing.”
“I’ll roast him and big man over there will eat him.” It was the scariest thing Jolo could think of at the moment.
The man paused. Then he tossed the syringe into a sink, grabbed something from another shelf, broke it in half, slapped Greeley on the face and held the small white thing to his nose. Greeley jumped up, then screamed out in pain.
“My leg’s on fire!”
“Now give me the cat!” demanded the old man. “You cannot go against Hazuki. You’ll all be prepped and fed and that will be that. And if he finds that I’ve helped you, even under coercion, he’ll kill Little Richard!” The old man was nearly in tears.
“No one will hurt Little Richard,” said Jolo. “I’ll protect him. I am Jolo Vargas.”
The man just stared at him, blankly.
“Jolo Vargas,” said Jolo, “You know, the pirate. Former Federation hero and all that.”
Dead silence from the old man who’s face had scrunched up like he’d smelled something worse than the musty, rotten smell of the room.
“He don’t know you, Cap,” said Greeley.
“You’ll protect Little Richard like you protected him?” said the man, pointing at Greeley. “Like you allowed your ship to be sucked into this bit of hell.”
Thirty minutes and several of the black food squares later and Greeley was good enough to move with the help of an old hover bot. He put his arm around the bot and hopped on his good leg and was able to walk in a fashion. The old man, named Wexler, had waited patiently, with the understanding that Jolo, who still had the cat, would not harm it. The old man seemed most inclined to obey with the threat of harm to Little Richard, and was far more afraid of Hazuki than either the not-so-famous pirate Jolo Vargas, or Greeley the wounded mercenary.
Jolo and Greeley stepped back out into the dark underground, the air almost sweet compared to the prep room.
“Where are you going?” said Wexler.
“You’re going to lead us out of here,” said Jolo.
“Where?”
“To our ship.”
“The ship drop point is back that way, where you came from. You know the way. You don’t need me. I will not tell him of your, uh, behavior, and you will remain in his good graces.” The man got up to go but Greeley put out an arm to stop him.
“I think you are lying,” said Greeley. “Besides, we shot two of his boys deader’n shite, and Jolo here shot the man himself.”
Wexler’s eyes got big. “They will kill us all for sure. You are dead fools, and now I shall die with you. Should’ve called in the bot the moment I saw you.”
“The way to my ship?”
Wexler pointed a skinny, pale finger back down the path the way they’d come earlier.
“Liar!” growled Greeley. “Gimme the cat!” Jolo shrugged and started to hand the cat to the big man.
“No!” said Wexler. “I will show you to the drop point and if your ship is still there you will find it. Though we are late for dinner, and that does not increase our chances. We’ll have to take the main road.”
“I thought that way got you killed,” said Jolo.
“That is the fastest way to your ship,” said Wexler.
Jolo massaged his temples with his left hand, his right had found its way to the smooth handle of the Colt. Then he nodded to Greeley.
“Alright then,” said Greeley, jabbing a thick finger into Wexler’s chest. “You in front. An nuttin’ funny, or I’m eatin’ that big rat.”
Here She Comes
And so the unlikely trio made their way along the big path much like Jolo had done earlier, but this was different. The little orange blocks, which Wexler called bricks, extended all the way down the path. On either side were the remains of buildings, storefronts, and other structures Jolo couldn’t make out. All of it covered in black earth. They came upon an intersection that smelled pretty good to Jolo’s nose.
“That way smells good,” said Jolo.
“That’s not the way back to your dead ship.”
“Ship ain’t dead, just ain’t working,” growled Greeley, annoyed that he hadn’t yet found a way to hold onto Betsy and the bot at the same time. “I don’t trust the butcher,” he said, loud enough for Wexler to hear.
“I am a doctor!”
“Hey, Cap’n, he’s a doctor butcher,” said Greeley. “What’s that?”
“Ain’t sure,” said Jolo. “But he’s all we’ve got.”
Jolo walked along carrying the cat nestled in the crook of his left arm, the Colt in the right, pointed straight out into the darkness. He made sure to keep Wexler close. Greeley hobbled along next to him, getting angrier as they went, the pain killers fading with every step.
Even in the dim light, Jolo could just make our their surroundings. This was a main street from long ago, long since covered by earth, then dug out again by God knows what.
They walked along for a good half hour wordlessly. And then Jolo thought he saw a light ahead. Greeley saw it, too. “Three o’clock, Cap’n.”
It blinked again. “Can you hold Betsy and the cat?” Jolo said.
“Sure.” Greeley eased down into a sitting position, wincing and grumbling. Once he’d made it to the ground, his wounded leg outstretched and his face sweaty and hot, he got ahold of Betsy and pointed it right at Wexler. A smile broke out on his face. Then Jolo handed him the cat.
“Never seen a mercenary with a
cat before,” said Jolo. “Kill him if he runs.” And then Jolo sprinted toward an intersection and went down a side road for thirty or forty meters. He marked the spot where he’d last seen the light, but when he got there it was gone.
It was another storefront, but in the darkness he couldn’t make anything out. He felt around in the dirt and his hand brushed against something cold, a metal door handle. The door slid open and he stepped inside, inching forward, reaching out with his hands in the pitch black. He took small steps, the Colt out and ready, but his nose told him there was nothing to fear. This place smelled old and musty, but not like the butcher shop. His hand came on a smooth surface, wood. Much like the handle of the Colt. Then he felt something else. It was a row of books. And another on top of that. He was standing in a corridor with stacks of books on either side. There were several rows and he wanted to stay and investigate more but had to make sure Greeley was okay.
“Anyone here?” he said. “I’m not going to harm you. I’m Jolo Vargas, from Federation space.”
No reply.
Jolo’s hand rested on the edge of a book. It was real. He remembered the book he’d given to Jaylen long ago, but that was just a dream, implanted by Merthon. He pulled the book down and some dust came with it. He shook the book off, opened it and felt the pages, so light and delicate. He wished there was light to see the words. He closed it carefully and slid it into his jacket. “I’m taking a book. Hope you don’t mind.” Then he trotted back to Greeley and Wexler.
“We’re going to be late for dinner,” said Wexler.
“He’s been pacing back and forth ever since you left. Kinda like he’s gotta take a pee or something,” said Greeley.
“What was the light?” said Jolo.
“Walk and I will tell you,” said Wexler. So they started off, Jolo once again with the cat, and the butcher hustling along. “Riff raff is all. Hiding from us. They are the little rats, escaped from the breeding program. They aren’t really going anywhere so the Queen allows them to hide and play their little games.”
“You don’t talk to them?” said Jolo.
The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Box Set Page 47
