Rork climbed into the dented pod again and found the red first aid kit. He found a bandage and wrapped his foot up right. It stung and the bones ached at the slightest touch but the white gauze comforted him. He took four pain pills and gave himself an injection of something that looked like a painkiller. His world quickly numbed and he stumbled backwards out of the pod.
The girl stood up and stretched her little arms to space. She looked up at Rork, her head cocked to one side.
“You’re well-fed. Someone, somewhere loves you. We’ll find them. Don’t worry.” Rork collected Zero’s limp and light body in his arms and the girl grabbed on to his belt. They hobbled along towards the passenger terminal.
A low, shiny black car zoomed towards them and stopped next to a silver-yellow cruiser. Its prow ended in a sharp point and a rod that stuck out beyond that. Above it, at the back, a round engine stood proudly on each side. A tuxedoed man exited the car. His black collar sported two points that reached up to his ears like the peaks of a perfectly curved mountain. The back of the jacket ended in a long, stiff tail that tapered down to his knees.
The man ran around to the other side, tapped it and the door slid back. A waifish, blue-haired woman in a backless, translucent pink dress stepped out and together they jogged to the yellow ship. The hatch closed, it floated up above the force field and blazed off towards the crescent Earth.
“I don’t think they’ll mind if we borrow their car.” Rork sprint-hopped over to the passenger side and let Zero fall into the wide, gray leather seat, his head swinging right and left over his chest.
The girl pushed her way into the back seat, stepping on Rork’s bad foot in the process. He yelped, despite the painkillers. Rork closed the door, hobbled to the other side, fell in and turned the car around.
They raced toward the passenger terminal, dodging parked cars next to empty ship bays as they went.
“Everyone’s leaving and we’re going in.” He looked in the rear-view mirror at the girl. He shook his head. “Bad, very bad.”
“Very bad,” she repeated and held her index finger aloft.
He smirked despite himself. They’d get past the terminal, get medical attention and then figure out their next step. The whole city couldn’t be destroyed. In a city of two-hundred million, there was somewhere to hide, if only to catch their breath. There had to be, even if it was on a crater-mining chain gang or under a urine-soaked bunk in a cyborg whorehouse.
“Automatic control engaged. Destination: home.” The steering wheel turned against Rork’s hand and he let go. The wheels bumped and he was pushed deeper into his seat. The car flew up and around the terminal building and the darkened, spire-like control tower. It passed through a strange double-guillotine gate, like a mouth waiting to chew him up. They were in the city.
“News,” he said.
The middle of the car’s control panel lit up and a rising electronic sound came from it. “—was destroyed. The fusion device is believed to have been planted by Rork Sollix, a known agent of the Cartel who is currently sought here in Luna City on a range of charges that now include mass murder.”
“Brax!” Rork jammed his palms into his eyes in a vain attempt to make it go away. He went limp but his mind raged.
This bastard set me up hard. This bastard...
He ran through the possibilities. Capture. Death. Or being always on the run, always looking over his shoulder.
The EG would never let this go and Barbary would never confess that he set me up. Never.
“For those of you joining this broadcast now, Luna City is under attack by Cartel forces. First, this morning, the massive Cartel-chartered trainship
Achilles
rammed the X Tower, damaging the dome and triggering tens of thousands of bulkheads to close across the city as millions died in the vacuum of space.
“Seconds after the
Achilles
impacted the Moon’s surface, a fusion device triggered, covering the city in radiation and instantly vaporizing a hundred square kilometers of hyper-urban tracts. Sought in connection with this mass murder terrorist attack is Rork Sollix, a notorious Cartel agent.”
A notorious Cartel agent? I just became one for the first time today, according to these snoofs. How did I become a notorious one already?
Rork’s mug shot from the Indian prison flashed on the screen.
“That’s it.” Zero sat up and glared at Rork. “I’m taking the child to Earth and we’ll find her parents and that’s it. If I have to turn myself in to the authorities, so be it.”
Rork cocked an eyebrow.
“Set the car down! I want out!” He leaned over and grabbed Rork’s throat. “Now!”
“T
HREE
MORE
, barkeep.”
Rork rooted around in what was left of the holey pockets of the rags he wore. He had no money but he wouldn’t tell the portly barkeep or his musclebound friend that. He smiled to himself through the brain haze of the spirit beer.
A pirate again, and alone, finally.
This was right. This was proper.
A blanket of guilt smothered him. He never should have called Zero a fraud. That was too much. Why did he do it? The swami was frustrating to be around but at least he was around.
Not anymore.
The heavyset barkeep waddled around the empty bar to the dark booth Rork enjoyed. He set down three spirit beers, each with a fizzling foamy head and symmetrically sweaty sides.
It was perfect.
Rork reached for one but the barkeep refused to let go of the transparent mugs’ long handles.
“Money?” the barkeep asked.
Rork grinned and fingered the rags at his chest. “But of course man, can’t you see I’m a sheriff’s deputy and an astronaut to boot!”
The barkeep’s mouth transformed from a dark frown to a straight line, the only sign he was mildly entertained by Rork’s flim-flam.
“You’d better or I’ll be keeping a piece of you.” He released the drinks and waddled back behind the bar.
Rork grabbed the first of the three new beers and downed it, his hands shaking. Beer spilled over onto himself and the fine imitation grooved dark grain wood table. He guzzled the second, beer spilling onto his cheeks and running, icy, down over his throat and onto his chest.
“Hey, astronaut!” yelled the barkeep. “Watch it! Final warning.”
Rork set the beer down and wiped his mouth and neck.
The barkeep turned on a screen behind the bar and the news came on.
“I’d really rather have my peace,” Rork said.
“Tough.”
Lunar Apocalypse. The words flashed on the screen in yellow on a red background with digital flames licking and slowly crisping the bottoms of the letters.
“The death toll: catastrophic,” the dark-skinned slender beauty of a news announcer said. In the background, panicked people screamed and trampled each other. The X Tower disappeared in a mushroom cloud and people fell upwards into space as the artificial gravity and magnetic shield failed.
Rork turned away from the TV and towards the wall. He picked up the third beer and took a small sip. His stomach turned and a long, deep burp issued from his gut.
Strong knuckles rapped on Rork’s table and he turned, startled. It was the barkeep.
“Is it really so hard to have some manners? Just because it’s a bar doesn’t mean it’s a dive, much less a dump.” He shook his head and walked back behind the bar.
“The perpetrator?” the Asian-eyed newswoman continued, “One Rork Sollix, a known Cartel agent that sources say was once banned from a Luna City bar and is now determined to wipe out all Lunans.”
What the hell? Where do they get this from?
Rork pushed his palms deep into his eye sockets and wished he was in another solar system.
“Rork Sollix, you’re under arrest,” came a deep voice from behind him.
Rork went stiff. “Geez, let me finish my beer, alright?” He grabbed at his drink but something thin and hard jabbed into the bumpy crown of his head.
“Don’t move.”
“Alright. Alright.” He put his hands up.
At least I’ll get my foot taken care of.
Slow, careful footsteps sounded behind him.
But Lala.
That was an obligation he couldn’t shirk. He readied his fists, his upper body swaying like the drunkard he was.
A mop of dark hair appeared around the corner of the high-backed booth. He readied his fists. The black hair plopped into the seat across from him.
He raised an eyebrow and burped.
“Still want to get into the Barbary Cylinder?” It was Mary Ellen.
“Jumping Jupiter, woman, I almost beat that gorgeous face of yours to a pulp. I’m half-drunk! Anything could’ve happened.” He burped and his head flopped back.
She shook her head. “This is about the worst moment for you to drink.”
A rolling burp escaped his throat. Halfway through, he covered his mouth and glanced at the barkeep. “I lied. I’m fully drunk.” He grinned at her.
“Are you ready to get the bastard?”
“I’m ready to get another few pints! Barkeep!” Rork leaned in to Mary Ellen. “Can I borrow some money?”
Mary Ellen fanned the smell of Rork’s breath away. “Where would I get a dime? I’ve been on the run for months.”
“The barkeep’s going to kill us.” Rork slouched back in the tall, right-angled bench. “This is really uncomfortable, you know.” He pushed his butt and legs to one side and half-lay against the wall. “Yeah, that’s better.” He closed his eyes.
The table bumped and Mary Ellen whispered something far away. Rork didn’t care. He had to sleep. His thoughts turned to Lala and a tropical island.
A frigid wet hit Rork in the face and ran straight down to his underwear. Rork stood up fast, his mouth open. “Hey!”
Mary Ellen grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the booth. Rork limped along behind her, bent over and trying to pull his pants away from his now icy private parts.
“What about the bill?” Rork whispered.
“I took care of it.” Mary Ellen pulled him through the too-narrow, creaky plastic front door and onto the black street.
The spring-enabled door swung shut and clipped Rork’s bad foot. He groaned and held the partial appendage gingerly in his two hands.
“Quiet.” Mary Ellen turned and batted her eyes, her black hair swaying above her ample bosom. “Now. Do I have your attention?”
Rork nodded, his eyes roving from her chest to her face and back.
“Good. Barbary will take the kids to a transport hub and distribute them from there to the different mines. Do you understand what that means?”
Rork nodded.
“That means that we only have a short time to save them.”
Rork forced himself to stare at her curly-lashed brown eyes. “Of course.” Rork’s world wobbled from side to side.
“Careful. We’ll need a large ship, too, really big. And I need you to pilot it.”
“I’m kind of drunk.” Rork burped.
The road was narrow and long. Low shops and towering capsulement buildings lined it. Cross streets contradicted its stretch straight to the hazy horizon.
But there was no traffic today, only a smokey miasma that grayed out the artificial landscape even more than its steel and aluminum construction. The air smelled of burning metal and sour flesh. Rork felt the urge to heave.
The bar door opened and clipped Rork’s foot again. He stifled the scream and hopped along, willing the pain to oblivion.
A sky-blue-suited man stepped out, pulse pistol in hand, a yellow star pasted on his chest. “Lady, have you seen anyone leaving here?”
“Dark-haired guy, kind of dangerous-looking?”
The cop nodded.
She pointed toward the spaceport. “He ran down that way about ten minutes ago.”
The cop held her in a steady gaze. He turned to Rork. “And who might you be?”
“A cripple and a drunk.”
The cop grabbed Rork’s face and held his cheekbones tightly. “Hey, bring me that photo.”
Mary Ellen played with the zipper on her blouse, revealing breast, then hiding it, then revealing it again. She inched her other hand towards her lower back.
Another cop exited the bar and handed the first one a screen. The first one held it up to Rork’s face and compared.
“Could be him. Take this one—”
Mary Ellen pulled a pulse pistol from her lower back and pointed it at the cops. “‘Fraid I can’t allow that. Close the door gently.”
The cop obliged.
“Lay down in front of the door and set your pistols in front of you.”
The cops laid their bulk down, their hands ahead of them, palms down. They pushed the guns away.
“Get their guns,” she said to Rork.
“I don’t deserve to be armed,” Rork mumbled.
Mary Ellen stepped over to him and slapped him hard across the face. “I said pick up the guns, Rork Sollix!”
The door opened, pushing the cops on the floor forward. Three other cops fell through the doorway at once.
“Run!” Mary Ellen sprinted in the direction of the spaceport.
Rork hopped slowly after her.
“Rork Sollix,” one yelled, “you’re under arrest for crimes against—”
Another cop piled on and rolled over top of the others, out of the door. The first one picked up his pulse pistol and fired a shot.
Rork collapsed to the ground, head-first and didn’t move.
“I
CAN
’
T
— The pain is just too much.”
Rork lay flat on his nose on the cold tarmac. Everything hurt. Those charged electrical wires ran through his limbs, his gut, chest and head again. The headache was a low brain buzz that made his stomach churn and his vision blur.
“The ship is just five-hundred meters down the road.” Mary Ellen crouched down and rolled Rork over onto his back. She returned fire to the bar. “Rork, we’re close. First the children, then Barbary. Then you can die, if you want, but not before we do this.”
“What do you care?”
The haze grew thicker and the sky opened into a muddy rain. The cops fell over themselves back into the bar.
She grabbed Rork at the shoulders and pulled him towards a capsulement. The front door was open. The tiny, yellow-tiled lobby sported a single chair and an elevator. She dropped him next to the chair and sat down.