Occupied Earth Read online

  The injured alien laughed at me. “Don’t worry. He’s gonna die just like you will.”

  I sat there a moment, my mind finding its way to the answer. I glanced down at Promise.

  Lightly snoring—she’d fallen asleep.

  Do it.

  She didn’t hear me climb out of the rig and open the back door. Nor did she see me slip the empty hypodermic needle into the crook of the mock’s elbow. She didn’t know anything about old-fashioned air bubbles.

  “Bad air,” I whispered.

  I left his ass somewhere on Hauser, near an overfilled Dumpster. No last words. No last look.

  Now, go.

  Heart in my throat, I climbed back into the rig and raced southeast. Destination: Compton. Not many mocks there. The safest place now for the human race.

  One more chance.

  LUC SUCKED his fingers as a powerful wind gusted through the street. Even with a shirt, hoodie, and jacket, the cold was unbearable. The smell of filth permeated this part of the city where municipal service was spotty. Garbage was piled high at the corners of buildings along with the dirty snow. Seagulls picked at it. The trash forced pedestrians to cluster at crossings as they trudged from one sidewalk to another, all under the impatient gaze of late-morning traffic. For Seattle’s residents, it was inconvenient. For Luc, it was opportunity.

  Just a few more, he thought. He watched a dump truck rumble up the street. It was only a few feet from the corner when a small boy darted out in front of the vehicle. The driver blasted the horn, screeched his brakes, but didn’t have time to stop. Luc, already in motion, grabbed the kid and fell back onto the sidewalk, the truck missing them by inches.

  “Jesus,” Luc said, breathless. “What the hell are you doing?” He turned the kid around to reveal a dirty face and a mess of brown hair. “T.C.?”

  The boy frowned. “Luc? Shit.” T.C. pushed away and brushed at his raggedy clothes. “I wasn’t looking to get saved by you.”

  Luc groaned. “You gotta stop playing this game. One of these days, you’re gonna come up short a Good Samaritan.”

  T.C. grinned and saluted with a bony hand. “Yes, sir.” He spun around and took a step when Luc caught him by the collar.

  “What the shit?” He gawked at Luc’s outstretched hand for a beat before pulling a worn leather wallet from his pocket. “Just practicing.”

  Luc was about to answer when something caught his attention. The thieves froze in place as two Civility Patrol officers passed within spitting distance. They wore matching black suits with CP stitched in gold over the breast. Both Mahk-Ra were tall, well over seven feet, and had the same dour expression.

  Luc swatted the boy on the back. “Best clear out.” He watched T.C. run down the sidewalk for a moment before returning his attention to the pedestrians. Fifteen long minutes later, the mark arrived.

  He was heavyset, dressed in a brown business suit with a long overcoat. A leather briefcase dangled in one hand. Luc’s green eyes lit up as he put the man through the inspection. Dressed nice, but that doesn’t mean anything. A poor man in a fancy suit is still a shitty take. Newer clothes, though, so that’s a point. Fat, and who can stay fat on these rations? Three points. Expensive briefcase, that’s four. But looks like he’s in a real hurry. Add two. He counted in his head. Over five. Sweet.

  Four points or less was either too risky or not a good enough take. Luc approached the intersection, his whole body tingling.

  The sign on the pre-occupation era signal switched to an orange walking figure and the crowd moved. Luc kept pace, pulling his hood down around his head. He stared at his feet and cracked his knuckles. Fifteen feet. He licked the inside of his teeth and breathed frigid air through his nostrils. Ten feet. A familiar fear built in his stomach. He looked up. Go!

  He was just another pasty office worker. His jowls wobbled with each step, and he’d missed a spot shaving under his chin. Luc advanced, stepping out a little too far with his right foot. He tumbled forward, twirling his hands to regain his balance. The two collided, spinning around in an awkward dance before stopping. Luc blushed.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Luc said. He brushed the mark’s coat and squeezed his shoulders. “Jesus, what a klutz.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m fine.”

  “Seriously, man. Did I hurt you? Gosh, I shoulda’ been watching where I was going.”

  Rolling his eyes, the mark turned and scampered to the other side of the street. Luc continued his stroll. He turned down an alley, and then cut left through an abandoned market. Stalls lined the wide street, their awnings drawn and windows sealed. The stench of rotted produce and fish lingered. Luc ducked behind what once was a butcher’s stand and pulled out the mark’s leather wallet. His feet crunched on broken glass and empty streak injectors.

  Luc had to bite down on his tongue to keep from shouting. Over two hundred dollars in paper money. He tucked the bills into a small pocket of his pants, then slid the wallet through a crack in the stall. He left with a spring in his step.

  At the end of the small street, just before the turn toward the subways, Luc stopped. His eyes narrowed at an unwelcome sight. The local street element resorted to tagging their turf in a battle for artistic supremacy; actual violence meant contending with the CP -- or worse, Talon. The graffiti on the wall facing him didn’t belong to any of them. Luc traced the figure: a red circle with the letters RIA in the center. Resistance Is All.

  Lost in thought, Luc stepped from the alley and collided with another pedestrian. His fingers reflexively dipped into the gentleman’s jacket. When Luc looked up, his hand snapped out.

  The Mahk-Ra glared down at the pickpocket. The alien’s dark eyes were hidden behind opaque sunglasses. Strange, dark blue splotches covered half of the mock’s face and hands—Luc could only wonder what caused them—while his head was completely hairless. The occupier wore a tailored suit with CP stitched on the lapels. .

  “Sorry,” Luc croaked.

  In a cold voice, the Mahk-Ra replied: “Watch where you are going, Earther.” Large hands gripped Luc’s shoulders and shifted him to the side. The alien walked past without another word.

  Luc watched it turn the corner before releasing his breath. He collapsed against a storefront window, sucking in lungful’s of air and letting them out in panicked spurts. Fuck me, that was close. Jesus. Luc looked down at his hands and saw a palm-sized black disk between his fingers. He marveled at the case for a moment before realizing what he had done. Oh shit.

  THE LARGE warehouse hadn’t been built for comfort, but it was home. Rickard had inherited the underground haven from his former boss—or taken it over, more likely. A shanty-town of metal and cardboard and cloth erected over time, climbing two stories high. Now there were schools, markets, and even a theater crammed into the space. Almost four hundred people resided there, and they worked to make it more livable all the time. With working water, adequate heat, and strong-arm security, it was a hell of a lot better than life outside on the streets.

  Luc chewed his thumb and groaned. “How much longer, man?”

  Rickard didn’t look up. He wore jeweler’s glasses over his regular set, which made his blue eyes cartoonish and large. Silver streaks ran through his once black hair and beard. He held a glittering gem at the end of a long pair of tweezers while his other hand shined a bright light. After a moment, he set down the stone and leaned back on his stool. Rickard brought his gaze over to Luc. He placed his calloused hands over his stomach.

  “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “I know it’s short,” Luc began.

  “And yet you came home anyway.”

  Luc rubbed the back of his neck. “I can get the rest.”

  Rickard took off both sets of glasses and rubbed his eyes. “You sure about that?” Before he had come to America, he had been an interrogator with the British Royal Marines. Or so he claimed. All that had been long before the Trick or Treat War. “Do you know how much you still owe me? Because I do. I
’ve got it right on my board. Three thousand, not including interest.”

  Luc bit down on his thumb a little harder. “I would have hit more, but I ran into CP. I came back here to lay low.”

  That got the older man’s attention. He leaned forward and glowered. “You mean to tell me that you rubbed shoulders with the law and then dragged ass back to my goddamn shop?”

  “He didn’t follow me,” Luc sputtered. “Gave me the shark eyes and went on his merry.”

  “Just like that?” Rickard whistled. “Tom, are you listening to this shit?”

  From behind one of the shelves, an imposing figure emerged. He stood just over seven feet of taut muscle. His skin was dark gray. “Adame dun. I heard.” Tomo-Re wore only loose-fitting pants tied with a wire cable. Dirt and grease covered his body. He stared at Luc without emotion.

  “And have you ever known CP to pass up a thief?”

  Tomo cocked his head to the side. Strands of silver hair clung to his sweaty head. “The Civility Patrol responds to all cases. That is their mandate. It is unlikely they would pass this one along.”

  Rickard raised his eyebrows in Luc’s direction. “What do you have to say to that?”

  “He wasn’t fucking there. Are you going to take his word over mine?”

  The older man rose to his full height and came around his desk. “Kid, you ain’t always the most honest player in the room.”

  Luc’s eyes burned. He dug through his pockets. “I’m telling the truth. How else would I get this?” He pulled out the black disk and waved it in the air.

  Rickard and Tomo stared at the onyx object, their mouths agape. The old man finally reached out and plucked it from Luc’s fingers. He examined the disk, tracing its curves.

  Luc paced. “I told you. Didn’t know what I was doing ‘til it was done. And the mock never felt the lift.”

  Rickard squeezed the center of the disk until it emitted a loud click. The two halves opened like a clamshell. Inside, resting on black foam, was a small silver cube. The edges were rounded and the sides were pockmarked in flecks of emerald. The smell of anise wafted around them.

  “Fuck me sideways. Streak.” Rickard picked up the cube and sniffed. He coughed suddenly, his entire face turning red. “Shit, that’s about as pure as you get.” He continued to hack, catching his breath a minute later. “Christ, Luc. You know the rules. I don’t want this crap in my house.”

  Luc stammered. “I didn’t know, Rickard. I swear.”

  Rickard grabbed Luc’s chin in his fingers and pulled the younger man’s face in close. “Look. I’m damned impressed you managed a nick like this without getting your throat slit, so I’m inclined to be lenient. But you fucked up bringing this shit here. I want it gone. Not dumped nearby. Not hidden in one of my safes. Gone. Do you understand?”

  Luc nodded.

  “Say it, Luc. I need to hear the words.”

  “I understand, sir.” Luc’s lower lip trembled.

  Rickard smiled and pushed Luc away. He went back to his desk and selected another stone from a small pile. Flipping down his jeweler’s glasses, he examined the rock for imperfections. “Steer clear of patrols, boy. You get caught with that mess, I don’t know you.”

  SUNSET BROUGHT bitter cold and snow flurries. Pedestrians doubled over, hoping to make it to shelter before they froze. Luc shifted from one foot to the other, his toes numb yet burning at the same time.

  One mark, that’s all I need. More than once, he saw a promising candidate, only to find a mock nearby. The occupiers had an innate ability to spot a lift, and they had a unique definition of justice. Luc felt the bones of his left pinky, massaging the spot where the joint jumped to the side. Lesson learned.

  His hand dipped into his pocket and fingered the smooth disk. Streak. Rickard called it the ‘bane of the broken.’ Streak had arrived in the city about the same time the Red Spear started their operations. The way the rumor went, the drug was introduced by the aliens as a way to dull the population. Now that’s a terrifying thought.

  The sound of clicking heels drew his attention. Luc searched for the source and froze. There, weaving through the crowd, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her thick coat was buttoned to her neck, and a plush scarf fluttered behind her. Luc stared, enchanted.

  Hey fucker! Snap out of it. He blinked, focusing on the woman and starting his count. Make-up, and that’s expensive as hell. Two points. He watched her move, admiring the sway of her hips. Hands in her pockets, but she’s wearing gloves. Something worth checking? No, don’t guess. He tallied the score. Not enough. The woman paused for a brief moment and glanced around the intersection. Her tongue touched her upper lip. Fuck it.

  Luc rehearsed the movement in his head as they neared. Getting into that coat would require finesse. He searched the crowd until he saw an opportunity. Seconds later, Luc made his move.

  His first step brought him in-line with a plump woman. He feigned a hit, rolling off her ample arm toward the street. Luc dragged his back foot, waiting until it caught on someone else’s shoe. Using the momentum, he stumbled out toward traffic, pinwheeling his arms and shouting. At the last moment, Luc reached back and snatched a passing arm, pulling himself away from the asphalt. He ended up inches from the mark’s face. Her perfume swarmed him.

  “I’m so sorry, I was just trying to stop my fall.”

  The woman wasn’t angry at all. “It’s fine. Are you OK?” She was a little shorter than him, maybe a few years older, and even prettier up close.

  “Yeah, geez. Just not my day.” His fingers dipped into her pocket, sliding out as their bodies separated. A perfect bump. “Thanks for the save.”

  She disappeared into the crowd. Luc walked to the end of the block and ducked into a corner, snickering. He opened his gloved hand and his pulse quickened. He’d hoped for a wallet or maybe a piece of jewelry. Instead, a small red card rested in his palm. Hand lettered on it was the word GOTCHA.

  “Nice lift, kid.”

  Luc looked up in time to see a fist rocket into his face, and the world exploded into stars.

  THE ROOM stank of sweat and piss and blood. Overhead, florescent lights flickered and snapped. Dead bugs packed one end of the fixture, casting a clumpy shadow toward the corner. Luc observed it all with one eye shut and an ice pack pressed against his head. There were no chairs, so he rested on the floor with his back against the bare concrete and waited. An hour later, the door opened. The woman from the street walked in, wearing a change of clothes. She looked down at Luc and frowned.

  “I’m sorry for the rough treatment. Augustus is…zealous.”

  “Where am I?”

  “East of the city.”

  Luc nodded. “You’re Red Spear.”

  “What’s left of the district cell,” she said. “I’m Scarlet.”

  They both turned as the door opened and a mean-looking man entered. He wore a pistol in a worn holster on his thigh, and looked at Luc with a mixture of malice and apathy. The young thief couldn’t help but stare at the long scar running from the man’s eye to the back of his shaved head.

  “That was a pretty sweet move on the street, my man. The way you looked so embarrassed. So sincere. And that pull?” He snickered. “You’ve got a gift.”

  Luc turned his face away. “Please don’t kill me.”

  The man smiled wide. “No need to fear, brother.” He sat down on his hands. “I’m Augustus. Who are you?”

  “Luc.” He tasted bile. “Luc Dufault.”

  Augustus tilted his head back and forth. “Well, Luc. I got a question for you.” He pulled the black disk from his pocket. “Where did you get this?”

  Luc held his breath. “I found it.”

  Augustus bared his teeth. “Not fucking likely.” He dangled the disk in front of Luc’s nose. “This is a mock case.” He squeezed the sides and the disk opened, revealing the silver cube. “And this is streak. But I’m sure you knew that.”

  “Please, I didn’t—”

 
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

  Scarlet pushed away from the wall. “Augustus, come on.”

  “I can smell a junkie a mile away.” He lifted the cube out of the case, rubbing the sides. His thumb came away glittering with residue. “Do you need a hit? Are you coming down right now?”

  “Don’t.” Luc edged away. “Look, I’m sorry about before. What do you want from me?”

  “Your talent.” Augustus slapped Luc hard on the leg. “We’re planning something big, Luc. And we need you. A quick dip or two and you’re free to go.”

  “Free?” Luc asked. “Whatever you resisters are planning, the rest of us will pay for it.”

  “And you’re better?” Augustus snorted. “How many people lost ration tabs because of you? Or hard earned cash?”

  “They may have gone to bed hungry, but at least they woke up.”

  Augustus grimaced. “He sounds like you, Scarlet.”

  She ignored him. “This is important, Luc.”

  “Don’t bother.” Augustus licked his teeth. “Go help the others prep. I’ll finish here.” He waited for her to leave. “I’ll send someone to grab you tomorrow afternoon. Don’t leave town.”

  Two very large men entered the room and lifted Luc up.

  “Drop him off somewhere safe,” Augustus said, putting the closed disk container in Luc’s shirt pocket. He faced him, looking almost remorseful. “It’s pretty cold tonight. You’ll need something to keep you ‘til morning.” Augustus then said, “Sweet dreams, ladrón.” He blew powdered streak into Luc’s nostril. A single breath later, the world exploded.

  LUC HIT the ground hard, rolling twice before stopping. He barely heard the van speed away through the drug-induced fog. The world bucked and churned, and Luc could only grip the concrete beneath him and hold on for dear life.

  After a minute -- or maybe an hour -- he managed to get to his feet. The small strip of sky overhead flicked between deep purple and pale green every time he blinked so he tried not to do that as much.

  That made him laugh, but when he did his teeth tried to escape his mouth. Luc chased them around the alley, cramming them into his pockets with a curse. He licked his vacant gums and tasted blood, then vomited golden gems onto his shoes. I should hide these for later. Luc covered the jewels with garbage. When he was done, he sprinted headfirst into the nearest wall.