Occupied Earth Page 5

  LUC WOKE stiff and freezing. He squinted blind from his makeshift bed. A layer of ice coated the outer blankets and cracked noisily. His face ached, and the tips of his fingers were dark blue. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. A nearby trashcan smoldered, providing little heat. Unmoving bundles of wool peppered the alley, piled together for easy cleaning.

  The smell of garbage lingered in the air. Luc pulled his coat over his nose and mouth and shuffled from the small corridor into the street. He rubbed his red eyes and touched the tender areas of his bruised face. His nose felt thick and throbbed painfully. The previous day’s events trickled back into memory. The disk, the pretty mark, Red Spear. Luc’s tongue scraped against his dry mouth. He was relieved to find he still had his teeth.

  “You’re alive.” T.C. appeared from behind, wrapped in a blanket. “I’ve seen some rough trips, but that was wicked.”

  Luc tried to speak and regretted it. T.C. handed him a cup of milky water and he gulped it down. “What happened?” Luc croaked.

  “Streak, if I had to guess. Which I don’t. You were sweating silver.”

  They turned the corner and emerged into a bustling pavilion. Stalls, carts, and barkers filled every inch of space. The crowd was a mix of humans and working-class Mahk-Re. The aliens towered over the Earthers, but wore the same expression of desperate need.

  “Fresh flour,” one man shouted. “Just off the farms. Only four ration tabs.”

  Another shook a knot of rat corpses. “Meat. Fresh kills, boiled for your safety. One tab gets you two rats.”

  An old woman pushed a cart through the center of the scrum. A black pot sat in the center, bubbling over with foamy broth. “Soup. Stave off the cold. Three rations or ten dollars.”

  T.C. licked his lips as they shuffled near the vendors. Luc felt inside his pockets, fingering a few crumpled bills – money he’d held back from Rickard. His stomach rumbled as he passed the soup cart. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll take two, please.”

  The woman ladled a steaming portion into a large cup and handed it over.

  “Keep the change,” Luc said, handing her a bill, feeling magnanimous.

  They disappeared into the crowd. T.C. sipped at the soup, wincing as he burnt his tongue. Luc held his cup in one hand and took a gulp. The broth favored onions and leeks, but went down hardy. He sighed gratefully.

  “You forget how good soup tastes,” T.C. said. “I think this makes us even.”

  Luc shook his head. “Not by a long shot.”

  The kid grinned. “Happy to have you owe me one.” They stopped at the outskirts of the market. “I need to head out if I’m gonna make my quota. See ya around, Luc.” He started off, dodging the bums that peppered the sidewalk. T.C. stopped after a few yards and turned around. “Hey. Whatever you got into last night, don’t do it again.”

  “Giving me advice now?”

  “Just…this place would suck more without you.” Downing his soup in a long gulp, T.C. took off for greener pastures and fatter wallets.

  Luc reached the warehouse at dusk. He caught his reflection in a window and shuddered. Both eyes were black and bruised, and his nose was swollen. At least he had gotten all of the silver and green flecks off. A strong wind had kicked up from the north and howled through the man-made canyons of the city. The thief just reached the door when a gust pushed him into the building. Inside was warm and humid. Luc heard voices echoing from down in the main hall and went to investigate.

  Rickard and Tomo sat at the old man’s desk, sharing a bottle of Bebasura. A medium-built man in a long coat stood sentinel straight opposite the two. Nearby, an even more imposing Mahk watched the conversation unfold. Both strangers wore golden shields on their belts. Though he couldn’t see it from this distance, Luc knew the letters FBI would be emblazoned across the metal. Like every cop in history, they looked perpetually pissed off.

  Rickard smirked. “They’re not squatters, Agent Harper. They’re tenants, and you’re welcome to look at my records.

  The agent sighed. “Why do you act like we’re on the same side?”

  “We are,” Rickard said. “I have the best interests of this city in mind. Look out there. Industrial ventilation, six generators and a full maintenance section. This isn’t some shanty-town. This is a licensed halfway-house for deposed citizens. All the papers are in order.”

  “How many of these Earthers are criminals?” The Mahk stepped forward, his black eyes narrowing.

  Rickard’s nostrils flared. “Joe, you and I go back, so I’m going to forgive the discourtesy. Crime’s dropped in my slice of the city since we opened our doors. People steal less when they have full stomachs and somewhere warm to sleep.” He gestured to Tomo. “I’m even building bridges with the Mahk community.”

  JoHannas-ra approached Tomo. “Parke ron cholo ap?”

  “Yes,” Rickard interrupted. “Tom is employed of his own free will. And no, I don’t appreciate you trying to speak to my assistant in Mahkanese. You think I’m some fucking degenerate, doesn’t know his Core Mahk from his Elder? Akina far, arsehole.” He glared at the other agent. “I thought we were pass this bullshit, Paul.”

  Harper’s face darkened. “This is a murder investigation, Rickard. At least pretend to give a shit. Six humans dead on the wharf.”

  “Sounds like a light day for the wharf.”

  “One was a veteran.” That quieted the old thief. “Sergeant Samir Pratel, 105th Legionnaires. He should have been on a reintegration compound, spending out his days in peace. Worse yet is the company he kept: Red Spear.” Paul handed Rickard pics of the bodies. “Talon won’t be far behind, and you don’t want that heat.”

  Rickard tapped his chin. “How long ago were the bodies found?”

  Paul sifted through his notes. “A few day ago, but they’re two months old.”

  Luc heard a sneeze and realized with horror that it was his own. All eyes turned toward the shifting shadow by the entrance.

  “Come in, boy. You might as well join the grown-ups.” Rickard’s eyes bulged for just a moment when he saw Luc’s face.

  “Lucky Luc?” Paul said. “Jesus, kid. You grew up fast.”

  Luc’s face reddened. “Yessir, Agent Harper.”

  Ignoring Luc’s damaged face Harper asked, “How many stamps do you have now?”

  Luc squirmed. “Three.”

  “You gotta take better care of yourself kid.” Now he reached a hand out to acknowledge Luc’s bruises. “Looks like your luck is turning for the worse.” He turned to face Rickard. “Major, I’m here as a courtesy, so can you stop dicking me around?”

  Rickard chewed on his lip for a moment before answering. “I’m not saying anything, you understand?”

  “I remember. You don’t help cops.”

  Rickard nodded. “Good. I have noticed that Lake Wenatchee had some unsavory types hanging around the last few months. Might be worth a look.”

  Paul smiled knowingly. He gestured for his partner to lead the way out. “Appreciate the tip, Major.” He looked at Luc with affection. “Stay out of trouble, punk.”

  Luc actually grinned. “Catch the right crook...pig.”

  After the agents were gone, Rickard shot Luc an odd look. “Looks like you picked a fight with a truck. Where’s our little secret?”

  “Gone,” Luc lied. “I was gonna warm up and get back to work.” And help the rebels. “Why did Harper call you ‘Major’?”

  The old Brit gave a sour look. “Didn’t you know I’m part of the Queen’s Royal fucking Guard?” He rolled his eyes. “Harper and I go back to before this world got so shitty. At the time he didn’t know my name, so he referred to me as Major. When we finally met, it just stuck.”

  There were grains of truth, Luc could tell, but Rickard always held a few cards back. Luc knew better than to pry. They shared a comfortable silence for a moment before the older man spoke.

  “Listen. Don’t worry about rent. Warm your bones, drink some Bas, maybe find a pretty girl fro
m the quarters.” He tapped the gory photos as he talked.

  The sudden burst of kindness worried Luc, but he was too tired to be suspicious. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

  “Good,” Rickard said. He seemed relieved. Rickard disappeared into his shop, staring at the pictures of the dead rebels. Moments later, he started into a hushed argument with Tomo.

  Luc shuffled over to his bunk and stripped down. He relished heat from the generators; his fingertips were still purple. Even his lumpy mattress never felt so soft. The smell of wok-fried vegetables and steamed buns drifted up from the Chinese quarter in a moist cloud. Luc’s mouth watered. The onion and leek soup seemed a lifetime ago. He gazed into the shadows and imagined that he could see the stars shining through. He closed his eyes and let exhaustion take him.

  Hours later, when he was sure Rickard was asleep, Luc slipped out of the warehouse and made his way to the old market. Two rebels emerged from the shadows when he arrived. An Asian man with a scarred face held up a hand.

  “Luc?”

  The thief nodded.

  “I’m Chen, and this is Lilith.” He pointed, and a stocky older woman appeared. “We’re headed to the Union district.”

  Luc shivered. “What about the curfew?” The work slowdowns on the dock had resulted in a curfew being imposed.

  Chen and Lilith shared a grin and walked away. Luc lingered a moment.

  “Guys? That wasn’t an answer. Guys?”

  THE OLD tram tunnels were abandoned a decade before and had become a covert transport line for the resistance. Using hand-powered carts, they could move around the city without interference.

  Everyone on the team wore work clothes and -- except for Luc – light armor underneath. The black disk pressed against his chest; he had meant to get rid of it like Rickard had wanted but right now the weight of it oddly comforted him. Lilith and Chen sat on either side and worked the cranks. Chen hadn’t spoken since they boarded, but Lilith hadn’t stopped talking.

  “No, it was the cheerleader’s mouth.” Everyone laughed. Her husky voice somehow made the dirty jokes even better.

  “Where do you get these?” Luc asked.

  Lilith beamed. “Scarlet and I hid in this caved-in bookstore in Newark. Stayed there about a year. Never was one for reading shit, so I stuck to joke books. Kept us sane.” She punctuated the remark by clearing her nostrils over the moving tracks.

  Five minutes later, Chen stopped the tram near an old platform. Scarlet and three large soldiers waited for them. She pulled Luc off the cart and stared into his eyes.

  “Luc, this is Silo and the Twins.”

  The thief’s eyebrows furrowed; the two men looked nothing alike.

  Scarlet chewed on a protein bar. “Do you understand how this is going to work?”

  Luc nodded. “Chen briefed me. Only sorta impossible.”

  “You’ll be fine. It’ll be crowded.”

  “That’s not always better.” He swallowed a lump down and followed the group out of the station. They walked in silence, and Luc practiced his movements in his head. When he looked up again, they were there.

  Gastropod had once been a stylish pub, serving all types of customers. After the Occupation, it became a favored haven for those who had been members of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union Local 19. The Mahk-Ra had outlawed unions outright but there were still plenty of old timers around who now and then encouraged work slowdowns like the current one underway. Just enough to get attention for certain safety demands but not enough to have the Talon move in. `

  There were casuals around, those seeking day work unloading a ship or even those who would have been called scabs back in the day, seeking work during this period but also to curry favor with their alien masters. Human and Mahk-Re workers populated the pub, the dark interior was packed to the brim, and loud music blared from the jukebox. A slender Mahk-Re stood guard outside. Dockworkers were allowed the privilege of moving about during the curfew, provided they had their papers.

  “Make it quick,” Scarlet said. “We got a schedule.”

  Jesus. Luc let out a breath through his nostrils. He tightened his stomach and stepped from the shadows, walking with purpose. The huge Mahk at the door held up a hand. “Curfew pass.”

  Luc handed over the forged document. He didn’t have time to worry. The bouncer tossed it back without a glance.

  “Move it.”

  Inside, the noise was deafening. Luc held his hands over his ears and walked to the bar. The stench of stale beer, greasy rations and sweat overpowered him. Everyone in the pub wore colorful ID cards. Red badges were security, yellow for fuel, and green for maintenance. Only white badges worked for their target. The risk was great; stealing from a dockworker meant hard time.

  There had to be a hundred blue collar humans and aliens in the bar, and more than half wore white cards on their coveralls. Some of the IDs were dull, almost gray, and others glowed white. Those were the active cards, the ones with valid passes for work. Luc honed in. He cracked his fingers and licked the inside of his teeth. A familiar feeling grew in his stomach, much stronger than usual. His ritual had to be cut short. There was a strict time limit, and Luc didn’t plan on being left behind.

  The first dockworker slammed into his shoulder. Luc rolled, feigning drunk, and ran his hands down the man’s chest. The badge snapped off under his palm and slid into his pocket. A few stumbling steps later he fell onto a table, knocking glasses to the floor. Three men shot up, swearing and swatting at him. Luc fended them off, slurring his words and slapping at their shoulders. They finally shoved him to the ground, where he disappeared into a sea of legs, along with three new badges.

  Luc recovered, brushing crushed peanut shells from his back. He spotted a rough-looking man, a shift supervisor judging from the markings on his badge, chewing on a roll of jerky in the corner. The front of his badge gleamed in the dark room. Luc weaved his way to the grizzled old timer. One hand snapped out, catching a half-drunk bottle of Bebasura off the bar. Luc grinned glassy eyed.

  “How’r’you doin, boss man?”

  “Goddamn Director of Ports shut down negotiations again.” The supervisor leered down at Luc. “You better be off shift, asshole. I’m not gonna get jammed up because you can’t hold your shit.”

  Luc wobbled his head back and forth. “I’m fine. Jussa lil bit ta drink.”

  “Idiot.” The older man grabbed Luc’s collar. “Let’s get you out of here before you get yourself killed.”

  Too easy. Luc’s free hand dropped the beer bottle, catching a hold of the retaining pin on the badge clasp. The bottle shattered, spraying the supervisor with stinky foam. He pushed Luc away in disgust, and the badge came off with him. Luc made it to the exit. He was ready for another go when strong hands wrapped around his throat.

  Cold air blasted him in the face. Luc flew into the alley behind the bar. Garbage and snow piled up on the walls, cushioning the impact. He took a second to catch his breath and rose to his feet. Two stone-faced men stared back. Both wore shining white badges.

  “Fellas.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” one growled.

  Luc hunched a shoulder. “Heard there was extra hands needed around here.”

  “Try again.” The second one sneered. “I saw you take an ID.”

  Shit. “Look guys, this is all a little misunderstanding.”

  “We’ll see how that story holds up with the mocks.” The first man approached.

  “Wait!” He reached into his shirt. “I’ve got money. I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”

  Both closed in until Luc could smell the rot in their teeth. “Money, and the badge.”

  “Of course.” Luc brought up a clenched fist and set it against his chest. The men leaned in closer, blinking at him. Luc opened his palm and blew crushed streak out in a cloud, directly into their eager faces.

  The powder sprayed all over the dockworker’s eyes and moths and they dropped. One held his throat and hacked, t
he other twitched on the ground as though electrified. Luc grabbed both of their IDs and stuffed them in his pocket. He rejoined Scarlet and the other rebels, never looking back.

  THE DOCKING moor towered over the intersection of Pike Street and 6th Avenue. Onyx metal glistened under various spotlights, swaying in the heavy wind. Elite shock troops in silver power-armor patrolled the grounds. Luc chewed on his cheek and quietly panicked.

  “With the badges and uniforms, we’ll walk right in.” Scarlet peered around the corner of the alley in which they stood. She glanced back at the team. “We just need access to the ship.”

  Luc kicked his feet to try and get some warmth into them. “Well, you guys should be good to go. I can make my own way home.” He managed one step before Chen caught him with a palm to the chest.

  “You’re not done yet, thief.” Scarlet pointed toward the ramp. “There’s still one more badge to grab.”

  Chen handed Luc a dockworker’s uniform.

  “I got you what you needed,” he said as he reluctantly stepped into the loose fitting clothes. “What else do you want?”

  As they watched, a Mahk-Ra emerged from the office. He wore a sharp black suit with CP stitched on the lapels, and, to Luc’s shock, his skin sported blue splotches and his scalp was hairless.

  “That,” Scarlet said, “is Portus-ra. He’s the Adjudicator for this territory.”

  Chen leaned in. “And the head of CP for the city.” He spat. “Mocktard fuck.”

  Scarlet nodded. “He has the access pad for the ship. We need it.” Before Luc could argue, she pushed him out of the shadows and toward the ramp.

  They walked in a tight pack, crossing the distance to the first checkpoint. Two armed soldiers halted them. A quick scan of their IDs showed all were active and they went through. The next few minutes were a blur as they passed three more inspections, all without more than a second glance. The mocks had human-control down to a science, and didn’t argue with a valid badge.