Lasertown Blues Page 10

  “Hey, mate, y’ know what’s coming up? The weekend, I’ll tell you, that’s what. And you know where I’m going to head? The Velvet Pit, eh?”

  Fritzi rumbled. He stood, shirt off, in front of his plastic locker, jaws working.

  “Uh-oh,” Boggs said, as he came in behind Jack. Others crowded the locker row, too.

  The big man thundered, “You don’t get a weekend. They took you in for punishment for starting the fight.”

  “Oh, no, y’got it all wrong. I lost me credits, not my privileges. No, I still got my weekend and I plan to enjoy it.” Stash gave an exaggerated wink as he began to pull on his jumpsuit. “You do know what I mean, mate? I hear they got a girl at the Velvet… brunette hair trailing past her ass and if you pay her enough, she’ll—”

  Fritzi moved. He slammed the open locker door next to Stash’s head and the other pulled his chin in, flushing a moment, the BOOM of the locker obscuring his last few words. Stash smiled slowly. “Well, now. Maybe you have other ideas of fun.” He looked around at the gathering crowd, first shift who’d worked double time and second shift just coming off and joining them. “Do you know what Fritzi does for fun?”

  “Stop it,” Jack said.

  But the man’s sardonic gaze just passed over him. Nothing short of another fist in his mouth was going to stop Stash.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, mates. Fritzi spies on us for fun. Talks to the spider lady herself, he does. So if any of you are thinking of taking a long walk through a short tunnel, and maybe getting out of your contract a little early, don’t discuss your plans in front of hill man here. He’s a slaggin’ spy, he is.”

  Jack shifted, but Boggs had caught his elbow and stopped him from moving. The older man whispered harshly in his ear, “Stash is right. Leave them alone. Got to let them work it out.”

  But Fritzi wasn’t going to give Stash the opportunity. He lunged, quick on his feet for a big man, reminding Jack fleetingly of his old sergeant, and hit Stash hard enough to pick the man up off his feet and send him flying onto the floor. Miners scrambled out of the way and, as quickly, began to pick sides.

  Fritzi wiped his mouth. “You talk about me any way you want—but you leave my daughter out of this—”

  Stash looked up and blinked. “Dau—oh, you mean the brunette? Why, Fritzi, you should have told me. Then I could have told her. Jeezus, I might have gotten a discount!”

  Fritzi never gave him a chance to get up. With a roar, he jumped the smaller man again.

  Jack noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the camera lens of the security eye go red. A general alarm was on. He waded closer through the now cheering crowd. Fists jabbed the space around him as betting chits changed hands. But this fight wasn’t like the one in the cafeteria, which had more or less dissolved into harmless haymakers for the hell of it.

  No. Fritzi was going to kill Stash unless someone stopped it.

  Jack mopped his forehead. He secured his towel around his waist. The foot missing a couple of toes found the locker room floor slippery going. He lost his balance and a host of arms and hands helped him back to his feet even as he heard Stash give out a sick grunt and hit the bank of lockers like a side of meat. Fritzi picked up Stash and hung him on one of the doors, rested his slack arm in the next unit and slammed the door as hard as he could, even as the doors opened and the local Sweepers came pounding in, guns up and pointed. They’d had enough notice to put on riot gear. Or maybe they just slept in it.

  “Freeze!”

  The room froze, all except for Stash who sobbed and slumped to the floor as his jumpsuit tore away, his ruin of a hand sliding after him.

  The Sweepers looked a bit ridiculous compared to the locker room audience, naked, half-naked and barely dressed. They looked about, helmet visors down, blackened out shields reflecting the miners’ images back.

  Pops grunted in the silence. “This is a lawful fight,” he said, “We don’t need you.”

  The foreman stepped in. His bullet head was sweaty and Jack wondered what he’d been interrupted at to come down here. He glared at Pops. “Anybody else say any different?”

  No one spoke. Jack caught his breath, but then was unsure of what it was he was going to say. Stash might have been right about Fritzi’s being a company spy, but who could blame Fritzi if they were holding his daughter in the company brothel?

  Stash pulled himself to an upright position, leaning against the lockers. He licked swollen, purpled lips. “I claim the right to duel,” he said, breathing heavily.

  Fritzi straightened. He clamped his jaw shut, then opened it and said, “And I grant him the right.” He looked down at the bloodied and mottled mess of Stash’s right hand. “Since I’m the one who’s been challenged, I say here and now.”

  Pops stirred. He looked at the foreman. “Mister Quade. They’re requesting a duel. I say we give it to them. Settle bad blood and clear the air right now.”

  The foreman hunched his massive shoulders. “All right. I don’t want to hear any more about it. You take care of it, Boggs, or I’m coming back to you.” He pointed at the Sweepers. “We’re out of here.” They grouped and left, almost as impressively as they’d entered.

  Stash looked surprised. “I didn’t mean now…”

  “Meaning what. Stash?” Pops looked down at him. “You asked for it.”

  “But I—I can’t fight Fritzi like this.” Stash gulped as he cradled his hand.

  Boggs bent over him. He snorted. “Four days in sick bay’ll take care of that. Get to your feet, boy. You made a challenge, now stick by it, or Quade’ll have all our butts.”

  “I want a champion, then. Someone stick up for me. You all saw what Fritzi did to me when he had me down. C’mon. Somebody.” Stash swayed on his feet, pale and trembling. “He’ll kill me!”

  A low voice jeered from the back of the room, “About time, mate.”

  The rest of the crew grumbled and shifted on their feet. A few of them, disinterested, turned away and reached into their lockers, to finish what they’d begun moments before. Stash was finally going to get all that he deserved.

  Jack stepped out. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Boggs’ attention swung toward Jack in disbelief. “You don’t owe this gutter slag anything.” Then he shrugged as Jack made no move. “Get dressed then. We’ll pull the lockers back.”

  Stash gave Jack a weak grin and no one moved. “Thanks, mate.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m not doing it for you.”

  “Who then?”

  “For Fritzi. He doesn’t need a murder charge hanging around his neck.” Jack took a look about the room, where he met startled face after startled face. He raised his voice. “Because we’re all in this together, like it or not.” Stash pulled in his chin, a faint sneer bringing the color back to his face. Jack went to his locker and dressed quickly, as the middle two rows were pulled back to create a kind of arena.

  Fritzi had pulled a shirt over his head. He looked even more massive dressed than undressed, as the material puckered and strained over his body.

  He looked at Jack. “I don’t want to fight you, man.”

  Jack made a diffident movement. “You asked for a duel, too. Bad air’s got to be settled, big man.” He allowed himself a ghost of a smile. “You might be surprised.” He slipped on his traction boots. The dead moon had a fairly close gravity norm, as it was an immense body, but even the ten percent it was off made for a certain hesitancy in movement. They all wore “grippers” to compensate.

  He moved out and Fritzi stood, arms half open at his side, uncertain. Jack eyed the massive man and took stock of the fight he’d seen with Stash in the cafeteria as well as here in the lockers. This wasn’t going to be any dance and punch exhibition. Fritzi only knew one way to fight and that was a massive, all-out launch of brute force and grappling.

  The last thing Jack wanted was to be squeezed by those steel forearms.

  Boggs pursed his lips. “He outreaches you, so
n,” he called out. “Don’t let him get ahold of you.”

  Jack circled Fritzi, never looking away, and answered, “Don’t worry, Pops. I’ve got it covered.” As if he were wearing the suit, he jumped, and his right foot lashed out, catching Fritzi neatly under the chin. The mountainous man staggered back with a cry of surprise and pain as Jack caught himself on landing.

  Rubbing his jaw, Fritzi gave him a look, newly mingled with surprise and respect. “I didn’t know you could do that,” he said, in his childlike phrasing. Jack had a brief second in which to wonder if his daughter was like her father, not too brilliant and somewhat naïve, when Fritzi roared and charged him.

  Jack had reflexes he decided not to try to control, reflexes built into wearing the suit. He jumped, somersaulting out of Fritzi’s way, letting the man’s momentum carry him crashing into the lockers beyond. Before the calamitous noise filtered out, Jack had spun around and recoiled, ready for the next move. The miners crowded close now, calling to both of them, urging them on, and he began to hear odds and bets. Jack smiled thinly.

  Fritzi backed out, shaking his head. He turned. He blinked. “What’d you do that for?”

  Jack shrugged.

  Fritzi waved a paw at him. “C’mon. Let me hit you right, so we can quit.”

  “No, Fritzi. We’re not quitting on this one. Just like contracts, we’ve got to fight it through.” Jack grinned. “But we can do it on our terms. We can both fight back.”

  Fritzi struck before he finished talking, jabbing with his right fist, and Jack dodged, but the blow clipped him. Jack’s head snapped back. He dropped his shoulder and went on down, rolling with the blow so that most of the force went out of it. Fritzi’s follow through left him wide open.

  Jack threw a punch to his stomach as he got up, and then danced out of the way.

  Fritzi never so much as grunted and his knuckles burned across the top. It’d been like punching a tunnel plate. Jack shook his head to keep his sandy hair from his eyes. Fritzi pivoted, amazingly light on his feet for one so massive, and Jack hesitated, seeing something in the man’s movements he hadn’t anticipated.

  He stepped back quickly, but not quickly enough. Fritzi drove in, both fists hammering him. Red exploded along his chin and then in his own stomach and Jack staggered back. Fritzi was neither as muscle-bound nor stupid as he pretended, Jack’s mind told him as his reflexes took over and brought him down, into a roll and then up again, out of range. There was something of the professional fighter in the way Fritzi had moved at him.

  Jack was on his feet, though his vision had blurred and he blinked to clear it. Stash was yelling, “C’mon, mate, I’ve got a shift bonus on you! Get back in there!”

  Fritzi smiled triumphantly. Jack wasn’t sure he liked the light in the man’s eyes.

  Boggs wiped his nose and pushed him back toward his opponent. “You asked for it. Now get in there and get the matter cleaned up.”

  Jack’s vision cleared just in time to focus on Fritzi’s big ham of a hand swinging from way back, aimed at right between the eyes. Jack threw himself to the right, kicking his left knee as he went.

  Fritzi grunted this time and doubled over the tiniest bit. Jack straightened and let him recover. The big man looked at him, dark eyes shining. “You’re a good fighter.”

  “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

  Fritzi’s mouth twitched. “I was a champion before the gamblers got me.” He drew his arms back into position. “Come a little closer.”

  Jack shook his head. “Not this time. Stash, what will it take for your honor to be satisfied?”

  Stash spit pink foam onto the floor. “I want that big jerk stretched out cold.”

  Jack shook his head again. “Be reasonable.”

  “All right then. A good solid tag. To either one of you.”

  The New Aussie’s fairness surprised Jack a little, but as he circled around Fritzi, staying out of reach, he noticed that Boggs had moved up behind Stash and appeared to be applying a little pressure of his own.

  Pops called out. “Sounds fair. What about you, Fritzi?”

  “All right, man.” He beckoned to Jack. “I will hit you now.”

  Jack shook his head a third time. He barely had a split second to move while Fritzi did his damnedest.

  And then he was very busy.

  Fritzi abruptly dropped the pretense of boxing and moved in to grapple with him, clipping him before Jack could dodge, and he found himself contained by solid muscle that outweighed him by more than half his weight. He struggled to breathe and get loose, those priorities in strict order.

  Fritzi said, breathing heavily in his ear, “I didn’t tell you what I was champion in.”

  Jack used an elbow where it would do the most good, even as he dropped a shoulder and wiggled down out of the hold. He rolled over on the floor, gulped down a deep breath and gathered his muscles. Fritzi lunged again like some monster from out of deep water and Jack swam to stay out of reach. He got to his knees amidst shouts and warnings.

  “Look out!”

  Jack jumped. He leaped as if he’d hit the power vault in the suit. Fritzi grabbed empty air and tumbled, off balance.

  It was the only opening Jack was likely to get. He reached out, righted the big man, and then swung.

  Pain flared across his hand. The scar across his missing fifth finger went livid. Fritzi’s head went back and his eyes glassed over. A mass of men behind caught him and set him back on his feet.

  Before the big man’s mouth could close, Pops moved in between them. “Done! Challenge met and over! Jack here’s the winner.”

  Fritzi let out a shout. “Good man!” He charged Jack again, this time picking him up.

  The world tilted and Jack looked down from Fritzi’s shoulder. Spectators crowded in and around them as Fritzi carried him triumphantly into the barracks.

  “Let me down,” Jack said. Without warning, his colossal opponent did just that, and Jack disappeared in a sea of men.

  One of them whispered at the back of his neck, “You’re a dead man.”

  They helped Jack to his feet, crowding, bolstering him, shoving him good-naturedly into the barracks.

  He had no way of knowing who’d spoken.

  Stash stumbled into him and gave him a brotherly hug.

  “I made back me fortune on you, mate!” he shouted above the noise.

  Jack looked at him. “How’s your hand?”

  “Me hand? Oh, fine. Fine. A little plastiflesh, and it’ll be right as rain.”

  “Will it?”

  The noise quieted around the two men. The crowd, sensing something, drew back a little. Jack reached for, and captured against Stash’s efforts, the injured member.

  “A couple of bloodied knuckles. Why, I thought you were up for a cast, at the very least.”

  Stash shrugged and snatched his hand back. “Quick healer.”

  “No. No, you’re not quick to heal at all. You’ve been setting us to fighting amongst ourselves since the day they thawed you out aboard ship. You’re a scavenger, Stash. Get away from me and stay away.” Jack took a deep breath. “The only way any of us can win is if we stick together. You’re not a healer at all. You’re a disease.”

  Stash’s face flushed. He scrubbed his black hair from his forehead. The scarred eyebrow frowned deeply. “You’ll be back, Jack,” he said. “You all will. See, because you’re like all honest men. Honest men don’t like to do their own dirty work.” He spat again from swollen lips. “But you’ll always pay to have someone like me do it for you.” He shoved his way through and disappeared out the barracks door.

  Jack froze. He suddenly remembered where he had known Stash from. The man had washed out of the Guard program early on. And without a doubt, Stash had known him for what he was. What he didn’t know now was what Stash would do with that information.

  A man moved to go after Stash, saying, “It’s after curfew, Pops.”

  Alfredo Boggs waved. “Let him go. There’s now
here for him to stay. He’ll be back.”

  Thoughtfully, Jack watched him go. He only half-heard Fritzi say apologetically, “I’d like to tell you about my daughter sometime, man.”

  He turned. “That’s all right, Fritzi. We’ve all got stories—and we’ve all got a lot of time together.”

  Or at least some of them did. Jack had no doubt now that his time was running short.

  Chapter Twelve

  The streets of Lasertown were a little closer to the sun and the stars than the tunnels—but not much. The dome screened off the direct radiation and it provided a grayed view of the sky. It was like being under a perpetual raincloud, Jack decided, as he stepped forth, Fritzi escorting him downtown. Even the deep velvet of unending space would have been preferable. The big man had kept up a steady stream of inconsequential talk. Jack half-listened as he looked around. The town was built on an industrial level, not there for the viewing of the eye or the lightening of the heart. That was part of its problems.

  And the rest, he supposed, came from the people themselves. They jostled him rudely on the walkways as he transported from the mining center into the recreational/business sector where the shops were definitely open for business, but not happy about it. Their garish signs invaded the eyes, ears and even noses of the passersby, but there was no joy to be had here. No one in

  Lasertown seemed to be there because they wanted to be.

  Fritzi steered him to a small stand which was selling hot sandwiches. The man slapped the meat into a warm bun. Fritzi grinned like a kid as he picked up a bottle of pollen-yellow dressing and doused it, saying with his childlike enthusiasm, “This is great. There’s nothing like it at the mess. Try some. You’ll like it.”

  Jack had caught the sharp scent and shook his head. He took the proffered sandwich from the vendor and declined several of the other seasonings Fritzi suggested. The vendor took the money cheerlessly and looked away, sharp-eyed, for his next customer.

  Jack took a bite of the sandwich. The meat was good, hot and savory, and its juices flavored the bread with all the dressing he needed.