Eric Olafson: Space Pirate Read online

  Again, the pile of trash moved, and I readied the line blaster Whatever it was, was big enough to move the sacks of waste. “If you are sentient, say something. If not, I am going to shoot!”

  Even though I was ready for some reaction, I was completely surprised as something jumped out of that pile in an explosion of garbage. A dark shadow catapulted itself toward me. All I really saw was fangs, gleaming eyes, and claws. I fired but did not hit it, and that shadow of fangs and teeth collided with me. Needle sharp claws penetrated fabric and skin. My eyes were still blinded by the bright bolt, but I saw the outlines of a humanoid face, and a large obscene mouth filled with teeth snapping after my throat. I hammered my left fist across that face and tried to bring the line blaster in line with that monster. My blow connected and whipped its head back; it screeched, and I could not tell if it was a human voice or the sound of an animal. Claws raked over my shoulder and face; my eyesight sight was clearing, and I managed to get my right arm free enough to move. I pressed the muzzle of the blaster against that furious thing and fired. This time I could not miss and burned right through its chest.

  It gurgled and collapsed. The stench of burned flesh mingled with the foul odor of waste and the reeking smell of this creature.

  In the dim shine of the first-aid box light, I examined the creature. It was humanoid in shape but was partially covered with fur; its face looked as if a human had been merged with a deep-sea fish, with bulging eyes and a huge maw.

  It was mortally wounded, but not quite dead. From the garbage pile it had come, I could now see a rugged hole in the wall that led to even deeper regions of this place.

  At this moment, the rusty steel door flung open with a creaking sound, and a muscular Ogahr-like creature appeared, holding a Kartanian Flamer. It stomped past me, held its weapon toward that hole, and fired a stream of superheated plasma. A chorus of high-pitched screams and the sizzling sound of fire-consuming flesh echoed from below.

  The being cursed in Squawk, “Damn Subzombs, I knew they had a hole coming in somewhere.”

  He turned and said, “We don’t like Skath squatting in our basements either! You are certainly not a tenant.” The being stomped his heel on the skull of the dying Subzomb I had fought moments ago, and it crushed with a sickening sound. “Get up and get out of here, before I change my mind and have you for dinner.”

  I struggled to my feet, gathered my meager belongings and put the jacket back on. The being said, “For a Skath, you are well armed. I wonder where you got that Union Fleet uniform.”

  “I am on my way out; I fell through that busted crating up there.”

  “I don’t think you need all these weapons and that nice first aid pack. It’s way too good for a Skath and seeing you fought a Subzomb, you don’t even know how to use them.”

  Like all Ogahr, he was almost twice my size, and I knew how strong and tough they were. I had seen Az-Az in action. Still, with all the energy I could still muster, I kicked his gun arm. Putting weight on my bad leg was a bad idea; it sent waves of pain up my spine, but I had no choice. With all the pain and misery, I was getting angry, and I felt my own rage coming up like a storm surge. He yelped and dropped his weapon, and I pointed the line blaster right at his broad nose. “I am new on this rotten planet of yours, but one thing I noticed is you all talk way too much and think you are all so tough. So far I am not impressed.”

  He howled, “You aren’t a Skath! You’re Union! I rip you to pieces!” He raised his massive arms, and I fired.

  I hissed, “Yes, I am Union and proudly so!” I watched as he fell backward with a burning hole where his nose used to be.

  He didn’t wear much in the way of clothing, but I took his wide utility belt, slung it over my shoulder, and used its pockets to arrange and carry my small arsenal and to holster the flamer.

  He carried a handful of dark gray coin-like discs, some kind of metal with a plastic coating and number symbols embossed on them. I remembered in xeno class that this was physical money. Even on Nilfeheim, everything was paid for by Union credits and transfer strips, so this was the first time I’d seen real money. Well, he didn’t need it anymore, and I was certain it would come in handy.

  Not wanting to make this wet hole my permanent home, I finished bandaging my leg and took another painkiller. I’d had only four painkiller patches to begin with and was now down to two. By the rate I was getting hurt and attacked, it seemed to be a good idea to hang on to the rest until I absolutely needed them.

  I limped to the open door and looked down a sparsely lit corridor with a dozen doors like this one and a steep flight of Duro-Crete stairs leading up at the far end. While I wondered what kind of building this was, I heard the wailing of a baby from one of the doors. It was not closed completely, so I peeked through the crack. There was a woman, and I was certain she was human despite the rag she had slung around her head.

  She was nursing a baby on her thin empty-looking breasts, while another kid not much older sat by a smoking little fire. The smoke escaped through a metal-crated shaft, similar to the one I had fallen through. With this, I realized this wasn’t a basement for storage. Those were rooms, apartments for the poorest! The kids and the mother were filthy; now I noticed a third kid banging with a hammer on a piece of metal. A pile of bowl-shaped metal pieces on its side.

  I should have gone on and left this depressing scene behind. The money I had taken from what perhaps was the landlord or rent collector would be invaluable to me, but I could not. I opened that door wider, and the woman wrapped her arms around the baby she was nursing even tighter and stared at me from underneath that rag she wore with a hollow, haunting look of fear, hunger, and resignation. I could only imagine how I looked to her, blood caked, dirty and bandaged, armed to the teeth.

  I held my hand out and said, “I am not going to harm you, lady. I wanted you to have these.” I put most of the coins before her on the floor and said, “It’s not a lot, but I hope it helps you to get you and the kids some food.”

  There was utter disbelief in the eyes and face of the woman. Now as she looked up, I saw she had to be about twenty or twenty-five; she had ashen skin and large dark eyes that reminded me of Galmy. She looked at the coins then at me, and I nodded, “Yes, ma’am. I am not sure you understand me, but you can take the money.”

  She shivered and groaned, put the baby aside, and opened the rags she wore, exposing her naked body.

  I stepped back and turned to the door. She would take the money eventually. I had to leave and somehow find a way to contact Fleet Command. I wondered if Wetmouth was born in a hole like this.

  The woman asked, “You give me money for nothing?”

  I turned to look back at her. “It is for you and the kids; I don’t want anything from you in return.”

  “Who…” She stopped and then began again. “Who are you?”

  “I am Eric Olafson.”

  “Lows usually don’t have two names. Skath don’t give Lows money and don’t have weapons.”

  “I am not from around here, lady, and I need to leave now and take steps to make sure I won’t lie the next time I have to say that, but maybe you can tell me where I am exactly.”

  She grabbed the coins and said, “I never seen that much; these are nine twenty-weights. We earn a twenty-weight in a year.” Then she looked up again and realized I had asked her something. “You are in the Sixth Skirt district, just outside the spaceport. We are on the bottom level of the city. Below us are the old sewers where the Subzombs and Light-Shys live. You better stay away from there, stranger Eric; not many that went down there ever came back.”

  I said, “I have no intention to go explore the underground of this hellhole.”

  Her information did not help me much. I was in no real condition to linger, but I asked, “You are not a Skath?”

  There was almost something like pride in her face as she shook her head. “Oh no, I am a Low, bottom Low but not a Skath. Have a place and me and my kids make souvenir bowls, a
nd we get half-a-weight every week.”

  I left her and did not want to know how the Skath lived.

  I managed to get up the stairs without meeting anyone, and after a while, I learned how to keep my leg stiff and walk decently fast without too much discomfort.

  After the stairs, I looked down a similar corridor and an open door to the outside. A Shiss stood guard, holding a spiked club and a wicked curved Vibro saber in his upper hands. His lower arm pair he kept crossed before his chest. The Shiss turned as he heard me coming and barked, “You don’t look like any tenant I know. When did you move in?”

  I had my hand on the Line Blaster and held it so he could see it. “I am not a tenant. Your friend the Ogahr showed me a room, but it didn’t have the ocean view I wanted, and it had one hell of a vermin infestation. Now I want to leave, and I suggest you let me.”

  I had been around Shiss for a while, and Captain Zezz told me much about his species, so I knew this red-throated lizard was agitated by the way he ruffled his throat folds. He held up his lower arms. “If Nugth has shown you in, then that is fine by me, and you can leave, of course. I just wanted to make sure you are not a Skath or something trying to steal.” Under his breath, he muttered in his native Shiss, “I am going to kill you, little human.”

  It wasn’t that hard to pronounce Shiss correctly if you simply kept your teeth clenched and uttered this vowel-free language as if you would eat hot soup. I was certain Zezz was a better teacher than any cortex uploads and said, “You try that, Red Throat, and you are going to see your guts exposed to the night air.” This was a slight variation of a Shiss curse I’d heard Zezz say to another Shiss while we boarded their ship.

  He stepped back and lowered his weapons. “This little human knows much about the Shiss and speaks our language like a nestling. Go, human, and be safe!”

  I went past him, not letting him out of my sight for a second and then went as fast as I could around the corner.

  This was the bottom street level of a towering city; none of the buildings were the size of the mega structures of Pluribus and no city planning had gone into the placement of the buildings, but these were still skyscrapers of many hundred meters’ height. Some looked well maintained, and others were dark ruins; the sky was black and either it was still night, or I had slept longer than I thought I had. I had lost all sense of time, that was for sure.

  The road gleamed wetly, as if it had rained just recently and even out here, the air smelled dirty and foul. I found a piece of dark plastic tarp and fashioned it into a makeshift cloak, in the hope the thing would bend me at least somewhat into the shadows and hide most of my weapons.

  I must have walked for at least ten klicks. The painkiller had worn off, and the pulsating pain of my leg was killing me. I had to force myself to make each step and knew I could not really slow down. Not that I had a clear-cut target or destination, but I hoped that I would find some kind of elevator or stair system that would take me up to the higher levels, where the lighted signs were. One of the hotels or casinos up there must have some kind of communication system, I hoped.

  I was not alone; there were beings of every size and shape, scavenging through the ever-present garbage and waste. Lingering in those narrow alleys, and at all times, I felt as if there were a thousand eyes watching every move I made. I witnessed a brutal beating in one of those alleys, three beings of humanoid shape beat on a tall being that was either a Spindlar, perhaps an Andorian, or member of a species I did not know. The beating was savage, and I heard the wet blows of clubs and the painful groaning of their victim.

  I should have gone on the other side of the street and put as much distance between them and me, but my cursed values of hating unfair situations overtook all common sense. Before I could intervene, another group of five beings broke from out the shadows and attacked those who did the beating; from the few words and curses I heard, friends of the victim. There was no way I would get involved now, and I increased my limping walking speed to get away before they decided to turn on me. Part of me wanted to fight everyone I saw, simply kill everything and everyone in sight and cleanse this cesspool. As I was thinking those thoughts with the still bubbling anger in my stomach, I suddenly remembered my ring. For a moment, I thought it felt almost hot. If I only had Mördaren or that ax I had found. I shook my head, freeing my mind of these strange thoughts, most likely fever delusions caused by the spider poison polluting my body.

  Among all those foul-smelling odors, a new scent wafted across my nose. Seared meat! It was a mouthwatering smell, making me painfully aware that I was thirsty and hungry. This smell banished all my fever fantasies and put me back into reality.

  The smell of flame-broiled meat directed me toward a dimly lit flickering light sign displaying alien writing, mounted over a hole someone had busted into the foundation wall of a skyscraper. A counter had been built across the lower half of that hole. Behind it was an Ogahr, wearing an apron, working a fire grill with strips of meat on a steel grid. Several sod-blackened pots bubbled and steamed on the other side of the wall.

  Skinned animals of various sizes and shapes hung on steel hooks all across the low ceiling of this improvised food kitchen. A dozen beings, seven Ogahr, three human shapes, a Quadiped, and a Togar stood before the hole, talking to each other and eating whatever they sold here out of paper-wrapped packages. Half-concealed by the flickering light sign, I also noticed a crude but deadly looking flamer, mounted on a remote arm. The red blinking sensor over the remote weapon made it clear the thing was active. I wondered how many non-paying customers had been roasted instead of the meat on the grill. I felt into the pocket where I had the rest of the coins and hoped it was enough for whatever they sold here. I probably did not want to know what it was exactly, but at the moment, I didn’t care. I did not plan to ask too many questions about the origin of the food.

  Several banged-up looking heavily armored flyers were parked near that group, and they all were painted black and orange, had gun turrets of various weapon systems mounted on their hoods and roofs, and each of those flyers had a lit sign on the roof. The signs switched writing and lettering every five seconds or so and the word Taxi was displayed in clear Union writing in regular intervals.

  I crossed the street, walking toward that food stand, when one of the Ogahr dressed in black leather yelled, “Skath, get away from my taxi if you want to live!” As he yelled, the gun turrets on the nearest flyers swiveled around and targeted me, and I stopped in my tracks.

  The Quadiped laughed throatily. “Maybe he needs a ride. Never turn back a fare, Sigpah.”

  The black-dressed Ogahr yelled again, in my direction, “I only take Polonium, Union Creds. Not the re-cy scrap!”

  “I have money. I want to buy some food, and I need a ride, too!”

  He waved his big hand, and the gun turrets moved to point into the sky. “Come over then. If your money glows, I take it, Skath or not.”

  I stepped into the reddish light from the sign above, and they noticed the H&K, which I could not hide like the other weapons, under my makeshift plastic cloak.

  “He isn’t a Skath, not with this kind of hardware,” the Quadiped grunted.

  The Ogahr behind the counter leaned forward. “Don’t see too many hunters around here, but I ain’t buying Skath meat regardless of the species. I fry only Lum-Lums and Kultis, but there are Bonguu five blocks up toward the district border. They take anything that bleeds.”

  I pointed at the grill. “I want to buy some of that, and if you have water, I’d like some, too.”

  The cook said, “You must be new around here. No one in their right mind asks for water in these parts. I sell Ogahr Brew, but I think I have a squeeze bag of Nul Milk if you prefer that. I don’t know how fresh it is, never had a Nul customer, but I heard humans could drink it.”

  Since the selection was limited and I had no desire to experiment with Nul food, I said, “I’ll have Ogahr brew then.”

  He wrapped a piece of seared meat
in a flap of white dough and put it in a round oven made of Duro-Crete bricks and added a few pieces of wood into the fire underneath. “Be ready in a minute. Brew and Lum-Lum Chew, that will be half-a-weight and I only take Polos. I don’t have a fancy credit strip like my taxi friends here.”

  I handed him one of the big coins, and he snorted, “Hunting must be good, paying with a twenty.”

  He handed me a handful of smaller coins, a round plastic bag filled with a yellowish liquid, and then took the meat and dough combination out of the oven, wrapped it in brown paper, and gave it to me as well.

  I went to the side and leaned against the wall so I could keep an eye on things. The plastic bladder had a metal clip that when removed allowed the yellow liquid to flow through a short tube from which it could be sucked. Ogahr brew, so I found, was a flat and extremely bitter tasting beer not even a low drunken man would touch, but it was wet and quenched my thirst. What he had called a Lum-Lum Chew was actually quite delicious. It was a strong tasting very spicy piece of stringy meat inside a bland bread pocket. While I was eating, I was watching them, and they were watching me.

  The black-dressed Ogahr said, “I mistook you for a Skath, but sometimes these hungry bastards do crazy things. Still need a ride?”

  I nodded, “Yes, I do.”

  He directed me to one of the armored and armed flyers and, at his command, the door opened. “I have not lost a customer yet, and my Hoogley is well-protected. So, hop on in.”

  I climbed into the passenger compartment; there was a bare steel seat, and two Neuro Rippers pointed at whoever would be sitting on that seat.

  I heard his voice through a speaker, “A word of advice, hunter, if you so much as touch your guns, I will fry you on the spot. Fare is ten Union Creds per fifteen minutes or two-weight Polo coins.” I saw him turn behind the transparent barrier that separated us and he pointed at a slot below. “First payment is upfront and don’t try to cheat. I don’t take Kerms. Too much of a hassle to fly out to the Kermac enclave and try to argue with those white skins.”