Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (21 page)

“Please,” Elrabin whispered. “Take it, okay? Let me go. I got nothing else—”

“You got no tongue, you, if you don’t be quiet.”

Elrabin shut up, his mouth dry, his heart pounding.

Finally, the Kelth quit looking at the card and shoved it in his pocket with a scowl. “Stupid,” he said flatly. He was lean and fit, with light tan fur that darkened on the back of his skull and single, upright ear. His stony eyes held all the age he hadn’t lived yet.

“This card you stole from the Viis, you. Got a limiter on it. Got an encoder on it. A fence wouldn’t pay two city credits for it. Junk.”

He snarled in Elrabin’s face, making him flinch.

“Okay,” Elrabin said, trying to find enough air to keep his voice steady. “So it’s junk. You got it. Now let me go.”

“Why? So you can go back and hang around the arena for the crowd turnout? Who you with?”

Elrabin blinked at him and didn’t answer.

The youth stepped closer, the sunlight harsh on his white scar, his revealed teeth glinting. “Who you with? Who sent you to our territory?”

Elrabin drew a sharp breath. Maybe it would help if he claimed to belong to a gang. A powerful gang, bloody and violent enough to frighten this menace away. But Elrabin’s mind went blank. He couldn’t think of any names. His wits all seemed to be hanging on the sharp tip of the sticker.

Finally he shook his head.

Anger flared in the scarred youth’s eyes. He moved fast, crowding Elrabin back against the wall and holding him pinned there with the sticker at his throat. “I got no time for you, stupid. You talk fast, or die here, die now.”

The tip of the sticker pressed against Elrabin’s throat. He couldn’t even swallow against it. Panting for breath, he tried to speak and couldn’t.

“Well?”

“No one.”

“What?”

“No one! No one sent me,” Elrabin said, babbling now. He despised himself but he couldn’t help it. “No gang. By myself. Just trying to survive.”

The scarred Kelth frowned. “Expect me to believe that? Huh!”

“True!” Elrabin said as forcefully as he could. “I’ve got no scars, no tattoos. I don’t belong to—”

“Shut up.”

Elrabin snapped his teeth together and said nothing else. He wished he knew more about fighting, wished he could throw off his captor and pound him into the dirt, wished he could just twist free and run for it.

But he hurt too bad, and his stomach was flapping empty against his spine, and his knees kept going weak and wobbly on him. His heart pounded too fast, making him dizzy. He shivered, feeling the heat run down his arm, followed by a chill that shook his bones.

His captor stepped back from him so suddenly Elrabin nearly fell. “You sick?”

Elrabin slumped to his knees, shivering and trying not to moan. “Yeah.”

Alarm filled the scarred youth’s eyes. He backed away. “What kind of sick? Dry cough? Street pox? Quivers?”

Elrabin shook his head. He was tired, but he couldn’t give way to his misery. He had to speak up or he might find himself executed because of misguided mercy.

“No,” he said, dragging his head up to meet the other youth’s eyes. “My arm. I had my implant removed. It’s infected.”

The Kelth whistled through his teeth in sudden respect. Coming closer again, he dropped to his haunches in front of Elrabin. “You cut it yourself?”

“No. Behind Commerce Street.”

“Bad place, that. Bad move. Stupid move.”

Elrabin cradled his aching arm in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Maybe your arm’ll fall off, if you don’t take care of it.”

“I could have gotten some medicine if you hadn’t stolen that card from me. I was going to fence it and—”

The Kelth scratched his ear, unmoved. He’d called the card junk, but he didn’t give it back. “Where you from? What street?”

“Nowhere,” Elrabin said bitterly.

“You got no gang, you?”

“No. I work alone.”

“You a babe, that’s what you are. You a citizen.” He made it sound like a disease.

Elrabin bared his teeth. He wasn’t going to take that kind of insult from anyone. “Wrong on both counts.”

“Maybe. You wanted? Gotta be, you taking your implant out. What you wanted for?”

Elrabin looked away. He wasn’t going to explain. “Does it matter?”

“No. What’s your name?”

“Elrabin.”

The Kelth nodded, mouthing it to himself as though committing it to memory. “Yeah, a citizen name, all right. You talk fancy, like a grifter. You look like a grifter, except for that coat. Even a Zrhel wouldn’t wear a rag like that.”

Elrabin said nothing.

“Got family?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’m Scar.”

The two youths looked at each other. Elrabin wasn’t sure this sharing of names was a friendly overture. Maybe Scar just wanted his name so he could turn him in. He was nosy enough to be a snitch.

“You’re a bad thief, you know that?” Scar continued. “I spotted you easy. The patrollers, they be too lazy to care around the arena, most days. Barthul’s got them paid off, yeah. So you’re lucky today.”

“Yeah, really lucky,” Elrabin said, averting his gaze. The afternoon was wearing on, and he had no hope now of getting anything to eat. He shivered and squinted his eyes, feeling too miserable to care.

Scar tapped his shoulder. “I’ll give you advice, stupid. The way you work, you’ll lose a hand soon.”

Elrabin rolled his eyes. This was advice? “Thanks.”

“Shut up,” Scar said. “Listen good. The arena is Barthul’s turf, see? Stay away from it. This crowd belongs to Barthul. You can’t steal here.”

“So where do I go?”

Scar shrugged. “Nothing to me, where you go. Just get away from our turf. And stay away.”

Elrabin frowned. He wasn’t afraid now, but he was feeling hopeless. He’d pretty much cleaned out the area where he’d been staying, and knew he had to keep moving around. Although this wasn’t the first time he’d had to avoid gang territory, it was the first time he’d been robbed and nearly had his throat cut.

He shivered, knowing he wasn’t doing a very good job of making it on his own, not in this end of the city, far from the districts he knew best.

“All the turf around here’s been staked out,” he said. “Where do independents go?”

Scar laughed harshly and backed his single ear. “Elrabin, you are so stupid, you got to be likable. Independents? That’s a word, that is.”

“So where do they go, the ones like me, who don’t belong to gangs?”

The friendliness in Scar’s eyes faded. He rose to his feet and turned away.

Desperate for help, Elrabin staggered upright also. “Please!” he cried. “It’s just a question. Can’t you tell me something?”

“I’ll tell you,” Scar said unpleasantly. “Independents go to the arrest tank, that’s where. Independents get their hands cut off, or they go into hard labor. How you lived this long, you being so stupid?”

“Could I be in your gang?”

The request popped out of Elrabin’s mouth before he knew he was going to ask it. He waited, feeling this might be his last hope.

Refusal filled Scar’s face. Even before he started shaking his head, Elrabin stepped forward.

“I’ll learn anything I have to. I’ll do anything I’m told. I need a place to go. I’m too sick to keep going on my own. I need help.”

“Ain’t no help,” Scar said flatly. “By the law of the streets, you live or you die.”

“But your gang, you hang out together. You belong together. You have a place, a hole—”

“You wired?” Scar asked with fresh suspicion.

“No! You searched me, remember?”

The alarm faded from Scar’s eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“Please. I have a lot of skills, not just grifting. Just let me—”

“Not my decision,” Scar broke in. “Not my gang.”

“This Barthul, then. Where is he? Will you take me to him and ask?”

“No.”

“Scar, please! You took my card. I have nothing left. I haven’t eaten in—”

“Shut up!” Scar said, and turned away. He strode down the alley without looking back.

Elrabin watched him go, feeling all his hope drain away. He hated begging, but he had no other option. The last thing he wanted was to belong to a gang, but he needed help. There had to be some way to get it, some way to reach this Scar, who seemed half-sympathetic at times under his rough exterior.

After a moment, Elrabin forced himself to stagger after Scar. But he couldn’t find the strength to run and catch up, and when Scar turned the corner and disappeared from sight, panic filled Elrabin’s throat.

Shouting, he stumbled into a shuffling run, feeling his knees wobble under him, feeling the fever burning hotter in his blood. He made it to the corner before he fell, dropping to his knees and slumping with his shoulder against the wall.

He was shaking all over, and his breathing came harsh and uneven. His strength failed him, and he knew he couldn’t go any farther. He lay shivering and helpless, his strength leaking out of him and taking his will with it. He would lie here until someone killed him or until a patroller picked him up. Either way he was finished.

With his last ounce of strength he lifted his head and looked down the street in hopes of seeing Scar coming back for him.

But Scar was gone as though he had never been. Another thief, faster, bigger, and more ruthless. The predators always won.

Shivering, Elrabin let his head slump to the pavement and lay there. It was over.

CHAPTER
•TWELVE

Elrabin roused to the feel of rough hands searching him. Groaning, he grabbed for the edge of consciousness and tried to roll over.

Thin, high-pitched voices squeaked in alarm. “Quick! Quick!”

The hands ripped out his pockets and shucked him out of his tattered coat, rolling him across the ground.

His swollen arm whacked against something hard and seemed to explode. Sucking in a breath, Elrabin held on to the agony, using it to drive himself up from the mists.

Blinking, he came fully to and found himself kneeling on the dirty pavement, clutching his arm and gritting his teeth. Realizing he’d been robbed, he swore long and low to himself.

“Damned, dirty Skeks.”

He could still smell their stink on him. Disgusted, he pushed himself to his feet. It took three tries before he made it upright; then he stood swaying with his head down, hanging on by sheer grit.

He wasn’t giving up, not for anyone.

Drawing in a deep breath, he forced his head up and staggered forward. He wasn’t certain where he was going yet, but he knew he had to keep moving. He didn’t want to be picked up in a vagrant sweep and sold.

It was dark, but how late he did not know. Most of the streetlights in this district were burned out, which suited him fine. He staggered along slowly, weaving his way and keeping to the shadows. Whenever he heard footsteps, he froze and hid in the darkness, refusing to move until the pedestrian walked on.

Occasionally a skimmer flew by, sometimes a litter, but traffic was light. That told him the hour must be late.

He made it back to the plaza which skirted the arena and found the area deserted. Only the wind remained, playing with trash among the benches, lampposts, and small, ornamental trees. Elrabin paused there to rest, leaning against a pillar. He could smell the burned remains of concession food still lingering on the air.

His hunger rose up inside him like a wildness. Dropping to his knees, Elrabin scratched in the trash until he found a greasy food wrapper. He unfolded it with trembling fingers, licked the wrapper ravenously, then ate it.

A light snapped on, dazzling his eyes.

Blinded, Elrabin lifted his arm to shield his vision and squinted. He glimpsed a shape coming toward him, and tried to flee.

But he was too slow and too weak to run.

He was caught before he even gained his feet.

“What you got?” a familiar voice demanded. “What you eating, you?”

“Scar!”

Elrabin gazed up at the silhouette standing over him and felt a rush of fresh fear. Scar had warned him away once. This time he might kill.

The light clicked off. Scar kicked him in the haunch, nearly knocking him over. “You again,” he said in disgust. “The down-luck grifter.”

Elrabin tried to answer, but Scar leaned over him and grabbed the remnants of the food wrapper from his hand. “What you eating?” he demanded a second time. “The wrapper? Huh? You eating that, stupid?”

The scorn in his voice was like a whip. Elrabin hunkered down in raw humiliation and could not answer.

“It’s cold tonight. Where’s your coat?” Scar asked him, throwing the wrapper away. The wind caught it, sending it pinwheeling across the plaza. “You sell your coat, stupid?”

“Skeks took it,” Elrabin answered sullenly. He knew now that Scar wouldn’t help him. He was done asking. “Robbed me while I was passed out.”

Scar growled without sympathy. “What you expect, lying in the gutter?”

“What’s it to you?” Elrabin retorted. “What do you care?”

“Don’t care. You’re trespassing again.”

Fury gave Elrabin the strength to climb to his feet. He faced Scar in the darkness. “So now I can’t even walk across a public plaza? Do the stones belong to you? Does the air? Excuse me, but I didn’t know. I thought you just owned all the marks that come here in the afternoons—”

Scar flipped him to the ground before Elrabin realized what was happening. Throwing himself on top of Elrabin, Scar pinned his throat with a forearm and growled long and low.

Feeling Scar’s hot breath ruffle his fur, knowing Scar’s teeth were just centimeters away from his throat, Elrabin froze. He didn’t even breathe.

“So you can be quiet,” Scar said finally. “And here I thought you didn’t have no sense at all. You be too stupid to live, you know that?”

“Yeah, and maybe I don’t care,” Elrabin shot back.

Scar growled again, and Elrabin figured he was finished now. But instead of taking out his throat, Scar uttered a strange low laugh and rolled off Elrabin. “Get up.”

Racked by fresh shivers, Elrabin lay there. “What for? I haven’t got anything else you can steal.”

Scar kicked him hard, making him yelp. “Shut up and get on your feet. Get up!”

He kicked Elrabin again, and with a groan Elrabin dragged himself upright. Scar gripped him and marched him forward.