Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (32 page)

Scar nipped his ear. “You listening, fool? Hey!”

Elrabin blinked away his memories and rubbed his smarting ear. “Yeah, I’m listening,” he said. “I’m supposed to lose the patrollers. Any instructions on that?”

“You figure it out. That’s your job,” Scar said, swiveling his one ear. “Just don’t bring them here.”

“I won’t,” Elrabin said, but he was tempted to do exactly that.

Scar stared at him a moment, evaluating him, looking doubtful. “You goof this, you’re dead. You follow me?”

“I follow.”

“Then go.”

His mouth dry and his ears burning with determination, Elrabin left Barthul’s stronghold and set out through the city streets. It took him half the day to find Feilee’s grubby little shop. Once he had the dust bags weighing down his pockets, he stepped out feeling as though he wore a sign that said
ARREST ME
!

He found his tail immediately. It was a surveillance scanner that floated along after him in plain sight. Elrabin nearly panicked and ran for it, but he knew that would be stupid. He kept cool, strolling along in crowds of other pedestrians. After two blocks, the scanner reached the end of its signal tether and dropped him to float back to its post.

Elrabin managed to breathe slightly easier, but in a few minutes he discovered another tail, one far less obvious than the first.

He lost it with a couple of tricks. After that, he figured he was clear, but he took every precaution he could think up. He came back to Barthul’s at dark, exhausted and stressed from dodging all day. He wasn’t followed, and he faced Scar triumphantly, his chest bursting with pride at his accomplishment.

Scar took the bags from him and tossed them in the trash.

Elrabin stared in dismay. “What’re you doing?”

Scar laughed at him. “Just a test run, fool. Nothing but dirt you been carrying all day.”

Elrabin took a step back, trying to understand. Dirt? He had been carrying dirt all day? He had been worrying himself gray trying to do a good job, and for nothing?

Furious, he glared at Scar and started to speak, but Scar grabbed him by the front of his new coat and yanked him close.

Scar’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and he bared his teeth. “You got something to complain about, stupid?”

The threat, unspoken, hung clearly between them. Elrabin swallowed his anger, although it pained him all the way down. Panting hard, he struggled with himself, then said in a meek voice, “No, I got no complaint.”

Scar shoved him away, nearly making him stagger. “That’s good. Get out of my way. You’ll make a real run tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Elrabin shot off as Scar started to walk away. “And maybe you’ll set me up to be a fool again.”

Scar turned on him fast and slammed him against the wall so hard all the breath was knocked from Elrabin.

Wheezing for air, he found Scar’s teeth on his throat. Terrified, Elrabin froze a moment, then stretched out his fingers in hopes of grabbing Scar’s sticker. He never reached it, however.

Scar released him with a growl, his eyes holding cold, flat death. “Never question me,” he said in a voice that made Elrabin shiver. “If I send you out every day to bring home rocks, you’ll do it. If I tell you to drink from the sewers, you’ll do it. I saved your puny life, and you
owe
me. You are
mine
. You follow?”

Choking with anger and fear, Elrabin heard Scar’s words through the roaring in his ears. He made a strangled sound, not trusting himself to say the correct thing.

Scar punched him in the stomach with his fist, doubling him over.

Coughing and gasping, Elrabin sagged to his knees. His stomach hurt, and he couldn’t do anything but fight against throwing up. His whole body was trembling, and it took him a while before he was able to pull himself together.

Finally he looked up, but Scar was gone. Some of the others were watching him, grinning and nudging each other.

Humiliation made Elrabin swing his gaze away. He staggered upright and thought about leaving. He could take their precious dust and sell it on the black market, then turn in Barthul’s location to the patrollers. Sure, the gang would come after him, but he figured he could hide. He wasn’t as stupid as Scar thought.

But at the same time he remembered how close he’d come to starving on his own. Maybe he wasn’t as clever as
he
thought. The smell of hot food filled the air, and he dropped his idea of running away. It wouldn’t prove anything to Scar, and it would only leave him without a place to go. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. He figured tomorrow had to get better.

It did.

Soon Elrabin had a regular collection of delivery routes. He did whatever Scar told him, and soon Scar stopped threatening him and picking on him. Scar even occasionally dropped him a word of praise or a little nod of approval.

Such rewards made Elrabin swell with pride. He found himself increasingly eager to please Scar. The other thieves and runners in the gang stayed aloof, insulting him whenever he tried to join their tri-dice games in the evenings. Lonely, missing his da and the old life, Elrabin kept to himself and tried to believe things would get better. At least he had food and shelter. He had a job, although he wasn’t paid. Scar told him he had to pass his apprenticeship first before he could take a cut. Elrabin even gathered his courage and asked Scar one day to teach him how to handle a sticker.

Scar laughed at him, but obliged with a lesson.

Elrabin was too eager and too clumsy. He ended up cut. Yelping, he jumped back, giving up the fight.

Scar cleaned his sticker and put it away with a little snarl of disgust. “Hopeless,” he said, and walked off.

Dejected, Elrabin wrapped up his bleeding hand. He wasn’t really cut out to be a fighter, he admitted to himself. No matter how much he wanted to be like Scar, he knew that surface imitations were all he could achieve. He would never have the other youth’s killer instincts or steely ruthlessness. He didn’t have what it took, and he didn’t know how to acquire it.

But the next day Scar sought him out. Expecting to get his orders, Elrabin faced Scar and tried to look ready and competent. At least he could run dust. Maybe, if he ever gained acceptance, he’d ask Barthul to let him open a gambling shop.

“Which route today?” he asked.

Scar shook his head. “Something different. Come with me.”

With no more explanation than that, Scar led him across the ghetto. Then they slipped through the gates and headed toward Keskia and the better districts of the city. Elrabin was bursting with a mixture of curiosity and pride. For the first time he and Scar were working together. Elrabin knew Scar could never be his friend, but at least he had companionship. He was tired of solitude and loneliness.

Happy, he bounced along beside Scar. “I figured you were mad at me after yesterday,” he said.

Scar kept up a fast, ground-eating stride. He grunted.

“Will you give me another lesson sometime?” Elrabin asked.

Scar backed his one ear.

Elrabin strode along beside him for a few moments, then tried a different tack. “Where we going?”

Scar growled. He refused to look at Elrabin. “Big job today.”

“Yeah, I guess so. You don’t go along on runs much, do you, Scar?”

Scar dodged a female Viis pedestrian who had stopped to rummage in her market basket. He didn’t reply to Elrabin’s question.

“So how big a job we got?” Elrabin asked. “What are we going to do? Where are we going?”

Scar stopped so abruptly Elrabin had to skip sideways to avoid crashing into him. Scar glared at him. “Shut up,” he said. “Just shut up.”

He walked on, and Elrabin rushed to catch up with him. Elrabin was used to Scar’s unpredictable moods by now, so he didn’t let today’s bad temper upset him. He was just glad to be along, and proud that Scar had chosen him as his helper. Maybe after today, the others wouldn’t be so hard to get along with. Maybe this was a big part of passing his apprenticeship and soon he’d be accepted by everyone in Barthul’s gang.

Leaving the broad avenue, they turned into a series of alleys that grew increasingly narrow and dilapidated. Skek eyes glowed in the shadows behind sewer grates, watching them walk by. Seeing the old loading zones, rusted bars across doors that looked as though they hadn’t been opened in years, decayed pavement, crumbling bricks, and trash blown aimlessly by the wind, Elrabin kept his senses alert and drew closer to Scar’s heels. He saw the gang symbols painted on a corner and shivered. They were intruding into someone else’s territory. Not for the first time he wished he carried a weapon like Scar.

The other Kelth turned a corner and stopped with his back pressed to the wall. Elrabin copied him, and they stood there, silent and listening, for several seconds. Scar gestured for Elrabin to follow, and they moved on in silence until Scar came to a door no higher than his knees.

Crouching before it, he knocked once, twice, three times in a distinctive pattern. Then he glanced up at Elrabin. “Keep watch.”

Elrabin drew a deep breath and swung around to face the way they’d come. His ears shifted constantly, alert and nervous. He was scared, and he wanted to whine deep in his throat.

The small door opened from inside, and Elrabin jumped. He turned around, trying to hide his nervous reaction.

A slender Viis with mottled blue and green skin and no more than a vestigial rill crept out and straightened to face them. He was one of the Rejects, the subclass of Viis deemed too ugly or malformed to live in normal Viis society. The Rejects existed on the fringes, scavenging, scrounging, competing with the abiru for scarce food and unsteady work.

Elrabin didn’t like the Rejects, finding most of them borderline psychotic and sour. They hated everyone, including themselves, for they had to cope with the abhorrence they received from all privileged Viis. A few were decent, but even they thought themselves superior to the abiru. Elrabin had watched little bands of Rejects begging near the gladiator arena. They were pathetic, cringing up to people with their tattered hoods drawn closely about their faces. Most normal Viis wouldn’t even toss them a transit token.

Scar murmured something too soft and quick to catch. The Reject looked at him and Elrabin, then replied. Scar nodded, and handed over credit vouchers.

The Reject palmed them swiftly and crawled back through the low door.

Scar waited a second, then reached inside the cavity. Drawing out a bag, he tossed it to Elrabin, who barely caught it in time. He tossed a second bag to Elrabin, then drew out two more and tucked them into his own pockets.

The door slammed shut, and Scar climbed to his feet. He glanced at Elrabin. “You ready?”

Elrabin felt breathless. He stuffed the bags into his pockets. “What do I do?”

“Double blind,” Scar replied, glancing around. “We’re running a bluff, see?”

Elrabin didn’t understand, but he knew Scar hated to be asked too many questions. “What do I do?” he asked again.

Scar met his eyes a moment, then slid his gaze away. “We leave this alley and split up. You take your usual precautions. Circle around, then drop the dust at Feilee’s, see?”

Elrabin panted in excitement. “Sure,” he said eagerly. “This time I’m delivering—”

“Yeah, you got it.” Scar touched his shoulder with a rare sign of affection. “Now, try to look casual. Try to look the
same
when you go in. Don’t tip off the surveillance, you. Don’t be stupid.”

Elrabin scratched his ear. “I understand. I’ll do it exactly right. I’ll wait until they are changing the signal loads in the scanners, and then I’ll go in. Surveillance always gets fuzzy about then. I’ll—”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine.” Scar checked his pockets. “I’ll go to that corner there and wait. You go out of the alley first, ahead of me. See?”

Elrabin bared his teeth, feeling the chance of a lifetime in his pocket. If he wanted to betray Barthul’s gang, this was the day to do it. Or he could wait. Maybe he didn’t want to put himself back on his own dodge just yet. He waved at Scar. “See you tonight.”

“Yeah, fool. Tonight. Go.”

Elrabin trotted away, then steadied himself down to a normal stride. He glanced back once at Scar, flashed him another grin, then moved out into the alley, keeping alert, feeling competent and sure of himself. For a few seconds he could hear the quiet echo of Scar’s footsteps behind him. Then the sound faded. Elrabin glanced back and did not see Scar.

Admiration swelled through him. Scar was definitely good, almost as good at vanishing as Cuvein had been.

“Stop right there!”

The voice, stern with authority, came blaring at Elrabin from nowhere. Startled, he whirled around and found himself staring up at a sniffer floating over his head. Elrabin couldn’t believe it. Where had that thing come from? How had it found him so fast?

Knowing he didn’t want to find out, he dodged to one side and started to run.

“Stop! Do not resist arrest!”

The mechanized voice called after him, but Elrabin ignored it. He streaked down the alley, determined to break free before patrollers could catch up with their toy. Under his breath he was cursing. He glanced back once, wondering if Scar had been netted in a similar trap.

The sniffer blared a siren, its shrill sound making him yelp and run faster. It was following him, all right, keeping pace easily. He swore at it, knowing he had to lose this thing and fast. It couldn’t lock onto his implant, but it could sight-follow him.

Worse, the large streets of this district were fairly respectable. He couldn’t go running through groups of pedestrians without bringing too much of the wrong kind of attention to himself.

Skidding to a halt, Elrabin crouched and scooped up some broken chunks of pavement. He hurled one at the sniffer, missed, and hurled another one. This time his missile hit the sniffer squarely, knocking it off-kilter. The siren faltered, then resumed. Elrabin hit it again, knocking it into a building. The machinery belched smoke and crumpled to the ground.

Running to it, Elrabin stamped on its delicate casing, cracking it and crushing the parts inside.

Then he hurried on, telling himself to be scared later. He had to think now. He had to
move
.