Stone Blade (21 page)

“Yeah. Rather crude of them, don't you think? How could one
possibly
pass an intimate evening with friends?”

“Bottomfeeder!” Kidwell's smile didn't change but her eyes stuck out her tongue at him.

“We should have something solid soon,” said Micah, “I hope.”

“I'll have their net burned by lunch,” said Ferrel, sitting beside Kidwell.

“I'll tell Ted, then.”

Kidwell took Ferrel's hand and Micah killed the garble.

“I do so much agree with you, Rick,” said Kidwell, instantly transforming into Meshella, “I say we find out what passes for dancing on this rock.”

“I would enjoy that, my dear,” said Ferrel, “By the bye, Mike, your girlfriend's making eyes at you.”

Micah sensed their laughter. As they walked away one of the other tourists sat beside him. Some years younger than Micah, Missy Haffenstatler was attending college '... because my parents think I should...' and traveling '... because my parents think it will be a positive learning experience.' She helped herself to one of Micah's 'sticks and snuggled up to him.

“Did you get yourself unpacked, Mikey?”

“Yes. I'm ready for the library tomorrow.”

“My dear Mikey, you are far too studious. Do you remember that precious cafe we passed just down the street?”

“Yes.” Micah remembered the entire route but Haffenstatler had no need to know that!

“We simply must eat there. That reception was adorable but the food was far too light to last. And that little place looked so wonderful. Besides,” she said, taking his hand, “how better to start your studies than a romantic dinner for two?”

“How better?”

Despite the months and years he'd studied tactics and strategy Micah saw no way out of this! Conceding defeat he gathered his things, rose and offered Missy his arm.

***

Micah disconnected his terminal from the Library's, powered it down and rubbed his eyes. Several of the Unitites around him scowled but in the week he'd worked in the place he and  Ferrel had grown accustomed to it. The two of them started toward the exit. Two of the people tracking them today left ahead with the other two behind. Micah and Ferrel exchanged wry glances.

The Unity would not profit from trailing Micah and Ferrel. They'd learned a great deal, all of it blatantly covered by their research. Ramsey had Ferrel's tunnel in place so he received the information as well. He and Micah also sent Ramsey the other tidbits they unearthed.

Back at the hostel two of their shadows left and the other two settled inconspicuously across the street. Micah and Ferrel did nothing whatsoever to rouse their suspicions. After a light meal they headed almost toward the spaceport.

“Ready,” whispered Ferrel.

“Six-sigma.”

The two of them were followed, of course, but no longer. Brethren of the Walkers in Light, Unity's constables, took biometrics. They scanned the readouts and motioned Micah and Ferrel through. One didn't even try to hide his snarl.

At first glance Anathema was the cleanest downzone Micah had ever seen. All planets with starports had downzones. With presumed extraterritoriality only a few meters away and ships arriving and departing, downzones sprouted like a zrock and plastic fungus wherever authority thinned. Despite the wishes of its more upright citizens Unity was no exception.

After a little wandering Micah saw what he wanted. He and Ferrel now wandered one of Anathema's less clean streets.

“Bangers,” said Micah.

“You sure? That could be random.”

Micah shrugged. “Possible but I doubt it.”

Ferrel nodded.

“Doublejack,” said Ferrel after another block, “Look at 'em gathering.”

Micah very carefully didn't smile. Though not dressed extravagantly he and Ferrel were still several cuts above the youth and not-so-youth now watching them. Outwardly ignorant of their peril the two walked into a shabby cafe.

The waitress evaluated them instantly. She saw the bangers following them and decided to display her charms nonetheless. These fine tourists would, no doubt, be robbed of their valuables but nothing stopped her from profiting beforehand.

“Thank you, Miss,” said Micah, tipping the lady quite well. She smiled in return and made the crisp bills disappear.

Micah sipped his tea carefully. It was strong, bitter and uncomfortably hot but not bad. Ferrel set his aside after one taste.

“Flames, Mike. Do you even have any taste buds?”

“One or two,” replied Micah, “I was thinking about some nibblers. If we have time.”

“We don't,” said Ferrel quickly, “We're vastly outnumbered now and I think the leader just arrived.”

“Pity,” said Micah, “I doubt it's worse than greased rats.”

Ferrel scowled at that. Unlike Micah he didn't care for League military rations.

Micah motioned to their waitress. She smiled and swayed over to them.

“Yeah, doll?”

Micah lowered his voice. “Is there a back way out of here? I think...” He glanced toward the gathering bangers.

“Of course, doll, but I don't think it'll help any.” She started to say more but Micah motioned her to silence.

“Just show us, please.”

That plus another generous tip overcame her reluctance.

The rear entrance opened onto a narrow alleyway well-decorated with refuse and other debris. Dim light filtered back; enough, at least, for Micah and Ferrel. Not far ahead the narrow passage opened, likely where several other alleys met. They increased their pace.

Soft sounds behind informed Micah they were no longer alone. Flickering shadows ahead showed the space there filling. Micah took a quick breath and increased his pace again. It would not do for them to be trapped in the alleyway.

Five bangers awaited Micah and Ferrel in the intersection. They lazed and leaned back with no cares in the world. Not long after Micah and Ferrel emerged two more bangers plus their leader came out behind them. A quick glance showed Micah no occupied windows or security monitors.

“Well, my puckoes, what have we here?” The leader grinned as he advanced. The rest formed a circle around Micah and Ferrel.

“Meat,” said one banger, drawing several chuckles.

“Meat, aye,” said the leader, “What's on your mind, meat, coming in here?” He swaggered up to Micah. “You want something? Someone tell you you could score a scrape here?”

The man took Micah's stylus from his pocket.

“Expensive. You meats got money. Suppose you hand it over?”

“Suppose you let us go,” said Ferrel, not intimidated in the least.

“Sass meat!” said one of the bangers.

“You listen, meat,” said the leader, poking Micah in the chest, “You got two choices. You can leave here hurt a little or hurt a lot. Give up yer scrubby and we might go easy on you.”

Ferrel glanced at Micah and returned his grin.

Micah struck hard and fast. The leader slid bonelessly to the ground with breath a precious thing. Micah's lightning attack surprised the others, now Ferrel moved to attack one. Micah advanced on the biggest banger, dodged his punch and threw him into the one trying to sneak up behind him. Before they could untangle themselves Micah grabbed a handful of hair from each and cracked their heads together. Hard.

Ferrel had taken down one and now sparred with another. He had his back and side protected which left Micah free to have some fun. He stepped back, jumped forward and kicked hard at the two charging him. One blocked Micah's foot but the other took it and fell. The one who'd blocked Micah, obviously skilled at fighting, snapped a double-punch and kick. Micah blocked easily, reached in and tweaked the man's nose.

“Whoreson!”

Infuriated beyond belief Micah's foe moved in with a flurry of punches. Micah avoided them, kicked the wind out of another banger trying to flank him, then snapped his knuckles into the fist flying toward him. The man gurgled as at least two fingers broke but he held his position.

“I bet that hurts,” said Micah, “Let me help you out.”

Micah feinted against the injured hand, drew it out of line and punched straight and hard. The man collapsed to his knees and fell forward.

“Show-off,” said Ferrel, still struggling with his second.

The last banger standing glanced at his fallen comrades, then at Micah. He drew a knife and settled into an experienced fighter's crouch.

“That's hardly fair,” said Micah, advancing, “Don't I get one too?”

“RUT you, whoreson!”

With that advice the man attacked. He feinted craftily and hid his attack quite well. Micah still managed to dodge the first two stabs, block the third and cover a yawn as the fourth approached. With, apparently, all the time in the world Micah reached around the blade and grabbed the man's wrist in a painful nerve-grip. The banger gasped in pain as Micah removed the blade from his now-numb fingers. Still maintaining his lock, Micah reached forward and wiped the flat of the blade on both sides of the man's collar. Then he smiled.

“That's MISTER Whoreson to you, pucko!”

That was more than enough! The banger turned and bolted down one of the alleyways.

Micah looked at Ferrel. “Aren't you done yet?”

Ferrel moved in with a quick strike.

“Done.”

The leader, mostly breathing now, tried to scramble backward as Micah and Ferrel approached him.

“Well, meat,” said Micah, “How did you say we could leave? Hurt, I believe?”

The man cringed as Ferrel grabbed his hair and pulled him mostly to his feet.

“He said a little or a lot,” contributed Ferrel.

Fear brimmed in the eyes Micah stared into. Hard.

“I do believe we have a situation here,” said Micah.

Ferrel rolled his eyes, unseen by the banger. Micah pulled out a sheaf of currency.

“Is this what you wanted, meat?” Micah folded the bills one-handed into a thick roll and shoved it into the leader's mouth. “Now you listen with both ears, meat. I like a good scrap but business is business and fun is fun. You keep your eyes and ears here, pucko. If we show up again you may get a chance to earn some of this, yes?”

Ferrel loosened his grip. The leader plopped to the ground more from surprise than injury.  He pulled the money out of his mouth and motioned aside the ones who'd recovered. Ferrel tossed a smaller sheaf at the man nursing his hand and glaring harshly at Micah.

“Doctor-bait, meat. You really shouldn't torque him off.”

***

Ferrel sniffed the air delicately. He and Micah now walked down a less-shabby thoroughfare.

“What,” whispered Micah.

“It's not soya...”

Micah sniffed. “What? I don't smell anything.”

“It's not multein...”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's ham! That's it for truth! Farm-raised and soya-fed!”

Micah ground his teeth.

“You could have left me one or two,” continued Ferrel, “They'll think I'm a siss now.”

“Flames! It was your plan. You wanted to make an impression. You wanted to get some backup.” Micah refrained from continuing when he saw the other's grin. “We did do that.”

“Slib,” said Ferrel, “For what use they are.”

“Covering the six,” said Micah, “Preemptively. We may need to start a riot. Or some back-up muscle. Hades, maybe just some warm bodies.”

Ferrel shrugged. “That's assuming either we need that here or that they can get out without pulling a platoon of Brethren. Not that I'm objecting. Just doubting.”

“They're resourceful,” said Micah, “Bangers usually are.”

Ferrel thought on this. “Five credits says you're wrong.”

“You're on!”

Chapter 11. The Seedy Side of Triumph

The Platinum Spoon, Unity's most raucous and almost only nightspot lay equidistant from the spaceport and Anathema's squalid center. Both its surroundings and its clientele were flashier and richer. Tourists made up the majority of the Spoon's inhabitants and their credits flowed freely.

Micah spared Ferrel a smug smile as they entered. By his theory Anathema existed only to separate tourists from their money. Ferrel had five credits on an alternate hypothesis.

After carefully ordering the least expensive drinks - they did have an image to maintain and security monitors abounded here - Micah and Ferrel wandered about the rooms. Some folk, obviously tourists, smiled and greeted them. They saw several others from the ship. Other folk, sly and furtive, obviously belonged on Unity. Micah tried not to laugh at the false facial hair and wigs he saw. Then Ferrel's smile turned smug; by his theory Anathema served a critical function for Unity's society. After a while they found what they wanted.

“Lucky, lucky, lucky!”

The crowd around Ionoski oooh'ed as the croupier pushed a pile of tokens across the table with a sickly smile.

Micah couldn't help a grin. Ted had dressed just shy of tasteless on the flamboyant side. Kidwell clung to his arm vacantly as he shoved a handful of tokens back onto the table. Rob McAnders, one of the college students from the ship, spied Micah and Ferrel and waved.

“Well hello there boys,” boomed Ionoski, “Finally get tired of those books? Glad you could make it. We're having a rightly party here!”

Micah mumbled his greetings as Ionoski won yet again.

“Hate to take your money, pal,” grinned Ionoski magnanimously, “Don't let my seat cool off.”

Ionoski stood and walked a few stiff steps.

“Back in a flash, lads and ladies,” said Ionoski. Then, visibly noticing Micah and Ferrel, he handed Kidwell a pair of bills. “Why'n'cha get them some real drinks, baby.” Then he slapped her backside playfully.

Kidwell giggled fluffily but Micah felt seeds of pity for Ionoski once they left the planet.

“That man is such a posh,” said McAnders.

“Double-plus,” added Sarah Deil, “But it's a nice posh.”

McAnders grinned infectiously at this. He and Deil both attended the University of Metropole on Spiral. She was working on her senior thesis over the break and he was along for the trip.

“I suppose,” said Micah, “I just hope we don't get into trouble.”

“Trouble,” said McAnders. He snapped his fingers. “That's for trouble. Michael, my friend, there is a lesson to be learned here.” McAnders was majoring in interstellar commerce and he would not let pass an opportunity to study on Unity. He and Deil both quickly took advantage of local library access. “Those high-nosed soggies outside these walls wouldn't dare lose this fine source of revenue!”