Bodyguard

5

“We’re not proposing to pump it dry, for god’s sake…just pave it over.”

Land Commissioner Donald Siranni on plans to “cap” Puget Sound

A massive concrete pillar ran down through the center of the spiral staircase. One of Sasha’s spiked heels caught in the open mesh. She managed to pull it out and continued on tiptoes. A door slammed and the stairs shook as the rent-a-cops started down. We had a two-or three-minute lead. Not enough at the speed we were traveling. “Sasha! Lose the boots! We won’t make it otherwise!”

The kid grabbed the rail and stopped. I squeezed past, turned, and gestured for a boot. She shoved one in my face. I grabbed, pulled, and felt it come loose. The second boot was easier. I threw both aside.

I heard a shout, sent a slug up the stairwell, and headed down. Sasha followed. We took the stairs two, sometimes three at a time, always conscious of the fact that the corpies were close behind. There were lots of landings, and doors off each, but all of them were locked. I kept going, knowing the stairs had to end sometime, and hoping that maybe, just maybe, there would be a way out.

The landings were numbered and the numbers got larger. Finally we were on “Level 50,” and nothing but a door stood between us and whatever lay beyond. I pushed and nothing happened. We were trapped.

“Stand aside.” Sasha held the.44 in both hands. She was already in the process of squeezing the trigger when I yelled “No!” The word was lost in the boom that followed.

The bullet bounced off the steel plate that protected the lock mechanism, hit the wall next to my shoulder, and whined up the stairwell. I hoped it would hit a corpie and knew that kind of luck had been reserved for someone else. My ears rang as Sasha brought the gun down for another try. I told her what to do.

“Ebertok asu nabledock!”

Sasha frowned and her finger tightened on the trigger.

I tried again. “Aim for the keypad instead!”

She nodded and corrected her aim.

I turned and was watching the stairs when she fired the next shot. It was as loud as the first. A few more of those and I’d be deaf.

“Maxon! Look!”

I looked. The slug had transformed the keypad into a mass of shattered plastic and tangled wires. Sparks sputtered and a tendril of smoke drifted away. I kicked the door and it swung inwards. We entered together. I saw a corridor and a second door. There was no sign of a lock. Good. Sasha gestured to the corner next to the door. “Stay here and slow ’ em down. I ’ll scout ahead.”

Who the hell had died and left her in charge? I started to ask, but she was gone before I could organize the necessary words. So I stayed where I was, watched the stairs, and fired when I saw legs. They retreated upwards in a hurry. The corpies yelled something, tried to draw me out, and I ignored them. I heard the now-familiar boom of the.44.

“Maxon! Come on!”

I wished there was some way to lock the door, couldn’t think of one, and backed away. Sasha held a second door open and gestured with the.44. The bore looked big enough to drive a truck through. I made a note to teach her something about gun safety. Assuming we lived long enough to make the effort worthwhile, that is.

I moved through the door and out onto a concrete jetty. Dark water lapped all around. There was a variety of equipment, including a pair of light-duty cranes, fuel pumps, cargo modules, and a high-speed launch that sat on a cradle. The line of bullet holes just above the heavily stained waterline gave mute testimony to what had happened. That, plus the fact that the security station resembled a small-scale fortress, hinted at unseen dangers.

The apparent dangers, both naked from the waist down, stood with their hands behind their heads. The woman had nice legs and an attitude to go with them. Her nudity didn’t bother her in the least. She looked at me and smiled. The man kept his eyes on the deck. Sasha was pleased with herself. “They were busy playing hide the submarine when I surprised them.”

I frowned to demonstrate my disapproval of her unladylike analogy and gave thanks for the human sex drive. Assuming that our pursuers had called ahead, this pair had been too busy to notice. “I heard a shot.”

“Oh, that,” Sasha said nonchalantly. “I fired a round to get their attention.”

Sasha seemed to be of the opinion that ammo grew on trees. I scowled at the guards and gestured towards a cargo module. “Climb to the top and sit on your hands.”

The man hurried to obey. The woman followed, and so did my eyes. My lust was rather short-lived, however, since the corpies chose that particular moment to arrive, firing as they came. The fact that they were shooting at Sasha, and not at me, should have set some thoughts in motion but didn’t.

Sasha brought her cannon up and squeezed the trigger. A rent-a-cop was plucked off his feet and thrown backwards into the crowd. I grabbed the girl’s wrist with my left hand and towed her towards the far end of the jetty. The.38 bucked and corpies dove for cover.

A man, hidden until now, appeared from our right. He wore mechanic’s overalls and held a wrench in his hand. Sasha swung the.44 in his direction and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty casing. I shot the man through the thigh and lectured Sasha as he fell. “This ain’t no movie, kid…you gotta count your rounds.”

She looked ashamed, and it was then that I noticed the bloody footprints. Sasha had come down who knows how many stairs in her bare feet and cut them to shreds. All without a whimper. I felt like the biggest sonofabitch in the world and wished I could take the comment back. Her attention was elsewhere. “Maxon, look!”

I looked in the direction of her pointing finger. The boat appeared to be about twenty-five feet long, had lots of lights, and, judging from the shape of its hull, had been designed for speed rather than cargo capacity. Just the thing for harried executives or fugitives like ourselves. I shoved Sasha in that direction. “Jump! I’ll cast off.”

“You know how to drive one of these things?”

“Of course,” I lied. “Now jump.” She jumped. The boat bobbed slightly as she landed.

I ran to the point where the forward line had been wrapped around a bollard, found that someone had used a double-reverse-something-or-other-knot to secure it, and swore as my fingers strained to undo it. A rent-a-cop opened up with a submachine gun, and Sasha’s words were nearly inaudible. “I dumped the other line! Come on!”

Bullets whipped past Sasha’s head as I ran towards the boat, jumped the ever-widening gap, and tumbled into the cockpit. I was still sorting myself out when the starter whined, the engine caught, and the boat surged forward. The bow hit the jetty a glancing blow, bounced off, and roared away. Corpies ran the length of the jetty. Fire flickered from the muzzles of their guns as empty casings arced through the air. A piece of side glass shattered, tiny bits of fiberglass peppered my face, and an invisible hand tugged at my sleeve.

I fought my way forward, shouldered Sasha out of the way, and assumed control in time to avoid a head-on collision with a support column. She seemed happy to relinquish command.

Someone fired a scope-mounted rifle. The windscreen shattered, and miniature geysers erupted all around us as he or she emptied a clip.

I didn’t think of it then, but would eventually realize that the sniper could have hit me had he or she really wanted to, and had missed on purpose. Then we were gone, beyond the range of the rifle, and hidden by almost total darkness. My heart beat a mile a minute as I remembered the columns that held everything up, searched for the right pictograph, and flicked the appropriate switch.

The spotlights were mounted on a bar over the flying bridge. Some had been shot out, but a dozen or so remained. They illuminated a row of concrete pillars that marched off into the distance and disturbed hundreds of bats. The miserable little bastards swooped down, sailed through the lights, and flapped away. An unexpected waterfall poured from above, spattered across the bow, and ran the length of the boat. Drainage from the spaceport? A broken pipe? There was no way to know.

I looked back to where our wake broke white against concrete columns and the lights from the jetty seemed to wink off and on. I glanced at Sasha as I turned towards the bow. Her hair blew straight back, and she reminded me of someone else, though I didn’t know who. Had that thought passed through my mind before? I strained but couldn’t remember. “Did you see another boat?”

She shook her head. “Just the one that had been hauled out for repairs.”

I nodded. “Do us both a favor. Go below and look for holes.”

Sasha frowned, as if disappointed that she hadn’t thought of that, and backed down a short ladder. I basked in my moment of brilliance, edged towards the exact center of the channel, and wondered where the hell we were going. Well, we’d get there pretty damned fast, that was for sure. The wind pressed against my face, and the pillars whipped by like pylons in a race. Sasha reappeared at my elbow. “You were right, Maxon.”

“The name’s Max.”

She looked impatient. “Max, schmax. We’re taking water. Lots of it.”

“How fast is it coming in? Could we plug the holes?”

Sasha looked doubtful. “I don’t think so. It’s half a foot deep and rising fast.”

I swore under my breath. It would be just my luck to escape a hail of gunfire only to drown a few minutes later. “Can you swim?”

Sasha shook her head. “Swimming pools are in short supply on Europa Station. How ‘bout you?”

“Not a lick. Not that I can remember, anyway.”

Her eyes left mine and darted away. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

We were silent for a moment. A pillar flashed by. She looked my way. “Did you see that?”

“What?”

“The column had words on it.”

“So?”

“So, slow down. If that column had words on it, the next one might have them too.”

It made sense, although the practical value of reading the words escaped me. I eased the throttle back and took a look at the speedometer or the nautical equivalent thereof. The needle dropped as our speed fell off. The boat bobbed up and down as its wake caught up with it. Sasha pointed at the next pillar. “Look!”

I looked. The column bore the likeness of a skull and cross-bones with words underneath. The boat had drifted close. I slipped the engine into reverse and goosed the throttle. “What does it say? Your eyes are younger than mine.”

“It says, ‘Death to corpies. Proceed at your own risk.’“

I nodded agreeably. “A noble sentiment indeed. It’s time to haul ass.”

Sasha nodded. I moved the transmission lever into the “forward” position, brought the throttle up, and felt the boat surge forward. It took longer than before, and the wheel felt sluggish. A hand darted in to flip one of the many switches that lined the control panel. There was a humming sound, and water gushed from the boat’s side.

“Jeez, Maxon. It says ‘Bilge Pump.’ What hell were you waiting for?”

I felt blood rush to my face. “Sorry…”

She looked angry. “Sorry isn’t good enough! A mistake like that could get us killed.”

I kept my eyes straight ahead. What could I say? The girl was right. I did make mistakes, and one could get us killed. A hand touched my arm. I looked in her face and saw the anger had disappeared. Something else had taken its place. Something I couldn’t quite name.

“I’m sorry, Max. That was a stupid thing to say. You came after me, and that took guts. I won’t forget it.”

I couldn’t remember anyone saying something that nice to me. A whole host of emotions bubbled up from deep inside. I wanted to say something suave but knew I’d cry instead. So I settled for a nod and tried to look impassive. I couldn’t tell if she bought it or not.

We continued that way for another forty-five minutes or so, water gushing out of the boat’s side while it sank lower and lower in the water. That’s when the floaters roared out of the darkness. Their small, sledlike boats wove in and out of the pillars like shuttles on a loom. There were ten or fifteen of the speedy little craft, and each boasted a two-person crew. The drivers hunched behind their control panels while their gunners stood within cagelike structures and aimed their pintle-mounted weapons in our general direction. They wore black scuba suits and enough armament to embarrass a marine. I hit the throttle and the boat surged forward, but it was too late.

Four or five of the sleds turned inwards, pulled alongside, and bumped our hull. Four of their neoprene-clad gunners were aboard a half-second later and aimed some rather ugly-looking machine pistols in our direction. I considered the.38 but rejected it as a bad idea. A member of the assault team gestured with his weapon. “Throttle back. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

I looked at Sasha. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. I pulled the throttle back. The boat nose-dived, regained its equilibrium, and wallowed in the waves the sleds had made.

The man spoke again. “Good. Place your hands behind your head and step away from the controls.” He pointed the machine pistol towards Sasha. “You too.”

We did as instructed. Another member of the assault team, a woman this time, patted me down. She found the.38 and held it beneath a light. “Nice, very nice, but not the sort of heat that corpies carry.”

My voice came as a croak. “We aren’t corpies.”

She grinned. Rubber framed an average face. Her skin was unnaturally white. “No shit. That would explain why you look like hell and the boat’s full of holes. What happened to your head, anyway?”

“A guy blew my brains out and the medics stuffed them back in. They couldn’t find the top of my skull, so they installed a metal plate instead.”

The woman thought I was joking and laughed appreciatively. “I like your sense of humor. Now, explain how you got the boat and what you’re doing in our territory.”

That’s when Sasha jumped in. She was concerned that I’d screw things up, and I couldn’t really blame her.

“We found a hole in Trans-Solar’s security, tried to hijack some proprietary information, and were caught in the act. We headed downwards, wound up on a jetty, and stole this boat. Finding you was chance and nothing more. End of story.”

The woman nodded slowly. There was a smile on her face. “And quite a story it is. Parts of it could even be true! Well, never mind. You really pissed ’em off, that’s obvious from the condition of the boat, and that makes you okay with us. Here, take your cannon back.”

I accepted the.38 and stuck it down the back of my pants. Sasha’s.44 had been confiscated as well. A man handed it back. The woman offered her hand. It was strong but cold. “My name’s Murphy. What’s yours?”

There wasn’t enough time to think of a good lie, not for me anyway, so I told the truth. “I’m Max Maxon…and this is Sasha Casad.”

“Max…Sasha…glad to meet you. Now stand by while we bring some pumps aboard.”

Sleds bumped the hull, pumps were handed up, and two of the floaters headed below. Within minutes the hoses were connected, the pumps were started, and water gushed over the side. It was all done with a minimum of motion and conversation, as though they’d done similar things many times before.

Murphy looked over the side and nodded her satisfaction. “That should do it. I’ll take the wheel if you have no objection.”

Neither of us had been all that excited about steering to begin with. We shook our heads in unison. Murphy smiled, waved the sleds off, and inched the throttle forward. The bow came up in one smooth motion, steadied, and hung there as if suspended from above. The sleds roared along to either side, dashing back and forth across our wake, narrowly avoiding the pillars. It looked like fun. Murphy yelled over the sound of the engine, “What will you do now?”

Sasha was unaware of our travel arrangements, so I took over. “We need to get topside as soon as possible.”

Murphy nodded thoughtfully. “You owe my family for the cost of our fuel, and the use of our pumps, but the boat is yours. By our laws, anyway. What will you do with it?”

I was about to give it to her gratis when Sasha took over.

“We plan to sell it, pay our debts, and keep the balance. Would you like to make an offer?”

Murphy flicked the wheel to the right, skidded the boat around some floating debris, and straightened it out again. “Boats like this are hard to come by. We use them to run contraband in from the ocean. The corpies try to stop us, but we usually outrun them. My father will give you a good price.”

Sasha looked skeptical. “No offense, but others might offer us a good price as well, and we owe it to ourselves to listen.”

Murphy nodded, as if Sasha’s comment was not only appropriate but expected. “True, but that would take time, and Max says you’re in a hurry.”

I wanted to say something agreeable, but Sasha sent a scowl in my direction. “We’ll listen to any reasonable offer.”

These people had saved our bacon, but when it came to business the girl didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body. A little gift from her corpie-type parents, perhaps? But it didn’t bother Murphy. She nodded and pointed towards the bow. “That’s Floater Town. We’ll be there in five minutes or so.”

I looked and saw a collection of lights that seemed to hover just off the water. Reflections zigzagged across the surface and shattered as the water undulated up and down. The engine noise dropped to a rumble as Murphy eased the throttle back and allowed the boat to settle in the water.

There was a single approach to Floater Town, and it carried us through a maze of mines. Some were submerged while others bobbed near the surface. How Murphy was able to pilot our boat through the maze was a mystery. Perhaps she had memorized the route, or maybe the small earplug she wore had something to do with it. Whatever the method, she proceeded slowly, as did the sleds, which formed a single line behind us.

Floater Town boasted other defenses as well, including a number of heavily armored barges, attack sleds, and automated weapons blisters that clung to the ceiling like concrete limpets. And later, as we cleared the mines, I saw four sixty-or seventy-foot submarines, all moored side by side and painted to resemble sea monsters.

Murphy maneuvered the boat alongside the dock with nary a bump. A burst of reverse power was sufficient to neutralize our forward motion. A gang of cheerful-looking children, as sleek as seals in their rubber suits, ran to handle our lines. Murphy slipped the gearshift to neutral, switched the bilge pump to shore power, and killed the engine. Water continued to spill from the hoses. “The pumps will hold her for now.”

Sasha nodded impassively and followed Murphy over the side. She winced as her feet hit the surface of the dock. Murphy saw that and frowned. She gestured towards a gear locker. “Sit on the box. Hold your feet up one at a time.”

Sasha shrugged but did as she was told. The bleeding had stopped, but the lacerations were easy to see. They were red towards the center and edged with blue. Shame swept over me like a wave. I had meant to remember her feet, I really had, but my memory, fickle as always, had betrayed me once more.

Murphy called for help. A pair of muscular young men appeared, swept Sasha off the locker, and carried her down the dock. Standards had been placed every twenty feet or so and cast interlocking circles of light. A wave rolled in out of the darkness and the dock shifted beneath our feet. The rest of Floater Town did likewise, undulating up and down before settling down.

None of the buildings were more than two stories tall, and all rested on some sort of flotation system. Some were built on barges, some squatted on rafts made from fifty-gallon oil drums, and others rode homemade pontoons. Most were rather dilapidated, having the appearance of well-maintained shacks rather than formal dwellings. Still, there was lots of elbow room, and that was attractive, in spite of the unending darkness and the press of a barely seen concrete sky.

The men carried Sasha into one of the more prosperous-looking structures, and we followed. I barely had time to see the hand-lettered sign that said “Murphy Enterprises,” and the metal booster tanks that held the place up, before I was ushered into a combination living room and warehouse.

Coils of nylon line hung next to all manner of floats, fishing gear, spear guns, nets and other less identifiable items. And there was furniture too, shabby-looking stuff for the most part, but solid and comfortable. Everything was in shades of gray, as if the external darkness had managed to reach in and leach the color out of the walls, furniture, and fittings.

Sasha was receiving better care than I could provide. People ran hither and yon and yelled insults at each other as they gathered medical supplies and worked on her feet. I used the time to examine what seemed like an anomaly. A large, rather splashy painting, blue the way the ocean is supposed to be, and full of tropical fish.

“Do you like it?”

I turned to find Murphy at my side. The rubber hood hung between her shoulders. Her hair was so short that it was little more than brown fuzz. She wore gold studs in both earlobes.

“Yes, I do. Is it yours?”

She smiled. “If you like it, then yes, it is. Come. My father wants to see you.”

I turned and saw Sasha trying on a pair of black, high-topped sneakers. They were more practical than the high heels had been, and would be good for shipboard use. Or so I assumed, because in spite of the fact that I had spent several years in space, I couldn’t remember a thing about it.

It was then that I noticed that the two young men still hovered in the background, and realized that Sasha was more than a girl; she was an attractive young woman. An urge to separate her from her male admirers bubbled to the surface. “Sasha…Murphy’s father wants to see us.”

Sasha said, “Be right there,” turned to her fan club, and said something I couldn’t hear. They laughed and headed for the door. I wondered what she’d said but didn’t dare ask.

Murphy led us in the direction I least expected to go, downwards. A short flight of stairs carried us down into an underwater room. It hung between the massive booster tanks that provided the building with buoyancy. Armored glass enclosed three of the four walls, and underwater floods illuminated the surrounding area. I watched in open-mouthed amazement as a big ugly fish swam through the brightly lit water, flicked its tail, and disappeared into the surrounding gloom.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice came from the man who sat with his back to the single solid wall, separated from me by a semicircular desk, which, judging by the cables that squirmed out the back of it, housed some rather sophisticated electronics. He had thinning hair, a high forehead, and bright blue eyes. They seemed lit from within and capable of seeing straight through whatever they looked at. He stood and held out his hand. He wore khakis and was very fit.

“Mr. Maxon…Ms. Casad…welcome to my home.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “We appreciate your help.”

I heard a thumping sound and turned to see what had caused it. Two rubber-suited children hung outside the window waving and making faces through their masks.

“It’s the twins,” Mr. Murphy said apologetically. “They love to show off.”

Sasha said, “You have a wonderful family,” and seemed to mean it.

“Thank you. We have six boys and five girls, which is ten more than the corpies would allow us to have topside, and about eight more than we planned. But the Murphys are a passionate lot and not always given to practicality. Please, be seated. Would you like something to eat? To drink?”

My stomach rumbled, and I realized that it had been a long time since the pizza. Sasha looked interested as well. “Something to eat would be nice, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Mr. Murphy settled back in his chair. “No trouble at all. Maureen? Would you be so kind?”

The woman who had introduced herself as “Murphy” nodded and headed upstairs.

“So,” Mr. Murphy said comfortably. “Maureen tells me that you have a boat for sale.”

I nodded, but Sasha answered. “Yes, we do. And a rather nice one at that.”

Mr. Murphy grinned and countered with a position of his own. “Boats are supposed to float. Yours would sink if the pumps failed.”

Sasha shrugged. “Holes can be plugged, and besides, it’s the engine you’re after anyway.”

Now this was a revelation to me, but it made a weird sort of sense, since hulls are a lot easier to fabricate than high-tech engines. Sasha had known that from the start, while I had taken the situation at face value.

Negotiations went on for some time, with points being scored on both sides, as the dollar spread gradually narrowed. I ignored the conversation for the most part, content to devote most of my attention to the soy-steak sandwiches Maureen had delivered, and the pot of scalding hot coffee. I knew a deal had been struck when both parties stood and shook hands. Mr. Murphy spoke first. “You’re a tough negotiator, Ms. Casad. Who taught you to slice a deal that thin?”

Sasha grinned. “Dear old Mom. I had to write a business case in order to get seconds at dinner.”

Mr. Murphy nodded approvingly. “Start ’em early, that’s what I say. How do you want your money?”

The words seemed to pop out of my mouth. I was as surprised as they were. “Cash mostly, but we could use some clothes, and a pair of space-certified weapons.”

If Mr. Murphy thought my request unusual, he gave no sign of it. He nodded understandingly. “You’d never make it past security with regular firearms, and you’d be crazy to use them even if you could. Some of those habitats are surprisingly thin-skinned. Maureen…take a look in the armory. A pair of Browning.9mm flechette guns might meet their needs.”

We made small talk until Maureen returned with two plastic cases. She handed one to each of us. I thumbed mine open, pried the weapon from its nest, and looked it over. It had all the latest enhancements, including some carefully placed weights to add heft in normal gravity situations, an over-sized safety to accommodate gloved hands, a thirty-round magazine, a ninety-round gas reservoir, and a flat black nonreflective finish. The box included thirty rounds of ammo, fifteen standard or “killer” rounds, and fifteen injector or “drug” rounds. I tried to remember when and where I’d learned those names, but couldn’t.

“So what do you think?”

I looked Mr. Murphy in the eye. “We’ll take ’em. We’ll need shoulder holsters, four spare magazines, and a thousand rounds of ammo. Half killer and half drug. And some clothes. Two outfits apiece and a bag to tote them in.”

Yeah, I had some clothes stashed in the sleeping compartment on Level 37 of the Sea-Tac Urboplex, but I wasn’t likely to see them again.

The other man raised an eyebrow. He looked at Sasha. “That’ll drop your cash down to $4,000.00.”

Four thousand dollars? The girl was amazing!

Sasha looked at me and nodded. “If Max says we need that stuff, then we need it.”

I felt warm all over, like a puppy that had been patted on its head, and grinned like an idiot.

The rest went quickly. We changed into one set of new clothes, stowed our weapons in their holsters, loaded the spare magazines, and stashed them in the pouches provided for that purpose. My shirt, jacket, and pants were black, as were my shoes. We were just about to leave when Sasha pointed at my head. “That skull plate is visible from miles away. You should cover it with something.”

She had a point. The Murphys had agreed to escort us as far as the surface, but that was the extent of their protection. We’d be on our own after that, with who knows how many poppers and rent-a-cops hot on our trail. So a ball cap, with the word “Captain” spelled out in gold letters, and scrambled eggs across the bill, served to complete my outfit. I didn’t see the money, but Sasha assured me that it was secured around her waist in a money belt.

And so it was that we took leave of Floater Town, headed up towards the stars, and a future that neither one of us could be sure of.