FARKED!

by Tom Tinney

WEBisode 3 of “PULPED!”

Any Similarity between any place, event or person (Living, Alien, or Undead) is purely coincidental. If you think I wrote this about you…seek help.(Also, tell me how you got to Mars!)

She was swimming for her life, the long snouted reptile turning and twisting as it pursued her. The jaws that snapped at her were triangular and full of sharp teeth. She’d been born in this swamp and spent the last year swimming about, foraging and growing. She swam through tangles of roots, reaching out to grab one, using it to sharpen her turn. The giant reptile shot by her, its long tail pumping to increase its speed and steer into a tight turn. It was coming back on her.

She and her siblings came from all directions to this part of the swamp, where a sandy island rose from the middle of a large open expanse of water. The pond, formed by the gap in the trees, called them like a beacon.

The reptile completed its turn and came for her again. She was too large to hide deep in the tall, hard roots that supported the forest over her head. Her long finned tail was gone. Slowly absorbed by her body, it was now just a nub. Her front and rear pectoral fins had become distinct limbs with webbed hands and feet, not made for fast swimming. She could grip things, but that didn’t aid in her flight from danger.

Some of her brothers and sisters had succumb to their urges and made mad dashes for the island, digging into the sloping sandy bottom as they crawled up on the exposed sandbar. There were others there. The big ones. They would move over to her siblings and toss them back into the swamp. Some made it back to the trees, others were taken by the waiting reptiles.

Two more reptiles moved toward her, one on either side. She knew that safety lie on the island, but didn’t want to be tossed back in the water by the big ones. She swam for the island, pumping as fast as she could with her legs and arms. She didn’t look back, but felt the pressure wave building behind her. It was growing and coming from three directions. She broke the surface, breathing air into her newly formed lungs and then dove under, continuing her flight.

Her hand struck the bottom, swimming and digging rapidly up the gentle slope leading to the island. Hands and webbed feet kicked up mud and sand, obscuring the vision of her pursuers. Her head popped above the surface and she saw the big ones gathered on the shore. They simply watched her. She needed to survive, she needed to escape, she needed to do something that her siblings had not.

She did. She stood and walked out of the water. The big ones rushed toward her, but ran by, seemingly ignoring her. She turned and saw a reptile burst from the water, lunging for her, twisting in mid-air to grab her body with its jaws. The big ones placed their spear butts in the sand and holding the tips toward the reptile, its own forward force impaling it multiple times.

“Welcome to the world, young one,” said a big one in ornate armor,”Thahithir has filled you and you will be our light.”

“Please, help them! Save my brothers and sisters,” she said.

“It is as it should be,” the big one replied, his armor sparkling as he walked into the water. “A male cannot come ashore until Thahithir has chosen a worthy female. All unworthy females get another chance, which is why we throw them back. That is why you were not.”

A female, much larger than she, approached. “I am your matron. I will guide you, daughter.”
She turned and saw most of the big ones had walked out into the water, facing outward with weapons in hand. The path they formed allowed her surviving siblings to reach the shore. They were shaken up and somewhat dazed. All bowed to her as they passed.

“I don’t usually take this kind of case,” I told the man in the 10,000 cred suit sitting behind the exotic wood desk. “I choose my clients as much as they choose me.”

Of course, as an ex-GISI, I have a cop mentality. I don’t like the bad guys to win, so working for them is not usually in the cards. The sign on my door would read “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, for any reason, especially low-life criminals”.

Well, it would be the sign if we had a door. My old door, along with the rest of my office, was in pieces, having been blown up during the last case we worked.

“Money doesn’t have a conscience and the fees you’ll earn will go a long way toward putting your agency back together,” Mr. Peroni said, leaning back while puffing a very expensive cigar. The fee, in this case, was substantial.

“Conditions are non-negotiable,” I said. “You mooks agree that everybody, including the man I’m trying to find, gets to continue breathing. You don’t touch him and neither do any of your proxies. No exceptions.”

“Agreed,” Mr. Peroni said. “And I’m a man of my word.”

“Sure, but just in case, you’re gonna park 2,500,000 creds in a Farkan bank’s conditional escrow account, as an added incentive to behave,” I said, reading over the contract my gal had drawn up. “You’ll get it back in six months, if everybody is still living.”

If not, the money went to some charities and the family of those that got whacked. Hopefully, my relatives wouldn’t be seeing that check anytime soon.

Who, some might ask, would be worth all of this time, effort and money? Mr. Eglin Holdsworth. His name is the first clue that he wasn’t a star athlete in school. He was never a star of anything that required effort or legality. Ever. His appearance was also a giveaway. Pudgy, balding and barely five feet tall; Hollywood hadn’t beaten a path to his door.

He’d barely passed his college exams and lost his CPA license five years in. According to his data file, Eglin had a gambling problem. Actually, he had a card counting problem that got him nixed from just about every casino this side of the Sagittarius cluster. He could roll numbers quickly, had an eidetic memory and a “flexible” moral compass. He knew just enough about tax law and money laundering to get him a job working for Mr. Peroni and his organization. I didn’t like working with questionable characters.

Peroni’s people gave me his complete folder. It was full of personal records and information that was definitely privileged and shouldn’t have been accessible. No point in asking where they got it. There are crooked cops and bureaucrats that’ll take a few creds to pass along a little info or copies of private documents. No harm, no foul, right? It’s one of the reasons I got out. The irony is that I count on those same people to help me solve cases. Not being a Law Enforcement officer anymore, made it okay. At least that’s what I told myself.

This time, instead of getting worked up about how they got the info, I’d smiled. My Comm dinged and I looked at the screen.

“Money is in escrow” was the message. Good girl. I was just going to sign the contract and split. Instead, I added a “PS” and had him initial it. “No tails”. If they thought this gig was about leading them to Eglin, they were wrong and I was off the case. I left the office and headed to the orbital transfer terminal.

When someone can’t be found by other “professionals”, rather than go over old ground, I started looking for him where they hadn’t. He wouldn’t go on the lamb in a casino. Too many sec cameras and lotsa beef in black suits looking for him. Besides, people running the games were chummy with the same people looking for him. No need to look into those.

He couldn’t show his face in the non-Terran dens because my clients had made it very clear that they wanted to talk to him, as soon as possible, and as long as he could still talk. The state of Mr. Holdsworth’s health was optional. Peroni’s syndicate spent months sniffing around for him. We may all look alike to most of the galaxy, but some species were adept at smelling us out. Literally. Even the non-Terran trackers couldn’t find him. Bad for them, good for me.

My client’s attitude, and the pile of money they were throwing around, had gotten them nothing. That’s when they came to me. My name is Redge MacDonald and I’m an ex-officer from the Galactic Intelligence Special Investigations Service, more commonly called GISI’s. I was part of the intra-species crime division, but that career is long gone. No regrets. Well, not many.

So, what did I know? I knew Eglin’s a gambler. He’d pissed off his employers and that wasn’t a smart move. He’d bolt at the drop of a hat and he’s good at hiding. He’s intelligent, greedy and desperate. I also knew Eglin was a perv. I’d spent the last month chasing down the ex-syndicate accountant. He’s smart, but he had urges. A pattern emerged. The little head always had a way of outsmarting the big head. There was no point in me chasing individual leads. Finding Mr. Holdsworth meant doing a pattern search. Move from one patch of space to another. I stopped at every backwater outpost in the Hephaestus Ore belt. It was only a matter of time.

I forgot to mention my secret weapon. Miss Charity Leonard. Most folks know her by her working name, Kinky. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. Built like most men’s “dream girl” and just the other side of being in her prime. I was a decade past mine.

She actually prefers Kinky to her given name. She’s an ex-HoloPorn star with enough special wetware chipped into her head to make her the most deadly, and sexy, office manager any boss could have grace their agency.
Standing in front of a “Quantum Comm by the millisecond” pay console, I waited for the connection to go live. I looked around and then down at my shoes. Dull polish on old leather. Cop shoes. Comfortable and plain. Made for walking, running or sitting still for hours on a stake-out. Kinky was always telling me to step up my fashion game.

The connection popped.

“Hey, Redge, how ya doin?” she asked. The voice was choppy, and out of sync with the movement of her full lips, due to our scramblers. We didn’t want anybody listening in and if they did catch our signal, it would take three months of serious computing to decode it. Farkan tech is pretty awesome and I knew a guy.

Kinky’s holocam view was pulled in tight, so the only thing showing was her beautiful face, sparkling blue eyes, straight black hair and bare shoulders. It would have been nice if she pulled the viewer back about a foot. She has truly magnificent cleavage and a guy like me missed not being able to steal a glance at it. Man, I needed to get the office up and running.

“Hey, Kinks, how’re you getting along? Feeling better, doll?”

“Ya, Redge, the doc says another two weeks of physical and he’ll let me leave the apartment. Still a little shaky when I move too fast. I get dizzy sometimes, but he says that might be the new wetware adjusting to my situation.”

Her situation was simple. She’d been blown out of a third story window and damn near died. Quite of few of her bones were now plastanium, along with a good portion of her skull. The rest of her was as natural as it had ever been. They’d done an excellent job of putting her back together and the only permanent scars would be emotional. While she was at it, she had gotten implant upgrades. Lots of wetware upgrades.

“I checked with C and M. They say ya’re right. When E skipped out, our clients locked down his alternate accounts. He’s living on whatever he’s got on him or what he can withdraw from the accounts we don’t know nothin’ about. I’m gonna send ya some more possible locays from my source. Says they’re real shit holes, but they fit E’s profile. Oh, and tell that little blue putz to stop callin’ me. He can use instamail like everyone else. He gives me the creeps, Redge.”

By “little blue putz” she meant my new assistant and blue skinned sidekick, Kevin. He was Denubian. We’ve had issues with them in the past. Big issues. Not Kevin specifically, but them as a people.
To catch you up, Kevin showed up at the old office after the bombing. It was the first time I’d stood in that hallway since the hospital released me. I’d held the piece of broken holo-glass from my shattered front door. When it was whole, it read:

“R. MacDonald and Associates,
Detective
Agency
Licensed and Bonded”

On the surviving piece, the first line read “Detect”, the second line “Agen”. Aging? I hated observationally correct objects. Yeah, I was getting older, but it had no right to point it out.

It was also telling me what I had needed to do. Get back to work. Get focused. Stop dwelling on how Mr. Syemour Shelzz was going to suffer for what he’d done to Kinky and the other people he’d hurt.

About that time, I’d spotted a chunk of glass leaned up against the wall, with a holographic “Ass” emblazoned across it. Yeah, I’d probably deserved that as well.

“You made quite a mess of my building, Mr. Redge MacDonald,” the building owner, Kamal, had said from over my shoulder.

“I didn’t,” I’d replied. “It was a greedy Denubian.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Newsies say it was the Sons of Mars. You brought their trouble to my building, Mr. Redge.”

“Really? Maybe officially, but unofficially, I know it was a Denubian.”

“To be honest, Mr. Redge, I don’t care if it was a Denubian, the Sons of Mars or the divine destroyer Shiva incarnate that turned this office inside out,” Kamal continued. “What I do know is that they were after you and my building paid the price. Nobody wants to rent near you. It’ll take months to get the seals and structure re-certified. I’m sorry, but you must find another place to hang your shoestring.”

“Shingle,” I’d replied.

“What?”

“Hang my shingle. Goes back to the old tradition of―oh, never mind. I’ll gather up anything that’s not broken and Kinky’s personal stuff. I’ll hire a crew to help clean up the rest.”

Kamal had nodded and then looked at where Kinky’s desk used to sit. “How is Miss Kinky? She is a lovely woman and so kind.”

“She is getting better. Resting. I’ll tell her you asked about her.”

“Please, yes, tell her that she is in our prayers,” Kamal said, stepping back into the hallway. “I will send up Kevin to help you move. “

“Kevin? The homeless Denube kid?” I’d asked, my gut tightening. I hadn’t realized how much anger I’d been suppressing.

“Yes, I have him trading room and board for helping me with my buildings,” Kamal said. “At least until they deport him. He has no papers.”

It took a breath, then two to get a grip. To let it go.

I’d seen Kevin around and he was nice enough. A teenager, barely of legal age, otherwise he’d have been forced into a halfway house or foster-care. And Denubian. Stranded here on Mars when the freighter he’d stowed away on was confiscated for smuggling Cacao seedlings. Denubians would not let go of the illegal chocolate market. It was a protected product of earth and they were barred from having anything to do with it except purchasing it from a human for consumption. Period.

Kevin was a hard worker. It turned out Kamal’s idea of “room and board” was a sleeping bag in the janitor closet. After he’d helped me clean up, I’d let him crash on my couch. A few weeks later, I pulled in a favor and got him a legit work visa. He’s been tagging along ever since. And Kinky despised him. She had her own reasons for not liking Denubians, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her they weren’t justified.

I came out of my daydream, looking into a screen filled with Kinky’s soft feminine features. There was a tightness to her face. Stressed. “Okay, I’ll tell him. Instamail only. He really is a good―”

“Don’t care Redge. I gotta go. The new nurse is here. She seemed sweet on the comm. Talk at ya later.”

The comm broke and I walked down the main drag. Hephaestus asteroids were just under planetoid size and good for iron, iridium and nickel. They were also in a gas belt. The dome overhead kept the air in and the poisonous gas mix of an atmosphere out. The stale air recirculated the dust. There was a text message from Kevin.

“Found it. And more. You owe the Skink 500 creds on account. Comm me with instructions at loc 5.”

I could barely understand him when he spoke, but he wrote Near English like it was his native tongue. He’d found it, and whatever “more” was. Good. That was going to make the next part a lot easier.

I checked in with local law and company security types. Old GISI habits die hard. Spent the better part of the morning prowling each of the facilities scummier dives, where clothing was optional and desperation hung in the air like a cheap perfume. Mr. Eglin Holdsworth would be in one of them. I’d meant to hit them all.

Found him. It was an off-the-books company mining camp. Eglin was partying in a rundown cargo container serving as a strip club in front and “pod-room by the hour” whorehouse in the rear. “The Spanked Monkey” was scrawled in bright pink spray paint, across the beat up corrugated steel wall. Next to it, stapled to a fiberglass plank, was an obscenely posed pair of knitted sock monkeys. Definitely a classy joint.

The interior was dark. Partially clothed human and alien dancers moved from stage to stage, trying to attract the attention of the off-shift miners, hoping to lure them into the back of the establishment to separate them from their hard earned creds. Sex sells and alien sex sells big, going either way.

On an old SciFi TV show, the green-skinned ladies were hot nympho aliens. In reality, they had violet skin, white hair and golden double irised eyes. Virgots. Human body compatibility and genetically predisposed to seek male attention. The males on their planet got the urge, for three days, once every two years. The females were perpetually in the mood. When a Virgot male decided to procreate, every female for 100 klicks came running. The gals, out of genetic necessity, were very accommodating and very skilled. If it wasn’t for their human pimps, they’d be doing it for free.

The black lights made Virgot hair glow and their skin look pinkish. In a dark corner, I watched Eglin relaxing between two nude Virgots. They were working him really good, stimulating and simulating, selling the promise of more to come. Every step I took toward them, my shoes stuck to the floor. I didn’t look down, because a black light tells no lies and I didn’t want to have to burn my shoes later. He noticed me when I stopped, standing in front of him.

“Eglin, you and I need to talk,” I said. “You two, beat it.”

“Is that a special request?” asked one of them, as she reached toward me.

My look left no doubt that it wasn’t. All three of them froze. The girls looked at me with irritation, Eglin with fear. His picture had done him justice, balding, paunchy and sweaty. He was trying to blend in, but his “office” background messed up his disguise. Miners don’t wear freshly pressed coveralls. I half-grinned. They misread the meaning.

The girls went back to their gyrations and Eglin relaxed a little.

“You have the wrong person,” Eglin said, trying to look innocent and confused. ”My name is Henderson. Roy Henderson.”

I pulled out my porta scanner and fired it off before he could flinch. The beams scanned and the light flashed in two tenths of a second. He blinked hard.

“Identify confirmed. Elgin Holdsworth, male, human, age―,” I snapped the unit off.

“Porta never lies, Eglin,” I said, letting the irritation show in my voice.”You need to learn the lingo, you’re college education is showing through. Now, let’s talk.”

The girls never stopped and he smiled at me. I could tell they were going to tell me to blow, so I slid my jacket to the side to flash my holstered weapon. A 1911 .45 Colt automatic pistol replica with modern rounds and laser sights hidden in the spring tube. It looked old, but could punch holes through that steel container and the three next to it. Betsy. That’s what I called my weapon. I never left home without her. Actually, I had her strapped on most of the time. I had stopped carrying her up until my last case. I’d gotten complacent. Thinking I was untouchable on my home turf. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I was allowed to bring Betsy with me anywhere in the galaxy. I was going to. The next time I got Syemour Shelzz in my sites, I wouldn’t be reaching for the empty spot where she should be.

“Hey, pal,” Elgin, said, with raised eyebrows and a twitchy smirk, “I don’t know who you are, but if you pull that in here, you’re a dead man. You’re supposed to check your weapons at the door. They’re illegal beyond the entry if they serve alcohol. It’s posted and the sec cams have pulse beams on them. The bouncers will shred you.”

He shifted a little, trying to look behind me, probably checking to see if I had backup. I didn’t need it.

“Sec cams are empty shells, that’s why you come here. Cut the bullshit.”

“Yeah, maybe, but the bouncers pulse beams are real enough, so maybe you cut the bullshit. I’m busy,” Eglin replied, using each hand to give the adjacent Virgot’s amble butt cheek a squeeze.

I slid my jacket a little further and their eyes got wider. A GISI badge with blue stripe. Retired. Allowed to carry anywhere. The two Virgots exited quickly. Badges made everybody nervous. Eglin’s eyes started darting around the room again.

“Nope. Stop that,” I said, snapping my fingers to get his attention. “You run, you’ll piss me off. Piss me off, you get two stun rounds and I flip you over to the people that sent me. I’m not here to whack you. We’re gonna talk. Maybe I save your life.”

“Yeah, how are you going to do that, Mr.—?”

“Redge. MacDonald. I run a detective agency on Mars. Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest,” Eglin said, tipping his hand to the chair opposite him. ”Mars? You’re a very long way from home, Mr. MacDonald.”

“Yep. You’re not an easy man to find. My employers have been looking for you for months. They burned a lot of creds and even more favors. You just about made it, but then they hired me.”

“I see. And how much would it take for you to forget you found me?”

“Not an option, Eglin. Not how I work. I was their last resort, so I cut a deal.”

“Deal?” he said, the nervousness returning to his voice.

“Yeah. I don’t find people just to get them killed. I don’t want that to happen to you. They had to tell me what you took. You were a very bad boy, Eglin. I can see why they’re pissed.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. Those things aren’t supposed to be allowed off…wait, what are you talking about? The creds?”

Eglin’s demeanor shifted. He relaxed a little. “Well, all of those accounts. All of that money coming in and nobody knew where it was going but me. It was their mistake, really.”

“For trusting you? No honor among thieves and all that?” I asked. “We’re going to get back on track. You’re going to give me the account numbers and we’re going to access each one. I’m going to re-passcode them and then give them back to my clients.”

“No problem,” he replied, a little too quickly.

“And you’re going to give me the other thing,” I said, guessing there was something else, but not sure what.

“That’s my insurance policy. No way,” he replied, looking nervous again.

“I told you, they’re not going to kill you.”

“I don’t give a shit about them. It’s who they’re going to sell it too. The folks Peroni had over a barrel because they needed it so bad. They scare the shit out of me.”

“Who? Slub slave traders? Denubian Chocolate cartel? Terran Mob or Yakuza? Those people all work for, or are scared of, Peroni’s syndicate. Who could be worse than them?”

“The Farkans.”

You could’ve Velcro’d me to a wall with the goosebumps I got.

“Bullshit,” I replied, snapping at Eglin so quick he flinched. “Farkans are clean. I worked with them for years. I get their culture and I saw how they operate. No way are they tied up with your scummy ex-bosses.”

“Well, my scummy ex-bosses are your current bosses, so what’s that say about you?”

“That I’m an idiot,” I said, then leaned in toward Eglin. ”You have ten seconds to tell me what’s so important to a Farkan that they would violate their own laws and deal with criminals. What?”

“A thing,” Eglin said. “A bauble. You wouldn’t even give it a second glance if you saw it, but there is some serious heat going on behind the scenes. Whoever has it is going to have huge mojo with the Farkan line of succession.”

“How?”

“No idea,” he replied. “Not a clue. One of Peroni’s bagmen came by my office and shoved it into my drop safe. Told me to forget I ever saw it. Said it was big. A game changer and I wasn’t to touch it. He picked the wrong night to use me as a stash house.”

“That the night you ran?”

“Yeah, he went to sleep and I dosed him. I’d been planning to leave for weeks. I cracked the drop safe, took the chips, account info, B-cards and the box,” he said, then lowered his voice. “After I saw what was inside the box, I thought the bagman was an idiot. Then I did a little poking around and found out I’d have been safer grabbing a live nuke. I wanted to get rid of it, but I have no idea how or who.”

“You’re coming with me to the hotel.”

“Don’t you want to go to where I have my stash?”

“No need, we already snagged it. I only needed you for the codes,” I said, smiling at him. “But now, I think I am going to save your life a second time. This time, it’s on your dime. I’m 400 creds a day plus expenses.”

“I’ll bite,” he said. “But I want to negotiate a better rate.”

I texted Kevin while I stood outside my hotel room door.

“It’s me. Knocking now.”

I knocked and a couple of seconds later, the door opened a crack. A bulging eye, surrounded by blue translucent folds of skin, peered through the crack. It distended slightly, moving outward so the owner could look into the hallway, scanning back and forth. The door opened wider.

“M’so glad it you, boss M’donald,” Kevin said, his Denubian patter juggling the Near English with a reggae band tempo.

I pushed the door open wider and saw the hand cannon, with its eight chambered revolving cylinder full of 20mm rounds, propped up on the chair he had facing the door. A Heckler-Koch urban containment system using non-lethal pellet bags and gas filled balls. It might have had the last two chambers filled with slightly illegal double ought buckshot. Maybe. Whoever came through the door uninvited would have been very sorry.

“M’gon out my mind waitin’ in da dark,” Kevin continued, eyeing our new guest.

“I can see that,” I replied, pulling Eglin into the room. “And it’s Redge. For the hundredth time. Not boss.”

Kevin shut the door and locked it, then reattached six sonic piercers with suction cups. He stood by the Heckler, probably feeling safer when it was within reach.

“M’hate dem things, bo— M’Redge” Kevin said, nodding toward the door.

“Yeah, they’re really irritating, which is why we use them.”

He’d accidently set a piercer off, back at the warehouse. That firsthand experience gave him an appreciation for their effectiveness. When they were activated, they emitted a 140 db of pulsing, screaming sound and subsonic thumps that would make most sound sensitive races drop in agony and empty their stomach…or stomachs. They were particularly good against humans, Slubs and Denubians.

“Who he? Dis da guy?” Kevin asked.

“Yep, Eglin Holdsworth, meet my assistant Kevin Mbilzz.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Eglin said, extending his hand. Kevin reached out and shook it.

“M‘ya got dem big balls. Big balls buddy,” Kevin said to Eglin, and meant it. “They’s some bad Pink¬―people. M’want ya ass bad.”

I shot Kevin a look. Pink, short for Pinky. He had to stop dropping the “Pinky Toy” reference. It’s what Denubians used when talking about us humans. Their “N” word for us. If he ever said it in front of Kinky, she might take his head off. Kevin looked at the ground and then his bulging, fish-like eyes looked around the room in an independent fashion, avoiding eye contact with me. His blue translucent skin lit off with veins of bright pink and a yellow luminescence. His body’s response to stress. He was sorry, embarrassed and unsure of what to say. I could read Denubes like a book. Our eyes met and I crooked my eyebrow, nodded with a slight, reassuring motion. He relaxed.

“Big Balls had m’safe box at bank. Fakey, fakey. M’went to terminal and Skink sniff out his scent. Found locker. M’bust that one ease, Skink try ta get a peak,” Kevin said, a serious look on his face. “M’don let him. M’tell him hit da brick.”

I smiled. Kevin was very pleased with himself.

“Eglin, time for you to show us what’s got your sphincter tightened,” I said, pointing to the gym bag on the bed.

Eglin opened the bag and looked inside. He sighed as he saw how thorough Kevin had been in confiscating his treasure trove. He reached inside and removed a small wooden box, simple, but put together with quality. A cube six inches square, with an ornate lock and hidden hinges. The finish on the outside looked a mile deep.

“That Toga wood, M’only found deep swamps on Fark. Tough as steel, m’so dae say,” Kevin said, his nervousness returning. “Dat Box worth mayb 5,000 creds. M’can get year in prison m’jus for havin’ it without paper.”

Kevin was right. Toga wood and crafts were indigenous to the planet Fark, and not generally available for export. Occasionally, items are given as gifts to heads of state, that sort of thing. Figures that there would be a black market for the stuff.

“That’s not the ass puncher,” Eglin said, wiggling the lock and opening the box. “This is.”

Eglin turned the box toward us and removed a piece of cloth. Under the cloth was a sphere. Glass or crystal and about four inches in diameter.

“Some rare gem?” I asked.

“No, it’s hollow. Crystal. It’s called a mualtholu. It’s not worth shit to anybody else in the galaxy. A coffee table decoration. But it’s priceless to a Farkan. Or more correctly, a Farkan male.”

“Why?”

Eglin gingerly removed the sphere from the box and held it up to his throat, pressing it in under his jaw, using a tripod he made out of three fingers. He started to hum, a bass sound, deep in his throat. The sound reverberated and grew, becoming complex and powerful. I felt it in my bones, emanating from the sphere. Eglin stopped.

“The mualtholu is some sort of amplifier and filter. A natural synthesizer. I played with it a little. Believe me, that little bit I did sounds like crap compared to what a Farkan can do with it.”

“Ok, it makes Farkans sing like a pro. So what?”

“No, based on some research papers I dug up, it makes male Farkans sing like a procreator,” Eglin said, carefully placing the sphere back in the box, replacing the cloth and closing the lid. “It lets a trained Farkan sing like a God. Something to do with the mating ritual. Look, I poked around, but stayed under the radar. Academics know about the spheres, even wrote some articles on them about ten years ago. It has something to do with matching pairs between families. There are tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of these things. Passed down within the family, generation to generation. Strongest son and all that. There is even a test of sound purity and multi-chord tone generation. Use a simple tuning fork. I did it. This thing is beyond the top end for response. It’s the Holy Grail. The ones in the articles were cloudy, slightly egg shaped or off color. Common. This one is perfect and might be used by the elite to determine the line of succession.”

“So why didn’t you pawn it or dump it?”

“Nobody wants it. At least nobody with any common sense,” Eglin said, eying the box with a sad look. “You think getting caught with the box is bad, get caught with the sphere. We’re talking erasure. Like you never existed. Family vendetta or some shit. When I hinted to some brokers what I had, they told me to forget I knew them. They’re so scared; they told me they wouldn’t be mentioning it to anyone.”

“Great. Ok, Eglin, you and I are going to go over accounts and codes, then transmit the info back to your bosses,” I said, reaching into my go-bag. “Afterward, you’re going to take these three passports and tickets to move along. When you get to the first destination, you send a message to the drop box number on the third ticket.”

“What message?”

“You’ll see it when you get there. If I don’t hear from you when I get back to Mars, I’m going to assume they took you out.”

“Kinda flippant about that, aren’t you?”

“You stole from them. This is your best chance. In a year, you send me another message, the one written on the back of the third ticket under the drop box number.”

“Why isn’t that one secret?”

“If I get that one first, I’ll know they have you and they broke our deal.”

“What about the sphere?”

“Oh, that,” I said, turning to look at him with my best GISI stare. “Those brokers you talked to had the right idea. Forget you ever saw it.”

I turned to Kevin and got his attention. I tapped my comm and nodded at him.

“M’gon ta get some food, wha’cha wan, bo— M’Redge?” Kevin asked, taking our order, disarming the piercers and hitting the door. Eglin and I entered account numbers from our room terminal. I texted Kevin what I’d need before we headed back to Mars. Later, we ate our meal with the curtains open, interrupted a couple of times by room service and hotel maintenance.

An hour later, I walked down by the gravity pool, wearing a brown safari hat and coveralls with “Sam” stitched on the front pocket. I made my way to a cabana, where Kevin and Eglin, still in his room service uniform, sat with the sides dropped for privacy. About that time, we heard the piercers going off. Whoever had busted into our room was not going to be happy about that, or to find three well paid decoys laying there with ear protection and signs saying

“We’re not them, don’t shoot.”

We left the hotel grounds by the service entrance under the hotel and emerged near the colony market. I gave Eglin the address of my transport guy.

“Follow those directions. Don’t get cute. This all goes right and you get to go be someone else, far away. I’ll let you know when you can come out of the hole. Be safe.”

“I guess a thank you is in order,” Eglin said, but I saw his eye fall on the bag Kevin carried.

“Now, don’t go getting any dumb ideas, Eglin. You’re just about home free,” I said. “You go be a good boy for awhile. Who knows, you may like it.”

We parted ways, with Kevin and I heading for the private transport I’d arranged to get off that distant rock. Somewhere between the Hephaestus Ore belt and Mars, Kevin’s gym bag and all of its contents went missing. He’d only set it down for a minute. Kevin and I looked for it, even back tracking a stop or two, but it didn’t turn up. I reported the stolen bag to the train security team and messaged Kinky that we had lost the bag with the special item. We didn’t leave our cabin again until we hit the Mars orbital transfer platform.

I knew that my next conversation was going to be tough, which led to pacing the sidewalk in front of Kinky’s building for twenty minutes. NewerYork was a domed city on Mars, our home. Inside, it was a mild 75 degrees, even though it was midday. The dome concentrated or defrayed the weak sunlight, so we had almost normal days. Outside the dome, the nights would drop to a 110 below. The sidewalks were busy with people and aliens going about their business.

I’d put it off long enough. There was no way to play it but straight up and she was going to go ballistic. I nodded to Kevin, who had been sitting on a stoop across the street, and he walked over.

“M’boss Macdonald, M’Redge, m’know she no like me. Hate me,” Kevin said, standing straight backed, hands jammed in his letterman’s jacket and baseball cap riding low. “I don’ need ta go, m’ya can just—.”

“Wrong,” I cut him off. “You’re with me. Let’s go.”

I turned and entered the building, nodded to the doorman, who nodded back and then took on a surprised look at the sight of the blue kid following me. He shook his head and shot me an angry look. He knew.

Eight floors up and I buzzed Kinky’s apartment door comm.

“Come in, ya mook,” she yelled through the speaker as the maglock clicked. I pushed open the door, but stayed put.

“Hey, Doll,” I said loudly. “Can you come over here so we can talk first?”

“Geez, are ya in cahoots with the doc? This his way of getting me to move around more?” she yelled back. I heard the rustling and she walked around the corner into her entryway. Beautiful as ever, looking better than she had when I last saw her. She was a little unsteady and taking smaller steps, while she steadied herself with a hand on the wall.

“Whassup, ex-cop?” she asked with a smile. It turned to a frown as she looked past me into the hall at Kevin.

“What the fuck, Redge? You bring that blue piece of—,” Kinky stopped talking, visibly shaking as her gaze met mine. She was angry. Really mad.

“Kinky, he’s here to help me. Us. He had nothing to do with those other things. The past. I don’t think he’s like those people.”

“I don’t give a shit,” she said, poking me in the chest. “Not one tiny little shit. They’re all bad. Just bad. Always have been, always will be.”

“I don’t believe that. We need to be better and show him what being better means, or he will end up a bad one. He’ll learn from the wrong people what a Denubian is supposed to be. It starts with us trusting that he is on our side and so far he’s done everything I’ve asked. He really wants this, to be a law abiding citizen. To contribute. To amend”

“Okay, you play good Samaritan and I’ll call in sick until he’s gone.”

“That won’t work. We’re going to need some help until you’re well and probably afterward. There’s not too many people on our side right now, and he is one of them. He’s in or he’s out. He’s got nobody. No family. No support. He’s stays with us and learns to do the right thing, or I take him down to the dock and put him on the next freighter going to Denubian space. Maybe he’ll only have to commit a few dozen crimes, while not getting caught or killed, before he gets taken in by a cartel. He’ll be a street hustling go-boy. Fodder for a crime boss until he learns the trade. Your call.”

Kinky looked up at me with watery eyes. She knew what it was to be written off, to have a path chosen for you by people that didn’t give a shit if you lived, got hurt or died, as long as you produced. You might have guessed I was not playing fair in this particular exchange.

She wiped her eyes, looking back at me with an icy stare.

“Fine,” Kinky said, the begrudging tone of surrender in her voice. “He’s your problem. He looks at me sideways or gives me any grief and I will separate his little blue head from his shoulders, new bone grafts or not.”

Did I know her, or what?

“That’s my girl,” I said, grabbing her by the shoulders and planting one on her forehead.

“Ow. Asshole,” she said into my chest. She hugged me back, her body fitting to mine. I felt the tension washing out of her and the pressure of her feminine shape pushing against the terrycloth robe she wore. It felt warm, but I got a little light headed.

“Reginald Hamish MacDonald, ye let tha’ wee girl go. She’s not one of yer pub crawl tarts, lookin’ ta be manhandled.”

My eye twitched. The world spun. Sweat formed and ran down my back. I separated from Kinky and looked down at her face. Her smiling face. That “cat that ate the canary” face.

“Oh, forgot to tell ya, Ya’re mum’s here. Did ya know she’s a nurse that works under contract?”

“What—? I, er, what?” I might have said. I don’t exactly remember, as I was having an emotional aneurysm at the time. “When did you—?”

“Oh, we used ta talk all the time. You know, when she’d call and you’d signal me ta tell her you weren’t in,” Kinky said, loud enough to make sure everyone in the room heard it clearly. That was going to cost me.

“Then she retired,” Kinky continued, innocent as a lamb. “I helped her format her indie contracts, and file her license, so she could do homecare. She’s a legit LLC. She comm’d me in the hospital to see how I was doin’ and found out I was bein’ released, so she hopped an orbital and came here ta take care of me. Margaret’s such a sweetie. Wanted ta do it for free, but I’m paying her normal rate, plus expenses.”

“She hopped—. Orbital? Mom never leaves Earth. Hell, since Dad retired, she never leaves Scotland,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Wha- what the hell is going on here?”

“She’s going ta stay with me until I can get back to work. This is much nicer than having some stranger in my home. We have lots ta talk about. Lots and lots,” Kinky said, extending her arms downward, hands clasped, and twisting her shoulders back and forth like a teenage girl. “Lots and Lots.”

“Shoes, mister,” said Mrs. Margaret Ann Molehusband-MacDonald, my mum.

Her eyebrow crooked upward as her finger pointed downward. “I just swept tha’ flare. And you, the blue fella’, you’re like Skinny Malinky Long Legs. Ye need some meat on ye. Have ye eaten t’day?”

“Nah, M’gone ta go ta the café, get a —.”

“Nonsense, ye’ll eat here and now. We’ve got Rumbledethumps and sausages. There’s a plain loaf in the bread bin.”

“What is da Rumba-hump and sausage?”

“Old Scottish cooking, lad,” I said, with a sigh. “Meaning cabbage cooked slimier than a loose bowel movement and she’s boiled all of the color out of the meat.”

His eyes bulged more than normal and his confident air left him.

“M’s okay. M’gon go to the café,” Kevin said, turning to leave.

“Wrong. If I have to eat it, you have to eat it,” I said, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him in. I pointed down. “Shoes, buddy. Seriously. She’ll use that broom on you if you don’t mind the shoes.”

“Kinks,” I said as I closed the door, pushing Kevin in front of me, “I need you to open your safe.”

(To keep reading, Click Page 2 below)

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FARKED!

WEBisode 3 of “PULPED!”

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