Dawn of the Mad (34 page)

“What can I get you?” The purple-haired bartender eyed Roman up and down. Roman noted her hair, tightly wrapped in a bun behind her head, and numerous tattoos, one of the familiar eagle and sword, on her left arm. Situated below that tattoo were the words “XXX Corps Dreadwolves” and the phrase “Death Never Dies.” Roman caught himself staring at her silver prosthetic left arm, which reminded him of the Terminator movies back on Earth.

The woman made eye contact as she wiped the counter with a damp rag. “Never seen a girl with only one arm?”

“Sorry,” Roman stammered. “I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I saw your other tattoo and …”

“Don’t worry,” she cut him off. “I lost it in the war. I was one of the lucky ones.”

Roman sat down on a recently vacated stool and looked at the various bottles behind the bartender. He honestly had no idea where to start.

“I don’t suppose you have any beer or whiskey?”

“Excuse me?”

He remembered the drink Scotts had told him about in Von Jesonik’s waiting room earlier, although the name escaped him at the moment. “Actually, I forgot the name, but it comes from a jungle planet. It’s green in color.”

Without pause, the bartender reached under the bar and retrieved a slim glass bottle. She quickly poured a glass of the familiar green liquid. He was about to drink it when he remembered something.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any money to pay for this.”

The bartender eyed Roman more with curiosity than the contempt she would have for any other non-paying customer.

“I can see that you’re not from around here, so it’s on the house.” She turned to refill a drink for a nearby soldier.

Roman was about to make a smartass comment like “How did you figure that out?” but decided against it. Instead, he said, “I didn’t realize I stood out that bad.” She had been pretty cool so far. What’s the golden rule? Don’t piss off the bartender, right? “It’s kind of a long story on how I ended up here.”

The bartender looked back at him, over her shoulder. “I figured that much. We all have long stories around here.” She pushed two purple drinks in the direction of a slightly inebriated soldier to Roman’s left.

Roman was about to say something else to her when he felt a slap on his shoulder. Looking back, his gaze met Scott’s usual jovial self.

“I see you’ve met Natasha. You’re lucky; she’s in a good mood tonight!”

Natasha flashed Scotts a “go to hell” look and walked to another part of the bar and a group of rowdy academy cadets whose drinks needed refilling.

“We thought you got lost,” Scotts said. “We have a table in the back.” Roman followed Scotts through the maze of patrons into the rear part of the bar, which had filled up even more since he had arrived. Perhaps it was happy hour, Roman thought to himself. No video broadcasts played in the back section, just a slow ambient rhythm. Chuikova was seated in the middle of a large booth, with Cruwell and Matthias on each side. Two rather attractive black-haired women sat on either side of Matthias in the booth, laughing at his jokes, one of them massaging his shoulders. As Roman scanned the rest of the back part of the bar, he found similarities to strip clubs back home. Several women in various stages of undress chatted and danced with the customers, male and female alike. A striking contrast however, was a large, painted mural on the wall featuring a fanged, grey wolf. The word “DREADWOLF” was painted in red script under the wolf.

“Sit down!” Matthias roared at Roman. The alcohol was working just fine tonight, Roman mused. Chuikova nodded in his direction. Not surprisingly, he smoked a cigar and had a glass of rather rusty-colored liquid in front of him. From his experiences as a cop back home, Roman was pretty sure Chuikova (and Matthias, for that matter) was three sheets to the wind. Cruwell, on the other hand, appeared to be drinking water or vodka (if they had vodka on this planet). Cruwell sat quietly, rotating his glass in his hands, not saying anything. He gazed up at Roman and nodded in his direction. Roman noted that Cruwell’s shoulder-length black hair was tied into a ponytail, a more casual style than he usually sported. Roman chuckled to himself as he turned his gaze back to Matthias. Although his arm was still in the sling, he managed to use it to lift his glass to his lips.

“I didn’t think you could have places like this here,” Roman said over the noise of the music.

Matthias replied, “Just what kind of society do you think we have?” He started to laugh, and the others joined him.

Chuikova interrupted, “Anything you want, it’s on me. Well, actually, it’s on the army!” Scotts summoned a waitress and ordered a round of drinks for everyone.

“I have a job for you if you’re interested, Johnny,” Chuikova said as he finished the last of his drink and set the empty glass on the table. Roman could tell that Chuikova was trying his best not to slur his words.

“I’m listening.”

“I have a friend who is in command of the police force in this sector. There is a job there if you want it. It will at least give you something to do for a while.”

“I haven’t seen any police presence here,” Roman replied.” He reached for his glass and took another small, cautious sip of Torol.

“Well, it’s actually a military unit, attached to XXX Corps. The XXX Corps has been in control of the police for a while in this sector. Now that I am basically in command of XXX Corps now, it’s no problem. With the war still going on, the police don’t really have any manpower. Anyway, I prefer not to talk business. Come by my quarters tomorrow, and we’ll pay my friend a visit.” Chuikova received his fresh drink from the waitress and raised it up in the air.

“Let’s have a toast to the end of war!”

Everyone at the table stood up and raised their glasses. All of them except Roman shouted in unison, “Dreadwolves! Death never dies!”

Scotts looked over at Roman after he slammed the rest of his drink and said, “See any girls you like?”

“Well, actually, I like the bartender,” Roman said half jokingly. He found himself looking back toward the bar area, trying to could catch a glimpse of her.

Matthias started laughing as he overheard Johnny’s response. “Natasha will kick your ass, man. Very tough. I fought alongside her on one campaign. She’s got a couple other bionic implants to go along with that arm. But I think everything else works, if you know what I mean.” Matthias laughed again, and continued. “Last one of her platoon to survive an ambush up on Chairia’s second moon, I think. Infantry lieutenants don’t last long, you know. She got lucky.”

“Yeah, you’d better be careful, man,” Scotts added. Good luck to you, though!” He stood and headed toward a side door. “I gotta take a piss.”

Cruwell stood up, finished his drink, and set the glass on the table. “If you will all excuse me, my new rank has burdened me with many new responsibilities. I have an early start tomorrow.”

Matthias blurted out, “We
all
have an early start tomorrow!”

Cruwell nodded and headed toward the exit. Roman finished the last of his Torol and set the empty glass on the table. The drink’s effects were kicking in; he felt very relaxed. Watching Cruwell leave, Roman sensed he was bothered by something, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Roman unsteadily stood up trying to get his legs under him. He said the group, “I’m going to try my luck.” He thought he sounded under control. But then again, drunks usually think they are.

“Good luck to you,” Matthias said, “and lad, watch out for the right cross!” He erupted in laughter and signaled for the waitress to refill his empty glass.

Roman walked toward the front of the bar, pushing his way through the crowd. He felt a slight buzz beginning to develop, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He finally made it to the bar, but instead of Natasha, he was confronted by a burly, bearded man with a bionic eye.

“Damn. Where’s Natasha?”

“She’s on break, be back in fifteen,” the barkeep said gruffly.

Roman nodded and began to walk back toward his friends. He spotted Natasha, sitting at a small table by herself, having a drink and smoking a cigarette. Matthias was right. Along with her bionic left arm, she also had a bionic implant on her left upper thigh, her black skirt not quite hiding the implant from view. He quickly looked up from her otherwise muscular legs and caught her staring directly back at him. She had let her long purple hair down, so that it fell down the sides of her face. Letting out a heavy sigh, Roman walked over.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t staring this time.”

Natasha took a drag on the cigarette and looked him up and down, keying on the backside of his faded Levi’s. Pushing her hair away from her face, she said, “Those look comfortable.” Exhaling the smoke away from Roman, she pointed to the chair opposite her. “You don’t have to stand all night.”

“Thanks.”

“So tell me, what sector are you from, anyway? Did you get discharged already?”

“I am from a planet called Earth,” Roman said a little nervously. He continued, “I arrived a couple days ago.” He remained deliberately vague because he had been warned against mentioning any mission parameters to prying minds. The information was strictly classified.

“Really.” Natasha opened a flat black case to reach for another cigarette. As if on cue, Roman reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out his pack of L&M’s. He offered the pack to her, and she pulled out one of the cigarettes, eyeing it with curiosity. Roman pulled out his chrome Zippo and lit the cigarette. Natasha inhaled deeply, sitting back into the chair.

Eyeing the cigarette held by her thumb and index finger, Natasha said, “Sure beats synthetics. Thanks.”

“I’m Johnny.” Roman offered his outstretched hand. She shook it with a surprisingly firm grip. Roman couldn’t help but notice her muscular build, among other things, showcased by her tight, black sleeveless shirt.

Taking another drag off of the L&M, Natasha continued, “I have never heard of Earth.” She took another long drag off of the cigarette. “I don’t know what to make of you, Johnny.” Her dark grey eyes stared into his. “I am Natasha,” she continued, not displaying any outward signs of emotion.

“I know. Matthias and Scotts told me a little about you.”

“Did they, now? Matthias is a good man, damned lucky if you ask me. He saved my life. I think he’s been shot more times than anybody else I know—at least anyone living.”

I can attest to that
, Roman thought to himself, recalling the three AK-47 slugs pulled from Matthias’s shoulder.

Natasha finished her cigarette and put it out in a chrome ashtray sitting on the table top. She stood up and tied her hair into a ponytail. “Well, if you know those two, you hang around with good company.” She looked back toward the bar. “Sorry, Johnny, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

A brief uncomfortable silence ensued. The pair stood from their chairs, facing each other. Roman finally broke the awkward silence. Natasha seemed to be waiting for him to. When they stood up fully, Roman was surprised that she was almost a foot taller than his six feet. He had thought she was standing on a platform behind the bar.

“Any chance you would like to go out sometime?” he got composure back quickly as he lit another cigarette and took a long drag. He felt like an idiot, hearing his voice breaking between words.

“You seem like you’re squared away, but I don’t play around anymore.” Natasha looked at her bionic arm, and back into Roman’s eyes. “I am scarred for life, you know. It’s enough I have to live with this day to day.” She headed back to the bar, leaving Roman staring after her, wondering if he had said something wrong. Maybe she was just another psycho woman. Of course, having limbs blown off and serving in a seemingly endless war might do that to a person. She hadn’t said no, though.

The tavern began emptying out at the last call. By the time Roman was ready to leave, most of the people exiting were staff. He thought for a moment that he might be making a mistake, but what the hell did he have to lose? He thought he had perhaps missed Natasha leaving the bar, but he checked himself. He wasn’t sure it was possible to miss a woman like that in a crowd, anywhere. He was pondering that, smoking his last L&M, when Natasha finally stepped outside. She was wearing a see-through jacket over her clothes. She saw him waiting off to the side and walked over. Her knee- high black boots made no sound on the pavement.

“You stand out pretty good in those clothes,” she said as she approached him. “I wouldn’t miss those pants anywhere.” A slight smile formed on her lips.

Roman smiled back. “All they had for me was army issue. I didn’t feel right wearing that to a bar.”

“Are you waiting for someone or what? The tavern’s closing up.”

That sounds like a trick question,
Roman thought to himself. He cleared his throat and said, “Yeah—I was waiting for you. I thought maybe I could walk you home or something.”

She looked directly at him and wasn’t sure how to respond. Her tough girl routine wasn’t holding up very well right now. It was not every day she met a man who had the nerve to come up and talk to her. She answered the only way she knew how. That had been the safest way up until now. “Thanks, Johnny, but I thought I told you I have enough problems.”