Fool's Gold: Carson Lyle's War - Part One (3 page)

The cab stopped in front of a large, rundown apartment building. It was one of the older, original buildings that dated back to the original migrations of colonists from Earth. Pre-fabricated living modules stacked like blocks in a building framework. People suckered by the sales pitch of new opportunity twenty light years from Earth were given their own little cube of heaven. It was a far cry from the brochure. Now the building was hardly even visible behind a web of jury rigged gutters, downspouts and catch basins hanging all over the building. City water had become so expensive, most people relied on the Atlantia’s sparse rainfall for their needs.

The cabbie looked around, a little nervous. This was apparently not his regular area.

"You sure this is the right place?"

"Yep." Lyle said. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a twenty credit bill and handed it to the driver. "Turn the meter off and wait here. Gimme about ten minutes." Then he turned to the door.

The driver picked up his radio mic.

"Stop!" Lyle said. "Don't call in."

"But—"

Lyle pointed to the twenty in the driver's hand and said, very carefully, "Don't call in." Then he pulled another twenty out of his pouch and held it up where the driver could see.

"Got it," the driver said, putting the mic back on its hook on the dash. He watched Lyle go into the apartment building and up the stairs. When Lyle was out of sight, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out data pad, opened the messenger, tapped three words and put it away.

Back in thirty.

***

"Carson!" The woman said, when she opened the door. "My stars! How've you been?"

"Can't complain too much, you?" Lyle said, hugging the much shorter woman.

"I've been well. You shouldn't stay away so long!" She said, moving to the main living room. "Sit down. You want a drink? Somethin' to eat?"

Lyle sat down on the couch. "Thanks, Betty. I can't. I gotta catch the shuttle in an hour. Won a big contract this morning."

"Really? Where to?"

"El Dorado."

"Big contract…to El Dorado? You remember what Jack used to call any big run out to that hell hole, don’t you?"

“Fool’s Gold,” Lyle laughed.

“There was a reason for that.”

"I know, but the money's right." He smiled. "Very right."

Betty sat down in a chair opposite Lyle. "I hope it's worth it with that dodgy jump gate and all. Jack used to tell me about problems coming out of jump space on the back side.
She
doesn't like it, you know?"

Lyle nodded, "I know. I've been working on her jump tolerance and the last gate report says they worked on it a couple months back so it should be better."

"Well, I hope so. Jack will haunt you if you hurt her. That ship was his life outside of me."

"The payoff is worth it. You'll get enough to keep things going for a good bit."

"You don't have to give me any money! I wish you'd stop. You work hard and deserve to be happy."

"I'm doing just fine."

"Carson Lyle, she said, wagging at finger at him. "You forget, I know all about you. I'm betting Sarah would be proud of the way you help me and the others, but everything else…cheating the system any which way you can. Pushing the rules to the absolute limit and, in the process, thumbing your nose at the Authority every chance you get. Trust me, they know exactly who you are and they're going to catch up to you if you keep this up. You need to dial it back and think of your future."

Lyle took a deep breath.
Another lecture, geesh.
"You, of all people…hell, you might be the only left…you know I don't have a future and haven't had one since the war. After what they’ve done - not just to me, but to all of us - why should I just crawl in a hole and let a self-serving government just have its way with everyone without giving it as much headache as I can?"

"What about Artemis?"

Lyle reached down and rubbed his thigh. It still ached from the scan at the security checkpoint. "What about her?"

"Can’t she make things right for you, at least?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. The time's not right."

“You’d get your life back and—”

“The sacrifice she’s made for me…I don’t want it to be wasted. Things aren’t right yet.”

Betty through her hands in the air. "See? That's what I'm talkin' about." She took his hand in hers. "You could be doing something to help yourself and you won't. You think you deserve to suffer? What happened to Sarah…not your fault.”

Lyle looked away, but only then remembered there wasn't a window to look out of.

"You were wronged by the Authority more than most men," Betty said. "What they put you through is inexcusable. They screwed Jack over when they transferred him out here. His hate for them burned for years and he was just like you. You know what changed that?" She poked a finger in his chest. "You!"

Lyle looked back at her.

"Yeah, you! When I first met him, he was carrying on his own personal little vendetta with the Authority and the Mech Corps…and I was right there with him for years. Then the Outer Rim War came along and it got worse. Much worse." Betty looked away this time, realizing she was straying into her own painful memories. "But then you came along into that bar looking for the man that 'took your job' and you were going to beat up everyone until you found that man." The thought made Betty laugh.

Carson laughed with her.

"The point is," she said. "Jack saw himself standing there. As he got to know you, he saw what he was and knew that had to change. Why do you think he took you under his wing and showed you the ropes? He was hoping to turn you around from the path you're on now, so you could live the simple, satisfying life that he couldn't. One surrounded by friends…the haulers. That's why he trusted you with that contract he had with The Badger. That's why he gave you his ship. Don't disrespect his memory, and everything he did for you, by throwing it all away."

Carson was quiet for a long moment, taking in everything Betty had said.

"He loved haulin'," he said, finally.

"That he did...and he'd be proud you. But he'd tell you what I'm telling you. Put this vendetta with the Authority aside...and live."

He smiled. "I'll tell you what, I'll give it some thought and after this run, I'll come by and we'll talk about it again."

That made Betty smile also. "Thank you."

"But you will take the money I'll bring you when I get back."

"That's a deal."

They spent the next several minutes chatting about whatever came to mind, while she packed him some food to take with him on the run.

They said their goodbyes and in another minute, Lyle was back in the cab. He checked the time. The visit ran a little longer than he'd planned, but he could still keep his schedule to boost.

As the cab pulled away, he looked back one more time at the apartment building and at the fifth balcony. He saw his friend's wife watching him as he left, just as she had done for Mad Jack every time he went on a run.

Put aside what they did to me and the others? Not today...not ever. Sorry, Betts.

Chapter 5

There had been a definite uptick in traffic volume since the cab had come through just a little while before. The driver was on the radio with his dispatch finding out what the holdup was.

"There's an accident up ahead, snarling things up pretty good."

"Dammit. Just let me out here. I'll walk."

Lyle got out of the cab and slung the bag holding Betty's care package onto his back. Before the cabbie could say a word, he pulled out his wad of bills and peeled off two more twenties; one for the fare and the one he'd promised earlier. Then he turned and headed off in the direction of the Shuttle port.

***

The cabbie watched Lyle walk away. When was sure he wouldn't turn around, he sent another text message:
Avenue X, in front of Jo-Jo's.

***

Lyle had walked a two and a half blocks before he was forced to stop at an intersection. Traffic was moving again, as it was detoured by police to side streets. Lyle waited for the go ahead, from the traffic cop, to cross. He was joined on either side by two large men. He looked left and right, and greeted them with a nod that wasn’t returned. A third man rudely stepped between Lyle and the man on his right. He was bald and much shorter than Lyle with a wing tattoo on a face that wore a familiar scowl.

It was Shorty.

"Let's you and me have a talk," he said without looking at Lyle.

Lyle looked left and right again and sighed. "As fun as that sounds, I've got to get back to my ship. Gotta go make some money, but you understand that, I'm sure."

"You're just a damn comedian, aren't ya?" Shorty said, still not looking at him. "But you don't seem to get it. We're going to step over here and have a talk right now."

The large men both started to move toward a nearby alley, scooping Lyle along with them. He knew what was about to go down. He could say something; yell to the flatfoot directing traffic.
No fun in that.
This little talk would probably make him late for the shuttle headed up to the freight port, but it was something that was probably going to happen sooner or later. A lingering dispute with another hauler, left unresolved, was bad for business.

They all stepped into the alley, away from the street. It was relatively private. Most passersby were likely to ignore anything they saw.

One of Shorty's large lackeys reached under the back of Lyle's long jacket, fumbling for his sidearm. When he removed it, he pushed Lyle, face first, into the alley wall nearest to him causing him to drop the bag Betty gave him.

He turned around to face Shorty, wiping grit from the wall off of his face. "A guy can't scrape out an honest living without some hassle?"

"You're going to give me that job. I have to be one to deliver that load."

"Um...I did say 'honest living', didn't I?"

"It's not a choice!"

"Oh, I think it is."

"You think this is funny? He thinks this is funny."

The lackeys started smiling also, for a different reason.

"I think you're the comedian,” Lyle said. “You ought to go to open mic night somewhere and try your luck there, 'cause as a hauler, you can't move but two things: jack and shit."

Lyle suddenly felt Shorty’s fist in his gut. He doubled over, coughing, trying to catch his breath.

Shorty laughed out loud. "Don't you think I know all about you? Carson Lyle, Mad Jack's little do-boy, strutting around the docks like he owns the damn place. Why'd you go see his wife? Had to get a little 'fare-thee-well' before you took off in her dead husband's ship? I guess you like 'em old - both ships and women. To each his own, I guess."

Lyle smiled. Like nearly everyone else except Betty and Mad Jack, this guy very much
didn't
know all about him. He thought back to his cab ride and made a mental note of the cabbie's medallion number. He'd have to pay him a special visit when he got back.

"Give me that contract and you can walk and go do whatever with whichever old bag you want. Or, we could beat you down to the worthless slime you are."

Lyle laughed.

"Give me that job!"

"Fuck off," Lyle said as he stood back up straight.

Another fist to gut. Lyle bent over again clutching his arms around his stomach.

Lyle looked up and he could see the lackeys were getting restless and anxiously wanted to take their shots. Shorty was pacing back and forth with his fists clinched, not taking his eyes off of Lyle. He knew Shorty was tough, but he was also a coward and got others to do the dirty work…most of the time. He just needed to figure out which of the lackeys would make the first move.

"You've always looked familiar to me," Lyle said, still trying to catch his breath. "I think I just figured it out why..."

The left lackey took a half step forward. There was a muscle twitch in his left forearm. Lyle looked up at him.
Gotcha.

"Your mother's my type, right? Old Bag?"

The stunned looked on Shorty's face made the one he had back at the platform look like nothing at all.

"Beat the holy hell out of him! Take his chop!"

The small shift in the left lackey's left shoulder was all the warning Lyle needed. His fist came forward, targeting his head, Lyle pivoted to the right. The blow missed him completely, but the concrete wall didn't stand a chance. The man yelled as his knuckles hit the wall square, sending shockwaves through his wrist and up the bones in his arm. He grabbed his hand in his other hand and stumbled aside.

The other man lunged at Lyle, but he parlayed his dodge of the first lackey into a roll to his right. With a single, fluid motion, he came out of the roll and swung his right arm around, hooked the lackey's left leg at the calf and took it out from underneath him. He fell hard on his back and hit the back of his skull on the pavement even harder.

Shorty was caught by surprise and had a moment of hesitation while he processed what was happening. He charged. Lyle he continued his motion into a counter-clockwise pivot on his right foot. When the motion had brought his right arm around the back side of his body and started to move forward, he clinched his fist and snapped his upward, at the wrist. The tension in his forearm muscles released the latch on the spring loaded holster that was strapped to his arm, under his long sleeves. A twelve-inch titanium rod shot out of his sleeve that he caught in his waiting hand perfectly.

Lyle continued the motion, twisting his hips and building potential energy from his legs, up to his swinging right arm, where it turned into kinetic energy and physics did the rest. The rod met the charging Shorty right across the tattoo. His head snapped to the left and he crumbled to the ground on top of lackey number two, blood pouring out of eye socket.