Remembrance Day

Simon Kewin

Remembrance Day

Published: 22nd May 2013

Copyright © Simon Kewin 2010

Simon Kewin has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This story is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Cover
Spaceship Escaping
©
Philcold
|
Dreamstime.com
.

Remembrance Day originally appeared in Electric Spec magazine.

Simon Kewin was born on the Isle of Man, but now lives in England with his wife and daughters. He writes SF, fantasy, mainstream and some stories that can't decide what they are. He can be found at
simonkewin.co.uk
.

Magnus kept one eye on the gang of Martians. Five of them, roaring with laughter in the corner of the bar. They were going to be trouble. Slaughter-tourists up from the equatorial cities, Wells or Bradbury. A few days running wild on the lawless Strip and they could go back home and tell everyone how crazy it had been. It was always the same. The people who actually lived on Möbius were rarely the trouble-makers.

It occurred to him, once again, that running a bar was pretty similar to combat. Long periods of boredom, constant vigilance, the occasional explosion of violence. He scanned the room as he poured Mars Red for one of his regulars. In truth the raucous Martians didn’t concern him much. He could deal with them easily enough. It was the ghost two tables over that really worried him. A ghost from his past, sitting there alone, sipping her drink and studying him. It couldn’t be chance
she
was here.

Images flashed through his mind as he thought about her. Scraps of memory. Walking with her hand-in-hand through the hubbub of some Earth city. The feel of her body as they embraced. The smell of her hair. The memories were random, disjointed, their sequence unclear. He wished he had more.

With a crash of glasses, one of the Martians tipped their table over. The others cheered. An asteroid-belt trucker drinking nearby stood up, his hair sprinkled with shards of glass. He roared something and strode towards the Martians, pulling hand-held weaponry from a holster.

Magnus picked up the zapper he kept charged behind the bar and aimed it at the Martian. Fifteen metres, stationary target, easy. He could have hit with his eyes shut. He fired, blasting the Martian through the air to crash into the wall beyond. The bar went silent, just for a moment. The trucker nodded, justice done, and returned to his drink. Magnus strode over to the unconscious man slumped in a huddle of limbs on the floor. He’d recover; the shot wasn’t fatal. If people thought they might get killed, they went to other bars.

The other Martians didn’t appear to appreciate his thoughtfulness. They jostled around him, wide-eyed, urging each other on. They were, Magnus thought, little more than boys.

‘You killed Dev!’ One of them held a knife. He lunged at Magnus.

Magnus stepped aside. The knife nicked his bare forearm. It was amusing more than anything. They probably had guns, bought somewhere on the Strip to make them feel dangerous, but he still couldn’t take them seriously. He had fought the Basilisks hand-to-hand for three years.

He nodded to the mech, standing stationary in the centre of the room like some towering metal war-god. Tourists often thought it was decoration, a three-metre prop erected in the centre of the bar to give the place some atmosphere. When it moved and began firing their expressions were always a delight to see.

The mech turned now and advanced on the Martians.
Throw them out
he instructed it over their tPath link. The mech, towering over the trouble-makers, paused for a moment, as if it savouring the task, then picked up all five of them in one claw. It marched towards the entrance. Customers knocked over their chairs to scramble out of its way. The five men kicked and punched uselessly. At the door the mech hurled them out onto the Strip, then stood barring the door in case they tried to get back in.

‘But, Dev!’ one of them shouted from the floor. ‘We can’t just leave him.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Magnus, standing next to the mech. ‘When he wakes up we’ll throw him out too.’

Magnus turned and began picking up chairs. Sometimes he wished his bar wasn’t so retro. Such a predictable fucking space-dive. Who used glasses made of
glass
any more? Still, the customers liked it.

At least the Martians wouldn’t be back. Plenty of other bars on the Strip. Or they would go and work out their anger in some rough house, beating the crap out of whatever virtual unfortunate they wanted to take it out on.
Real
unfortunate if they were rich enough. It didn’t matter. They weren’t his problem any more.

He returned the gun to its place behind the bar. He kept an assortment of weaponry there but usually the zapper was enough. When he looked up she was standing at the bar in front of him.

‘Hi, Mag.’

Up close, she looked good. In fact she looked fantastic. Time had been hard on him, he knew. Time and war. She stood tall and unblemished. Her eyes, her lips, the cut of her hair all finely-featured, all perfect. By contrast, he felt like he was lashed together from slabs of rough metal. Her smile cut right into him, effortlessly deeper and sharper than the Martian’s knife.

‘Drink?’ he asked.

‘I’ll have the usual. You need one too?’

He laughed.

‘That? Nothing we can’t handle.’

‘You and your mech. I’ve heard about the two of you. You get married out there or something?’

He shrugged.

‘Been through a lot together.’

‘How did you even manage to smuggle it home? Surely someone would have noticed a three-metre killing machine being taken?’

‘Tell me what it is you want, Tia.’

She climbed onto a stool.

‘I thought you were going to pour me a drink.’

He couldn’t remember what her usual had been. Another detail he had lost. He poured her a shot of his finest Earth whisky, because it was the most expensive drink he sold. Poured himself one too. Tia raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

‘So?’ he asked.

‘Oh, you know, never been to the infamous Möbius Strip before. And I thought I’d come and see if you were surviving.’

He snorted with amusement.

‘The war’s been over four years. You only come now?’

‘You’re the one who never came back to Earth, Magnus.’

They were arguing already. They always argued. He remembered that at least. Not the petty bickering of other couples, but great, raging battles over anything and everything. They shouted and swore and others looked on alarmed, thinking they were going to fight. But it was just what they did, a game they played. He also remembered, vividly, the passion of their reconciliations.

He said nothing and waited.

She set her drink down.

‘OK. It’s just possible I might need your help. But I
did
want to see you again.’

The mech lumbered back to its position in the centre of the bar, reporting back over the tPath link that the Martians had left.

‘Sure,’ he said, shrugging. ‘What help do you need?’

‘Can we talk here?’

‘As safe here as anywhere on the Strip. No-one’s going to care anyway. What is it?’

‘I need to arrange transportation for someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone.’

‘Someone dangerous?’

‘Someone in danger.’

‘Same thing. And you thought I’d be able to arrange things?’

‘Oh come on, you must know everyone on this base. I’ll bet you know a hundred ways to smuggle someone outsystem without the Solar System Police discovering.’

‘Maybe so. None of them safe, though.’

‘I can pay.’

‘Don’t need money, Tia. I’ve got this place.’

‘I have plenty of friends, Mag. If you help me I can get you citizenship on Mars, Titan, anywhere you like.’

‘Already got all the citizenship I need. Didn’t you hear I was a war-hero? I like it here. Mars looks pretty this far away.’

‘There must be … some way I can persuade you.’

He caught the briefest pause in her words. He grinned.

‘I don’t need that either. People ask me every day whether they can pay for their drinks in kind. Women, men, humans, aliens and all points in between. Most of them younger than you too.’

She laughed.

‘You can talk. I thought time-dilation was supposed to make
us
all older?’

‘So they say.’

She sipped her drink and looked at him. Setting down her glass she shook her head.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘This grizzled startrooper act of yours. The I-don’t-need-any-other-fucker face you’re putting on. It doesn’t convince me you know. I knew the idealistic kid who cried in my arms the night before his first offworld mission, remember?’

He scowled but said nothing. He recalled very little of that. He had a glimpse of that night in his mind, just a few frames: Tia turning towards him; the curve of her breasts; a flick of hair; the solemn look on her face. Music playing: some echoing piano chords. That's all he had, repeating over and over. He said nothing. What could he say? He sipped his own drink.

‘Look, I know I’m asking a lot,’ she said. ‘Here’s my last shot. There is one thing I can offer in return for your help.’

‘Doubt it.’

‘I can give you revenge. A chance to get your own back on those responsible for what happened to you.’

‘And how you going to do that? Got the Basilisk who did it hidden somewhere on the Strip?’

‘I mean it, Mag. I can help you. Let you move on from this limbo you’re in.’

‘I’m not in limbo.’

She raised an eyebrow in calculated surprise and looked around the bar, all the serious, heads-down drinkers.

‘You sure about that?’

He watched as the zapped Martian struggled to wobbly legs and tottered out of the bar, not even looking back. As he left, three Solar System officers strode in. The drinkers made a show of paying them no attention. It wasn't unusual to see the Solar System police on the Strip. They had as much right to be there as anyone else. What they
didn't
have here were any special powers. That was the way it worked. They couldn't question, they couldn't punish. Or, if they tried, their suspect had just as much right to question and punish back.