the Noise Within (2010) (28 page)

"You see, that big
forastcerdo
, the one who led the other two, he helped out..."

That was as far as the sentence went. Emilio noted Miguel's arm thrust quickly forward before his every awareness succumbed to an explosion of agony. He stared down and saw the blood, his blood, and the knife in Miguel's clenched hand as it plunged forward to sink into his stomach for a second time.

The pain was excruciating; a hot fire that spread from the wound to infest every part of his body. His head felt heavy and even the roots of his hair seemed to burn with overwhelming agony.
How could this be happening?

His legs gave way; he felt the ground thud against his knees.

"This is what you get for screwing my wife, you little shit." Miguel's face, which loomed large, was contorted with rage. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Emilio stared up at the big man, horrified, not wanting to understand, not wanting to believe.

Life was not supposed to be fair but surely it could not be
this
cruel. He had money at last, enough to leave this stinking world. It couldn't all end like this, not now, not when he had a way out.

Something slapped his cheek: the ground. His head was too heavy to lift. He tried to speak but his mouth wouldn't form the words. Pain continued to swell, supplanting all else, dimming his vision and his thoughts. The words slipped from his tongue and faded away, receding beyond his reach.

From what seemed a great distance he heard somebody shouting - was that Miguel's voice? "Quick, get help, someone fetch a doctor; there's a boy here who's been knifed. He's hurt bad."

The voice diminished throughout, until the final words were little more than the echoes of a whisper; and then he knew no more.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

K
yle was fast coming to the conclusion that he had well and truly pissed off some nefarious deity with a penchant for meddling in mortal lives. The only other explanation for his recent misfortune was that he had made some stupid decisions of late, and he was not in the mood to accept that sort of responsibility just then. Frysworld, which less than an hour ago had seemed the most wonderful place in the universe, ready to welcome them with open arms, had somehow been transformed into a sinister and unforgiving realm of threat and nightmare.

"We daren't go back to
The Harcourt
now," Jim said as they paused to catch their collective breath. The big man clearly needed the break as much as Kyle did, having had to carry Drevers during the final part of their flight. "Marlowe saw me. He knows who I am and it won't take him long to find out where I'm staying. There'll be men waiting for us at the hotel before we're halfway across town."

"So what do we do now?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know. Lie low somewhere and then try and sneak off-world, or make a break for the port immediately, before he has time to properly organise."

Off-world? They'd only just arrived. Surely in the morning this would all have blown over and the nightmare could become a dream again. "Do you know of anywhere safe we can hole-up?"

"Not really, at least not anywhere that Marlowe won't be likely to find us."

Kyle's heart sank. So much for Frysworld and the planned days of debauchery. "It'll have to be the port then. We've got a shuttle..."

"That's all well and good for you two, but what about me?"

Good point. With all that had happened, Kyle had completely overlooked the fact that Jim was not really with them, that he was only there at all thanks to cruel chance. He didn't have any authority to speak on the ship's behalf, but their new friend didn't know that. Kyle realised that he would never get Drevers back to the shuttle without the big man's help; there would be time enough to worry about the ramifications later.

"You say you're a mercenary."

"I am. Got a problem with that?"

"No, it's just... well, how picky are you when it comes to choosing an employer?"

"Oh, very; I've one basic requirement which any would-be employer has to meet: they have to be able to pay me."

"And if some of your employer's requirements are not always, how can I put this...?"

"Legal?"

"Exactly."

"Then they have to be able to pay me a lot."

"Good. There're no worries on
that
score."

"Are you offering me a job?"

Kyle nodded. "Serving on a ship as... security."

"All right, who would I be working for and what's the name of the ship?"

"That's a little complicated. I'll explain everything when we're on the shuttle and under way. Come on." He went to move off.

Jim stopped him, gripping his arm with vice-like strength. "Hang on a second. You expect me to simply go with you, taking service on a ship without even knowing who I'm working for?"

"It's either that or you can stay here and take your chances with Marlowe and his mob."

The big man stared at him for a second longer, and then snorted. "Fair point." He released Kyle's arm. "Let's get you to the port at any rate, and I can think about this en route."

Kyle gingerly flexed his arm, and they moved off.

They seemed to have given their pursuers the slip for the moment, but Kyle wouldn't feel fully at ease until they were safely on the shuttle and leaving Frysworld behind for good. Somewhere along the line he had accepted their leaving as inevitable. This place had become hostile territory; he couldn't shake the feeling that there were enemies all around them and it was only a matter of time before they pounced.

"Do you think we'll make it?" he asked Jim, hoping for some reassurance.

"Won't know until we give it a try," was his only response.

They were supporting Drevers between them now, and Kyle could hardly believe how heavy his shipmate was. Goodness only knew how Jim had been able to run while carrying so much dead weight unaided. As they trudged on, his frustration at their current predicament began to focus ever more on the man he was now forced to carry. Why couldn't the stupid oaf have kept his mouth shut? Kyle could have been relaxing in a soft bed right now, maybe even with some raunchy female company, instead of trudging through unfamiliar streets and having to drag the idiot responsible for ruining everything with him.

He tried not to think about it, knowing that if he did, he might well be tempted to leave Drevers here and let him take his chances with Marlowe's thugs. To distract himself, he attempted to spark up a conversation with Jim. "What about your stuff?" was the best he could come up with.

"Not a problem. I carry everything that matters with me at all times; the rest is just clothes and things - easily replaced."

A sentiment Kyle could relate to all too easily, having had to make a similar decision when deserting
The Lady J
.

Finally they reached the spaceport, slumping onto an open-sided tram which carried them to the less salubrious end of the shuttle terminal. Berths cost money. As with most things here, the more you paid the better you received, and they had wanted to keep their funds for other concerns.

There were few people on the tram at this hour - either too early to be returning shipward after a night out or too late to be thinking of departing off-world - and the ones who were there didn't blink an eyelid at the barely conscious Drevers. Presumably, comatose passengers were not all that unusual on this thing.

Once off the tram, their false IDs held up again and they were allowed swift access to the shuttle bays. Nobody queried their departing so soon after arrival, nor the additional crew member - not the authorities' concern as long as the bureaucratic details appeared to be in order.

Getting to the shuttle itself meant a walk along a dimly lit high-ceilinged corridor of concrete and steel. At least Drevers was somewhat revived and able to walk under his own power with only a minimum of guidance.

Kyle was tired. An afternoon of drinking followed by the unexpected chase through streets he didn't know had left him drained of energy. Drevers' lapse into virtual unconsciousness hadn't helped either. Now, with the running evidently over, the adrenalin deserted his bloodstream and left him with no reserves. All he cared about at that particular moment was getting to the shuttle so that he could sit down and rest. Yet this final walk seemed to be taking an age, not helped by Jim asking more questions which Kyle couldn't be bothered with. His main concern had been to get Drevers to the shuttle. Now they'd achieved that, the big man could take his chances with Marlowe if he saw fit, so he continued to be evasive, while half-heartedly telling the mercenary to be patient.

At long last they arrived at the high grey doors inscribed with the legend 'SB43' and the homing strip on their departure card flashed green. Kyle was just starting to relax, accepting that they really had escaped Marlowe's cronies and nothing could go wrong from here, when a figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Excuse me," the new arrival said, "but is this your shuttle?"

The man was tall, well dressed and looked to be in his late twenties or maybe early thirties - though it was hard to be certain with the kind of rejuve he could probably afford. A tourist was Kyle's immediate impression; a businessman on vacation. Then he registered the black leather valise the man carried tucked under one arm, which conjured up images of the officious works inspector from some ancient melodrama. He certainly didn't look to be a threat, which was Kyle's main concern at the time. This neatly presented man was as far removed from the muscle-bound oafs Marlowe had in tow as you could wish for. So what was his interest in them?

"Who wants to know?" Jim asked, a fraction ahead of Kyle.

"My name is Philip Kaufman." The man's voice was clear and confident, as if he were fully accustomed to addressing people and used to getting his own way. "My father built the ship this shuttle's from and I want you to take me to see it, now, please."

Okay, so this wasn't quite 'take me to your leader', but it came close enough. Kyle heard the slight quaver in the voice and sensed the man's nervousness, saw through the calm portrayal and realised the fellow was far less certain than he seemed. Then Kyle's mind fastened onto the rest of what had just been said.

"Wait a minute, did you say you're Philip
Kaufman
, as in Kaufman Industries and the Kaufman Drive?"

"Yes," the newcomer replied, with a hint of annoyance. "What of it?"

"My God, I've dreamt of meeting you ever since I was a kid." That was something of an exaggeration, since Kyle was evidently a decade or so older than the newcomer, rejuve aside, but it felt as if he had. "I'm a starship engineer; I've been tinkering with different models of your drive since I was old enough to hold a wrench."

The man, Philip Kaufman, looked completely nonplussed by this - as if it were the last thing he had expected to hear. His self-assurance slipped a fraction further. "Really? Well, ehm, here I am."

Jim was looking increasingly impatient. "We don't have time for this."

"I know, you're right."
We?
It sounded as if the big man had made his mind up. Kyle stared at Kaufman. They needed to leave before the goon squad arrived, but he felt stubbornly reluctant to let this opportunity pass him by. He made a snap decision, tumbling the words out rapidly before he had a chance to change his mind. "You'd better come with us, then."

Goodness only knew what the zombies and their controlling AI would make of his returning with two unexpected faces, but he'd said the words, he was committed now. They could handle things however they wanted once he'd brought the pair aboard. As he watched this man who claimed to be Philip Kaufman follow Jim and the somewhat recovered Drevers onto the shuttle, he really could not bring himself to care less whether anyone disapproved or not.

When Philip set an automatic monitor on shuttle arrivals he did so without any great hope of success. Such schedules were a matter of public record, so what he did was neither illegal nor difficult to achieve, but he did make a couple of specific tweaks to the monitoring program. Frysworld sat comfortably within
The Noise Within's
target area after all, and presumably her crew had to be allowed out of their tin can sometime, so why not here, at the most infamous pleasure planet around? He knew that when
The Sun Seeker
disappeared it was carrying a single shuttle. Rushed into service, the ship hadn't been equipped with one when she left the yard, but Malcolm had insisted. He wanted
The Sun Seeker
tested in as realistic a situation as possible, and any ship of her type in any circumstances would have at least one shuttle on board. So the navy had grudgingly supplied one. Since this was at the height of the War they couldn't spare much, and the shuttle they came up with was an old craft soon to be decommissioned. Not that the shuttle did the crew any good on that fateful day. With
The Sun Seeker
so firmly under the AI's control, they never even had a chance to reach it. But it might just do Philip some good now. The shuttle was outdated even when delivered to
The Sun Seeker,
and would be antiquated by now, which didn't mean it was unique, but there couldn't be too many of her type still in service. As far as Philip could see, looking out for shuttles of that specific model was easily done and might just pay dividends, so it would have been remiss of him not to make a token gesture towards checking new arrivals. In fact, it was the very first thing he did after registering with the hotel... and he then promptly forgot all about it; an act of neglect made easier no doubt by the multitude of entertaining distractions that Frysworld, and indeed his hotel, had to offer.