Hitting The Town
13 Apr 2021Eddie Stone
System to system. Starport to starport. Eddie had not stopped moving ever since he left his homeworld. Although he gazed intently at the name of the next place en route, they slowly all blurred into one. He did not know if the Company would send anyone after him; indeed, he did not know or even care what the results of his last actions before leaving. Perhaps the Company would simply be satisfied with having him out of the way. If they even knew of his involvement at all, in anything that had happened.He had spent most of what money he had left on getting the remains of the Viper’s old paint job stripped off and replaced with a rather smart blue and white scheme. And so, to the life of a pilot.
Trading. Doing work for the factions of whatever system he happened to be in. He did not give two hoots about who was paying him – as long as he got paid. He would haul almost anything for the right price...but he flatly refused to transport slaves. Call it racial memory. Call it taking a stand. Call it whatever you want, but personal freedom was something that every living being should be able to take for granted.
Having fitted a surface scanner to The Saint of Apis, he watched his meagre wealth suddenly start to bloom, and he could afford to splash out a little on himself, a luxury he had never known before. He had been wandering along the promenade on Silves Dock, a Coriolis starport in the Komovoy system, when the contents of a shop window caught his eye. Fifteen minutes later, he had left with his new purchase. A long leather coat, caramel brown, whose arms had the satisfying creak of good quality hide. The body and lower half were decorated with hand-stitched columns of large Harlequinesque diamonds in muted shades of red, orange and chocolate brown, each column separated with black dividers. The coat had generated a spark of inspiration, and he immediately went looking for a tailor.
Komovoy. He had been surprised to find an Imperial system so close to the heart of the Federation, and not far from the border with the Alliance. It seemed like a perfect place to operate out of. None the less, he was still wary about agents from the Company tracking him down, so he opted to keep a low profile, flitting between low-security and anarchy systems. It was in such a place that he had landed late one afternoon, touching down at a surface settlement with the Viper’s modest cargo hold filled with medical supplies. The system was in a state of civil unrest – verging on war – as a piratical outfit attempted to topple the ruling democratic party. He stiffly rose from the pilot’s seat and stretched, feeling vertebrae crack and pop. He needed to get out and see some life before he went nuts from cabin fever. He shed his flight suit and RemLok, donning black shirt and denim jeans, before putting his long jacket on, pockets holding a, uh, variety of items. He allowed himself a rare smile as he checked himself out in the reflection of the sleep-cell’s mirror. Time to go out and find a watering hole, have a few drinks and see where the evening went.
The dive he ended up in was maybe two-thirds full. Neon strips of pink, blue and green ran along the tops of the walls and small phosphorescent globes provided a pale, misty light. Screens on every wall displayed a local news channel, the sound barely audible over the hubbub of the patrons, but the scrolling text and images painted a depressing picture of a place teetering on the edge of chaos. Indeed, he could feel the tension in the air as soon as he entered.
Eddie reached the bar and studied the variety of beverages on offer.
“What’s this?” he said to the barkeep, tapping a pump badge. The man, a slender, swarthy-skinned man with the bagged eyes of someone who is not getting enough sleep, peered at it.
“Cider,” was his answer, “gets shipped in from a nearby agri system. Not my kind of thing, but that’s just me.”
“Cider?” Eddie rolled the word around his mouth, “what is that, exactly?”
The barkeep chuckled. “Yeah, I’d never heard of it either. Made from fermented fruit – apples, if I remember rightly. Wanna try a little bit?”
“Sure.”
Tangy, dry with a hint of sweetness. He had never tasted anything like it.
“I like it. Pint of that, thank you.”
As the golden liquid flowed into the tall glass, Eddie glanced around. “Seems kinda uptight in here,” he said, “guess it’s the local politics…”
“Yeah,” said the barkeep sourly, “everyone grumbles about the ruling faction, but at the end of the day, it’s a poor system and they just ‘ain’t got the resources to keep the buccaneers in check.”
Eddie took a mouthful of cider, and swept his gaze around the place.
“Do you think a bit of upbeat music might lighten the mood?” The barkeep gave him an odd look, then laughed. “Hey, I can only just cover the bills without dropping money on a music license!”
“What about live music?”
“You’re kidding me, right? Even if there was anyone to perform, this is probably not near the top of the list of desirable venues.”
Eddie spied a free table, and reached into an inside pocket. “Could I get a hook into your sound system, please?”
He sat down at the table and unrolled his keyboard. Hologrammatic keys lit up and he took another drink. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, “let’s start ‘em off gently…”
His long fingers danced across the keys, and the babel of voices in the bar trailed off, startled as the opening bars of Joplin’s ‘The Entertainer’ rang out of the speakers. Eyes swung round to regard Eddie as he played. The barkeep switched off the screens as the music began. Around the place, conversations restarted in a murmur, feet began to tap and smiles began to appear on previously stressed faces. When the piece finished, there was a pause, then a smattering of applause...then a voice called out, “More!”
‘Maple Leaf Rag’ was next. The clapping was a lot louder at the end, and he smiled. “Let’s kick it up a notch.”
He was maybe halfway through Lux Lewis’ ‘Hangover Boogie’ when he was aware of a movement and a shadow fell across the table -
- then the table, keyboard and Eddie’s drink were flung aside with a crash and a clatter. Everyone went quiet as Eddie slowly rose to stare at the interlocutor. His age was impossible to determine. Narrow, pale face textured with scars and lesions. A shaved head sported a double row of short metal spikes implanted into the scalp. Stocky body, a vest made up of metal scales with black bird’s feathers trimming the armholes. Arms...yes, covered with tattoos, as was the exposed chest under the vest. Baggy, faded grey combats tucked into heavy boots. Two henchmen, similar in appearance, loitered not far away.
“What the fuck is this shit?” said the man, voice harsh as he leaned towards Eddie. His breath stank of alcohol and tobacco.
Eddie’s eyes flickered towards where his keyboard had landed. “That’s damaged, you pay for it.”
The man smiled. Metal teeth glittered in the dim light.
“You know who I am, motherfucker?”
“No. Should I?”
The man spat at his feet. “I'm Merrick Camigula. This is my fucking bar.”
“Is it, now? Got the deeds of ownership, have you?”
“I don’t need no fucking deeds. This is my bar, my town, my fucking system. I rule this place!”
“Well, you sure are good at first impressions, Mister Merrick Camigula,” replied Eddie, drawling the name mockingly. The man’s eyes narrowed.
“Hell yeah, asshole. That’s why no-one fucks with me. And when I come into this bar, my fucking bar, I don’t wanna hear some poncy music played by some goddam nig-”
The epithet never finished leaving his mouth, because Eddie punched him, hard, in the face. Merrick staggered back, clutching a hand to his bloody nose. Pain and anger flared in his eyes. Whatever his next move was, it was forestalled as Eddie picked up a barstool and swung it at his red-smeared face.
In action movies since time immemorial, the protagonist often fights their way through countless lesser enemies with ease, before coming up against an opponent who seems immune to blows and kicks, a real ‘hard man’. Eddie did not believe that such people really existed, and even if they did, Merrick Camigula was not one of them. There was a sickening crunch as his jaw broke and he spun round and crashed to the floor. Eddie stepped forward, and struck the fallen man again and again, until he glimpsed the cronies, over their surprise at the ferocity of his attack, rushing forward. Eddie hurled the stool at them, forcing them to scatter; and in that delay, dipped his hands into the modfied side pockets of his coat and came out with two plasma pistols. The henchmen froze as the guns slowly tracked back and forth.
“Gotta special offer on tonight,” said Eddie coldly, “three crispy fried heads for the price of one…”
A hand dipped and there was commotion and screaming as a pistol fired and Merrick Camigula’s head was sudden replaced by a fan of blood, brains, bone fragments and charred flesh, splattering out across the floor. A brief red mist and the stink of burnt meat only added to the spectacle. The two cronies began to back away.
“Get the hell out of here!” snarled Eddie, glanced down at the floor, “and take your trash with you!”
The two now terrified men hauled the corpse up and beat a hasty retreat. In the sudden quiet of the aftermath, Eddie holstered his guns and went to right the table and retrieve his keyboard. It was solid-state and housed in a durable rubberised coating, so the possibility of actual damage was negligible. As the shock passed, there was suddenly more applause, intense this time, shouts and cheers. Eddie slowly sank back into his seat and exhaled shakily. He watched as the battered metallic cylinder of a cleaning robot slowly trundled out from behind the bar and began to remove the mess he had made. A fresh glass of cider, condensation forming on its sides, clunked down on the table. Eddie’s eyes met those of the barkeep.
“On the house, my man” the barkeep said respectfully, “you know who that was?”
“I can guess. Leader of one side in the current conflict, I suppose.”
“Yep. You got some cajones, y’know.”
Eddie shrugged. “Reckon I should be making tracks soon…”
“Ha! The bastards will be too busy fighting each other for the top job for a while. In the meantime, why don’t you lay down more of those fine tunes for these good people?”
Eddie grinned at him and activated the keyboard again.