By the Time I Get to Pellax Page 3

  - 6 -

  Drax's finger-spear blow and a left-hand chop were smoothly parried and the fellow brought his knee up to Drax's groin. Drax yelled but managed to bring his elbow up for a crushing monkey blow under the point of the guy's chin. Meanwhile, the man Lonnie had been wrestling with broke away and the blond, heavy-set character who smelled of beer caught him by the back of his coat collar. He threw him to the ground, pinioning one wrist with his foot and twisting the other in a fancy grip. Drax's man somehow drew himself back into consciousness with a sweep of his head. He leapt to his feet. His face was contorted and he showed gleaming white teeth with large canines as he gave out a high-pitched screech to inspire fear. At the same time he was canny enough to exert all the strength he had left in an attempt to to escape. 'You bastard!' said Drax, laying him out with a crack on the jaw. He then leapt on the terrorist and locked his left forearm under the guy's chin. Blue-uniformed security guards entered with firearms and handcuffs. Women were shrieking, and some people were dashing from the auditorium while others gathered to look. 'They haven't got so much as a sharp-toothed comb on them, we were confident of that much, anyway' one of the security guards told Drax, when the men were under arrest. 'But they wanted to have their little say in things, prove their point, like. With you around, sir, he didn't get very far with his Magna Carta, did he!' 'I didn't want him pressing any buttons,' said Drax. 'That's a funny-looking belt he's got on.' 'No, no, nothing along that line at all, they can't have. We sweep the whole ship for such as that all the time. You did well, but thankfully no one on any of these decks has got anything lethal about them, except our chaps. Everyone has been screened. All he did was make himself look an idiot. His cause, whatever it may be, has not been furthered all that much, what?' 'God knows what he thought he had to gain by ruining a gig full of show tunes,' said Lonnie, pocketing his chrome Tunesmith. 'Yeah, just when I was congratulating myself on finding a sophisticated group of music lovers,' said Rosalind. She was still shaky and the burly security officer nodded at her encouragingly and patted her shoulder. 'You're not ex-Praetorian by any chance, are you?' said the beer-smelling individual Drax had been talking to earlier. He had handed his prisoner over to the men in blue. 'No,' said Drax. 'But you're a trained man?' 'I've pounded a few parade grounds and attended a number of courses.' 'Hollis Pierpoint,' said the heavy-set blond guy, sticking his hand out. 'Drax Deerfield.' Lonnie raised his arms in the air. 'Just a word, people! I think the mood has been shattered by that little piece of business, don't you, ladies and gentlemen? For those of us left, I mean. So I respectfully suggest we break and refresh ourselves here at the excellent bar of the Coconut Lounge.' 'That's great,' said Pierpoint. 'What are you having, er, Drax? May I call you Drax?' 'Of course. Schooner of lager beer.' Drax and Rosalind settled in at a table with this blond bull of a guy called Hollis Pierpoint. He spoke like an educated man, but his air of bumptiousness and his compulsive talkativeness gave him a childlike air. The singer, after receiving congratulations from his audience, had been handing out cards so anyone could contact him if they wished to enjoy live singing for any event or party, large or small. 'No extra charge for this pocketful of melodies either, it's all been paid for,' he said with a grin. 'Come and join us, what'll you have?' said Pierpoint to the minstrel, pulling out a straw-bottomed chair. Introductions were made all around. Like Drax and Pierpoint, Lonnie Pascoe was soon enjoying the draught lager the Coconut Lounge supplied. 'What was it you were saying earlier, about your former partner?' said Drax when introductions had been made. 'The guy with the guitar? He's got another gig?' 'Lupo? Lupo Venner? Yes, that's right. He's, well, he's moving on to better things. Fantastic on the guitar. Talented singer, too. The opportunities that guy has got are endless, man. The old Tortuga was just a pit stop for him. He will surely go higher,' he said in a sing-song way which made his words seem all the more sincere. 'A lady was telling me that together you have, or had, something unique,' said Rosalind. 'It's not for me to say, but I believe that devoutly,' said Pascoe. The overweight Head of Security, Thorason Blake, returned to the Coconut Lounge. He located Hollis Pierpoint and marched straight up to the festive table. 'What we were thinking about these two demo jockeys was not quite right. The one that you tackled, sir,' he said, bowing his head to Hollis Pierpoint, 'was the problem. Thank God you took him down. It could have been very, very tasty if you hadn't nabbed him.' 'What, did he have a firearm then, after all? Didn't someone say everybody aboard had been screened?' 'Well, he couldn't have had it on him until just before he got to the door here on his way in. We've got to think that he had some inside help, because there is no way he got it through Yellow Deck.' 'What was it?' 'A simple laser grenade. Small, but nasty if it had split the hull and caused a depressurisation. He could have got their demands into the news for a week or two, then.' 'You're not kidding,' said Hollis Pierpoint. 'He could have blown a whole section, bulkhead to bulkhead, before the fallback cut in and poured on the molten titanium. Maybe killed a hundred or more.'

  - 7 -

  'What organisation is it he's advocating?' asked Drax. The officer sighed. 'We don't really want to give them any extra publicity. But in the case of you two gents I don't really feel I can withhold it. He told me he was all for Jyconan Liberation.' 'Well, I've never heard of them,' said Pierpoint, 'but I'm going to make it my business to find out.' He shook his head and sighed. 'Yeah, we need to get a handle on this and find out as much as we can about these guys, man.' 'It's a mess, but what can you say?' 'As we know, these days nothing and no one is negligible enough to be totally harmless,' said Pierpoint. The overweight Security Head was obviously competent and dedicated to his job, but he had been caught short on this occasion. In the presence of Drax and Pierpoint, two passengers who had taken over during the crisis, he suddenly started turning pinker and pinker. 'So the Jyconan crowd wants to be free, does it?' said a man on another table . 'Free to do what? Let in more villains to brew up trouble for the rest of us? I've served there, man, and the place is a cesspool, a gilded one.' 'Are you questioning their right to self-govern?' said Drax. 'I just say they don't have a lot of gratitude or any sense of proportion.' 'Gratitude's a luxury. If you get it, great, but don't count on it,' said the Pellacian. Lonnie was getting ready to finish his drink and leave when he saw the dark-haired woman who had collared Lupo Venner earlier. She was sitting at the bar and watching the door of the Coconut Lounge. Lonnie thought to himself that she must be watching for Lupo again. She was attractive and tallish, probably in her late twenties, dressed in a business woman's suit with an extravagant red feather corsage on the lapel of her jacket. Her hair was loosely knotted at the back, and in front, artfully escaping strands threatened to fall in her eye. Lonnie thought he would try his well-tested bantering approach. 'I was wondering if I could have a word, miss. You see, I happen to be an acquaintance of Lupo Venner's. Otherwise, could my luck really be in? Is it possible you were speaking to him earlier just as a pretext to get to me?' he said with a bow. 'My name is Lonnie Pascoe.' 'Who is there aboard the old tub who doesn't know the wandering minstrels?' she said. 'Another drink?' 'Thank you, yes.' 'Did you witness the excitement with the terrorists from Jycona earlier?' he asked. She waved her arm. 'Those nobodies.' 'Well, that's the attitude the head of security was taking, but we all thought he was making a mistake. No one is negligible when he takes up a laser grenade.' 'I had things to tell your friend Venner that were of far more importance than the protests of those two silly boys,' she said. 'He seemed to just pretend he didn't know what I was talking about earlier. Unless he's just playing games. How much does he know?' 'About what?' 'About himself, you dummy.' Her eyes seemed to probe deep inside the minstrel's head. 'He did tell me once that he'd heard some garbage about a conspiracy to deprive him of some legacy or other,' said Lonnie with a snort of laughter. A brilliant smile darted across her smooth and slightly olive-tinted face. 'He said that? He actually said that?' 'Yes, he did,' said Lonnie, taken aback. 'But so what? It was odd though, because he ment
ioned that as if it were a bagatelle, while such a little detail as the fact that he's not getting his rubber stamp to perform in the concerts aboard here seemed to knock him for six.' 'Yes, but he goes that far, does he? ' she said, nodding to herself. 'He believes there are those who are keeping him back in life?' 'It was just a passing remark when we were enjoying a bottle or three of Veloran red, so I don't know. You had best ask him. Let him speak for himself. I can show you to his quarters if you like, because I think he's back there now,' said Lonnie, looking at his ship's-time watch. 'Can you just tell me, do you think he has received any message lately that is likely to change his life in some major way?' 'Not that I know of, he's just maintained an even keel, though as I say he's been on a bit of a downer over this singing stint we've been doing.' She smiled rapturously. 'You've heard us?' said Lonnie, expecting a rave review. 'No, no. It's just that, well, it's wonderful to think that he has made his way through life in the Federation like that. On shipboard too, which isn't the easiest life, is it? And as a singer! He really sings?' 'Of course he does,' muttered Lonnie, suddenly eager to break away from this problem woman. 'He plays too.' He had thought at first that he might be able to get her into the sack. Maybe he could, and the thought of it was still a kick, but it was clear that any thrills he got from her would be paid for in stress. Heck, there were millions of women around keen to sack out with a guy who enjoyed a bit of a public profile. Some of them might prove amusing and life-enhancing companions, so he didn't need this. Unhinged fans and groupies were bad enough, but she wasn't even that. What exactly was her angle? Was she a relative of Ven's? Or was she here to notify him that he had won a lottery prize? Lonnie shrugged his shoulders. Trying to find out from this one would be a headache. She was attractive, though, and probably cunning enough to get a guy into her net when she wanted to. He had better warn Ven about her, that was for sure.

  - 8 -

  Erloch Spurgo completed his schooling at the age of thirteen. He had picked up a coat of polish and could read and write, but more importantly he had learned the art of intimidation. His fists were hard and if he struck a guy, the guy usually went down. Erl knew however that sometimes the reason why the guy went down (and particularly why he stayed down), was not on account of the power of his fist but because the victim was aware of the network Erloch Spurgo had spun around himself. It was also clear that this medium-sized nondescript with a little hooked nose and small, birdlike green eyes, had the memory of an elephant and the grip of a crocodile. Spurgo was aware from early on that force was not always desirable or necessary. He often got his results by getting people to do him favours. These favours he would purchase by handing them sweets. (When the confectionery was doled out at home or among relatives or friends' parents, Erl would often stash a few. When he had built up a store, he would use this candy as an inducement for his brother Tron, for example, to step in and complete a household chore that Erl didn't wish to deal with.) Later, when he was well embarked on his 'career', Erl Spurgo still had the wit to back up his real and totally formidable muscle power (he exercised with weights three times a week) with intimidation, flattery and bribery. There was a planet called Jycona which orbited the same sun as Pluron. The Jyconans had accepted many Pluronians as immigrants over the years, Pluron being a poverty-stricken world of deserts and poisonous flora and fauna. When the first Jyconan ships arrived and the visitors offered the Pluronians the opportunity to accompany them and experience the pleasant environment of Jycona, many took them up on it. Over the years, Pluron lost large numbers of its population to the other planet, and this had the effect, as resources were scarce, of improving the lot of those who did remain on Pluron. Over a decade, almost, Spurgo had built himself a criminal empire spread across two or three cities in the area of Pluron known as Naetrea. What could he not do somewhere else then, he asked himself, some place with more people and more opportunities? Like the others, he saw the benefits of moving to Jycona. Jycona itself was rich only in contrast to Pluron and other 'alkali sink' planets. It had only become space-viable through contact by entrepreneurs from Pellax. Pellacian and pseudo-Earth influence was everywhere on Jycona and, of course, on Pluron too. Spurgo had managed to raise the credits needed to get himself to the spaceport of Kellagad on Jycona. It was a large sum for a Pluronian. Many people were in debt for years after making the journey. In Spurgo's case the cost of the voyage, and he bought premium tickets, took every credit he had so far acquired. He'd had a trustworthy gang built up on Pluron but there was no way he could pay for their travel. Anyway, types like those were common in the galaxy. Not one of them justified shelling out the cash. Spurgo decided to keep quiet about his plans and simply clean out and leave. There was only one Erloch Spurgo, and what he had done on one planet he could repeat on the other. But he did stretch his funds far enough to take a girl with him. She had been his sweetheart from the start of his criminal escapades four or five years earlier. Spurgo had no sooner got her installed in the hotel near the space station than she ran out on him. She evidently thought Jycona was a place where she could easily start from scratch too. Homesick, strange as it may seem, for Pluron, and impoverished by his recent expenses, Spurgo was sent reeling by this blow. Luckily he had paid extra for a six-week stay at the travel company's hotel to be included in the deal. He had allowed for time to set up his crooked schemes on the new planet. So though he had only a few credits to rattle in his pocket, he could first of all gather his wits and get over his betrayal by the gold-digging wench and plan his next move. He was not well placed to start tracking her down, and that would be a pointless endeavour anyway. She had become as one dead so far as he was concerned. But as he wrenched the image of this slag from his mind another image appeared, that of Reianne Osferr, that sweetheart back in Mr Dashak's classroom. From now on, if he thought about romance and that kind of thing at all, it would be Reianne and no one else. Some time, some way, he hoped to win Reianne. He was in no position to do so now, but she would be his beacon. Oddly, he knew that a few weeks earlier she had embarked for Jycona, and this very port. She might even have stayed in this hotel, in this room even. What a comfort. For all he knew, he was on Holy Ground.

  * * * * * *

  After wallowing under the covers for a couple of days and sending out for bottles of cheap black wine, Spurgo finally rolled out of bed, bathed and shaved, dressed in his best outfit , slicked his hair back and went out to a club he had heard about, the Royal Guard. The place also served as a tavern, one of the toughest in the port city of Kellagad. It happened to be the last night of that year's version of Kellagad's famous Beer and Sausage Festival. Spurgo ordered a pot of coffee and requested a corner table. From there he could observe the whole room but be shrouded in comparative darkness himself. He just hoped that the filthy wench who had betrayed him did not venture into the place, because then he might not be able to hold his fury in. He needed to keep his attention on the next hand or two dealt to him by fate if he wished to open up on Jycona the same glittering compendium of games he had got going on Pluron. Gazing around the joint he could study the hard cases and hoods and start to work out the hierarchies that held sway amongst them. He could also see the sleek businessmen who prided themselves on keeping their skirts clean no matter what the stench. It was a pleasing fairy tale to them that while their rodents ran the day-to-day, they themselves could keep their fingernails and their togs unsullied. There was one table that drew Spurgo's attention more than any other. The main man there was tall and angular, with that scarlet tint to his skin that proclaimed one of the inhabitants of the country of Achelar on the planet Haladar. Achelarans were lanky, some seven feet tall, some eight. It was clear that the Achelaran boss man, whose name he heard was Tarbo, had marked Spurgo, also. There was a good-looking girl dressed in cream satin and brown leather whose beauty in the artificial candlelight made Spurgo look away. His love was for Reianne Osferr and always would be, but he was addicted to tarts. For now though, there was no time for tarts. She signified what woul
d be waiting as soon as he had made his mark. He was not yet the man he intended to become. In this grimy world full of struggle and backstabbing, he needed to secure dominance. One straightforward if not necessarily easy way of getting it was to usurp the domain of another. Of this Achelaran, for example. Because Tarbo appeared to be thriving. He cultivated a lordly air of indifference. Beside him was a fellow in nondescript leathers, ripped and scuffed and short of some of their studs. Spurgo recognised the man. He had been prosecuted on Pluron a year or two before for a water-smuggling scam that went wrong. It was a serious offence, meriting death or at least twenty years of prison, and, as he had known the man, Spurgo had asked a friend of his who had some legal knowledge to do what he could for him. It seemed as if the man must have got off, after all. Hertig, Kalat Hertig was his name. Hertig remembered his benefactor Spurgo too, because a smile passed across his face and he said something to the man from Achelar. The Achelaran smiled also, and Spurgo took his chance to get up from his seat and bow. With a wave he was invited over to their table where he saw from close up that the lovely lady appeared unnaturally still at times. She was in fact a 'holodoll' companion. (Though these toys had no holographic function, the name had caught on.) The droids were ingeniously constructed and you could interact with them very intimately. The Achelaran kingpin must be a man of considerable heft to have acquired one of these dolls. 'Have a drink with us, sir,' said the boss. The droid angled its head in the direction of the newcomer and a polite smile registered on those features made from premium dermaplasm. You've got SOME software, baby, thought Spurgo. He must have been gazing too intensely, because the boss man grunted and said, 'Time for retiring, Mitzi.' With that, the glittering piece of technology which had pearly teeth that were more human than the humans', and a marvellous hank of hair, withdrew. 'I bet you wish you could afford one of those to lighten your boredom,' said a cherry-skinned Achelaran flunkey on an adjacent table to Spurgo. Spurgo swung round. The fellow was sneering and had his two hands lying on the table top with a finger-pistol on the index of each. 'I doubt if they make them so they can be programmed to adjust to the stench a guy who has just arrived from the pits of Pluron,' added an equally rough companion who also hailed from Achelar. The main man was watching to see how Spurgo answered these compliments. Spurgo either had to respond or crawl away and find himself honest employment. He hurled the contents of his cup into the face of the last speaker and with a chopping blow split the nose of the man next to him into a twisted horn of cartilage.