“A few of Dandy’s guys.”
Jim Dandy. She remembers him all right. Corrupt politician. Extremely rich and even more dangerous. They took jobs from him in the past. Always high priority.
“You’re still running around for those idiots,” she says.
“I run around only for myself.”
“I recall.”
That shuts him up.
“Take off your shirt,” she says. She plucks a couple gloves from a box on the counter.
He blinks.
“You look like hell, Jack. I might as well write a prescription.”
He does what he is told, reveals a torso covered in contusions. Some purple, some greenish yellow. He’ll be pissing blood, judging from the damage around his kidneys.
“When did this happen?”
“Last night.”
She feels over his ribs. He winces. “Can you move alright? Any trouble breathing?”
“I’m not here for medicine.”
“What are you here for? Do you realize you’re taking time from people that need help?”
“I need help,” he says.
“No kidding.”
“I want you on my crew. There’s no one else.”
Could he have planned this to be any more random? “What are you talking about?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking. I need a medic. We’re in some trouble and once we’re clear, I’m going legit. No more running around for Dandy or anyone else.”
She feels herself rolling her eyes. “Should I write ‘delusional’ on my sheet here?”
“Probably.”
“You’re sitting funny. What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Leg? Nothing. I twisted my ankle, I think. Ran into a mailbox.”
She writes.
“Lana, you don’t belong here.”
“Jack, you have puke in your hair.”
“I washed it this morning.”
“Did you use shampoo?”
“I think so. I thought so. I don’t know.”
“Why would I come back?”
“You mean because you’re doing so well for yourself?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes you did. These people are dying, Jack. I’m doing good work here.”
She almost believes the words.
“I’ll pay double,” he says.
“It’s not about money.”
“I know that.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I told you already.”
“You think I’m not supposed to be here.”
He shrugs.
“You’re wrong,” she says.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll find some amateur medic to drag along. And when he programs my grav tank wrong I’ll come outta the jump with my guts all over the walls.”
“See? You’ve got it all planned out.”
“I’m serious.” He hops down, winces.
“You’re seriously hurt. Rate your pain one to ten.”
“Three when sitting. Six standing.”
It feels just like old times. Wounded Jack Kind back from a fight, his loyal mistress ready to heal him. She hates herself for playing along, but keeps right on going. “I can see boot prints,” she says.
“I won’t rest till you’re on my crew.”
“Then you’re going to be very tired.”
“Anijira left me. Two years ago.”
Another eye roll despite herself. “Took her long enough.”
“I should have left her a long time ago.”
“We are not having this conversation. It’s about five years too late. Longer, actually.”
“I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Well, fine. I’m glad to hear it, I guess.”
She writes a couple prescriptions. Painkillers and immuno-boosters.
“What are you doing?”
“Is the room still spinning?”
“A little.”
She writes another, tears the sheets and offers them.
He recoils like she is holding out poison. “Remember where we used to park?” he says.
“Sure.”
“We meet at the main terminal at 1800. I’ll see you there.”
“Jack,” she says, waving the prescriptions, “save yourself.”
“I’m trying.” He takes the papers. “Your turn.”
Chapter 7
Jack reenters the lobby.
Dino and Justin stand. “How’d it go?”
He takes his jacket from the chair. “She’ll be there.”
The autocar waits outside.
He watches the clinic through the rear window as they pull away. White snow on a flat gray roof, blank walls. The universal medical symbol on a small sign by the door. He cannot believe Lana has spent four years here. She’s always been righteous, but she’s not an idiot. Back when he hired her, she was disillusioned with the treatment of medical staff in the outer limits, working 20 hour days and barely able to feed herself. She sought him out. She knew she was better than all this back then. She must know it now.
A woman with a basket balanced on her head steps in front of the car. They lurch to a stop and she crosses. She is not wearing pants.
The roads are all unpaved, mud and slush. There are no borders or fences to mark where the camp begins or ends. Just tents everywhere, rusted out dumpsters turned on their sides, trash barrel fires. Men women and children gathered around the smoky rims.
They reach the paved roads and in minutes the camp is a smear of smoke behind them.
She only left because he could not do right by her. But things have changed.
Haven’t they?
He doesn’t know why he said that bit about going legit. It just came out.
They stop at another pharmacy kiosk which takes the prescriptions and spits out two half-filled bottles of pills. He washes the pills down with water from his canteen. He has kept it for 12 years, this canteen, a relic from his days in the camp, and today the water tastes the same but somehow foul. Old metal and oil. He drinks it anyway, staring out at the gray skies and the dirty snow. He should savor this ugly view. Earth. All her squandered potential. Despite all we’ve done, she still cannot get rid of us.
He sits on a bench at the hypertram station. Hunter and the others mill around in a cluster by the entrance ramp. It’s not as busy as it was when they arrived. Maybe they hit holiday travel. He isn’t sure what day it is. When you’re off planet, you learn to ignore the clock, to nap when you’re tired. It’s disorienting at first, but he’s come to prefer it to this night and day crap.
Hour 22 is winding down. He checks the time every thirty seconds as if it might slow. His head is clear and his limp is gone and Lana is not coming. They are out of time.
“Let’s go.”
Back at the landing site, crunching across fresh snow, Belinda stands tall under darkening clouds. He rarely gets to see her from the outside. She’s bigger than she seems inside, all those cramped corridors. Eight hundred and fifty feet from end to end, six hundred feet tall, she’s an older model with a retro-traditional look. The three grav drives on her back and sides look almost like jet engines, and her rear expands like the base of a rocket filled with holes, small thruster ports for maneuverability in docking. She has attitude. Always has. He respects that about her. He’ll ask her to take him from this place, from his family, from Lana, never to see them again, and she will oblige.
He calls the loading tunnel down. It lowers with groan, hits the ground with a puff of powdery snow. The doors open and the lights wink on, stretching up and out of view. He takes his final footsteps on this planet and steps onto the ramp.
About halfway up, he freezes. He thought he spotted something on the landing, someone backlit by the chamber.
“What is it?” Hunter says.
“I’m not sure. I thought—”
And there it is again, a flicker, a shadow, a rising form.