they moved, and the greyhound-thin zombie that tagged along behind them. It didn’t take a genius to know they’d attract trouble. After all, miners have a tendency to blame corpies for everything from pressure leaks to the quality of their sex lives. I moved in and tried to see their faces, but the combination of smoke and heavy shadow made it difficult.
Nothing happened at first. The corpies ordered drinks, argued amongst themselves, and laughed at private jokes. Their zombie sat on the floor, rested her head against someone’s thigh, and stared into space. I wondered what she was thinking, if she was thinking, and how she’d wound up the way she was. I was still thinking about that when Betty came along.
“The rounds,” as Betty called them, were something she was known for. They were her personal touch, the way she made her club different from the rest, and built a loyal clientele at the same time. Such was her beauty, and the personality that went with it, that everyone wanted to know and be known by her.
Betty started by the autotellers, worked her way down along the bar, and drifted out onto the main floor. A robo-spot tracked her progress. Smoke eddied as it drifted through the light. Canned music thumped in the background. Betty knew the regulars, hundreds of them, and called them by name. All the rest were addressed as “honey, sweetie, or darling.”
“Murphy, nice to see you tonight…Rawlings, nice earrings. Where’d you get them? Hello, sweetie, welcome to Betty’s. Lopez, behave yourself tonight, Max is getting tired of throwing you out…”
And so it went until she approached the corpies. I tensed, hoping things would go well and sensing that they wouldn’t. She addressed their leader. He had his back turned in my direction. Her voice was husky sweet and carried over the noise. “Hi, honey, how are you tonight?”
“Horny as hell,” came the answer. “Why don’t you sit on my lap?”
I saw Betty frown and was already in motion when she replied. “Thanks, sweetie, but not right now. Some other time, maybe.”
I was halfway there when a hand grabbed Betty’s arm and pulled her down. She struggled but he held her down. “What’s the problem, bitch? You hard of hearing or something? I said sit on my lap.”
I approached from behind, looped the garrote around his neck, and pulled the handles in opposite directions. He let go of Betty and reached for the wire. She stood and I released the handles. The garrote fell away as the man turned in my direction. That’s when I realized that we’d met before.
It was Curt, the same Curt I’d called “pretty boy” back on Earth, though his looks had deteriorated since I’d blown half his nose away. The docs had done a good job on him, but it would take time and more operations before anyone called him “pretty” again.
I waited for him to recognize me, but the disguise worked. You could see it in his eyes. He didn’t know who the hell I was outside of some jerk that he wanted to hurt. Yeah, Curt was pissed, seriously pissed, and he started to rise. I hit his already damaged nose, felt it break, and grinned.
“Max! Max! Over here!” I turned to find that one of Curt’s bodyguards was on his feet. He was struggling to peel Joy off his face with one hand while reaching for his gun with the other. I measured the distance, kicked him in the balls, and watched him go down. That was a mistake.
The third corpie, a woman this time, executed a textbook-perfect spin-kick and hit me in the side of the head. I stumbled backwards, felt the zombie hit the back of my knees, and fell over backwards. The floor hit hard. The corpie was still celebrating when the bartender sapped her from behind. She slumped to the floor. I got up. The room tilted, swayed from side to side, and stabilized. I turned to the bartender. “Thanks.”
He shrugged and slipped the sap into a pocket. “I did it for Betty.” I nodded my understanding.
Some of the regulars grabbed the corpies, roughed them up, and carried them towards the doors. Curt, supported by a miner on each side, held his nose with one hand and pointed towards me with the other. Blood dripped off his chin. “Mgmpf!”
It didn’t make sense, but I understood. He planned to kill me, or have me killed, whichever was most convenient. I shrugged. So what else was new? The bastard had tried to grease me for months now.
The miners split into teams, vied to see which group could throw their corpie the furthest, and cheered their scores. It would have been fun to watch, except that a group of drunks had corralled the zombie and were pushing her around. She offered no resistance and bounced from one person to the next. She had a nice figure, and at least two members of the crowd were taking unfair advantage of that fact.
I walked over, thanked the miners for their help, and sent them to the bar for a free drink. The miners grumbled but obeyed. They were afraid not to. The zombie gazed at me through vacant eyes. I took her leash, led her outside, and gave control to a Zeeb. He frowned, started to say something, thought better of it, and led the zombie towards her master.
In spite of the fact that Zeebs aren’t exactly known for their humanitarian efforts, four of them had gathered around Curt and were loading him onto a stretcher. After all, corpies outrank everyone, Trans-Solar owned the company they worked for, and if it hadn’t been for the money that Betty paid them to stay off her back, the Zeebs would have hammered me right then and there. But they’d remember, yes they would, and the bill would eventually come due.
I turned and went back inside. My head hurt, and one eye had started to close. It was too bad, really, because if my vision had been unimpaired I might have seen the greenies and been prepared for what happened later. But I didn’t and wasn’t.
Two days passed. Days in which Curt could have sought revenge but didn’t. Sasha was released from the hospital. I took her home to the apartment. It was a one-room affair, similar to my pad on Earth, though a good deal cleaner. I was proud of the artificial roses on the fold-down table and hoped she’d like them. “So,” I said, gesturing to the room, the blanket that divided her sleeping space from mine and the miniscule kitchen, “what do you think?”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Sasha said sincerely. “And I love the roses. Thank you.”
My heart swelled with pride. “She liked it! Not only that, but I found and paid for it all by myself! Well, almost by myself, since Joy had helped.
Life was good, truly good, or so I thought as I left for work. Sasha was better, the worst was behind us, and the end of the assignment was in sight. Yeah, right.
The club was half empty when I got there, with only a scattering of customers left over from the first shift. I grabbed a cup of really bad coffee from the bar, sauntered over to my favorite stainless-steel table, and took a seat. I hadn’t been there for more than a moment before a man sidled up, pulled over a chair, and sat down. I was just about to snarl at him when I saw who it was. An ugly orange jumpsuit had replaced the green coat, but the man was the same. Still combed, still serious, and still Nigel Trask, greenie extraordinaire. He smiled, and the frown lines vanished. “Hello, Mr. Maxon. We meet again.”
I lifted my coffee cup in a mock salute. “We certainly do. Take a hike.”
Trask spread his hands on the tabletop. “Now, is that any way to speak to someone who traveled halfway across the solar system to see you?”
I got to my feet. “You people are nuts. First you try to kill me, then you want to talk. Get out before I throw you out.”
Trask stood. “All right, take it easy. The Mars thing was a mistake. I opposed it, but the locals disobeyed my orders.”
“They sure as hell did. Now get out. I won’t say it again.”
Trask backed away. “Okay, okay. But Trans-Solar knows you’re here, and would’ve nailed you too, if Curt was smarter. One of us will get you, Maxon, mark my words, and we’re nicer than they are.”
I stepped forward. He turned and walked away. I watched him go. Things were getting complicated, real complicated, and Sasha would want to know. I resolved to tell her the moment that I went off duty.
Time passed. The second shift got off and flooded in through the doors. I kept a sharp eye out for Curt, his friends, and anyone who looked like a popper. I saw some, but they were regulars. I watched them anyway.
A fight broke out. I cleared it. A spacer threatened to commit suicide. Betty and I talked her out of it. A miner slapped his girlfriend. I decked him. Then, just as I was helping him up off the floor, all hell broke loose.
A chair flew through the air. Insults were exchanged. Fists started to fly. I pushed and shoved my way through the quickly gathering crowd. When I reached the center of the disturbance, I found that four men were pushing each other around. Not fighting, mind you, just shoving the way kids do, and calling each other names. I was just about to break it up when they turned on me.
