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Sci- fi story If one is good
IF ONE IS GOOD. . .
© 1986 James F.Taylor
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
"Suit yourself, Mr. Crane, but if you do not tell me the
location of the circuit in the next hour, I will treat you to a
long, agonizing death."
It's announcements like that that can seriously dampen your
enthusiasm for the day. Especially when pronounced by a 500
pound geneticly engineered mesomorph specificly bred for such
delights.
The job had started out simply enough, four thousand credits
just to carry a microcircuit from Earth to Thantos V. A normal
run of the mill courier assignment. And being a normal, run of
the mill courier, I thought I'd take a nice relaxing commercial
flight and pick up some much needed spare cash.
It should have been a milk run. It should have gone off
without a hitch. And I should have noticed those two goons side
up next to me at the spaceport lounge long before they slapped
the hypnopatch on the side of my neck and sent me off to lala
land.
When I woke up I was here, wherever here is.
They had me locked up in a cage. Nothing fancy, mind you, a
simple cage with metal bars and a pulse tone lock, straight out
of an old movie.
And this thug wanted the circuit. Which, under normal
circumstances would be fine with me. Mrs. Crane didn't raise no
fools. 4K credit was not worth losing my ass over. But there
was just one small problem.
I didn't have the circuit.
Usually, I would have had it in an implant container in my
arm or leg, but the guys who hired me did so on such short notice
that there wasn't time to get it put in. Instead, I stashed it
in my carry-on case which never leaves my sight. Usually.
However, these Bozos snatched *me* and left my case in the
lounge. And it was most evident that Alley Oop would not be
content to accept such an answer to his gracious inquiry.
That left me with the small dilemma of breaking out of this
cage, finding out where I was, locating a convenient exit, and
then getting out, all as quickly as possible.
The Throwback had left only one guard to stand watch over
me. That was good, I hated crowd scenes anyway. First in my
mind though was opening the lock.
As luck would have it, this lock was so old that it operated
on the simplest of sound frequencies. And I had a little toy
that would take care of that.
The bad guys had given me a complete body search after
getting me here and found the usual assortment of weapons and
tools of the trade a person in my line of work carries. But they
were obviously not used to dealing with freelance couriers, folks
who transport items both within and outside of legal permissions.
We freelancers are not protected by the standard interplanetary
conventions covering corporate couriers; we have to provide our
own.
Mine were placed at various spots around my anatomy. Beauty
may be only skin deep, but the devices by which I ply my trade
are a little deeper. Like the pulse tone generator under the
flesh on my left hand.
My guard, lulled into a sense of false security by his
belief in the "strength" of my cell, busied himself in the other
corner of the room with what seemed to be a holographic porno
viewer.
And I quietly busied myself at the lock. It opened in
seconds. Thank you, Doctor Bob!
He was, as I said, clear across the room. I would have to
use drastic measures to take him by surprise. Being a logical
sort of guy, I used my Master Plan. I stepped silently out of
the cage; raising my arms over my head I ran towards him as fast
as I could, screaming at the top of my lungs and flailing my arms
in the air like a madman.
Caught totally off guard by this unusual sight, he hesitated
for one brief moment before reaching for his gun.
And that was all I needed. By the time you could say
"Jumping Jack Flash", the horny bugger was unconscious on the
floor.
I scooped up his pistol and surveyed my options.
Granted, as Master Plans go, this was not one of my best.
But it was all I could think of at the moment. And what do you
know, it worked.
The gun was a good old Colt automatic, which meant one thing
- they hadn't taken me offworld. I was still on Earth. No one
would be stupid enough to use any projectile firing weapon in a
pressurized zone within a vacuum. Only energy weapons and patch
shooters are kept in places where a single bullet hole in a
bulkhead would mean rapid death for all concerned.
Now came step two: how to get out of here and back to
neutral, if not friendly ground.
The only door in the room opened on to a corridor. So
figuring an unknown corridor presented more options than a known
room, off I went.
Before I made my final escape, I would need at least some of
my equipment back. I was in luck, it was behind the very first
door that I checked. I thanked the Spirit of Rock and Roll while
I quickly inventoried my find. My diversion pack was there, but
my stun pistol was not. At least I still had the Colt, if
necessary. Messy, but very effective with proper handling.
There was a bunch of other crap mixed in with mine;
obviously I was not the first guest entertained at this fun
house. Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could use. They never
leave the good stuff. I found one stun grenade, which I
immediately pocketed, and... rapture. At the bottom of the box
was my medi-kit. If I was to get out of here alive, I would have
to be more overamped than my adversaries.
I tore open the kit and rummaged through it's contents,
found the speed tabs and popped two. If one is good, two is
better - that's what Dr. Bob always said, and I had always found
his wisdom more than adequate, especially at times like this.
In seconds, I could feel the compound taking effect. The
familiar sensation of the little hairs on the back of my neck
standing up reassured me that all was well. A strong sense of
well-being flushed through my body, followed quickly by a rush of
energy and positive awareness.
Locked into a combat mode, I slapped the kit into place on
my belt, and headed down the hall.
The magic word glowed red over the portal at the end of the
corridor. *EXIT*. That had to be one of the most beautiful words
in the English language. I took full advantage of it's meaning.
A bright, full moon illuminated the night. The crisp
outside air stung my lungs.
I paused for a moment to consider my good fortune. These
jerks were so overconfident that they hadn't posted sentries in
case I escaped. I would soon be home free.
My reflexes worked before my conscious mind did. I hit the
ground and did a shoulder roll. The concrete where my head had
been shattered into dust.
My chemically amplified senses instinctively scanned the
courtyard. There it was; a machine gun nest ten feet up and
thirty feet to my right. My fingers tightened on the stun
grenade as my thumb pushed out the pin beneath it.
I dodged their fire by running a zig-zag pattern. I could
have gone down in the record books, but the judges were obviously
absent. My altered biological state would have disqualified me
anyway; judges are always so picky about these things.
The grenade dropped right in their laps. The shock wave
took them out in an instant. They would survive, but would have
the headache to end all headaches when they awoke.
I didn't stay to confirm this, but went straight for what
appeared to be an airfield in the distance.
Frank Shorter himself would have been proud of the way I was
covering ground. Freedom was a microsecond away.
Suddenly, the ground raced up to meet my face.
My right leg hurt. I reached down to check the extent of
the damage and felt...
Nothing.
The leg was gone, vaporized by a plasma blast.
Quickly my hand went between my legs, um leg. Maybe I'd
never be a soccer star, but at least my popularity with the
ladies seemed to be intact.
I rolled over on my side, looking back from where I had
come.
No matter how many times I see it, the sight of a huge mass
of armed men charging at me with destruction - my destruction -
on their collective minds still bothers me.
Time for my Ultimate Weapon. I reached for my medi-kit, but
found a great big empty occupying it's former place on my belt.
The blast must have torn it free. I searched the ground in a
controlled panic. The bag was at least five feet from where I
landed. Must have been one hell of a hit.
A quick but painful roll and it was in my hands.
I dumped it's contents on the ground. There it was.
It's called Stoke and it's the most powerful drug in the
known Universe. Very dangerous, very illegal and very much
needed. I plunged one ampule into a handy muscle, followed by a
second. If one is good...
WOW!
This stuff could give eyesight to the blind and make the
dead walk. Or hop, in my case.
I leapt to my foot, balancing like a tightrope walker, then
jumped. A fifteen foot standing broad jump. Unfortunately, I
had forgotten to consider how to land on one foot.
I impacted and fell, again, to the ground. The pain rushed
back to comfort me. The one problem with Stoke is that it has a
limited lifespan in the human body. 150 seconds, give or take,
and my time was up.
My pursuers were gaining and would soon be upon me. I
started to resign myself to my fate. Where's the cavalry when
you need them?
A tremendous flash blinded me.
My eyes adjusted to the brilliance, then blinked in
amazement.
I recognized the purple glow of a curtain bomb, cool on my
side, blazing hot on theirs. The perfect shield. I smiled
before I passed out.
I awoke somewhere else, and made a mental note to consider a
new line of work.
My shattered body was bathed in the undulating blue waves of
a healing chamber. The music of the Beatles played softly in the
background.
"Be cool, man. Everything's groovy."
My eyes traced up the the tie-dyed T-shirt, passed the Love
beads to the smiling teeth, surrounded by an ocean of hair.
"Hello, Dr. Bob, it's real good to see you," I said with a
smile. "What happened?"
"The screamer went off when you were 'separated' from your
case, so I went and picked it up. I figured you had probably
gotten yourself into some heavy shit again, so I told Janis to
home in on your chip."
"Chip?"
"The one I wired into the base of your skull when I patched
you up after your last job, Dipshit."
"Oh, thanks. Janis found me, huh?
"Yeah, she's one hell of a computer."
"Bob," I asked, "how bad am I?"
"Nothing I can't fix, but."
"But, what?" I demanded.
"Well, I've got good news and I got bad news. Which you want
first?"
"Give me the bad."
"Your right leg isn't. Luckily, the heat of the plasma
cauterized it. If it had been a conventional blast, you could
have kissed both legs, your balls, and your ass goodbye."
"And the good news?"
"That antique dealer from Greater Boston called, he got what
you wanted."
"Far out, how much?"
"He wanted a K, but I talked him down to five hundred and
that extra Rubber Soul you had. Now, we'll be home soon, get
some rest. OK?
"OK," I replied, already anticipating my new prize. A first
pressing of "Abbey Road", in mint condition for my collection.
The hassles of the day slowly drifted away.
My mind wandered as the music poured over me.
"Get back, get back to where you once belonged."
That was the best advice I'd heard all day.
THE END
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