Chapter 132: PB - #10 A Space Walker in Town

A Space Walker in Town

“This one’s definitely givin’ up…” he said as he removed his protective mask and slid it on his forehead. With his wrist, he wiped the tip of his sweaty nose. In front of him, a patch of glue fluttered in the slightest gravity. “Throw me the other cyano, Jonas—the clear one. Besides bein’ completely dry, this Jovian glue just turned the front of my ship into a crime scene.”

“I told you so, Mr. Jim,” Jonas croaked as he started scraping the remaining dried paste which formed small pills on the edges of the fresh seal the man was trying to apply. “This Belter brand isn’t suitable for FKM. Bless is the Matrix it didn’t melt it… That would have been a shame. Such a beautiful new seal.”

“I know. Should have listened to you…” Miles apologized, putting his elastomeric facepiece back on. He then continued through the muffling filters: “Can you press on the corners while I spread some on the center? Unless we need you somewhere else, of course.”

The robot nodded and complied. “I could surely give you a hand, Mr. Jim. After all, you saved the city and got hurt in the process.”

Miles let out a laugh as he squeezed the plunger of the applicator with all his might. For the fight against Calamity Grace he hadn’t done much. Only the burn on his left cheek could testify to his meager involvement. But to call it an injury…

“A real shame about Lady Carnegie…” continued the robot. Raising the first of his hands, he made room for the injector drooling a milky fluid with a strong chemical smell.

Under his protective gear, Miles raised an eyebrow over the toxic fumes of the glue. “Without her, you and the other androids are free. Legally speakin’.” He coughed. The faulty filters on the respirator had to be almost as dangerous as the vapors.

“Leave Plasticland.”

“I thought of that, mister. We all did.”

“Efficiently carried out, my friend…” Miles heaved, removing his respirator which left red marks framing his scarred face. He put it on the old radio-cassette player he turned on. Marty Robbins welcomed Jonas’ acknowledgment.

Miles stretched and waved to a drone flying back and forth in the hangar. The little robot circled his head and dropped a glass bottle of Pepsi Max into his hands. After tucking it in the back pocket of his jeans, Miles spun to Jonas busy applying the broad test box around the windshield. “If you could ever leave. Where will you go?”

The pump emitted a whirring sound as Jonas tapped on the computer keyboard. The robot leant against the metal case covered with colorful Cronian oil brand stickers. The hydraulics behind his right knee cap squeaked. Stroking his iron chin, he thought. “Titan, probably… AIs have been free there for a few years unlike the rest of the Rings.”

“Titan, huh? Neo-Babylon or Outrage City are definitely places to be.”

“But the big cities around Shangri-La are known to be very dangerous.”

“I reckon it’s true.”

“Sealed, Mr. Jim,” Jonas responded as the control diodes lit up green.

“Perfect. Please, ask Andrew to schedule the takeoff for later this evenin’ after refuelin’ the tank with Blue. Goin’ to pack some jam for breakfast. No more worm jelly—it may be pure protein, it remains awful.”

“Are you in a hurry to leave?”

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“This corral reeks of blood, gunpowder and maggot juice gone wrong.” After thanking Jonas, Miles climbed down the foldout ladder hanging from the hull. “Keep the annoying prick if you want.”

“No kiddin’…”

The bounty hunter bent down to pick it up. “What is this strange trinket?” he asked as he rolled it between his fingers.

“Something I found on Saturn II. A yakuza from Neo-Babylon got pinned in a brasserie. These things were all over the floor—bathed in red and white cyborg blood. Hence the odd shade.”

“Amusing anecdote,” Raïda chuckled as he closed his palm over the pink marble. “It is a pachinko ball.”

“A steel marble from a pachinko machine—an old gambling game from before the Second World War. I never played it because I hated it. Those balls going off in all directions with a hellish crash… that illusion of control when everything is chaos—and in the end, you ought to lose. Kind of like our lives. Don’t you think so?”

“Mine is now just a straight flat line…” Miles reacted before throwing the soda bottle in the large drain under the turbines. “You’re philosophizing a little too much about this marble. Cursed knick-knack, not less.”

“Kuiper’s fringes are their own circuit, apparently. She never heard of the King. Can you believe that?”

The samurai laughed, waking up the duck who squinted at them.

“Stay out of this, Raïda…” Miles chided him. “Y—You…” But the last words were lost in a coughing fit barely covered by the music rising from the boombox on the ship’s nose.

“What about this?” asked the hunter, handing him an embroidered handkerchief. “Does she know about this too?”

Miles wiped away the dark blood that flowed from his nose and mouth. “Damned toxic glue.”

“My poor and pathetic fellow…” Raïda sighed, not letting on any pity. “The only organ they left unscathed is finally failing you now? What a never-ending tragedy…”

Grabbing the samurai by the lapel, Miles dragged his face closer as the duck quacked. His vision was blurry, and a ringing in his ears made his head spin. “You swim like a shark in the same bloody water I did. One day, they’ll do the same thing to you, blind fool!” he managed to declare despite the nausea.

Still smiling, the samurai effortlessly freed himself.

“Not a word, you heard me?” he snapped.

“Or else?”

Fate reached the two men, as Miles snatched the pachinko ball out of Raïda’s palm. “Can we take off?” she coldly asked as she dropped a large Boréal Expos duffel bag at her feet, and crossed her arms. “At once.”

“You’re comin’ with me after all?” the pilot wondered as he handed the handkerchief back to Raïda, having taken care to fold it up to hide the blood.

Worried, Miles saw Raïda turned to her, his fingers still anchored on his swordgun. The pilot asked: “Why’s that?”

“Bad news. Gonna start a war with the Martians…” Miles said.

“I think so, indeed. With the Technos screening every arrival from the inner moons, you do not stand a chance of getting through—let alone without…” He pointed with his chin to the gloved hand Fate quickly hid by reflex in her leather jacket pocket.

“Where to go then?” she asked.

Miles pondered, thinking of Fate’s ambitions. “My birth world’s home to the largest port on Saturn’s orbit besides Shangri-La… It could work.”

“Let’s move, then!” she uttered.

“Quack!” violently reacted the red-feathered duck.