DAY FIVE:

LADY HA’S MINISTRATIONS AND ANOTHER ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT

The next morning found Garth awake refreshed and relaxed. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the ever-present sense of danger was remote. Even with the pain that’d kept him awake for several hours after getting back to his hotel room, Garth welcomed the reprieve. He didn’t consider the absence a pardon because none of his long-term goals had even gotten off the ground floor. Killing Injiri hadn’t been anything more than an exercise in preemptive problem solving; his main goals of rescuing Huey and getting into the museum to check out the Box’s credentials, all the while avoiding arrest and interrogation by eager OverSecretary minions, were going to be the tough nuggets to crack. If Injiri’s death was the cause of the momentary reduction in his personal threat-O-meter, Garth welcomed the respite.

Staring into the bathroom mirror, Garth once again wished he’d had the foresight to divert some of the Hotel’s spEyes into Injiri’s room to capture the fight. He doubted he’d ever forget the sublime feeling of utter freedom coursing through his veins during those last few seconds, or the shocking eruption of long-buried memories, and wondered fiercely what he’d looked like.

Of the two new experiences, the new recollections were the most important because for a long time after being freed from suspended animation, he’d been plagued with serious doubts as to who or what he was. While made-to-order super soldiers and clones weren’t as commonplace a thing as they could be, it hadn’t escaped Garth’s attention that such things did happen, and often enough to make him doubt his own existence as a ‘real’ human being. Luckily for the newly-awakened soldier, the battle field and deep cover were not places where such debilitating doubts could be permitted to gain a foothold, so they’d eventually vanished. During the long voyage to Hospitalis and thanks to Huey’s increasing interest in his video files, though, Garth had started feeling less and less sure of his Humanity. New memories, crisp and precise if lacking in a reasonable explanation for locale and actions, had driven those worries away.

Garth stuck out his tongue, grimacing at the taste in his mouth. For what it was worth, he hoped to hell and gone that going ex-dee wasn’t the cause of the godawful funk roaming around his pearly whites. It was like an animal had crawled in there and died overnight. He started brushing his teeth rigorously, plumbing his new memories as he did so.

Satisfied that the dead animal taste was gone, Garth hopped into the shower and began a thorough head-to-toe wash that would do an OCD sufferer proud. Before crawling into bed, bone-tired and eager for sleep, he’d done a preliminary scrub to keep the sheets clean, but Injiri’s obliteration had been comprehensive, so now he worked to make sure he’d pass a protean DNA-sniffer inspection if necessary.

Garth went to work on his toes, but had to sit down in the shower as an intense memory barreled its way up through images of a gorgeous Russian stripper and into his conscious mind…

…a religious scientist babbling about harmonics…

…blazing hot forges filled with an eerily glowing alloy…

…repetitive tests to ensure all expectations were met…

…screen after endless screen of diagrams, fiendishly confusing equations, and even more monstrous trial-and-error reports literally downloaded into his cortex…

Ten minutes passed before the ‘memory’ seemed inclined to slow, stop, and eventually vanish, leaving in its wake an astonishing revelation: the Latelian’s number one protective asset wasn’t worth the electronic paper it was printed on, and all he’d need to turn the system on its head was the right equipment and a few thousand tons of untreated duronium. When that happened, all bets were off, because then he’d introduce the unflinchingly smug Latelians to quadronium, which made duronium look like damp tissue paper.

Garth smiled to himself, stricken suddenly by the irony of the situation. If good ol’ Kant Ingrams were to learn that he’d probably been right so many years ago, nothing in the world would keep the spastic Historical Adjutant from hauling his number one failed suspect into the hoosegow. Whistling a tune so ancient that it no longer even counted as music, Garth finished off his shower, considered his options for the day as he did so.

As Turuin had promised, Lady Ha had made contact with proper instructions for her meeting with Garth. The directions, masterfully couched inside a two minute long advertisement for what he couldn’t help but think of as a ‘rub and tug’ parlor, gave him a very specific route to Si Shurimi’s House of Relaxation and Plentiful Joy. It wasn’t difficult to guess Lady Ha’s reasoning for forcing him into such a circuitous route: assuming the hacker was as high-profile as Turuin had implied, she was taking an inordinate risk by helping an Offworlder gain access to a fully functional –and non-exploding- Military proteus. His route to the parlor was probably going to make him the most visible and seen man on Hospitalis.

Garth was going through the ad for the third time when he was accosted by Si Mijomi immediately after exiting the elevator. Disturbed by the fact that the awful cow gave the impression that she’d been waiting by the elevator doors for hours to leer gruesomely at him, Garth shoved past her without a second glance, saying, “What in the hell do you want?”

, As expected the lobby was a scene out of CSI. Men and women wearing a rainbow of departmental colors stormed around the place, setting up workstations, coordinating their efforts and generally making enough noise for a rock concert. Groups of four officers each stood clustered around many of the entrances and exits while groups of two made their presence felt by strolling through the crowded foyer. As he struggled to get through to the lobby doors, Garth caught sight of the ‘ERT’ woman who’d questioned him over Firnkle’s corpse. Unlike the last time he’d seen her, this time, she was wearing a uniform vastly different than the previous one. It screamed ‘Secret Agent’ so loudly Garth was surprised he hadn’t heard it upstairs.

Hip-checking a toady struggling with a bulky case out of the way, Mijomi shoved herself bodily in front of Garth. “You can’t stay here anymore.” she crowed triumphantly.

Garth narrowed his eyes venomously at the Hotel manager. “Huh?”

Mijomi could barely contain her ecstasy. Although the reasons behind the foreign bastard getting citizenship were totally unfathomable, she was nevertheless happier than she’d been in a very long time. Mijomi believed her government was infallible, so could only hope that something devious and painful was in store for the cocksure Offworlder. “This Hotel is for Offworlders only.” She crowed again.

“I don’t have time for this horseshit, woman.” Lady Ha’s instructions were very explicit. As a new visitor to Hospitalis, he was being given a one-time only, time-limited opportunity to enjoy all that the House of Relaxation and Plentiful Joy had to offer. To remind him forcibly of the expiration date, his proteus was counting down the minutes. Garth cursed loudly when Robret, his odious handler, appeared on the scene. Unlike Mijomi, he was very confused. “What the fuck do you want?” Garth snarled.

“I’m afraid she’s right, Sa Garth.” Robret flashed his proteus and sent the info to Garth. “Everyone is buzzing with the news. The rules are very, very clear. As a citizen –congratulations, by the way- you’re not allowed to cohabit with Offworlders.”

Garth cleared his throat angrily. “I’m not Latelian.” Time was a precious commodity he did not have.

“The laws concerning citizenship are pretty solid, sa.” Robret flashed his proteus again. “I don’t understand a lot of what I’m reading –my specialty is handling, not law- but what I do understand is that, in the eyes of the law, you are Latelian.”

Garth looked from Robret to Mijomi and back again. He could tell they hated each other, so regardless of how he’d treated them both over the last few days, the chance that they were working together to con him was nil. “I’ll be back here in half an hour or so.” He pointed a finger at Mijomi, who looked like she wanted to bite it off. “Don’t touch my room or I swear I will break your neck. And you.” He turned his finger on Robret. “Get all the particulars about this bullshit and send it to Sa Herrig Dupont. He’s the bank manager of FHSBC and my legal representative. Got it? I’m going to look you up when I get back, see if you did like I wanted.”

Garth didn’t wait for confirmation from either person. He had less than fifteen minutes to get to the House of Relaxation and Plentiful Joy before his chance at freedom expired, and the route he needed to take crossed and looped over itself a half-dozen times, turning a leisurely walk of five minutes into a flat-out run. Ignoring the looks he drew from the assembled officers, experts and analysts, Garth hotfooted it out of the Hotel Hospitalis and down the street.

In his haste, Garth missed a lone Latelian who started talking excitedly into his proteus the moment he shot out of the hotel lobby.

Within seconds of dashing madly down the street, Garth realized that his route to the Relaxation House was a thing of precision and beauty rivaling a Swiss watchmaker’s attention to detail; each step of the way intentionally brought him past relay stations, and it was with a burst of great insight that led him to realize that each station he passed had to be occupied with the cumbersome project of handling bulk data transmissions, naturally protecting him from any unwanted signals from his own, bugged proteus. Lady Ha’s skill was impressive, to be certain.

The countdown time was an irritation, but whenever he felt himself flagging –he was not, after all, fully recovered from his fight with Injiri- it served to spur Garth forward. With but a minute to spare, Si Shurimi’s House of Relaxation and Plentiful Joy hove into view. Dismissing any further concerns about unwarranted attention, Garth put on a final burst of speed. Taking one deep, shuddery breath, Garth forged on in to the unknown.

The woman at the counter was done up as a Kabuki girl, complete with the heavy pancake face make-up, heavily rouged cheeks and lips. Her hair was piled languidly atop her head and skewered with several chopsticks. As walked up to the counter, she dipped her head politely and drew aside a beaded curtain; other than the woman, the curtain, and the counter-top, there were no other features to the entrance. Steeling himself for the worst, Garth walked through the beaded curtain into the adjoining room.

There were twelve massage beds, six on each side. Each of the beds was separated from the other by a heavy fabric curtain that could be drawn aside or closed as the patron desired. Several other kabuki girls were sitting with wanton coquettishness beside the beds that Garth found exhilarating, causing him to momentarily forget why he was in the parlor house. A heavy scent, redolent with smells designed to relax and work the woes away assaulted him as he walked carefully down the center of the room; some of the curtains were closed, and behind any one of them, danger could lurk. As he passed each of the beautiful women, they huffed prettily and snapped their multicolored fans shut. Garth walked to the end of the room and looked around, confused. The kabuki girl nearest him motioned for him to come closer. When he did, she handed him a short silk robe and gestured that he should change in to it, tittering behind a manicured hand with nails so red they almost dripped when he looked around for a dressing room.

In a Special Forces barracks, there wasn’t any room for modesty unless you were looking to get your ass beat, but Garth nevertheless found he was reluctant to change into the laughably tiny robe. For one, it barely covered him, and the overpowering scent of sex and relaxation was making short control over his libido. For another, if he had to run for his life, he didn’t want to do it with his ass and balls flapping in the wind.

The kabuki girl’s luscious red lips framed a moue of disappointment at his hesitancy. She snapped her fan at Garth and gestured first at his proteus, at him, then at a discreet clock near the head of the massage bed.

Glowering furiously, Garth nevertheless followed orders. Pretending that the room was a barracks he changed into the robe provided and then crossed his arms. A small quirk of a smile told Garth that he’d only succeeded in advancing the young woman’s knowledge of male anatomy, so he dropped his arms to his side, defeated. Tittering once more, the woman led him to the bed and gently forced him onto it, face down. As he made himself more comfortable, she deftly whipped one side of the robe, causing it to fall open.

Forcing himself to accept the situation for what it was proved to be very difficult, but Garth worked hard to allow the girl, who worked with the brisk speed of a skilled tradesperson, to maneuver him into whatever position she desired. When she was done, his arms were sticking directly out from his body. A quick snap and the curtain surrounded the room, leaving his proteus arm on the other side.

The kabuki girl tittered again just like a little bird and moved Garth’s robe down past his shoulders until it bunched up around his buttocks. She applied some massage lotions and set to work.

Even with his natural reticence, the woman’s ministrations were more than pleasurable. The last time he’d been touched by a woman with anything remotely resembling gentle passion had been some time in his early teens. What had happened to end that relationship was a mystery, leaving him with nothing but the heart-aching passion of young love. The ‘relationships’ in Special Forces were borne out of battle lust and sheer, overpowering hormones, sharing only a passing commonality with long-term emotions. They all inevitably ended poorly, because either one or both of the parties involved got promoted or dead. He grunted involuntarily when his masseuse’s skilled fingers located and began decimating knots of tension and suppressed rage he hadn’t been aware of, this time with the precision of laser-guided missiles.

Garth stiffened momentarily when he felt a hand reach out to delicately rotate his forearm until his proteus was in a better position. The masseuse exerted extra pressure when he tried to turn his head, putting some English into it as he made to refuse. When the now-familiar sound of access chimes bing-bonged through the enclosed area, Garth realized that no one was trying to steal his proteus: Lady Ha was on the case, trying to debug his toy.

Ultimately, the procedure took well over two hours to complete. Several times Garth had found himself on the verge of falling asleep, drawn back to full consciousness each time by Lady Ha and her furious cursing; apparently the designers of the Military proteus had done their jobs better than Turuin had anticipated. Towards the end, Garth had almost asked the hacker what the problem was when the tell-tale sounds of his proteus being reassembled filled his ears. He lay there, semi-nude and painfully aroused, listening to ‘contract agent’ and the kabuki girl share a whispered conversation. Even with his augmented hearing, what they said was too diminished to understand. There was a sensation of motion beyond the curtains, and then Lady Ha was gone.

The kabuki girl leaned in to whisper in Garth’s ear, the silken edges of her own robe causing a gentle friction on his skin. She got so close that Garth could feel the fullness of her lips, the heat from her breath. He suppressed a groan. “The Lady Ha wishes me to tell you that she is very sorry, she could not deactivate the explosive charges. She has asked me to tell you that the explosives are still live, but will require activation from another person in very close range. So close that the person activating them will put their own life in danger. She has told me that she has placed the money back into your chip. Everything else that you needed doing has been accomplished. Your proteus is now free of surveillance. Any packets sent to whoever is watching you will not betray your true actions. Lady Ha has asked me to remind you that anything you do within eyesight of normal observation will be unchanged.” The kabuki girl paused, then added impishly, “She also finds you very attractive, if a little short.”

And then she, too, was gone.

Garth was forced to wait out the erection he’d been sporting since the masseuse had begun her phenomenal work. He was certain that if he wanted, he could approach one of the other women in the room for a happy ending, but he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He still had to deal with the alleged change in his residency status; more than likely, there were other time bombs his citizenship had created, all waiting to go off at the least opportune moment. Not being allowed to stay at the Hotel Hospitalis wasn’t such a terrible thing, but since the information on citizenship hadn’t covered that minor detail, Garth could well imagine some grotesque omissions were hovering on the horizon, just waiting to spoil his day. When he could dress without having to fight the insistence of the little head, Garth rose and began donning his clothes. He looked around for a place to put the indecently tiny robe, then settled for dropping it on the bed.

On his way out, an errant scent, hardly more than a nanosecond of a whisper froze him in his tracks. “Where have I smelled jasmine and orange blossoms lately?”

He couldn’t remember right then because he had some very pressing business to take care of, but he was certain that he’d smelled those two particular scents, and recently. Since landing on Hospitalis, he’d been close enough to smell Lady Ha, which meant he knew Lady Ha.

Garth was certain he’d remember the moment he had some time to sit down and think.

Garth stepped out of the House of Relaxation and Perpetual Joy refreshed by his massage and eager to get his ass back to the Hotel; he needed to sort out his residency problems A.S.A.P. Beyond that, he needed to get his Stretch and the dead men’s credit chips out of hiding before Si Mijomi worked up the courage to override his passkey into the room. There was no point in entertaining any illusions about how things would fall out after that; the OverSecretary would be powerless to prevent his arrest for the murders of four citizens, gangsters notwithstanding, because they’d happened before the nominal protection had been granted. Garth was also of the mind to believe that if Terrance did decide to allow that security to operate retroactively, the politician was a total fucktard and needed to be shot on sight.

Garth was about to retrace the path he’d taken when his muscles suddenly locked solid, his skin tingling frantically with that old feeling of imminent, life-threatening danger.

Hardly more than the time it takes for a thought to occur, a high pitched buzz like a hornet on PCP zipped by his nose, kicking up a hand-sized eruption of concrete chips and gritty dust: someone was shooting at him, and by the general feel of things, they weren’t fucking around with Stretch guns. Garth dropped to the ground, immediately taking cover behind a delivery van five feet from the Relaxation House’s front door. A few more shots hummed through the air, showering him in broken glass, and then nothing.

Taking a nervous ten count, wondering all the while why they weren’t trying to shoot him through the van, Garth decided to risk a peek through the broken window. Popping his head up nearly resulted in having the top of his skull forcibly removed, so he ducked back down by the tire-well and decided he was a stooge.

He was a goddamn idiot, and had no one to blame but himself. Two hours was more than enough time for Offworld hating goons to set up an attack with enough juice to make it difficult for him to come out the other side unharmed. Sniper rifles, or worse, sniper cannons, were notoriously difficult to contend with; if his body hadn’t locked up when it had, the Relaxation House’s outer wall’d be sporting a particularly gross mural.

Any minute now, the sniper’s ground team was going to show up and start opening fire, witnesses or not. Garth needed to get out of the area, or at least out of the line of fire, before that happened or before the people in the shops nearest him started paying attention. The drama unfolding out in front of their stores hadn’t attracted any attention yet, but that luck would only hold for a few more seconds. He needed to get gone before the ground troops showed their ugly mugs, which meant risking getting shot anyway.

Garth lowered himself down to the ground to consider his options. There was an alley fifteen meters off to right, but his path to it was exposed. Someone belly-crawling their way to freedom would only be an excuse for a lazy shot. Left took him back towards Si Shurimi’s, but he was reluctant to take it; the kabuki masseuse house didn’t deserve that kind of trouble. They’d already taken a great risk in letting Lady Ha work her magic inside. Gun-toting maniacs they could do without.

That left the alley as his only means of escape. Most certainly receiving intelligence from spEyes to bolster his or her visual scope, the sniper would wait until he was flushed out by an assault team. No matter what he did, Garth guessed he was going to get shot. The only factors under his direct control were where, and how often, that happened.

“Goddamnit all to Hell and gone.” Garth muttered angrily. “And fuck me sideways while you’re at it.”

It was of extreme interest to Garth to learn why Trinity hadn’t already bombed the crazy-ass Latelians into last week. They certainly deserved it, and as far as he’d seen, maybe a trillionth of a percent of the population was normal. Everyone else seemed to be nutcases hell-bent on killing him, which ought to be against the law. “When I am in charge of the Universe,” Garth said to himself as he maneuvered into a classic sprinter’s pose, “I’m gonna make some fucking changes.”

He ran.

The dangerous buzz and sizzle of large caliber bullets filled the air as the sniper started firing, stippling the sidewalk and building fronts with holes the size of old silver dollars. As Garth ran, zig-zagging his approach to the alley front, he felt a few red-hot kisses shiver across his calf muscles. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Garth poured on more speed and burst into the alley. The thugs’ faces turned from confusion into delight as they realized their target was coming right at them.

“Shit.” Garth didn’t waste any time worrying about what he was going to do next. Turning his full-tilt run into a leap, Garth soared over the heads of the suddenly astonished quartet of would-be murderers. Pivoting on one leg as he landed, Garth rammed his foot backwards into the belly of the nearest assailant. As thug number one doubled over, clutching his stomach in agony, Garth spun, delivering a crippling roundhouse kick at the head of thug number two. Thugs one, three and four danced quickly out of the way as the second man fell to the ground, dead from a broken neck. They exchanged a look and drew their guns.

Garth dove to the left, aiming for thug number one. Startled by the insane maneuver, his assailant had no time to aim, let alone fire, fire his gun. The other two did, and this time, instead of a simple flesh wound, Garth felt two bullets drill into him: one in the meaty portion of his leg, the other in his shoulder. Overjoyed with their small success, the retards with the guns kept firing, stopping only when thug one bellowed for fear of getting killed by his own teammates.

Garth slapped the Latelian’s hands out of the way, slid up behind the giant, and kicked him in the backs of the knees; when the goon dropped, evening out the height difference, Garth deftly snatched the silenced Stretch gun out of his right hand and pointed it at the man’s temple. “Now,” he said, breathing heavily and ever-mindful of the blood leaking out of his leg and arm, “what the fuck is all this about?”

Thug one tried to struggle for freedom so Garth fired a shot just above the man’s head, creasing the flesh there. He stopped trying to get away and started whimpering quietly.

Thug three cradled his gun, wondering if he was going to get out of the fight alive. Their street boss had said the guy was an easy kill, even for an Offworld Contestant, but this was plainly wrong. “You don’t belong here.”

Thug four nodded vigorously, trying to find a way to aim his gun so it wouldn’t kill his partner.

Garth squinted. He had a hard time believing that an average group of xenophobic gangsters would have the wherewithal to put together any kind of plan involving automatic sniper cannon, let alone the skill to get hold of that kind of weapon in the first place. He was about to comment on that when his proteus started pipping loudly. Cautioning the thugs not to move with a scowl, Garth tilted his forearm so he could see the screen. According to the flashing, high-def minimap, local authorities were on the way, supported by an advance team of about a thousand military-issue spEyes. Garth cursed. He kicked the thug he was holding hostage in the back with enough force to send him sprawling forward. Using the momentary distraction to his advantage, Garth shot thugs three and four through the eye, then strode forward and delivered a double-tap to the back of thug one’s skull.

“Groovy.” Garth muttered under his breath, absolutely disgusted. If he was going to be called upon to kill four gangsters a day, he was going to have to start packing a lunch.

The proteus informed him there was less than thirty seconds before the spEye-wave rolled onto the scene, so he quickly wiped his prints from the Stretch with his shirt before placing it carefully back into Thug One’s calloused hand. He wanted to take the time to root through their, but he couldn’t; Garth didn’t know the specifics of a military spEye, but he was willing to bet he’d have a hard time getting away from a thousand of them, and no amount of ‘friendship’ with the OverSec’d keep him alive after killing four more locals.

Muttering at the lunacy of the Latelians, Garth made his way out the other end of the alleyway just in time to miss being spotted by the spEyes. He put in a call to Jimmy, asking the cabbie politely for a ride and a first aid kit.

“Wanna keep your eye on the fucking road, Jimmy?” Garth asked from the backseat. The cab driver was plainly freaked out by the amount of blood coming out of the bullet wounds, as he well should be; a .60 caliber gunshot was not a pinhole, it was a faucet. To his credit, though, Jimmy was doing a better job than not of driving under a plainly stressful situation. The problem lay with the fact that Jimmy was inordinately skilled at jerking on the steering wheel every time the pliers Garth was using to extract the last bullet were at their deepest; instead of being pulled out, it was being jabbed, and hard.

“Sorry, sorry.” Jimmy switched lanes and angled for the freeway to Central. It might not be a place Garth wanted to go, especially if he was guilty of a crime, but there was no other stretch of road long or straight enough to turn the autopilot on.

Garth took a deep breath and wiggled the pliers back into the hole, ignoring the sight of two inches of gory metal disappearing into his arm. Gritting his teeth to keep back the scream, Garth probed around until he found the bullet. Gingerly gripping the bullet, Garth cast a warning glance Jimmy’s way via the rearview mirror, and yanked for all he was worth. The ‘operation’ was a success, but in the process, a ribbon of blood splattered against the front window.

“Oops.” Garth said weakly, ignoring Jimmy’s squawk of protest. He dug into the pitiful first aid kit with one hand until he found the second roll of gauze tape and began applying a skill barely learned for the second time; he hadn’t been this badly hurt during a single mission, so his First Aid skills were non-existent. He was just going to have to hope that his healing powers were just as miraculous as everyone back on the base had believed, because there was no way in hell that his bandage job was going to save the day. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

Jimmy looked through the rearview mirror, eyes hunted. “You okay?” He made a second pass on the blood spatter with his handkerchief.

“Yep.” Garth kneeled as best he could on the seat and started looking at the graze-marks left by the sniper salvo. They weren’t bad, but they weren’t good. There was no blood, but he could use some antibiotic creams or ointments or whatever people used when getting shot full of holes.

Completing the job as best he could, Jimmy considered his handkerchief distastefully, then tossed it into the back with Garth. “This is making me very uncomfortable, Garth.” The friendly Offworlder was beginning to look more and more like the sort of person who’d get along just fine with his wife’s brothers and their friends.

Garth was in no mood to hold hands. “Uhuh, well, I’m paying you very well for this, so unless you want to turn me into the cops, there’s not much I can do about it.”

Jimmy opened his mouth to say something nasty back, but then closed it. If he did or said anything to ruin his relationship with Garth, two things would happen. One, the readily available mountain of cash the Offworlder seemed to have at his disposal would vanish. Two, his wife’s brothers would become very upset, because he’d already set a meet up, and they were not the sort of people who looked kindly on mistakes. “What happened to you?”

“Same old, same old.” Garth quipped while he tidied himself up. The nervous tension/spooky awareness was back, haranguing his general sense of calm and well-being. He caught Jimmy’s eye. “I went to a massage parlor. When I got out, a bunch of guys took exception to me defiling the pristine honor of Latelian virgins with my evil demonic presence.”

“But … they shot you. With guns.”

It was a shame that Jimmy was such a nice guy, and that he fell into that tiny percentage of people young enough not to have picked up the evil mindset of the generation previous or that he’d never fallen in with the wrong crowd. “Jimmish, when you think of Offworlders, you don’t imagine them as evil, or as wanting to take what you’ve got, or destroying your way of life, do you?”

“No.” Jimmish admitted. “I figure you’re just people, like us. Some good, some bad, all needing a ride somewhere.”

Garth actually laughed at that. “Well, a lot of Latelians, people you might know, don’t particularly like my ‘kind’. I don’t know exactly what they think about Offworlders, or of Trinityspace, but I do know this is the second time in as many days that someone’s tried to shoot me. The first time was badly coordinated and I got away unharmed. This time was a lot trickier and way more deadly. The next time they might actually get me.”

“You could always go to the cops.” Jimmish offered. He flipped a signal light on and merged with an overpass lane the moment he could.

“I wish I could, pal. Believe me.” Garth snapped his fingers. “Hey! I bet I actually could now.”

“I don’t follow.” Jimmy sped through the overpass, gunned the taxi across an intersection, then angled the car onto another pass that would put them back on the route to Port.

“I’m a citizen now.” Garth waggled his proteus. “Got confirmation yesterday.”

Jimmy, who’d lived most of his life in Port and as a cab driver, knew a large number of non-Latelian citizens. He also knew that it was actually a pretty big deal for the government to grant such a request. He’d always assumed that the reluctance to let immigrants in was because their system was overcrowded, but he was beginning to think maybe it had more to do with prejudice than room. “Congratulations!”

Garth smiled. It was good news. As a citizen, he’d have more freedom to wander around and poke his nose into places that Offworlders weren’t allowed to go, and any trouble he’d get into would be ameliorated seconds later by proof of citizenship. Once locals got used to seeing his ugly mug around town, the stares and the prying would stop and he get begin the process of sneaking into the Museum. “Which reminds me, I need to get back to the Hotel, and double –no- triple quick.”

“Why’s that?” Jimmy asked even as he put the cab into high gear.

“Some rule says as a Latelian citizen I can’t stay in the Hotel. I gotta find out what the fuck they’re jabbering about.”

“Hm.” Jimmy said, suddenly pensive. He drove the rest of the way in silence, glad that Garth wasn’t the sort of customer who felt the need to talk all the time. A niggling feeling warned Jimmy that his Offworld friend’s sudden change in status was going to affect more than his change of residence, but it was going to take a trip home to make doubly sure. If he was right, and when it came to the Contest, Jimmy was almost always right, Garth N’Chalez had worse problems than finding a new place to live.

Garth might not even be allowed to fight the Offworlders. He might have to fight Latelians.

As tough as the man obviously was, he wouldn’t get any further than the preliminary rounds. Truthfully, Garth would be lucky to come out of the first match with his head still on his shoulders. And winning the Contest? Well, that was now a dream so distant it was on another planet, because even if Garth proved to be the greatest fighter on a thousand worlds, he’d still have to contend with God soldiers for the Grand Prize.

A frightening chill washed down Jimmy’s spine, and he felt like throwing up his lunch. In order to get his brothers-in-law on-board with meeting Garth, he’d gone ahead and told them about the man’s chances of winning the Offworld portion of the Contest. Always eager for more money, they’d done some digging on their own, eventually deciding that Garth was worth the risk; they’d wagered a ton of money on the outcome of the preliminary bouts, and were talking non-stop about how much money they’d make once the Final Contest was fought.

If Garth N’Chalez was bounced out of the Offworld competition and into the Latelian one, all the money his bastard brothers-in-law had put down would be gone.

A heavily non-religious man like every other person he knew, Jimmy found himself suddenly praying he was wrong. His life depended on it.

Jimmy drove cautiously up the drive to the Hotel, nervously eying the undeniable police presence that covered a two block radius on all sides of the ramshackle building. . Unable to ignore Garth’s recent escapade in downtown Port City, Jimmy was shocked to see his Offworld passenger showed little interest in the flashing blue and red lights. Even more disturbing was Garth’s no longer pain-ridden face; if Jimmy hadn’t seen the blood and the bullets with his own two eyes … A chime from his proteus drew Jimmy’s wandering mind back to the present. Garth had given him ten thousand extra credits.

“For your help today, my man.” Garth gathered together the various odds and ends he’d used from the laughable first aid kit and stuffed them into a plastic bag from a local grocery store.

Jimmy nodded in thanks, then turned to look at Garth. “I was gonna call you later tonight, but since you’re here now…”

Garth sat back down. With all the police around, he was in no hurry to go strolling through the Hotel lobby carrying a bag of bloody tissues and spent sniper rounds. “Yeah?”

“My brothers-in-law want to, uh, meet you before they decide to help you get onto the Port without being, uh, seen.” Jimmish looked to the cops again, his face pale.

Of course they did. Nobody in their right mind would commit themselves to any kind of illegal activity without first checking out the people involved. It was damn-fool dangerous to trust anyone further than the first thirty seconds of a conversation, which was why Garth preferred to do things on his own whenever possible. It irked him to have to rely on the essentially ignorant Jimmy, and it was downright irritating to have to work with his brothers-in-law, who were almost certainly Portsiders. “You got any idea when this is going to go down?”

“Well, they were kind of thinking really, really late tonight. You know, when most everyone’s asleep.”

Seeing that Jimmy’s heart was going to crawl out through his mouth if he didn’t get off the Hotel premises, Garth clapped the cabbie on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, my man. Drop me a prote-line when you get the info. If I really do need to get a new place to hang my hat, I’ll fill you in on where I am then. Sound good?” He smiled warmly when Jimmy nodded, hesitantly at first, then with more enthusiasm. He stepped out of the cab and waved so long to the man, who beat a hasty, if law-abiding retreat.

The police officers, all lanky, armed and cranky, gave Garth the fish-eye as he made his way through the various cordons and knots of Offworlders hanging around filling out statements and trying their very best to behave. By the time he made it into the foyer, Garth had a pretty good idea what had gone down.

Shortly after he’d left for the House of Pleasure, the final batch of Offworld Contestants had rolled in. Eager to defend their own ‘turf’, the ‘old’ group had set down some rules and regulations for the ‘new’ crew. From some of the words Garth heard being bandied about, he gathered that the people who’d been here first had tried to give the fresh arrivals the benefits of their longer exposure to the Latelians and their hostile tendencies. Words had been exchanged, followed by fists, followed by an all out, nearly one thousand strong riot, followed by the presence of indomitable God soldiers; miracles of miracles, the people in charge of the sortie had convinced the flesh-tanks that it was in their best interests to not pull the heads off anyone who was still fighting. They’d waded in with their gas canisters to take care of the crowd, killing maybe thirty or so in the process. From the meek, humble expressions on the surviving Offworlders, it was a solid bet there weren’t going to be any riots in the near future.

The prolonged military action had the potential to be a blessing in disguise for Garth, who prayed that the presence of so many officials and soldiers had forced Mijomi to stay at her desk. As long as his room remained untouched, there was nothing for him to worry about. Garth breezed by the front desk, caught sight of Robret, and swerved to collide with the doughy-faced handler. “Robret!”

Robret heard his name shouted, and looked muzzily around until he saw Garth striding towards him purposefully. He was ashamed to admit he flinched, and badly. Mijomi, who stood next to him with a gas mask wrapped around her pointy head, spat venom at Garth’s approach and disappeared into the office. “Sa … Sa Garth.”

Garth nodded towards the police, who were still taking statements. With all the action going on, it was a foregone conclusion that Mijomi was working on sending out illegal feeds of the questioning. “Hardcore, eh?”

“Uhm.” Robret nodded nervously. He grabbed hold of his head and physically stopped himself from nodding any longer; according to one of the ERT nurses, he was in a mild state of shock and should be in a hospital. The only thing from preventing him from following those orders had been Garth’s previous order to wait. He wondered if he should tell a therapist about the fact that he was more afraid of an Offworlder than a God soldier. “Y-yes.”

“You miss the dust-up at the weigh-in?” Garth asked, leaning casually on the counter. He could hear frantic typing going on in the other room. Mijomi was either verifying the video footage of the altercation or deleting it. If she was smart, she’d be doing the latter instead of the former.

“I … yes.” Robret wanted to nod, but kept his hands firmly clamped on his head.

“I thought all you Latelians loved this kind of whacky shit.” Garth saw a splatter of blood on the ceiling above him and whistled. Eighty or ninety tons of God soldier galumphing around in the foyer and the surrounding area must have been like watching armor-plated elephants on two legs playing football with people in the role of balls.

“Well … er, y-yes, but…”

Garth grinned toothily. He knew what the problem was. Things were always different when it happened up close and personal. Dress the fight up in the disguise of a national sporting event, keep people just far enough away from the main center of action and anything looks less real. It was even better if they were forced to watch the worst of the crap on gigantic video screens; the impartiality of a monitor lent itself well to distancing people from the gruesome bloodshed, even if the real deal was happening only twenty or thirty feet away. Garth was used to the grim spectacle of combat, but if he had the choice between watching a God soldier rip someone’s spine out with their teeth ten feet away or on a monitor, he’d pick the television every time. Gross displays of physical violence, while interesting in the ‘Oh my GOD, would you look at that!’ kind of way were better left to cheesy movies. “Yeah, well, talk to your government reps if this shit makes you sick to your stomach and makes you wish you weren’t Latelian. You do what I asked?”

Robret closed his eyes. “Y-yes, I did. H-he said he would have to get back to you later today.”

“Groovy.” Garth ruffled Robret’s hair. “Now go on, you silly mixed up kid, you. Get your ass to a hospital; you look like you might need some counseling.”

Garth debated on barging in on Si Mijomi and demanding that she stop what she was doing, but chuckled craftily when a better idea came to mind. He waved cordially to the extremely hassled-looking ERT woman who wasn’t any more a highly trained medical professional than he was before making his way to the elevators. He prayed Sa Herrig had a better grasp on what the hell was going on than anyone else around him.