The Wake Up Call
Chapter 1.23: Null Death
Hetch looked into her brown eyes, attempting to decipher what plans could be going their owner's eyes. What would the future hold for this run down punk of a courier whose only skills seemed to be stumbling into one trap after another? Had he to face facts, ever since he lost his arm and the case on the shuttle things had gone sour. An easy delivery had turned into a catalogue of near-death experiences, putrid smelling baths, fires and regular beatings. His body was unable to sustain its vague grip on coconsciousness without a timely intake of stimulants and now their effects were becoming as weak as the promise of payment for delivery of the case; that damn case
She looked around, scanning the debris from the taxi-pod, the decaying remains of dead pigeons, which were scattered across the rooftop and looked out into the inky darkness. The dim glow of artificial lights and the low frequency hum from overloaded power units were the only distractions along with an occasional transporter weaving its way through the few grubby apartment tower blocks away. Her legs were cut and badly bruised along their entire, shapely length. Her body half-curled up on the twisted, makeshift seating. Mustard yellow panels lay surrounding her like fallen petals from a giant sunflower its stem hacked down by the crashed taxi-pod.
Out of the damp, evening air came an abrupt cry from some unseen victim. No doubt the local street clans were busy making their presence felt on the overcrowded city streets far below them. Sirens and the occasional muffled gunshot only seemed to fuel the tempo of the stirring city nightlife; someone had overturned a stone and now the cockroaches were scuttling about.
"How long?"
He glanced at her armband.
"A few seconds or a few minutes at most."
"Can't you do something?"
He shook his head.
Her eyes flickered and she pulled the long, leather coat around her shoulders. "Hold me. Please?"
He walked forwards sending a small plume of dust upwards, wrapped his arm around her and tightly gripped the flashing armband in his fist.
"I wish things could have been different" she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder."
"It's too late for wishes."
"I'm sorry about the apartment. I had very little choice, I had to..."
"Don't worry about it" he interrupted.
"We all have some, sad story to relate. We wouldn't be human if there wasn't something in our pasts that we wanted to erase."
"What happened to the case?"
"I don't know. I really don't. At least the McKaffs can't get their hands on its contents there is a bio-trigger on it. Try to open it without the proper DNA key and it vaporises everything within fifty feet."
"Do you think they would have let us live?"
"Not a chance! They're really nasty pieces of work. You saw how they dealt with Trimble? If it wasn't for that synthetic mask from Mewco we would have been treated the same way."
"But they want us to find the case."
He sighed. "No. With all their street contacts, junky dependants and protection money enforcers they could locate the case faster than we could."
"So why release us?"
"I don't know, yet. A moving target? Some sick and twisted game of Keel's for fun? If we can find the case, then there is a slim chance of getting out of this alive."
"The key!"
"What?"
"They must want the key to the case!"
A sudden gust of motor induced air hit the pair of them.
"You down there. Remain still and state your business!" came an aggressive voice through a multi-directional amp.
"We're just resting."
"Section 177, paragraph 18b: No illegal squatting on roof-tops. Move along now, or we'll throw your Asses in a detention cell."
Hetch made out the blurry outlines of a police patrol pod. Its exterior dirt clawed away by the approaching fingers of rain.
"Can you please give us a lift? We need to get..."
"H-O-N-K!!" came the reply in the sound of a deep, bass-filled siren.
"What do you think we are? A freaking' taxi service?"
Hetch smothered the mouth of the stewardess and pulled her head down and away from the circling police pod twenty feet above them.
"Shut up bitch!" he screamed in a slurred manner as she began to struggle beneath the long, leather trench coat.
"These fucking whores don't know how to behave in front of their pimps, do they?"
She tried to scream out but couldn't so took a bite out of Hetch's hand.
"Be quiet." he whispered to her.
The police pod turned and came a little closer to the rooftop.
"Say, you officers wouldn't be interested in a little action with her? Very cheap, 80 credits for half an hour?"
A few, tense moments passed as the occupants of the pod assessed the situation and perhaps examined the state of their own credit ratings.
"Move along, before I book your ass for wasting police time."
"Yes, thank you officer. You're a credit to the force!"
The police pod revved its heavy duty engines, switched on its blue and red lights and accelerated away into the distance, no doubt in response to some more urgent call.
The stewardess released her grip on Hetch's bleeding hand.
"Fuck! Are you trying to get us both arrested?"
"What?"
"Do you think in a scum-filled neighbourhood like this that they'll give a shit about two individuals who want a lift?"
"I guess not."
Hetch licked his hand and wiped the blood onto he shirt in an attempt to clean the dirt from the fresh cut.
"Why the fuck did you bite me? I just saved you from a shit load of questions and a load more time locked up in a detention cell. You should be thanking me, instead of biting me."
She stood and pulled the long coat from under Hetch, sending him over onto his burnt side. "Ah shit!
"What? What was all that junk about being your whore and calling me a bitch?"
"Look, if it makes you feel any better. I am sorry. It was the best I could come up with at the time. In places like this the police are far too busy with gang killings, block wars, blood vendettas and riots to worry about a pimp and his... property."
She turned and stared right through him.
"Okay, say you had convinced them to land and take a good look round, what would they find? A stolen taxi-pod crashed on a roof-top together with a couple of fugitives on the run from the McKaffs."
She lowered her eyes down to the wet, trash-covered floor.
"These armbands alone are illegal enough to get us both sixty days. Is that what you wanted when you begged for a lift?"
"No."
"The armband!" yelled Hetch.
"All the LED’s are black!"
"What does it mean?"
"Fuck! It looks like our luck has finally turned for the better."
"What?"
"Don't you see, it must be a dud, a faulty trigger timer or just plain messed up by the taxi crash. Or there could be another explanation."
"Like?"
Hetch worked frantically on the armband to remove the tiny locking screws and began to work on the lock mechanism.
"We're still going to the 58th junction and the bridge, but first we're going to pay a visit on someone I think can help us, and already has."
"Would you like to tell me who?"
"We haven't got that much time. Thanks to that police pod and its loudspeaker system every street punk below and his gang knows we're up on the roof. It won't be long before someone decides to take a look. How is your leg? Can you walk on it?"
"It's fine. I just want to say." She said, stopping Hetch on his way towards the locked stairwell door.
"Thanks."
He scanned her face there was a honest expression beneath her long, damp, dark hair.
"What did you expect me to do? Run off when it reached zero?"
"I'm grateful that you stuck by me. I didn't want to face..."
Hetch wiped the rain from her face and smiled.
"Hey, let's go before the police come down or the punks come up."
To be continued...