look at his face, passersby moved out of his way. In this older, shabbier section, travelers were either on a no-frills budget or in need of transport with no questions asked. Most just wanted to get safely through the port.
From the raucous crowd in the open-fronted bar, and the small, brightly lit coffee shop across the way, to the shabby homeless shuffling slowly along, only here to find a warm, dry place for the night, this area was familiar. Not that he remembered any of the names on the holomarquees, or any of the faces that passed, but he’d been here before.
And this instinct was all that he had left.
On the voyage here, the blackness had overtaken his mind to the extent that he barely recalled the visage staring back at him from the holomirror, much less the lists of names, faces and business addresses on his com. He assumed he had these links for a reason, but none of them meant anything. And he didn’t know which of them he could trust, so he wouldn’t contact them.
Perhaps one of them—or even all of them—was responsible for the blackness overtaking him, the pounding pain in his skull that nearly drove him mad at times.
Whoever he’d been, he was no longer that man, the civilized creature in the neat business suit with the careful lists of contacts and the massive credit accounts. He’d left behind all the faces on his com links—even the two most familiar ones. The two men, one blond and the other who resembled his own reflection, were either in on the conspiracy or he needed to stay away from them for their own protection. He was on his own.
He’d even chosen a new name—Lode. He’d gotten it from a space port holovid advert, but it felt right, somehow. And now Lode was back in a viscerally familiar hunting ground.
A Mauritian with a tangle of ebony hair and purple skin, and a skinny human slid from a service passageway, and fell into step behind him. Lode ignored them until he reached a shadowed area where the hololights flickered erratically in front of an empty storefront.
Here he turned on them. The pair skidded to a halt, the human’s pocked face twitching spasmodically under his shock of unnaturally yellow hair, the Mau showing his sharp teeth in a defensive snarl.
“Whatever I have isn’t worth dying for.” Lode showed them the weapon in his palm.
Yellow Hair grunted something, gathering himself to attack, but the Mau slapped him back. “Leave ‘im.”
“Better listen to your friend,” Lode advised. “Laser wounds are painful.”
“I need a dose,” Yellow Hair whined. “I gotta have it. I’m comin’ apart.”
“Then go earn it elsewhere.” Lode jerked his chin toward the concourse behind them. “Unless you want their attention.”
“Quark,” the Mau grated, peering over his shoulder at two helmeted and uniformed space port guards on hovercycles cruising slowly toward them. “Run.”
The two dashed into the darkness of the empty storefront, and Lode continued on to the brightly lit transport hub just ahead. He could easily have killed them—he was certain he’d killed before, although he couldn’t recall the particulars—but that would certainly mean answering questions from the space port guards.
And since he didn’t know who he could trust, he had to stay off the satcom grid. Until he learned what was wrong with him, and who was responsible. Then he’d find a way to unleash on them the black hell that now lived inside him—this resolve was all that kept him moving through the pain.
He took a public airbus from the port. There were no recognizable landmarks in the dark morass in his mind. Instead, he sat in silence, ignoring the motley passengers clustered around him, while the huge transport slid ponderously thru the industrial area, then a shopping district, then neighborhoods filled with condo buildings towering up into the low hanging fog.
Beings disembarked, more got on. He stayed in his seat, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. Just for
From the raucous crowd in the open-fronted bar, and the small, brightly lit coffee shop across the way, to the shabby homeless shuffling slowly along, only here to find a warm, dry place for the night, this area was familiar. Not that he remembered any of the names on the holomarquees, or any of the faces that passed, but he’d been here before.
And this instinct was all that he had left.
On the voyage here, the blackness had overtaken his mind to the extent that he barely recalled the visage staring back at him from the holomirror, much less the lists of names, faces and business addresses on his com. He assumed he had these links for a reason, but none of them meant anything. And he didn’t know which of them he could trust, so he wouldn’t contact them.
Perhaps one of them—or even all of them—was responsible for the blackness overtaking him, the pounding pain in his skull that nearly drove him mad at times.
Whoever he’d been, he was no longer that man, the civilized creature in the neat business suit with the careful lists of contacts and the massive credit accounts. He’d left behind all the faces on his com links—even the two most familiar ones. The two men, one blond and the other who resembled his own reflection, were either in on the conspiracy or he needed to stay away from them for their own protection. He was on his own.
He’d even chosen a new name—Lode. He’d gotten it from a space port holovid advert, but it felt right, somehow. And now Lode was back in a viscerally familiar hunting ground.
A Mauritian with a tangle of ebony hair and purple skin, and a skinny human slid from a service passageway, and fell into step behind him. Lode ignored them until he reached a shadowed area where the hololights flickered erratically in front of an empty storefront.
Here he turned on them. The pair skidded to a halt, the human’s pocked face twitching spasmodically under his shock of unnaturally yellow hair, the Mau showing his sharp teeth in a defensive snarl.
“Whatever I have isn’t worth dying for.” Lode showed them the weapon in his palm.
Yellow Hair grunted something, gathering himself to attack, but the Mau slapped him back. “Leave ‘im.”
“Better listen to your friend,” Lode advised. “Laser wounds are painful.”
“I need a dose,” Yellow Hair whined. “I gotta have it. I’m comin’ apart.”
“Then go earn it elsewhere.” Lode jerked his chin toward the concourse behind them. “Unless you want their attention.”
“Quark,” the Mau grated, peering over his shoulder at two helmeted and uniformed space port guards on hovercycles cruising slowly toward them. “Run.”
The two dashed into the darkness of the empty storefront, and Lode continued on to the brightly lit transport hub just ahead. He could easily have killed them—he was certain he’d killed before, although he couldn’t recall the particulars—but that would certainly mean answering questions from the space port guards.
And since he didn’t know who he could trust, he had to stay off the satcom grid. Until he learned what was wrong with him, and who was responsible. Then he’d find a way to unleash on them the black hell that now lived inside him—this resolve was all that kept him moving through the pain.
He took a public airbus from the port. There were no recognizable landmarks in the dark morass in his mind. Instead, he sat in silence, ignoring the motley passengers clustered around him, while the huge transport slid ponderously thru the industrial area, then a shopping district, then neighborhoods filled with condo buildings towering up into the low hanging fog.
Beings disembarked, more got on. He stayed in his seat, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. Just for
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