Second Strike by Tim Taylor

Author:Tim Taylor
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

— CHAPTER 36 —

“I was right,” I said softly, moving away from the spy hole that looked out into the marketplace. “It is our faces on that wanted poster.”

Silky said nothing but beckoned me to the relative safety of the back room of the empty retail unit.

“There’s a 25,000 shilling reward for our capture,” I told her. “It feels good to know we’re valued.”

Unable to keep up the pretense of cheerfulness, I felt my mood sour. We were holed up in Rendezvous Point Delta, a boarded-up cheese and cured meats shop off Ghanns Street in the Ulthacalth Quarter. Our apartment would be watched. So would the Slaughterhouse. We might as well give ourselves up. Maybe the authorities would feel generous and give us the reward money.

I regarded my wife, squatting on the dusty floor. She looked trapped by the deep shadows.

“I’m sorry for bringing all this upon you, Silky.”

“I know.”

I tried to smile. “Of course you do.”

“NJ, you have apologized. Doing so should lift your mood, yet your spirits sink still further. Why?”

“Why?” Crazy alien. “Because I’ve put you in danger, and when I say danger… Hmm, let’s see… The mayor wants us dead. The government wants to execute us for shooting the governor. Let’s not forget our old boss, Holland Philby, who wants us dead too. And then there’s that gangster, Mrs. Gregory–”

“Do I need to come in and fix your faulty head? You made a judgment call when you blew those LTB-10s. Sure, it blew up in our faces, but what are you going to do about it? Weep? Have you given up, McCall?”

“No, of course not.”

“Sounds like it to me. Go on, then, what are you going to do about this mess?”

“Dunno. But I am gonna fix it. Somehow.”

“That’s better. Don’t ever feel sorry for yourself again. It’s pathetic, and we both know what happens if I lose respect for you.”

I felt like a green recruit. She was right.

“Have I arrived at a bad moment?” said a computer-generated voice from the window out into the loading bay.

I grabbed my knife, looked up, and saw a rubber-lipped Littorane peering at us. Silky began to draw the pistol she’d taken from the emergency cache, but stopped abruptly.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Can’t you see it’s K’Teene Schaek?”

“K’Teene K’Who?”

To the Littorane she said, “Please forgive my human.”

“Think nothing of it,” said the amphibious alien. “We all look the same to them, whereas I am more discerning about their race. I recognize Ndeki Joshua McCall from his under-chin hair, the attractive scarring, and his endearing combination of bewilderment and brutality.”

“Frakk off,” I told it. “I do know you. You’re the Marine who–”

“Who would have died at the hands of that mob. Yes.” The alien cleared his throat before speaking out of its translator. “I ask again. Is this a bad moment, or may I join you?”

“The place is a mess,” I told K’Teene Schaek, “and we’re fresh out of cold beer and fish.”

“But you are welcome here,” said Silky, unlocking the rear door.

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