Star Runners: Dark Space

Chapter 13-2

"How does that work?" Josh asked, watching the ship’s nose pass through the shield. "How does it prevent space debris from coming through?"

Foster shook his head. "What do they teach you in flight academy?"

“Enough to fly circles around you."

"Sure they do."

"How does the atmosphere work?"

"The two burners at either end of the city cast a protective energy sphere around the city. Residents call it the atmosphere, but it's not much different than one of the domed cities people first used to colonize worlds before terraforming technology advanced. The gate we just passed through will accept something traveling at minimal speeds. Anything else like an asteroid or space debris traveling higher speeds would be deflected or incinerated."

Josh craned his neck to stare at the horizon on either end of the city. The "burners" on either end glowed like setting suns. Shaking his head, he turned back to the bustling city below. Shuttle traffic filled the smog hanging over the urban landscape. A steady stream of holographic advertisements in an array of languages and symbols floated beside them, selling everything from beverages to sidearms.

Gripping his elbow, Matta lingered at his side as the Shadow made its descent. She gazed at the multicolored lights appearing and flashing, filling the bridge with a dazzling display of reds, blues, and greens. They hovered for an instant before dropping steadily, the levels of buildings passing in front of the ship.

They moved by a sports bar packed with patrons watching a holographic projection of a sword fight. Then, he watched a dance club with a dozen acrobats in skimpy outfits, suspended above a swaying crowd by neon elastic straps surrounded with glowing hoops. No words came to mind to describe the decadent scenes passing the viewport as they descended to a pad, the landing gears hissing and moaning before growing silent. Thumps of bass pounded against the hull.

Foster shut down the ship's systems, the engines whining and lessening with each deactivated screen. "Stick close to me out there," he said, his tone businesslike. "There's no law here on Ilman City—at least not like you're used to."

"What's that mean? Who keeps order?"

He shut off the final screen and swiveled his chair around. "Crime bosses. Hired thugs. You know the drill."

"No," he said with a shake of his head, "I don't."

"You're going to find out."

They moved through the ship, Foster grabbing gear from hidden compartments. After adorning the same black fatigues he'd worn the first time Josh had seen him on Sanctum, Foster covered the entire ensemble with a nondescript dark blue cloak and pulled a hood tight over his head. After touching a glass panel to lower the cargo bay ramp, he opened a hidden wall compartment, and Josh saw a heavy laser pistol.

“Better than your gun—take it,” Foster said without stopping, his boots pounding the grating leading down into the cargo bay. "You two do anything stupid while we're here, and I'm leaving you."

Josh gripped the pistol, silently prayed he wouldn't need it, and fastened the holster around his belt.

"Don't let anything happen to me out there," Matta whispered.

He squeezed her shoulder as the ramp lowered, servos whining. "Just stay close, and we'll get this over with."

"I don't wanna go, Josh."

"Hey," he said, touching her cheek, "I don't, either. Think of our friends. Waylon wouldn't leave us if there were a chance we could be saved? Would he?"

She shook her head.

"No, he wouldn't." He watched Foster descending the ramp into the haze of smoke and gas. "I don't know who Foster is, and I don't care, but I do believe he wouldn't let anything happen to you until we complete this mission."

"Okay," she said after a pause, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she peered at Foster. "I'll come with you."

"Good."

Taking a deep breath, Josh led the way down the cargo ramp. He immediately hit the odor of Ilman City and wished he could go back.

The smell was a mix of sewage and a slaughterhouse, all layered with obnoxious incense and tobacco smoke. A peculiar jumble of drumming from dance music and electric violins filled his ears. Shouts and calls in languages his translator couldn't keep up with echoed across the landing pad. Towering buildings of various architectures loomed over them, all bathed in holographic projections and neon signs.

"Come here!" Foster shouted over the cacophony from the landing pad.

As the ramp raised behind them, Josh and Matta joined him at the pad’s edge. Together, they peered down ten stories into the sea of humanity rushing through crowded streets filled with vendors and filthy vagrants selling wares ranging from fried foods to leather jewelry.

"This landing pad is protected by security," Foster said, leaning toward Josh to be heard over the noise. “I pay well to land here, but we don't want to stay long." He pointed down into the smoky streets. "That's the lowest level on this side of Ilman City."

"This side?"

"Yeah. All of this is happening below us on the opposite side of the city thanks to two gravity generators." He thrust his finger toward a line of buildings glowing in blue. "See that establishment right there?"

He nodded. "What is it?"

"That's where we're going." He jabbed Josh's shoulder. "We get split up on the way down—you head in there and ask for Waller Lucamax."

"Who's that?"

"Doesn't matter," Foster said, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “It’s a code. We need to move. These pads charge by the hour."

"Got it."

They descended the landing pad, passing three vendors on the winding path to the lower levels. The first, a man with hair the color of dried rope tied into pigtails, sold a fried rodent on a stick, the chef not even having the decency to remove the creature's head before running him through with a metal stake. The second and third sold scarfs, beaded necklaces and jewelry. He didn't linger long but could’ve sworn fresh blood spotted the final vendor's bracelets.

Languages continued rushing through his translator with little comprehension other than sparse words.

"Buy!"

"No!"

"Take this!"

"Deal!"

By the time he reached the ground level, the noise of the densely packed group had swelled to a roar, and his translator was of no use at all. Grabbing Matta's hand, he led her through the winding path cut by Foster, continually bumping into others.

Heat waves blasted his face as they walked. Whether it was from engines or body heat pulsating from the packed streets, it was impossible to tell. Body odor, alcohol, and rank breath filled his nose. Puddles of multicolored liquid splashed onto his pant leg, and he tried not to think of what dripped through his socks. Couples kissed before disappearing into rickety structures with miniature metal chimneys extending from the roofs. Some had flickering neon signs while others made due with greased glyphs on cardboard.

Foster moved through the chaos with ease as if his midnight blue cloak shielded him from the stench. He sidestepped a pair of drunks, anticipating their zigzagging across the sidewalk. By the time the couple neared Josh and Matta, the more cumbersome of the two vomited. Instinctively tugging Matta along, Josh closed the growing gap between Foster.

He did not want to lose their sole guide down here.

Risking a quick glance up, he viewed the skyline crossed with shuttle traffic and advertisements. Since Ilman City was forever destined to remain in a nighttime state and he'd already passed three UV bars with patrons lined under sunlamps like warmed burgers, the dark sky provided a perfect canvas for an endless stream of commercials and announcements.

"IMPERIAL—LEGION PEACE TALKS CONTINUING," read one sign in a blistering red. "DECREASED REGULATION IN BORDER TRADE ONE ITEM ON THE LENGTHY AGENDA."

Josh wondered how the politicians were able to sit at a table conversing in cordial talks, knowing a faction of the Imperial government had funded an attack on Earth to destabilize the Legion from within. Of course, he'd long realized the horrors he’d witnessed meant nothing to the rest of the galaxy. People might be captivated by a story of woe for a time, but eventually, their attention turned to their personal challenges.

As they reached the lowest level, Foster continued forward into the chaos. They walked until Josh's heels burned, the soles of his feet aching and making him wish he'd worn sneakers on this journey. Block after block they passed through, each one seemingly more crowded than the last, the same nauseating neon lighting and foul-smelling foods filling each marketplace. He wondered how the inhabitants of Ilman City could navigate such a dense area. Everything took place under the watchful eye of the local police, all men wearing worn leather uniforms and carrying rifles, shotguns and pistols.

Wiping a fresh layer of sweat from his face, Josh noticed a line of motorcycles in vibrant colors being watched over by a slimy vendor wearing oversized glasses with illuminated rims. An egg-shaped pod lined with electric blue lights sat next to the bikes. A row of a dozen identical pods filled the hazy expanse, some with winding lines of impatient people stretching into the crowd. A woman with vibrant orange hair stood near the pods and took what looked like a credit card from a patron.

"What’s that?" Josh asked.

Matta followed his gaze. "It’s comm terminals. We could use it to check in on Waylon’s tracker since we’ve come so far. We might even get a signal.”

He glanced down at her, catching the meaning in her dramatic pause. "Don't even think about it."

"But," she said, her eyes darting back and forth between the terminals and Josh, "don't you think I should at least try? What if they’ve moved?”

"Forget about it," he said, guiding her through the crowd. "We don't even know if we can get to them. Besides, Foster said his system’s got heavy encryption to prevent tracking a signal. Those terminals might not have anything similar.”

"But we should at least check,” she said, her face still locked on the terminals even as the crowd jostled them. "Josh, please!"

"Maybe later," he said, gesturing forward. "We don't want to lose Foster down here, do we?"

"I guess not." She frowned, her shoulders drooping. “I’m worried about them. I was only going to do a quick check. It won’t be traceable.”

"You don't know that."

"You used to be a lot more fun."

"All right," Foster said, turning around and pushing his back against the wall of a restaurant selling bowls of steaming rice with the head of a rat sticking over the bowl's rim. He pulled them close, grabbing their shoulders. "We're here to get information. Nothing more. I don't want you touching anything or saying anything unless asked a direct question."

Josh watched another dead rat the size of a small dog get tossed into a fryer behind Foster. "Your contact is here?"

Ignoring Josh, Foster stared at Matta. "Am I clear?"

"Like crystal," she said with a sharp nod.

"You stay away from those terminals," he said, his brow lowering. "Got enough troubles as it is without you calling more down on us."

"You can't tell me what to do," she muttered.

Leaning down, he inched closer to her face and sneered, "Have something to say?"

Their eyes locked. To her credit, Matta didn't look away.

Josh broke the connection, gripping Foster's solid bicep. "Easy. She's got it." He nodded toward the disgusting fry cook with grease stains splattered on his tan coverall. "Is that your contact?"

Foster finally looked away from Matta. "No, he's below."

Josh noticed a staircase to the right of the restaurant leading below the streets, each stair slathered in a multicolored slime.

"Wonderful," Josh said, tapping Matta's shoulder. "All your friends live below the streets?"

"This isn't a friend," Foster said, his voice lowering. "He's a contact. Information, nothing more. There's a guy like this in every stinking hole in every known quadrant of the galaxy, Legion or Zahl. This one's mine. You can trust him if you've got the credits. And I do." He jerked his head toward the stairs. "Let's go."