The Tower (10 page)

“I heard you've been dating Oriana.”

“You know?” That surprised me.

“There's little I don't,” he stated flatly. “Mr. W filled me in on the details. It's my job to know these things.”

“Is it against the rules?” I asked. “If it is…”

“No,” he cut me off, and then hesitated a little before continuing, “as long as there are no repercussions.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You figure it out,” he said, looking up and noting the puzzled expression on my face. “Better get going. It's time for your shift.” And with that, he turned his back to me and went back to work, studying the console.

Dismissed, just like that. Fuming, I went to work, started my shift and got busy preparing breakfast. After thinking it over, I realized that Avenger's idea of “repercussions” meant that if Oriana got pregnant, there'd be hell to pay. We hadn't even done anything!

“Hey!” The object of my dreams was standing in front of me, a pleasant look on her face, trays in hand. Her eyes had lost their cold fire when I'd first seen her; they now shone a soft blue. “Smells good,” she said. “I'll take five of everything, and,” she leaned in closer “a little talk with you later on.” She then stepped back and tossed me a smile, went off to eat at her usual place by the porthole.

An hour later, when the breakfast club had thinned out, Oriana asked me to go with her planet-side that evening. “You're really getting good on the self-defense,” she said. What, after only one session? She wasn't one to butt-kiss, though….

“…put it into practice tonight?” she was saying. I wasn't ready! She caught the look on my face. “Don't worry, I cleared it with Avenger. And you'll be fine; I know you can handle yourself. Meet me outside my room at 15:30 hours.”

She arose suddenly and leaned forward, quickly kissing me, and then left the room. Most of the other guys in the cafeteria followed her exit with their eyes, and then looked at me. Well, the secret was out for good now. I went back to work, feeling their stares. One guy whispered to his friend: “Damn, some dudes got all the luck!”

Yeah, and lucky me, I was that dude
.

* * *

It was time. At exactly three-thirty, her door whooshed open and she emerged wearing her eye-catching outfit, looking every inch the super-heroine she was. Taking my hand, we made our way to the Hangar Bay and boarded Dart #7. Saw some more jealous eyes watching us but Oriana took no notice of it. She owned that area, just like she seemed to own everything else.

Forty-five minutes later, we touched down at Portland Airport, and then went downtown to see the sights, which meant question and get into trouble. We ended up in a notorious red-light district and Oriana chose a few of the more well-known street-scum to talk to. As it turned out, they weren't in the mood to talk. Just before it all went down, she turned to me and said, “I'll follow your lead.”

What?
Oh, hell, get ready for another black eye, Bill
, and that's exactly what I got during the course of us laying down a severe beating on five very unlucky gang-bangers. We didn't get any answers, but it didn't matter. I got a lot of experience in handling myself, although she did most of the bodily damage. After that, we called it a night, took a quiet walk back to the shuttle and grabbed a snack on the Tower.

Never thought I'd be doing anything like this in my wildest dreams. Running after crooks, helping rescue people, getting into fights and for once, I was doing the ass-kicking. Yeah, it felt pretty damn good. Life on my new Earth, cops and robbers, fun and games, and it was all done Association-style. I could get used to this.

Ten: Food Fight

Buzz…
. My hand reached over automatically to shut off the alarm. I yawned and stretched, looked outside. The darkness and the natural glow from the inky sea of stars greeted me, and as always, the view was beautiful.

After the usual shower and shave routine, I walked into the Commissary and greeted the morning crew. Just them for the moment; the Ultra side would be coming in any second. Put on my chef's cap and apron and got to work right away.

“Always early, aintcha?” a voice said in front of me.

Looking up, I saw the same beefy blond dude who'd smacked me up what seemed like months back. The memories of that little incident were still fresh. The idiot was alone, leaning against the counter, a smirk on his round, country-boy face. His eyes were heavily lidded and his face was puffy; he smelled like he'd just walked out of a beer bottle and a bad case of halitosis completed the picture.

The nameplate on his uniform read, “Mark Evans.” He worked in the Hangar Bay as part of the cleaning crew. His two friends, the other two who'd aided and abetted him, were Sal and Perry, and they were just about as large and as stupid, according to all reports.

Why hadn't I run into them before? Apparently, one of the Ultras had heard about my initial altercation with them and had changed the work schedules to keep them out of my way. While I couldn't prove it, I was sort of grateful, at least in the beginning. But then after I'd started up my training, a part of me said that it was wrong to get special favors, even when it involved personality clashes.

And Gwyneth had privately told me the reason why Mark had taken a dislike to me. “It's just jealousy, Bill, it had nothing to do with him being embarrassed at the magic show, he's been after Oriana ever since he joined up. Now she's with you.”

That summed it all up. “What's it to you?” I asked, keeping my voice level.

“Nothing,” he said, pulling a toothpick from his pocket and sticking it in his mouth. In addition to his BO, his teeth were yellow and none too clean looking. “Just wondering why our “leaders” picked you as their pet and crap on all the rest of us.” He eyed me carefully, noting that I'd filled out a lot.

“Must be my sterling personality,” I replied. “You should try investing in one.”

“Whassat?” he said, a confused look on his face.

“Don't you understand English?” I asked, the annoyance coming out in my speech. “Get a life and don't send me any more messages. Got it?” A few of the staff looked at us but said nothing; they wanted to see what would happen first.

His face turned red. I'd been right. From his reaction and the word he used, “pet,” he
was
the one who'd sneaked down to my quarters, the scumbag. He leaned over, face twisted with anger. “Listen, boy, I kicked your ass before. Just say the word and I'll make you everyone's little bi…”

“Watch the language, pard,” a voice came from behind him. Mark turned around and found himself face to face with Lawmaker. Mask and hat in place, Lawmaker wasn't really a cowboy, although he dressed like one. He'd been a farmer and had entered the Army as a young man. Being an expert marksman, he had a thing for the Old West and tried his best to look and act like the cowboys he idolized. It was strange but for him it worked, and no one wanted to argue with a man toting a pair of six-guns.

“Now, I think you owe this feller here an apology,” he continued. “Or would you rather have a chat-up with me?” The question was pleasantly asked, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his voice. And his eyes, I noticed, were a hard, cobalt blue. He was not someone to mess with.

Mark's face showed a twinge of alarm, but he quickly composed himself. “Nah, no problem, sir,” he answered, trying too hard to be polite and fooling no one. “I was just getting back to work.” He turned to leave. “Watch your back around the elevators,” he threw at me and stalked out. The fight had been averted for now and everyone went back to work, but the buzz-talk continued and a few glances, this time, ones of appreciation, were thrown my way.

Lawmaker noticed the look on my face. For some reason I had the feeling that he understood what I was going through and I felt he was on my side. Even more so, I noticed that my heart hadn't beaten so quickly when the war of the words started; was I finally growing a pair?

“Settle down, pard,” he drawled. “He's just another heifer trying to be the lead bull. Few smacks in his kisser'll set him straight and you just about done that didn't ya?” Yeah, guess I had…and I had to laugh at the way he spoke, too; plain talk, just what I needed to hear. “Now, what's for breakfast?” he asked. “I'm jes' fair starvin'!”

“Coming up!” And with that, the rest of the morning herd filed in, lining up for morning eats. Oriana waited in line with the others, and when she came up to get her trays filled she leaned over and whispered: “Word's out you had a bit of an argument.”

I didn't want to show any weakness around my girlfriend. “It was nothing special,” I said evenly.

“Don't worry about him,” she continued. “He tried asking me out a couple of times; not a chance.” I didn't let on that I knew the reason why. She then raised her voice a bit. “My eyes are only for that special someone,” which made everyone within earshot stare at us and also made me turn violently red but left me pleased all the same. It was a pleasure to serve her breakfast and she took her trays and sat in her usual seat by the porthole, eating leisurely for an hour. Before walking out, she waved me over.

“I have to go out soon. Y'wanna do something later on?”

Oh, would I…shut that thought down, Bill!
“Um, go looking for your friend?”

She nodded. “You read my mind. Meet me at Portland Airport at 17:30—take Dart #15 at 16:00. They're going that way.”

Did she know all the schedules? “Of course,” she answered. “When I want something, I get it.”

“Like me?” I couldn't resist asking her.

“Especially you.” And with that, she got up and sauntered out of the room, hips swaying ever so slightly. Funny, I never noticed the way she walked before.

Now, I did.

* * *

Four o'clock. I waited in the Hangar Bay with the other people going down to Portland. A big crowd, what with the Ultras heading out on missions, Techies tagging along for support, and still more people just heading back for a night on the town.

Mark was staring at me. He'd just come out of a Dart, cleaning mop in one hand and a bag of garbage in the other. One of the duties of the techs and the Ultras was to pick up litter on their way back. A clean planet is a safe planet. He walked over, stopped about three feet away; I held fast.

“Going out with that skank, buddy?” There was no mistaking the anger and jealousy in his voice. A few people heard the exchange, looked around and found the two of us in each other's faces.
Well, well, pre-flight entertainment, place your bets, place your bets
.

A little crowd broke off from the main group, Joe and Chuck included, and quickly formed around us, waiting to see what would happen. While I didn't know just how many friends I had in the crowd, it was clear that Evans didn't have any and I especially didn't like my girlfriend being dissed.

“She's not a skank,
buddy
,” I answered back. And then in a moment of having-the-balls-to-do-something-about-it I challenged him. “We can settle it when I return. Until then, carry on with your career.”

His face reddened and he dropped his gear and swung an elbow at my face. I blocked it and shoved him back hard. He blinked and then started in again, but his friends, Sal and Perry, grabbed his elbows and held him back. He struggled to get to me; his friends had him firmly by his arms. I just stood my ground, waiting.

“Not here!” Sal whispered loudly.
Okay, I'll go to them
. I walked over and stood about a foot away from Mark's straining, sweaty, cursing face.

“You're a moron, you know that?”

“Whadjoo call me?”

“Do I have to spell it out?” I asked. “You're a moron.” And then I
did
spell it out for him. “M-O-R-O-N: It also means fool, silly, brainless, idiot, inane and lunatic. Although the last word I said means crazy and you're not crazy; you're just stupid.”

He blinked again, stupefied by my verbal onslaught. Okay, it wasn't anything earth-shattering but it was enough to let him know how I felt and man, I was feeling it now! I was on a roll and didn't want to stop. “You don't like Oriana because she didn't want to go out with you? Ever wonder why?”

“You little mother….”

I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a lot more people had stopped to listen in.
Show's not over yet, folks
.

“You don't like me because I'm dating someone you wanted,” I interrupted. “Does the word ‘jealousy' mean anything?” No answer. “You're frustrated because I worked my way up doing what I like and you're stuck here cleaning up. Ever wonder why?”

He was silent.

“You don't have any other friends up here except your playmates holding you back,” I went on to say. “Ever wonder why?”

“No, tell me, smart-ass.” Wow, quick rejoinder. Time to lay it out for him as he was too stupid to see it; people like him never would.

“Simple answer: You're a jerk. You pick on the other guys just because you can. You're strong and you think you're tough; I'll bet you picked on all the other kids when you went to school, didn't you?” That was actually sort of childish to say, but it was the only thing I could think of at the moment. My “moment of roll” had pretty much used itself up.

“What if I did?”

“I'm not so little anymore,” I said quietly. He just looked at me, his mind digesting the words.

“I still outrank you, boy!” he sputtered. “I been here longer than you have, I…”

“Yeah, you're good at cleaning up garbage,” I cut him off again. “Really makes you number one on the food chain, doesn't it?” A few people behind me laughed. Evans got even more pissed off, like the dumb kid who's been told he's dumb and can't for the life of him figure out why. “Now go back to your janitorial duties.”

He snarled again. “This isn't over,” he said, his voice thick with rage; he struggled to get free. “You and me, punk, this isn't over!”

“It is now,” said PowerGuy. He'd cut through the crowd ever so quietly, but when he spoke, everyone listened. He stepped between us. While all three of the other guys were big men, compared to him they looked like children. “You've all been warned before and this is the last time. You understand what will happen if you mess up again.” The three looked stunned, but silently nodded and gathered up their equipment and got back to work. As they were leaving, Sal whispered something to Mark; an evil little smile appeared on his face.

PowerGuy turned to me as the crowd broke up. Joe and Chuck had hung around and they gave me the thumbs-up gesture.
Yeah, okay, thanks, guys
. I turned to PowerGuy. “I'm sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” he answered. “You showed good judgment. But remember, while we can understand that emotions run high sometimes it's no excuse for fighting. If you have to settle it, take it to the surface. Fighting sets a bad example and is grounds for expulsion. They've been warned, and now you have. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” I actually felt a little bad nothing could change what had happened and I had the feeling that things between us would someday come to the inevitable.

“Good. Better hurry, you'll miss your flight,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the Dart, and then flew out of the Hangar area. Always cool to watch that; thought I'd never tire of seeing someone fly. Everyone boarded the ship and we took off. Flight time: 47 minutes.

* * *

Portland Airport: The clock on the wall told me I'd come in a bit earlier than expected, so I walked outside, waiting for my girlfriend to show up. The crowds of people came and went. Soon, there were just a few people walking around and it was then that I noticed two men staring at me. They took their time walking over, but no doubt about it, I was being targeted.

“Yeah, he's the one,” the larger of the two said. About six-three, he was solidly built with a pockmarked face and bad teeth, topped off with a thinning thatch of brown hair. The other man was about my height and just plain fat. He said nothing, just looked at me, measuring me with his eyes. The welcoming committee had arrived.

“Our friend told us about you,” the first man said, “asked us to give you a message.” I got it—Mark had passed the word to his friends on Earth and pretty quickly, too. It was two on one. There were some people around to witness this, just in case things went bad. I was determined not to come out on the losing end or at least gain a draw.

“Who's first?” I asked pleasantly.

That rattled them a bit but they recovered. They had the size advantage and there were two of them. It occurred to me that this was the first confrontation I'd had alone; all the other times, someone had been watching my back, but now, well, first time for everything. Here was my big chance….

“Me, asswipe!” said Lard-Butt, and moving fast for a fat guy, clamped a hand on my shoulder and dug his fingers hard into the joint. That sent a jolt of pain up my neck; I winced but twisted away and kicked out at his knee, sending him down and circled out of range.

By this time, a small crowd had formed and someone screamed, “He's gonna get killed! Someone get help!”
Thanks for the heads-up
.

The taller man then reached into his pocket, came out with a pair of brass knuckles. “Damage time!” he yelled and swung at my head. Rolling out of the way, I came up to find that both were coming at me, grins splitting their features. Not much time to figure things out and I didn't feel like running. Their grins of victory swiftly turned to terror, though, as a red-and-black costumed figure shot over my head and landed a left-right kick to their faces, bloodying them and sending them flying.