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~~*~~
Chapter Two
Trust Me, Uncle
Trust Me, Uncle
~~*~~
GUARDS
LED him off the bridge. Captain (Uncle) Bartlett
walked ahead, but not before ordering the men to cuff him.
The
cuffs—not electronic, but the ancient steel variety—bit into Random’s wrists.
He gazed over his shoulder at the one cuffing him. "You're good at this.
But I bet your girlfriend's side squeeze is better—gentler."
The
soldier next to that one brought the butt of his rifle up into Random’s chin.
He
fell to his knees. Blood filled his mouth.
"That
one gets what's comin' to him," murmured Hewey.
They
picked him up by the hair and shoulders and pushed him behind Bartlett, who
didn’t bother turning around to watch. "I think that's enough to convince
you to behave, isn't it?"
"Not
ever," gurgled Random, fighting to stay conscious. He spat, aiming for the
wall to his right.
The
soldiers did not respond. He expected them to.
Down
a short corridor, then into a small room with a table and two chairs.
"I'll
be just a few minutes," said Captain Bartlett.
The
men saluted and the door whispered closed.
"Sit
down," ordered the captain, who sat.
Random
remained standing.
"Would
you like me to call the guards in here and force you to sit? I'll do it, and
when they're done you'll be lucky if you can sit at all!"
"Asshole,"
grumbled Hewey.
Random
sat.
It
was obvious that Uncle Bartlett was used to cowing men simply by staring at
them. Random stared back, uncowed.
The
captain grunted contemptuously and motioned at him. "Look at you. Back in
the days when your father had some sense, he'd've whipped you for dressing like
this."
Random
said nothing.
"You
got contraband in that RV?"
"They're
tearing this place apart looking for some," said Hewey. "They've got
a tracer running through the interface, too."
"I'm
talking to you, boy!" yelled the captain, slamming his fist on the table.
Once,
long ago, his dad had demanded respect this way, too. Once …
Generals
gathered in their masses,
just like witches at black masses.
Evil minds that plot destruction,
sorcerer of death's construction.
just like witches at black masses.
Evil minds that plot destruction,
sorcerer of death's construction.
He
shook his head.
"No?
No contraband?"
He
swallowed bloody spit. "Do you know what he said to me before he was
arrested?"
"Who?"
"Dad.
Jameson."
"I'm
not interested in what he said," said Bartlett with a scowl.
"Yes
you are."
Uncle
Bartlett's hand lashed out and slapped his face. "You are being
investigated for aiding and abetting the enemy! I could have you charged!
You'll be incinerated inside of a day, do you hear me?"
"You've
got nothing to say worth hearing," said Random. He spat blood on the
table.
Uncle
Bartlett ignored the bloody saliva and stood. He walked to the wall and barked,
"Bay 5."
The
wall disappeared. In its place was The
Pompatus of Love, floating within the bay's confines. The bay was so large
that it could probably hold ten more of her and still have room to spare. Men
walked in an out of her landing ramp, which extended from her belly to a
walkway.
"I'll
do it, you know," he said. "I'll push that stupid turtle into space
and blow it to bits. And I'll make you watch."
"No
you won't."
"Yeah?
Why won't I?"
"Because
you pig Garkies need to present a peaceful front, and blowing up a civilian
vessel would really throw a monkey wrench into the works. The posse storming
out of Mars right now wants a piece of me, too. Their cameras are rolling, bet
on it. You’re in civilian space. They know you’re in it, even with all your
shielding. The military isn’t welcome—"
"You
think you're so damn clever."
Random
spat blood on the table. Hewey said, "They made a mess, Rand ,
but they're leaving. I hacked the report. They're going to say you're clean.
They didn't find the library, thank your dear ol' Dad.... Several wanted to
frame you, set you up with some microsoft ... but the lead pig told them you
weren't worth it. I think it was his stash and he didn't want to part with any.
They should be there pretty quick."
Random
glanced up at his uncle. "No more so than Dad."
"I
knew that asshole wasn't right in the head when he named you, his only son, Random. What a stupid, nonsensical thing
to do."
"Well,
Uncle, he told me before he was executed that he always thought you were a
ball-less, pathetic excuse of a man." Random grinned, his teeth stained
red. "Conscience? Principles? A moral center? He got those before he died.
You, on the other hand, Bartles ..." He shrugged indifferently.
"That's
rich. You, a trust-fund baby, lecturing me on morality, on having a conscience
..."
The
door buzzed.
"Come!"
The
door opened and a Garky regular entered. He handed Bartlett a thin tablet which the captain
looked over.
A
moment passed in silence.
"Says
you're clean," he said. The disappointment in his voice was evident.
Random
smirked. "Not like that skank bot you sank your soggy toothpick in back on
Europa, eh? You really got into her, huh?"
Hewey
laughed. "Hoo boy, Random! He's gonna knock your teeth out!"
But
Uncle Bartlett did not strike him. He gave the tablet back to the sailor
(soldier?). "Five minutes," he said to the man.
The
regular saluted and left.
Captain
Bartlett stared.
"How
do you know about Europa?"
Random
didn’t answer. He spat more blood on the table. He waited for fists to come
raining down on him, but his uncle did not move.
"I
was born in the wrong time," said Captain Bartlett with murderous calm.
"Back in the nineteenth century there wasn't all this technology. It was a
clean time: no radio waves, no video feeds, no constant connection over the
SolarWeb, no interfacing technology, no Cortex, none of it. Captains sailing
the oceans of Earth were given great discretion as to what to do with pirates and
other scum they encountered. Usually they just shot them in the head and dumped
them overboard."
He
withdrew the pistol in his belt and leveled it between Random’s eyes.
"Whoa," said Hewey.
Random
jerked in surprise, but did not move from his seat. His face remained
impassive.
"I'll
just tell the Reds that you got feisty and tried to escape. I had to shoot you."
Random
looked up from the barrel into his uncle's wide, angry eyes and shook his head.
"If
Jameson could look at you now ..."
"Jameson—is—dead!" bellowed Bartlett .
"And I'm glad of it! He was a traitor and a sellout! I'm just sorry I
didn't get to push the incinerator button myself!"
He
thumbed the pistol's safety off.
"Nail
'im, Random," said Hewey. "If you're gonna die, amigo, then get 'im
before he pulls that trigger."
"You're
one sad son of a bitch," said Random, forcing his fear into a dark smirk.
"And you're going to regret everything you said here. I promise you that.
If you pull that trigger, you'll regret everything twice as fast and twice as
hard. Trust me, Uncle, you don't want that."
"That
should do it," said Hewey.
Uncle Bartlett clicked the pistol's safety back on, and then brought the handle of the gun into Random's temple. Random fought for consciousness, but a second strike brought blackness.
~~*~~