It's Leiji-san's 80th Birthday today - 誕生日おめでとう!
Game: (definition)
An activity engaged in for diversion or amusement
a procedure or strategy for gaining an end
an illegal or shady activity
a physical or mental competition conducted according to rules with the participants in direct opposition to each other
animals under pursuit or taken in hunting
archaic: Plucky.
a target or object especially of ridicule or attack
...or all of the above…
'There are some things,' I hissed at the captain, 'that once this is over I think we should never, ever speak of again…'
Given that we were standing next to a mahogany veneered platform doubling as an auction block, in a group of nearly thirty young, attractive men and women all dressed in skimpy gold satin loincloths and lightly oiled to enhance their physique under the spotlights, for the delectation and delight of a select audience of depraved Machinner aristos, I felt I had a point. Given that in order to get here I'd had the captain's tongue down my throat pressed up against the wall in a stinking alleyway whilst being tracked down by a bunch of goons rounding up people on the streets of Metabloody in the wee small hours, I felt I had a serious point.
'Adjust your dress, Ali,' he whispered back in that annoying, calm manner he adopts when everything goes pear shaped and the rest of us are staring certain death in the face and trying not to shit ourselves. 'Your loincloth's coming undone.'
I fumbled with the ties on my hip and hoped it was the heat from the lights, not me blushing that made me feel so damn hot. Then we were being prodded forwards and up the steps into pride of place by a couple of dial-heads and it was our turn to be paraded for the pleasure of the highest bidder.
I wondered glumly as a draught blew up my exposed arse just how much worse this day was gonna get.
Somedays I should just stop thinking.
24 hours earlier…
'I don't know why we didn't just come in mob-handed, shoot the place up and just put a stop to this,' I said over a tankard of stale beer that smelled - and tasted, as though it had been freshly casked from the urinal.
Well… it was brewed on site, according to the sign hand scrawled across the bar, and the vats - which had probably been gleaming and pristine before the Homecoming War - listed in rusting splendour against the wall under the stairs which led to the bathroom facilities.
Nah. Best not to think about it… Besides, the captain was talking, and I'd missed the first bit.
'... subtle. Besides, I want to roll this organisation up, and this guy isn't the boss. That's the one I want - the bastard in charge of this ring, Ali.' Harlock took a swing from his pint and grimaced, manfully swallowing and managing to keep it down. 'It's taken us six months just to track this operation to Metabloody, and we finally have a line on part of the supply chain.'
I took another swig of swill. After half a tankard it didn't actually taste too bad. But the numb feeling in my tongue probably had something to do with that. 'So when do we stick our heads in the noose?'
I looked around at the rest of the clientele - at this time of the night the place was almost empty. In this part of town the bars didn't start filling up until the reputable places started kicking out. Our only company consisted of a couple of spacers who looked even scruffier than we did, and a run-down dial-head nursing an oily-looking drink that it sipped at even less enthusiastically than we were drinking our beer. Like most cheaper-end body-types it consisted of spindly limbs, an oval face topped with a single gauge-type "eye" (from where they got their nickname) and a small opening where the mouth would be on a human face. Despite the major programme only having been rolled out less than ten years ago, this lube-job was already looking worse for wear - the chassis was dented in several places and one of its fingers was missing on the hand gripping the glass. Its listless demeanor wasn't totally due to the ennui that plagued the poor bastards who fell for the sales pitch: it was probably low on energy capsules to boot.
'A foot-soldier,' Harlock added out of the blue, noticing my interest. 'Most of that damage is from weapons fire. They don't bother repairing them past a certain point - it's more economic just to cut them loose and recruit newer models.'
I pulled a face, and not just because of the beer. 'And we all know there's no shortage of stupid lined up to take their places.' I watched as the machinner lurched out of its seat and limped to the swinging half-doors. 'But it ain't the stupid footsloggers we'll be going up against, is it, capn'? I still think we need more back-up.'
'Relax.' He stuck his boots up on a nearby chair and crossed his ankles - a damn stupid pose if you ask me coz it's awkward to get to your feet in a hurry. But he does like to act all cool and tough like. 'Between Yattaran, Doc and Maji's mad skills - with a bit of help from Tochiro, I've got this covered. And I have you for the heavy lifting and your particular skill set…'
'Huh. Coz that's never gone wrong before… Kei's gonna kill me if anything happens to you, you do know that, right?' If I was lucky… if not I'd lose parts of my anatomy I - and several ladies of my acquaintance that my gentlemanly manners prevent me from naming - are particularly fond of.
'I'm not saying it will be easy,' he continued, doing his best soothing voice. 'After all - we've got to get ourselves captured, and then persuade a bunch of rich, entitled, depraved murdering cyborgs that the two of us will make great fodder for their sick little games so that we can roll up this smuggling ring.'
I just looked at him. Really looked. As in top to toe. Him - yeah. He would scrape through - Doc had done a great job with some latex and you couldn't see the scars on his face at all. Even the tiny little dark burns under his right eye - usually hidden by his patch - were invisible. And she'd even conjured up a contact lens to disguise the fact that his right eye didn't work too well - the lens would react to light to darken and lighten to hide that fact that the pupil that side didn't contract or dilate. And no-one could claim our captain wasn't damn fine to look at, if you like the type. Doc had also neatened his usually shaggy mop up a bit and even though we were rocking the down-at-heel spacer look, it just made him look a bit like a slumming rock star.
Me, on the other hand… well, I was a good ten years older, packing a few extra pounds than was probably good for me thanks to Anita's skills in the kitchen, and I'd been battered on the rocks a bit over the years. Literally, on a few occasions. There was grey in my golden locks (especially my sideburns, which are my pride and joy) that hadn't been there when Harlock had taken over as captain some years back, and no-one had seemed bothered about hiding my scars from view (including a nasty one above one eye that had come within an inch or two of putting me in the market for a natty line in eye-patches as well.)
I've been around the block a few times, and it shows. So I said so. Repeatedly. Pointedly. All the way from where we left the Arcadia and I was still saying it when we left the bar half an hour later to start cruising the mean streets of the seedier parts of Metabloody's capital looking for trouble of a particular kind and trying to stay out of the rest that the city had to offer. And all I could get from the smug little git was "trust me - I've done my homework".
'And you don't think sharing would be a good idea?' I asked as I scooted around a puddle that had some regretfully identifiable lumps floating in it. 'Gaia. This place is a sewer… have they not heard of sanitation?'
'The infrastructure was built before the War,' he replied glibly as we strolled, a couple of down-at-heel swells looking to live the low life for the night. 'Up where the high-rise bright lights burn, the city doesn't need it - the population is now mostly machinner. Down here, it's just naturals, and no-one cares.'
'You didn't answer the question,' I pointed out in my best reasonable tone. Honestly, he'd try the patience of a saint, that man. I threw my most dazzling smile at a red-head lurking under a flickering street light. 'Hey, kitten - lousy night to be working.'
She smiled back and tugged at her skirt, if you could call it that - it barely covered her ass and the low cut clinging tank top she wore did nothing to disguise a pair of tits that were pointing out the falling temperature to anyone who was interested. It had been drizzling for at least the last half hour and her long red hair was looking a little bedraggled. She wasn't much shorter than me, and her legs just went on forever.
'If you're not buying, sugar, maybe you should move on,' I was told in a sultry accent that went through me like warm honey.
I leered. 'Who says I ain't buying, sweetheart?'
The captain's hand on my collar, that's who. He had me dragged around the corner accompanied by a peal of laughter from the long-legged lovely. Damn… some days life ain't fair, I thought. She's half my age, and I'm no cradle snatcher.
Plus I like my nads where they are and she's a dab hand with a blade, is our little Em.
'Keep focussed,' Harlock advised sweetly once we were round the corner. I gave him the stink-eye behind his back.
'You know, you can play things too close to the chest,' I grumbled at him. 'Why…?'
He waved a small piece of paper at me. 'If you'd been paying a bit more attention to what's going off around you, and a bit less to tits and ass, you'd have noticed the hand-off.'
'Huh. How long's she been on the planet?'
'Who do you think has been working this end for us?' He stopped under another stuttering light so he could read the note she'd passed to him. 'We're a few streets too far south. Step up the pace a bit, Ali - the snatch squads are operating north of the river tonight.'
'Great,' I mumbled, as I trotted after him. 'My feet are already killing me.'
'Shouldn't have worn the high heels then,' floated back the snarky bastard's response.
I would have flipped him the finger behind his back, but my hands were busy pulling up my collar in a vain attempt to stop any more rain from running down my back into my butt crack.
Without much luck. I squelched along in my captain's wake in soggy boxers longing for dry clothing and a nice warm bed. None of which were in my near future, unless I missed my guess.
