...And That Concludes the Twenty-Five Cent Tour
Justin combed one of the many bunk rooms in City 17.
It was a long corridor he walked through, many doors stemming off either side. Each room housed two bunks.
They offered temporary living quarters should people need rest before or after a shift. Their usage was restricted to 28-hour time limits, the same duration of Traxus IX's rotational period. Access logs to the bunks were kept in digital storage for 1-month intervals so as to prevent non-residents from hogging more than their fair share. This way, everyone could have a place to sleep from time to time. If not for the time constraints, fights would ensue over this turf; most people would rather live inside the fortress-city than out. But Justin liked his metal igloo. It was indeed far away and it lacked the comforts of City 17, but it made up for it in basic freedoms and privacy. Plus, he liked the company he had at the igloo. And you couldn't get loaded at work.
He eventually found Chris sleeping chest down in one of the bottom bunks. The satin-blue covers were smoothly draped over his body, reaching the base of his neck so only the side of his face showed—so peaceful. "How do you do it, kid?"
Chris was adjusting extraordinarily well to Traxus IX.
But then again, he didn't have to endure the trials and tribulations that Justin had. Justin remembered his first days here. They were no picnic. He witnessed the worst events to befall Traxus IX, and obviously lived through each one of them. Even had willpower to spare, taking in Bill, Pete and Ken. And now Chris. He might very well have been the only reason they were still alive to this day.
Justin softly said, "Time to go." as he nudged Chris on the shoulder.
Chris' heavy lids opened slowly—revealing twin, young eyes. They were solid brown and kind, with no assumptions scribed in them.
Justin saw right down into his soul and thought, You shouldn't be here.
But he was.
Justin watched as Chris took his first full breath in possibly fourteen hours. "C'mon, kid. Shift's up. Time to go home."
Chris nodded and rolled the covers back, then slowly rose out of the dainty impression he left in the mattress.
Justin led the way back to the main assembly floor and stopped just short if its entrance from the bunk room. "If you need to go to the bathroom, score some food, or whatever, do it now. Once we get back home that's it. No more amenities until you come back for your next shift." Chris just shrugged his well-rested shoulders. "Good then? Okay, follow me. I have to run some last-minute errands before we leave. It'll be really quick."
"What do you have to do?"
"Gotta run by Admin and get some supplies for the igloo. C'mon."
Justin walked past the rows of assembly lines. Teams of workers feverishly manned the line as they always did, dressed head-to-toe in the workman's ensemble: blue coveralls or neoprene acid aprons, steel-toed boots and latex gloves. The main concern here was sorting out metal components on a waist-high conveyor. They all paid little mind to Justin and the newly-arrived Chris in tow.
Justin reached the main bay door and unlocked the Mongoose's chain with a brass key, quickly stowing the gear atop the front-mounted cargo rack. He donned his thick parka and hopped on board the poly-vinyl chloride leather seat, choking the fuel delivery system as he always did in the eternal winter of Traxus IX. He gave the ignition key a twist and the 1000cc, liquid-cooled hydrogen-injected power plant snarled to life like an angry mountain cat just before settling into a lopey, soprano purr. He let go of the choke, let go of the brake and placed the transmission into drive. The bay doors procedurally opened for them, revealing the late evening. Cold, brisk troughs of super-cooled air lapped at their faces and whisked inwards before Justin zoomed out into the night.
The inner sanctum of City 17 was decently lit, pure white iridescence spreading evenly by way of mercury-vapor lamps mounted high on metal shafts all around the periphery of the courtyard. Justin aimed the nose of the Mongoose perfectly across the diamond towards the other sub-complex directly opposite of theirs, the Gemini twin factory. Against the wall just north-east of its main bay door was a spigot. Stenciled above it in bold red was HYDROGEN FUEL. That was one of Justin's errands. He parked the ATV right next to it. "If you're thinking about smoking…don't."
He reached into his pocket, fishing out an elastic cord with a wrist strap attached. He wrapped the strap around his left wrist and plugged in a straight-tipped connector at the other end into a receptacle in the wall, letting the remaining slack of the cable dangle to the ground.
"What's that?" Chris asked dismounting the ATV and leaning against it.
"A grounding strap. It grounds me to something with a lot of conductive metal. In this case, it's the factory building. It prevents static electricity from flowing through me and arcing anywhere near the fuel. Always do this, or boom. This Hydrogen is not pure. It's got other compounds in it for preservation in storage. It's pyrophoric, flammable at room temperature and pressure. So, don't even think about tinkering with my Mongoose. The fuel gets compressed to ten-thousand psi inside it, which means this ATV is a bomb with four wheels and a seat."
"Got it."
Justin reached for the wall where a twist lock lay half-sunken into the stone. He gave it a quarter-turn and swung it open, revealing a cubby-hole. From inside it, he retrieved a neatly-folded hose. He took the collared end of it and screwed it on tight to the threaded spigot, left the nozzled end suspended just inside the lip of the Mongoose's fuel tank. He then tossed the ATV's fuel cap to Chris who was easily ready for it, snatching it out of the air.
"You slept well, huh?"
"Actually, yeah. I feel good."
"Good going. Always grab sleep when you can. Food too. You'll see."
Justin twisted the spigot counterclockwise and the hydrogen flowed, the steel-braided hose on the ground gently snaking this way and that from the steady expansion. The sound of running liquid pinged from the inside of the Mongoose's metal fuel bladder with no particular scent emanating. Chris just stared off into space while basking in the ambient radiance from high above. "Hey," Justin said, grabbing his attention, "wanna go inside and get some kerosene for the heater?"
"Sure. Where is it?"
"Just inside the bay, at the far wall when you walk in. It's a bright-red handle, can't miss it."
"Okay."
Chris walked over to the huge door and it rightly parted for him as he neared. He was momentarily bathed in even whiter light before walking through. Moments later, he emerged with a red jug full of heater fuel. "Want this on the front rack?"
"Yeah. Make sure the lid is snug on there and then lash it down tight to the vehicle."
"Okay."
He did so. Justin finished topping off the tank and they were soon off once again.
It was a pleasant glow they drove through, as if they were up for a game of the ancient baseball—so old that it was still only played on Earth. These days, it was graveball that was all the rage. The ATV carried them through their well-lit diamond field of concrete. Chris pictured a well-groomed grass turf, the compacted dirt, and the heavy white bases. He scanned the deck as they traversed over it—no plant life, just flat concrete. Not even the lone weed sprouting up between the epoxy expansion joints. Chris snapped out of his daydream and perked up. "Are there any plants or animals on Traxus Nine?"
"Maybe the occasional weed here or there or something, but naw...nothing."
Chris slouched back down again, hanging loosely on the rear handle.
"There's no water here to support it anyways." Justin added. "Actually, there is, but in only one place."
"Where? Is it nice, like an oasis?"
"Mmmmm, not really. You may get to see one day. We'll see."
Chris breathed deep as they drove across the wide square. Absolutely no scenery, no beauty to behold on Traxus IX. At least the mercury-vapor glow somewhat resembled a moonlight. But just like anything, the radiance of the moment wouldn't last forever. They had to go. Justin wanted to go. That meant Chris had to go.
The Mongoose dove into the mouth of the tunnel, disappearing into the yawning darkness.
After the darkest part of their passage they reached the friendly side of the mighty, titanium gate. The lone guard on their side promptly cued the doors open, and the two riders left the inner sanctum of the city.
Chris tapped Justin on the shoulder.
"What?"
"Are those guards back there NMA?"
"No, that's just THI's private security guards. They're sub-contracted out from a security firm. The NMA doesn't really exist to the rest of the universe. They were assembled for the purposes of locking down colonies. A specialized, planetary riot control force, if you wanna call it that. Only people that'll ever know about them are the people here."
Up the next ramp they sped, until they emerged on the other side of the city—the outer sanctum where the Admin courtyard loomed. Justin swerved the ATV to face one of the office buildings and stopped it just short of the door. "Wait here and watch it for me while I go in. If you see anyone come towards you—I don't care who it is—you make ready to bolt home. If they get in your way, run 'em over, do whatever you gotta do, just get away and get home. You can't trust no one out here."
"What about you?"
"Don' worry about me, either."
"How will you get home?"
"I can hold my own out here, kid. Trust me, been doin' it for years."
Chris nodded.
"If they don't look friendly, then leave. If they do look friendly…just be prepared to jet all the same. This here ATV is a whole liter of ass-kicking displacement. Whatever you do…hold on tight!"
Justin opened the door to the building and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
With that, Chris took stock of his surroundings—as any sensible being would. The outer courtyard was half as wide as the inner courtyard. And half as clear.
Tall office buildings loomed all around the area like tombstones for titans, significantly cutting down his vantage point to outside the city. It was nighttime, and worse: the clouds had dropped a few meters to not even a stone's throw above his sixteen year-old head. Justin's sound guidance earlier was easier to envisage before Chris had looked around and was met with such a grim scene. You could find more cheer in a graveyard. In fact, Chris couldn't even see the road home from here, or even the fateful fork in the road. He took a deep breath to steady himself as best he could, realizing that visibility wasn't that bad. He still had an amicable amount of distance to see any oncoming threat and have the time to assess and react to it. How long was Justin going to be?
He studied the building Justin entered: reinforced concrete by the looks of it. Plate glass windows with every drape drawn closed—and why? Rain gutters along the corners of the building, leading into metal grates near the foundation. And the door was a dark, grainy wood—probably English Oak. The higher ups in life always had the spoils to remind them of their authority over the blue collar folk. And Chris didn't mind. He had intentions all along in life to be a worker and a fighter. A Marine.
No sooner had he again realized that his dream of enlisting was stone-cold dead, he turned from the face of the building and saw the displeasing sight of two large figures emerging from the solid wall of fog at the edge of the city. Two men in thick, raggedy parkas. Chris choked the throttle and started her up. They were only a hundred or so paces away and he'd have precious seconds to move if they were trouble. He released the E-brake and switched the lights on as he repositioned the ATV to face the two unknowns. They were well-lit. Chris had a full tank of fuel and over 900 pounds of unyielding weight between him and the Mongoose. This renewed his confidence.
To further mix things up for the two men ahead, Chris found the horn switch and jabbed it repeatedly, filling the air with an alto beep-beep!
The two exposed men froze like statues.
Chris smiled.
Then the two men looked at each other and bolted right towards him. Chris picked up his feet off the ground and placed them firmly onto the side pegs, feeling his heart flutter while mashing the throttle lever with his thumb all the way home. He lurched forward, the four-stroke engine having no problems carrying the two of them on a five-meter-per-second blast straight into the assailants.
The nobby tires bit and crunched into the dirt and the liquid-cooled engine crescendoed upwards in its powerband with delight, joyous notes screaming out the exhaust. Chris fought the overwhelming inertia and pulled in tight to the handle bars, locking his thrill ride on a straight course bearing right through them. In no time, he was right upon them. They tried to clothesline him off the seat, but his sixteen year-old reaction time beat them to the punch. He ducked behind the handle bars as he whipped by them, quickly disappearing into the fog barrier. It was over sooner than it began, the whine of the Mongoose's engine settling down into a steadiness before its resonance faded away for good.
The door to one of the nearby office buildings suddenly flew open, a slice of light spilling around Justin's figure. He emerged from the entryway with a small, cardboard box and immediately scanned for Chris. He quickly fixed his sights on two men in the distance and dropped his belongings to the dirt with complete disregard.
He joined his hands together and cracked his knuckles. With a stiff finger, he pointed right at them.
The two men looked at each other. In silent agreement they decided to exploit their favorable odds and take on Justin Reid. They stepped forth.
As did Justin.
As he strode closer to them, they sized him up, as did he. One of the men was gargantuan—a real powerhouse. Parkas were thick winter jackets, heavily insulated. And this fellow's muscles were bulging right through it, and who knew how many other layers of clothing beneath. The man was probably pumped up on all manner of anabolics and overdosed amino acids. Taking him out would require some strategy. Maybe some luck.
The other was an older man, average in size all around, but exuded an obvious limp in his gait. He didn't even try to hide it, which told Justin it was a particularly debilitating hindrance. Thankfully, an advantage in his favor but…
There were two of them. Two minds and bodies against one. Their combined actions could outthink him and overpower him. He needed more than just his military training. He had to find a way to take them both out and fast. The longer a fight lasted, the more complicated it always became. Justin already had enough complications at the moment.
But maybe the answer was in the men themselves. Every man had a weakness. Justin just had to find them. Before they could kill him.
He slowed his pace to allow more time in studying his adversaries as they drew nearer. Mr. Universe had an unstable look in his eyes. Justin stored that in memory. The other obviously had the gimp but Justin could now make out an eye patch, which was a Godsend. The man had no depth perception and no peripheral vision to his left. Taking care of him would be easy and it would allow Justin to focus more on the behemoth by his side. Maybe Justin would put out his other eye for him while he was at it.
As they were within spitting distance, the thugs looked hesitant to strike—perhaps an uncertainty in their poise. They nevertheless pressed on. Justin knew what they were thinking: two against one. But when they drew within striking distance, Justin dashed forth in a blur of motion and a wicked sting in his eyes, the sheer malice on his face catching one man off guard. Just as Justin thought: the big man was so pumped up on chemicals, it rendered him unstable. With just enough hesitation, he was put down to the ground with a decisive flying kick to the Adam's apple. As Justin flew over the more deadly of his opponents, he turned to his next as quickly as he landed. The crippled man surprisingly held his ground despite Justin's amazing move, inching ever backwards as Justin inched closer. Justin smiled as the thug quivered. "Not so easy when you're facing a man, is it?"
The cripple didn't answer.
Justin thought about ending it right here and beating the man to a pulp, but before he could act, the lone thug jockeyed his head to the side with a newfound smile on his face. Justin followed the cripple's gaze: the big man lying on the dirt behind Justin wasn't out for the count yet. He rose out of an impression that his large frame made in the ground, and leveled his gaze at Justin with an uncontrollable rage. Unbelievable that he was still alive after that death blow to the windpipe. Then again, this was a man who weight-trained for this very reason: to win fights-and probably to the death. It was entirely probable that he never had a real meal in years—all pills and steroid injections.
So before tangoing with this brute of a man, Justin turned and lashed out with a straight palm strike to the elder's solar plexus, leaving him gasping for air on his knees. Without thinking, the other man charged Justin.
The immense muscle mass of this ogre propelled him towards Justin at startling speed, and there was no escaping him. Justin didn't have the agility necessary to avoid the giant bearing down on him, not after the hard strike he delivered to his other opponent. There was only one possible solution to this new problem: to use his own weight against him.
Justin's long-lost training kicked in.
The man was deathly close when Justin did the last thing anyone would expect: he let the man tower over him and take him down to the ground in a bear hug. Justin acted quickly. For if he let this brute take him all the way to the ground, it was over; he would just sit on top of Justin and he could do whatever he wanted with all that weight and power. He could swing away at Justin's face until there was nothing left of it. But with surprising agility, Justin pulled himself up over the man's torso and managed to get one leg wrapped around his neck before the fall.
Justin regained his bearings. He was on the ground, side by side with his attacker. He had a hamstring over the giant man's neck. He propped himself upright for more leverage and wrapped it all the way around the circumference. Before the man even realized what sort of position he was in, Justin squeezed. Squeezed with all his might.
Justin caught a fleeting instant of eye contact with his assailant. He was fueld by rage and the will to survive as the air was being deprived to him. It was either the lack of oxygen that caused the eyes to expand or an exponential swell in rage, but Justin couldn't tell. All Justin knew was that for the first time in a long time, he felt fear and regret when he looked in those eyes. Justin tried to match the man's vigor, but knew he was waning. All Justin could do was squeeze his hamstring, so much so that he could feel his muscle starting to strain and turn lame. The man's neck was like a tree trunk and it felt like Justin was making very little difference.
Justin risked a quick glance over his shoulder at the crippled man: he was still doubled over and wheezing and no threat just yet.
He focused back to the bigger threat…The man that Justin had beneath him in an improvised Head Scissor was turning beat red, all the veins in his head swelling—almost out of the skin. Finally, there was visual progress to indicate he had the advantage. Justin's goal was to break the man's neck, a quick and merciless death. Failing that, suffocation.
But even down to his last, the man showed just how much strength he possessed and grabbed Justin by one of his wrists, yanking his leg off of his neck and throwing his whole body to the side. Justin landed a clean two meters away, crumpling to the ground as the man slowly regained his breath and his bearings. Not even five seconds later, the giant was back on his feet.
Now, Justin was back to square one.
The elder had recovered and so did the brute.
But Justin had given them a run for their money. They stood in shock, panting and hurting. Justin hadn't even sustained a scratch yet.
It would seem that pure rage renewed their resolve. And this was the point where fights got complicated—exactly what Justin tried to avoid in the first place. He failed at this somehow. The bigger one should've been dead by now from the sheer amount of trauma Justin delivered to his upper spinal cord, not to mention, the flying kick to the Adam's apple should have cut off his air. Things were taking a turn for the worse. They now knew his speed. They knew his strength and his capabilities. They could adapt and make it all the more complicated.
On the plus side, he had winded them greatly—and they were surely shaken. Doubt, he instilled in them. And most of the fight was upstairs. He needed to find more advantages to exploit; they were greater numbers and that beast of a man had sustained incredible damage. Justin considered his best option so far.
He could run into the fog, play guerilla games with them. Covertly strike them again and again until they were a liability to themselves and walk away from it all. That is, if they were brave and stupid enough to follow him.
But just then, the high-pitched whine of a certain all-terrain vehicle resounded through the dense fog and off the Admin buildings, filling the gloom of the courtyard.
Piercing through the mist was the headlamp of Justin's Mongoose. Chris had come back.
The ATV parted the last line of fog and swerved to a halt next to Justin.
"C'mon, Justin. Get on!"
Cunningly, with his eyes ever glued on the two thugs, Justin took the driver's seat while Chris jockeyed for pillion. The two assailants did not make a move, perhaps considering their luck at this point. Before he drove off, Justin remained for just a few heartbeats and glared into the men, particularly the big one. Justin pointed dead at him before heading into the mist.
Justin aligned the nose of the Mongoose with an unwavering crest of hard clay just under the dirt. Visibility was near zero and the headlamps only lit up this line—which was a natural arrangement in the crust of Traxus IX. As the road to the city ended, this line was all that ever remained and it would get them home despite the fact that they were flying blind. All he had to do was keep it in between the tires and everything would right itself.
Chris breathed explosively. "Man, that was crazy. I was sure that big guy had it in for us."
"Coming back for me was stupid," Justin said. "I told you not to worry about me. I told you to just get home!"
"Sorry. I couldn't just sit around with you out there."
"Kid, I gotta hard enough time without having your death on my fuckin' conscience. When I tell you to do something, you do it!"
"Hey, I'm my own man. I chose to come back for you so you wouldn't get killed! If I didn't, that big guy would've messed you up! So no…you don't tell me what to do!"
"You live in my house, you drive my ride—I tell you what you fucking can, and cannot do!"
As every other ride they shared on the Mongoose, the rest of the journey went on in silence, until they finally reached home.
Justin dismounted and brushed off the dirt from himself, chained and locked his ATV to one of the steel containers and got his things off the cargo rack, scowling as he remembered leaving the other supplies outside the Admin office where the fight took place. "Fuck it." he thought aloud.
"What?" Chris said, opening the igloo's atrium door.
"Nothing," Justin said as he brushed by Chris and into his home, "your twenty-five cent tour is over."
"What now?" Chris asked skittering into the igloo behind Justin.
"Sleep."