Doom Star: Book 02 - Bio-Weapon Read Online Free Page B
even if only in street gangs. Vip was too twitchy to know which way he’d jump. Lance… he was sneaky. It was hard to know what he really thought about anything so Marten didn’t know if he could trust him.
Marten stared gloomily out the shuttle window. He had his few credits, and Omi’s, he supposed, and a listening device. Otherwise, all he had was his wits to try to find a vacc suit. He had only this trip to do it in, too, because who knew if he could win another reward trip before the snip-snip moment made it all academic. He rubbed his jacket over the spot on his forearm where the barcode was tattooed. Tagged like a beast.
The shuttle began to brake.
Marten’s chest tightened. Whatever it took. Do or die. He blew out his cheeks and wished this shuttle would hurry and dock.
5.
They exited the shuttle and followed the route card that Marten had been given at the barracks. He limped because of his ankle. It was tightly wrapped and he’d been given a shot to reduce swelling, but it was tender. Soon they stood in a sterile hall and before a row of steel-colored lift doors.
“Seventeen C,” Marten said, checking his card.
“This way then,” said Lance.
They found the lift, Marten slid the route card through the slot and door binged, opening. They entered. He slid the card in the destination slot, and up they went toward Level 49, the Pleasure Palace.
Most of the Sun Factory was automated and empty of people. It was a giant construct and it would have taken billions of people to fill. There was a funny psychological fact concerning it. Most people wanted to be around other people. So there were a few areas in the Sun Works Factory were the vast majority congregated. The Pleasure Palace was one of those places. The shock-trooper training area was another and the third was the Highborn facilities.
Each was an oasis of humanity amid an empty sea of thousands of miles of corridors and holding bays.
“You owe me a drink,” Kang said as they rode the lift.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Marten said.
“Where do we go first?” Vip asked Lance. “The game pit or the card room?”
“You got to study the crowds first,” explained Lance. “Get a feel for the luck of a place.”
Vip nodded sagely.
Kang said, “Only losers talk about luck.”
Vip laughed in a know-it-all way, while Lance looked at the ceiling and pursed his lips.
“I don’t how many times I’ve heard losers whine to me to give them a second chance,” Kang said. “‘The shipment got fouled up due to bad luck,’ they’d say. ‘Yeah?’ I’d ask. ‘Real bad luck, Kang. You watch, and my luck will turn around. No,’ I’d say. ‘I don’t think your luck will ever change. Why not, Kang? Sure it will.’ I’d shake my head, get up and stick a vibroblade in their belly. ‘That’s why not,’ I’d tell them. I was never wrong.”
“Where was that?” asked Lance, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
Kang shrugged.
Marten knew where. Back in the slums of Sydney, Australian Sector where Kang had been the gang leader of the Red Blades. Just like in the old French Foreign Legion, many in the shock troops kept their past to themselves. Neither Lance nor Vip had been with them in the Japan Campaign, back when Omi, Kang and Marten had been soldiers in the 93rd Slumlord Battalion of the 10th FEC Division.
Before anyone could say more, the lift opened and they were assaulted by noise and a waft of mingled human odors. They hurried onto the broad passageway with its glittering festival-lights. Slender imitation-trees swayed in the perfumed breeze, while crowds seethed across the floorspace. The people wore bright party clothes and happy drunken grins. Paygirls or men in even gaudier costumes draped on a partygoer’s arm. Dotted among this mass were the obvious uniformed police and undercover monitors. Along the sides of the passageway stood souvenir shops, restaurants, pleasure-parlors and game and card rooms. Snack-shacks provided a shot of
Marten stared gloomily out the shuttle window. He had his few credits, and Omi’s, he supposed, and a listening device. Otherwise, all he had was his wits to try to find a vacc suit. He had only this trip to do it in, too, because who knew if he could win another reward trip before the snip-snip moment made it all academic. He rubbed his jacket over the spot on his forearm where the barcode was tattooed. Tagged like a beast.
The shuttle began to brake.
Marten’s chest tightened. Whatever it took. Do or die. He blew out his cheeks and wished this shuttle would hurry and dock.
5.
They exited the shuttle and followed the route card that Marten had been given at the barracks. He limped because of his ankle. It was tightly wrapped and he’d been given a shot to reduce swelling, but it was tender. Soon they stood in a sterile hall and before a row of steel-colored lift doors.
“Seventeen C,” Marten said, checking his card.
“This way then,” said Lance.
They found the lift, Marten slid the route card through the slot and door binged, opening. They entered. He slid the card in the destination slot, and up they went toward Level 49, the Pleasure Palace.
Most of the Sun Factory was automated and empty of people. It was a giant construct and it would have taken billions of people to fill. There was a funny psychological fact concerning it. Most people wanted to be around other people. So there were a few areas in the Sun Works Factory were the vast majority congregated. The Pleasure Palace was one of those places. The shock-trooper training area was another and the third was the Highborn facilities.
Each was an oasis of humanity amid an empty sea of thousands of miles of corridors and holding bays.
“You owe me a drink,” Kang said as they rode the lift.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Marten said.
“Where do we go first?” Vip asked Lance. “The game pit or the card room?”
“You got to study the crowds first,” explained Lance. “Get a feel for the luck of a place.”
Vip nodded sagely.
Kang said, “Only losers talk about luck.”
Vip laughed in a know-it-all way, while Lance looked at the ceiling and pursed his lips.
“I don’t how many times I’ve heard losers whine to me to give them a second chance,” Kang said. “‘The shipment got fouled up due to bad luck,’ they’d say. ‘Yeah?’ I’d ask. ‘Real bad luck, Kang. You watch, and my luck will turn around. No,’ I’d say. ‘I don’t think your luck will ever change. Why not, Kang? Sure it will.’ I’d shake my head, get up and stick a vibroblade in their belly. ‘That’s why not,’ I’d tell them. I was never wrong.”
“Where was that?” asked Lance, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
Kang shrugged.
Marten knew where. Back in the slums of Sydney, Australian Sector where Kang had been the gang leader of the Red Blades. Just like in the old French Foreign Legion, many in the shock troops kept their past to themselves. Neither Lance nor Vip had been with them in the Japan Campaign, back when Omi, Kang and Marten had been soldiers in the 93rd Slumlord Battalion of the 10th FEC Division.
Before anyone could say more, the lift opened and they were assaulted by noise and a waft of mingled human odors. They hurried onto the broad passageway with its glittering festival-lights. Slender imitation-trees swayed in the perfumed breeze, while crowds seethed across the floorspace. The people wore bright party clothes and happy drunken grins. Paygirls or men in even gaudier costumes draped on a partygoer’s arm. Dotted among this mass were the obvious uniformed police and undercover monitors. Along the sides of the passageway stood souvenir shops, restaurants, pleasure-parlors and game and card rooms. Snack-shacks provided a shot of
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