The Backworlds (18 page)

“I-if you need me.”

“I’m always glad for help,
especially from you. For now there’s just the one customer though.” He jerked
his head toward the Water-breather.

“I can see ‘n hear you,”
Dearheart
said.

Craze winked at Meelo, ignoring the
Water-breather. “My charm has no bounds.”

Meelo climbed up on a stool and
pulled the bowl in against her chest. She crunched down one, then a handful,
making yum noises. Somehow she did so without the coat peeling away from her
mouth in the slightest.

Craze set all but one rootbagger in
a cache in the floor, then retrieved a large knife from under the bar. Hacking
up the vegetable for the roaster, he bounced a wayward curl for Meelo’s notice.
She would often giggle when he let his hair move around in outlandish styles.
He liked when she laughed. She didn’t even snicker.

He paused and glanced up. With
grave concentration, she gobbled down ricklits, too hungry to notice his curls.
He frowned, clearing his throat until he caught her notice. “
Dearheart
here claims she has a story worthy of a crock of
somethin
’. My brew or the rotgut?”

The Water-breather licked her lips,
staring at the taps. “It’s worth ten crocks of your finest mead, ‘n then some.”

“Tell you what, if your story is
good enough, Meelo gets the say-so, I’ll give you a crock of my good stuff when
you through.” Craze hoped that would get the Water-breather’s designs off his
back. Whatever they were, he wanted no part of them. “You agree, Meelo?” He
wished he could see her lips. He’d been fantasizing about them the past fifteen
months.

Meelo’s weak blue gaze scurried
over the Water-breather. “C-Craze brews a nice mead. Must be some story.”

“It is,” the Water-breather said sitting up straighter, her
sallow eyes piercing into  Craze’s. “I was a settler on
Bofeld
. There’s only five of us left. I never want to see
the other four again. I’d probably kill ‘
em
. I hate
what I am.”

*****

CHAPTER 3

Craze examined her more carefully.
Slits in her neck expanded then disappeared. Gills. A Water-breather? Supposed
to be extinct, shit, they were the worst kind of Backworlder, if the rumors were
true. Would turn on anything if the advantage shifted right, cracking through
their own children’s chests to steal their hearts if that would keep them alive
longer. So the stories went. And what were those creepy shadowy things with
her? A chill crept over Craze’s shoulders, souring his stomach, especially at
the way she preened as if she had a right to take up space at his bar. Not if
she didn’t have chips.

Her movements swayed like kelp in a
tide and her eyes glinted a polluted yellow like the gel he’d washed the crocks
in, shining with a sickly quality as if she was in dire need of some sun. He
should throw her out on her scrawny ass. Only he didn’t want the likes of a
Water-breather gunning for him. What if the rumors weren’t exaggerated?

“Just one drink … what’s your
name?” She gawked at the lighted sign over the bar, her lips twitching in
amusement. “Is
dat
your name? Craze? What kind of
name’s
dat
?” She laughed and snorted, slapping the
counter until she remembered why she sat there. Begging. “C’mon, Craze, show
some compassion.”

Her pleading didn’t change his
mind. In no mood for games and definitely not having the patience to hear any
stories, Craze had to figure out how to play this right. If he lent her an ear
and a drink, he might come out no worse. Yet he feared a trap, sensing he had
already stepped into it just by letting her into his bar and no matter what he
did, he’d sink farther into it.

While he thought the potentially
dangerous situation over, his hard-used hands bunched and loosened, washing and
wiping. Pipe-like fingers smeared the excess gel off on the well-used apron
which was a deep red, a color that hid a lot of history. His rigid suspenders
holding up the tan coveralls sported the same shade of deep red. The garment
kept his blood warmed and properly aerated with organics, a must for him to
manage in Pardeep’s thin air.

He tugged on the suspenders,
mulling over whether she posed the threat rumored about her kind, concluding
that above all else he was a businessman and he wanted out of this hellhole, to
go somewhere he didn’t need to wear special coveralls. He couldn’t start making
exceptions about payment. Every supposed extinct Water-breather would be here
on the next transport. Not the kind of business he wanted to conduct. Certainly
not a path to success and prosperity. Wouldn’t get him any closer to the
revenge he wanted either. “
Nothin
’ of worth to trade,
no drink,
Dearheart
.”

She bristled at the tone, then
licked her lips, her fingers shaking and a stench radiating off of her of stale
hooch, brine, and blood. Her puckering frown slowly changed into a simper, dry
and sticking, proving her great need for the drink. Proven again as her lips
spread wider into a grin, setting aside Craze’s unwelcome answer in less time
than it took her to slide her fingers along the bar as if it were somebody who
meant something.

Her lithe fingers left the smooth
composite counter, walking onto her chest, stroking along her deep neckline,
then lowering the zipper on her simple multi-color shift, the pigments swirling
hypnotically. “Give me the drink. If you don’t like the story …”

Her offer hung between them ripe
and unspoken, the dress pooling at her waist, exposing cool silver skin.
Standing up, she let the kaleidoscope outfit drift to the floor, her long legs
stepping out of it, her cheeks free of the flames of embarrassment. She retook
her place on the barstool. Perched like a Siren upon a water-sodden boulder,
something regal sparked in her eye, but only for a moment.

The solicitation didn’t surprise
Craze none. If the Water-breather hated him, she’d still present herself as
tender. He could tell, it sat on her like the decades’ old fetor of recycled
air in the docking facility. Didn’t keep him from checking her out though. Yup,
she was definitely a Water-breather. Her damp iridescent skin, revealed from
chest to toe, did little for him.

He crossed his hulking arms over
his broad chest and unfurled a few curls to purposely fall over one eye to hide
his distaste. His brown thumb gestured at the door. “I don’t deal in that type
of currency,
Dearheart
.”

He enjoyed watching the certainty
of her proposition fall from her face. Anger flared in the set of her mouth
until her longing for a drink forgave all faster than the last transport had
taken off for the central-most Backworlds. The hint of temper relaxed into a
flirtatious pout. “Name your price,” she said. She bent to pick up the dress.

Craze flashed a tight smile, his
thick lips parting into a toothy expression. “What else you got to offer?”

The garment balled up in her fist,
she leaned over with her breasts propped up pert on the counter. “What the crew
of
dat
ship’s looking for ‘n how to keep
dat
vessel full of thugs from killing you.” She placed a
tab on the counter showing the same ship that had just come out of the Lepper
with a white circle and red stripes on the aft panels where the freshly painted
green and blue sphere now was. “They Fo’wo’s, barkeep.”

Some of Craze’s hairs pulled free
to stand up. He petted them for two whole minutes to get them to settle down.
He had a run-in with Fo’wo’ mercenaries once before that hadn’t turned out
well. They couldn’t still be drifting around the Backworlds. The Assembled
Authorities had to have caught them by now. “They not allowed here. The truce.”

The Water-breather cackled. “The
truce means nothing to ‘
em
. Haven’t you heard?”

Craze had heard and was surprised
Pauder didn’t leap out of the closet to gloat over being right. “You full of
it,
Dearheart
.”

“You just hoping. ‘N here’s
something you don’t know, someone here’s been feeding information to the
Fo’wo’s. I read the reports on all of you, Craze from Siegna whose father
booted you out ‘n married your gal. You live to get your vengeance on him.
You’d trade your soul for it. ‘N you’ll get the chance today.”

She shifted her weight, dragging
her
bossoms
along the bar top, smearing its perfect
gloss. “Your kind is Verkinn, made for warmer ‘n moister climates than dis. The
Verkinn want to sprawl over the Backworlds once more. They branded you a
leecher at your father’s bidding, the worst thing a Verkinn can be, to force
you into going after their dreams. You not doing so great at it. Been nine days
since you last opened
dis
tavern ‘n poured a drink,
barkeep. Yup, I know. It’s true. A real live snitcher right under your nose.”

Snitcher was a high crime. The
lowest thing a Backworlder could do was betray other Backworlders to the
Fo’wo’s. The only crime considered as bad was using a horrific Fo’wo’ weapon
called a frizzer. None of Craze’s friends struck him as capable of such
dastardly deeds. They all hated the enemy, most vowing to shoot them on sight.

He wiped the smudges she’d left off
the counter. “Snitcher?” He waved an arm in disbelief.

A simple search could have turned
up the moon of Elstwhere’s he’d grown up on and his family connections. But
how’d she know when he last poured a drink and all the details of his shameful
history before Pardeep? The idea that someone on this heap reported back to the
Foreworlds disturbed him. Not many lived here and he considered them all good
friends, family even.

This had to be some sort of trick
like the shadows. No way had anybody here worked for the Fo’wo’s. Besides,
there was nothing to tell. “On
freakin
’ Pardeep? What
the hell for? Take a good gander at this place,
Dearheart
,
there’s
nothin
’ to find here.”

The tavern and docking facility
suffered from dust and a lack of notice, waiting for its shot at a heyday.
Pardeep’s loneliness echoed through the hallways. Craze couldn’t imagine
anything of worth anywhere on the moon. If value were here, someone would have
discovered it long ago.

“Something’s here of prime
importance. Leftover ordnance from the war. Ply me with drink while I tell my
story, then I’ll tell you what you want to know. ‘N you can keep the tab.” She
nodded at the data and communications device she’d set down on the bar. “It’s a
nice one.”

Craze took down a bin from the rack
over his head. It was filled with thin rectangles. “Keep your
stinkin
’ tab. I got nicer models ‘n the last thing I need
is another one.”

“Fine.” She picked up the slim bit
of technology. “My information is still valuable. The Fo’wo’s have something
here worth a lot of chips. More chips than
dis
tavern
is worth.”

Value he was interested in, but with
reservations from her. “Why in all the Backworlds should I trust the likes of
you?”

A shadow bobbed in his peripheral
vision. Craze wheeled about to face it, but it appeared the lights and the
Water-breather’s words messed with him. Nothing out of the ordinary moved.
Still, he didn’t like her, wanted her gone.

“You don’t have very many options
here, barkeep of Pardeep. They going to march off
dat
ride, make you find what they want, then leave you all in a lake of your own
blood. Then they’ll move the Lepper ‘n Pardeep will disappear.”

“Bull—”

Cold slapped across his back like a
reprimand. The gust burst in through the door, rattling the stale air and tired
shadows. A scraggly little thing came in with the wind, the next puff
threatening to whisk her off through the Lepper to Elstwhere.

An enormous coat hid half of
Meelo’s face and covered her down past her toes. Craze knew it to be Meelo by
her size and the bulky, one-of-a-kind outerwear which gave a whole different
meaning to deep pockets.

All bundled up, Craze knew she’d
prefer to never face the world. When she had first arrived on Pardeep Station,
it had taken almost six months to get her to say a word and meet his gaze, and
back then she worked and lived in his tavern.

Her mangled little hands kept to
themselves, tucked inside her sleeves, and her lower face stayed concealed
always by the high collar. He figured her mouth and chin might be mangled, too,
but it didn’t stop him from feeling soft about her.

He waved her forward. “Bring
anythin
’ for me?”

The girl shuffled from foot to foot
when she could move no closer to Craze, the bar being in the way. Tiny, raw
hands calloused from hard work and scarred from buried history pulled several
vegetables out of her coat. “R-
rootbaggers
up. Now
weather’s changed,” she said. It was almost a monologue from Meelo.

Craze checked over the
dirt-encrusted short hair sticking out in all directions and the watery blue
eyes to determine whether she did OK or not. She appeared weather-beaten, but
no more beaten than that. Ever since he’d agreed to give her work and shelter
when she first set foot on Pardeep, he’d felt responsible for her. He
remembered the doctor who had brought her, a lady he had great respect for and
tried to woo. It hadn’t worked out with the doctor lady the way Craze had
wanted, but now Meelo occupied those same thoughts. So the loss to him wasn’t
acute.

“I’ll roast one up now ‘n save the
rest for a stew,” he said. At some point, when Meelo needed something, Craze
would talk Pardeep’s trader, Talos, into getting it for her. That was their
deal. For now, he set a serving of the freshly roasted ricklits down on the
counter. “Did you want hours today?”