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Pulp Fedcom
by Andrew Borelli |
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The Marathon Motel
Hotel Row, Davion zone
Solaris VII
The next morning Veronica was up early, checking their bags and spending extra time to make up her hair. Dutch had asked her not to take too much time getting ready, but she intentionally woke early to groom herself for this, the day of days. She showered and dressed, and when her hair was finally done she went back to the bedroom to begin the laborious process of waking Dutch Carter.
As usual she began by nudging him gently.
"Good morning, sleepy face."
Dutch grumbled and cursed under his breath, mostly mumbling until he finished his sentence with the word coffee.
“Coffee sounds wonderful. We’ll have two big cups with breakfast.”
“Let’s get to the spaceport first, sugar pie,” Dutch replied in a half groan. He literally rolled out of bed and grunted as he feet hit the floor. He glanced around the room, blinking, trying to get things into focus. He
noticed Veronica was fully dressed.
“What time is it?”
“About eight-thirty.”
“What time did you get up?”
“About six.”
“You’re gonna pass out the minute we hit the spaceport, babe.”
“Not me. I slept like a baby once I knew you were safe.”
Dutch stood up as Veronica turned on the holovid in the room. The morning news programs on the different channels (each one sponsored by a different House) carried the same stories differing only in the way the story was spun and the order in which it was reported. Continued fighting between LCAF and AFFS loyalists was growing more severe, while riots and guerilla actions either for or against Katrina Steiner- Davion were flaring up again across the two realms. SLDF forces on liberated Combine worlds continued to
hunt Smoke Jaguar loyalists, while DCMS and Nova Cat troops stationed in the same region were on alert again following renewed tension with the Ghost Bears. An accident in the New Colony region had left 200 Taurian colonists stranded, and the Explorer Corps offered a hand in a rescue attempt. The Outworlds Alliance was predicting a shortfall of wheat this year on several planets and had sent trade delegates to the Free Worlds League. The Marian Hegemony had successfully intercepted a Circinian pirate raid on one of their worlds and threatened to retaliate “on a massive scale,” while Circinian diplos to the SLDF continued to insist that no Circinian forces were engaged in piracy.
The local news consisted of various crimes and social events, followed by the wrap-up of last night’s arena bouts. The top story, of course, was the death of Floyd Wellberg during the Wellberg-Carter matchup the night before, and Carter’s sudden disappearance from the Steiner Arena. The footage of Dutch’s AC10 tearing into Wellberg’s LRM ammo and the resulting titanic explosion was played over and over again. The part Dutch hadn’t seen in person was where the shattered remnant of Wellberg’s mech fell over forward, slammed into the floor of the arena, and burst into flames. Games spokespersons expressed their sincerest sympathy at Wellberg’s death, and suggested that Carter had probably gone to blow off some steam after the fight’s dramatic finish. “We suspect that after a hard night at the Shieldhall or a similar establishment for
gladiators, he’ll come back into the fold ready for another fight.”
Dutch had heard all he wanted to hear.
“Are you watching this?” he asked Veronica.
“Not really,” she said, absentmindedly fumbling through her purse.
He turned the unit off and stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower. Mechwarriors learned to bathe quickly in the field where soap and water were a rare luxury. He emerged five minutes later scrubbed, refreshed and dripping wet.
Veronica had collected all of their things from around the room and finished the final packing. “I can’t wait to get some breakfast. I want pancakes, eggs, and a big cup of the best coffee.” Dutch dried himself in
front of her.
“Yeah, well, as soon as we’re all checked in, we’ll see about getting some chow.”
He began to dress himself, picking a comfortable set of flight pants and a casual dress shirt that Veronica greatly approved of. He laced his combat boots and went to grab his personal items. Most of it was still in his duffel bag.
Something was missing.
“Where’s my watch?”
“It’s right there.”
“No, it isn’t. Where is it?”
“I left it right there with your things. It should be there.”
“Yes, it most definitely should be here, but it’s not. Where is it?” A cold gnawing feeling between to claw at the pit of his stomach. She couldn’t have forgotten his watch.
“It must be there. I know I saw it.”
“Well, did you take it, or didn’t you???” He was beginning to raise his voice.
“I believe I did.”
“You believe you did? What the hell does that mean? You either did or you didn’t! Now, did you take the watch or not??!?”
She shook her head. A look of fear and horror crossed her face.
“Veronica, that was my father’s gold watch. That thing is over 500 years old. Do you know what he had to go through to give it to me? I don’t have time to go into it but it was pretty freaking important to him. And
it’s just as important to me.”
Dutch and Veronica had been together for nearly three years. In that time, he had been very careful about not letting his volcanic temper show around her. During his days with the LCAF, Dutch had beaten men nearly to death during apoplectic outbursts, only to black out and not remember a thing. LCAF shrinks claimed it had something to do with his childhood, the lack of strong parental figure coupled with unfavorable experiences in school.
Today, he wasn’t holding back. He erupted into an insane outburst, his words unintelligible, most of them raw obscenities. He threw the holovid machine into the bathroom where it smashed on the floor. His fists
made holes in the wall next to the bed. He began to tear at one of the light fixtures when he caught himself, sat down on the bed, and began cradling his head. He went into breathing exercises and counted to thirty. Slowly he returned to reason.
“It’s not your fault. I mentioned the watch, but I didn’t illustrate how important it was to me. The only thing I really cared if you got or not was the watch, but I didn’t make that clear, all I did was write up a list. A list doesn’t tell you anything. You’re not a mind reader. Are you?”
She shook her head, still too terrified to answer.
“Okay then. Not your fault.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna go back to my apartment and get my father’s watch back.”
“No! Won’t the gangsters be waiting for you?”
“They might be. I’ll have to hang back and see what’s what. If I can’t handle it, I’ll split.”
First he removed the dress shirt. He took the needler pistol out from the dufflebag, put the sweatshirt back on, and stuffed the pistol underneath. He threw some S-bills on the table.
“There’s a coffee shop down the street. Have yourself a nice breakfast. Stay off the side streets. I’ll be back soon.”
“Dutch, please don’t -"
He glared at her, his patience strained to the breaking point.
“See you later, sugar bean.”
He walked out of the room without another word into the bright, hazy morning and walked down the driveway of the motel. The streets were filled with homeless scavengers and a few locals. The automated sanitation maglevs hadn’t made their morning run through the neighborhood, so the streets were as filthy as always. He walked to the train station for a long ride back to Silesia, and the Blackthorne district. |
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