The Mechanic Remy LeRay

The Mechanic Remy LeRay

Remy could smell the acrid smell of blast pistol fire. The silence that echoed off the tavern’s previously raucous interior was nearly deafening. A place like this should only be quiet when it’s closed. His pistol was lazily smoking in his tight grip, the rising smoke entrancing. For a moment, he thought the smell of burnt metal might be coming from a hole in his chest where the officer’s energy round had burned through. He was wrong of course because he felt his heart thudding in his chest and heard the ragged intake and release of breath that shook on the strings of adrenaline that held him together. He was alive.

Damn it all, he was alive.

His eyes scanned the crowd. The bartender behind the stone and plasticore bar hadn’t yet reached for his weapon; he was still in shock. Neither had any of the other patrons that were drinking and playing games of chance to try to escape the drudgery of work in the fields and the oppressive heat of the desert planet of Potentnus. They all just stood there, mouths agape, wondering what had just happened.

He was wondering what happened too. Remy LeRay had made a great many rash decisions in his life. This little stunt, however, might be one of the more rash decisions he’d ever made.

The scream of the serving girl next to the body of the dead officer of the Harrison Shipping Guard was the thing that finally broke the silence. This also seemed to snap half the town that had been drinking there out of their collective stupor. The two men closest to the body of the dead officer took it upon themselves to start stripping the lifeless corpse of its possessions. This probably was customary on this part of Potentnus and didn’t bother Remy in the least. Hell, he’d probably done worse. What bothered Remy was how this whole thing started.

The officer was drunk (isn’t it how these things always start). He had taken a liking to the serving girl working the floor of the saloon. No one objected, even though they knew it was wrong. He had pulled out manhood and suggested that the girl service him there, in front of everyone. Now while Remy took no issue with what consenting adults did, the girl had said no. Shit, she was repulsed by the slobbering drunk with his polished black uniform that blatantly showed off more medals than he probably had deserved. She was repulsed by him forcing her to sit on his lap, grabbing her ass, and the way he treated her like less than a person. The only problem is, around here, no one says no to the Harrison Shipping Guard, especially not an officer.

But the home world where Remy came from, people treated each other with respect. Even if they were stabbing you in the back, they treated you right. And Remy didn’t know who this Harrison was and why anyone should give a shit about mercenaries that guarded his shipments but…

“Dafnea’ll sure be grateful once she calms down,” muttered a voice belonging to a wary farmhand breaking him out of his own shock. The man must have been close to retiring age with a gray mustache that drooped over his lips and soft, light eyes. “You wanna put that thing away?”

Remy realized that he had still been holding his blast pistol level with where the officer had been standing at the long ovular table across from him. The table had since been turned over and the cards and colorful money markers lay scattered across the floor in a sea of drink and broken glass. The smell of grain alcohol mixed with dust began to replace the smell of blast fire.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Remy replied as he slid the weapon back into the holster on his thigh. “I know it’s rude to keep things like this out for everyone to see.”

This drew a nervous laugh from the older farm hand, breaking the tension a little. “You’re the one who came into town yesterday ain’t ya? The mechanic looking for work?”

“Yeah,” Remy replied. Work for an unknown on this planet was turning out to be hard to come by at the space port far to the west of here, but Remy had hoped to make at least a name for himself in whatever shithole town this was to gain some credibility in the main city of Bacia. This was not the credibility he was looking for.

The man he was talking to looked around nervously and whispered apologetically, “you know the townsfolk won’t let you stay here after this, right?”

“Yeah,” Remy sighed, “I kinda figured that would be the case.”

A younger man, barely into his second decade, came rushing over and dumped an armful of items on to the round table next to where Remy and his new conversation partner stood. “By law,” the young man said, “these are yours, sir. Ya’ll drew on each other in agreed combat and you won.”

“I’d hardly call it agreed combat, kid. The man pointed a gun at me with his dick out. I didn’t really have a choice.” The men around him chuckled. Even Remy snorted at the absurdity of it all.

The door to the saloon swung open, and a hush suddenly descended on the crowd. “Oh shit, it’s the mayor,” the older farmhand muttered under his breath.

The mayor strode through the bar, nodding and tipping his short-brimmed hat at several of the men and women who had gathered there to drink or had slipped in to witness the excitement. His lips twisted into a look of annoyance under his flamboyant mustache as he stepped over the outstretched arm of the slain officer, still with his member outside of his pants. “Are you the one responsible for this?” he bluntly asked Remy, gesturing with a flourish towards the mess on the floor.

“Is he dead by my hand?” asked Remy. “Then yeah, that was me. But I wasn’t the one that pulled the blast piece first. And I ain’t responsible for the state of his pants.” This drew a giggle from the younger man and a scowl from the mayor.

“Uh huh,” the mayor nodded, “well, regardless of who shot first, I can’t have ya staying in town any more. Wouldn’t do to have the killer of a Harrison officer hanging ‘round these parts. What’s your name son?”

“Does it matter?” Remy’s upper lip twitched at the thought of someone his own age calling him “son.”

“No, I suppose it don’t. Has the victor been offered the spoils of agreed combat?”

“He has Mr. Mayor,” the younger man answered. “I got it all here on the table.”

Remy looked at the measure of the man he had just killed laying on the top of the round plasticore table. The officer’s blast pistol, roughly the same make and model as Remy’s, along with holster, a stack of credit rounds of various denominations, the six medals he had pinned to his chest, and various flotsam and jetsam that a person carries on them.

“You’re entitled to all of that, sir,” the mayor said with a sweeping gesture, “as the winner of agreed combat.”

Remy fingered through the pile. Six medals, a pistol, and some money.

The mayor licked his lips and glanced around the room like a cornered kalirat, “but I don’t think we can let some one who’s just murdered a Harrison Officer leave town. They’re gonna come looking for ya and we’re gonna have to deliver.”

Remy’s hand reflexively dopped to his waist, fingers brushing the top of his blast pistol. “Is that so?” he asked, his eyes narrowing under his wide-brimmed hat.

“We-well,” the mayor stammered, “I just can’t risk the safety of my town over something like this! They’re gonna come a-lookin’ for this man here,” the mayor stopped, looking down at the sprawled body with a blast hole in his head. “Would some one please put his thing back in his pants?!”

Remy snorted a laugh despite the tense situation he was in. “Might as well leave the man his dignity. Even if he was a lecherous fucking turd.” He spat on the floor to emphasize his point.

“That don’t change the fact that they’re gonna come lookin’ for ya.,” the mayor responded in a wavering voice. The thought of a Harrison investigative battalion in his town truly unnerved the man. His eyes dropped to Remy’s hand still resting on the bridge strap that held his holster just below his waist.

“So what do you propose we do?” Remy asked.

The mayor stammered on about how he didn’t know what to do but he knew that the Harrison Guard would be coming to find their lost officer eventually. Remy had met far too many men like this before, men who, while saying they were protecting their town, were really only protecting it from the wrath of someone richer. Hell, Remy could have stood up for an assault on the mayor himself only to be thrown out the proverbial airlock if it might prevent angering one of the conglomerate hyperspace shipping companies.

Remy also knew that calling Harrison before they came looking for their lost officer would make the process easier by far. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise him if the mayor had already sent an emergency transmission to the nearest Harrison depot once he found out what happened.

The mayor was getting more and more agitated at the thought of the company demons coming to threaten his quant little farming village. Whatever this town was called was well outside the jurisdiction of the larger cities to the west, but that didn’t mean that a vengeance (and promotion) seeking captain from the company wouldn’t show up and reign blaster fire on the entire town until someone’s head was on the chopping block. Companies like Harrison didn’t have jurisdictions. They had credits, and manpower, and a reputation to maintain.

Remy felt his fingertips brush against the metal handle of his blast pistol. Several of the townsfolk noticed his growing tension and started slowly backing away, even as the mayor kept rambling on. Remy didn’t know much, but he did know he’d happily die shooting his way out of this saloon before he’d be handed over to face corporate justice again. He promised himself that if he was ending his story here tonight, that little fop of a mayor would be going with him.

Everywhere he looked, hands rested comfortably on the holsters of blast pistols. He might be able to shoot his way out, but what then? It would take some time for his hover bike to warm up. Not to mention the thought of killing a bunch of innocent farmers for blindly following their useless mayor didn’t exactly sit right with him.

Even if he made it out, started up the bike, and managed to fend off the town without killing too many of them, what then? He’d be wanted for killing a Harrison officer and a town mayor at the very least. His only hope would be finding a pirating or scavenging vessel to crew up with and Remy would rather keep those days behind him.

By now, the bartender had a particularly nasty looking blast rifle out from behind the bar. It wasn’t pointed at him directly, but the way the man held it, Remy could tell he was good with it. He might have to take a hostage if he was going to make it out alive.

Just as Remy was starting to inch his way towards the door, a small but strong voice cried out, “stop it!”

Dafnea, having recovered from the shock of the entire affair, was stomping her way across the saloon towards the mayor and Remy. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her side and her jaw was clamped down in determination. She may have been only a couple of decades or so old, but she carried herself more like a woman twice her age.

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” she growled through clenched teeth. Her eyes darted around at the men surrounding Remy, a particularly hard look falling on the mayor. “This man helped when none of ya’ll would help, and you’re talking about handing him over to Harrison? For what? Money? Praise?”

“To keep us safe,” the mayor sighed.

“And what did any of you do to keep me safe to begin with?” she retorted.

The mayor stammered and turned red in the face. Several of the other men still had their hands on the blast pistols holstered at their waists, their heads nodding in shame. The air was thick with tension; just because the girl was right, didn’t mean the situation had changed. Maybe he could take her as a hostage and get them both out of this place. Remy realized that the young woman was looking intently at him, her visage softening, but just a little.

“I think I have a solution,” Dafnea proclaimed.

*            *            *            *            *

The sun had begun to dip towards the western horizon, casting pink and orange hues across the bleach-white sands. The whirring engine of Remy’s hover bike kicked on in full and he hit the throttle to warm the engine. The closest space port was still a half day’s ride from this shithole town. He could make it there before morning.

Remy couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head as he steered his bike out of the west-facing gates of the frontier town. A wind that he thought he would never feel again whipped across his face as he maneuvered around a bend in the road and hit the throttle.

“We use the man in lockup at the jail house,” was all she suggested. Her eyes went from the mayor to the body on the floor and she shrugged suggestively.

The mayor looked bewildered at first. Then the dim light of realization shone upon his face like a beacon in the night. He looked around at the faces of the men nearby. Most of them were nodding in silent approval. “But who knows what Harrison will do with him,” the mayor whined.

“Would it be any worse than what he would’ve done if we hadn’t caught him first?” Dafnea retorted. “This stranger was an ally when he was needed. We can’t let Harrison have someone like this.”

Everyone nodded at that observation, as if the entire decision that rested on the young woman’s statement and already been made. Remy saw a shudder creep along the mayor’s spine, shaking him like a dead leaf in the wind. He knew that this girl would be replacing him some day, sooner rather than later if she kept being this bright. The thought of Dafnea in charge made Remy smile wider than he had in a long time.

Remy rode west and as he rode, he rested a hand on the six officer’s medals that Dafnea suggested the dead man had “lost while gambling.” And after all, who would argue against her. The toxicology screen would show how drunk he was. As long as corporate justice was served over the officer’s killer, who cared about his medals?

To the right buyer, however, these little trinkets and a glib tongue could set him up on a freighter off this desolate rock. Maybe he could even secure himself a job as a mechanic onboard. Maybe he could go back to traveling the stars, trying to forget the things that a man who can’t sit still tries to forget.

Or maybe he could buy a shack in an unassuming neighborhood of Bacia, in the kind of place where people don’t ask questions as long as you work hard and mind your own business. Maybe he could fix things for people. Remy shook his head, smiled, and tapped the medals in his pocket again, just to see if they were still real.

So Remy rode west, hoping to ride hard enough to see the outline of the city on the horizon before the sun fully set. He wanted to see freighters and frigates docking in the hangers while the larger ships refueled at the orbiting space station above. He wanted to see the lights of the night sky begin to form as the sun went down. He wanted to see Bacia come to life in a plethora of multi-colored lights. He wanted to smell the night markets with food roasting in the open air. He hit the throttle a little harder. Remy let out a whooping howl into the fading day, exhilarated by the wind in his face and the freedom of the road ahead of him.

Remy rode west because he was alive.