Austin+Leishman

 The market was much more boisterous than it usually was on a weekday. Normally something like that would not have bothered me, but on that day, it put me on edge. Apart from the heightened clamor, merchants yelled and professed prices near steals, which was likely the method many of them had acquired their goods. The air was brisk, and morning dew had settled on the awnings of the countless kiosks, stalls and booths. It was all a blur of vibrantly-colored motion, contrasted by the dull beige sand of the desert that the market sat on. Couriers and messengers dodged and wove through the crowd. An occasional camel caravan would meander by, leaving a wake of pungent dung and irritated commoners. Smells of freshly baked biscuits and savory sand-dog meat wafted over from the bakery and deli.  All of this, I watched and observed from behind my small booth. Never did I have very many more than three or four customers a day, not counting the regulars, so I had a lot of free time on the clock. Usually I spent that time refining some of the more complicated machinery and polishing and cleaning parts, but I was too interested in the elevated level of commotion. I tried to pick up some of the chatter or gossip from passing market-goers, but the words all seemed to mesh and oscillate in one loud, flowing sound, making it very hard to discern anything specific.  I listened intently for most of the morning, trying to pick even a morsel of information but I could not verify anything, and shortly before the time I set aside for myself to eat and relax between shifts, there was a flux of Kartheik customers, probably part of a large trading convoy, and I was not very competent in their guttural language. I walked over to the deli stand and bought a roasted slab of goat roast and a chunk of cheese before retreating into the shady confines of a nearby, isolated Marsk tree. The dark brown trunk was very thick and broad, and curved gently in a very minute spiral and the leaves of the tree gradually increased in size the higher they were on the trunk, from small, pale leaves to long, green fronds on the very top levels. Trees of any kind were anomalies in such a climate, and especially a Marsk, endemic to humid coastal regions. Even so, this particular tree had a special place in my heart. Growing up as a child, it was a rendezvous where I met my friends to play and explore in the endless undulation of the market, and it was where I was ordered to go if I was ever separated from my mother. Seeing it still alive and thriving was comforting, and if anything besides good shade, it provided me with a childhood of memories.  I finished the piece of meat, and had started on the slice of cheese when I saw a very familiar face approaching out of the bustle.  “Workin’ hard or hardly workin,’ eh?”  I gestured with my head back at Rasher, unable to reply through my food-filled mouth. He waited for a moment while I finished.  “You caught me” I chuckled.  Rasher had been what I could call a best friend from the time that we could walk. Our mothers had worked together in the Corporation factory during the Inner System Wars, and we were often left in the same day-care facility. After raiders bombed the factory, we were orphaned, and ran away to survive by our own doings, instead of being drafted into a Corporation battalion and ushered into an unnecessary war, thousands of light-years away. We had grown up together, and we shared an unbreakable bond of friendship.  “You been hearing all this commotion?” he asked. Rasher was shorter than I was, but he was built with an athlete’s physique, and he raised a sinewy arm, shielding his eyes against the blistering sun while he watched the market.  Immediately interested, seeing as someone else had noticed, I swallowed my bite of food.  “Yeah, but I can’t pick anything specific up. It’s all a big mosh pit of chatter. Have you heard anything?”  “I guess there was a Corporation raid on a pharmacy in the North Sector. I wouldn’t trust it, but that’s as accurate as I’ve got.”  “Do you think they were dealing out of there?” I asked, referring to the floundering drug trade in Makaan.  Rasher shook his head. “No, it was one of Garli’s pharmacies. He doesn’t mess around or meddle with the lowlifes. Too smart, and too good of a guy.”  Rasher was right. Dr. Garli was head of a chain of pharmacies and medical supply stores in Makaan, and he was known for being a kind and humble, yet professional man, well-liked by the public. He was also a widely-renowned advocate against drug use, so the possibility of a drug seizure was very unlikely. Being of the Bibakal race, however, distinguished him as a foreigner, and a certain mysticism surrounded his reptilian appearance and stern demeanor. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Let’s go check it out after that next caravan comes through. I think I’d call it a day anyway,” I said, standing up from my comfortable lounging position under the tree. I walked with Rasher back to his stall, talking about the new fleet of Schind space freighters, many of which were anticipated to make maiden voyages relatively quickly. After our conversation ended, I got back to my stall and began cleaning up and closing shop. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The bright pink sun was setting, painting a gorgeous gamut of oranges and purples and yellows across the clear evening sky. Owners of the convenience vendors and overnight shops began flicking on the large, bulbous lights that hung, interconnected with other lights above the countless stalls. Soon enough, the market would be blanketed with a massive, flourescent spiderweb. One night, as a child, I snuck off with Rasher, and we ascended one of the plateaus to the east of Makaan, and for the whole night, we sat on the edge of the plateau, dangling our feet and admiring the scenery. The nostalgia of childhood still hit me, every time I would hear those bulbs buzz and whine to life. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I started over towards Rasher’s stall as the night fell completely, strapping my pistol into my rib holster. The foot traffic was minimal at night, but it consisted almost entirely of gang members, thugs, and low-income lowlifes. While the crime rate was relatively low, muggings and robberies were commonplace at night in the markets, and the criminals skirted out of the law’s control most of the time. However, if the thugs could see that I was armed, I wouldn’t have trouble. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I found Rasher leaned against his closed kiosk, sipping from a large glass of ghereet juice, a non-inebriating concoction, popular for its mild, bittersweet kick. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Bout time, the Corp’s gonna lock the whole place up,” he said, tossing the cup aside. “We’ll take the back route, you loaded?” <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I lifted my left arm, showing him my pistol. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Good, let’s roll.” <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We embarked towards the North Sector of Makaan at a leisure, but urgent pace. Anything faster than a jaunt would raise attention. On the way, we made small talk about current events in the System, the weather, our firearms, and anything else that happened to come up. Instead of continuing on the main path that meandered gradually through the more wealthy, residential areas of the market, we took the “back route,” a path that stayed within the lower-end business area, and wound around the housing, leading directly into the bigger, corporate business buildings, where several of Garli’s pharmacies were located. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The sand seemed to crumble into the cracks of the clean, flat, grey stones that paved the roads and the walkways as we made our way through the North Sector. Ramshackle shops and booths became wide, powerful buildings, covered in shiny glass that reflected the star-studded sky. Rich, upper class citizens perused the well-lit streets, enjoying a flourishing night life in restuarants and bars, quite the contrary to the homeless beggars that limped around in the sand, searching for a morsel of food. Loud, fast music bumped from the subterranean clubs, providing a din in the background. Wealthy people dressed in the latest and most extreme fashions wandered by with seemingly no purpose but to flounder their money away. On every corner stood a Corporation sentinel, dressed in the standard armored uniform, and armed with an assault rifle. It was an eerie scene. One certainly that made me uncomfortable. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">As we turned the corner of the street where the medical facilities were located, we were met with the flashing emergency lights of Corporation vehicles. There stood Garli’s pharmacy, a large, but humble building, built with simplicity, an anomaly in the chic, flaunting architecture of the other buildings. Surrounding it were four Corporation police trucks and a large crowd of people. The pulsating red and yellow lights bounced off the glass of the buildings, creating a phantasmagoria in the street. A large crowd of people hugged around the scene, but there was very little sound, another strange aspect. One would expect that a bunch of onlookers at a crime scene would create quite a dull roar, but I could only hear a murmur among the group. Rasher took off, sprinting towards the commotion. I raised my hand to stop him, as if he could see the gesture behind his back, and then I questioned why I was waiting, and followed him. Something about it didn’t seem right, or normal. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I tailed Rasher as he pushed through the crowd towards the laser barrier that the Corp guards had placed in a half-circle around the front side of the building. The lights were off in the pharmacy, and the front door appeared to have been demolished by a breaching charge. Guards stood around outside of the building but inside the blue, glowing barrier, ensuring that nobody jumped the barrier or got any ideas. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I swear, if this is another one of their publicity stunts...” Rasher continued to mutter under his breath, and while I could not discern exactly what was being said, I had a feeling they were very harsh words with malicious intent. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> Rasher motioned to the nearest guard, beckoning him over. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Hey you, get over here. What’s going on? What happened?” <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The soldier’s voice was muffled and had a tinge, as he spoke through the mouthpiece in his blast helmet. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“An alarm system was triggered about an hour ago. We’re trying to figure out whether it was a robbery, or a faulty trip lock. We’ve notified Dr. Garli, he’s out of town on business.” His report sounded unnatural, and very forced. I could tell that we weren’t the first inquiring people to hear those lines. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“What’s taking so long?” asked Rasher, pointing towards the pharmacy. “Shouldn’t it be pretty easy and quick to see if anything has been stolen?” <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I can assure you, sir, everything is under control,” replied the guard. He sounded irritated, at the end of his patience. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Then how about you guys get your heads out of your backsides and get off of his property-” I nudged Rasher quickly, cutting him off. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The soldier stiffened, and seemed to tighten his grip around the assault rifle. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I should have expected such a remark. Leave it to Rasher to put us in a pot of boiling water. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Watch your mouth, civilian” was the stoic retort of the guard. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> We could not see the soldier’s eyes through the dark visor of the helmet, but he seemed to glare at Rasher for a moment, and Rasher glared right back. Rasher hated anything that had to do with the Corporation, and the guard standing in front of us was definitely associated. I could sense tension emanating between them, and I was glad that the glowing blue barrier separated them, although I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to hop it, which would result in some ugly altercation. Giving me a cursory glance, the soldier turned back around and strolled towards the building. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You’re gonna get us shot,” I told Rasher sternly. “One of these days...” <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Something is going on,” he said, with complete disregard to my comment. “They’ve been here all day. Usually it only takes a couple hours for the Corp to close down investigations of robberies.” <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">As much as I hated to admit it, as much as I wanted to go back to the market and get some sleep, I knew Rasher was right. We both stood and conversed with the other people crammed in the crowd for a little while longer, before Rasher reluctantly agreed to head back home. Just as we were just reaching the outside fringes of the crowd, we wer <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Something must have very effectively captured the crowd’s attention. What I heard can only be described as a crescendo of shouting and yelling, beginning with one person’s cry: “Everyone, look!” and turning into a tumultuous riot of screams and profanity. I turned back towards the commotion quickly, finding Rasher already diving back into the mass of angry bodies. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Latham, they’ve got him!” I could hear Rasher yell from the crowd. I sprinted in after him. I pushed my way through the barrier just in time to see two guards forcefully push Dr. Garli into the rear hatch of the armored detainment vehicle. The crowd was furious, and I tried to find Rasher before he did anything extreme. Unfortunately, as it turned out, I was a little too late. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">A gunshot retorted through the dull roar of the mob. Shouted profanities turned into horrified and frightened screams. The crowd seemed to cower in a coordinated crouch, protecting themselves from the imminent firefight. I could see but one person still standing, and he was holding a gun, trained on the nearest guard, slowly advancing towards the blue barrier. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Rasher fired another shot, and the targeted guard was thrown back by the impact, which landed squarely in the chest. A cloud of red fluid seemed to explode from a single point on the soldier’s torso. I immediately felt sick to my stomach, and my reflexes heaved with nausea. The soldier’s lifeless body crumpled in a limp contortion as it fell to the ground. I fell to my knees, disarmed by the reality of a death. My mind went into limbo, into a more faint state of consciousness. I could hear the sounds, I could hear Rasher screaming his rage, see his lips moving furiously, claiming the Corporation’s faultiness in his mother’s death, placing all of the blame upon them. I could hear him roaring injustice for the good Dr. Garli, yet, it seemed to all be muffled by a veil of disbelief. A blank white noise filled my head. One of the soldiers broke cover, assault rifle trained on Rasher. I felt my mouth move, although very slowly, in a shout of warning. I felt myself stand up, and slowly reach around my body, wrapping my fingers around the grip of my pistol, and then removing the weapon from the holster. Another gunshot ripped through my state of silence, and the advancing guard’s helmet fractured apart in a splintered mixture of reinforced plasti-foam armor and gore. Rasher had cleared the fence by this point, and after seeing the second death, my body seemed to regain its sense of mental consciousness. Still weakened, however, I began to survey the situation rapidly. Most of the crowd had dispersed in fear, but some of the more interested and stupid ones hung around, hidden behind dumpsters and peeping around the sides of buildings, hoping to catch a glance of action. I found myself leaning against the wall of the metro tunnel entrance on one side of the street, outside of the crowd control barrier, adjacent, but hidden to the soldiers. Rasher had crouched behind the front end of the detainment vehicle, taking cover, painted a ghostly blue tinge from the glowing barrier. Adrenaline pounded through my veins, with every heartbeat, the reflexes of my body amplified; the fight-or-flight response was in full effect. I could see and hear everything in immense detail. All that was running through my head, however, was making sure Rasher and I both made it out alive, but getting out of the current predicament would be quite a task. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I considered yelling to Rasher, but I knew he wouldn’t reply, in fear of giving away his position. There were five guards left, taking cover behind the other two vehicles left. From my viewpoint, I could see both sides of the battle, and that could prove extremely beneficial. One guard was talking furiously into a mouthpiece, probably requesting assistance or reinforcements. Two others had their rifles propped up on the hood of the truck, ready to blast anything that moved, while the remaining two reloaded their weapons and checked their armor. I contemplated my choices, and realized that if I wanted Rasher to live, then I would have to intervene and assist him. He was a darn good shot, but one man and a pistol sure doesn’t equate five combat-trained soldiers carrying assault rifles. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The waning adrenaline became to flow again, and it occurred to me that I was about to put myself in a situation of extreme danger, more so than I already was. I formulated a plan, and a route through the foray, trying not to think of the possible outcomes. Checking my pistol once more, I steadied my breathing, and went in. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> The first shot hit the soldier talking into the mouthpiece directly and the neck, snapping his head back. The second missed, and the third struck one of the readied soldiers in the soldier, spinning his body around. The other soldier focused the rifle, and it was as if I could see his gloved finger pull the trigger. I dove from my flat out sprint towards Rasher and landed painfully behind a road median in the center of the street. Automatic bullets ripped the air around me, and sprayed the stones and the median with hot metal. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “What are you doing?” Rasher inquired, almost calmly. The surviving soldiers fired a salvo, and fragments of the street cobblestones flew up from the street where the bullets struck. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Those were some good shots, by the way,” he added, readying his pistol. His remarkably calm demeanor was almost aggravating. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Look what you’ve gotten us into. We’re felons, Rasher, we’ve killed government soldiers! We’re going to have to leave Makaan,” I was a little less relaxed, and I fumbled with the bullet magazine as I attempted to load it into the pistol. Normally such an action would have been simply a reflex for me, but my hands were shaking, partly with rage, partly with adrenaline, but mostly with pure, primal fear. Another series of shots whipped through the air from the soldiers.