How Not to Rescue a Hippo - part 2
A silly scifi short story
How Not to Rescue a Hippo - part 2
If you just tuned in, hop back here for part 1
Digger’s Draw turned out to be more of a scummy tavern than a pub. It was outside a maintenance bay, and most of the patrons looked like they’d arrived directly from their shift, still covered in the grime of whatever work they did. All I could do was hope they’d washed their hands.
As I entered the stench of stale beer and body odour assaulted my nostrils, and my gut churned. I certainly wasn’t going to order any food here. Making the place weirder, the air held an uncomfortable stillness, like a spell about to be broken. Despite knowing I should turn around and head home, I proceeded down the two steps to the main floor.
The minimal overhead lighting left the place dim, and I could barely make out the alcoves that surrounded the main floor. I set my goggles to their low-light setting. People, either conversing or drinking themselves under the table, filled most of the alcoves. No one looked happy to be there except Hank at my side. He always looked happy, and I loved him for it. I headed to the bar.
“What do you want?” a wizened barkeep asked, her overgrown eyebrows oscillating in time with her words. A bun contained about half her grey hair; the rest formed a tangled halo around her head. She frowned as she looked me up and down. “You must be new.”
“Um, yeah, I just got here.”
She nodded. “Fresh meat.” She turned and filled a mug from the tap.
As she set the drink on the bar, a dark brown froth spilled over the sides. I cocked my head. Wasn’t beer foam much lighter? “What’s that?”
She slid the mug toward me. “Something you’ll have to get used to.”
“Right.” There was no point beating around the bush. “I’m here to meet someone. He said his name is Dyson.”
The bartender pointed to an alcove that contained a single person dressed nicer than anyone I’d seen so far. His slicked-back hair glistened in the low light.
Not caring what it cost, I swiped my chip to pay for the beer or whatever the drink was—I wouldn’t be consuming it—and took the mug to the alcove.
“You Dyson?” I asked. Just then my goggles flashed red. I froze as I sifted through the warnings. The guy from the ferry, Frank Dole, had just entered the bar.
I missed the raised step to the alcove and tripped. As I tumbled forward, the drink escaped my grasp, hit the table, and splashed Dyson.
“Crap!” I’d also hit my knee, and now it throbbed, but splattering my contact was a far greater injury. I didn’t want to lose my cute little statue.
Dyson scoffed. “You’re a clumsy oaf.” He spoke as if I was beneath him. “Sit. We have business.”
I wanted to respond to his insult with a witty rebuttal, but that wouldn’t have helped anything. (Plus I couldn’t think of one.) I bit my tongue and slid into the seat across from him. “Do you have the statue?” Keeping my gaze on Dyson, I tried to locate Frank. For once my tagging habit paid off.
Dyson leaned back. “Let’s see the box first.”
Warning bells went off in my head. I should have walked out of there, but instead I pulled my backpack onto my lap and removed a small metal box. It had been powder-coated with a smooth white paint that gave it a clinical vibe. I set it on the table and slid it toward Dyson.
“I’ll take that.” Frank darted in and grabbed the box off the table, then fled.
Dyson fixed his gaze on me.
I pointed to Frank, who was hurrying for the exit at a pace that resembled a run. “He’s getting away. You need—”
Dyson put up a hand, and I stopped talking. “You led him right to me.”
I froze as cold sweat formed under my clothes. “I have nothing to do with him.”
Dyson leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “But you know who he is.”
“Frank Dole,” I said and immediately regretted it.
Dyson made a dismissive gesture, and someone grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the seat. I barely kept hold of my backpack as the security goon dragged me out of the bar before I could say another word.
Stripped of my goggles (I always felt naked without them!) and backpack, the goon shoved me into a holding cell. As I stumbled to stay upright, the door slammed behind me, and I heard the click of a lock.
“Crap,” I said to myself.
“This isn’t how I planned on my day going, either.”
I spun around. “Frank Dole.” I gritted my teeth as I imagined punching him in the jaw.
He sat on the built-in bench along the back wall. A dark bruise marred his jaw, suggesting someone had beaten me to the punch.
“How do you know who I am?”
I glanced around our shared cell and groaned. Unless I sat next to Frank, I’d have to stand. So I remained on my feet and leaned against the wall.
Frowning, I fixed my gaze on him. “You seemed dodgy, so I searched out who you are.” I snorted. “Schoolteacher is clearly a front for something more nefarious.”
“I teach math to grade six students.” Frank sounded so genuine I almost believed him. He stood and moved closer to me. That was when I realized we were the same height.
Since the general population was typically much shorter than me, looming over people was my typical intimidation tactic. Didn’t everyone have a favourite intimidation tactic?
Frank took a step closer—too close for my liking. “Now, tell me why you’re trafficking embryos for Dyson.” His breath smelled sour.
I put up a hand, palm facing him. “What are you talking about? I’m not working for Dyson.”
Frank put his hands on his hips. “That box you—”
I cut him off. “I never looked inside. I had no idea what was in it.”
He leaned in until his nose nearly touched mine. “That box contained embryos created by combining my husband’s and my DNA.”
I shrugged (a foolish reaction, I knew).
“You stole my children.”
“Look, I had no idea what was in that box.”
He shook his head and backed away. “Then why did you have it?”
“It was just a job. I bring Dyson a box, and he gives me the artifact I’m after. If I’d known it was full of stolen biological matter, I wouldn’t have done it.” That might have been true, though I really wanted to get my hands on that Hank the Hippo statue. My reputation wasn’t that of a fine, upstanding Protectorate citizen.
Frank stared at me, his expression blank, which I found unnerving.
Before either of us said another word, the door opened, and a guard beckoned me. I didn’t hesitate to follow him out of the cell.
Traversing a maze of corridors, the guard showed me to Dyson’s office. His name on an extra-large brass plaque fixed to the door acted as a big clue, because the guard hadn’t said a word.
The office was unnecessarily big, so big a family of four could have lived in it with space to spare. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled the far wall, overlooking some sort of technical shop full of people hard at work, which told me Dyson was the kind of crap boss who liked to look down on his people.
“There you are.” Dyson smiled as he entered via a different door.
“Here I am.” I did my best to keep my face neutral. I needed to keep myself out of that cell, make the deal, and get the hell away from this dome.
Dyson walked toward me and gestured to a nearby sofa. “Have a seat.”
Deciding it was in my best interest to feign compliance, I plunked down where he’d indicated as he sat in a chair facing me.
“Did you retrieve the box?”
He smiled. “I did. My security force here is very efficient.”
“Good to know.” I shifted in the seat, wishing I had my goggles on.
“And I’ve determined you and Mr. Dole were not working together.”
My eyebrows pulled together. “Of course we weren’t.” I forced my expression neutral again. “Since you have the box, please hand over the Hank the Hippo statue.”
“I’ll uphold my end of the bargain.” He gestured, and an elegantly dressed young woman entered the office holding a shiny box. She handed it to me.
I opened the box to be greeted by Hank’s smiling face. I wanted to smile back but didn’t. I still needed to play it cool.
“Backpack, goggles, and I’m good to go.”
Dyson smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course.” The woman rushed out of the room. “While we wait, let’s discuss some further business.” He stood and walked to the windows. Being the fool that I was, I followed.
“I’d rather head home,” I said, staring into the workspace below. It looked like a lab of some kind, but I wasn’t an expert in that kind of thing. I saw a stack of boxes that resembled Frank’s on a bench. A knot turned in my gut. What if they were experimenting on human embryos here?
“It’s an easy job, one that would save you connecting between trains, elevators, and ferries.”
The woman returned with my backpack and goggles. The first thing I did was pull on the goggles.
“I understand you are a seasoned pilot.”
“Yes.” I checked the train schedule.
“Good. I’d like to hire you to fly one of my shuttles out of here,” he said, his gaze fixed on the workers below. No one looked up at us.
My knotting gut screamed I was in grave danger, but I did my best to keep playing it cool. “Where would I be taking this shuttle?”
“To a colleague of mine on Formax, a quick hop away.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m expected back on Indigo Station.” I took a pace away from the window as Dyson turned toward me. “There’s a train leaving in a few minutes, so I need to get going.”
“Of course. I need to deal with Mr. Dole.”
I shrugged into my backpack, then ran my hands down the sides of my pants. Despite telling myself Frank and his box weren’t my responsibility, leaving him behind didn’t sit right with me.
“Good luck with that,” I called over my shoulder as I walked out.
The same guard who’d escorted me earlier waited outside the office.
“This way to the train station,” they said as they gestured to the hall. “Dyson insists I accompany you.”
“Great,” I said, pretending enthusiasm. “I’d get lost without you. This place is a maze.”
The guard didn’t answer but fell into step beside me.
“What’s going to happen to Mr. Dole?” I asked as we turned into another corridor. “Is he going to be handed over to Protectorate authorities?”
“Protectorate authorities are not welcome here,” the guard said.
“Right.” I bit my lip. The likelihood of Frank surviving hovered near zero. They’d kill him for sure. What if he really was a teacher trying to recover his embryos? A professional thief would have had a better plan—one that didn’t get them caught within seconds.
I almost groaned as I accepted I couldn’t leave Frank behind. Why was I such a sucker? But first I needed to get rid of the guard. Step one: create a big distraction.
I put my hand in my jacket pocket. My Emerg-Blast remained exactly where it should be, and it was fully charged. (I’d triple checked before leaving Indigo Station.) All I had to do now was find the right moment.
As we walked past a series of windows showing the shuttle hangar beyond, I paused. A jaunty yellow one caught my eye.
“You don’t want to miss your train,” the guard said, as if they cared.
“Right.” Jogging a few steps, I caught up with them. “I need to be on that train.” I also needed to be far enough away from that hangar so when I unleashed the electromagnetic pulse contained in my Emerg-Blast, I wouldn’t fry any shuttles. Especially that pretty yellow one. I liked the pretty yellow one. I’d be coming back for it.
“Let’s keep moving,” they said, and I wondered if they were really taking me to the train station. Maybe my fate was the same as Frank’s.
I was wrong. Shockingly, the guard took me to the train station—plenty far enough from the hangar. I removed my goggles with my left hand and put them in my shielded pocket. (I assumed everyone picked a pocket or two and sewed in metal fabric to create a Faraday cage.)
I’d never know if the guard would have allowed me to board the train, because, with my right hand, I activated the Emerg-Blast.
As always, it was anticlimactic. Everything electrical around me died, including the emergency lights. A cloak of absolute darkness fell over us.
Fishing out my goggles, I put them back on and activated night vision. First I retraced my steps. People around me started shouting. Somewhere in the distance something popped, and a cascade of sparks shone.
I kept moving.
If I really was the hardheaded, cold-blooded antiquities dealer of my reputation, I would have marched right back to the hangar and taken the pretty yellow shuttle. But unfortunately I had the kind of squishy core that wouldn’t leave a grade six schoolteacher behind to die—even if he did teach math.
“Crap,” I muttered to myself. “How did I get this soft?”
At the first unaffected part of the dome I came to, I stopped and plugged into a computer terminal. I readily found a dome map without any fancy hacking. I brought it up on my goggles and kept moving. Trying to look like I belonged, I delved deep into the maze of corridors.
It was easy to find the security office (where the cells were) using the map overlay. It surprised me that a dome this size—medium-small—needed five holding cells. But it seemed Dyson felt the need.
I stopped around the corner from the security desk and took a deep breath to calm myself. The faux-lemon scent of whatever cleaner someone had used did not facilitate my calmness. I sighed and focused on the task at hand.
The guards would recognize me, so I needed a distraction, but my Emerg-Blast was out of charge. (Maybe I needed to invest in a second one.)
I did the only logical thing and set Hank the Hippo to be a holographic projection. When he appeared, he looked at me and wiggled his ears in the cutest way possible. Then he started walking to the desk. I crept forward to make sure the projector didn’t cut out.
“Oh!” the guard at the desk said. “Dugger, come look at this.”
I held my breath as someone approached from out of sight. Unfortunately, my distraction only drew more people in—not exactly what I’d hoped.
“Aw,” the new person said, presumably Dugger. “I grew up on Hank the Hippo. I loved him.”
“Me too,” said the nameless first guard.
I nearly groaned at the realization I’d created a reminiscing fest. Soon they’d be singing theme songs and hugging.
A ping sounded from the desk, and I pressed myself more tightly to the wall.
“Something’s going on at the train station,” Dugger said. “They want me to help.”
“I got things here,” the first guard said.
Staying as still as I could, I held my breath. What if they came my way? I cursed myself for not picking up any weapons, but then I remembered I sucked at using most weapons.
“See if you can grab the source code for Hank. I’d love to have a copy.”
I swallowed as I squeezed my hands into fists, but Dugger took another exit that didn’t pass my hiding spot. Could I assume there was only one guard left? It was a bold assumption, the kind that could bite me.
I adjusted Hank’s code. The hippo waddled right up to the desk and yawned.
“You are so cute!” The remaining guard spoke as if talking to a baby as they came out from behind the desk and approached Hank’s projection. Their back was to my hiding spot.
This was my best chance.
I charged forward. With my full, not-insignificant body weight, I slammed into the guard. The two of us hit the ground, me landing on top. They let out an “Oof’” as I knocked the air out of them. Hank’s image winked off.
Seizing the moment, I rolled off and sprang to my feet. (A twinge in my left knee told me I’d pay later.) I grabbed their arm and twisted it behind their back as they tried to rise.
“Which cell is Frank in?” I pulled them to their feet.
They struggled against my hold, but I had control. I applied more pressure, and they gasped. After a few seconds, they gave up and sighed. “He’s in cell three.”
“I need you to open it.” I walked them to the door with a three on it.
They hesitated, forcing me to push them. “They’ll fire me—or worse.”
I snorted. “Just open the door.”
With their free hand, they pulled out a keycard and swiped it over the lock. The door slid open.
“I’ll take that.” I grabbed the keycard from their hand.
Frank stood in the cell with his eyebrows pulled together. “What’s going on?”
“Get out here,” I growled.
“What—”
I cut him off. “Ask questions later.”
Frank squeezed past the guard and me. Once he was clear, I shoved the guard into the cell. “Just tell them I overpowered you.”
The guard stared at me, eyes wide.
“And say nothing about the hippo.” I hit the door release. It slid shut, and the lock activated.
Frank cocked his head. “Hippo?”
“There’s no time. Let’s get out of here.” Using the map overlay in my goggles, I picked out a maintenance room another sector over, far enough away it wouldn’t be where they’d begin their search. “This way.”
to be continued…