Planet Purgatory by Benedict Martin Read Free Book Online

the aliens.”
    “What? How?”
    “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
    “He won’t tell you?”
    “Nope.”
    “Why?”
    “He says the time’s not right.”
    I couldn’t believe it. I’d come to Harkness armed with a plan to protect them from the aliens, and here was a stranger promising the very same thing. The timing was not lost on me, and I forced my way to the front of the crowd to find myself looking up at an old man hunched atop the wagon bench, smoking a foul-smelling cigarillo. He was alone, the collar of his oversized jacket rising to meet the material of his cap. He gazed sullenly into the distance, seemingly oblivious to the people gathered in front of him.
    I called up to him, ignoring the whispers and stares my presence was eliciting. “You can save us from the aliens?”
    He didn’t even look at me. “I told you: later,” he croaked.
    “Are you SYS ?”
    “ SYS ? Us?” Somehow that amused him, and he peered down at the bright yellow gun at my side. “Yer the Brew-Master, ain’t ya?”
    “What?”
    “Yer the fella that makes the chikka. Why don’t you bring us some, and maybe we can talk.”
    There was something disgusting about this old man’s presence, something deeply disturbing, and I turned to address the crowd instead.
    “Listen!” I shouted. “I’ve come up with a plan that will save us from the aliens.”
    I’d never spoken to a group like this before, especially about something so grave. I’d hoped to convince my dad to make my case for me, but there wasn’t time. And so I continued, surprised by my boldness.
    “I’m going to the SYS building, and I’m going to demand they arm us.” I held my own gun aloft. “Imagine if we all had one!”
    Whispers turned into excited chatter, and my father joined me in front of the stranger’s wagon looking relieved. Even hopeful.
    “Do you think that’ll work?” he asked. “Nobody even knows where the SYS building is.”
    “It will. It’ll take a bit of searching, but I’ll find it, and when I do, I’ll return with a wagonload of guns.”
    The old man laughed.
    “That’s yer plan?” he asked in that bullfrog voice of his. “Beg SYS fer some guns?”
    The old man’s disparaging tone was met by sounds of displeasure.
    “It’s better than anything else we’ve heard!” shouted someone in the back. “Hell, you won’t even tell us what your plan is!”
    The old man took a drag of his cigarillo, squinting contemplatively into the sky before rising to his feet.
    “You wanna hear our offer?” he asked, motioning casually to the big armored box behind him. “My friend here’ll keep you safe. In return, all he asks is that you give us one of yer own.”
    “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
    “Exactly what I said. It don’t matter who. You just give us one of yer own and you got nothing more to worry about. It’s that simple.”
    The way he spoke, smug and self-satisfied, and delivered in that god-awful croaky voice, conspired to leave me feeling sick. Even more worrisome was the shift in tone of those around me.
    “Who is your friend?” a woman asked. “Can we at least see him?”
    “Afraid not,” the old man answered, easing himself back into his seat.
    A man spoke up. “But how will he defend us from the aliens? Does he have access to SYS guns?”
    “My friend don’t need no SYS guns,” he said, grinning.
    I’d had enough of the old coot and his cigarillo-fueled games, and I forced my way out of the crowd to resume my search for Rosie. It didn’t take long. She was at the rear of the armored wagon, engaged in a display of aggression I’d never witnessed before. She was prowling in a figure eight, muscles taut, teeth bared in a permanent snarl, gaze locked on a little barred window on the back of the wagon. She wouldn’t stop, and I moved cautiously forward, frightened I was witnessing a seizure.
    “Rosie,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Rosie.”
    But I might as