I am serialising my dystopian/retro-futuristic sci-fi story here. Here is the fourth chapter, titled “The Watcher”
All chapters can be found here.
I will be adding a new chapter every Friday (when I don’t forget, sorry!).
Chapter 04 – The Watcher
He had seen The Captain dropped off by a copter the previous evening, watching from the roof of the next tower, and had seen him picked up by the copter at 8:00 AM this morning.
He had waited all day, standing in a doorway on the street below, smoking cigarettes, watching the front of the apartment building, waiting for her to come out.
When the mole in the Kantary chairman’s office informed ‘them’ that the Deputy Minister was coming to Planet B, a slave planet, to prove to the Terra Space Directorate’s critics that there were no slave planets and that the Kantary operation on Planet B was legitimate and above board, the Covert Operation Squadron sanctioned the mission, and he and his comrade were selected.
They had piggybacked, undetected, in the redundant exhaust venting of a giant Kantary deep space freighter heading to Planet B to drop off supplies and then be loaded with Gravalite. They came out of hibernation as the craft entered Planet B’s orbit, jettisoning their drop ship from the freighter and entering the atmosphere at the southern pole. No satellites orbited Planet B, and their infiltration went unnoticed.
500 clicks south of the ghetto, well outside the Milpol patrol zones, they landed the drop ship, hiding it in a canyon, and then continued by speeder.
5 clicks from the wire, they hid the speeder under holocamo netting, cut the bars at the end of the pipes, and then crawled through the sewer that flowed from the ghetto into a septic, poisoned lagoon. Once inside the city, they began their work.
Their intelligence told them that the family men of Milpol and Kantary used the slaves in the ghetto as their harem, desiring the undesirables, so they had started hanging out at the upscale bars and clubs the Milpol officers frequented. Watching them, looking for senior officers and which prostitutes they preferred, who was with whom, and that was the first time he had seen her.
He was at a club, watching the Milpol and their courtesans, when she arrived with him, a Milpol captain. But it was her, dressed in a fur coat, wearing a short black cocktail dress, stockings, and stiletto shoes, that captivated his attention, not the Milpol security head she was with. He watched them, sipping his cocktail and smoking, just another man there to watch the burlesque show.
They were seated near the stage and drank brandy cocktails. He saw her light his cigar, kiss him, and place her hand on his thigh, giggling.
When the lights dimmed for the show, his eyes never left her for a moment, watching her all the time as the eyes of the other men leered at the provocatively dressed women on the stage.
When they were leaving, he bumped into her, apologising, and he slipped a small tracker into the pocket of her coat. And then the surveillance had begun, watching her. Watching the captain arrive, and watching the captain leave.
He had watched her as she left the apartment, always wearing the fur coat, and always sitting alone in a cafe, sipping coffee, smoking a cigarette, and always seeming so sad…and so…beautiful.
In the burlesque club, with him, she had seemed so happy and alive, but when she was alone, she looked…sad.
They had spied the unmarked Terra Space Directorate shuttle entering the atmosphere and landing at the spaceport, and they knew that Secpol had arrived as the advance team to prepare for the Deputy Director’s arrival, and that it was time to get details.
It was evening when she left, wearing the distinctive fur coat. He followed her at a distance, watching her. She had gone to Terminus in a tuk-tuk, sat at a small table surrounded by people, ordered a brandy cocktail, lit a cigarette, and seemed to be lost in the noise and music.
He took a table near her, ordered a drink, and lit a cigarette. He couldn’t help but gaze at her. He saw his comrade walking between the tables, heading toward her, and looked back at her. She was suddenly looking directly at him, their eyes locked, and he turned away.
When his comrade had made contact, he watched them for a while and then left, waiting outside the club in the shadows, waiting to see if she ran. His comrade emerged, and he left him at the club to follow her, while he took a tuk-tuk back to her apartment building. He picked the lock and stepped into the dimness of her unit.
He held a blaster in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He scanned the sparsely decorated living room. He moved to the kitchen, seeing the sink piled with dirty dishes and plates. On the table, he saw an ashtray filled with cigarette butts and a half-drunk bottle of brandy. He moved to the bedroom. Clothes and underwear were scattered across the floor, and the bed was unmade.
He opened the wardrobe, seeing dresses and crisp white shirts hanging. He moved to the bathroom, seeing the captain’s shave kit and the various toiletries.
At the vanity, he studied the scattered bottles of expensive perfumes and makeup. There was an ashtray with a few stubbed-out cigarettes, a finished bottle of brandy, and a flat box.
He picked up the box and shook it. It made no noise. He lifted the lid. Inside was sheer, string lingerie. He stared at it for a moment, then placed the lid back on and placed it back on the vanity.
He turned out the flashlight and moved back through the apartment. He stood beside the door and waited for her.
* * *
The latch clicked, the door opened, and she entered, slamming the door behind her. She was crying, sobbing uncontrollably. She clicked on the light, pulled off her coat, and dropped it on the floor as she headed to the kitchen.
He stood motionless against the wall, the blaster still in his hand.
He heard her, cursing and shouting, crying and hyperventilating.
She came back into the living room, carrying a bottle of brandy, smoking a cigarette. She sat on the sofa, sobbing and smoking and drinking.
He reached out and clicked the lock on the door. Her head snapped up, and she froze, her eyes filled with shock, her face a mask of horror.
He put a finger to his lips and moved toward her. He tucked the blaster in his belt. He sat beside her, taking something from his jacket.
“It is simple to use,” he said, holding the device that would copy the documents. “It is activated here…”
He pressed a button, and a light on the device turned on.
“Once you have it activated, lay the documents out on the floor, one by one, then press this button, and it will copy them.”
He smiled, trying to seem encouraging.
Her face was streaked with wet mascara, and she was trembling. She looked at him as though he were crazy, and that she would quite happily murder him.
“Get out,” she said.
He stared at her, not quite sure what to say next.
“I said get out,” she said, sounding quite calm.
He stood.
“Are you going to do it?” he said.
“GET OUT!” she screamed.
“If you aren’t going to do it…I have to…”
“Do what you have to do…!” she said, utterly broken.
She drank from the brandy bottle and began crying again.
He grasped her by the throat, causing her to shriek. His other hand went to the blaster, which he pulled. He watched her sobbing and snivelling pathetically.
“When he comes next, copy the documents, and you are done. Everything will be clean, and you can get back to drinking brandy cocktails and cabarets, and life will go on.”
She wasn’t paying attention. She was too drunk and too shocked, and too appalled by her situation.
“Yes?” he demanded.
She continued crying. He held her throat tightly, placing the barrel of the blaster against her forehead. She flinched, waiting for him to kill her.
“You will do it,” he demanded again. “Say yes!”
She sobbed and cried.
“Activate the device, lay the documents one by one out on the floor, then press the button, and it will copy. Don’t make any noise when doing this. Copy everything. When he leaves, leave the latch unlocked. I will return to collect the device.”
He held her, gripping her.
“If you don’t do this, I have to kill you. Please…please do it.”
She nodded her trembling and shaking head, her terrified, wet eyes locked with his.
He released his grip on her and removed the blaster and left.
Out on the street, he hurried along and was joined by his comrade.
“Will she do it, or did you kill her?” said the other man, smoking one of her off-world cigarettes.
“She will do it,” he said
“Viva la Resistance, comrade. Viva la fucking Resistance!”
And they carried on down the street as it began to rain.