Life in the Gutter

2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Five years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Gillion Hulsh was a very strange individual to look upon. He had a tall, bony head that spread out like a fantail, long arms that appeared useless but, as Quenton had discovered as he watched him assemble his hunting rifle, were actually quite dextrous and strong. His legs were thick at the thighs but then narrowed down to the ankles, spreading out into small feet. This was all complemented by a grin that Quenton sometimes found annoying. The situation they were about to place themselves in was far from a fun state of affairs.

Quenton Acubb was a short man but very muscular, although his thick arms and his straight back was offset by what appeared to be an over-indulgent belly. His thick crop of curls on his head shone darkly with sweat and his rough beard wasn’t any kind of fashion statement, it was a simple sign of neglect, Gillion thought.

“Ever hunted Coryarthinax before?” Gillion asked as he shrugged on his harness. Hanging from the webbing was a myriad of tools and equipment.

“Nope,” Quenton answered simply, heaving his own blaster rifle over his shoulder and adjusting the strap. As Gillion opened his mouth to talk more Quenton walked away to a supply box, either avoiding or ignoring any conversation.

The two men with them watched them both as they rigged up scanning equipment and sensor relays. They gave each other a quick glance at Quenton’s short reply and abrasive nature, then pretended to continue with their work as Acubb slammed the lid of the box and stalked from the room’s rear exit; he obviously couldn’t find what he was looking for.

As he walked out Gillion sidled up to the two men.

“What’s his problem?” he asked quietly. “The Chancai Authorities wanted to send an observer with me, he obviously didn’t volunteer.”

“That’s Quenton for you,” the first man said, slowly turning a dial to match the frequencies of the sensor relays.

“He gets all the dirty jobs these days,” put in the other man.

“These days?” Gillion enquired at the choice of words.

“Look at Quenton, Mister Hulsh, and tell me what you see.”

The alien shrugged.

“He looks like he hasn’t changed his clothes for a week.” he mused.

“You wouldn’t think it to look at him but the same man once saved the Governor’s life.”

Gillion was surprised.

“The Governor of Chancai?”

“That’s right.” The man had obviously finished his work and talked as he turned certain items off. “He was a security agent for the Governor and he took a blaster bolt for him during an assassination attempt. Hero of the planet, he was. His life under close scrutiny, every job he did the populace expecting him to come up glowing with results. When he didn’t get the results it was bad press for him and the authority. It got so bad his wife left him, took their children with her, and he kind of got pushed to the back, out of sight so that the media couldn’t use him as a scapegoat when things went awry.”

There were a few moments of silence as Gillion allowed the words to sink in. He shook his head and looked at the door where Quenton had gone.

“Poor man. Does he know this a high-profile hunt? Well, no offence to him, but I hope it won’t affect his performance...”

“It won’t,” Quenton said as he re-entered the room. He walked over to the group of men and looked at them in turn, his eyes finally resting on Gillion.

“I’m prepped. Are we going?”

Gillion cleared his throat.

“Of course. Gentleman?” He turned to the two others who were eyeing the pair of hunters expectantly.

“Yes... well....” the first man said and handed both Gillion and Quenton a small bag each. “Right, this is the set-up. We’ve been getting reports of Coryarthinax in the old storm drains, uncovered by meteor impacts after last week’s showers. We can’t get hold of any maps of the drains, they kind of got sealed up and forgotten about, so we’re supplying you with a bag of relays each. Just leave them at junctions and stuff and they’ll guide you back to this position through your wrist computers. We’ll keep in touch with you this way, too...”

“Whose the backup?” Quenton interrupted.

“There’s another two teams entering at an old opening and another meteor impact site. The ground the drains are in are surrounded by metal compounds which limit comm range, hence the relays. You won’t be able to contact the others.”

“So, if one of the other groups loom out of the darkness and I waste them I won’t be held accountable, right?” Quenton mumbled. Gillion sighed., as did one of the men.

“The authorities want a result as fast as possible, mister Acubb - we didn’t have time to plan this effectively. The drains should be empty of water and have been aired so there should be no need for breathing equipment. All Chancai wants you to do is find the nest, get to the centre of it and firebomb the place. Mop-up crews will follow you in.”

“Who are the other hunters leading the other two groups?” Gillion asked.

“I’m afraid you’re the only professional we could get, Mister Hulsh,” the man said in a small voice.

Gillion didn’t lose his temper but he looked down at the floor as if he had been given the worst news of his life. He drew in a deep breath, relaxed himself and then looked back up. He wasn’t all that surprised, in all honesty, because the status of the Coryarthinax and the locations of the nest concentrations had been guessed at, as had the numbers, the layout of the drains, the reliability of the equipment they were being issued with, the experience of the other teams... as the man had said, the authorities wanted a result as quickly as possible and they were sacrificing preparation to get that result.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “Right, let’s get going, then.”

With long purposeful strides Gillion walked to the forward exit and out through the sliding door. Quenton followed slowly, his eyes lingering on the two men as they tried to look anywhere but towards the hunters.

Outside the building the two men were assaulted by lights, shouting and holocam lenses. Bright lights flooded the dark area from overhead projectors, as this side of Zelon was slowly entering night-time, which were accompanied by powerful portable lights of the dozens of reporters and journalists either side of the short walk to the drain entrance. They were held back by Chancai security officers who held powerful repulsor units ahead of themselves to stop the crowd from surging forward.

Gillion nodded in appreciation towards the collection of beings and continued on to the opening, which was an irregular hole in the middle of the speeder lane, surrounded by officers and protective fields.

Quenton kept his eyes on the opening and ignored the cries and shouts from the reporters.

“Mister Hulsh, how many do you think are down there?”

“Are they a threat to the trade centre?”

“How evolved are they?”

“Are you all they’re sending?”

“Quenton, is this some kind of stunt to get you back in favour?”

The opening was the width of a speeder and still steaming - several pipes ran into it and pumped cleansing steam and chemicals into the drain. Surrounding the hole was an energy field that domed over it and shimmered like a heat wave. The field had not been installed to keep intruders out.

The two hunters approached the hole and stood over it, looking down into the blackness and watching as steam rose from the dark as if coalescing from thin air. Gillion took another deep breath and closed his wide eyes, murmuring something under his breath and his head slowly tilting upwards towards the darkening sky. Quenton watched with slight confusion but then became disinterested as he realised his compatriot was offering a prayer.

“If this goes wrong you’ll have plenty of time to talk to your gods,” Quenton said sharply. Gillion whirled on the man, his eyes ablaze; the first time Quenton had seen him angry. He obviously didn’t like having his prayers interrupted and he glared on the human with rage.

He then became aware that the crowds behind him had gone quiet and he turned to see the reporters holding holocams and levelling recording devices with expectation at the possible confrontation. Gillion drew in yet another deep breath and forced himself to relax.

“Let’s get on with this, shall we?” he whispered and took another step towards the opening.

Descending into the hole in the ground was discomforting for Quenton. With his shoulder slung over his back and his hands and feet tied up by the need to climb down the ladder provided he was, although momentarily, vulnerable. He continually glanced behind him, across the walls and down the long damp tunnels of the old storm drains.

Gillion was already at the base of the ladder, placing a sensor relay on the small shelf-like lip that ran the length of the tunnel. He had his hand firmly on the grip of his weapon, his eyes also scanning the area around them both. As Quenton landed in the moist sand on the bottom he motioned to the left hand route.

“Warm air blowing from that way,” he said as Quenton dropped his rifle off his back and into his waiting hands. “They like the warmth.”

Quenton nodded.

“Water flush is this way,” he added, motioning to the right hand route. “They probably headed to higher ground to avoid the torrents.” The left hand way went up at a slight tilt. If they had judged the positioning correctly, the part of the Fringe Mall the tunnel was under was a low hill, topped by a small energy conversion plant.

“Follow me,” Gillion whispered. They had been talking at normal volume up until the point where Gillion had taken his first step and the need for lesser volume seemed comical.

“Sure,” Quenton said in a louder voice than was absolutely necessary. Gillion ignored the jibe and continued up the tunnel.

It was slow going and Quenton was getting impatient. Gillion seemed to require double the amount of time to make their way cautiously along the drain wall and, after stopping several times whilst Gillion listened intently to what he thought was a sound up ahead, Quenton finally lost patience.

“For freck’s sake, Hulsh, we’re packing and they’re not. What’s with the sneak stuff?”

The sound of the dripping from the damp ceiling and the odd hiss of escaping gas intensified as Gillion refrained from answering. He turned slowly and glared at his companion.

“Coryarthinax eyesight is poor so they hunt by senses. They have highly developed hearing organs and I want to sneak up on them. I don’t want them ambushing us or getting the drop - I want our first strike to be precise and devastating.”

Quenton snorted with sardonic mirth.

“Ambush? What the hell are you talking about? They’re just things. Creatures.”

“Smart creatures.”

“Smart creatures that are fried when we catch up with them.”

Gillion stood to his full height and leaned against the wall casually.

“I was bought here to hunt, but if you insist on being undaunted by the foe we face then be my guest,” he waved theatrically up the tunnel, “go ahead and do some frying.”

With another snort of derision Quenton walked past and levelled his weapon, walking up the drain with intent, his lumelamp lighting the way but still casting dark shadows from wall and ceiling pipes.

As they turned into a new direction, Gillion placed another sensor relay on the shelf of the wall and caught up with Quenton. He was hoping that the man would get his point and hold back, let him get on with his job but he plodded on with determination.

“Quenton,” Gillion hissed, “we should take it a bit more cautiously. Why are you so...?”

“Because I’m hot, damp and frecking bored.”

With an extra burst of speed Gillion grabbed Quenton by the shoulder and spun him around. A rough shoulder shake and the hunter’s hand came free. Quenton squared up to the tall alien, his teeth gritted and his jaw firmly set.

“What the hell is it with you, Hulsh?”

“With me? You’re the one with the problem, Acubb. You’ve been uncompromising and unhelpful since you were commissioned.”

“I don’t even want to be here! What makes you think I should have to put up with this kind of work? What makes you think I should have to put up with you?”

“Because it’s your job!”

“My job does not include walking about in the stinking drains of the Fringe Mall hunting stories of monsters. What do they expect of me?”

“Obviously not much if this is your attitude to serious situations! Maybe you are expendable these days!” At any other time, during any other argument, Gillion may have regretted rushed words, which he knew, would highly offend, but in this case he did not care in the slightest. Quenton seemed to be crying out for some form of abuse. In this instance Gillion decided to keep it verbal.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to!” Quenton roared, his voice echoing down the tunnel. “You have no idea what makes me tick!”

“Oh, but I do! Poor little Quenton, had a hard time,” Gillion said with heavy dollops of sarcasm. “If you hate this existence so much then why do you insist on following it?”

“It’s required of me!” Quenton looked Gillion up and down as if he couldn’t possibly understand.

“Freck, that!” Gillion shouted, his own voice bouncing from wall to wall, “I think you enjoy it! Anybody else would have quit, but no, you stagger on and soak in all those looks you think are stares of sympathy, hoping that at least one of those people feels sorry for you, making yourself a tragic figure...”

“You don’t know nothing!” Quenton had now flung his rifle to the ground and had come so close to Gillion they were almost touching. “I’ve got to do this job because I need to get some self respect back! I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks!”

“Then who are you trying to get that respect from, then, you idiot? What, are you trying to re-live the glory of saving the Governors life? Who are you trying to win that respect from?”

“Myself!”

“Oh, like that’s going to change your life!”

“It has to!”

“Why?”

“Because I knew about the assassination on the Governor before it even happened!”

After the outburst the mood of the conflict changed. Gillion took a step back, his face covered in his species appearance of shock and Quenton turned away, angry but obviously trying to calm himself.

“The Governor was making some headway in criminal policies. There are a lot gangleaders in the Setnin Sector. They didn’t want him to pass the trade route observation policy. I got a call. They knew we in the security division were good. Offered a large sum of creds to take a dive. So, I take the cash but when it comes to the crunch - I take a dive, all right, straight into the assassins blaster bolt. I’m a hero! And do you know, I honestly thought I’d got away with it.

“Until the gangleader who had paid me decided he wanted his money back.”

Gillion said nothing. He stood, still with arms crossed, and watched Quenton with an expressionless face.

“There were threats thrown at me. Strange comm-calls, taps on the windows, strangers in the street. My wife, well, she couldn’t take it - couldn’t take looking over her shoulder all the time and wondering if she was going to make it through the day unharmed. She’d left me before I was finally confronted and the demand for the cash was made.

“So, I’ll tell you, Mister Hulsh, why I continually take these jobs. Why I continually risk my life. Because they pay well, and I need as much money to pay off this gang bastard as fast as possible and I hope, somewhere down the line, I just might get killed. Because, and don’t start telling me this is ‘tragic’, I’m just so frecking tired of this existence, I’m just so tired of this frecking sector, I just wish I was dead.”

There was a long pause. Quenton stared down the tunnel in the direction they had been travelling before the argument started, and Hulsh watched him with interest.

“Go then,” Gillion said sharply.

Quenton looked at him quizzically.

“What?”

“Go and hunt. You don’t need me. You’ve got your guilt, shame and tragedy to keep you alive - it’s kept you going this long. You don’t really want to die. You don’t want to walk into the gate of death and meet your fate. If you really wanted to end it you’d have put the barrel of your rifle in your mouth along time ago and blown your freckin’ head off, but no, you haven’t got the guts to do it. You do have the guts to face danger, using that fact that you’re not actually afraid of death. Maybe you’re not afraid of it. But I do think you’re afraid of a meaningless death.”

Quenton stared at the alien and then finally said in a small voice.

“I thought you just killed animals for a living, Gillion.”

“Oh, I kill all kinds of things, Quenton.” Gillion placed a chewing sweet into his mouth and motioned down the tunnel. “Go on, I’ll wait for you to come back. I’ll be right here.”

Quenton Acubb, his face showing a small smile, readied his rifle and disappeared down the dark tunnel. Gillion Hulsh, leaning back against the damp wall of the drain, relaxed and waited for his new friend to return.

Life in the Gutter

2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Five years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories – The first story featuring Gillion Hulsh, a character that Jonathan Hicks has intended upon using for a long time. Showing him in his usual habitat – the hunt, this is a low-key tale that also includes Quenton Acubb, the gunfighter from Novolon who became the security agent for the Governor of Chancai and became a reluctant hero.

Cast of Characters

Gillion Hulsh

Quenton Acubb