Free Ex-Kop by Warren Hammond Page A

Lagarto.”
    “It's home.”
    “Have you ever been offworld, Mr. Mozambe?”
    “No.”
    “So few of you Lagartans have. Have you ever wanted to?”
    “No.”
    He turned to Liz. “Now there's a man who knows what he has. You could learn a thing or two from him.”
    Liz rolled her eyes at him.
    Horst laughed an easy, flawless laugh. “She's been after me to take her up with me.”
    Liz turned to me. “I'd like to see what life is like in the stars. What's so wrong with that?”
    “You're not missing anything,” he said to her. To me, he said, “She won't listen. I'm amazed how many of you Lagartans sit down here feeling sorry for yourselves, thinking life is so great up there, but I'm telling you, I'd rather be here. If it weren't for my business calling me up a few months a year, I'd live here full-time.”
    “And just what is it that you love so much about Lagarto?”
    “Lagarto is
real
. You don't know what it's like to live inside a metal tube your whole life, where water comes from a faucet instead of a river, and food comes in plastic packages. Life up there is overrated. It's all so artificial. Do you understand me, Mr. Mozambe?”
    I nodded politely as my brain tried to reconcile the fact that these words were coming out of this mannequin-man.
    “There's no weather up there,” he continued, “none of this fantastic rain. It's always the same temperature, and the air tastes the same every day. It's a sterile existence in space, a miserable, sterile existence.”
    Liz chimed in with a challenging attitude. “If it's so bad up there, then why haven't you all moved down to the surface?”
    He put his hand over Liz's. “Because people are fools, my dear. They're so used to their disinfectants and their antibacterials that they can't get over the thought of breathing unfiltered air. They think that if they come down here they'll get sick on the water, or catch a nasty case of the rot. Some of these people haven't seen an insect in their lives, and you can tell them all you want about the marvels of bug spray, but they won't listen to you. It's only the adventurous spirits that makethe journey. To me, you haven't lived until you've taken a dip in the Koba. You don't know what life is about until you eat meat from a monitor lizard that you killed yourself. And the people? I love your people.” He kissed Liz's cheek. “They have so much character. They live with the faces their parents gave them, with all their glorious imperfections. They get wrinkled when they get old, and they wear their scars proudly instead of having them erased. Your women carry their babies to term instead of gestating them in tanks. You see how impersonal a practice that is? How can a mother truly appreciate her child unless she's gone through the pain of childbirth?”
    I said to Liz, “When did you say Ian was getting here?”
    Horst looked offended. He wasn't used to being interrupted, but I didn't care. I was sick of hearing his bullshit. All that crap about us having “character,” and here he was pawing all over Liz, a drop-dead beauty. If he loved our “glorious imperfections” so much, then why wasn't he cozying up to some cross-eyed, acne-scarred, big-nosed, frizzy-haired, flat-chested gimp?
    “Ah, I didn't realize you were waiting for Mr. Davies,” he said. “I'm sure he'll be along any minute, Mr. Mozambe. Sorry for rattling on the way I have. I'll leave you be.” With that, he stood up and went back to his autopsy table and sat next to his cooing cooze.
    Liz had a slight grin on her face.
    “Why are you smiling?”
    “He's not used to being put in his place like that.”
    “You like seeing him put in his place?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “What does he do?” I asked.
    “He already told you. He's a businessman.”
    “Do you and he … ?”
    “We used to. He was a lot of fun. But I ended it before it got serious.”
    “You sure he got the message? It looked like he was trying to tell me something, the way he was