Zero Zero Zero
Harlan Finchley
Published by Culbin Press, 2021.
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Harlan Finchley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
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Chapter One
“AS MY HONORED GUEST, would you care for a drink?” the man sitting behind the table asked Sebastian Jones.
Only one glass was on the imitation-marble table in the barren warehouse. An overhead spotlight lit the concrete floor for three meters around Sebastian. Beyond the harsh triangle of light, broken packing crates littered the corners of the storeroom, their spilled contents indistinct in the gloom. If anyone other than the man and his two colleagues lurked in the shadows, Sebastian couldn’t tell.
“Thank you,” Sebastian said and, trying to appear nonchalant, he took the glass.
He swirled the amber liquid to hide the tremor in his hand, releasing a pungent odor that seeped into his nostrils. Then he swallowed the liquid in one gulp. The bitter taste burned his throat, but he realized, with relief, that it was only cheap whiskey.
He placed the glass back onto the table and breathed shallowly as the man drummed his fingers on the table. They tapped an insistent rhythm in harmony with Sebastian’s heartbeat.
The overhead spotlight reflected a near-blinding halo from the man’s wide-brimmed hat, but kept his face in shadow. Behind him two cloned henchmen loomed, solid and impassive, with hands thrust deep into the pockets of their brown overcoats, ready to react to any provocation.
“Now that we’ve shared a drink, Sebastian, I should introduce myself,” the man said. “I’m known as El Duce. You’ll have heard of me.”
Sebastian gulped. El Duce was the most feared gangster in New Vancouver.
“I have,” Sebastian said.
El Duce drew an object from his jacket. Sebastian prepared to push, but El Duce only fingered a bulky envelope and then casually tossed it onto the table. It landed with a dull thud. With one finger El Duce pushed back his hat, revealing deep green eyes, their confidence lancing Sebastian like iced needles.
Sebastian took the brown envelope and fingered the bulges. He relaxed, with perhaps a question answered. El Duce had had his henchmen drag him to the warehouse to either hire him or fire him and, most likely, the envelope meant hired.
“Delivery boy, can you follow simple instructions?”
“I can,” Sebastian said as El Duce answered another question. He didn’t want him for his gambling prowess or his stale spacehopper talents, either.
“That’s good.” El Duce treated him to a flash of jewel-encrusted teeth. “Today at noon you’ll stand at the corner of Applecross and Gruinard, reading a news journal. Another man carrying a news journal will approach. You’ll give him this envelope. If he gives you a message, you’ll return here and deliver it to me. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Excellent. As the task is a simple duty, I’ll permit you to ask me one question.”
“Will this delivery pay off my debts?”
El Duce hardened his smile and raised his left hand. A clone henchman ran at Sebastian and drove a solid jab into his stomach. Sebastian’s breath rushed out and he failed to cover himself with glory as he gasped and floundered on the floor.
After a painful few moments, he staggered to his feet. El Duce waited, silent and disinterested.
“Try again.” El Duce licked his lips.
Sebastian rubbed his stomach and gulped back his nausea. The only question he couldn’t ask concerned the contents of the envelope.
“Does this mean I’m hired?”
El Duce wagged his head from side to side. Harsh shadows played across his impassive face. Then he raised his right hand. This time Sebastian reacted and managed to step back before the other henchman hit him.
The blow hurt, but not as badly as the first one had. He kept his breath, if not his dignity, as he collapsed and rolled on the floor, feigning considerable pain. When he judged that he’d acted enough, Sebastian kneeled with hands on hips. El Duce flashed a range of jeweled teeth.
“Have another try,” he said.
While he thought about his options, Sebastian levered himself to his feet and rubbed his sides. For the umpteenth time in his life he wondered why he could only push and not mind read.
With this thought he considered pushing a request at El Duce to stop having him hit, but he dismissed the idea. He’d need his strength later, if something went wrong with the delivery.
“What’s in the envelope?” he snapped, annoyed now.
El Duce grinned and patted his hands together in silent applause.
“That’s the right question.” He paused. “But it’s not for you to know.”
El Duce shooed him away, and then dragged his hat over his eyes and slipped down into his jacket. Imperiously dismissed, Sebastian tucked the envelope into his overcoat and shuffled from the triangle of light to the warehouse exit.
He dragged his feet, hiding a desire to bound away after surviving his first encounter with El Duce. At the exit Sebastian tugged the door lever, but the door resisted his frantic rattling and remained closed.
A clone henchman stomped forward and he steeled himself for a final indignity, but the henchman ignored Sebastian and tapped a password into the door – El Duce-six, Sebastian noted – and opened the door. A rush of cold, crisp air hit him as El Duce coughed behind him. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian turned.
“Oh, and one other matter,” El Duce said, smirking at him. “You’re hired and once you’re hired, you stay hired.”
Five minutes later Sebastian strode away from the warehouse in Sector Seventeen. The sky was mainly dark with only the diffuse, pre-dawn glow reddening the horizon. Both moons dangled above the cityscape in a rare conjunction, and the yellow glare from the sporadic streetlights glinted off the icy street.
Early in the day birds should excitedly chatter, but it was silent, which was one of many things that Sebastian missed on Crandania. The twenty-ninth century brought many wonders, but familiar wildlife wasn’t important to colony builders.
Seeking warmth, Sebastian clutched his overcoat to his chest. In the three years since he’d resigned from spacehopper work, he’d never sunk as low as he had in the last month. Now that El Duce had hired him, he could repay his debts.
With an imminent escape from his downward spiral, he found his predicament all the more inconceivable. A talent for pushing commands into other’s minds should have kept him out of serious trouble.
He’d never known anyone to have his ski
ll and in the twenty years since his childhood discovery of the talent, he’d only curbed its use out of a desire to be ordinary. His greatest fear was that someone would discover, scrutinize and ridicule him as a freak of nature, so his current troubles resulted from cautious underuse, rather than misuse, of his skill.
As he increased his pace to a gentle trot, he checked his internal clock. It was six-thirty, which was just enough time to get home and get some sleep before noon. He trotted past endless rows of angular warehouses, the glare from the streetlights failing to penetrate their dank interiors.
He was five kilometers from the center of New Vancouver, which was farther than Sebastian or anyone else normally traveled, which perhaps explained why El Duce had chosen the Retail Sector for his business. When his stomach complained, either due to ill treatment or his unfit condition, he slowed to a stroll and rounded the last corner of the Retail Sector.
He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. He warmed up as he returned to the more familiar Residential Sector and the light level increased. Multistory apartment blocks loomed around him, strip lighting etching their edges in sharp relief.
A hulking shape emerged from the shadows beneath his apartment block. Sebastian didn’t recognize the person, as the harsh light stripped away all details, reducing the face to a featureless blob. As he drew closer, he narrowed its identity down to a few possibilities, none welcome.
“Good morning, Sebastian,” the shape said. “I wondered when you’d return.”
Sebastian slid to a halt on the icy street. He recognized the grating voice as belonging to Big Al, a loan shark only the desperate or the unfortunate owed credits to. In Sebastian’s case it was the latter as Big Al had bought out some of his debts.
The debt was two hundred credits and the time to repay was yesterday. He had time enough for an altercation, but as he couldn’t afford the distraction from today’s purpose he might need to use a little push. Sebastian flexed his mind and set his hands on his hips.
“Hello, Alexander,” Sebastian said, facing up to the two hundred kilograms of blubber wrapped in a black overcoat. “I hoped I’d meet you. I’d searched everywhere.”
Big Al flexed his considerable shoulders. Ripples cascaded down his overcoat from the movement. Pig-like eyes bored into Sebastian from a pocked slab of flesh.
“You’ve found me and it’s payback time.”
Sebastian had encountered many debt collectors, but few were as single-minded as Big Al. He’d honed the pay or hurt cycle to a fine art.
Sebastian held out his hands. “Give me another couple of days, Alexander. I’ll pay you then, with more interest, too.”
Big Al rubbed one of his chins, sending dangerous ripples down his neck.
“I’ll take payment now. That’s better than more interest.”
Sebastian smiled. “You might be interested to learn that El Duce hired me this morning so I’m good for credit, I believe.”
Big Al waddled forward. “Pay or I hurt you.”
Sighing, Sebastian decided on a little push, after all. With his palms upturned, he advanced a pace.
“I could be one of your best customers with my new connections.”
I am, leave me. Sebastian formed the command in his mind, focused the idea into a block of thought and then pushed it at Big Al, causing him to retreat unsteadily and shake his head. Simultaneously, the push resonated through Sebastian’s mind with the first hints of a headache.
The pain would resonate for a while, but the ache would clear before delivery time. Sebastian noted Big Al’s open-mouthed expression with amusement. While he waited for him to resolve, in what passed for his mind, what he thought he’d decided, Sebastian checked along the deserted street.
Without warning Big Al hit him: a long, round-arm jab straight to the stomach. Agony coursed through Sebastian’s abdomen. He clutched his stomach as he folded to the ground. Noting that he should have tried a stronger push, he tried to both roll and drag air into his lungs.
Without warning, the world exploded as something hit his head with solid force. Hands rummaged through his overcoat pockets. Pudgy, clammy slabs ran over his shirt. Sebastian stretched out a hand, reaching for Big Al.
Then he heard a tearing sound. His vision revolved, and the looming buildings merged and then swam out of focus.
“That’s half for you and half for me,” Big Al said. “That’ll do nicely.”
A bundle of credits clattered to the ground beside him. Sebastian tried to reach for the bundle, but his arm wouldn’t obey him. Hearing footsteps clump away, Sebastian pushed a new command: Return.
Pain throbbed through his temples. This time he’d pushed too hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and steeled himself for the next command: Drop the envelope and leave.
A clattering sounded and then footsteps paced away. He forced his eyes open. More credits were near him, spilled in a pile. With pain piercing his skull he dragged himself closer. He concentrated on taking another deep breath and felt more strength fill his body.
He got to his feet, staggering groggily, his world confused and blurred. The envelope lay, torn open, amid the money strewn across the icy ground. Sebastian kneeled and frantically gathered up the money.
He riffled through it, counting at least a thousand credits along with a shiny object that tinkled as it rolled away from his grasp. He bent over and picked up the shining jewel. Feeling dizzy, he tottered and threw out a hand to grasp on air.
He let himself roll to the ground, accepting that lying on his side was more comfortable than being upright. Sebastian opened his hand. The jewel within was transparent, a centimeter in diameter and smooth.
It was a data shard – Sebastian recognized the familiar device and palmed it. He wondered if this was the important item he needed to deliver, rather than the credits, but thinking produced too much pain.
Forcing himself to stay in control for a few more minutes, he crawled to the wall and pressed his hand against the icy surface. He waited for the next wave of pain to wash over him. Then he dragged his unwilling body to its feet and staggered to his apartment.
Propped against the door, he stopped. Thankfully, Big Al had disappeared, so he moved on with his least important problem resolved.
Chapter Two
SAFE, FOR THE TIME being, in his apartment Sebastian tried to stay calm and forget the disastrous encounter with Big Al, so he could concentrate on securing his future. Cold water splashed over his face helped to align his senses.
In a few hours, a dull ache would replace the deep throbbing at his temples. Aspirin would reduce the pain further, but after such hard pushes he couldn’t push again for a day. He raised his shirt and inspected the damage.
He winced at his mottled stomach. Gingerly, he pressed around the bruises, but no sharp pains announced themselves. He had five hours before the delivery, so he wolfed down three aspirins, set Software for an alarm call in four hours and flopped onto his couch.
Darkness descended. A timeless period later an insistent demand hit him.
Wake up, Software droned directly into his brain from his internal port system.
Go away, Sebastian thought.
Wake now.
Sebastian clawed himself awake and rubbed his eyes. Pain danced around him, an insistent reminder of his meeting with Big Al. After rolling to his feet, he flung two more aspirins to the back of his throat and dry-swallowed them.
Sebastian showered and changed his clothes as he made himself presentable for his first big job. Then he left his apartment. An hour later he flopped onto his favorite bench on the edge of Memorial Park.
He shuffled his feet in a circle, making sweeping shapes in the melting ice, and tried to regain the same level of confidence that he’d felt on leaving his apartment. He stretched his arms along the back of the bench.
Today had the promise of spring: bitingly cold, but clear and bright, and the freshness cheered Sebastian. While listening to the steady thawing drip echo around him, he breat
hed deeply through his nostrils and, with each intake, his headache dissipated further.
“Why did this happen to me?” Sebastian said to himself.
You worry too much, Software said.
Sebastian sighed. His system’s gender-free, monotone voice irritated him more than its designers probably intended.
Shut up. I didn’t ask your opinion.
Big Al had destroyed the original envelope and the merchants he’d visited in the last twenty minutes didn’t stock anything similar. He’d bought the nearest type, but the envelope felt rougher and not of the same quality.
Your contact will only be interested in the contents, Software said. If you want this lifestyle, you need to be more confident.
Sebastian rubbed his forehead. He didn’t want this life, whatever Software said. Not for the first time he wished he hadn’t invested in life-improving sub-routines. On the other side of the ice-strewn pathway a gaudy advertising signpost revolved slowly.
‘Come to the Rigel asteroid colony,’ the advertisement urged. ‘It’s your kind of town. It’s your chance of a new life, and it could start at fifteen-hundred hours today.’
A picture of two smirking children and their self-satisfied parents posing beside an endless prairie reinforced the offer.
“It’s my kind of town,” Sebastian said.
You’re probably right, Software said. And it’s better than working for gangsters.
Sebastian smiled. Software was right. Then again, anything would be better than that.
“It’s only five hundred credits, one way,” the final advertising line said.
You could afford to go to the Rigel system, Software said.
Sebastian patted his envelope. Software didn’t understand that if you wanted to live beyond twenty-five, you didn’t steal credits and data shards from gangsters. Sebastian got up, smoothed his overcoat and noticed, with some regret, that it was time to get the delivery over with.
He left Memorial Park, his confidence growing with each step. He strode along Applecross and stopped on the corner opposite Gruinard. He knocked an imaginary pebble from his shoe while he surveyed the territory.
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