Vessel

by Matthew Bryant

  “You want me to take the mute?”

  “I thought the contrast might be refreshing.” Now he’s making jokes too? “It’s a win-win on this one. I want representation along with whatever schemes you’re running, and the world outside might be good for him. He’s… had difficulty connecting with anybody within the community.”

  “I’m not much of a babysitter and I sure as hell don’t want his blood on my hands if something were to happen to him.”

  “I’ll accept complete responsibility, even take it upon myself to warn him of any potential risks-“

  “Oh will you now?” I withhold my frustration from seeping out any further, instead drawing a deep breath, holding it, and releasing it. A new body complicates things. Especially since I’m already working a double agent scheme. At least the kid can keep a secret. I shake my head, “Alright, pal. But let me talk to him. I’ve got a better idea of what will be expected of him and what sorts of troubles he should expect to run into.” Plus I’m gonna have to feed the kid, give him a place to sleep. At least he’s house broken. I think.

  “Then we have a deal.” Paige holds out his hand firmly in front of me. I accept it in my own, returning his firm squeeze. “I’ll go give Scott the word to release your vehicle, it should have more than enough charge by now. You’ll be able to find Mathan down in the commons.” He gestures one more time to where the boy is leaning against a concrete pillar, staring blankly into nothingness.

  “Let’s do this. Mathan and I will be back once we’ve had an opportunity to get business up and running.”

  Nineteen

  “Alright Mathan, time to go over the house rules.” He follows behind me into my tiny apartment with the same unimpressed demeanor that he’d demonstrated at the water pump. Then again when I confronted him later in the commons area to let him know that I wanted him to come along and help me get the business started. And of course, the long drive back to the districts that would’ve been completely silent if it weren’t for the sound of wind rushing in through the broken windows, making it impossible to carry on a conversation. His face reminds me of those upper level citizen ladies with faces full of botox and incapable of expression for the sake of looking a few years younger.

  “Rule number one, never touch the thermostat.” I point to the small box on the wall at the far end of the room. “I leave it off whenever I go out, saves money on electricity. But when it’s on, it stays at seventy-four degrees. Period.” I glance back at him and realize he’s still got damned headphones over his ears. “Any questions?” He shakes his head. “Could you at least take off the damned headgear while I’m talking to you?” He shakes his head again. “Lovely.

  “This is the couch. This is where you’ll sleep. We’ll pick up some pillows and blankets later,” I look him over, “And some new clothes.” He glances down at his attire and looks back at me inquisitively. “You can’t wear the same thing every day in the districts, pal. They tend to carry a lingering odor.” I turn away to walk into the kitchen area, but catch him lifting the collar of his shirt to his nose and sniffing it.

  “This is the kitchen. There’s not much in the fridge or pantry, but you’re welcome to anything here. Do you have a favorite food?” He nods. I wait. He waits. I sigh, “And we’ll approach that subject later.” Pointing to the different drawers and cabinets, I sound off, “Silverware, utensils, plates, bowls, cups, pots and pans, dish towels, soaps and cleaning stuff, batteries and etcetera.” His face is stoic, but I explain anyway. “Anything I don’t have a specific place for just winds up in this drawer. Let’s check out the bedroom.” Mathan doesn’t move to follow me, instead, standing and silently pointing at the vidscreen mounted on the wall. “Sure, you can watch whatever after the tour.” I’m pretty sure the thing works, was never much of one for vegging.

  “This is the bathroom,” I mutter as I walk past the small dark room, “Self explanatory.” I hope. Flipping the switch, I realize my room is a bit messier than I remember. “This is my room. Stay off my bed. No girls in here. You can use the computer, but stay off illegal sites, I don’t want any viruses on it, crappy as it may be.” He goes to inspect the machine while I wander to the plastic dresser, opening the bottom drawer and pulling out all of my underwear, tossing them carelessly into the sock drawer. “Bottom drawer is yours. We’ll grab you some underwear later. Under no circumstances are you to wear mine. I don’t share ball sweat with anybody.” He looks at me and crinkles his nose, probably the most expression I’ve seen from him thus far. “Glad you agree. And half the closet is yours too.” I slide the door open and push my dangling shirts and pants to one side, demonstrating that there’s plenty of room to share. “And that’s the two credit tour. Now make yourself cozy, I need to step outside and make a call. You good?” If he hears me, he makes no effort to respond, staring entranced at the computer. I can’t say I blame him, he’s been locked away from the internet for some undisclosed amount of time, but probably a long while. Assuming he’s good for a bit, I grab my phone and stroll outside.

  “Hey Val, this is Fallows reporting in.”

  “You’re late checking in. We were considering aborting.” Cold and professional. She must have been sent to one of those special seminars where they send humans to become robots. Good for her.

  “You wouldn’t want to do that. Not only am I reliable and efficient, I’m cheap and irresistibly sexy.”

  “That’s… that’s no way a professional should speak to a handler.” Maybe she should’ve taken better notes.

  “Of course not. I didn’t say anything about being professional. But I have some good news. I pursued a lead that led me to a group of techies squatting outside district limits that some guy named Hanson has been using as a supply of goons in return for basic medical supplies. After a brief discussion with the community leader, I’ve convinced them to refuse future services.”

  “This is good news. I’ll put it aside in my report.” I hear a fair bit of static on the other end. Too uniform to be a connection default, somebody is covering something on the other side. When she comes back, her tone is cold again. “While we appreciate the intel, sir, it does little to pinpoint a culprit and nothing to prevent future infractions.”

  “Then I have more good news for you sweet-cheeks.”

  “Please refrain from call-“

  “That was meant for Cellar. Give that tight little tush of his a pinch for me, would ya?” I check the time on the phone. It’s getting to be late afternoon. Time is running out. Hopefully I can get a stall on the kill order. “I had them agree to another gear drop. Once we get off the phone, I’ll get you guys the coordinates of the drop and a window of potential times to set up surveillance. It may be a hell of a paper trail, but apprehending whoever makes the drop will definitely get you on the right ladder.”

  “Excellent. Send us the data and we’ll alert you once we have the target in sight.”

  “That’s no good. I’m afraid I got into a bit of a scrape getting the intel.” My hand moves instinctively to the itchy, tender wounds across my chest. “I’m not out of commission, but won’t be much good in a chase or struggle.”

  “Do you require medical attention?”

  “Nah, I got it pretty well patched up. Just need a short reprieve to keep it from ripping open again.”

  “Are you certain? What is the nature of your wound?”

  “Pretty deep scratches from some of the wildlife outside of the districts. The locals refer to them as ‘ugmen’, which does a lot in explaining the attractiveness of the creatures.”

  “Are they… you know… part of them?”

  Why the secrecy? Is this not a secure line? Or does the possibility of dealing with the ancients unnerve her that much? Although to be honest, after having a few run-ins with the bastards, I’d be happy going the rest of my life without seeing one again. “Not this time. Or at least I don’t think. Just evolution taking a hideous turn.” I pull the phone from my ear and glance at the time. “It’s ge
tting late, Val, let me get you those coordinates. Give me an update when you have something.”

  “Very well. Thanks for your-“ I tap the disconnect button before she can finish her sentiments. Definitely still a professional in training. She’s got potential though. Nice to know somebody on the inside sees me as at least somewhat human and not a fleshy tool. Wait… that sounds bad.

  I tap out a message with the latitude and longitude coordinates for the next drop and an overcompensated window. That should at least keep them off of my back for a bit. Time to focus on another problem. The stripper’s still missing and, far as I can tell, I’m the only person on the job. Flipping through messages, I find the one from Rex with the girl’s last known address and add it to the GPS. If nothing else, I might find a new direction to start walking. I hate to say it, but this case is looking more and more like a lost cause so far.

  Two steps back into my apartment and something crunches under my feet. Quickly stepping back, I see a pile of screws on the floor. Right by another pile of tiny screws. And another. And then some wires. Cringing, I glance to where my vidscreen had previously sat and find the entire thing disassembled and organized into parts. “Shit, Mathan! What the holy hell are you doing in here?”

  If he can hear me, he doesn’t respond. Muttering under my breath about bad ideas, I navigate the room, careful not to crush any of the components or scatter the piles until I can make it back to the bedroom. “Seriously, man. You can’t go around taking apart other people’s… what the fuck?” My jaw drops as I see the same scene in my room. My computer, alarm clock, and radio have all been meticulously taken apart to their prime components and set in piles around the room. The kid’s efficient, I’ll give him that much. I couldn’t have been gone longer than ten minutes. Mathan sits amidst the piles looking up at me with a child’s innocence. How can I stay mad at that face? Taking a deep breath, I count backwards from ten, then exhale. “Alright. What’s done is done. Can you put everything back exactly the way you found it?” He nods. It’s almost convincing, but even with his suppressed emotions I can detect a bit of doubt. Or maybe I’m just projecting. “Good. You and I still need to go shopping, but I have to run out for a bit.” I gesture around the room. “I want all of this picked up and back to normal by the time I get home, understand?” He nods.

  I head into the bathroom with an audible grunt. At least there’s nothing technological to disassemble in the bathroom. I inspect the toilet anyway, just to be on the safe side.

  Far too familiar with the drill for my own good, I carefully peel off my shirt to give a full inspection. The bandages beneath have soaked through with fluids. Probably overdid it today. I flip on the bathroom light and wince at the figure staring back at me. Everything from the neck down is a tragedy scribbling my many mistakes in jagged lines of white and pink. This newest addition will add nicely to the story. Silver lining: at least there are still a few blank pages scattered somewhere across the surface. Digging through the first aid kit beneath the sink, I find the rags and alcohol I was looking for and carefully peel the old bandages from my chest.

  Not so bad. At least it still looks like fresh meat from the market. It’s when the scars turn gray and maggots take up residence that you really need to worry, right? The cleaning burns like hell, but once all of the dried blood and everything else is washed away, I stand back and marvel at my handiwork. Not the best suture I’ve ever thrown together, but certainly the best on myself. And I’m still alive. So there’s that.

  As an extra precaution, I spray a healthy dose of anti-septic across the surface and dig out an old steroid shot; some low-grade rapid heal. Then I slap on a fresh bandage and I’m good to go.

  From my closet I grab a fresh shirt, pistol and jacket, throwing them on more carelessly than I would have ten minutes ago. “I’ll be home in a bit,” I call to the boy. He doesn’t respond.

  I take one last look around the organized chaos, shake my head, then wander back out into the hallway. I’ve been a parent for less than six hours and I already want to put my kid through a wall. My eyes dart distrustfully towards the kitchen. My blood boils. “Goddamnit, Mathan! The microwave? Really??”

  Twenty

  “Hello,” I mumble into the headset, all of my attention presently set on dissecting the lock of Miss Burly-Baum’s apartment instead of masking the irritation in my voice from being interrupted.

  “When the United Assembly granted you certain freedoms and access beyond the average citizen,” Valerie lectures from the other end, “It was understood that these liberties would be used in pursuit of individuals responsible for breaking through high level security, not making house calls.”

  “I’m not making house calls, I’m making rent. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not on the payroll yet.” The lock disengages and the door parts from its perch just enough for me to wedge the tip of my knife inside. “Besides, this is really more breaking and entering. How’d you know where I am anyway?” I don’t expect an honest answer, but to keep up with appearances, my feigned suspicion should be dead on. The door gives me some trouble, more than I’d expected, and I have to fight to get it open even an inch.

  “We can track you through your phone.” She doesn’t even skip a beat. To be fair, Milton had mentioned that kind of technology before. Though I don’t think it extends to elevation, just latitude and longitude. What would that even be called? “I must remind you that it is imperative that you remain on course until your primary task is completed. There will be plenty of time for other work once you have attained the information we require and dealt with the source of these break-ins for other work. Many lives and irreplaceable information is at stake!”

  Something in her tone bothers me. It distracts me to the point I barely notice the frigid air trailing from the partially open doorway. At least her concern is genuine. She honestly believes in what she’s doing.

  “I hate to burst your bubble, Val, but think for a moment about what you’re saying.” A few strong yanks and the door finally breaks free, opening in full and blasting me with a gust of heart-stopping cold. “You really think that a powerful organization like the UA is entrusting the future of humanity to some lowly drug peddling pickpocket?”

  “But then why-?”

  “For the money, sweetheart. I do it for those digital dollars that keep my frozen heart warm at night.” The words have barely left my mouth when I step inside the dark room and get an uneasy feeling about the place. There’s a crackling in my earpiece followed by a loud pop. “Hey Val, you there?”

  Silence.

  I check my phone. The call’s been disconnected. Even more unusual, the bars that normally read full like a short step-ladder are fading in and out, deconstructing and rebuilding themselves in some rhythmic pattern.

  Like a heartbeat.

  From the faint light bleeding in through the window, I can see the living room is immaculate. No signs of being tossed for any items of interest. I reach my hand for the light switch and give it a flick. No response.

  Odd. Seems far too chilly for not having any power. I try it again a few times, then systematically scan for any other switches with a similar lack of result. Great. Electricity has been cut off.

  Fumbling around on my phone, I eventually find an app for a flashlight and am surprised by the amount of light that comes from the tiny flash-bulb. Even with the room illuminated, it does little to ease my nerves. It's just a room, but something definitely feels off. Almost the same feeling I got from Molly's apartment.

  I chase back the dark thoughts with a sense of envy as I dig through the kitchen, stealing ideas for how to reorganize my own as I sift through drawers and cabinets. Nothing out of place save for a lone cup in the sink with deep amber stains around the bottom and the impression of lips at the rim.

  Making my way to the tiny bathroom, possibly smaller than my own, I find it just as empty, not so much as a smudge of toothpaste in the porcelain sink. Fumbling around the mirror, I find a latch and p
eel it back to reveal a medicine cabinet hidden behind.

  Nothing out of the ordinary. Vitamins. Make-up. Dental crap. No pregnancy tests or prescription hormones.

  I shut the medicine cabinet and, for a split second, I swear I see a figure behind me in the mirror. Swiftly flipping the dull glow of the phone around, I check the room again. Nothing. Empty. Damned apartment is getting to me.

  Stepping back into the hallway, I ignore the obvious closet and move to the only other door, turning the knob gently in my hand. The shrill creaking of the hinges makes me jump again. I take a deep breath, letting the dark, chill air comfort me for a moment.

  Shining the light inside, I find nothing out of the ordinary. The sunlight beams in from the window, illuminating the room but fails to give off any warmth. A vanity sits on the neighboring wall. Pictures and sentimental objects rest atop. Across the room is a large bed, end table with lamp and datapad, and a treadmill.

  I head to the vanity and begin pulling out drawers, taking pains to avoid looking in the mirror. Nothing but clothes. Pants and undergarments. Across the surface I pick up a picture frame. It’s a picture of Kimmie standing with an older woman, her mother perhaps. I know her too. But from where? Gently returning the picture, I turn back to the rest of the room.

  The closet door stands slightly ajar. I gently prod it open further with the toe of my boot, shining the light inside. Shirts and blouses hang stiff amidst an impressive assortment of shoes. On top is a keepsake box. I quickly grab it and look for a place to set it down.

  At the window ledge, I pry the lid open and dig inside. More junk. A pair of stress balls, a heart-pendant on a silver chain, lots of photographs of people I don’t know. I close it and turn towards the last corner of the room.