by Kelly Brewer
Paul’s pride burst. “I don’t need your help. I’m not helpless. Could you get my bag out of the caddy? I’m here on official business. Security business. I’m headed to Saturn Security Complex to help with the terrorists. They called me. They need me. I’m not stupid, you know. Is this the line for security check-in?”
“Uhh, no sir, you’re waaay in the wrong line. It’s three hallways down, security desk nineteen. Umm, let’s get you back in with a captain and they’ll see you get there, ok?” the young man offered.
“What? Why did they bring me to the wrong counter?? Idiots! How much do they pay you to be so stupid? Ok, bring my bag back would you and let’s go. I don’t have all day. I’m a Safety preacher and I’m helping with the terrorists. I have important business here. Hurry up!”
He sat with a thud and the concierge scrambled the bag back on board the next caddy.
“Ok, take this man to Safety and Security Check-in, counter nineteen. Be sure he remembers his bag. Have a nice day, sir.”
The young man went to help someone else. Paul glared at him as he rolled towards the security desk, counter nineteen.
Dock watched from his warship in orbit nearby.
This guy may be too fried.
But his wackiness lent to the air of fanaticism. No such thing as a perfect crime, at least not in his experience. He watched him get out at counter nineteen and approach the desk.
“He got the hat and shirt colors backwards. Let’s see if he gets the quote right.”
Paul hobbled up, breathing heavily, and pulled out the note he had made to himself. He looked at the smiling counter.bot and spoke loudly, “May the riches of the universe guide us.” He crumpled the paper and looked at the bot expectantly. Bot eyes rolled back in a bot head, opened, ticked left, then punched his ticket. “Thank you, sir, someone will be with you shortly. Please proceed to the security complex down the hallway on the left. Thank you, have a nice day, sir.”
Paul leaned heavily on the counter, already exhausted. Fatigue made his anxiety rise the more. He would need his pain meds soon. Feeling behind him for the cart, he grabbed the side rail with a shaky hand and plopped down in the seat. The driver eased him towards the security complex.
The insistent, encroaching ache and confusion made him impatient. He instructed the driver, “Go faster, everyone will move.”
When he turned to his left to urge him on, he was a she. Gina.bot, dressed smartly as a sky captain, looked at him with one eye, the other looking ahead for pedestrians.
“Hello, Paul, may the riches of the universe guide us,” she cooed.
A surge of conflicting emotion swept through him. She was beautiful, except for the uncoupled saccadic eye movement. She seemed to know him. Creepy and thrilling at the same time.
“I have placed the package in your bag already.” The eye closest to him looked down at the bag between them, indicating the delivery.
“Inside are all your updated credentials and a new phone. Do you remember who you’re supposed to contact at security?”
“Yes, Bitros. Bitros Gully. Head of Safety Inspectors. I’m here on official business. Yez. They called me to help with the terroristz.”
“Yez, you are here to help with terroristz.”
Did she just wink at him with that crazy eye? Was she intentionally ending some words the same way he did?
“Relax, I’m here to help.”
The whack eye synchronized with the other and met his. She reached up and kissed him, smearing red lipstick into his surprised mouth. “Don’t forget… take your medz.”
Her left eye reset to its forward gaze, navigating spaceport foot traffic. The right eye remained focused on his.
“Of course, they’re all right here.” He clutched his bag away from her, finally breaking from her gaze. He decided he wanted to get away from this… person.
Pulling up to security desk nineteen, she glided to a perfect stop.
“Yessir, here you are, and may the riches of the universe guide you,” she said sincerely.
The visitors had greeted him many times with this phrase but it seems he heard it for the first time when she said it. He froze, hearing the mantra of Co-exist comrades repeated with such sex appeal. Like he was watching a commercial.
“Yes… and also with… you,” he stuttered.
He stood, clutched his bag, and walked towards the security desk without his cane and without turning back.
Gina.baby’s right eye followed him, the other gazing up at the security camera through which Dock watched them.
(Gina.baby.bot you are perfect. your African sister is too, sowubona!)
She smiled at him from behind Paul’s small drug case, which she held in her long, pretty fingers.
(I switched his with an identical one… containing something slightly more stimulating.Gina/bot. out)
Pocketing it, she whipped the cart around, leaving the Reverend to his fate for the time being.
CHAPTER 66
Robot Rules
The Reverend Shady was unstable. Good. Dock didn’t need anything but a body to make this work. He drank weak minds like wine. Anonymously, Dock requested through government back channels Paul be put on light inspector detail. That would get him on stage during shows doing nothing but drawing a paycheck, a pension, and, finally, a powergun.
Paul checked in with his shiny new credentials, never questioning their authenticity. Neither did anyone else as he went through gate after gate. He knocked on the inspector’s door. No answer.
A droid security secretary rolled up and held out its armature for ID.
“If you’re looking for Chief Inspector, he’s out inspecting. Are you here for check-in and orders?”
Paul handed it over.
The machine laser scanned the front then looked at him, laser scanned him, and said robotically, “Paul Claim, lighting inspector, report to Saturn stage hands, group ten, currently on-site inspecting trusses.”
It scanned the restrictions on the back of Paul’s security ID, then Paul’s cane and caved in forehead, “You are an observer only. Do not lift anything over ten pounds, do not enter traffic lanes or ramps unaccompanied, do not run. If you have to travel more than twenty-five feet, call for wheelchair transport. If you discover any infractions, get a second opinion before writing a ticket…’
Paul tuned it out. Yeah, rub it in, you robot retard. I’m not here for any of that crap anyway.
When the robot finished its mandatory recital for handicapped employees, it handed him a thick book of blank tickets. “You are requested to write at least three tickets a day. Lockers are at the end of the hall where I will stow your gear. Here’s a check ticket and a key to locker nineteen. Thank you, have a nice day.”
“Wait!” Paul grabbed his meds and the robot rolled away to stow his bags.
He hated robots. Even helpful ones.
Paul took the tickets and the insults and went to go find the bar.
“Whew! He made it that far.” Dock relaxed.
(Reveal the mark to him now. His mind may blow a gasket if we wait to tell him the day of the show.)
(Yes sir, calling his phone now. The visual evidence of Paul’s progress should hold up in court if necessary.out)
Ro-mans simultaneously sent him an encrypted text and recorded him hobbling onto a barstool and downing a double whiskey and fresh pills laced with small amounts of Happy-stil. The wicked mixture went down, down, down… all the way home to his genome.
CHAPTER 67
Co-Exist Friends
Paul inspected the contents of Gina’s drop, popping the top on his new prescription. The new phone buzzzed as whiskey washed down the modified meds. Squinting at it, it showed one new message. He read it then put the phone in his pocket.
So that was the target.
No problem.
The gu
y was a prick anyways.
Dock instructed his new, growing army of badass female android ass-ass-ins;
(And no, he didn’t feel he was currently a sex addict.)
“When Bistros gets a look at him, he’ll want to reject him, which he obviously should. The one-time stage manager is a mess. But the order came from above. As long as Bit has a paper trail leading away from accountability, he’ll accept Paul’s presence. Speak of a devil…!”
Bitros found Paul just then.
Coming up behind him he asked, “Are you Paul Claim?”
“Yeah. So?” He didn’t turn around. The voice sounded familiar and grated his ravaged last nerve. Please spare me the pain of a conversation with that, he winced.
Bitros spoke again, “I’m Chief Inspector Bistros Gully. I’m your new boss.”
Paul barely turned, hoping it was not true. Ugh. It was true. It was the same little prick that had given the “intolerant” toast. He turned a little more with the drink in his hand and offered his pinky in a hand shake. Bit ignored it.
“I don’t like drinkers, Mr. Claim. They make bad inspectors. You must have big connections somewhere because you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be anywhere besides a hospital, from what I’ve read of your fitness report. Do us both a favor and stay out of the way. I won’t require you to even be on the job. I don’t pay your salary but I will pay for your screw-ups, so just watch yourself in my work zone. We’re doing very important work here and these are dangerous times. When this is all done, I will see you get a performance bonus if you don’t screw up. Are we clear?”
“Sure, sure anything to make you shut your pie-hole. I will work my shifts, but I’ll hang back until the right moment. OK? Now fuck off.”
Gully was furious. How had this weak, disrespectful person gotten assigned to his beloved inspectors? One day, when he was the big boss, this kind of intolerant person would not be tolerated in his inspectors.
He thought of a great comeback. “Stay out of the way, or else.”
Shady had a better one. Giggling, he said, “Yeah, and may the fucking richez of the univerze guide you too.”
What? Well, that changed everything.
Bistros hesitated and said, “And also with you…”
Paul sat his glass down and they shook hands vigorously, suddenly lifelong friends.
Dock was always happy to bring people together.
And record their private conversations.
CHAPTER 68
RUNAWAYS
Mercy was so angry, she convinced her friends Demi and Calli to secretly run away from the Augusta, their born-ship. They loved her and never hesitated when she cried out the story to them. Once she and her friends were loaded up, Mercy gunned her small, sleek transport into orbit without the help of autopilot.
Franco had had her flying before she could walk. Mercy had unofficially been a pilot when she was eight years old, officially when she was thirteen. The youngest female to ever jump gyros.
The whole process, from planet to planet, took her less than three minutes.
Mercy messaged Kyle to tell him she was fine but they were bolting Saturn and headed for Franco’s water-mining vessel, the Water Witch, orbiting Uranus.
Why, she would explain later.
“Good-bye, bitch,” Mercy swore at her oblivious mother after she plotted course, energized a polarity tunnel, and disappeared.
Damn, that was quick, Kyle thought, reading the message. What happened? Hopefully no one knew of their brief liaison! Even a rumor could trigger blood work, according to their contract. The other three band members would be grounded for alcohol consumption at minimum.
The end.
Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity blown.
Surely Mercy had told no one!
Kyle wondered what Detectives Mooney and Grisholm were doing about the show tonight.
CHAPTER 69
Making Progress
Detective Mooney had seen about everything. Yet every day there was something new. Like the stream of bodies coming into cramped, overflowing morgues at every station. The modest medical facilities were stacked three deep, predominantly due to the killer drug Happy-stil.
New drug. Old result.
Unnecessary death.
Only this was morbid, rabid, terrifying.
Were the drug deaths suicide or murder?
Mooney was mortified witnessing the rapid spread of multiple mini- Spikes, these in the form of a cannibalizing drug plague. In the past, these episodes would flare up, then fade. This one showed signs of increasing amplitude daily.
Technically, they were not allowed to release bodies, as they are evidence of crimes, and Medical was fast running out of room and ideas. Grisholm helped the coroner’s office by working double-shifts on requests to jettison the bodies after being identified and sampled.
Legal disposal options and funds were in short supply to distant outposts beyond the thirty million mile perihelion. The coroner took victims’ blood and tissue samples and began storing the bodies in any available space, awaiting results of glacial deliberations from multiple international oversight committees.
Finding the dealers was his top priority. Arrest the cause to stop the effect. Dr. Hadjii sent them a photo and name of the “rex.” Rx. Drug dealer.
A Steven Lathrop from arkansas.us. was the probable source and was currently number one on the most wanted list. He was somewhere out here, somewhere, sliding through the cracks. The track seemed to be following the immensely popular rock band. At each show there were more and more violent deaths, like mini-Spikes. Mooney doubted they could remain silent about it much longer.
He spoke to Grisholm on the way to the concert. “There is no record of Lathrop on any transports. No facial recognition has turned him up. Lathrop has to be jumping dark, jumping across vast distances using only a body suit.”
Grisholm replied, “Dark jumping will not be easy on a backwoods moonshine Earth boy. It takes very expensive gear and training, dangerous for the most highly trained astronaut. This kid must have sophisticated help.”
He would turn up at a show soon.
Then they would hook ’im.
“Those guys, the band, seem straight up, more or less,” Mooney said when they arrived at the venue.
“Kyle is ex-military and you can read those guys pretty good. The lieutenant was a straight shooter, thankfully!”
Grisholm nodded in agreement. He had suspicions about one or two, but they just wanted to get done and get home. So far at least, there had been no further bomb runs at them.
Steven Lathrop must be following them. And they were following Steve. They dressed plainclothes to hunt for Lathrop.
Mooney forwarded the photo to Saturn security along with reports of an accomplice: tall, thin, age and ethnicity unknown.
They would probably get a hit on them tonight.
Kyle called him then.
“Officer Mooney, Kyle Supplantis here, how’s it going? I wonder if you have any new info you could share. I’m trying to stay ahead, especially with the show tonight.”
“Yes, sir, we’ve identified two suspects. I’ll send the photo and descriptions. Do you know someone named Steve Lathrop? No? He’s from your neck of the woods, an Arkansas boy. He may have an accomplice, as yet unidentified. Keep your eyes open and contact me if you see them. Have a good show. We’re here, looking around.”
Kyle thanked him and switched off. Good, at least there was something. A name and a face to watch for. The detectives were making progress. A police presence brought him some peace of mind.
Progress in replicating the antidote, however, did not.
Franco’s medical team’s replication of Hadjii’s antidote was moving slowly. No quantity had yet been produced. Calibrating and testing took time. Then there was the actual production, distribution, and
task-force training.
If Happy showed up again tonight, they were still sadly helpless.
Kyle wanted tonight to be different.
He had no idea.
CHAPTER 70
BATTLE LINES
Throngs of concertgoers were already lined up outside the Saturn Stadium main entrance. Some had been waiting for days, plugged into emergency air lines. People were passionate about and loyal to their heroes. With young people, add sometimes careless and shortsighted, though he admired their loyalty, however reckless.
Detective Grisholm peered through the air lock at the faces in spacesuits outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lathrop. Mostly it was kids. Some helmets were clear, some fogged with smoke. He hoped it was just marijuana. The grounding ceremonies tomorrow would be big news.
Grisholm moved on and watched over a group of workers preparing to serve beer and snacks. Ticket takers were getting in place, wands in hand to scan tickets. Robo-security finished up crowd control calibrations and lined up at the different checkpoints, ready to deploy.
Mooney, Grisholm, and Safety walked up and down the empty stands along with darting sniffer droids, looking for anything unusual among the thousands of rows of seats. You could get lost in here once it was full of people. The best bet was to monitor concertgoers as they walked in.
Since they were in plainclothes, he made sure robos had his and Grisholm’s ID and badge numbers, so he could be identified as one of the good guys if a war broke out. Mooney was ready for action tonight.
From high above in the catwalk, he acquainted himself with the battlefield below, imagining the battle lines that could emerge across the stadium floor. Feeling better with the situation out front, he descended backstage to admire the massive setup that had taken place almost overnight.
