As the smoke cleared, my human shield let out a ragged sigh. His rotten face was covered with small micro-cuts, but he wasn't otherwise harmed; we were well enough away from the explosion. The street, however, had a series of spidering cracks running through it. I glanced around, trying to wager where the mercenary ventured off to this time.
The filthy old bum struggled under my grip. “Hey,” he said, breath like vapors from an outhouse. “Can you let me—?”
I pushed him forward, disgusted and frustrated to seeing red. The bum stumbled out and the road beneath him collapsed inward in ragged pieces. He fell through with a short, vanishing scream.
I watched in shocked silence. Two steps forward and that would have been me—though it would take a lot to kill me after all the Deitii I’d consumed over the last month.
I lifted my eyes, feeling slightly dizzy. The mercenary had encountered something similar up the road and stood very still before a giant rift in the street. I couldn’t help the smile forming on my lips. I lifted my Repeater and took aim.
A cracking noise followed by an unsettling rumble came from beneath me. I wasn’t on stable ground either. I took a step forward to what looked like solid ground. It held my weight, but I wasn’t certain how long that would remain true. I navigated a few more steps forward, noting the mercenary’s slow progress. I lifted my gun again, aimed, and just as I fired, I pitched sideways as the ground fell out from under my boots. I sprung forward to a shaking piece of cavern floor and decided I needed to run for it.
Large pieces of the brittle rock floor fell out behind me. In my disorienting sprint, I wagered the mercenary had taken the same tact and ran full force as well, leaving a network of gaping holes in his wake. I bounded over the holes, several fracturing larger as I landed on their other side.
The ground firmed, thankfully, as my pursuit led to the new desalination plant. The mercenary had gained more ground than I’d wanted; he was already outside the plant and deploying his grappling hook up a slender metallic chute in the cavern wall. Water steadily coursed down the chute and obscured the mercenary as he quickly ascended.
I would have preferred taking him in the open. The plant would have operators and more hiding places and opportunities for escape. I couldn’t give up though. The chase would end with answers and this man’s death. I lunged forward, scrambling up the chute, into the cascading water. This place would be the mercenary’s tomb. I would end his life here. Laughing in morbid delight, I moved with the ferocity of a supernatural beast, clawing up to its first bloody birthday.
Chapter 2
Miles away from the desalination plant, in a cold transport station, Dean Fulsome was arriving at Moon City for his first time. His vision did not come into focus so much as it seemed to unpeel layer upon layer of fibrous images, some looking real enough to touch and others resembling a graphic on a computer monitor. All of them were indescribable things, mechanical devices without meaning, biological organisms without life. He wondered, as he often did when going through an interstellar membrane transport, if the images were actual things hidden from the rest of the universe, or just the untangled bits of his imagination.
He was getting closer to Moon City. For him, he’d just left Earth minutes ago, but the trip had taken the better part of a month. That idea soured his stomach. There were better, fancier transport protocols capable of taking him to his destination in Earth time, but he hadn’t been with Limbus, Inc. long enough, he supposed, to get the nifty travel accommodations.
A disintegrating orb of color washed down his field of sight, and through a black fog, he began to make out the giant form of the Moon City transport tunnel. Movement back and forth slowly revealed the long, blue membranes hanging there like a futuristic car wash. They pulsed as his body formed and reformed through them, converting him from light particles into cellular matter again. He never understood why the membranes flapped. There were never any wind currents in the transport stations; the alien technology just moved independently, doing their job with the passionate relentlessness of a robot.
Dean spotted a transport technician furiously typing at his console. Sweat beaded across his brow and he spoke urgently into his headset. The tone of his voice indicated the call was to a personal friend. Still, something looked wrong.
Just as he thought that, one of the membranes slipped past him and left something cold and sharp in his side.
That had never happened before. And he’d gone through his fair share of membrane transports by now.
The technician kept typing away. “Dean Fulsome, director of Solar System Operations, engaged with a one-way pass.” He waited a moment and nodded. “Yes. Yes. No. Just him. No, he—no, I know he's a director, but they haven't given him Golden clearance. Of course my baby can convert on the gold level. These membranes are from last year. Yep. Pretty much brand new. Talon Corp, sure. X5000 series.” He waited another second, wagging his head side to side impatiently. “I know who Fulsome is. Not a complete dumbass over here.
“Yeah, I know what he did, but obviously that doesn't grant him privileges with the more expensive, energy consuming transports... Right? Well, because Limbus can be cheap bastards at times. Wait! Hold on! I knew something wasn’t coming through right. He's passed the fifth series. Wait, wait, that doesn't make sense. How did he skip over so soon? Oh this isn't right. Shit! Something is wrong. No clue. Look, baby, I'll need to call you back. This guy's going to come through sooner than he thought. I'll give you a call later. Want your body too. Yeah. Oh hell yeah. Bye.”
In the next second, Dean saw only blinding, hot, white light. He felt his body staggering forward into the light and supple hands catching him around the shoulders. As the light receded, he could see the technician more clearly. His mouth was moving but no sound came forth. In his hand, he held what looked like a sky blue cloud. The cloud’s intense color and form shrunk and Dean could now see it was a robe. He ran a hand over his face to make sure it was still there. His beard stubble scratched his palms and made him feel like a real person again. Bringing his hands over his head, through his hair, Dean felt the slight bald spot he’d been cultivating in the back for a few years now. It’s just a cowlick. His ribs hurt on both sides, as they always did after transport. He touched the tender surface and winced. Definitely a real person, he concluded. It was then he realized he could hear again too.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Fulsome?”
“What... happened?” Dean’s voice sounded foreign to him for a moment. It was always this way at first though. “The trip was faster than I thought.” He smacked his lips. “Feel like I'm going to toss my cookies.”
“You skipped some membranes,” said the tech. “I can only imagine there was interference with the transfer somewhere. This was a locked mission though... So unless it was from Limbus itself, I have no clue who could have known your transfer path.”
Dean snorted. “Someone who didn’t want me to make it here.”
A look of dread passed over the young tech’s face. The band of the headset through his blond crewcut made him look slightly ridiculous with the wide-eyed expression. “They don't pay me enough to know all that.”
“Me neither. You got your records in order? They’ll blame you, you know.”
“Shit,” muttered the tech. “Yeah, I always document everything.”
“Keep it all handy when they come asking—”
Dean fell sideways without warning, and the tech grabbed him by the arm. “Shit, mister, your lips are turning blue.”
“Feel raw,” said Dean. “Something ain’t right. Came through those membranes too fast. One of them didn’t pass me through correctly. Do you know how to decode a Quantum Flu?”
“Say what? Hey, man, I just got my Membrane Trans cert. Only been at this for three Earth months.”
“Shit... They spare only the best people for me.”
Something tickled Dean’s cheek. He touched it and brought away a tear of blood. “Oh nice.”
The
tech froze. “Holy shit. You're—”
“I know, I know,” Dean replied. “Look, where is the operative who was supposed to meet me here?”
“Shouldn’t we call medical?”
“They can’t fix this. It’s light particle anatomy and membrane programming. Where’s the operative?”
The tech stiffened. “I have a private letter for you.”
“Open it. Read it to me.”
“I’m not supposed to.”
Dean wiped away another blood tear and glared at the tech. The younger man swallowed and nodded. “Right away.” He pulled out the postcard-sized envelope and tore away the top. With some difficulty, he pulled out the slip of paper and narrowed his eyes as he read it. “Have the mark. Will rendezvous with you at the mayor’s representative’s office.”
“Bullshit,” Dean spat. “Do you have interagency email?”
The tech nodded.
“Send him word to meet me here. It’s [email protected].”
The tech began to return to his console and stopped. “Are you sure we shouldn’t get you a medical unit?”
“They can't do anything for me. Neither can the mayor’s rep. The contractor will know how to recode this Flu though. I know his skills. He isn’t just a mercenary. I need him here, to fix this… and keep it quiet.”
The tech went to the console and began typing. “I haven't heard from him in over four hours though. What if he doesn’t show?”
Dean collapsed to the ground with a grunt. “That'll certainly be discouraging.”
The tech finished the email. “Okay, sent. Now, what should I do next?”
Dean took a deep breath. It tasted like copper and charcoal. “Try to get in touch with Tasha Willing. She'll know where to find... the operative, if he can be found. Hope that’s soon because otherwise I'm not going to last long for this adventure.”
“I don't have access to Ms. Willing... I'm sorry.”
Dean tried to keep his annoyance at bay. “Call the Solar System office and tell them Dean Fulsome is requesting Tasha. She'll come through. Hurry your ass up, kid. Really. My insides are turning... soft.”
Returning to the keyboard, the tech made the call and waited. Into his headset he spoke with a quivering voice that didn’t instill Dean with much confidence. “Yes, I'm at the Moon City membrane transport station. I have a Dean Fulsome here and he urgently requests Tasha Willing. He has acquired Quantum Flu from an interrupted membrane transportation event— but— but— he's— yes, but you don't understand. He's getting really sick.”
Almost on cue, blood poured from Dean's nostrils and steam lifted from his feverish blue skin. The tech looked over and saw this, beginning to visibly shake. “She's outside com boundaries. Well how do we get her? We need help! He needs help!”
Dean shook his head as though to tell the tech to forget it. He waved him to come over instead. “Don't waste the effort. If Tasha's outside of com range, there's nothing to do now but wait for the Op to show.”
The tech slowly approached him. “How can this be happening? You’re the Slaughter Man. Aren’t you?”
“Sure, that’s me, if you like the name. I don't really, but go ahead and have at it.”
“You killed the Princess of Ganymede?”
“No I didn't.”
“But you stopped her. You’re a hero. People like you don’t get the Quantum Flu.”
“As you can see, that ain’t true, and I’m not a hero. Don't deserve any of the credit. People just like stories.”
“The Princess caused the extinction of three prime intelligent species, all by herself, right? Just from her appetites?”
Dean grimaced at all the talking. “Dunno the stats. She isn't a good thing, person, creature… whatever. Good Christ my stomach is twisting.”
“I'm so scared,” the tech told him.
“Oh yeah,” Dean moaned, “and that would be why?”
“I'm going to lose my job if I let the Slaughter Man die.”
Dean smiled, despite himself, and closed his eyes.
It all seemed so clear in his recollection, so close to his heart, so near to his timeline. But it wasn’t. When he thought about that conversation he had with Sandra, it was more than two months ago now. He was sitting on his plaid sofa, an awkward-looking thing with lacquered wooden sticks for a frame and cushions as uncomfortable as they were unsightly. Nobody could say the sofa didn’t match the overall country-cabin type décor however.
Sandra, he could see her clearly in his memory, was sitting on the plaid recliner across from him. The wall behind her was a series of stacked logs like an old school cabin, but the huge window cut within them showcased the giant futuristic office lobby peopled with hundreds of Limbus, Incorporated employees walking around purposefully. Dean still wasn’t used to it completely, and he could tell neither was Sandra.
She drank the rest of her Fanglion Lager from her pilsner glass. She reached for the remainder of the bottle’s contents. Dean stared absently at the golden star on the label: Home star system brewed! Neptune Lagered! The bottle had made a condensation ring on his rustic coffee table, but he’d never been one to bother over coasters. Sandra, he knew, would take care of it later. Those types of things did bother her, but she could be patient in taking care of them. Patient, for a time.
She took careful time to pour the strong beer into the pilsner. She stopped at halfway, considered this, and then decided to polish off the bottle. That she drank beer instead of wine coolers had always impressed Dean. She didn’t mind drinking something harsher to discover what it could offer. He supposed, as a man, he was very much a complex tasting beer, definitely not a liqueur.
She drank half the glass and Dean snorted. When she looked at him critically, he studied his hands in awkward silence.
“I know it's a lot to take in,” he told her carefully. “So whatever you think is best, I have to go with.”
Taking another sip, Sandra narrowed her keen, brown eyebrows over the glass. When she lowered the glass, he knew she was pissed. Thoroughly. “That's big of you, Dean. You're giving me permission to call you an asshole.”
Dean grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing something would explode outside or someone would call for help, just to take him out of this moment. “Sandy, that's not exactly—”
Her hazel eyes flared. “No. That is what you’re saying. You are suggesting I go into Hyper Sleep—”
“No, I said stasis. Hyper Sleep cannot be legally interrupted by anyone. Stasis can be broken by friends or family.”
“I’m not a moron, Dean. I know that.”
“You’re making it sound like you’d be trapped though. They can pull you out whenever they need to, and I will pay for the duration. Whatever it is. Whatever you choose.”
“I know what stasis and Hyper Sleep are—”
“I didn’t say—”
“I don't care which is more expensive or what the civil rules of which are. I just know I'll be putting my life on hold for a very long time. For twelve years—”
“I only obligated myself to one Moon week. That’ll make the return trip eleven and a half years. It’s not twelve.”
She gave him a look then that could not be clearer: don’t push me any further than you are right now. Don’t.
“Sorry. Look, the Radiance Pathway is in position, so the transport to Moon City will only take a month. We can talk when I get there. It's not like you'll need to wait ten years to hear from me again. Take your time and decide what you want to do. You can even wait until I'm done with my assignment, that way it's perfectly timed. I wish I could take the same membrane pathway on the way back, but in that system, there are limited options for return. And they haven’t granted me Golden Transport.”
“I’m sure you fought them very hard on that too.”
“I did try,” Dean replied softly. “That’s outside their budget. Look, I insisted I go right away, so I could hop on the Radiance Pathway. If I went when they were asking it
, on a different pathway, it would be three times longer.”
“I love how you talk about this like you’re being so accommodating.”
“I’m trying my best.”
“Why do you have to do this?” she asked. She shook her head slowly, disgust palpable on her pretty face. “Moon City is not even in the Solar System. You are not the director there. Why are you going way the hell out there? Is there not plenty of bullshit for you handle here?”
He took a deep breath. “The Deitii are being murdered. You and I both know how important they are.”
“Given, but they have a contract mercenary out there tailing the Moon City Killer. Let him do the job and you can handle everything remotely. You aren't an assassin. Why the hell do you need to go and risk... everything?”
“There are political things that need sorting out,” said Dean, “and Limbus needs to establish a firmer hold on Moon City. I told you this already.”
“You aren't a politician either, darling. You're a director of operations and they don’t need you there. That’s it. That’s all.”
“You can have your mother wake you from stasis for all the holidays and birthdays. You don't have to miss anything major you aren’t willing to miss.”
“I’ll miss you, you big, dumb, stupid fucker.”
Dean leaned back on the couch and the wood flexed with annoying stridence. “Come on, Sandy.”
“Periodic visits with my mother. You haven’t even thought this through. This is Limbus Inc. we are talking about. Are you out of your mind? I'd have to get approval for her to know about this organization.”
“I worked as a sticker at the slaughterhouse not that very long ago, but I’m not a moron either, okay? I've already got the paperwork in hand to give your mother clearance. I figured she'd be the only one you could trust.”
“You're evading the real subject here, but I'll play along for a moment. Say I go with this and say good-bye to you, put my job on hold, and go into stasis. I drag my mother into this and tell her to wake me up every Thanksgiving. The rest of my family, including my step-father and my real father, have no clue where the hell I am for most of the time, for more than a decade. You expect my mother to keep that lie for me? I'll disappear off the face of this earth.”
Moon City Page 2
