When the water reached my waist, I began punching the wall, leaving bloody fist prints against the cold, gray moon rock. In moments, the water reached my chest. I punched the wall in a feebler attempt, but the water current drifted me back.
Then all those salty bubbles broke at my chin.
Next, my head bobbed underwater. I swam to the surface for a little air. I went back under for a moment, but when I tried to surface for air a second time, there was no space left; my oxygen-hungry lips kissed the rock ceiling and found nothing. I searched frantically, the brine burning my eyes. There was nothing to save me in the murky darkness. I was alone with the pressure of the water squeezing my body and the massive crackling sound of rock above, below, and surrounding me. The cracking turned into a bass moaning, like some mythical death whale coming to see me to an underwater grave. The moaning gave way to a high-pitched whine that ended in a tremendous roar. An unseen force tugged my body down and pulled it through a jagged opening. Rock knives sliced through the right side of my torso, but I paid them little mind as the world went from endless water to unlimited air.
I was poured onto a catwalk outside the chamber. Brine water blasted out and rushed from the hole I’d started and the water pressure finished. The new area of the desalination plant bridged across an abyss. I couldn’t hear the waterfall splashing below, so it was indeed a long drop. I rolled away from the torrent, coughing and heaving for air. With considerable effort, I crawled a few feet and reached out for the catwalk railing to haul myself up.
Something caught my eye. I moved a wet shock of hair from my eyes. Below me, on another catwalk, stood the mercenary, a cellular phone to his ear. It was greatly difficult to bring back my incredible new sight, but with concentration I brought him closer into focus and heard the words emerging from his mouth.
“I would have saved the indigenous had I found the subject earlier... I’ll get his name, you putz, after I fish his body outta that brine chamber. I don’t want Limbus involved in an autopsy. The data should be mine. They wanted the Moon City Killer dead… piss off, you’re a hundred galaxies away. Speaking of, I’d like to share the data with you. Only you. I’ll finish the autopsy later today and then I have a meeting with some Grettish Friars… well, I live dangerously, what can I say? So let's talk about getting that membrane transport configured so I can get off this moon and to you...
“No, I think Fulsome should be coming into the transport station any moment now. Yes. And they aren’t giving me Golden protocol for transport. No shit that sucks, but I’ll talk to the Grettish and see if they have a nearby wormship that will secure passage. Well, yeah… after you and I meet, I’d like to get back to Earth before the next thirty years rolls on. I’ll just have to pay the Grettish well. I’ve done it before.”
I crept down the catwalk, mindful of my every step. The mercenary’s voice boomed in my ears as I drew closer. I stole a glance down the hall and noticed a dark gray conduit running down the ceiling. It had yellow stenciling on the side that read MAG-COIL LINE - BNO4EV. Interesting, I thought. Definitely going to use that.
“Whatever, man,” the mercenary continued. “That's your stance, no matter what reality you’re in this time. Keep your opinions to yourself... No, I'm not being an asshole—you are the asshole. Yeah, I'll be at Mom's birthday party if I get that Grettish airline ticket. Rub it in, you dipshit. Okay. Bye.”
The mercenary put away his phone, grimacing, and held his wounded hand. He took a couple careful looks around and started to move down the hall. My excitement got my heart racing along with his.
The mercenary froze and then spun around, gun in hand. I watched him through the wall I hid behind. He’d somehow detected me. He swayed back and forth, uncertain of my whereabouts. “Come out and we can talk.”
I laughed. “That's some funny shit right there.”
“Fine. It's going to be a fight, so just bring the fight.”
“I'm glad you've decided you're in control,” I said, “but in this universe of puppets and puppet mastery, you are tangled in your own strings.”
The mercenary now had my location and he walked softly toward me, gun raised. “Please show me that pretty forehead of yours so I can split it for you.”
“You should try it,” I whispered.
“No more talking,” the mercenary replied.
“You can hear the heartbeats of an entire planet if you concentrate—an old man fifty miles away having a heart attack feels like a delicious war in your brain.”
The mercenary cocked his gun. “I said shut the hell up, freak!”
“Oh, but you know I'm not a freak.”
The mercenary looked frightened for the first time. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and upper lip. His gun shook in his hands.
I calmed myself. “Sorry... But you really should try it.”
“Try what?”
“The cerebral spinal fluid from the Deitii.”
He edged closer, licking his lips. “I think I'll pass.”
“It feels like experiencing your own birth, not just as a child, but as the child and the mother simultaneously. Every important thing that connects the empty stretches of the cosmos suddenly makes sense. It's all stitched together in a way both beautiful and fulfilling. For once, you don't feel at the mercy of the world, the galaxy, the universe, anything.”
“Sounds like any powerful drug.”
My laugh was a sad one. “I've tried those. It's not. It's the difference between being mortal and immortal, and you should know by now that I'll never get over it. I'll never give it up. It isn't addiction. It's a realization.”
“It's murder. And you will die.”
I smiled. “No, my mercenary friend. It is you who will die. And every other person who replaces you. I'm not stopping here. I'm going to keep eating. I'm going to keep growing. I'm going to take control. Of your friends, of your family, of everyone and everything, everywhere.”
“Not with a bullet in your head. You ain't no god.”
“I'm learning as I go,” I told him.
I took aim at a black box connected to the conduit line and fired. Immediately, the grappling hook system on the mercenary’s back pulled upward, attracted to the exposed magnetic coil. The man was yanked off the ground and pinned to the conduit. His gun fell to the floor.
I drifted into the hall and kicked his gun into a dark corner. The mercenary struggled to free himself, but the straps for his grappling hook system were stuck between his body and the conduit. He couldn’t have been more trapped if I’d planned it ahead of time.
“This must be so embarrassing for you,” I said. “I will say that it was fun meeting you. And I’ll grant you this, you didn't make it easy. You must have seen a thing or two in your day.”
“Go to hell!”
“By the way, who do you work for?” I asked. “Tell me and I won't drag this out. I should really get back to that Deitii.”
“You do whatever,” he said through his clenched teeth.
“Is that so? I've got enough to figure it out already, but if you save me the effort, it'll save you pain.”
“You... Do... Whatever.”
“Whatever?” I pulled out my serrated bone knife from my interior pocket. It dripped wet with brine, but the rawhide lace-wrapped handle still provided a solid grip. “This knife is made from a composite of crocoshark fangs and devil stone, or I guess it’d be stuck up there right alongside you. Fortunately for me.”
I wearily looked him over a moment, knowing he wouldn’t break, but I wasn’t in the mood for another evisceration.
“Hate for our little chase to come to this. Innards spilling out, always a big yucky. It gives me the willies. But whatever—”
I lifted the point of the knife to his belly.
“Wait!” he cried out.
I smiled. “Oh yes, deary, what is it?”
“So you're no longer interested in who I work for?”
“That'll take care of itself. Once your people come to co
llect your body, I'll know.”
“You don't know my people very well.”
“But I know you and your type,” I said. “You won't tell me, even when your organs are pouring out the large hole I make in you. I can't decide if I like that type of loyalty or honor. It seems kind of, I don't know, wasted on a bunch of invisible people not standing around to give a shit.”
I raised the knife again.
“But I give a shit,” said the mercenary and he thumbed something off his belt. It was small and spherical, off a loop.
I watched as the grenade fell to the floor and rolled over to the wall.
“Goddamn it!” I yelled and sprinted down the hall. An explosion of smoke and electricity surged around me. Flames burst forward and caught my coat on fire. I wailed in surprise at the stinging pain and pulled the coat over my head. I lost balance and crashed to the ground, luckily, as a giant wave of fire roared overhead. I twisted around and pulled it off. As flames overtook the coat, arcs of electricity raced through them.
Electrodischarge incendiary... Smart, that one.
I peered down the hall, full of fire and smoke and running fingers of blue electricity. “But he’s blown to bits, none the less.”
I strolled through the debris. The beams overhead had split and rolled with smoke. After navigating some of the fiery chunks of metal and rock, I spotted something on the ground. Lowering down on my haunches, I took it up and had a gander. It was a business card.
LIMBUS, INC.
ARE YOU LAID OFF, DOWNSIZED, UNDERSIZED?
CALL US. WE EMPLOY.
I smiled. “That's fantastic. Well, Limbus, I am out of work, after all.”
A rustling sound came from far down the hallway. I perked up and raised my knife, grinning so hard my teeth hurt. “You still with us after all, my dear mercenary friend?”
I walked down the hall to investigate, but found no other traces of the man. I knew he’d escaped. Otherwise, the smell of his blood would be intense in my nostrils.
I needed to return to my kill though. I guess I’d have to pay him another visit. Him and any other Limbus employees. Wonderful. I looked forward, very much, to that.
Chapter 4
Dean opened his eyes. They stuck together for a moment, causing him some panic; he flinched and rocked around. A distant voice told him to remain calm, but he didn’t know if the voice belonged to another person or if his subconscious had decided to lecture him. He lifted his hand, which seemed to weigh fifty pounds, and brought it to his face to scrub away the film and crud that had collected at the side of his eyes. A bitter ball of mucus clung to the back of his throat, tasting of blood but possessing the texture of a raw egg. He tried to clear it but it was holding on back there. Lovely.
His presence of mind returned to him and the membrane transport room in the Moon City station took shape once more. At first, he thought perhaps the tech had saved him from the Quantum Flu, but as he tried to move, he realized the grip of the illnesses still held firm. He’d only awoken because he’d gained enough strength to endure the pain again, but passing out once more was definitely in his future.
“How long… was I out?”
“Two hours.” The tech checked his screen with dread. “Still not out of the woods, but I’m glad you’re awake.”
As though to purposely disappoint the kid, Dean passed out again. He wasn’t sure how long he was out this second time around, but when his eyes slid open again, the tech hovered over him.
“Thank God,” he whispered. “If I let the Slaughter Man die, I think I’d become famous for all the wrong reasons.”
Dean’s voice was a hoarse croak. “Kid, you're fine. You didn't do anything wrong. Just keep it together. It'll be fine. We just have to wait for that butthead Crimson Op to show.”
“Wait no longer. The butthead has arrived.”
Widening his eyes, Dean tried to focus on the man walking down the side corridor to the transport room. Well-muscled and tall, the man’s clothing was torn and burnt in places and he had several alarming wounds on his right shoulder and mid-torso.
“Good shit, Ricky Agate,” said Dean. “You’ve got to look worse than I do.”
The mercenary staggered forward. “Really? I must look incredibly fucked up because I've seen the bottom of outhouses that look better than you.”
Dean coughed for a moment and then sniffed some blood back into his sinus. “Still hanging at the bottom of shithouses, huh? I thought people were supposed to leave the anal stage at some point during childhood. Maybe you should look into that in your weekly sessions.”
Rick crashed into the transport console and rudely pushed the tech away. “I did consider that once, truth be told, but your mom likes the anal stage.”
Dean shut his eyes to rest them. “If I wasn't dying right now, I'd have a comeback for that.”
“You ain't dying, Slaughter Man. Shit, I nearly got blown into a million pieces an hour ago by a man high on Deitii spinal fluid. You? You're solid. Quit bitching.”
“Yes, master.”
“Good, you’re catching on.”
Dean’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Is it possible I'm hungry and still dying?”
“Knock it off.” Rick’s fingers continued to fly over the keyboard. “I’m not feeling sorry for the likes of you. I’ll introduce you to some Moon City cuisine when this is done.”
“I feel like I haven't eaten in a very long time. It's even bad for membrane transport. What time of day is it?”
“Thirty-six a.m.”
“Oh man,” said the tech. “No wonder you're hungry. It's almost time for tri-breakfast.”
Dean shook his head. “Thirty-six a.m? Not hearing you right.”
“No, you are. Orbital period around the gas giant here is eighty-four hours long. Noontime is forty-two o'clock p.m. Welcome to Moon City.”
With a wince, Dean tried to sit up. Wasn’t happening. “Shit, I should have read the briefing closer.”
“Don't worry. We'll get you a bottle of some Constalife pills, and you'll be able to deal with the long days. It'll adjust your circadian rhythm, change your cardiac frequency and increase brain function longevity. It's good shit.”
“Doesn't sound as good as tri-breakfast.” Dean glanced at the tech, who grinned despite everything else.
“I know what you mean. I skipped bi-breakfast completely today,” said the tech.
“And somewhere a hobbit died.” Dean tried to laugh but it hurt.
“Shut up, you two,” said Rick. “You're making me crazy. I have to concentrate. Half my body feels like it's been in a toaster set on inferno.”
Something inside Dean’s head broke then and shards of slicing pain jabbed down his spine. He let out a wail as a wetness spilled from his ears and nose. The blood smell was inescapable. He wiped some away and regarded the scarlet rivers threading around his deathly white hand. Sparkles lit through them, stars burning hotter, consuming all…
“Damn it! Hold on, Dean!” shouted Rick, and he pounded on the keyboard furiously. “I almost got connected with your DNA signatures and where they were halted. Who in the hell did this to you? Piece of patchgate crap!”
The tech floated above Dean like a bewildered ghost. “He's not doing so well.”
Dean couldn’t turn his head to Rick, but he still heard the keyboard going and the mercenary’s rough retort, “Thanks for the update, you cockeyed platypus. Like I really need shit from you right now.”
The tech looked over in hurt disbelief, and suddenly, Rick let out a triumphant shout. “Holy hot damn! I got through the cross-code. Dean, man, somebody really wanted you dead.”
Dean still held his hand out before him. The sparkling pinpoints of light in his blood faded and wisps of steam escaped from under his fingernails and the corners of his eyes. He took a deep, wet breath of air as his muscles tightened from his neck to his midsection to his ankles. A sense of renewed energy coursed through him now that he wasn’t under the influence of dimensional arrest
. He struggled to rise.
“Don't get up yet,” cautioned the tech.
“I'm good,” he replied.
Rick walked down the short flight of steps and stood before him. “Oh yeah. Good as muddy holy water.”
Dean flipped him off. The gesture tired him more than he expected though, and his hands dropped to his chest.
“Why not go get something to clean him up?” Rick told the tech. “Since you're just sticking around like corn in a turd.”
The tech huffed, but made no comment and hurried off. Dean chuckled. “You're pretty hard on the kid.”
“Hey, screw that kid.” Rick took one knee, a playful grin on his face. It belied his injuries and his general ghastly appearance.
“What's up with that?”
“No reason,” Rick replied. “Just feel like being a jerk today.”
“One of those days?”
“Happens every time I almost blow myself up with one of my own grenades. I’m trying to work through my issues.”
“Well, I wouldn't know anything about that, just got a Quantum Flu.”
“Yep. You're a wuss.”
Dean pushed up on one arm. “So tell me about the Moon City Killer. He's the one you ran into today I take it.”
“All business. Love that about you. My brother and you would be great friends.”
“He's a better contract mercenary than you.”
Rick made a face like he might laugh or punch Dean in the nose. “If you weren’t right, I’d regret disabling that virus on you. Yeah he’s a putz, but he’s the best. So I gotta be nice.”
“But you're the greatest man you've ever had the pleasure to know.”
Rick turned even more serious. “It's been going on for almost five Moon months now. The Deitii have lost around twenty of their children. It's never the adults, just the children. And they have a limited number of those, you know, since they don't mature for hundreds of years and most Deitii I’ve met are thousands of years old. I’ve been reading like crazy since I got here. Fascinating stuff.”
Moon City Page 4
