After Moses: Wormwood

by Michael F Kane

  He was so relieved at the sight of the chop shop beneath that he nearly teared up. Before his very eyes, a cherry red car was being torn apart with ruthless efficiency by half a dozen men. He fumbled to get his camera out of his backpack and started snapping pictures. Surely this would be enough to get the police in here to clear them out. He smiled. He wasn’t going back to the Sparrow with his tail tucked between his legs after all.

  Headlights on the horizon grabbed his attention, and he instinctively flattened himself to the roof. A small motorcade, at least three cars and a truck on approach. Maybe they had another shipment going out? Or more likely a buyer coming to them, given the escort. He palmed the camera and crept over to the edge to watch what happened next.

  The vehicles were met at the gate by a contingent of armed guards. Davey was glad he’d gone for the roof after all. It was getting too crowded down at ground level with all the fresh faces. After a few minutes, the vehicles continued up to the main building. Light spilled onto the yard as a garage door beneath him opened. A long pair of shadows attached to two men emerged.

  Two of the cars opened up, and armed guards wearing business suits piled out. “White Void,” Davey whispered under his breath. No way they’d send this much firepower for car parts. They were here for grav plates. This was an arms deal. He took a few more pictures, careful to keep as low a profile as possible. Still, something about that appraisal bothered him. He’d been around enough syndicate goons to get a feel for the way they carried themself. There was something different here. A certain aura of authority that even the most organized criminals lacked.

  His theory would prove itself true or false soon enough. That center vehicle would have the white suit that signified the leader of every group from the syndicate. But when the door opened and only more men in black suits got out, Davey got worried. If they weren’t White Void, then who were these guys? A local mafia of some sort?

  A few members of each side met in the middle. Davey cursed that there was no way to hear what they were saying. He was missing something important. It was obvious an exchange was taking place when a forklift came out of the building with a steel container. Those would be the grav plates, maybe already removed from their housings. The lead man for the newcomers gave the other side a suitcase. They retreated a few steps and opened it up. They seemed pleased at the contents and rejoined the rest. Davey took even more pictures, hoping that he caught everything important. He wasn’t sure how well the faces would come out, given the lighting, but maybe the police would be able to get what they needed to track these people down.

  He was looking at his camera, trying to adjust the settings in the dark, when all hell broke loose. The newcomers opened fire in perfect unison, cutting down the chop shop crew. Davey flattened himself even further. The truck opened up and men with heavy weapons pointed at the building. He recognized a thumper.

  There was no time. He was a dead man if he didn’t move right now. He pushed himself away from the edge and scrambled to his feet right as the shockwaves began to tear apart the building beneath him. Somehow he ran, praying that the roof would hold long enough for him to—

  How would he get down?

  Didn’t matter. Nothing to do but run. The building groaned and shuddered as its structural supports were blasted to pieces. Part of the roof to his left gave way as a load bearing beam warped under the stress, ripping girders and concrete with it. He shifted to the right and put everything he had into running as his vacuum damaged lung screamed with the effort. All at once, he ran out of roof. In the fraction of a second available to him, he saw a tall line of shrubs along the rear fence.

  He jumped.

  It was half an eternity before he crashed into the thorny bushes. The branches tore at his skin and ripped through his clothes. His ears filled with horrible snapping noises as the plant gave way before him. And then it was still. But it wasn’t quiet. The building collapsed in a groan like thunder, and he was choked with the dust.

  But he was alive. Injured maybe, or even probably. He pulled himself out of the bush and was surprised when he still had a full meter to the ground. If the shrub row was that big, then the drop had been even further than he’d thought it was. There was still the occasional pop of gunfire, but it sounded like the suits were nearly done shutting the operation down. His camera lay nearby on the ground but didn’t appear to be damaged. Whether he’d dropped it mid-jump or sometime after the crash landing, he couldn’t tell. He palmed it as he limped toward a narrow gap in the fence.

  He hobbled as fast as he could across the open ground, looking for some sort of cover to hide in and figure out what to do next. When he pitched forward into a shallow ditch, he laid there unmoving, listening to the last of the fighting. He hoped Grace was okay. Probably stuck overnight at a police station. She’d be fine, though. She was a tough kid. And was going to have a better night than him. It would be hours before it would be safe for him to try and sneak to his bike. He closed his eyes and settled in for the long haul.

  THE NEXT MORNING HE collected a very irate Grace from a local police department. She cooled off the moment she saw how banged up he was. “We both got the short end on this job, didn’t we?” she said as they walked back into Vicente’s garage.

  He grumbled a little, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t get the men in suits out of his mind. What motive did they have to shut down the chop shop? They were obviously the buyers of the grav plates. Why would they shut off the supply? A suspicion had started to settle into his gut like a lead weight. They were covering their tracks. Whoever had been buying the grav plates had a reputation to keep.

  “Hey are you even listening to me?” Grace said.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just thinking. I need to call Matthew.”

  Matthew came to the same conclusion that he did. “They’re government men,” he said.

  “That was my theory too,” Davey said. “Which brings me to the next pair of problems. What happens if I take this to the police? They might throw the evidence away if it’s someone local. And do we still get paid if the carjackers got shut down through sheer chance.”

  “Hmm.” The comm line went silent for a minute. “As to getting paid, Mr. Luna and Benny will have to hash that out. It depends on the wording of the contract. And the evidence? Take it to the media. Find a couple of news agencies in town and give them copies. That way, no matter what happens, even if the locals are crooked, the truth will be published.”

  Davey nodded thoughtfully. That was good. He wasn’t sure he would have thought of that one. “Thanks, I’ll take care of it. This whole thing reeks. I hate conspiracies.”

  “You and me both,” Matthew said. “While we’re on the subject, will you send those pictures to someone else for me?”

  “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

  “You remember that comm number I told you to never call unless it was an emergency?”

  “You want me to send them to Whitaker?”

  “Ask if he can identify the suits. He’s got eyes everywhere, and we may as well put them to use. Just remember who you’re talking to and that he can’t be trusted. I’m going to have to cut this short. I’m getting a message from Benny. Stay in touch.”

  “I will. See you soon.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow. “So you’re really going to talk to Whitaker?”

  Davey shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” He placed the call and waited to see if it would connect or if he would be forced to leave a message. Honestly, he didn’t know if he was hoping for one or the other.

  “Well, well,” came the familiar voice. “How did the solo mission go, kiddo?”

  Davey frowned. Whitaker shouldn’t have known about them. Grace made a motion with her finger telling him to continue. Right. Don’t let him get under your skin. “Terrible, as always. The party got crashed by some unidentified government agents.”

  Whitaker chuckled. “I’m shocked. But as exciting as that sounds, I doubt you called p
urely for the social stimulation. Unless the apple has fallen a lot further from the tree than I realized.”

  “Umm... right.” He wasn’t really sure what to follow that up with, so he started over. “I’m going to send you a couple pictures. Do you think you can try to identify any of their faces for me?”

  “It can’t hurt for me to take a look.”

  Davey looked at Grace as she fiddled with the tablet for a moment and then nodded.

  “Okay they’re coming in now. Let’s see.” Whitaker went silent for a minute. “You know I thought you were sending me a puzzle I’d get to work on for a few days. I’m a little disappointed. Upfront, that’s Damon Stein. He works for Arizona’s Department of Defense on loan from the Office of Colonial Intelligence. He’s been a busy man these last few months running errands for his boss, the minister.”

  ‘Wait, hold on,” Davey said. “You’re telling me that Arizona has been buying black-market grav plates?”

  “No that’s what you just told me,” Whitaker said. “But it tracks with current events. I’ve been wondering how they were able to afford all the grav plates that the Phobos Platform needed for its weapons array. And now that it’s time to announce it to the public, they’re closing loose ends. Fascinating.”

  Davey and Grace had only half kept an ear to the news this week, but like everyone else, they’d been trying to keep up with information about the Phobos Platform.

  “Oh, and kids,” Whitaker said in his most patronizing voice. “I would think twice before you show those pictures to anyone else. You don’t want to end up a loose end yourself.”

  And with that, he was gone. Davey met Grace’s eyes. She was thinking the same thing he was. Why did this kind of thing always happen to them?

  Chapter 7: Heartbeat

  Give it a few decades and everyone’s memory gets hazy. It’s been what, twenty years? And everyone has already forgotten that for most of us life hasn’t even changed all that much. It’s not like Moses had this great influence over everything. Not in our daily lives anyway. Certainly not in mine.

  Sure, you no longer saw one of his frigates pull into orbit when he had some big project or another. It was something you’d look up and go, “Oh I guess something fancy is being built,” and go on with your life.

  When he left, things just kept on turning, at least here on Mars. I don’t speak for Earth. I guess it’s rough that Moses left some things undone. Would have been nice if he’d have gotten the air breathable, so we didn’t have to live under shields, but what are we going to do about it?

  Go cry about it and write a few more fancy philosophy books. Shouldn’t have left the keys to a damn AI, huh? Lesson learned too late. Glad I’ll be long gone before it actually does turn into a mess. And good riddance.

  Franklin Harvey

  Construction Foreman

  Died 32 AM

  “I’M GOING TO HAVE TO cut this short,” Matthew said as the console pinged a notification. “I’m getting a message from Benny. Stay in touch.”

  “I will. See you soon,” Davey said.

  Matthew pulled up the message on the main monitor. Considering they were both on Mars it was unusual for Benny to send a message instead of just calling.

  Someone is trying to kill me. Please help.

  Davey and Grace’s drama was erased from his mind in the space of a heartbeat. The two short sentences were followed by an address in Flagstaff. Hopefully, whoever was after Benny wasn’t in a hurry because it would take thirty minutes to get there. He sent a reply consisting only of the words ‘On my way’ and jumped to his feet. Yvonne barely had time to leap out of the way as he ran out of the cockpit to his cabin.

  “Watch where you’re going,” she said. “Normally it’s the kids I have to chide for running around like they’ve lost their minds. And sometimes Abigail.”

  “Benny’s in trouble,” he shouted as his door opened. He put on his holster and loaded his revolver before grabbing a handful of speedloaders and slipping them into the pockets beneath his poncho. If this could have waited another hour, Abigail would be off the train, and he’d feel a lot better about going into an unknown situation. But no, Benny just had to get into trouble when he had no backup, not even Grace or Davey.

  He opened the door to his cabin and nearly ran into Yvonne a second time. “I’m coming too,” she said.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to find,” he said. “Not a good idea.”

  “And if he’s been hurt, you’ll wish I was there.”

  “How about you wait here and send Abigail my way as soon as she gets back.”

  “Or we can leave her a message, and I can be there just in case.”

  It wasn’t the time to have an argument. “Fine. If it gets dangerous, you’re staying out of the way.”

  “Obviously.”

  Matthew ran down to the hangar to prep his bike. By the time he had pulled it out and onto the lift, Yvonne was working her way down the ladder.

  “I tried calling Abigail,” she said, “but she didn’t answer. I left her a comm message and a note upstairs.”

  “Hopefully this is nothing.”

  They mounted the bike as Matthew hit the control to lower the lift. “Have you ever met Benny in person?” she asked.

  “I’ve not even seen a photo of him. He likes his privacy. Standard policy with most brokers from what I can tell, especially the ones that handle shady jobs. The less likely a job can be traced back to them, the safer they are. But that gets harder when you have a high-profile client.” He scratched the back of his head. That was the thought that had been nagging at him. The one that stabbed him with guilt. Benny was a decent enough guy. He didn’t deserve to have his life ruined just because one of his freelancers meddled with the powers that ran the solar system.

  “You don’t know that this is your fault,” Yvonne said from behind him.

  He didn’t reply. The lift bottomed out and he flared the engines and took off down the lane between the fields. When he hit the road in front of the farmhouse, he opened up the throttle. Yvonne was wrong. It was his fault. He could feel it in his bones.

  THE ADDRESS WAS A TWO-story apartment building on the rough side of Flagstaff.

  “You’d think he’d live somewhere with a few less roaches,” Yvonne said, giving the building a critical eye. Given that Matthew struggled with finances, she wasn’t surprised to learn that his broker wasn’t exactly wealthy, but this fell short of even her most conservative expectations.

  “This is the address he gave.” He dismounted from the bike and she accepted his offered hand. Bikes always left her sore. Why couldn’t they have a nice small utility vehicle for the whole crew to use? “I’m going to call him.” He dug out his comm and waited for a moment. No answer. “Well, that’s not helpful. We don’t know which—” The comm buzzed as a message came in. Matthew frowned at its screen. “Unit Twenty-Six.”

  “Second floor it is,” Yvonne said. “Lead the way.”

  Matthew nodded and his hand briefly wandered to his holster before he seemed to decide against it. He locked down the bike and they took the sidewalk to the front entrance. The building was in terrible disrepair. At the very least, it needed a thorough power washing to scrub the years of grime off the concrete faces. Matthew opened the front door and stepped into the foyer, glancing down the hallways before heading for the staircase.

  Yvonne stayed close. She wished that Benny had told them more about what they were walking into. If there was an immediate danger, she assumed he would have warned them, but it was still enough to disquiet her mind with a low buzz of anxiety. They reached the second story, and Matthew took off down the hall. To Yvonne’s relief, it was empty, unsurprising considering it was the middle of the day.

  “Unit Twenty-Six,” Matthew repeated as he reached the door. He lifted a hand to knock but hesitated.

  “What are you waiting for?” Yvonne hissed.

  He banged on the door. Almost at once, it cracked open and the face
of a long-haired teenage boy peeked out. Yvonne frowned. She wouldn’t have guessed that Benny had kids from what she knew of him. And if he was in danger, what was he doing letting a kid answer the door?

  “I’m looking for Benny?” Matthew said.

  The kid stepped back with downcast eyes and gestured for them to enter. They cautiously entered the apartment. The kid locked the door and then stepped past them down the entryway into the cramped living room. “Mom! They’re here.”

  Yvonne’s eyes took in the room at a glance. While it was clean and neat, the owners were clearly impoverished. The furniture, consisting of only two recliners, had clearly traded hands many times, if its threadbare condition was any evidence. The walls were bare of adornment. A single computer with an ancient monitor was shoved into a small wall nook. An attached kitchen was equally spartan, with only a tiny table and two folding chairs. Two chairs. That meant that Benny was—

  A tired-looking woman with a small oxygen compressor at her hip entered the room. Matthew extended a hand and took off his hat. “I’m Matthew Cole, ma’am. I’m looking for Benny.”

  She smiled. “It’s good to finally meet you, Mr. Cole. I’m Candace Greene, and Benny is my son.”

  Okay, Benny wasn’t the woman. Benny was the kid. Yvonne nearly laughed aloud.

  The teen shoved both his hands in his pockets and blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Yeah, it’s me. Get it over with. Go ahead and laugh.”