by Richard Gohl
“Thank you so much. You won’t be sorry!” said Madi again. Bes turned, giving her a wide-eyed glance as if to say, “You’re over-acting!” The Napeans had almost completely lost the ability to read faces and body language. Their use of ETP had over-ridden this skill. Glances shared between Madi and Bes went wholly unnoticed.
The guards spoke to each other in silence, looking intently at one another as they walked. Their heads moved slowly from side to side as each responded to the other. Several times they shared a look at the women and then back to each other.
The streets were deserted except for a few people striding home late for dinner. In the real world people tended to share accommodation, so dug-out houses were large and could be extended where necessary. Communal living was safer and more economical. There was no “Service” to help the unfortunate; people subsisted and banded together to share the burden of living.
It was already dark. Some of the streetlights were flickering on. “This is a bonus for us!” said Madi. “We lose two morons and gain Napean gods!”
“Hey, we’ll do our best,” said the guards. They both laughed slow, dry chuckles. “Let me go in first. Give me two minutes; I’ll pacify them,” said Bes.
She went in, shut the door, and made sure the two guns were stashed—one on each side of the mattress. A minute later she emerged onto the street and said, breathless, “I can’t believe it! They’re not here.”
“Probably gone out to get more alcohol,” said Madi. “They’ve left all their things there, so…”
“They’ll be back,” said Madi. “You’ll still help us?”
“We can wait a while,” said one guard.
“We can,” said the other, nodding.
They entered the house and walked down to a large common room. There was evidence of prolonged revelry. Empty bottles, food scraps, over-flowing ashtrays.
“These guys are killing us! We can’t go on living like this!” whined Madi. The guards were completely entranced.
“What do we do?” Bes, a distressed damsel, never used this tone of voice, but she was quite enjoying it.
“Have they been abusing you… in any way?” said a guard to Bes. His eyes didn’t seem to connect. He looked at her but it was if she were talking to a reptile or a bird—the small black eye observed her objectively like one species studying another through a pane of glass.
“We’ve had some of that, yes.” Bes turned on the tears.
Madi put her arm round her friend, wincing at the guards. They remained impassive. She tried the direct approach: “Why don’t we grab a drink and retire to the secure room? That way, when they come back, you guys get the surprise element.”
“Let’s do that.” The guards almost talked in unison.
As Bes closed the door to the bedroom, one of the guards said, “Blow us first, hey girls?” The two women exchanged a glance.
“That old famous Napean charm.” Madi was in her element. She liked to play rough. “Sure,” she said. “Lie down…”
“You kneel here,” he said, gesturing with both hands down in front of him.
“I don’t kneel for anyone—on the bed, He-Man!” Madi gave him a gentle shove and the Napean did as he was told—boots, jacket, gun, and all. Then she knelt down, unfastening his belt with one hand and squeezing her other between the mattress and the base, wrapping it around the gun.
Bes had moved her guard next to the mattress where the gun was hidden. It was all a bit shaky for her. As she knelt down in front of him and began unclipping and removing involved layers of uniform, his trousers loosened and the bolt pistol came loose.
“I’ll take that,” he said, his eyes widening.
But then, the two Napean guards didn’t know what had hit them. With shirts off, pants around their ankles, and in a dream world, the girls used the handguns at close range.
Madi’s gun went off first. One shot in the heart and her lover was no more. As Bes’s guard span around in horror, she slammed him down onto the bed. The one hundred and eight-year-old Napean looked puzzled as he watched the semi-naked woman put three holes in his chest. Their lights went out all too easily. The mattress was ruined.
To the girls’ surprise, the guards bled a pinkish white oil. It just kind of oozed out all over the place, slow and viscous. They had alert buttons on the front of their belts—belts that had hit the ground only moments before they had.
“We only need one but we might as well take both,” said Bes. “Do we know which one?”
“Always the right eye,” said Madi.
“Should we just take both, left and right, to be safe?”
“I’m telling you, it’s the right. You should be able to see it—a green–blue tinge across the eye.” Madi stretched the upper eyelid back to show her.
“Oh, yuck!” said Bes. She gave a disgusted giggle. “God, I hope he’s dead.” Then she added, thoughtfully, “You know they’re not bad-looking, really.”
“Yeah. They say they’re all different.”
“Mmmm. I can’t see it personally.”
“No. All look the same to me. How creepy’s their skin? So pale… and the veins…” With the flat part of her index finger, Bes pushed the vein on the top of her guard’s hand.
“I know. Gross. Heaps of veins! Grey and black,” said Madi. “Has yours got them too?”
“Yeah! Look. Arms. Torso. They’re all over,” said Madi. “Ew.”
The two women realized that the next part of the job was about to begin.
“Do we have to do this?” Bes had always known that she was cute enough to get away with a certain amount of complaining. This was not Madi’s approach.
“Said we would. We get the eyes—they take over from there. Fun and games. Okay, let’s do it.”
“What here?” asked Bes.
“Yep. We’ll deal with the mess after.”
“You go first.”
“Okay. Knife.” Madi cut, extending the slits on the guard’s right eye. “Spoon.”
“How ’bout a fork? Looks tasty in there.”
“Shut up, Miss Queasy, or you’ll be tasting it,” said Madi, glancing quickly up at Bes, who was standing well back. Madi levered the eyeball up on one side with the spoon and then cut the through the muscle strands and nerves behind it. After repeating this on the other side of the eyeball, she gouged the spoon in and pulled the eye out.
“Ohhh, noo,” said Bes, throwing her head back and to the side. “Okay. Your turn.”
“Can you do it?”
“Don’t be a wimp,” said Madi. She looked at Bes, whose hands and wrists were all curled up against her chest. Madi exhaled heavily. “Okay, give me the knife…” Bes handed her the thin blade.
“Thanks,” she said purposefully. The whole thing was over in a minute.
Chapter 16
Anxiety Bug
A FEELING OF constant panic, a state of breathlessness, a sensation that a great calamity was about to happen, and a fear of fear. It was a chemical, a hormone in us all, a gland over-stimulated, secreting eight droplets over so many hours. It was enough to turn Mia’s frail body in on itself. She scratched, tore, pulled her hair, and bit herself, and in the end she was a poor, cornered wild creature. Utterly exhausted, like over seven thousand other Napeans, mainly women, she died.
The anxiety bug had been designed in the underworld and unleashed on the Napeans while they were using ETP. For those Subs consumed with ending Napean dominance, this was a victory.
ETP was shut down in Napea and when the war-like element in their community were convinced of the origins of their misfortune, a gas not unlike those used in World War I, was pumped through a dozen skylights, deep into the underground streets of the real world. The results were catastrophic.
Shane and Mia’s secret had been difficult to keep, but the last year had been such a happy one for them both. Now that she was gone, Shane didn’t know what he was going to do. An eighteen-month-old boy and his job were about to get very demanding. Thank God
for Robbie.
That same day, Shane noticed one of his Service Commanders, Jeffery, trying to reach him through ETP. He engaged.
Jeffery: Commiserations Wing. I figured that if anyone on the guard would be itching to find the culprits, it’d be you. It may not say this is in the “one mind” guidebook for modern Napeans.
Jeffery was highly amused with his own joke but managed to continue his thought:
Revenge can be a good starting place for the healing process.
Shane made no reply—which was lucky. Jeffery wasn’t interested in dialogue.
Wing, you’ve been a loyal and steadfast captain—Magellan informs me and records show that you’ve personally cleaned up, what? Over seventy escapes in Napea? Subs, kamikazes, nutjobs. I know it’s a tough time, but I’m giving this assignment to you. We traced the source of the virus and it was local. We even know the launch machine. It’s some kind of Napean Octo-processor from the twenties with enhancements stolen in the last ten years. Find that signal, and you find the perpetrator.
Shane: Local? My jurisdiction?
Jeffery: They used a T-dock near the Stirling gate—launched the virus from there. So technically, no, but Magellan and Pato both agree that you’re the man for the job. Only our Napean population was affected. What do you say?
Emotion started to well up as Mia appeared in his mind. But his passions had cost him parts of his body—on more than one occasion. Quickly he compartmentalized her to another part of his brain.
A born salesman, Jeffery sensed Shane’s reticence and pushed harder: We know the author, Wez Carter, who works with someone called Alia—and others, who all seem to be female.
Shane: How do you know?
Jeffery: View file 707 BR—contact me as soon as possible.
Jeffery liked to think that he managed individuals like Shane rather well. Push aggressively, and then back away. Leave the ball in their court.
Chapter 17
Single Again
THE ANXIETY BUG left Shane without his wife and Ryan without his new mum. The baby had been a strange creature but one that he had grown to wholeheartedly adore. In the early days, it had seemed like a mistake because it was impossible to please the little fellow. He’d cry for hours, as if he had known they weren’t his parents. Ironically, after seeking suicide for so long, Mia began to fear death—the penalty for having a child. Shane knew the punishment better than anyone; he’d sent a few that way himself. But it had all been about Mia—Mia’s depression, Mia’s boredom, Mia’s need to feel complete. To nurture seemed to be the key. So he got the baby for her.
Now she was gone.
It had been a long time since he’d had to deal with a personal crisis. Forty-odd years in fact. This wasn’t meant to happen.
Eternity without Mia had not been an option. But now eternity had a whole new meaning. Man and small man grew close like flesh and blood.
There was sleeplessness, temper tantrums, and crying. And that was just Shane. But the
baby cried for his mother. Robbie always seemed to know what to do. Most of the time the baby wanted to be fed, sleep, or be held.
Obviously no one knew he had a baby. No one he knew could advise him on the topic, and no one could help when something went wrong. He was well and truly on his own.
Things sailed along quite well for a time, and then Ryan started crying and crying a lot. It wasn’t any of the usual things. A nightmarish few days passed before Shane realized that the baby’s teeth were coming through. But what to do? He gave him a mild dose of painkiller, which worked instantly. The child slept. But when he woke up again, he started screaming. None of the usual things seemed to work. Shane had a look at the gums. It was a horror show; they were all red. And the tears continued. Shane put his finger on one of the teeth that was showing through. Ryan chomped on the finger, locked on, and started gnawing, silently.
Shane did some research: history, baby humans, remedies.
Shane was pleased to find that there was a plant—a seed—which, when ground up, could stop a baby’s gums from hurting. To his list of black-market desirables, Shane added cloves and olive oil.
Shane found that despite his heavy security workload, he liked caring for the baby, putting the baby to sleep. He knew the kid needed him. When he was out, Robbie fed the little boy, read him stories, and played with him.
Shane managed, hunted, and, where necessary, dispatched Subterraneans by day and rushed home to Ryan in the afternoon. A usual day at work meant monitoring subs: scan in, transport to appropriate sector, perform appropriate task, scan, transport back to exit point, scan out, supervise exit.
A less usual day might involve an escape. Subs were often developing new forms of technology to thwart I.D. and other detection systems. They often worked.
For Subs, the system of subcutaneous identification was compulsory. No SCID tag; no entry. But as the Napeans had developed ID systems, the real people had developed ways around it. Napeans wishing to see more of the city than allowed, or those simply wishing an overnight stay, could have a friend take their SCID tag out with them and return it the next day. There were any number of places—scar pockets—where a tag may be inserted. Some workers had these pieces of metal in and out of the skin like jewelry.
Although it was illegal, Shane allowed a certain level of trade to exist between the Napeans and the Subs. To his mind this was always going to happen, so he figured that he’d allow it while controlling it, and maybe even occasionally scoring a win from it here or there. As Captain he could choose to observe you or look the other way.
Although Subs had a unique look, it was still possible for them to disappear into a Napean crowd. It had long been a problem for Shane: Subs who could masquerade as Napeans. Napean males were identical; Napean females were identical. However, within this framework of genetic sameness there were hundreds of ways Napeans could distinguish themselves through body augmentation to create individuality. It was easy for Subs to use these same methods of differentiation to disguise themselves to fit in.
There was often more going on in Shane’s regular day than he let on to his Service managers.
As long as there was no serious threat to Telesync, the Service was happy. If they could not process the planetary data necessary to find a suitable settlement location, then they would surely burn up on Earth. Resources were limited. Clean water was limited. Time was limited. How long would the sun continue burning benevolently? Another flare was predicted.
Today Shane watched Subs filing in from the Belair gate tower. He saw a man, unusually rotund for a real person. He zoomed in, and the face was familiar. He communicated with a guard below.
Shane: Troy, check 402.
Guard: What’s up?
Shane: Well, have a look at him—don’t think any real person’s that obese, are they?
Troy stopped “402.”
“Oi, fatty! Hold it there!” Shane could see and hear everything from his post. There was no need for harassment.
Shane: Troy! Have some tact. If he’s that large, get rid of him. Send him back. He’s a liability.
Shane heard Troy say, “I don’t believe this. Concealed stomach extension.” Some yelling—and a scuffle broke out. Shane heard Troy’s aggravated voice:
“Whatcha hiding in there, eh? ... Unbelievable!”
The man begged: “Please! This child has no parents! She’ll have no life down there.”
“Are you serious?” Troy was genuinely incredulous. He was a man who believed in the
Rules, following procedures, and punishing those who didn’t excited him. He unleashed his scorn on the rule breaker: “Aside from the fact that you’re in breach of a number of important laws, do you have any idea what having children means to the greater survival of all people? You and the child will go to the life center. You have eleven days.” The guard was intensely passionless.
Shane interrupted the proceedings from the tower: Troy? Troy: Captain?
Shane: Great work, b
ut send them up first. I need some info on this.
The four made their way up to Shane’s office. The sub walked in front, followed by a guard holding a bolt gun perpendicular to the man’s spine. The second guard followed close behind, awkwardly carrying the baby—as though he was carrying a loose bag of oranges.
“Thanks, men. You can go,” said Shane to the guards. “What about the baby?” asked the guard.
“Leave it here; on the couch for now until I’ve decided what course of action to take here.”
“Captain, the baby is entitled to euthanasia—best not to condemn it to a life of starvation and suffering in the underworld…”
“Officer Pentland,” said Shane in a positive tone of voice.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Go back down and help escort the other scum to the Bauhaus precinct as you were instructed to do twenty-five minutes ago.”
“Yes, Captain.” The two guards left.
“Well, this is a surprise, isn’t it, Mark? Sit down. Dear, oh dear … in a fat suit… ho, ho, ho…” Shane faked a chuckle. “Subs don’t get fat, Mark. You should know that.”
“I wasn’t fat. I was just... big-boned.”
“Er, no. You were very fat. I could see you from up here!” Mark sighed. Shane smiled before saying: “I must admit, I thought you’d have a rest for a while after your little busy period.”
“Believe me, this was going to be my last run. I wasn’t going back down.” “What?” Shane feigned being flabbergasted. “Just thought you’d move in, did you?”
“I believe in what the Napeans are doing…” said Mark.
“Subs are a blight on what remains of our planet—but at least some of them have the common decency to show some loyalty to one another. You seem to have all of their worst qualities rolled into one.”
Mark’s face darkened. Then he remembered that this was probably going to be his last chance. “You can’t send me back now,” he blurted out.
