Recombination

by Brendan Butts

  The nights were hot this year, even for July, or so I had been told by more than one drifter. There were no big cities nearby and that meant little ambient light bleeding into the sky. I looked up and caught a glimpse of a blanket of stars before I forced myself to look elsewhere. The parking lot wasn't well lit, only a couple of overhead lights illuminated the black pavement enough to reveal the parking lines for trucks, cars and the seldom seen aerodyne.

  I walked towards the edge of the lot, making a beeline for a large tractor trailer with the SK logo stamped across its massive frame. Just before I reached the truck, a raspy voice called out to my back.

  "You shouldn't have stopped." The voice sounded disappointed and had an almost mechanical sound that contained no accent I could distinguish.

  I spun, driven by caffeine and curiosity and an inexplicable urge to confront this man. He was just as I'd seen him last. His black helmet covered his entire face. His clothes were all leather--real from the looks of it. The gun on his waist looked nasty and intimidating and I didn't let my gaze linger on it long. He had on a pair of ProTek combat boots that I assumed were steel-tipped.

  "A chummer’s gotta eat," I said.

  "You should have gotten takeout," he said in a matter of fact tone. "I lost your trail leaving that Ebola infested cesspool of a town. If you hadn't stopped to take in the sights, I might have missed you."

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  "You don't know?" His voice had become inquiring, curious.

  "I got no clue chum. You wanna let me in on the secret?"

  He laughed. I took a few steps back. If I could just get to the shadows of the trailer, I might be able to outrun him.

  "Don't bother." He said, tapping his helmet. It was like he had read my thoughts. "Infrared."

  I sucked on my teeth for a long moment before saying, "You didn't answer my question. Who are you and what do you want?"

  "I'm here to bring you back to Miami."

  "No thanks," I said, managing to put a small amount of steel into my voice.

  "You don't have a choice." His tone was so matter of fact it sent shivers down my spine. He spoke with a confidence that let me know just how serious and capable he was.

  "You a bounty hunter?"

  His only response was to beckon me closer with one hand. His other hand hovered next to the gun on his belt.

  I didn't move.

  Over the Helmeted Man's shoulder, I watched two men exit the diner. At first, they appeared to be truckers, heading back to their rigs, but as they passed the helmeted man they spun on him almost at once and drew guns from inside their jackets.

  "Freeze!" One of the men yelled.

  The Helmeted Man didn't even flinch. He simply drew his gun and shot the man who had spoken, right in the gut. The man who had been shot went down, his proclamation dying on his lips. I expected him to scream, to shout in indignation at the sudden turn of events. He didn't. He just lay there in his own blood. I wondered if he had some sort of cyberware that was canceling out the pain that must be shooting through his body.

  I hoped he wouldn't try to lift his gun again. The Helmeted Man would surely kill him then.

  The second man fired his gun and the Helmeted Man spun away, fired again, and the second man went down just as quietly.

  By now, the blue strobing lights of police cars were growing rapidly closer as they flew down the interstate.

  The waitress, a young woman only a few years older than me, had seen the hastily scrawled message I'd written on the check I'd left her, next to my generous tip, and called the police.

  Relying on her good nature, I'd written that a pedophile was chasing me and that I was scared and that I knew she could help me.

  I'd left the diner and left my fate to her. I hadn't realized that there were police already in the diner or I would have approached them instead of heading out into the parking lot alone. I doubted the Helmeted Man would have drawn his weapon in a crowded diner. Locals were known to stick together, and in this day and age, most all of them were armed in one manner or another.

  I felt terrible for putting these men in danger, but I pushed the thought from my mind and focused on my own safety and the likelihood I would make it out of this situation unharmed.

  The Helmeted Man seemed to sense the approaching police, perhaps the strobing blues of their police vehicles reflected in my eyes. More likely, he had some sort of sensor suite in his helmet that was feeding him information.

  Either way, after shooting the second man, he fixed me with a momentary gaze. I couldn't see his face but I could sense the smile on it as he backed away and then vanished into the darkness of the scarcely lit parking lot. He seemed satisfied. As if he was my father and I'd just brought home a good report card.

  I slid into the darkness myself, hiding behind the truck I'd been so intent on getting to earlier. I wasn't ready to get caught up in the investigation that would surely result from the shooting of what appeared to be two police officers.

  I crouched behind the big rig and listened to the police as they and the ambulance personnel that had arrived moments after, spoke among themselves.

  "Vic Lansing man, I'm telling you."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Damn, man. The descriptions. All black, snazzy helmet, and a ZMI .357 magnum? Not to mention he got the drop on two cops. It was him, man, I'm telling you." One of the ambulance drivers replied.

  “If it was him, we’ll take him down.” Said a cop.

  “The hell we will.” said another cop, “Corporate mandate man. If it was him, that means he was on a job, and if he was willing to shoot police, he’s working a contract that gives him the power to remove any and all in his way.”

  I’d heard enough, the conversation drifted off into the distance as I slunk away. Vic Lansing. I didn't know the name but I decided it was a priority to find out who the hell he was.

  I risked catching a ride with a trucker. Something I didn’t normally do since you're likely to get killed or worse. Still, it was a risk I was willing to take to get some distance between me and whoever it was behind that helmet.

  After I'd settled into the passenger seat of the cab the trucker started right in on the normal mess of questions. The where from and the what for and all that. I answered them all as honestly as I felt comfortable and the conversation lapsed into silence. After a while, I worked up the nerve to ask him about Lansing.

  "Vic Lansing? Yeah, 'course. Heard the stories. He's like the bogeyman of bounty hunters. No matter who you are or what you've done, you don't want Vic Lansing on your ass. He's brought in the worst of the worst. The serial killers the police can't catch, the crooked politicians that have gone on the run. The Mafia. Hell, some folks just give up when they hear Vic Lansing is on their trail.”

  He glanced to his side, looking me over. I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. I could almost hear the thoughts running through his head.

  “Where'd you hear that name, anyway?"

  I didn't even consider telling the trucker Lansing might be after me. That wouldn't end well. I'd either get kicked to the curb right here, or the trucker might think there was a public bounty on me and take me to the police himself. The police would connect me with the truck stop shooting of two cops fifty miles away and at best I'd be spending some time in a holding cell. At worst, Lansing might show up and take my ass back to Miami.

  I couldn’t imagine why I was so valuable to Skywatch that they would send one of the world’s best bounty hunters after me.

  I decided it hadn't been Lansing at all, but an impostor, someone who just dressed like Lansing. Maybe he was hoping the bounty heads would give up easier if they thought such a renowned bounty hunter was on them.

  Maybe the impostor had just heard the same stories as the trucker and was trying to cash in on some of that fame. With that helmet of his, it would be easy for someone to pretend to be him. I didn't want to think about what the real Lansing would do to any impostors he stumbled on.
/>   I didn't stay with the trucker long, he was heading off the highway to make some stops and I elected to get out. I gulped in the night air as I watched the truck pull away. The cab of the truck had smelled like menthol cigarettes and cheap whiskey. I started walking down the edge of the highway. It was a little past one and there wasn't much traffic on the road this time of night. It was slow going as I stepped into the woods as each car passed. I wasn't going to make it easy for any bounty hunter to follow.

  I walked on and on and didn't stop until I spotted a Plantation along the edge of the road and settled in there to spend the night.

  I figured there were so many plantations along the highway – literally dozens -- I was pretty safe fading into obscurity within one. The bounty hunter, whoever he was, had bigger problems tonight then tracking me.

  My paranoia took over halfway through the workday, and I spent the remaining hours on the plantation sweating into the palms of my gloves as they gripped the handle of my shovel.

  I left just before dinner, hitting the road hard and not stopping until it was full dark. My stomach growled in protest but I ignored it and didn't look back.

  Chapter 4

  I kept on my path north, passing time at different plantations along the way. I had been getting really good at swiping food from the cafeteria during meals. It only took me two or three days to stock up enough food to leave whatever plantation I had been working and get back on the road. I'd walk another week, run out of food, and work a plantation.

  Being young and in good shape, I had little trouble getting into the more crowded plantations. I made some fast friends during my stays at the plantations. Working the fields with a bunch of people is one of those things that just brings a group together. It was like one big family. At night we'd swap stories, joke around, and give each other advice. I felt so welcomed at every plantation I went to it almost let me forget my sadness about missing my parents and Sasha. It had been months since I'd seen any of them and their faces were starting to blur in my memory. It was like I was looking at their reflection in a funhouse mirror. If only I'd been smart enough to bring a damn picture with me.

  As the days wore on, an ever-increasing flow of drifters started passing me, heading in the opposite direction.

  "Where's everyone going?" I asked a drifter a bit younger than myself. "Something happen?"

  The boy looked up from his seat on the side of the road, face flushed.

  "Going south. My parents are a ways ahead, they want to make the Concord Plantation before it’s all filled up, but I had to stop and rest." His words came out quickly, in between large gasps of breath.

  "They left you behind?"

  "They'll wait up eventually if I don't catch up. Anyway, I better get going."

  "Yeah," I offered him my hand and he grasped it as I pulled him to his feet.

  "You wanna come with? I could use the company. My parents aren't any fun."

  "No, I got things in this direction." and I nodded down the road. It was a common enough turn of phrase. I'd heard it a hundred times in passing. It was the easiest way for a Drifter to explain that his family, friends, or a job waited somewhere in the direction he or she was walking.

  "Nobody heads north this time of year, must be some good things."

  "Maybe," I said with a grin and set off again.

  The boy stood there looking at me for a few moments before setting off in the opposite direction at a run.

  Winter was coming. I'd lost track of the exact date, but I knew it was early October. It was weird to think that the seasons could change so dramatically, that climate was something that needed to factor into your everyday decisions. Living in a SeaDome all your life will do that to you.

  Mid-day a few days later I reached a plantation with a large sign visible from the highway, "Last Plantation - October to February". At that point, I had a decision to make. Keep heading North to Boston, or stick out the Winter here and continue in the spring. Seeing as I hadn't seen or heard anything from the bounty hunter in almost three months, I saw no reason to keep beating the pavement. That, coupled with the fact that I'd never even seen snow, let alone spent a Winter anywhere the temperature dropped below fifty, made the decision pretty easy.

  I started off down the same well-worn path that led from the road to every other plantation I'd stopped at on my journey. As I approached, the sheer size of the place left me in awe. It was at least twice as big as the largest plantation I'd stayed at so far. As I walked down the path, rolling out in all directions except the direction I'd come from, were what seemed like miles of Switchgrass. What must've been thousands of migrants were working the fields under the watchful eye of no less than a hundred of the more seasoned Switchgrass Aces.

  A fairly large crowd of migrants were milling about outside the main gates of the plantation. It was a common sight and one I'd seen many times. Plantations didn't allow anyone in or out of their grounds until work had stopped for the day. If you wanted to enter a Plantation you had to do it after sundown.

  I entered the group of migrants and started wandering around, looking for a card game or some other form of entertainment to help me pass the time until they opened the gates. As I wandered, I picked up snatches of conversation in English and Spanish

  "...been here since eight so I better get a bunk."

  "No way they'll be able to take us all..."

  "I hear Concord Plantation's already filled up, anyone who doesn't get on here is going to have a long walk ahead of them."

  "...knew we should have come sooner."

  The general tone of the crowd was polite, but I had seen migrants who got denied bunks for a single night get violent, let alone for the entire Winter.

  Just as I was contemplating the odds of getting a bunk, I spotted the largest man I had ever seen in my life. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground with an array of cards splayed out in front of him in several rows and columns, his ebony skin glistening from the sun. Sitting down the way he was, he was still taller than me. His arms rippled with muscle mass so perfect that I would have bet good money it had been grafted on.

  As I watched, he moved a massive hand over one of the cards and flipped it. A five of spades. He seemed to stare at the card for a moment with black eyes that seemed much too small for his otherwise massive body. Then, still looking at the card he had flipped, he moved his other hand along one of the rows and flipped over another card. Jack of hearts. He moved his eyes slowly to the freshly flipped card.

  With a look of disappointment on his bearded face, he sighed and turned both cards back over. He shook his head in frustration causing his shoulder-length matte of unruly black hair to sway slightly.

  I stepped forward a bit, looking at the cards. The giant hadn't seemed to have noticed me yet. He moved his massive hand over to another card and flipped it. It was a five of hearts. He stared intently at it for a moment and then started moving his hand over to another card. Just before he flipped it over, I spoke, "No, not that one. That one." I pointed to the spot where the face down five of spades I had watched him flip over was lying. The giant looked at me with narrowed eyes.

  "You tryin'a trick me, boyo?"

  I shook my head quickly.

  "Alright, but if you're messing with my game..." He flipped over the card I'd motioned at and smiled. "Well, damn. Knew I'd saw it somewhere."

  I sat down cross-legged on the opposite side of the cards and nodded.

  "Do you want to play? You flip, I'll find the match, then we switch?"

  The giant nodded his head and flipped over a card. It was the Jack of diamonds. I pointed at the spot where I'd seen the Jack of hearts and he flipped that one over as well. Blowing out a loud breath he looked at me.

  "Some kinda smart, kid. I never get two in a row."

  "You just need to practice more," I said.

  "Ha, all I do is practice." He smiled and flipped the cards back over.

  He reached across the cards and held out a massive hand to me,
"Name's Zenigra."

  I held out my hand and he shook it as I said, "Seven."

  As his hand all but enveloped mine, I had a sudden flash of my father taking my hand as a child.

  We played for the better part of an hour in silence, Zenigra laughing heartily whenever I was able to match up the card he flipped. After a while he seemed to lose interest in the game.

  "How old are ya, Seven?"

  "Eighteen," I replied, proudly.

  Zenigra looked up from the cards and I could see his eyes searching the crowd, "Here with your parents then?"

  I shook my head.

  "Runaway?"

  "Not exactly. It's complicated."

  Zenigra squinted up at the Sun, still high in the sky, "Get on with it then, unless you wanna keep beating me in this stupid game all day."

  I started to tell him the story I’d rehearsed in countless diners and plantations since leaving Miami. I got a few sentences in before stopping. There was just something about this giant of a man. I didn’t feel as though he would do me any harm.

  So I told him the truth. I told him about my family, Skywatch, and Sasha. I told him about getting robbed by security when I got off the ferry. I told him about almost dying from Ebola in Scantville. I told him about the Vic Lansing imposter. I told him how I missed my family and how they were dead because of me.

  It felt good to get it off of my chest finally. I’d been carrying it around with me for so long that I’d forgotten what a weight it was. It seemed to me that Zenigra could sense the weight of it. He didn’t interrupt. He just listened until I was finished.

  "Could tell right away you was running from something. Won’t long ago I worked for people ended up wanting me dead an’ I had to make my escape to. Been moving ever since."

  "How long ago was that?"

  He shrugged, "Few years."

  "How old are you?"

  He laughed.

  "Older than I look, that's what the grafts do to you. Get enough muscle put on and it stretches your skin right tight. Takes off a few years, ya scan?"