Extensis Vitae: City of Sarx

by Gregory Mattix

  “I’m not sure—pretty old school. This skin is a R.E.A.C.Tech model—Mark VI, I think.”

  “Wow! That’s definitely a pretty dated model,” she said in sympathy and flashed him another smile. “Unfortunately, we don’t offer any military spec skins here. We only offer vanity and cosmetic models with the basic augmentations. You’d have to go to Angelis or Engelshein’s for anything higher end or military spec. You could always try a few places out here in the Sprawl that will undercut them on price, but I definitely wouldn’t recommend any of those.” She wrinkled her nose. “But, to answer your question, a basic vanity model starts at about 250,000 chips. That’s with our basic feature sets you can choose from—we currently have 120 stock varieties. Neural transfer is standard on all skin purchases. If you add any facial or body customizations, the price goes up, of course. If you choose a high-end skin and check all the boxes for customizations, then you are talking the low millions price range.”

  Reznik gave a low whistle of surprise. “Thank you for the information. I’ll have to save up a while before I’m ready to purchase anything, I’m afraid.” He laughed.

  “You’re welcome. Come back and see us some time,” she said with a wink. He got a pop-up on his HUD and saw she was offering him a virtual business card. He accepted, and the virtual card disappeared from his screen and populated in his contact list.

  Next door to CentraLux was a place called Seren1ty. Reznik couldn’t be sure from the holovids, but the place offered either drug therapy or some type of neural procedure to supplant bad memories and implant new ones. He was tempted to step inside and check it out but realized he had better get back to the business of finding the colonists.

  Reznik walked for another half hour, taking in the sights of Skin City. A large sign pointed him toward the bazaar and slave markets, and he continued following the main thoroughfare. The Sprawl became cleaner and better maintained the closer he got to the inner city, barely resembling a slum anymore.

  The slave market lay behind a closed gate. An open air amphitheater with a large stage was visible inside. “Slave auctions every Monday and Thursday,” a sign read. A quick check of his HUD revealed that it was currently Friday. Maybe I’ll check it out next week, but at this point, it’s not really necessary.

  Reznik continued on to the bazaar; it reminded him of a European market—modern buildings rising as a backdrop against quaint, old world-styled shops. A couple children splashed and squealed in delight in a fountain. Folding tables set up outside eateries were filled with people having a bite. The translucent curve of the inner city dome looked to be only a block or two away now. He strolled through the bazaar, looking at the shops with interest.

  A couple well-dressed men caught his attention outside a cafe. The men sipped glasses of wine; the remains of their meals had been pushed aside. One man was prodding at a tablet while the other looked on intently. A two-foot-high hologram sprang from the tablet. The hologram rotated slowly, displaying a high-resolution 3-D image of a woman. Reznik was unable to read the statistics scrolling beside the image. The second man nodded in approval, and the first man pulled up another image, this one of a male, which his business partner scrutinized as well. Reznik realized they must be engaging in high-tech slave bartering.

  The aroma of freshly baked bread drew Reznik’s attention, and his stomach grumbled in response. He spotted a bakery a few doors down, and as he went to look through the window, he nearly bowled over a young woman carrying a large bag filled with baked goods. The bag toppled and almost fell out of her arms, but Reznik quickly caught and righted it before the loaves could spill out.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the woman said, quickly looking down at the ground.

  “My fault, sorry about that,” Reznik apologized.

  The woman seemed embarrassed and was about to look away when she did a double take and looked Reznik over. Her mouth opened speechlessly for a moment, and then she backed away.

  “Pardon me, miss. Do you know me from somewhere?”

  The woman looked frightened, as if Reznik had suddenly grown horns and started breathing fire. She turned and fled, nearly running in her haste to get away. Reznik quickly caught up to her and easily paced her with his longer legs.

  “Please, do you recognize me from somewhere?”

  The woman shook her head and looked at the street. “Please, sir, don’t speak to me. They’ll beat me if they catch me talking to a citizen.”

  “Who will?” Reznik realized the woman must be a slave to one of the wealthier families. A narrow alley opened up between buildings, and Reznik saw his chance. He took the woman gently by the arm and guided her into the mouth of the alley so they couldn’t be seen. She looked frightened but didn’t resist. “It’s all right,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. I just need to know how you know me. What’s your name?”

  The woman looked around nervously but then seemed to relax slightly as she realized nobody was in view. “It’s Ciera,” she finally whispered. She had average looks, with dark-brown eyes, and her light-brown hair was chopped off short in a ragged cut. “I don’t recognize you, I recognize the clothes you’re wearing.”

  Reznik glanced at Extensis Vitae shirt he still wore with the prominent golden phoenix logo on the breast. It needed a good wash and had some minor tears, but it was rugged and had held up fairly well so far. Reznik again made a mental note to pick up some new clothes while he was in the city.

  “You do? Are you from the Colonies?”

  Ciera nodded. “I lived in Colony 13 until those psychos broke into our home, killed a bunch of people, and took us away. I work for the Rembrandt family now.” Her eyes darted around the marketplace again, but she obviously didn’t see any reason to be afraid. “Are you with a rescue party?” she asked in a whisper, as if daring to hope was too much.

  Reznik shook his head. “I’m sorry, there’s no rescue party—it’s just me.”

  Ciera visibly deflated and shook her head. “I knew it was too much to hope for,” she muttered. “I have to get back.” She turned to leave.

  “How many of you are there?”

  She shrugged. “Ten of us were taken to the Rembrandt household. I’ve run into a few others in the marketplace. What does it matter… what can you do by yourself?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? That should say something since the administrators wanted to write off everyone from Colony 13 as losses.”

  Ciera frowned but didn’t look surprised. After a moment she nodded, but her face looked bleak.

  “I’m going to do my damnedest to get you all out of here and back home, Ciera. It might take a while, but have faith, okay?”

  Ciera saw the intensity in his eyes and nodded with more conviction this time.

  “I need to get the lay of the land better. Once I find out what’s going on, I’ll be able to come up with a plan. For now, just spread the word to the others you see. Let them know help is on the way.”

  Ciera gave him a sad smile. “I’m not sure you have much of a chance, but thank you for making the attempt to help us. It’s nice to know somebody cares enough to come looking. I’ll spread the word as much as I can, but I really ought to get back now.”

  “Take care of yourself,” he said. Ciera turned and disappeared around the corner of the market. Finally, a stroke of luck. Now he just had to get enough intel to begin formulating a plan.

  Chapter 9

  Mason sat in his cell and listened to the sounds of activity throughout the rebel base. Even boosting his aural augs, there wasn’t a whole lot to listen to. Distant voices mixed with the rumble of engines and machinery. The base seemed strangely deserted.

  The men with Keeva had put a hood over Mason’s head, so he hadn’t seen where the base was located. The journey had taken roughly three hours, and there must have been some location-spoofing tech in use, for his HUD map quickly became disoriented, registering his location as somewhere in north-central Canada. He knew that wasn’t possible, from the relatively short du
ration of the drive.

  After arriving at the location, he had been whisked through a room that he guessed was a hangar due to the echoing acoustics and smell of machine oil. They had gone down a flight of stairs, walked another hundred yards or so, and then entered the prison. ‘Prison’ was a generous term, as the plain concrete-walled room held four simple cells with a bunk and toilet in each. Mason was the lone resident for now. Keeva had merely told him that someone would speak with him “in due time” and then disappeared although she left the steel door of the prison open behind her.

  Mason had been sitting on the bench for several hours now. Even with the cameras mounted in the corners of the room, one of the rebels would occasionally check in on him, but he hadn’t seen anyone in a while. He was starting to get irritated at the cold-shoulder welcome. He hadn’t expected them to roll out the red carpet, of course, but at least a little face time with someone with some kind of rank would have been nice.

  His thoughts turned to the recent shocking revelation that his son, Marcus, was still alive. I wonder what he’s doing now. I’m sure they’ve filled his head with all kinds of lies about how his father is a traitor and terrorist. He’s lived his whole life thinking I abandoned him.

  Mason put his head in his hands. Even though he wanted to try to make contact with Marcus, he had to admit that he was afraid that his son would reject him. He might even turn me in to CorpSec. I have to find out where he is first. The District is a hell of a long way from the wasteland across hostile territory. I’ll seek him out soon. Right now, my best bet is to link up with these rebels and do some damage against Thorne Industries. At least maybe I’ll be able to sleep at night again if I stack the ground with corpses.

  Just as Mason stood up to stretch his back, he heard footsteps approaching down the hall. He walked over and grasped the bars, leaning against them as he waited. A moment later, Keeva came around the corner into the prison room, carrying a tray of food and a bottle of water.

  “I was just about to die of thirst here,” Mason grumbled. “When can I speak with Red Royce or someone with some rank around here?”

  “I apologize for the delay,” Keeva said. “I was in the command center, monitoring an engagement with the enemy forces and dumb enough to think that someone else would take the initiative and give you something to eat and drink.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “The raid was successful, and everything looks to be in order now, so I expect their return within a couple hours.” Keeva handed Mason the tray. “I’ll see that you get a hot meal for dinner, okay?”

  Mason recognized the pack of ready-to-eat rations stamped with the Thorne Industries logo on it. “Nothing but the best around here, huh?” He snorted in amusement as he placed the tray on the bench and took a long drink from the water bottle.

  “Spoils of war—gotta love it, right?” She regarded him a moment, and then her face hardened again. “So, you are James Mason, the notorious murderer and terrorist… It seems you aren’t very popular with Thorne’s people, are you? What the hell are you doing here, and what is your interest in the rebellion?”

  So she’s done her homework. He wasn’t surprised; Keeva seemed like a sharp and cautious woman. As badly as Thorne CorpSec had been looking to take him out over the years, he knew it wouldn’t have been too difficult to identify him. Mason decided to tell her the truth. “I’ve traveled here from Skin City, and I want to take down Thorne Industries as much as anyone else. There’s some bad blood between CorpSec and me, as I’m sure you know. They framed me—that’s where the whole terrorist and murderer label comes from. The venture I was involved with until recently fell apart, and I found myself out of a job. So that’s why I’m here.” He didn’t elaborate on the nature of his previous venture, which involved working for the Overseer and his brother, Haze, and their recent score of several hundred slaves taken from one of the Extensis Vitae colonies. He doubted “part-time slaver and general henchman of the Overseer” would be a very popular bullet on his resume in present company.

  “You were framed, huh? That’s what they all say.” Keeva frowned at him for a moment, but then her expression lightened. “The sad thing is, a lot of the time it’s true. The wasteland is full of ex-soldiers, criminals, and general burnouts from the New USA. Most of them end up that way through no doing of their own. Enjoy your meal—someone will be here to speak with you before too much longer.”

  Mason nodded and tore into the rations, not realizing until then how hungry he was.

  ***

  “Marcus, what is your assessment of the threat posed by the alien organism that you’ve identified in the wasteland?” Alicia Salinger regarded Marcus down the long conference table, and all eyes turned to him. “We’ve all seen the… specimen that you brought back. It’s quite horrific if you ask me.”

  Marcus tried to contain his nervousness as he sat in his first board meeting since being notified the previous day he would be the acting director of Section 7. He didn’t even know everybody in the room. Alistair Thorne rarely sat in on meetings himself, so his executive assistant, Ms. Salinger, usually ran the meetings and spoke in his stead. Bethany sat next to Marcus, not bothering to conceal her boredom. Marcus recognized Paul Serrano, head of executive protection, and Bernardo Carbajal, head of CorpSec. Nikolas Bogdanovic, commander of Thorne Expeditionary Forces joined them by videoconference. Several aides and other department heads that Marcus didn’t know sat around the conference table as well.

  Bethany nudged his thigh with her knee under the table, and Marcus cleared his throat. “As I wrote up in my after-action report to Dr. Barbosa, I believe this invasive species poses a very real threat to the whole wasteland and, by proxy, to the New USA borderlands. If left unchecked, this organism can potentially infect hundreds of people within weeks, and as we’ve seen, the gestation period is extremely rapid. Once these mutated individuals start reproducing, there could be hundreds, if not thousands, of these powerful mutants, or alien-human hybrids, if you will. These creatures are extremely aggressive and resilient…” he trailed off, not sure what else to say. It was obvious nobody had read his report, other than Barbosa probably.

  “So, you’re saying that these mutants or aliens or whatever they are pose a direct, physical threat to Thorne Industries?” Carbajal asked.

  “Yes, within a year they could overrun the wasteland and borderlands of the New USA by my projections,” Marcus replied.

  The murmur of discussion broke out amongst everyone present. “Overrun? You mean these things could be on our doorstep in a year or so?” Salinger was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “It’s possible,” Marcus replied. “These creatures have no natural predators, and the wasteland is sparse as far as food supplies go. That will force them to range farther and farther looking for food and potentially breeding and spreading the mutations across a wider area as they venture out of the exclusion zone.”

  The murmur threatened to turn into an uproar. “People, please,” Salinger called out, but the commotion continued.

  Marcus didn’t know who was speaking, but somebody was asking about the physical threat and what kind of weapons would be most effective when Bethany cut in, her voice cracking like a whip. “Listen up! Yes, this is a dire threat that needs to be taken seriously. These mutants can withstand small arms fire, and electroshock rounds and tranquilizers wear off very quickly. My opinion is that we need to confront this threat and strike hard and fast with the most powerful armaments we can bring to bear.”

  The room was quiet again, and Marcus spoke up. “I don’t know if explosives and energy weapons will be effective since the organism has obviously survived in the meteor at near–absolute zero temperatures in space and greater than sixteen-hundred degrees Celsius during entry into the Earth’s atmosphere.”

  “That’s a great point,” Bethany added. “When we send teams into this lair in the exclusion zone, they will need to bring a varied arsenal to find what is most effective.”

  “Just d
rop a nuke on that goddamned place,” Bogdanovic bellowed with his thick Eastern European accent through the video link.

  “It’s already an exclusion zone, so why not?” Serrano asked.

  “The high levels of radiation have accelerated and possibly intensified the mutation of human DNA after its bonding with the alien organism. I don’t recommend using nuclear weapons unless we can verify that they will work,” Marcus cautioned. “I would say that the sooner we take care of this threat, the better.”

  “My to-do list is a little long at the moment,” Bethany said. “Right now, I’m dealing with these wasteland rebels, but I should have that matter taken care of in the next couple days. Do one of you guys want to deal with this?” She looked pointedly at Serrano, Carbajal, and Bogdanovic.

  “I will take care of this,” rumbled Bogdanovic. “This sounds like military action will be the most appropriate response. I’ll send over three TEF Spec-Ops teams within forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

  “Three teams?” Bethany whistled. Thorne Expeditionary Force Spec-Ops teams were in high demand, and there were very few of them to go around.

  “Yes. I’ll send Teams 5 and 6 to exterminate the lair and 7 to this…” he consulted a screen off camera. “This Planter’s Ridge will be eliminated by Team 7. That should be more than enough to handle things, agreed?”

  “I would think so,” Bethany said. Marcus saw heads nod around the table, but he was too busy being surprised that Bogdanovic had apparently read his report. Seconds later, what they were proposing to do dawned on him.

  “I think that about wraps things up,” Salinger was saying. “I’ll just get Mr. Thorne’s blessing for this operation—”

  “Wait!” Marcus cut her off, drawing a glare of annoyance from the woman. Surprised heads swiveled to look at Marcus, but he pressed ahead. “There’s a civilian population in Planter’s Ridge. Surely you can’t be talking about ‘eliminating’ the whole town?”