Extensis Vitae: City of Sarx

by Gregory Mattix

  Reznik had tried a couple times but had been unable to contact Hank at Planter’s Ridge. With a sinking feeling, he had begun to suspect it might be too late to get word to the town. He still intended to keep trying to get a message through, though.

  They entered a cavernous room dimly lit by overhead banks of LEDs. Massive refrigeration units hummed, and Reznik was shocked to see hundreds of sealed fluid-filled pods with bodies floating in them. The fluid had a bluish-green glow from the lights shining in the pods.

  “These are some of the pre-fabricated skins sold by Angelis Fine Vanity Skins and Cosmetic Enhancement Boutique,” Lynessa explained at his questioning look. “People that need a replacement right away—perhaps someone dying of sudden illness or injuries might require a quick or temporary reskin. Custom jobs take months to grow, even with the accelerated cell growth in the nutrient tanks.”

  “Interesting. Do you produce any military-spec skins here?” He looked at the various builds and skin colors of both male and female clones inside the vats. That must be what I looked like in that cryopod.

  “Oh yes,” Lars replied. “Angelis imports the specialty hardware from Shiru, but we produce the skins on our own.”

  “I heard the limit on accuracy is 94.3 percent,” Reznik remarked.

  “That’s true,” Lynessa admitted. “The different companies try to outdo each other by claiming gains of tenths of percents, but that’s a good estimate.”

  “If you don’t have original genetic material to clone, then 94.3 percent is the closest you get. Since the original DNA was unavailable in our case, Lynessa and I are considered 94.3 percent accurate reproductions.” Lars directed Reznik through a door, and they exited the refrigeration chamber.

  The next room was equally cavernous but brightly lit by overhead skylights. On the factory floor, workers—both human and robot—attended various machines and workstations. At the nearest workstation, a robot installed microchips on tiny implants passing down a conveyer belt.

  “You two are reproductions?” He looked at their matching features, subtly different yet very much alike, as if they were twins.

  “Yes. We are reproduced and exist at the pleasure of Lady Angelis.” Lynessa didn’t seem comfortable talking about the subject. “I’m afraid it is a personal matter to the Lady. We are not at liberty to say any more. If you are interested in this subject, you should inquire of the Lady. And here she is.”

  They rounded a corner, and Reznik saw Lady Angelis standing down an aisle, inspecting the work being performed on some type of implants that he couldn’t identify.

  “Ah, so here’s our friend that the Overseer is so intent on recapturing.” Lady Angelis turned away from the hardware displayed on the assembly line and flashed Reznik an electrifying smile. “Have my people taken good care of you?” She was tall, standing eye-to-eye with Reznik, although she wore stiletto heels. Her lustrous platinum hair spilled down her back, and her eyes were a deep brown with highlights of burnt orange. The leathery wings on her back were folded neatly behind her and almost looked as though she was wearing a cape. Her gossamer dress left little to the imagination, and she was bedecked with jewelry. Up close, the woman was quite stunning—the kind of beauty that would have once intimidated Reznik in his past life. He didn’t feel uncomfortable in the present situation due to how surreal it felt.

  “They’ve been fabulous hosts. Thank you for your assistance in helping me evade the Overseer’s men and for patching me up.” He glanced back and saw Lynessa and Lars had lowered their eyes respectfully in the presence of their mistress.

  “Will you walk with me?” Lady Angelis didn’t wait for a reply as she turned and began walking down along a production line. This is a woman that doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Her heels clicked on the concrete floor as she walked slowly, yet gracefully.

  Reznik walked alongside her, content to feel out the situation by letting her do the talking. He took in the work being done around him. At one workstation, a skin was laid out on a table with two lab techs hunched over it. The body was little more than a skeleton: the workers were apparently grafting some artificial muscles to the metal-reinforced bones. The muscles resembled black metallic cables wound together.

  “Fascinating, is it not?” Lady Angelis was watching him with interest. “The human body is nothing more than a machine when you break it down to its most basic components. Once you understand how the basic genetic building blocks are assembled, it is a relatively simple matter to enhance them by binding organic parts with artificial components. The end result is something greater than human.”

  “Is this a military spec skin?” Reznik was fascinated, watching the technicians at work.

  “It is. These are some of the more basic strength augs that we produce here. This is Shiru-produced synth-muscle fiber grafted to a titanium-bonded skeletal system. The bone and muscle weaves are an alternative to nanite-based systems, but there is still a strong demand for them. They are immune to concentrated electromagnetic interference, which can weaken or even destroy nanite systems.” She turned and began walking again. “But you probably already know this. My people tell me you have a mil-spec skin—an older model but still relatively robust, judging from the fact you survived your wounds.” She glanced over at him. “I hope the optical replacement is to your liking?”

  “It’s… different,” he allowed. When she raised an eyebrow in amusement, he continued, “But I’ll get used to it. I understand the old model isn’t available anymore.”

  Lady Angelis laughed, the sound an alluring, shimmering musical note. “Several decades out of date, I’m afraid.”

  He noticed her eyes had shifted colors and were now a deep azure color. Neat trick.

  They walked past what looked like a large 3-D printer layering skin over the musculoskeletal system of one of the augmented bodies. A cluster of nozzles on a robotic arm darted around a tracking laser, spraying organic material onto the body.

  “What is your interest in me? Why risk crossing the Overseer by helping me?”

  They walked in silence for a moment, Reznik’s attention divided between his benefactor and the fascinating biotech work going on around him.

  “When I saw you in the market, there was something that stood out about you. It was more than just boldly staring at me, which isn’t allowed by slaves and indentured workers. I wondered who this naive man was, and then I recognized you from the wanted notices the Overseer had put out recently. I’m intrigued by why he wants you so badly, so naturally I want you too.” She flashed him a cunning smile. “At least until I find out enough to satisfy my curiosity. I find there’s very little that piques my interest much these days. When you can create perfection around you, sometimes the scarred and damaged things can be the most interesting.” She shrugged, and her wings rippled. “Why does the Overseer want you so badly?”

  “He wasn’t too happy about the fact that I killed his brother. And interrupted the slave trade, I suppose.” Reznik sighed. “Unfortunately, he wasn’t very forthcoming with information—he was much more interested in trying to get certain bits of information out of me. Very persistent, in fact.” Reznik rubbed the scar on his cheek as he remembered the unpleasant interrogation.

  “That filthy, uncouth creature he called a brother is dead? By your hand? Oh my, that explains things. I can’t say the world will be worse off for his loss.” Lady Angelis pursed her lips prettily as she regarded him. “Why don’t you join me for dinner? I’m just dying to hear the sordid details of your capture by the Overseer and your sensational escape!”

  “It would be my pleasure.” He couldn’t yet gauge whether she was a potential ally or merely interested in using him as a tool against the Overseer. The latter for sure, hopefully the former as well.

  ***

  “You’re coming to the meeting, aren’t you?” Bethany asked over Marcus’s Datalink. “The operation will be broadcast live at the board meeting.”

  “What operation? I’ve got enoug
h to do without attending another pointless meeting,” Marcus grumbled. He was reviewing reports on the continued study of the mutant secured in one of the test labs. The way the human DNA had been corrupted by the alien organism wasn’t making any sense, and he and his research team were trying to puzzle out why.

  “The removal of that wasteland village and the mutant lair. Didn’t you check your email? It might be frowned upon if you aren’t in attendance. You need to be patriotic and show your support for the corporation.”

  Marcus didn’t know if Bethany was being sarcastic or not. He couldn’t recall any email about the meeting and wondered if he was really supposed to be there. What she said about attending made sense in a political way. He thought of his old boss, Dr. Barbosa. Whether he had anything to do with the phony-sounding charges of falsifying records and trying to pawn samples of the alien DNA, Marcus highly doubted. He did know that Barbosa had an abrasive personality and was an asshole to his underlings. He had ultimately been removed for not being a skilled politician and for garnering the dislike of Alicia Salinger and Mr. Thorne by proxy. Marcus was sure of that.

  “Shit. I suppose I’ll be there. When is it?” The thought of watching a village of innocent people get wiped out was at the bottom of the list of things he wanted to witness.

  “Don’t sound so enthused, Director. I’m heading over there in a few minutes. It starts at noon.”

  Marcus cursed when he saw it was 11:45 already. “All right, I’ll see you there.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched. First, stop for coffee, and then the meeting.

  ***

  “How would you feel about accompanying Keeva and a group of my men to shake things up in Skin City?” Red Royce regarded Mason over the lip of his flagon of beer. They were holed up at the alternate base, which was a mall-sized fallout shelter constructed beneath a forgotten mid-sized city in the wasteland about a day’s drive from the site that had been overrun.

  “Skin City? How’s that going to be retaliation for the attack? That doesn’t sound wise, dividing our forces like that, especially as limited as they are now. We should focus on hitting them where it hurts.” A full third of Royce’s men at the base had been killed in the attack. All his other units in the field were being recalled as they regrouped at their new base.

  The two men dined on a slim meal of soup and bread in Royce’s office. They did have a stock of beer though, so it wasn’t all bad in Mason’s opinion. The fact that they were alive and had gotten away was reason enough to celebrate.

  “We are coordinating an operation with some allies in Skin City and would like to use your expertise to help eliminate the Thorne garrison there. Do you know a Hubert Berenger?”

  “Yeah, I know the prick. He’s relatively harmless, but he has Thorne’s ear, from what I hear.” Mason dipped a chunk of bread in his soup and chewed thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, we might be able to deal a solid, and definitely unexpected, blow to Thorne by taking out that garrison. What’s the end goal of the operation?”

  “Putting down that dog that calls himself the Overseer. Our allies are building a coalition to take him down, set up a new government, and eliminate slavery from the wasteland.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Mason scoffed. “Why don’t we eliminate world hunger while we’re at it?”

  “I know, mate. It’s a long shot, but those are the terms that were offered us. I thought you’d be interested in the ‘eliminating the garrison’ part. So would you be in or not?”

  Mason didn’t give a shit about the Overseer or who ran Skin City. He’d worked for the man but felt no loyalty for him. He knew the Overseer would put a bullet in his back as soon as he had the whim to. As for the slave trade—well, Mason himself had sold plenty of people into slavery. If he allowed himself to dwell on the subject, he felt guilt, but when times were lean, you had to do what you had to do to survive. His personal bitterness about not being able to secure a safe bunker for his family before the Cataclysm had once been a justification for him to not feel remorse for dragging the innocent colonists out of their bunker and selling them into slavery. The booze helped him not think about things like that, but now that he was sober, avoiding the hard truth of what he’d done was tough. Maybe I’ll get some peace if this foolish long shot to get rid of slavery actually works.

  “Sure, I’m in. I get to question Berenger, though; I know he’s got some good intel that I can exploit. We can exploit, that is.”

  His slip wasn’t lost on Royce. “I respect your skills, Mason, but I don’t want any loose-cannon bullshit, understood? I lost a helluva lot of men in that attack, and I’d like this thing to go as quietly and with as little bloodshed as possible. Plus, my daughter will be going along, so don’t you bloody endanger her needlessly. You got me?” His eyes were hard as he stared at Mason.

  “It’s a deal, boss.” Mason toasted Royce with his beer. Whether or not he would be able to honor that deal remained to be seen.

  Chapter 17

  Marcus retched in the toilet, the bile burning his throat. Not much came out beside his three cups of coffee and the jelly-filled donut he had eaten hours earlier. Jesus, how the hell did I end up like this—having to sit in a room full of crazies cheering as a village of civilians gets slaughtered?

  The meeting had been one of the most bizarre things Marcus had ever participated in. He felt as though he was living in a totally different world from everyone else in that room. All of the department heads and their aides had been crammed into the boardroom, watching the TEF Spec Ops troops carry out their twin missions.

  The meeting had started off on the right foot: the entire group had been on the same page when it came to the infiltration of the mutant lair. Everyone in the room had anxiously watched the video feeds streamed live from the soldiers’ optical augmentations, projected as life-sized holos in the boardroom. The roomful of people had all watched raptly, breaths held and leaning forward in their chairs as they cheered for the Spec Ops troops to accomplish their mission. It was like being in an intense video game.

  Reznik and Rin must have done a pretty good job clearing out the lair already, for the Thorne troops had only found a handful of the savage mutants remaining. Those creatures had been disorganized and hadn’t provided much resistance to the heavily armed troops, who had mowed them down with a combination of conventional and energy weapons. The glowing chamber filled with the fungus-like alien organism had been doused in an acid bath after a sample was collected. Once they verified the organism appeared to be destroyed by the acid, they detonated explosives planted throughout the caverns.

  The slaughter of Planter’s Ridge had been another matter entirely. Whereas Marcus had watched in horror, the others in the boardroom had gleefully cheered the TEF Spec Ops troops on as they watched the troops infiltrate the town and gun down men, women, and children. Those were innocent lives being taken, not combatants or mutants.

  “This is like being in a holovid. Anyone got any popcorn?” one of the aides joked. Marcus wanted to slug the asshole.

  After one of the “samples” had been recovered, the teams had pulled back to a safe distance and a gunship dropped a massive thermobaric bomb on the town, reducing it to a smoking crater.

  Marcus’s stomach clenched again as he relived the spectacle, and a thin stream of vomit spattered the bowl. He groaned in misery.

  “You all right in there, hotshot?” Bethany’s voice called out.

  “Seriously? Must you follow me into the men’s room, even?” Marcus put his head in his hands.

  “You looked a little green when you rushed out of the conference room. Just checking up on you.” Her voice was amused.

  Marcus wiped his mouth and flushed the toilet. He exited the stall and went to wash his face and hands. Bethany leaned against the wall with her hands in pockets, watching him with a mix of amusement and concern.

  “I’ll live,” he grunted.

  “Glad to hear it. Want to grab some lunch?” Her eyes twinkled at Marcus
’s obvious misery.

  “Hell, no. I’m taking the rest of the day off. I feel like shit.” He almost left it at that and walked out, but at the last second, he turned back to confront her. “What I want to know is how the hell are you people okay with murdering a whole town of innocent civilians?” He got up in Bethany’s face, the anger seeming to take the edge off his queasiness.

  “I’m okay with eliminating the threat of an alien organism that was on the verge of spreading throughout the wasteland, the capabilities of which are still not entirely known, if that’s what you’re referring to,” she replied coolly. “I’d suggest you look at it from that perspective—it makes life easier if you don’t blame yourself for things out of your control.”

  “How did you get like this? What happened to you—don’t you have any conscience whatsoever?”

  Bethany shrugged. “Years ago, I suppose I did. Months spent being tortured in a shithole of a country that’s since been blown off the fucking map changed my opinion on that. The world’s a fucked up place, Marcus, and if you aren’t the apex predator at the top of the food chain, then you’re just waiting and looking over your shoulder for someone to come along and make a meal out of you. You want to make sure you are at the top, and once you are, make sure no one comes along and knocks you off your perch. You’ll learn soon enough.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Take the day off and pull yourself together. I’ll tell the others you ate something that disagreed with you.”

  Marcus thought she was being condescending at first, but she seemed sincere. He choked back his angry reply. She really is my only ally around here even though she likes to play her mind games. In her own irritating way, she’s trying to be helpful. “Yeah, all right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As he left the building and walked across the compound to the high-rise his quarters were in, he began to wonder for the first time in his life what it would be like to be free of working for Thorne Industries. It might actually be nice to be like Reznik and Rin—just roaming around free in the wasteland, helping people and not living under the heavy thumb of a ruthless corporation. The idea seemed to take root and gain appeal.