The Liquidation Order

by Jett Lang

  “Could shatter the domes, couldn’t we? Let those VIPs get a whiff of those economic fumes,” she said. “But without the desert, how would we get our supply of desperate workers? Can’t have people sustaining themselves away from the city.”

  “Truth, sister,” Jack said. “Truth and then some.”

  The hovercraft jostled, then dipped abruptly downward. Her legs swung in their bungee-slings; the medication did little to subdue the pain. She gripped the black leather handholds overhead as the craft dove, and nausea swam through her stomach. She levitated toward the roof. Jack cursed. He flipped several illuminated switches and pulled back on his flight wheel. Queen struck her seat too hard, and this time she cried out.

  “Fuckin’ Larry,” he said, as if this explained everything. Jack turned his helmeted head toward her. Her reflection stared angrily back at her, hair disheveled and legs akimbo. “You okay back there?”

  Queen ground her teeth, exhaled slowly. “Peachy keen.”

  ※

  This was not her first time in Angel Bay.

  Three years ago she had been tasked with eliminating a pharmaceutical lynchpin operating under the outskirts of the eco-conscious hub. The operation was perfectly legal, but the owner had a thing for underground bases and armed guards. Super Villain Syndrome, she called it. He quintupled his company’s market value practically overnight after developing a hallucinogen called Pharaoh; circulating it east to west, north to south, from bandit war bands to New Paradise.

  As these stories often go, bigger players saw the drug’s popularity and were compelled to act accordingly. On their dime the lynchpin enjoyed a bevy of fine restaurants and exquisite vice parlors. He was invited into the beating hearts of their operations, and, finally, they sat him down for an avuncular heart-to-heart.

  Their conglomerate’s distribution channels would be open to him, his product speedily and reliably reaching the paying customer, the right customer. And wasn’t that what he really wanted, they asked, the right customer? They would take over the business while he sat at home soaking in a percentage of each sale. How great was that? Apparently, not so great. She imagined he had looked at the people in that boardroom like they crashed-landed from deep space. Didn’t say a word, just shook his head. Nothing they did persuaded the lynchpin to stay. They could not comprehend him, and neither could Queen.

  Until now.

  It made sense. He wanted to work, he wanted to have control. He didn’t feel the need to laze about with nothing to do but watch his credit-worth rise, the days linking together as an unbroken chain of monotony. That was not life for him; it was death.

  Four days after he left New Paradise, his corpse was found at his bay-side condo. Jugular slit, cheek nestled on his desk. Contracts and paperwork, unsigned.

  ※

  Jack landed on the hoverpad at noon. The site was surrounded by a forest of fall maples, the trunks jutting skyward and the leaves oscillating red-yellow-orange. Coastal winds wafted the green grass. A dirt path led from the landing pads to a squat, oval building several hundred yards away – a stark contrast in silver-grey.

  Since meeting in the hangar of the hospital, Queen had not seen Jack without his helmet on. She watched him over her shoulder as he fought to extricate her wheelchair from the rear storage. His buzz-cut and dark eyes bared a resemblance to Murdoc’s more than slightly. Handsomer, though.

  I never got a chance to thank that old timer.

  Jack yanked the wheelchair free and whooped triumphantly. Once unfolded, he pushed it over to the back passenger door. Popped the lock. Curved steel depressurized and slid sideways. The breeze that accosted her was mild, pleasant.

  Queen watched him adjust the wheelchair’s footplates. Micro-thin circuitry veined his fingers and scalp – a blackish-purple map of his augmentations. Not a dead giveaway, but she’d seen subtler. She wasn’t sure why a guy of his brawn needed to show them off. His charcoal jumpsuit was wrinkled from the flight, and a coffee stain marred his torso. The lesson: Don’t fly and brew.

  “Alright.” Jack locked the last footplate. He ducked into the back, his knees on the floor mats, and unhooked Queen’s legs from the cords keeping them elevated. He supported her legs with one arm while he tossed the bungee strands behind the leather seats.

  “Okay, I’m gonna slide and lower ya onto your wheels. Stay loose for me.” He placed a hand against the small of her back. She nodded, wrapped an arm about his neck.

  The transition from the leather seats to the wheelchair was quicker and less painful than she anticipated. Jack let her down easy, then repositioned her legs.

  “You’ve done this before, huh?”

  “You know it,” he said. “Used to be a paramedic.” He resealed the passenger-side door and walked behind her.

  “What happened with that?”

  There was a moment of hesitation. “Guess that’s a fair question.” He pushed her along the hoverpad.

  “I don’t want to pry,” she lied.

  “It’s fine. Few years back I was dispatched to the Education District. A group of university freshmen had decided to break into the girl’s dormitories for a panty raid – you know, college hijinks shit. Well, turned out that the girls weren’t all asleep and were certainly not privy to the idea. One of the gals was a serious aug-job, and had a temper to boot. She threw a guy out a window and onto a safety railin’ from the third floor, broke damn near every bone in his body. He lived, but the reconstructive surgeries must have cost his folks a pretty penny.” They descended a steel ramp.

  “Did his parents’ sue for malpractice?”

  “Nah. I patched the kid up and delivered him to the facility fine,” Jack said. “I found a master key on him, though. He had borrowed an original and gotten a copy made, which was illegal enough that the school would expel him if they found out. I felt bad. I did stupid shit like that when I was going to school, too. Nothin’ where they kicked my ass out, but close.”

  “You hid the key,” she said.

  “I hid the key and got my ass fired. The augmented gal lawyered up, put the whole university investigatory branch on overdrive sniffin’ out evidence. Well, they knew about the master key and they knew I searched him. My hospital had to pay out the ass in ‘emotional damages,’ whatever the fuck that means, and dropped me like a bad style. I was blacklisted in the medical industry afterward, so I had to get myself an aptitude reassessment. Discovered I qualified for, surprise, surprise, piloting. I could have told them that before the tests, but who I am to question bureaucracy, right? Worked out for the best anyway.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Queen said. Warm patches of sunlight cut between the maples and over the treaded path. Somewhere in the autumn kaleidoscope, songbirds gossiped. “It was a nice thing to do. Stupid, but nice.”

  Jack laughed. “Yeah, well you know, gotta take care of the bold. They’re a dying breed.”

  “So you don’t mind playing caretaker.”

  “I get paid either way, be it flying around or shuttling you bowls of chicken noodle soup.”

  “Still don’t understand why the boss did this for me.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands.

  “Maybe he fancies you. Maybe he sees you’re a good employee. Maybe both. Boss is a hard man to read; it comes with his line of business.”

  “How would you know I’m a ‘good employee’? Have you been snooping?”

  “A man must snoop,” Jack said. He carefully circumvented a dip in the dirt.

  “Is that right?” Queen said.

  “I don’t want any crazy bitches in my craft, fetchin’ or otherwise.”

  Patently false chivalry. She chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  They passed over a tributary. The mahogany bridge shined with odorless varnish. The water was a dark green – mineral rich; and the round stones constituting its floor were obsidian black. Jack stopped. Queen looked out over the landscape, molded by human hands for the purpose of recapturing natural beauty.

  Well, natu
ral beauty customized to tourists’ expectations, to appear as idealized as possible. Men and women in jogger shorts ran about the trails, while a nature guide led packs of photo-snapping tourists along the edge of the riverbed. Against the black rocks, their psychedelic clothing clashed. Primaries on a dark canvas. A salted breeze brushed her nose.

  “Let’s check in before I check out.” She suppressed the urge to yawn.

  Jack proceeded on to the resort.

  ※

  The lobby was equal parts jungle and vault, lush green vines wrapped around pillars of silver marble. Queen doubted the upkeep costs were reasonable. Ditto on the price of admission. The staff were done up in matching grey-green safari outfits, right down to the housekeepers, who looked impassively accepting of their fate. The front desk attendants, on the other hand, were all smiles and salutations.

  “Hello! Welcome to Eden, Angel Bay’s premium vacation destination. Did you have trouble finding us, sir?” The attendant dimpled intensely at Jack. She was a ponytailed redhead with perfect features that cried ‘expensive.’

  “No, ma’am: that’s the miracle of GPS,” Jack said.

  “Excellent!” Her fingers danced across a holo-keyboard. “I have you down for a one month stay in our hospice suite. Is this correct?”

  Jack placed his hand on Queen’s shoulder. “It is. My old lady needs time away from West Talon, as you can see. The upper management lifestyle is bone-breaking, isn’t it honey?”

  Queen smiled sheepishly and leaned her head against Jack’s arm. “Yes, dear.”

  The redhead ‘aw’d and handed Jack two small cardkey envelops. The room number was printed on both.

  “Your room is on the ground floor. Simply follow the arrow.” The dimpled attendant pointed without breaking eye contact. A lime green holographic arrow flashed jauntily to their left; the numbers ‘1’ through ‘20’ danced within its luminescent center.

  “Our state-famous restaurant, The Bistro, opens for dinner at five this evening. We also offer in-room dining, if you prefer. The number for the kitchen is on speed dial.” she said.

  “I have a few bags I’d like brought to the room,” Jack said.

  “Very well, sir. I took the liberty of summoning the bellhop a moment ago. Please unlock your vehicle and designate your luggage.”

  She handed Jack a flat, handheld display. A camera feed from the bellhop’s lapel wirelessly broadcasted the hovercraft. Jack peered down and spoke an unlock code into it. The man on the other end moved Queen’s zigzag bag onto the luggage cart.

  “Swiftly and smartly,” the bellhop muttered. Soon the cart was packed, the craft sealed, and the bellhop trundled back along the dirt path. Queen was sure he loved the long walks.

  Jack returned the handheld.

  “Enjoy your stay with us. And please, if you need anything, I am Cathy.”

  “You’ve been a sweetheart, Cathy.” He pocketed the cardkeys.

  Jack wheeled Queen down the hallway. One after the next, the illuminated arrows winked out behind them.

  ※

  They were not waiting for their luggage long. The bellhop was quicker on his feet than Queen imagined, and the size of the room was twice that. The jungle theme persisted as it had in the lobby, right down to the marble pillars supporting a domed, emerald ceiling at four corners of the open-ended design. Her apartment back in New Paradise did not come near to the value of a single hand-carved end table in this place. From the fully stocked kitchen, with its dark marble countertops, to the beds of memory foam and city-grown wooden frames, there was imbued in each piece of furniture a sense of unattainable class.

  Jack made sure she was set up on the bed before he started unpacking and organizing the various gadgets and guns he had brought along. Queen spotted a Winnow model micro-pistol, and noted modifications to the barrel, grip, and muzzle. A sawed-off shotgun lay beside it, sans trigger guard. Cleaning kits, knife sets, and adjustable night vision-thermal goggles littered the foot of Jack’s bed. He checked that every item was in working order.

  “You’re allowed to carry that kind of hardware?” she said. “I remember the policies in this city being a bit stricter.”

  Jack broke open the double-barrel and loaded in a pair of slugs. “Nah, the National Weapons Conglomerate has a much stronger hold on the state council now, sister. The coastal villas are practically all owned by one NWC board member or another. You know, summer fortresses. Plus, they – the NWC – have a majority stake in the infrastructure through a sister conglomerate, which owns the city’s water purification and distribution plants.” He snapped the shotgun closed. “What the gun nuts want the gun nuts get.”

  “You’re informed. I assume you packed me a sidearm?”

  “It’s in your severance, boss said. You mind?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Jack unzipped a small front compartment on her zigzag bag. He pulled out a machine pistol. Black alloy, rubber grip. He tossed it to her and she caught it one-handed. The dial options were ‘Single-Fire,’ ‘Burst-Fire,’ and ‘Full-Auto.’

  “Grade Four armor piercin’ rounds. Carries forty of ‘em.” Jack said. “Was the safety on?”

  “That’s a disturbing question.” She checked. “No.” A flick of her thumb remedied that.

  “Oh shit,” Jack said, not nearly troubled enough. Then, “Hey, I was told not to touch anything of yours. Don’t give me that look.”

  “Are we expecting trouble or what?” She detached the clip. Loaded. Tungsten bullets with miniature drill-heads.

  “Hey, all I know is I’m supposed to look after you and be prepared for anythin’ that happens. Beyond that, I’m as out of the loop as you are, sister.”

  “Fine,” she said after a long assessment of his face. “Let’s just be a bit more careful in the future, now that we’re fully aware of my luggage.” She placed the firearm on the oak nightstand beside her oversized mattress.

  He dropped her bag next to her on the bed. “You take custody, then. I’m hittin’ the facilities for a shower and shave.”

  Queen nestled against an evergreen memory foam pillow, her lids lowering. “Secure the place first.” She finally yawned. “I don’t need any surprises.”

  Jack did not say another word. Footfalls on carpet, metal latching, and faucets squeaking were his response.

  She drifted asleep to the white noise of running water. There were no dreams.

  ※

  Queen was out of her casts in a month’s time, and Jack’s exercise regiments made walking unassisted manageable again. The serpentine pathways connecting the diverse biomes around the hotel made her edgy, though; she didn’t like the amount of hiding spots available. The rain forest section in particular, with its gawking mammals and shadowed ground floor, was a one-time experience. Jack seemed to take her irritability in stride, either nodding silently or changing the subject to wildlife, local or political. He maintained a flirty and casual attitude, which she supported: He was easy on the eyes and the mind.

  At midnight they found themselves in their room, browsing the television. The programs were bad infomercials, gladiatorial events, and local races. They both preferred the latter; something about quick reflexes and carnage allured them. They’d spent a dozen nights like this. It was surprisingly nice.

  Diesel engines roared in tandem with the crowd as Queen and Jack sank deeper into a plush, tropical-patterned couch. Halogen light washed over the stadium, the circular track fraught by metal debris, gas fires, tire bursters, and road blocks. A few racers had already succumbed to these obstacles, the fire teams hosing down the charred wreckage from a distance. Arcs of water rainbowed as cars sped by.

  The current leader brandished twin NWC-logoed miniguns mounted atop its hood and backside. The rear guns rattled away. Ammo casings cascaded onto gasoline-stained concrete, while the second place racer dodged a strip of tire spikes, and closed in. The bullets sparked right off the bulletproof window and steel hood, not even disrupting the animated logo – a red-skinne
d satyr popping its middle fingers at the competition. Second Place’s grille lances gleamed like chrome teeth.

  Several of the grille-sockets were empty.

  “First Place can’t penetrate that armor – he’s fucked.” Jack elongated the ‘u.’ He opened the mini-fridge at his feet and uncapped another couple beers, passed one to Queen. The fridge returned to its previous occupation as footrest.

  She sipped. “Let’s not count out Third. Remember the bet.”

  “Third’s been in the pits for repairs, sister. He’s five laps too late. And – ah, hell.”

  Queen smirked.

  Out of the smoke of a burned car, a motorcycle emerged. It was shaped like a pill and black as a Winnow. Encapsulated, the rider leaned in closer to his tank and accelerated on a nitrous boost. He took the bends without the luxury of slowing.

  “It still doesn’t mean anythin’.”

  “We’ll see,” Queen said.

  The bike came off the turn aligned with Second’s rear fender. In front of the motorcyclist’s foot pegs, miniature pepperbox missile launchers sprung. Second saw what was in store, tried to swerve out of the way.

  The first salvo impacted and corkscrewed into Second’s trunk. One second delay, and then the windows exploded. The vehicle went nose-diving into a concrete barrier.

  Third became Second.

  There were more jeers than cheers from the masses, the motorcyclist obviously not an Angel Bay favorite. No sponsorship stickers or logos marked the chassis. Ebony was its only endorsement. It took the last bend, hot on First. First replied with a volley of minigun fire, but it aimed too high and pulverized an already battered embankment. It was too late to correct the mistake. When the straightaway arrived, Second unleashed his final salvo, and there was not a single roadblock First could hide behind.

  Second became First.

  The motorcyclist made four laps around the track before the victory was declared. A holographic checkered finish pulsed the winner’s name: Domino. The crowd’s displeasure was unanimous.

  Jack groaned into his hands. “No.”

  “Yessir.” Queen rubbed her thumb over her fore and middle digit. “Get your bastard-ass up and get my money.”