by C M Dancha
"Klaus, things aren't so bad. Did you know the World Council has its own medical staff? They have the best surgeons and specialists in the world. The elite of the elite. I've seen them put people back together who were much worse off than you. In fact, a couple of years ago, I saw them reconstruct a guy's face was after he’d been attacked by a grizzly bear. They did such a fantastic job, this guy looked better with his new face than the old one. As far as missing limbs, that's not a problem for our doctors either. They can take a body part from a corpse and attach it to another person's body and make it fully functional. These guys are magicians. They can do anything. Your case would be child's play for them."
Slice waited for this ray of hope to sink into Klaus's brain before continuing. "Klaus, isn't it nice to know you could look normal and have a third leg again to piss through and use for entertainment? All you need to do is cooperate and help me find the World Council samples. As soon as I have them, you'll be on your way to England to be put back together by the Council's medical staff. Doesn't that sound like a fair deal? You help me, and I'll help you."
Fair or not, Klaus wanted to live. He wanted to be healed and go back to living. He could imagine the day when he returned to his job at Phoenvartis. And getting a new face and a penis might be a great deal. There was no reason to live the rest of his days as an average looking guy with an undersized pecker. It would be exciting to be a new man with a chiseled, handsome face and a large unit.
His hopes of being normal again faded when he realized he had nothing of value to tell Slice. He didn't know what Rollie had done with the samples. If he could talk, he could try bargaining with Slice. Or lead him on so he believed the safe return of the samples was dependent on Klaus’ survival. But in his present condition, he wasn't physically capable of bargaining with anyone for anything. He needed to think of a workable ploy and do it fast. The pain was increasing, and it wouldn't be long before it was so excruciating, he wouldn't be able to think.
"Well, Mr. Ekstrom; do you want to help me?"
Klaus opened and closed his fist several times hoping it would attract Slice's attention.
Slice did see this new movement by Klaus and realized it must be a signal. "Excellent, Mr. Ekstrom. I assume opening and closing your fist means you want to help. If this is true, open and close your fist one time."
Klaus did exactly as Slice instructed. "Great. Now we're communicating. Okay, Ekstrom, do you know where the World Council host samples are? Open and close once for yes, or twice for no."
Klaus gave the signal for yes. "Do you have the samples, Mr. Ekstrom?"
Klaus answered yes again. "Are they in your office?"
He opened and closed his fist twice for a no answer.
Slice then asked the same question several times, changing the location. First, it was Klaus's apartment, then the Phoenvartis building, or another employee's office, and at a friend's apartment. Each time, Klaus opened and closed his fist twice. Slice ran out of possible locations he could think of for the samples. He was getting frustrated, so he changed his questioning from location to people.
"Klaus, does your assistant know where the samples are?" Once again, a no answer.
"Does your nephew or Rollie Sweats know where they are?” No again.
Klaus could see the anger rising on Slice's face. He was running out of patience and questions.
"Mr. Ekstrom, you’re beginning to piss me off. I'm starting to think you’re lying to me. Maybe you need a little encouragement."
Slice started poking Ekstrom in the chest with his index finger. "How does that feel, my friend?"
Without the opiate-based relief gas, the pain was terrible. Being jabbed in the chest was intolerable. Klaus had to muster enough energy to say something before he passed out. Just when he thought he could say a couple of words, Slice grabbed the catheter tube and started yanking it up and down and swirling it around in circles.
Slice playing with the catheter set off a raging fire in Klaus's crotch which raced up his midsection. It was enough to force three words out of his mouth. "Fix me first."
Slice had reached the peak of his frustration. "No, the samples first, Ekstrom."
When Klaus didn't respond, Slice turned and started walking out of the room. "Ekstrom, I don't have time for this. I'll find the samples some other way. You have a nice life, whatever is left of it."
The DACS shell was still open and the only person who could close it and save Klaus's life was leaving the room. Klaus was frantic. The only thing he could do was tell the truth and hope Slice would be merciful.
Klaus bellowed like a pig being slaughtered, "Sweats, Rollie Sweats."
Slice stopped and returned to Klaus's bedside. He looked down and knew he only had a couple of minutes to get the entire truth before his victim expired.
"Mr. Ekstrom, this is your last chance to help me and save yourself. Does Rollie Sweats have the World Council host samples?"
Klaus knew he was backed into a corner without any guarantees. He could either answer the question truthfully and hope for mercy or die a very painful death. He opened and closed his fist once for yes.
Slice looked at the hand signal and smiled. He had to give Klaus credit for hanging on through such immeasurable pain.
Slice patted where he thought Klaus's forehead should be and then left the room without closing the DACS shell. He didn't bother to reactivate the alarms on the shell or monitoring equipment. Klaus was beyond saving, plus the hospital staff would eventually find the splice points in the alarm lines.
Klaus wanted to scream. Scream for help and then scream at Slice, Rollie Sweats, Sophia and everyone else who had betrayed him. Instead, he went into traumatic shock. Without the opiate gas and infection abatement drugs, he was unable to fight off the pain and infections, multiplying and spreading across his body at a blistering pace.
As Slice exited St. Peter's hospital for the privileged, the opening and closing of Klaus's fist slowed down. The shadow of death began to crowd out his consciousness. His vital signs bottomed out as Slice walked the streets of Zurich, considering his next move to retrieve the World Council host samples.
7
WHERE IS SHE?
By the next morning, the Beobachter and all communication networks were running stories about the death of Klaus Ekstrom, CEO of Phoenvartis. St. Peter's hospital hired an investigator to find out who took an unauthorized image of Klaus's corpse lying in the DACS shell. The underground media outlet which specialized in odd stories, bizarre rumors and men from Mars headlines, paid big to feature the picture of his body. The image was such inferior quality it could have been mistaken as the remains of an interstellar visitor who had crashed landed on Earth.
Rollie Sweats and Raul Hakala met for breakfast in the Phoenvartis cafeteria. Halfway through scrambled eggs and no-cal sausage links, they were joined by Jason Milkweed.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Can I join you?"
Raul and Rollie both responded. "No."
"Sorry guys, I have a job to do and right now you two are the job."
Rollie and Raul considered getting up and moving to another table but knew Milkweed would only tag along.
"Okay Milkweed, you've got five minutes. I want you gone before my eggs get cold."
"Aren't we testy this morning, Mr. Hakala? Okay, let me get started. Where were you two last night, between one and three am?"
"I was at home asleep."
"Same for me, Milkweed."
"I don't mean to be crass but was there anyone in your bed to back up your story?"
"No one with me, Milkweed," Hakala announced.
Rollie decided to be a smart ass because he knew Milkweed was fishing for information.
"Only my dog. You can interview him this evening if you want."
Milkweed asked several more questions about Klaus Ekstrom's life before the bombing. His interview was boring until he revealed some details about Ekstrom's death.
"That's about it. Just so you know,
Klaus Ekstrom was murdered. He didn't die of injuries sustained in the blast; he was tortured to death. Do me a favor, guys. If you think of anything which might help identify Ekstrom's murderer, let me know. I could use your help."
Rollie and Raul were shocked by this change in Milkweed's attitude. Rather than accept this as a miracle, they were suspicious and wondered what he was up to. It would take a lot more evidence before they accepted Milkweed as a decent guy and benevolent servant of the people.
They thought of a hundred different people who’d hated Ekstrom enough to kill him but only one who had the wherewithal to do it. Until the new Milkweed proved himself, they would keep their suspicions about the one realistic murder suspect to themselves.
Milkweed got up from the table and prepared to leave. Before walking away, he added, "Oh, by the way, the corpse in Ms. Groetschow's apartment has been identified as Claudette Surley. I don't know if you two knew Ms. Surley, but she was an employee here at Phoenvartis."
Milkweed hadn't changed at all. Here was the real reason he’d showed up at their breakfast table. He already knew they had nothing to do with Ekstrom's death – he wanted to find Sophia Groetschow. She was a material witness in a bombing case which had caused death and carnage at the Opulenz apartment building. What better way to find her than see how her former lover reacted when told she was still alive?
At first, Rollie stared at Milkweed and didn't say a word. He was glad Sophia had outfoxed whoever had tried to kill her. Milkweed's pronouncement hardly came as a surprise, ever since he’d learned about the dinner thermal box not being found after the blast, something had told him she might still be alive.
Raul stayed straight-faced, so he wouldn't tip his hand to Milkweed. He focused on thinking about how he would answer the question he knew was coming from his friend.
Neither man said a word for several minutes after Milkweed left. Raul finished the last of his eggs and sausage and broke the silence. "Okay, so I knew she might be alive. I didn't say anything because I didn't know for sure. I was guessing, based on the way you described Milkweed's questions in your apartment. It was evident that he thought she might still be alive. I'm sorry, I should have said something to you, but, but… I didn't."
Rollie smiled and drank the rest of his first and last energy drink for the day. "Don't worry about it, Raul. I kinda reached the same conclusion. When Milkweed told me the dinner thermal shell wasn't found in or near the apartment, I guessed Sophia took it when she fled the building."
"Are you going to try to find her?"
"No, we said our goodbyes the night of the bombing. Besides, she's a professional agent. I could spend the rest of my life trying to find her and come up with nothing."
"I agree, Rollie. You've got bigger problems now than trying to find Sophia. Besides, Gretchen might get a little upset if you go gallivanting around the world looking for a former lover."
Both men lapsed into silence, playing with their silverware. Rollie thought first about Gretchen and then where Sophia might be. Raul thought about how lucky he was to have avoided a confrontation with Rollie. The last thing he wanted to lie about was what really happened the night of the bombing at Sophia's apartment. With luck, Mr. Todd's failed assassination would stay swept under the carpet until the end of time.
"You do realize that Klaus's death has Slice written all over it? A lot of people wanted Klaus dead, but there are only a few people I know capable of torturing someone to death."
"Yeah, I know, Raul. The little redheaded freak is in town. I've been trying to figure out some clever way to deal with him, but haven't come up with a thing. I don't know what to do other than face him head-on."
"Rollie, I want you to come by my office today. I've got something for you." Raul opened his jacket slightly so Rollie could see his holster.
"Do you think I need one of those?"
"Yes. I really do. Promise me you'll be by later to get it."
"I'll see you later, Raul."
8
IS THERE LEMONADE IN HEAVEN?
Rollie Sweats went home that night without picking up the energy burst gun at Raul's office. Whether he forgot, or decided against carrying a weapon was secondary to the vulnerable position he’d placed himself in. In the depths of his subconscious, he was still hoping to outwit Slice, or at least lie his way out of a confrontation with the Mad Hatter.
Thinking that Klaus had passed away before telling Slice what he did with the host samples was too optimistic. In fact, it was totally illogical. Rollie bet that Slice was a master of pain and knew precisely how much he could inflict before his victim died. For his own safety, Rollie had to assume Klaus caved in to the torture and told Slice who he gave the host samples to and what was to be done with them.
His puppy greeted him with the same energy and enthusiasm he did each night. After a few mad dashes around the apartment, the dog waited at his bowl for dinner. He inhaled the food and then waited for Rollie to take him outside for his evening walk and constitutional. This was the only part of owning a pet which Rollie didn't care for. Picking up poop after a ten-hour workday wasn't his idea of a relaxing evening at home.
He was still debating whether to keep the dog. The possibility of giving him away to someone who might appreciate his company more was probably the reason Rollie had yet to name him. Gretchen, of course, wanted Rollie to keep the dog. In fact, she’d volunteered to take him if Rollie decided to give up ownership of the pooch.
After walking the dog for twenty minutes and then eating some leftovers, Rollie fell into bed with his faithful companion. It didn't take long before he was asleep.
"There you are Sunny Boy. I've been waiting for you. Come over here and sit next to me."
If this was a dream, it was the most realistic dream Rollie ever played a part in. It was a beautiful Fall day in Macon and he and Grandma LeeLee were sitting on her front porch. She was in her rocker, smoking a cigarette and Rollie sat on the porch resting against one of the support poles
"How is your job going, Sunny Boy?"
Even as a character in a dream, Rollie knew Grandma LeeLee already knew the answer to her own question. "It's fine, Grandma. I've got a few problems I'm trying to work out but I'm sure everything will get resolved."
"And how is our great-pappy, Mr. Jefferson?"
"He's a very interesting man, Grandma. Very intelligent, I wish I knew one-tenth as much as he does about so many different subjects." Rollie considered telling Grandma LeeLee that there was no definitive proof that Easton was their great grandfather but decided against broaching the subject. There was no reason to get into an argument, especially in a dream.
"Grandma, he asked me if I was a slave."
Grandma LeeLee burst out laughing. The smoke she held in her lungs from years of smoking came out in a hazy cloud and she doubled over choking. Rollie raced to her aid, gingerly patting her on the back and begging her to take deep breaths. Her choking fit continued much longer than necessary because she wouldn't stop laughing.
Rollie finally got her calmed down by making her drink a couple of sips from her glass. It was filled with the special lemonade she made daily and had close at hand wherever she went around the house. It was special because she credited her long life to the fruit drink. To LeeLee, the special concoction counteracted the negative effects of chain smoking. By the time she reached a hundred-years-old, most of the town believed in the therapeutic wonders of her lemonade. Anyone visiting the old woman was offered a glass of the special lemonade, but she refused to tell anyone the ingredients and how it was made.
"What did you tell your granpappy?"
Rollie didn't understand why Grandma LeeLee found the issue of slavery so funny but answered with complete honesty. "I told him I wasn't a slave. I also mentioned that the slaves were freed after the American Civil War."
"That must have set him back on his heels."
"Not really, Grandma. He didn't seem very surprised by a war fought to free the slaves."
&
nbsp; Grandma LeeLee took a few more sips of the lemonade and rocked back and forth. The perception of time in the dream was difficult to gauge. The next thing Rollie knew was that Grandma LeeLee had finished her glass of lemonade and the ashtray was full of butts.
"Sunny Boy, you and Mr. Jefferson will be taking a long trip together. Be kind and loyal to him, no matter how wrong you think he might be. And never forget that his blood flows through your veins."
"When will this trip begin?"
"Not until after you see me in Heaven."
"Why would I see you in Heaven, Grandma?"
"Sunny Boy, my Master will be calling me home soon. I'm tired and hurt all over. I want to go to Him. I want to feel fresh again like a bloomed flower in spring. I want to see my mother and father, aunts and uncles and friends from the past. My story has been written and now is the last chapter."
"Oh, don't say that Grandma. You'll outlive all of us. You’ve been threatening to leave us for years but here you are, as spunky as ever."
"I would have left years ago, Rollie, but it wasn't my choice. He kept me on Earth to do his bidding. But this time is different. I'm turning His work over to you, Sunny Boy. So, make me proud."
"One last thing, Rollie. A former black smudge in your life will reappear, but this time, it will be white."
Rollie started to ask her what she meant but saw her image disappearing from the dream. Either she was fading away or he was getting ready to wake up. He hurried over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek and an extended hug. As he embraced her, he could feel her body starting to vanish. The harder he tried to hang on, the more futile his effort became. His arms passed right through the remaining image of his grandmother and then she was gone.
"No, no, don't go yet, Grandma! I still have things to ask you. Please come back, Grandma."
"Rollie, Rollie, wake up darling."
Rollie's eyes opened to find Gretchen wiping the sweat from his brow. She and the puppy were staring down at him. They were concerned and afraid for his well-being. His screaming and yelling at imaginary people or things scared them.
