Legacy of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  She put her hand over the security system’s main panel and the flesh on her palm moved. After a few seconds, the security system shut off.

  Vulcan opened the door and descended three levels, passing floors filled with computer equipment and the machinery that kept the empty building secure, before entering the penthouse.

  It once housed Mr. Caligari himself, a merchant of virtual dreams. Not so very long ago his company was one of the largest in the Big City and the world. That is, until someone created an even better way of offering such delights.

  The penthouse was devoid of furniture and equipment. An array of windows allowed for a three hundred sixty degree view of the city. Vulcan admired the apartment and its view.

  “In the most beautiful palace on Earth sat a King on his throne,” she said. “Treasures lay at his side while he watched the world below…”

  The words were part of an ancient, near forgotten poem, though the sentiment was as old as humanity itself. The allure of power and its loss. Depending on the teller of the tale, it was a story destined to end in tragedy though there were times it surprised readers by ending in redemption.

  Vulcan returned to the stairs. She walked down and down and eventually reached the ground floor.

  When she stepped out into the Big City’s streets rain fell upon her. She couldn’t help but look up at the abandoned throne.

  It disappeared into the clouds of the night sky.

  That very night Vulcan began her search through the Big City for traces of Paul Spradlin.

  13

  David Lemner sat at the bar’s counter. He finished his fourth shot of Fuego Fiero and cradled the empty shot glass.

  He was a small man who wore thick, wire-frame glasses. He didn’t belong in a place like this yet at this moment and at this time it was exactly where he needed to be.

  Three empty shot glasses just like the one he held lay before him. They accumulated in the last half hour and were but a small part of the drinking he engaged in these past couple of days. He lost count of the exact number of drinks taken and was unsure how many more he needed.

  What he did know was that he hadn’t taken down nearly enough.

  The bar he was in was a dive. Her only modern touch was a sophisticated vid unit mounted on the wall before him. The unit was off and the place was quiet. Lemner needed the unit to stay off. Of course, this was not to be.

  The bartender, growing bored with the dull drone of a handful of clients, reached for the vid unit’s remote and clicked it on. Displayed on the screen was the latest news. Announcers breathlessly talked about the events of three days before, the Arabian War, and the estimated losses of lives and radioactive fallout. After the latest recap, talking heads debated the need to wipe out an entire peninsula and her people.

  Those who defended this horrific genocide presented their thinly veiled corporate talking points and not so subtle racism in calm, even tones while offering insincere laments for the deaths. They justified the war as the only action left for the “civilized” world to do when faced with corporate and theocratic hostility. No mention was made of their own corporate and theocratic ideals.

  Lemner had a hard time keeping himself from throwing his glass at the vid screen.

  “Shut that shit off,” he growled.

  The bartender eyed Lemner with rapidly dwindling patience. He appreciated the man’s money but pegged him as trouble the moment he showed up. Arriving at a bar this early in the afternoon while already wasted and with that much money to spend suggested –strongly– he’d already been to other establishments and thrown out of them despite the business he brought in.

  The bartender didn’t know who David Lemner was nor cared to, though he had ideas. The man’s expensive suit suggested he was a Corporate Capitalist. He didn’t look like a cut-throat, so it was likely he was a scientist or market whiz. Based on the fact that he was upset by the latest news, something about the war in the Arabian Peninsula was obviously eating away at him.

  Probably had investments in oil fields, the bartender thought before saying aloud and in as calm a voice as he could manage:

  “People want to see the news. Besides, the game’s about to—”

  “Turn the fucking thing off!” Lemner screamed.

  The bartender was startled by the rage in Lemner’s voice. The few other patrons in the bar, regulars all, now had their eyes on the two.

  “Keep your voice down,” the bartender said. He spoke politely yet a clear threat could be heard in his measured tone.

  Shitfaced though he was, Lemner sensed it. He didn’t care for it at all.

  “If I wanted to, I could buy you out,” Lemner said. “Not only you, I could buy out your landlord and his landlord. I could buy up this whole fucking block and bulldoze it.”

  “You’re that big, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Lemner said. “And if it wasn’t clear before, let me add: Fuck you.”

  The bartender sighed.

  Why can’t they just come here, leave their money, and go home?

  “If you’re so damn big, why are you in a dive like this?”

  Lemner had no immediate answer.

  “Tell you what,” the bartender said. “I’ll keep the vid quiet. That is, until the game starts. When it does, the volume goes up. If that bothers you, find somewhere else to go.”

  The bartender leaned in close to Lemner. His next words were whispered.

  “You give me one more ounce of shit and you’re out on your ass.”

  David Lemner’s bloodshot eyes sized up the bartender. The man was brawny and could easily be a bouncer. Maybe once upon a time and not so very long ago he was. The bar’s current bouncer was by the door, glaring at Lemner while paying close attention to the situation. If the bartender looked like he could have once been a bouncer, the bar’s actual bouncer looked like he could take his boss out with the proverbial hand tied behind his back.

  Either of them would have no trouble throwing David Lemner the hell out of this place.

  “Fine,” Lemner said. “I’ll behave.”

  He didn’t mean it.

  Twenty minutes later, when the bar was filled and the game began, the bartender did as promised and raised the Vid Unit’s volume. The patrons’ attention was on the game and the energy within the place surged. It was playoff time and there was nothing better than kicking back with your friends, sharing some drinks, and rooting your team on.

  By then, David Lemner had three more shots in his system. When a break in the game came and a news flash offered an update of the Arabian Peninsula situation, Lemner’s blood red eyes twitched and he slammed his hand against the counter.

  “Turn that shit down,” he muttered.

  No one heard him so he cleared his throat and pushed the guy next to him. The man fell to the floor.

  “Turn that shit down!” Lemner yelled.

  The man on the floor was a regular with a mean looking scar across his cheek. He was quickly back on his feet and his hands balled into fists. He moved toward Lemner but before he had the chance to knock the man’s head off, the bar’s bouncer filled the space between them.

  “Easy,” the bouncer told the furious man. “Have a drink. On the house.”

  “Not before—”

  “Have that drink,” the bouncer repeated. “Or I deal with you next.”

  The patron nodded and walked to the end of the bar. The bartender sighed and nodded to the bouncer. The bouncer faced David Lemner.

  “Time to go.”

  “Make me,” David Lemner said.

  “You don’t want to make this any harder, Mister,” the bouncer said.

  David Lemner nodded. He took the last of his drink and faced the vid unit.

  “Didn’t like this place all that much anyway,” he said.

  With that, he threw his glass with all his might at the vid unit, shattering its screen and prematurely ending the early evening’s festivities.

  14

  David Lemner flew through
the open door and across much of the grimy alleyway before slamming into a stack of moldy trash. Something wet and rotted exploded under him and sent nauseating smelling grease all over his expensive suit.

  Lemner gasped for air. His nose was bloody and there were cuts and quickly forming bruises across his face. His left eye was swollen nearly shut and his glasses were long gone, shattered in the melee which eventually found him out here.

  The bouncer stepped out of the bar and into the back alley. He stood over Lemner and admired his handiwork.

  David Lemner tried to get to his feet but slipped on the slimy grease. He managed to stabilize himself and got to his knees before the bouncer’s fist sent him back down.

  Blood filled Lemner’s mouth. His tongue swam in it. He felt a soft and gelatinous opening in his upper gum, a place where seconds before were at least two perfectly good teeth.

  He spit the blood out and it landed at the bouncer’s feet. This forced him to quickly, though hardly nimbly, jump back.

  “What are you trying to do, ruin my shoes?” the bouncer said. “As if I needed more incentive to kick your ass.”

  “Fu… fucking asshole,” Lemner said.

  “Keep talking,” the bouncer said.

  He kicked Lemner in his stomach and the technocrat flipped over and landed on his back. He noisily sucked in air.

  “What’s the matter?” the bouncer asked. “You haven’t run out of things to say already, have you?”

  Lemner gasped at the air and, though he should have kept his mouth shut, didn’t.

  “…f…fu…” he said.

  The bouncer approached but stopped.

  A shadow at the end of the alley caught his attention. It was that of a tall, thin woman who appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. She had gray, combed back shoulder length hair and her eyes were incredibly blue. She approached him and said:

  “He’s had enough.”

  The bouncer rubbed his fists. Adrenaline pumped through his body and he wasn’t about to stop.

  “Lady, unless you want to get your ass kicked as well, move the fuck along,” he said.

  “You’ve made your point,” the woman countered. “I can assure you he won’t bother you anymore.”

  The bouncer took a second to look down at David Lemner.

  “What are you, his mother?” the bouncer said and laughed. “You know what, you’re right. He doesn’t bother me that much anymore. You, on the other hand, are starting to piss me off.”

  With that the bouncer swung his right hand at her face. It was a sucker punch meant to be both vicious and devastating. Quick though it was, the slender woman calmly sidestepped what would have been a terrific blow. The bouncer stumbled forward and fell into a puddle of grime.

  “What the fuck?!” he yelled.

  “You don’t have to do this,” the woman said.

  Incredulity and rage filled the bouncer’s face.

  “The hell I don’t.”

  The bouncer got to his feet and rushed the slender woman. His intention was to slam into her, pick her up off her feet, and drive her into the ground.

  But just as he reached his target, he felt an explosion to his right side. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees before landing flat on the filthy floor. He tried to move but his body was paralyzed.

  “You… fucking… crippled me,” he gasped.

  The woman crouched down and faced the bouncer. He expected to see some kind of weapon in her hand, perhaps an electric cannon or handgun. She used it on him, he was certain, and there was a hole in his side the size of his fist. She murdered him. Just as surely as…

  The woman laid her hand on the bouncer’s head and, incredibly, the pain subsided. However, he still could not move.

  “What did you—” he began.

  “Shhh,” the woman said. Her face was very close to the bouncer’s and there was neither triumph nor satisfaction in her expression.

  “You’ll be fine,” the woman said. “In a while anyway.”

  The slender woman’s attention shifted to David Lemner. He was on his knees and breathing heavily while blood flowed down the side of his mouth. She approached him and offered her hand.

  “Don’t!” Lemner muttered. “Just leave me alone. I don’t need any help from you—”

  “The name is Vulcan, Mister Lemner,” the woman said.

  David Lemner was surprised she knew who he was. Few outside of military intelligence did.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” she continued. “But only after you answer a question.”

  “What question?”

  “Where can I find Paul Spradlin?”

  15

  They summoned and took an automated ride to David Lemner’s mansion.

  It was a five story structure squeezed between lines of similar mansions. In the darkness, the place looked empty and forbidding.

  When their ride reached the property’s perimeter, its doors opened and Vulcan helped Lemner out. They stopped before the property’s iron gates.

  David Lemner tried deactivating the security system but it had difficulty recognizing the disheveled, smelly, and beaten man standing before the gate.

  “Let me,” Vulcan said and reached for the security panel.

  “Lady, that’s not going to do any—”

  “Identity verified,” the security system’s robotic voice stated. A smaller gate beside the larger one slid open.

  “How did you…?” David Lemner said.

  The woman didn’t say.

  Vulcan helped Lemner through the wilting garden and to the mansion’s front door. A second security scan was present there.

  “Bet you can’t do that twi—” David Lemner started before managing a pained chuckle. “What in Hades am I saying? Go ahead, do the honors.”

  Vulcan laid her hand over that security panel and, once again, the system was disabled. The mansion’s front door opened.

  “I spent over a hundred thousand credits on that security system,” Lemner said. “Worked out the kinks myself. And you disabled it as if it wasn’t even there.”

  “Beginner’s luck.”

  “Sure. Now, who exactly are you?”

  “I already told you. My name is Vulcan.”

  “You know that isn’t what I’m asking. I’ve known everyone Paul Spradlin’s dealt with for the past five years so how come I don’t know you, Ms. Vulcan?”

  “Because I just got back into town.”

  They walked to the kitchen and Vulcan helped David Lemner sit on a stool. She picked up a cloth from the kitchen’s counter and opened the refrigerator door. She then put ice cubes on the cloth and twisted it so that they remained in place. She laid the cloth against Lemner’s swollen eye.

  Lemner was silent for a few seconds before saying:

  “Just how well do you know Spradlin?”

  “Better than most,” Vulcan said. “Which is to say, probably not well enough.”

  “You don’t know what he’s been up to?”

  “If you’re referring to what happened in Arabia, I know he was involved. As were you. From the look of things, you’ve been doing everything you can to punish yourself for that involvement. Did you object to the use of the nukes?”

  Lemner didn’t say.

  “You’re afraid to talk to me, aren’t you?” Vulcan continued. “You think I represent someone. Perhaps the Government? Do you fear I’m here to take you in?”

  “Lady, you have been gone a long time,” Lemner said. “Governments nowadays exist in name only. Behind them are a few Corporations and a bunch of Oligarchs, Theocrats, and Nationalists. The crème of the crop and truly the fucking worst of all worlds. If they wanted Arabia gone, Arabia’s gone.”

  “They were behind—?”

  “No,” Lemner said. “As soulless and rotten as those mother fuckers are, even they wouldn’t have the balls to cut out a source of prime product. That was the work of your boy.”

  “Spradlin alone was responsible for the nukes?” />
  “He pulled the trigger and he used us all,” Lemner said. “Even the pseudo intellectuals like… like myself.”

  Lemner felt the anger bubbling up. He took a moment to compose himself.

  “Tell me, Ms. Vulcan, what makes someone decide to solve a problem, no matter how big and troublesome as it is, by annihilating an entire group of people?” he said. “I’ve seen some really cold fucking things done for profit but that… that’s on another level. You planning to take Spradlin on? Is he your enemy or something?”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re enemies.”

  Lemner snapped his fingers.

  “You’re a reporter, aren’t you? You’re looking to tell the story about what happened over there?”

  Lemner shook his head.

  “Nah, you don’t fight like any reporters I know. Are you an Independent? If so, please tell me you were hired to kill him.”

  “I’m afraid I was not.”

  “That’s too bad,” David Lemner said. He sighed. “Then again, if you were, I suppose you’d have to kill me too. If only for asking.”

  “I’m not here to kill anyone.”

  Lemner shrugged.

  “All right, Ms. Vulcan, here goes: Spradlin and I were partners. I was supposed to be the brains of the operation and he was… well, he was the brains too but more importantly he was the man with the plan. He was the one that got all those parts moving.”

  David Lemner moved the icy rag higher until it covered his forehead. He winced.

  “Spradlin hired me to create a program which he used on a bunch of children. They were wards of the state, no value to society and few prospects outside of poverty and a short, drug addled life. We took them out of one hell and put them into another by making them soldiers. We programmed them to be stone cold killers and sent them out into the wilds of Arabia. I figured Spradlin wanted to create a large army of them and engage in your regular, standard war. The child soldiers did their work efficiently. We watched them with an eye on making improvements and I figured we’d create another, larger group in the coming year. Then, three days ago, Spradlin calls us all in.”