by wade coleman
“Yeah, I’m still getting used to my new implant.” While she works the muscle, I wonder what Kim has said to her about me. Maggie and I have been friends a long time, but I’ve kept things from her. Now I’m feeling a little exposed. “So… how much has Kim told you?”
“You mean teleporting her to a hotel balcony?”
“Yeah…so…”
“Relax. I’ve known since your little prank with Precious. The cat screamed loud enough to wake the dead. I woke up, looked out my bedroom window, watched you do your little dance and then disappear into the shadows.”
Maggie holds my calf, her hands are like vises, and grabs hold.
I slap the ground. “Uncle, I give.” She lets up on the pressure.
“So… why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you? I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. Until then I know better than to pry into the secret world of Hermes Conrad.”
Finally, the muscle in my calf lets goes of the tension. After Maggie finishes up my legs, she sits cross-legged on the sheet and puts a pillow on her lap. “Turn over and lay your head here.”
I lay down on her lap, and she puts her fingers between the last neck bone and the skull.
“Uh…That hurts so good.”
The morning sun shines through the window, the warming beams pinning me to the floor. A thought drifts into my head. No matter what happens to me, this thing with the virus will work out. I let go, and a wave of relief passes through me.
Maggie crosses my arms and massages my hands.
“That feels nice,” Natasha uses my throat, but not my voice.
“Hermes?” Maggie says.
“Hermes is asleep,” Natasha replies.
“Who are you?”
“Natasha, I’m his…”
“You’re the implant!”
“Yes.”
“Hey, Kim,” Maggie says, beaming. “Come over here and check this out.”
* * *
Waking up in the middle of the living room, I spot my clothes laid out on the sofa. I dress, walk outside and close the screen door behind me. The night air is cool as I head down the center of the road. On top of a rise, I stop and look at the crescent moon.
For a moment, I’m confused. I thought the moon was full because everything is so bright. Then I remember my synthetic eyes have superior night vision, twice human normal. Still not as good as combat eyes, which are better than a cat’s.
Walking up to my house, I go inside and make coffee. Pouring a cup, I walk back outside and sit on the porch. My new eyes have no problem adjusting to the increasing light of the sun as it comes up over the horizon.
For the first time in my life, I look at the sun with an unblinking gaze.
* * *
After breakfast, Mom and Dad leave to attend a neighborhood watch meeting. Taking the gold dragon to the shop, I close the garage doors and find a set of small needle-nose pliers. I carefully loosen the prongs holding in the ten carrot ruby eyes of the Kukan and replace them with faceted red glass.
A careful inspection will reveal they are fake, but no one will know when they were stolen, or by whom. Each ruby is worth a little over three million credits. It seems unfair that I should go uncompensated for returning such a priceless artifact, but those are the breaks.
A little before ten, I get on my bike and ride in Frisco. I cross the bay bridge into South Frisco Inner-City territory. I take the turn for the coastal road that leads to the Broadmoor.
It used to be an empty stretch of road, now a half dozen stands are set up selling pumpkins and potatoes so close to the road that they collect dust.
In twenty or so minutes and I am at the main gate. A guard at the gate checks my ID. Taking the perimeter road to the Broadmoor Country Club, I park my bike under a tree and retrieve my backpack.
Five granite steps lead to the front door and an atrium made of blue tile. To the right is the archway to a restaurant. On my left, the reception desk.
“I’m here to meet the Search and Rescue Board at 1 PM,” I tell the man behind the desk.
“You can’t come in dressed like that.”
Showing him my backpack, “I know. I need a place to change.”
He gives me a towel and a key to a locker, then points to the dressing room behind me. Once inside, I change and walk out carrying a shopping bag.
Pam is standing in front of the drinking fountain wearing the colors of a member of the Broadmoor County Club: blue skirt, white shirt, and shoes.
I set out of the bathroom and spot Pam.
“You didn’t call me,” I say as I approach.
She crosses her arms. “Dr. West said you almost died.” Pam’s voice sounds both concerned and a little angry.
“I’m okay; my heart was beating too fast. With Dr. West’s help, my mom got it under control.”
“What’s going on?”
“Natasha replaced my brain’s medulla.”
“So…your implant controls your autonomic nervous system, heartbeat, respiration and blood pressure?” Pam sounds concerned.
“The good doctor gave Natasha the specs on the human body, so everything is fine.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “Enough about that. Can you give me a tour of the club?”
Pam takes me by the elbow and leads me away from the locker rooms and to outside pool. A dozen children are walking as fast as they can around the perimeter. The rest are splashing in the water.
“We call this the Tinkler. “During the summer, mothers drop off their kids for the day, and they all leave by 4 PM. Then the club belongs to the adults.”
Next is the tennis courts. Behind them is small building separate from the main complex.
“That’s the Officer’s Cub for retired Navy. The Enterprise is the only aircraft carrier on the west coast, and it’s stationed in Frisco. They’re very proud of that.”
We make our way to the restaurant, sit on the covered outdoor patio, putting my bag in the seat next to me. The waiter comes over almost immediately, dressed all in blue. The man is my age, mid-twenties and tall.
“Hello, my name is Mike, and I’ll be your server.” He is holding a small tablet computer, “Are you ready to order?”
“I’ll have iced tea and a Cobb Salad,” Pam puts a napkin on her lap.
“Burger and fries.”
“You don’t want to eat that.”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen you eat; you’re an animal. You don’t eat food; you attack it. There’s no way you’re going to keep that white shirt clean.”
Pam saw me eat after a night of shadow shifting; I wasn’t at my best. I do like to stay clean, so I take her advice.
“Okay. Mike, I’ll have the Cobb Salad with three eggs and some butter on the side.”
“Very good, sir.”
“My name is Hermes, not ‘sir.'”
Sir is a title reserved for officers in the military and Purebloods. In school, you were taught subtle things to make you feel less highly of yourself because you were a mutant. In the last five years, the use of ‘sir’ has been falling out of favor as mutants understand that titles are used to separate us into classes.
The waiter, a Type 3 mutant like me, suppresses a smile and walks away.
After he leaves, I turn my attention to Pam. “Did you check me out?”
Pam adjusts the cloth napkin on her lap. “A few days ago, you purchased forty acres of land, as did your mother and father. It appears you formed a co-op with two women, Kimberly Akagi and Maggie Carter.” Her eyes are level with mine.
I nod and then drink some of the too sweet tea.
She continues: “The same donor who sponsored you to the Search and Rescue paid for a lifetime membership at the Broadmoor.”
I take a sip of tea. “I’ve had a run of luck.”
“Why did you ask Dr. West to send me to get you?”
I try to look innocent and fail miserably. So I tell the truth. “I wanted to see you.”
; Pam crosses her arms and turns her head. “I don’t like being summoned.”
“Hey, I don’t know anyone here, and I wanted to see a familiar face.”
The waiter arrives with our food, setting each plate down, and then leaves.
“I’m sorry, can’t we just talk and enjoy our meal?”
Pam smiles. “I'm rude. I apologize. Welcome to the Broadmoor and congratulations on your acceptance into flight school.” She shakes my hand and picks up her fork.
I look at Pam and smile. “Life doesn’t get better than this.”
Her face softens. “I suppose the last few days have given you a new perspective on life.”
I cut up my eggs and put them on the salad, reaching for the oil and vinegar. Pam shakes her head. She’s right; I don’t want to risk staining my new shirt.
“Did you know my father was on the Search and Rescue Board?”
I choke on a carrot, then drink some water to wash it down. “No, I didn’t.” I smile and snicker to myself. This is so like my luck…just when everything is going my way, I’m thrown a curveball. I’m about to pull one of my pranks that’s sure to piss people off. Not a good start to a relationship.
Pam puts down her tea. “Why do you want to go to flight school, anyway? Why become a member of the Broadmoor Country Club?”
“Natasha wants to fly, and I joined the club to meet Jason Baron of Baron Enterprise.”
She smiles, lowers her head and shakes it. “You won’t catch him here, that’s for sure.” Pam acknowledges my puzzled expression and explains: “The Jason Baron is a corporate elite with political connections to the western states. Broadmoor members are all ex-military, mostly Navy, who are connected to the Federal government. The corporations took offense to the Feds seizing land from the banks and deeding it to returning veterans. The Feds have stringent oversight of elections to ensure the mutant’s right to vote. It has created quite a stir in local politics.”
A young woman walks up to me, dressed in brown. “Hi, are you Hermes?”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m Cathy, a journalist from the Broadmoor Shopper.” Cathy turns to Pam. “Hello, do you to mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
Cathy turns on the camera mounted to her glasses and looks at me. “Hermes, “How does it feel to be the first mutant admitted to the Broadmoor Country Club?”
“I don’t know; this is my first time here.”
“What are your first impressions?”
“I like the pool; the kids seem happy.” I hold up my glass. “The tea is too sweet, though.”
“What line of work are you in?”
Pam smiles. “Yes, do tell the world what you do for a living.”
The girls sit across from me in the booth. Cathy has an inquisitive face with soft features, her charm disarming. Pam’s eyes are amused, waiting for me to respond.
“You mean, how did a mutant afford a lifetime membership to the Broadmoor?”
Cathy smiles. “If you don’t mind.”
I take a sip of tea and make a face. I just can’t get used to all the sugar. “Pornography.”
“Pornography?” Cathy asks.
“Yes, I run the website underground-sex.com. Mutants wearing full immersion helmets go to a red-light district. I stream the video live to subscribers.”
Pam’s face is frozen, her mouth hanging open.
Cathy clicks a switch on her glasses. “I don’t think this is the right story for the Broadmoor Shopper.”
I pull a vial of vaccine from my shopping bag. “How about this story.”
Her eyes widen, and she turns her camera back on. “What’s that?”
“It’s a vaccine for a virus that kills only mutants, except for Type A’s. You know, your favorite organ donors.”
My hands tremble, and I put the vaccine back in the bag. I look to my left; the Search and Rescue Board members are taking the reserved table. A waiter comes over and says they’re ready to receive me.
I stand up. “When I signal, come over, and you’ll get your prize-winning story.”
Excusing myself from Pam, I pick up my shopping bag, walk to the assembled board and sit in an empty chair at the head of the table.
The men look to be in their mid-forties, wearing blue pants with a white stripe down the seam, navy blue shirts with padded shoulders. Pins on their shoulder pads indicate rank. The five men assembled, two on each side, one opposite me, are all captains. The one at the head of the table has dark hair and eyes. He looks like he just got a trim; his hair is perfect.
“Hermes, good of you to come,” the man across from me says. “Let me introduce you to the Search and Rescue board…I’m Captain Pérez. The men to your right are Captains Fields and Kaneko. To your left are Captains Moore and Stone.”
The men nod in my direction.
“We have a few questions for you,” Captain Pérez says. He looks down at his tablet and then back up again, his eyes studying me.
“Yes, captain, but before we begin, do you mind if I order a drink?”
“Yes, of course,” he motions to a waiter.
Mike comes over. “I’d like a bottle of vodka and six glasses, please.”
“Sir, hard liquor is served only after four PM.”
“Mike, I’m not in the mood for your ‘sirs,’ so get these men and me a drink.”
Mike backs up and heads to the bar.
“Stop. We’ll have whiskey and leave the bottle.” Captain Pérez says.
“So, Captain Perez, what can I do for you?”
“Who sponsored you to flight school?”
“I did.”
The men around the table look at each other, exchanging glances, and then look back at me.
Mike returns, pours everyone a drink and then puts the bottle in the center of the table. I sip my whiskey. The captains sip theirs and stare at me, like a cat and mouse game between alcoholics.
“How did you get the money for flight school?” the man at the head of the table asks.
“You mean…how did a mutant get the money?”
“To be blunt, yes.”
“Its blood money, the money the Jason Baron paid to the Chief Administrator of Mercy Hospital to run a trial on a virus.”
I look around the table, but no one seems surprised.
My hands tremble, so I get a deck of playing cards out of my shopping bag and shuffle the deck with one hand. “When you’ve had a long night at the table, and you’re low on chips, you’ve got to pick the right time to go all in.”
I sip my whiskey with my right hand shuffling on automatic. “Gentlemen, it’s time to choose sides.”
I look at Cathy, the reporter, and she walks over. Opening my bag, I place the gold dragon in the center of the table. “This is the Kukan. It was stolen from Japan during the Bio Wars. These men of the Search and Rescue Board recovered the artifact from Mr. Fukui of the Inner-City Gang in a midnight raid.”
The men’s mouths clench in a grimace when Cathy’s camera pans to their faces.
I place a vial of the vaccine in the dragon’s claw where the star sapphire globe should be. “Also found with the dragon was a vial of vaccine for the virus that officially doesn’t exist. So, fuck you Mayor Clay.” I smile for the camera and make sure to use exaggerated mouth movements just in case I get censored.
Several people get up from their tables to see the Kukan, phones come out to take pictures. I slip away from the table, my hands cramp into fists, and I hide them in my pockets.
Walking away, Pam gets up from her table, looks down at my hands and back up to me. Her face expressing both concern for me and astonishment at the sight of the dragon.
Behind me, I hear Captain Perez shout: “Everyone stand down!” I turn to look, and he grabs the Kukan, heading toward the back door to the officer’s club near the tennis courts.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah…Natasha’s a little excited, so my hands are trembling.”
Pam leads me to the parking lot where a man stands next to a van. My bike is loaded in a rack in back. After getting in, she slides the door closed, and the driver starts the engine.
Inside is a reclining chair with an IV station. I sit down, my hands still locked into fists.
“I’m going to give you something for that.”
A man gets in and drives. Pam gives me an injection, and my hands relax.
She puts in an IV. “I can’t believe you did that back there.”
I smile. “Yeah, really came together this time.”
She takes my blood pressure. “You surprised them, Hermes. These men do not like surprises.”
“Do you like surprises?”
She ignores me, typing something into her tablet.
“I’ve have something for you in my bag.”
She looks up from the computer, her nose crinkling. Checking my bag, Pam removes a two-inch blue star sapphire.
Her hands tremble. “This belongs in the dragon’s claw!” Her eyes are wide.
“Now it belongs to you,” I smile.
She shakes her head, eyes wide. Pam even looks a little pale. “No, Hermes, we have to give it back.”
“No, we don’t. I put a vial of the vaccine in its place. I consider it a pretty fair trade, considering the circumstances.”
“It’s stealing.”
“It’s a finder’s fee.”
I close her hand around the sphere. “Beautiful women deserve beautiful things.”
She puts the sphere in her purse and sits in a chair next to me. “Is that true, you’re running a pornographic website?”
“Oh…that. It’s just an idea to launder money.”
She shakes her head and adds something to the IV. “Okay, that’s it. I’ve had enough of you for one day.”
And the next thing I know, the lights go out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I’m standing at the airport in Casablanca. Ingrid Bergman in a blue dress is getting on the plane and waving goodbye.
Bogart puts his hand on my shoulder. “Tough break, kid.”
“Who the hell is she?” I ask.
“She was your ticket out of here.”
* * *