Shadow Dragon

by wade coleman

  An hour later, a man walks in holding up a chalkboard with my name on it. I follow him out on to the taxiway and we board a single-engine Cessna Skyhawk.

  Sitting in the co-pilot seat, I ask, “Why the VIP treatment?”

  “Captain Fields says to get you home safely. The roads between here and Ceres are too dangerous to drive.”

  Once in the air, I convince the pilot to let me have the controls until it’s time to land. Then he takes over and puts it down on a strip of paved road a few miles from my home.

  Daniel is there to pick me up, and we head home. I fill him in on the night’s activity, and he nods like he always does, not saying much.

  After I finish, he fills me in. “That warehouse you texted me, we rolled in hard and secured the facility. They were storing weapons as well as medical supplies. We stripped it bare and stashed the provisions throughout the neighborhood.”

  “That’s why you’re the first sergeant,” I say, “No one can steal more than you.”

  We turn into our driveway and Daniel is grinning. Parking the pickup, we go into the garage. Next to my copper-lined shop are four large wooden boxes, stamped “Apex Orbiter.”

  The Apex is a drone aircraft, its wings covered with thin-film photovoltaic panels. It’s designed to stay aloft for weeks. And with my immersion helmet, I can see what it sees.

  I smile at Daniel. “I can think of so many ways to use this.”

  The next few hours are spent opening boxes and figuring out where everything goes. Natasha purrs like a kitten in the back of my mind.

  Mom’s made an early dinner, vegetables from the garden, French fries and blue casserole made of algae. She cuts me a square of the casserole, and it jiggles to a stop on my plate.

  “The algae has more protein than meat and costs a tenth of the price, but I haven’t found the right recipe yet.”

  It feels like Jell-O in my mouth with a nutty taste. “What’s going on in Frisco?”

  Daniel finishes his plate and pours more tea. “The city is divided into three zones. The Vory are running North Frisco. National Guard controls downtown and the roads leading in and out of the city. The inner-city gang has the rest of South Frisco.”

  “It’s safe inside Ceres,” Mom says. “But between the city and us is a no man’s land. Mutants are trying to escape the quarantine. Bike gangs are running them down and taking anything valuable.”

  Getting up, I find a bottle of vodka and pour us all a drink. “At the old army base, they’re growing our substitutes. They’re planning to kill the mutants and replace us with their creations.”

  “What do you mean?” Mom has a horrified look on her face.

  I slam my drink, fire spreading through my chest, and pour a second. “The corporate techies are making giants with small brains to do the heavy lifting to replace trolls.”

  Daniel swirls his drink and sniffs it. “Since they’ve manufactured, the corporations can patent them.”

  Bev slams her drink. “And manufactured goods can’t vote.”

  “You better let up,” Dad says. “Kim will be here to pick you up tomorrow at noon.”

  “What’s going on?”

  He pours a drink for himself and Bev. “We put out a description of the plastic bottle that contains the virus. Someone from Sludge City saw it and wants cash for the information. You and Kim are entering the slum posing as refugees from the Frisco.”

  The adrenaline in my system runs out, and the alcohol finally kicks in. “I’m tired… see you in the morning.”

  * * *

  A concert of violins fills my head. Getting out of bed, I stumble over to the toilet and piss.

  Natasha appears next to me while in mid-stream. “What did you think of it?”

  I turn so she can’t see me and then realize how ridiculous that is. “Think of what?”

  “The music, darling.”

  I get out my toothbrush. “Nice, but…kind of long.”

  She stands there with her hand on her waist. “That was Pachelbel's Canon in D, and it was only five minutes long. Most classical pieces are much longer.”

  It’s at this point that I notice Natasha is naked, standing a little over five feet tall. Her eyes are blue, her hair and bush a matching dirty blond. She walks up to me, her body perfectly proportioned, and I suddenly freeze, staring at her.

  “So, darling, is that all you want…boom-boom?” And for a second, I think she’s talking about something else.

  “Ah…what?”

  “Music, darling, the bass…boom-boom.”

  “Oh...yes.” I look down at her breasts, ample C’s that defy gravity. Feeling vulnerable, I head to the bedroom and put on some underwear. “Natasha, how much do you understand about sex and relationships?”

  “What I’ve observed is you use sex to relieve tension.”

  I put one leg on my jeans and naked Natasha asks, “So, are you tense?”

  I hop on one foot, trying to get my other foot through the pants, and finally fall back on the bed.

  “Maybe not tense…but uncomfortable right now. You’re a life-form that has replaced my central nervous system. You probably weigh as much as my brain.”

  “More, darling, now that I replaced the primate parts of your brain.”

  Standing up, I zip my pants.

  Natasha leans in and hugs me, still naked. Her body feels warm against mine. “Darling, I was designed to augment, not replace a human brain. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I pull back. “Natasha, I see you as a woman. And seeing you stand there with your breasts defying gravity is making me tense and very uncomfortable.”

  She squishes her eyes and smiles, putting on a loose-fitting t-shirt, which suddenly has appeared in her hands. “How do you say in America? ‘You want to take things slow?’”

  I move past her to the bathroom, get my toothbrush and change the subject. “How long can we stay sped up without burning out?”

  Natasha looks at herself in the mirror. “Once our new energy cells are up and running, twenty seconds if you push it, three minutes if you take it easy.”

  “Great, that will come in handy when I get in a tight spot.”

  I head to the kitchen. Dad and Kim are sitting at the table. I stand over the stove, snacking on eggs and lab-grown meat out of the skillet, not bothering with the formalities of a plate.

  “I packed your bag,” Dad says. “You two have a flight out at ten.”

  “What?”

  “Biker gangs have taken over the roads, and you and Kim need to get to Sludge City fast and safe.”

  Sludge City is five hundred acres of settling ponds that collect waste from Frisco. Organisms are added that convert the sludge into an oil that is skimmed off and used for cooking and diesel fuel. The town where the mutants live was constructed almost entirely of shipping containers. Four thousand mutants live and work there.

  I nod and continue shoveling in food, then spread butter and jam on a piece of toast, pour coffee, and then sit down. Taking a bite of the toast and jam, I follow it with some bitter coffee. It tastes perfect.

  “When the first plague victims get reported in the city, the mutants will panic and overwhelm the National Guard,” Daniel says. “When that happens, a lot of scared and angry people will be pouring through.”

  “We have men at each entrance to our neighborhood,” Kim says. “The colonel has authorized deadly force if anyone enters without permission.”

  I nod and finish eating. When I’m done, the three of us head to the garage.

  “Sit down and take off your shoes,” Daniel says to Kim and me.

  We take separate chairs and remove our shoes.

  “Sludge City doesn’t allow firearms,” Daniel says. “And all bulletproof clothing will be confiscated.”

  He removes the inserts in our running shoes and replaces them with a quarter inch layer of silk. “I compressed your spider-silk armor. You can put them on once you get inside.”

  Dad hands me a vest with
plenty of pockets. “They’ll let this through. It’s a standard issue EMT vest with a med kit.” Then he hands me a small text-only flip-phone. “This is a military satellite phone so that you can send encrypted text messages.”

  Smiling, Daniel opens the garage door, and on the other side is a half-ton pickup.

  I walk around the new red pickup, the factory sticker still on the bumper. The truck panels are formed from plastic and carbon nanotubes. Ten times the strength of steel and a tenth the weight. “Where are the batteries?”

  He lowers the tailgate of the truck and points to a layer of two-inch plastic on the bottom of the bed. The latest in technology, a battery that you can roll up like a carpet and then lay out on the truck bed. This is a very pricey battery upgrade. Daniel always says never buy new and never get the latest technology, because it costs too much. Buying new is very out of character for Daniel.

  “You stole this,” I say.

  “Hey, keep it down. Your mom thinks you bought the truck for me.”

  I nod. Dad and I have an agreement…if you steal something and Mom catches you, lie your way out of it. She can get pretty preachy sometimes.

  Daniel puts our backpacks in the truck bed, and we get in. Kim sits in the middle, Dad driving. He parks near the asphalt section of road. The neighborhood committee voted to pave a quarter mile section of road as an emergency runway. These days, there’s at least one emergency a day.

  We get out of the truck and wait for the plane to land, a twin-engine Skyhawk Cessna similar to the one that I bought for Natasha. A man in goggles and a headset opens a door, and we step inside.

  I turn and look at Daniel. “See you on the other side.”

  “See you on the flip.”

  He drives off while we get settled, Kim in the back, me in the co-pilot seat.

  After getting off the ground, I ask the pilot, “Mind if take the controls?”

  “You know how to fly?”

  “My implant does.”

  “Lucky bastard. I spent the better part of my life flying; now all the corporate executives want to fly their own planes. In a few years, I’ll be out of a job.”

  “It’s a fad. It will pass. Some other thing will be all the rage, as a self-defense program for the implant. Then everyone will want that.”

  He gives me the controls. “Kid, I like the way you think.”

  Natasha takes over my arms, and my eyes scan over the instruments. Our pilot, Dave, fills me in on what the instruments mean.

  After ten minutes of flying, he says, “You’re a natural, kid.”

  I look over at him. He has white stubble on his chin. His right hand is a replacement, the shade of the skin on his hand much darker than the rest of his arm.

  He sees me looking and says, “Lost the hand in the Bio Wars. I was lighting a cigarette, and I took a sniper round to my wrist. Haven’t had a craving for a cigarette since, though.”

  After letting Natasha take control, a peculiar calm settles over me. While executing a turn, she gives a little more throttle. The pilot nods approvingly.

  We fly to the bay bridge and head west. Our destination lies on the east side of the estuary near the old city of Antioch.

  Sludge City is a series of settling ponds collecting waste from the Frisco City and surrounding areas. Organisms turn sludge into an oil. What’s left is dried into cakes and burnt in cooking fires. The “town” part is ten acres of shipping containers stacked five high into homes, streets, and businesses. Four thousand mutants live there.

  Natasha memorizes an aerial view, and the pilot takes control of the plane for landing. He brings the plane in on a dirt road surrounded by hemp fields five miles south-west of Sludge City. After we touch down, he keeps the engine running while we get out with our packs. Shutting the door, I pound on it, step back, and Dave takes off. I give him a final salute, and he returns the wave.

  Our ride is a truck parked under the shade of an oak tree by the side of the road. The driver is a girl no older than ten. She sits in the driver’s seat chewing gum with an Australian shepherd sitting on her lap, another one in the passenger seat.

  In the back of a three-quarter ton pickup are the two beat up looking electric bikes sitting on a pile of sugar beets. Kim points to the truck bed. “There’s your ride.”

  Kim and I get the bikes out the truck, and the girl drives off without saying a word.

  The two electric bikes have seen better days. It pains me to see such disrepair. At least the batteries are new, and the motors have been recently greased.

  While riding to Sludge City, Natasha alters my skin and face to match my fake ID. When Natasha forged my pilot license, I had her print out the driver’s licenses of a dozen people that match my general physical description. With my face changed, I can now pass for them.

  The main gate to the city is crowded with people wanting to get in, but not having enough money to pay the bribes. As we drive up to the entrance, several children stand around, begging for money.

  Sludge City is ringed with cargo containers that are stacked five high and form a forty-foot wall. You can tell the last story was added in the last few years, their green color not as faded as the lower levels.

  In one section, the wall is only stacked two high. An eight-foot-wide ramp made of bamboo leads to the top. Underneath, it’s supported by genetically engineered bamboo columns as thick as power poles. Several trolls hang out in the shade, their eyes sensitive to the sunlight.

  We ride up to the gate, stop and take off our helmets. Kim is getting better with her makeup, her stripes barely visible.

  We dismount our bikes, and four men line up next to us, armed with clubs.

  A troll with mirrored wraparound sunglasses says, “Before you can come in, we have to strip search you.”

  I give the giant a one-ounce silver coin.

  He bites down with his pointed teeth, then inspecting it. His men move out of the way. We drive up the ramp and down the other side. At the bottom of the ramp is a small parking lot, bikes stacked in racks four high. After parking our motorcycles, we approach a dwarf with his feet up on a desk.

  “Parking fee is one dime per day per ride.”

  “Do you repair bikes?”

  The mutant slides his feet off the desk and stands up. “Yes, we do.”

  “We had to leave in a hurry. These were the only motorcycles we could get on short notice.”

  He looks over the bikes. “Everything is shot except the battery.”

  “Yeah, I know. We have a place to stay with the farmers. We’re spending the night here and heading out in the morning. Do you have something a little more reliable?”

  He walks back into the row of bikes and smiles. “Take a look at my showroom.”

  The motorcycles are all makes and models, obviously the property of the occupants of Sludge City. I spot two dirt bikes in good condition. “How much for those two?”

  The dwarf with the brown hair and eyes puts his hand on my shoulder. Looking over, he stands a foot shorter than me.

  He smiles and points. “You know your cycles. I bet you’re a mechanic.” He reads my face, knowing he’s right.

  He points to the dirt bikes. “The rubber is good; the shocks are new, and the motors have been rebuilt.”

  I let out my breath, resigned to paying over market prices for stolen goods. “How much?”

  He leads me away from Kim and speaks quietly: “For you, my good sir, seeing that you’re so desperate, I think two ounces of gold should cover it.”

  I reach into my vest pocket. “What is it with you people? Can you smell gold?”

  “My, dear friend, you pain me with such accusation.”

  “You pain me with exorbitant prices.”

  I count out gold coins from the Super Store robbery and place it on the scale.

  “I expect, for this price, they’ll be fully serviced and ready to go by daybreak? And I need a locker where we can stow our helmets and gear.”

  He leads us to a set
of lockers where we put our backpacks and helmets. I close the locker and walk away. The dwarf counts his money and says, “Oh, by the way…when a man carries gold, he walks with confidence, knowing that his needs will be met. You, sir, walk like a man without a care in the world.”

  I smile, knowing I’ve been overcharged by one of the best. Kim and I leave the bike area and walk out into the city. Once into a marketplace of sorts, people come up to us and shout their wares. Mutants selling rooms and women for rent, fake ID’s and work permits. Someone reaches into my vest pocket, and I grab him by the balls, giving them a good squeeze. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll trade you your balls for the pocketknife in your hand.” I hold out my hand, and he hands me the knife. I let go.

  He drops to his knees and pants. “Fuck you, asshole.”

  Pleased with my results, I smile. The other salesmen, seeing my handiwork, leave us alone, and we find our way into the city.

  The streets of Sludge City are narrow but paved. They slope to the center where a trickle of sewage collects. Near the intersections, a small girl with purple eyes the size of golf balls fills a bucket with water from under a pipe.

  I hand her a silver dime, a day’s pay for the mutants who work the sludge pits, and the girl looks up at me, her head shaped like Kim’s, elongated in the back.

  “We need a place to change our clothes and hang out until it gets dark.”

  The girl looks at me. “Why do they call you a ghost?”

  “You mean Spooky,” Kim says.

  “No, he’s not spooky, he’s a Casper.” The young girl picks up the water bucket. “Follow me.”

  I try to carry the water, but she slaps my hand away. “That’s my job.”

  With the girl lugging water, we walk behind her. Each side of the street is lined with cargo containers stacked four high. Bamboo scaffolding provides steps and patios for the residence.

  I look at the little girl and think back to when I was ten. I spent the summer reading books. She’s carrying water on her summer break, or maybe she doesn’t go to school at all. The thought breaks my heart.

  The girl puts down the water, gives me a hug and a smile, which just makes me cry. She picks up the water again, and we continue down the road. I’m left in a daze after this and not sure what to think.