Life is a Beautiful Thing (4-Book Box Set)

by Harmon Cooper

Rinchi: I’m paraphrasing. She’s not sure who, but about a year ago some group came to her village to forcibly recruit all the men, and some other group showed up about the same time to do the same thing, with the results you’d expect. She hid for two days in the inspection pit of her father’s garage while they fought it out. When she came out, everybody was dead or gone, there were wrecked Comsuits and vehicles and discarded weapons everywhere – she thinks both sides killed each other off. She’s been good with tools and machinery since she was small, and she did most of the repair work for her father. The Comsuit was pieced together from the parts of four or five wrecks, and she did all the enhancements and up-armoring herself. She’s been looking for both groups that came to her village, but she goes after anybody with military equipment she comes across.

  “Nice,” Keva grinned. “Neco Eos Omnes, Deus Suos Agnoscet – just makes life simpler.” With the delicate touch of a surgeon, Keva placed the tip of her knife beneath the girl’s chin and used it to lift her face. The girl resisted, to the point where blood welled up around the tip of the knife, but eventually she glared into the white-haired killers silver eyes. “Tell her I’m not going to torture her … tell her that I’ve got an offer she can’t refuse.”

  Rinchi translated. The girl’s eyes stayed locked with Keva’s; she didn’t flinch or look away as Monique blasted another of the Prince’s men.

  She’s fierce; she’s proud, like a trapped wolverine. She doesn’t believe me.”

  “You are holding a knife to her throat,” Rinchi reminded her.

  “Ah! I almost forgot.” Keva lowered her knife, wiped the blade on her thigh, and did an equally flashy and ostentatious fold and close. “Ask her if she agrees to come with me. Tell her I will take her to the training facility that trained me, and after she’s developed her skills, she’ll be able to do this for a living, travel the world and make more money than the Gross National Product of Mongolia. And it’ll get her out of this shithole. Wait, don’t call it a shithole; that would be insensitive. Ha! Who am I kidding?” she guffawed, “Actually, yes, translate it as a shithole because let’s not kid ourselves… look around this place – it’s a shithole.”

  Rinchi translated and the girl nodded.

  “Good.” Keva spun on her heels. “Well that settles that; let’s get to the airport. I don’t know about you three – four now – but I would really like to get the fuck out of the Middle East. Oh, and Rinchi?”

  “Yes?”

  “One of these days I’m going to cut you into little pieces – but not today. Hell, I’m even starting to not actively hate you.”

  _∞_

  Sauria sat in the back of his private aeros brooding over the way Bill Bleak had spoken to him. The snivelling, liberal little fuck. Didn’t he realize who Sauria was? How much power he had? With no more than a phone call, Sauria could have Bleak disappeared; he could literally have him launched into space and blown out of an airlock.

  The fool. Sauria sent a GoogleFace message to Lorem Ipsum and like clockwork, Ipsum immediately returned his call.

  “Have you read the messages I sent you this morning? The team protecting Prince Al Omid was shot up yesterday, neutralized. The Prince and all his men were killed.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Sauria said.

  He didn’t mean this; no one meant anything of the sort when talking about Saudi royalty. They were a necessary evil; their wealth and political donations went a long way. “I’m sorry for not replying earlier. I saw that you sent a message, but my mind was on the attack on MercSecure headquarters in Japan. I even had lunch with Bill Bleak of BlurYou, trying to get his company to decrypt the video feed for us.”

  “No luck there,” Lorem said. “I already spoke to Connard.”

  “I see. What happened with the Prince?”

  The representatives handling him – Clove, Rinchi and Monique – were ambushed by a Comsuit-wearing terrorist.”

  “A Comsuit? What kind?”

  “A modified Chinese knock-off of an Andromeda 30,” Lorem explained. “It flipped their vehicle and stunned them long enough for it to kill the Prince and his entire retinue. Keva stopped it with a prototype EMP grenade. You know how she loves that crazy gear.

  “One Chinese knock-off Comsuit? Sounds like bullshit. Wait, why was Keva there?” Sauria asked.

  “She happened to be in the region.”

  “What, on vacation? Why would anyone voluntarily be in that region?”

  “Her after action report states she was in the region to monitor Rinchi’s progress. She thinks she is some sort of mentor or something … ”

  Sauria almost laughed. Almost. “Mentor my hairy white ass. She went there to disable that droid permanently!”

  “This may be so,” Lorem said, “but she was instrumental in taking down the Comsuit and retrieving its operator.”

  “Go on … ”

  “The Comsuit was operated by a Kurdish girl named Medya Zal, thirteen years old. She was able to take out all the Prince’s men and make a lot of trouble for the three representatives before Keva arrived on the scene; at least that was what Clove stated in his after action report, and Rinchi and Monique back him up on it. Keva does too. Naturally, Keva has since taken the girl to a MercSecure training facility.”

  “Good call. She’ll make an excellent representative.”

  Sauria glanced out the window at a passing aeros. The owner was in the backseat strapped into a VE rig, evident due to the headgear and visor that resembled a primitive motorcycle helmet. It was amazing how much time some people spent in Proxima dreamworlds.

  “That she will,” Lorem agreed, “but we still have a lot of cleaning up to do with the Royal Family.”

  “Which Prince got whacked?”

  “Al Omid.” Sauria remembered the man, his sour face, violent eyes and revolting personal peccadilloes. “Well, how many Princes are left? It’s not like there’s any shortage of ‘em.”

  Lorem stifled a laugh. “More than enough. Al Omid was one of four, the youngest. He may have been a bastard.”

  “The baby bastard of the family.”

  “Something like that. Still, the Royals aren’t happy. They’ve broken their contract with MercSecure.”

  “Really?” Sauria thought for a moment. He saw their yearly profit margin dropping. “Then we will need to give them a reason to keep their contract. Let the dust settle for a week or so and then we’ll send a team to handle the Royals. A little pressure can go a long way when it comes to political acupuncture.”

  “Sounds doable.”

  “And Rinchi? Where is she?”

  “Back in LA, at her private flat near Walliburton offices.”

  “We may need her to pay a visit to Bill Bleak.”

  Lorem asked, “Will she be giving him the Dustin Grier treatment?”

  “No, nothing like that. She’ll be … umm … persuading him.” Sauria noticed an incoming call from Antimeria. “I’ll speak to you later, Lorem. We can meet Rinchi together or you can contact her.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. Hi, Antimeria,” Sauria said, switching calls.

  “Sauria! You need to do something … they … I mean … I know what we’ve done with Nelly is justified, but they’ve put her in extreme solitary confinement, in the wall coffins! She’s in a wall coffin!”

  “They have?”

  “Yes, that’s what my … that’s the information that was passed to me.”

  “I see.” Sauria knew then that Antimeria had a source in the prison. He didn’t like it, but he was willing to let it slide. After all, they were old friends.

  “Please do something! I don’t want her … I don’t want her to suffer that badly.”

  Antimeria was weak. Sauria had known it for years and it was a bad idea getting him involved in all this. Still, it wouldn’t be very difficult to have Nelly moved to a less confining space.

  “Consider it done, old friend. I’ll make some calls now.”

 
“Thank God!”

  TWENTY-SIX∞

  Choose a pollute, choose a career, choose a family, choose a Humandroid, choose an enemy, choose a story arc.

  Yeshi and I step onto the runway of a private airfield in one of the wards surrounding central Tokyo. In case you are wondering, we said our goodbyes to Madoka without incident (although I’m pretty sure he’s still pissed about my Columbus-like discovery of his girlfriend).

  Naturally, Manuel’s men are quick to react when they see my face, the face of their former boss. Their weapons drop and they speak to me in rapid-fire Spanish, shocked to see Carloza again. Some even called me jefe.

  “We’ll leave within the hour,” one of the men says. He’s a top heavy vato, who hits the gym but rarely works his legs. His hair is greased like Superman’s, topped off by a hook-like strand that hangs over his shiny forehead. His grin is all white and he looks sly as fuck – I’d expect nothing less of a drug dealer.

  “Great,” I say, not quite sure of how our little interaction should go. (Better to hold one’s whisht than to explore, implore and bore – or not).

  Latin Superman says, “Right this way, señor.”

  Me: He called me señor.

  Yeshi: See, being in Carloza’s body isn’t that bad.

  Me: I hope this private jet isn’t like the last ‘private jet’ we took to Tokyo.

  Yeshi: That was more of a cargo plane.

  Me: Pollutes on board?

  Yeshi: Likely, but you should play it safe.

  Me: No entheogens – got it.

  We board the private hyperjet and are led to the back, to a cabin filled with newly upholstered sofas. The eagle from the Mexican flag is inlayed in the wall, the snake in his mouth made of pure gold. Mad ill.

  Latin Superman says, “The jet used to belong to the President of Mexico. He gave it to Carloza as a gift.”

  “I was unaware that Carloza was that powerful.”

  Latin Supe nods. “He was pretty good at hiding his status. He preferred it this way, you know, remain a man of the people. Please, sit.”

  I collapse onto one of the plush sofas. A man of the people with a private jet? Count me in. Yeshi scoots in next to me and I’m instantly aroused. Being a horny bastard is difficult work! Sparks have been flying since I’ve no longer had to question my sexuality regarding our relationship. It’s funny how that works, ironic how these small things create personal barriers that seem damn near impossible to overcome.

  “Feel free to use the mask,” Latin Supe tells me in English.

  My eyes lock on a designer pollute mask that looks like something out of Mad Max. It hangs on a pewter hook above one of the sofa chairs, made of stingray leather – I may be mistaken here – with red lenses. Two horns covered by the leather give it a Daredevil-ish appearance. Pollutes my élan vital.

  “What do you have on board?” I ask Latin Supe, cutting right to the chase.

  “Carloza outfitted the plane with a supply of some of the rarest pollutes in the world.”

  I suppress my giddiness by sitting on my hands. “These won’t make me hallucinate, right?”

  “No, it didn’t take him long to learn that was a bad idea for a private jet.” He turns away. “I’ll let you two settle in. Food will be served in thirty minutes or so; relax and enjoy yourselves until then.”

  “Food?” I ask. My stomach grumbles in response to my question. I don’t eat enough.

  “Yes,” he says over his shoulder, “we’ll be having shrimp enchiladas with sour cream sauce and blackened refried beans.”

  My mouth waters – Mexican food sounds much better than the Soylent bars I’ve been gorging on as of late. Nothing like a belly full of beans to fuel the crusade against FCG diplodicks. I haven’t forgotten how much shit they’ve caused me since Halloween.

  “Back to the task at hand.” I glance down at a small flashing screen. Pollute time – bitch don’t kill my vibe.

  Fendi Analjabeto

  Chick-crut Prada

  Gucci Maotai Caca

  PayPal Payola Phyntonel

  Sominex Oscar De La Renta Splooge

  Holy hell these look yumtastic. Drop the mic or drop the soap.

  “Too many to choose from,” I mumble.

  “Let me have a look.” Yeshi leans across my waist and my hand naturally comes to her rump. One playful tap later and she says, “Careful, they may be filming us.”

  “I’ve never made a sex tape before.”

  “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “We should probably leave this conversation at that.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, we probably should. Hmmmm … I think you should try the Gucci Maotai Caca. Even I’ve never heard of that one, and I used to help distribute this stuff.”

  I take the mask and strap it over my head. A bizarre wave of guilt pours over me. Before I pull the mask all the way down I ask, “Are you … happy with me, Yeshi?”

  She sweeps her bangs off her head. “Happy with you? That’s a strange question.”

  “Well, my life has been – one could say a roller coaster ride but I don’t quite think this does it justice – my life has been tumultuous since we met, and it doesn’t seem to be slowing down any. I guess what I’m trying to say is … is our life together acceptable to you?”

  She places her hand across her chest, eyeing me suspiciously. “Are you being serious?”

  I find myself nodding. It’s amazing what questions surface when one is given the floor. “Yes, I’m being serious. I just … sometimes I feel guilty about all this, like it is somehow all my fault.”

  Why did you open your mouth, Meme? You know better than to reveal your inner thoughts to the opposite sex or for that matter, species! Whatever happened to ‘no questions asked, no answers questioned?’

  She laughs. “Well, this is all your fault, but you shouldn’t feel bad about it. I told you before, this is the most excitement I’ve ever had in my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Being a … being a prostitute, while sometimes interesting, wasn’t exactly the most enlightening thing for me to be doing. Fighting against a force that has overstepped its boundaries – now that’s the stuff legends are made of. It’s very epic.”

  “So you’re saying we’re legends?”

  I roll the word on my tongue. Legends. Nothing feels better than the thought that I might matter, that my useless struggle may actually be worth something. Things might actually change if we do this right. On the other hand, we could be utterly, figuratively and literally fucked. The powers that be are forces to be reckoned with. And to think a therapist turned terrorist and his former ladyboy Humandroid girlfriend are trying to bring down an entity that has world-wide influence, a modern day Corporate Mafia using supposed capitalism as its vehicle. To think! Still, those priggish FCG chumps have it coming.

  She rests her head under my chin. “I wouldn’t call us legends yet, but we are definitely living our life in the way that legends live theirs. Sure, we may die, but every movement needs a martyr or two.”

  (Ding!)

  “Where did you hear that?” I ask, pushing her away.

  “Hear what?”

  “What you just said about martyrs. Where did you hear that?”

  Yeshi bites her lip.

  “Please, no fake concern, just tell me. I’ve… I’ve heard that before.”

  “There is something you don’t know about Humandroids, something that would shock even you if you found out. Well, maybe it wouldn’t shock you, but it might not sit very well with you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Tell me, Yeshi.”

  “You know we have a private network we can communicate on, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say, “the one you use to send work orders, et cetera.”

  “That’s the one. You know what, Meme, I’ll tell you another time.”

  “Tell me about what?”

  “Let’s just get to Mexico first,” she says.
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  “Don’t change the subject. I want to know what you’re talking about. Don’t … don’t leave me hanging.”

  Yeshi turns to me and grabs my shoulders. “Meme, I can’t tell you right now.” She closes her eyes for an extended moment, which indicates to me that I’d better check my iNet message box.

  Yeshi: The plane may be bugged.

  Me: Got it. Later though … tonight?

  Yeshi: If you are sweet.

  Me: I am always sweet.

  Yeshi: No, you are always high.

  Me: It stings! I can’t promise I’ll get help anytime soon, but if it satisfies you and the people inside my head, I’ll do it.

  Yeshi: People inside your head? What are you talking about?

  (I’m talking about you, Reader.)

  Me: Never mind.

  Yeshi: It’s fine. I wish I could get high off pollutes. It would be a great way to pass the time.

  Me: Are you fucking with me?

  Yeshi: No, I’m being serious. I really wish there was a way for me to know what it feels like to be intoxicated. I’ve told you this before. It’s a very human thing to do.

  I clear my throat and say, “Trust me. You don’t want to be like us. We … I … um … ” I search my frazzled brain for the right word. “Many of us are eternally befuddled, skipping from one stone to the next. You’ve seen it … you’ve seen how we are with our little obsession and our dark little secrets. Show me a human who doesn’t have a skeleton in their closet and I’ll shove one in there!”

  “At least you have a skeleton … ”

  This is the first time Yeshi has ever been anything but positive. Could it be … no just because she’s essentially had a sex change doesn’t change her mood per say. Jesus Cristo what am I saying?

  “Why you tripping boo?” I ask, using a phrase I read was popular back in 2001.

  “Boo?” Yeshi laughs. “Where do you get this stuff?”

  TWENTY-SEVEN∞

  Nelly didn’t know how long she’d been sedated when the slot opened up above her. Time loses relevance during bouts of extreme confinement. Without seeing the passing of the sun or any other indications of time, a strange yet paranoid calm had settled over her. The sedation helped and as the light from the slot above her body reached her eyes, she hoped that she was about to be sedated again.