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

by Harmon Cooper

  “You didn’t have to kill him,” Walt said.

  “Yeah, I didn’t.”

  FOURTEEN∞

  The fat lady has sung and her voice has brought down the ceiling of the Amphitheater killing all the guests with their polished monocles, gaudy Rolex pocket watches, the priceless diamond chokers wrapped tightly around their Botoxed throats. The down-trodden people of North Korea have begun down-treading the frighteningly stupid images of Kim Jun-Duche with his indescribably horrible national haircut.

  Let my people go! screamed Moses. Who is John Galt? screamed some crazy ex-Russian. You’re fired! screamed an early twenty-first century soulless hotel tycoon. I am not a crook! screamed a twentieth century crook.

  Meme here and I’m happy to report that we are safe (enough) speeding away from Tijuana in a damaged aeros transport vehicle missing half its ceiling. Baby Rebel has stopped crying and not a moment too soon. Methinks I can only handle so much crying and the opening in the ceiling is a perfect place to toss the …

  Just kidding.

  That’s my baby, remember? But in all seriousness, there are some things we’ll need to address immediately, including the fact that we were attacked and that MercSecure, ExEx, the FCG and whoever else wants a piece of the Meme-cake, might know that we are alive. After all, Rinchi did see me and she likely did a vitals scan.

  First things first.

  Me: Manuel, hombre, are you alive?

  Manuel: Alive and waiting at a private airfield in Tijuana.

  Me: I wasn’t aware of this part of the plan.

  Manuel: I’d be crazy to engage in a stand-up fight with MercSecure at the hotel. I left them a few surprises though, including a Trilobite.

  Me: Damn, you’re getting all prehistoric and shit. Is there a Spanish word for antediluvian?

  Manuel: No sé. How damaged is the aeros? Have you spoken to Hewman?

  Me: Briefly. I’ll add him to our conversation now. The transport aeros has seen better days. Much better days.

  I open my eyes for a moment to find Yeshi and Noah having a conversation about something. I’d love to know what those two could possibly be talking about, but the roar of the wind from the enormous hole in the ceiling is making it hard to pick up on their voices. I’m just glad it isn’t raining outside. I really don’t want to get my guayabera wet.

  Me: Dr. Hewman, what is your status?

  Hewman: Waiting for you at the Port of Cancún. I’ve transferred the coordinates to your driver. Manuel, we have room for your transport on my vessel.

  Manuel: Good. I’m at the airfield now ready waiting for MercSecure to return.

  Hewman: Nice.

  Me: Wait, you two knew about this plan all along?

  Manuel: Yes.

  Hewman: Yes.

  Me: Thanks for telling a brother.

  Hewman: If they took you, they’d bring you to the airfield to transport you back. You’d also spill everything you knew to them in about thirty seconds – trust me on this. Manuel’s set up at the airfield with a choice selection of his associates, and the only way MercSecure is going to walk into that reception committee is if they don’t know it’s there.

  Me: Choice selection? How many are we talking about here?

  Manuel: My best men. Enough to do what needs to be done. La crème de la crème.

  Me: All for me? Thanks guys. You’ll be happy to know that Rinchi has been destroyed.

  Manuel: Not just for you.

  Hewman: Rinchi isn’t dead.

  Me: What?

  Hewman: I told you that Humandroids automatically release distress signals. They can’t do this if they are destroyed.

  Me: She’s alive?

  Manuel: Where is she?

  Hewman: Somewhere in Tijuana.

  “Hey everyone … ” I say, waving my hands to get their attention.

  Nelly, Noah and Yeshi look to me. Baby Rebel yawns.

  “Rinchi may still be alive.”

  “Impossible,” Noah says. “Her Comsuit exploded.” He replays the video feed in his head (I can tell because of the way his eyes unfocus). “Oh no … ”

  “What do you see?” Yeshi asks, also replaying the feed.

  Noah says,” I’m transferring my feed to both of you. I have a better angle. There may have been an escape pod.”

  Me: Hold up gents, let me watch this feed.

  I check out the feed on the inside of my eyelids. In the video, just before Rinchi’s Comsuit explodes, the front of the suit drops out, burning like a meteorite.

  “She’s in there?” I ask over the roar of the wind.

  Yeshi and Noah nod. Both of them are feigning human disappointment by tilting their chins to the side and frowning, which looks a little bizarre as they are sitting across from me with their heads tilted in the same direction at the same angle.

  Me (to Dr. Hewman and Manuel): Transferring the video now.

  Manuel: There’s no way she survived that.

  Hewman: Her distress signal indicates otherwise.

  Manuel: I’ll see what I can do after dealing with the reps at the airfield. They should be on their way any moment now.

  Hewman: Good, I’ll take care of your craft in the meantime. You can get it in Cuba after it has been repaired. I have some connects.

  Me: Speaking of Havana, I need a breather after what I’ve just been through. Any special pollutes there?

  Hewman: Indeed? That’s your major concern at this point? This is hardly the time to ask about pollutes.

  Me: Nothing wrong with planning ahead.

  Hewman: I have something for you, Meme, don’t worry. Let’s just get to Havana first.

  FIFTEEN∞

  Sauria’s face fell into his hands as soon as he saw the video of Antimeria cuffed to a wall with a halo of blood on the wall behind his head. It had finally come to this – the terrorists were closing in.

  “Bring him back.” he said through clenched teeth. His heart monitor began beeping frantically.

  Lorem Ipsum swiped his hand over his mouth. “Retrieving the body wasn’t part of the mission,” he said. “We need to see to the capture of Anonymous One and Two. Further, there is something I’d like you to know about, something happening tomorrow. It is supposed to be a surprise but –”

  Sauria roared, “You were going to bring him back alive, can’t you bring him back dead!?”

  “His size … ”

  “Goddammit Lorem, you bring him back to LA!”

  Lorem closed his eyes and sent the order.

  Ipsum: Retrieve the body.

  Murika: Do what? The guy’s a sea-cow!

  Ipsum: That’s an order.

  Murika: Roger.

  The video feed showed Murika and Walt observing the body as they discussed the best way to get it to the waiting aeros, which hovered on the opposite side of the sixth floor. Beyoncé and Rav were still in their Comsuits and maintained overwatch on the vehicle.

  “Get out!” Sauria shouted at Connard Branleur and Lorem Ipsum.

  Branleur, who was sipping from his McStarbucks cup, stood and nodded politely. “Not a problem, Sauria. We’ll be in the hallway.”

  “Send Heidi in,” Sauria told Lorem. “Now!”

  “Yes, sir,” Lorem said.

  Sauria glared at the two men as they left. His eyes were fixed on the holoscreen, which showed Murika and Walt retrieving Antimeria. They flipped a conference table over, broke the legs off it, and laid his big rigor mortised ass on the underside. They each grabbed an outstretched arm and used the table as a skid to get him to the door.

  The audio clearly picked up Murika’s griping.

  “It’s like trying to move a five hundred pound starfish,” he observed.

  Sauria watched impassively as they lifted him off the skid and maneuvered his dead weight through the doorway like a particularly unwieldy, oversized hippo-leather sofa.

  “Yeah, but you knew the job was dangerous when you took it, Fred,” Walt replied, as they brought the table through the door,
put the awkward, elephantine cadaver back on, and skidded it to the next doorway to repeat the process.

  Heidi entered with a concerned look on her face. “What is it, dear?” she said, going to his bedside.

  “Sit.” He extended his beefy hand and she took it affectionately.

  “I wish I could tell you how I feel right now,” he mumbled.

  “You can,” she said. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say, anything.”

  His eyes narrowed on Murika’s video feed, which showed MercSecure’s number two rep struggling down a blackened hallway towards a huge gash in the side of the building.

  “Who is he carrying?” Heidi asked.

  “He’s carrying Antimeria,” Sauria said. “They killed him. Someone killed him. He was my … ” He wanted to say best friend but even he couldn’t squeeze that lie out. It had been years since he’d felt someone was actually his friend.

  “Who killed him?” she asked.

  “Maybe Nelly, maybe someone in Manuel’s organization. Well, I don’t know really. Manuel is dead now … or maybe he isn’t. Fuck! FUCK!” Sauria dropped his fist against the side of his bed. His heart monitor raced.

  “Relax, dear … ” Heidi’s eyes dilated as she scanned his vitals. “You’ve recently had a major heart episode. You need to take it easy. There are some things that will always be out of your control.”

  “Bittersweet,” he finally said, “that’s what I … that’s what this feels like.”

  “Why?”

  “Yeshi – Anonymous Two – and possibly Meme were seen by one of our reps before she was killed.”

  “Who was killed?”

  “Rinchi.” Sauria shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter if she’s dead or not. She’s just a Humandroid. However, this one sure knew how to … ” He thought of all the things Rinchi had done over the last few weeks, from taking on MercSecure’s number one rep to her unique ability to torture. “She sure knew how to pack a punch.”

  Heidi nodded. “I understand. What happens now?”

  “One of our reps attached a tracking device to the craft currently carrying Anonymous, I mean Yeshi and Meme. Well, maybe Meme. Goddammit! I thought he was dead!” Sauria looked like he was about to sob. “He outsmarted me. The hen outsmarted the fox.”

  “You are the only fox I know, Sauria. I’m sure if this Meme guy is alive, you’ll be able to squash him.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes, squash him. That’s what I’ll do … like a fucking cockroach.” He ground his fist into his palm. “Just like this.”

  “Where’s the craft heading now?”

  He pointed at the holoscreen, which showed a small red dot moving across Mexico. “It looks like it is going to the coast, towards Cancún. It won’t get there.” Sauria said through gritted teeth. “Our reps are on their way back to the airfield now, where they will take the Super Osprey to intercept the craft before it gets any further.”

  Heidi nodded. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

  “Just sit here with me for a while. I blew up at Ipsum and Branleur … I need a moment to collect myself.”

  “No problem, dear.”

  _∞_

  Beyoncé: I can’t believe we got to bring this dead-ass walrus back to the airfield.

  Murika: You don’t have to bring anything, so I wouldn’t worry. Retrieving this guy was our mission anyway. He’s friends with top brass, with Sauria. Watch what you say over iNet.

  Beyoncé: Word.

  Rav: Could use the back of Walrus-man’s head as a soup tureen.

  Walt: I’ve seen worse.

  Murika: I’ve done worse.

  Beyoncé: Shit, I’ve been worse. So we drop this dead guy off, then we follow Rav’s tracking drone.

  Murika: That’s the plan. Rinchi wasn’t able to take down the transport aeros. Anonymous Two is inside, possibly Anonymous One, definitely Nelly, who’s another one of our targets.

  Rav: Anonymous One?

  Murika: That’s all the info I have.

  Beyoncé: If that droid hadn’t gone all Lone Ranger on us we would have been able to take that shit down together.

  Rav: Agreed. She’s pretty rogue for a Humandroid.

  Beyoncé: Dead Humandroid.

  Walt: Humandroids don’t die in the same way that we do.

  Beyoncé: Well, dead’s dead, and that bitch gone.

  Murika: Not necessarily. There may be portions of her that are still alive.

  Walt: We’ll be at the airfield any moment. Bey, Rav stay frosty just in case…

  Rav: Copy.

  Murika: I don’t think they’ll be any surprises. I estimate the body count back at the hotel at over 100.

  Beyoncé: 120. We killed the hell out of ‘em. Y’all should have seen that shit.

  Murika: We need to dump the stiff and get to the coast as soon as possible. That’s where the tracking beacon is heading.

  Walt: If you were going to ambush us, where would you do it?

  Beyoncé: Airfield.

  Rav: Airfield.

  Walt: And all I think we got at the hotel was their B-team. Yeah, we’re good, but they were like the Special Ed Gangbangers in lead Frankenstein Boots. The Trilobite was the best thing there, and even it wasn’t that good.

  Murika: Mission Control – we’re inbound two mike. Say status pickup point and support team.

  MercSecure MC: Copy inbound two mike. Support team report secure, standing by at pickup point. Full resupply available, to include airsuits.

  Murika: Team – Control relays support team and airfield secure.

  SIXTEEN∞

  The sun bleaches the horizon, browns the skin of all those who dare partake. Blue ocean ripple wave froth top. Fat cats move in yachts around small fishing boats covered in grime and rust; dust swirls from trucks on the ground as aeros move overhead honking horns that play Tejano hits.

  Cancún, Mexico.

  Crackpot inspired Catholic desire infiltrating the aether over Cancun spawning babies and needs of welfare from a country so close to Heaven yet so far from God. Aye! Who knew that I’d be on my way to Cuba in a matter of moments, from mucking around LA pollute bars to mind-spelunking in Japan. Dozou! All in the blink of an eye and now I’m running a campaign to topple the FCG giving the bastards Chicago Sunroofs as I cue Elton John’s Can You Feel the Love Tonight and wag my tongue at the Three Laws of Robotics. Get me off Asimov! Singe my pubes with a Partagás Gibson! Sic semper tyrannosaurus, motherfuckerz!

  The aeros transport vehicle descends. Yeshi is next to me and Nelly is feeding the baby. No, horny Reader, no breastesses are visible because that baby is getting formula out the wazoo (or out the bottle); still, a boy can dream, or wet dream, or both in the same night if he so chooses. Being on fleek never felt so feckless. I digress because you won’t.

  Me: Are you ready to meet Dr. Hewman?

  Yeshi: It should be interesting.

  Me: You wouldn’t be here without him.

  Yeshi: I’m sure someone else would have invented Humandroids if he hadn’t.

  Me: Well, that may be true, but it may have taken them a bit longer to get the mechanics right, my evolving Princess.

  Yeshi: Evolving Princess? Where do you get these names?

  Me: Sometimes I feel as if a deranged writer exists in my skull pecking away at a keyboard made of filth forcing me to spew sweet little nothings in an effort to cerebrally entertain an audience of true freaks. The writer makes me say these things.

  Yeshi: You make you say these things.

  Me: Have you ever thought about taking a crack at the poetry industry? I can be your manager.

  Yeshi: You can barely manage yourself.

  Me: I manage!

  Air compresses and the gravitational pull shifts slightly as the aeros transport vehicle settles onto the deck of a tremendous boat. I press my face to the window like a kid pulling into an amusement park. I want to ride all the rides!

  I wink at Nelly, who gives me a funny smile. T
ruth be told, I feel like we haven’t connected much since she returned to the hotel with her ex-husband in the trunk of an aeros. Her eye is still covered in makeup to conceal some injury she sustained while she was in prison. She reminds me of a football player’s abused girlfriend right about now, which stirs some anger in my gut because, while I like basketball (Lakers in the house!), I don’t appreciate the brutality of football in the late twenty-first century.

  Quick note: future football is all about the sound people make when they smack together now. All games now have a CrunchCam which is essentially an iNet app that allows a person to watch the bone-crunching tackles over and over again. The sound is amplified and there is even a little graph that shows a live x-ray of each player and the portions of their bodies that have been injured. The harder the hit, the more points the team receives.

  Show me an American that doesn’t like bloodshed in some form and I’ll quickly revoke that panty-sniffer’s citizenship. One nation, under violence, unconventional, with liberty and justice for some. Gluttons for hostility awaken!

  (Where was I?)

  The aeros transport vehicle lands and after a moment, I kick out of the vehicle’s door like a last action hero with my hands in the air throwing two peace signs in a way that would straighten the brow of Nixon.

  Not really.

  Actually, I step off rather calmly as my eyes lock onto the approaching Dr. Richard Hewman. He’s dressed all in white and has a leather shoulder bag (also white) slung over – well, where else – his shoulder.

  Dr. Hewman walks with a cane, but he otherwise appears to be in prime health for a man pushing eighty. Aging is a thing of the past in the future. Still, some people prefer to age naturally, others unnaturally; some go best of both worlds by aging naturally yet using supplements and special surgeries that keep a person youthful-esque and vibrant-ish.

  The good doctor fits into this category. His neatly trimmed beard is mostly brown with some white, Chia-Pet full. He’s wide through the shoulders, but not real tall, and his light brown eyes are constantly moving.

  “Dr. Hewman,” I say as I extend my hand.