Moon City

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  “Is there sound?” Dean asked.

  “Not at this location,” answered the program.

  “Show me just one second before he leaves that chair—the Deitii, I mean.”

  “Approximately forty-nine minutes later.” The screen changed and Dean watched the Moon City Killer leave with the Deitii he would later murder and consume.

  “Show me the human who left—show me any footage of him appearing in any camera since then.”

  An hour later, Dean almost wished he hadn’t asked that question, because this surveillance system was comprehensive. Even if the Killer’s shoulder appeared in a frame of some camera in some alley or street, it would show it, but since the man always wore a fedora, his face was almost always obscured. Dean began to think there might never be anything of value—even through the banking district fire and Rick Agate’s death, there was surprisingly little footage to actually use from the camera’s visual reporting. And still no distinct visual recording of the Killer’s face that he could give to the SL-SHRs.

  But then something appeared on the screen that was valuable.

  A diner.

  The Killer sat down. He still wore the hat and still had no direct look into the camera. But the woman he sat with did.

  “Is there sound at this location?” he asked.

  “There is,” replied the computer. “Play?”

  Dean smiled. “Please do.”

  * * *

  He watched the exchange play out between the Moon City Killer and the woman who was his mother. It was Dean’s fifth viewing before Donaldo called him back.

  He put the phone to his ear. The big man sounded a bit out of breath still, having to leave the mayor’s residence to get back to his shop.

  “Okay…” Breathing, breathing, breathing… “Loveman…” Breathing, breathing, breathing. “Got some…” Breathing—

  “For Christ’s sake,” Dean interrupted, “catch your breath.”

  Donaldo sucked in hoarsely and after a few moments sighed. “We have information on the woman, which includes several ex-boyfriend’s apartments, ex-employers, and here it is… bingo, one estranged son, who lives by the franchise lumber factory.”

  “Off the beaten path?”

  “Way off the beaten path.” Donaldo swallowed some more. “Shit, gonna have a heart attack.”

  “Don’t die yet, your SL-SHRs won’t be any good to me,” said Dean.

  “You’re all heart, Slaughter Man.”

  Dean ignored this. “You said lumber yard, eh?”

  “That’s what the data file contains. It’s really recent too, up to just last month. Looks like you have your man. Mr. Loveman and Jazon will need a face, though. I can’t send them to that house at the lumber yard without a confirmed target.”

  Dean shrugged. “Why do they need a face? The target is whoever lives in that house. Male, early thirties, strong build, dark hair. Likes wearing fedora hats.”

  “Doesn’t work that way,” Donaldo explained. “The directive is specific. Facial recognition is required.”

  “No chance there are any cameras pointed at this house?”

  “No, but there are some at the lumber yard. You might be able to zoom in on it.”

  Dean activated the surveillance computer again. “Send the camera number from the lumber yard to the computer.”

  He heard Donaldo in the background asking Mr. Loveman to send it to the surveillance system.

  “Address acquired, loading,” the computer told Dean.

  The image of a backlot full of lumber stacks came into view. Beyond a fence, in the distance, Dean spotted a small clapboard dwelling in the center of a series of boulders. A dirt road led there in a wide hook off the main thoroughfare.

  “Zoom fifty percent.”

  The camera went past the chainlink fence and the image of the house still had startling clarity. “Six, no seventy percent zoom.”

  The house and the front yard fit into his screen perfectly.

  “How specific can I get with this thing?” Dean asked the Firecracker Lady’s casino lackey.

  He was reading an e-pad without humor. “I asked it once to follow all the blond men in the city over six foot four and slim builds. I was here for a while.”

  “That’s your type, huh?” Dean scooted closer to the computer.

  “Sure.” The man chuckled. “At very best, the male body looks like a stack of rocks glued to an aardvark snout.”

  Dean grinned absently, thinking of the command. “Computer?” he asked.

  “Yes, Dean Fulsome,” it answered.

  “I want you to rewind this footage until a vehicle shows up.”

  “Rewinding.”

  The footage reversed, all the light sources varying only as nearby streetlamps were relit. Otherwise, there was no daytime or nighttime in the footage. Suddenly, the footage stopped as a large vehicle with a hauling trailer appeared in the shot.

  “Rewind until the car door opens,” Dean attempted. To his surprise, the footage rewound until a kid emerged from the car and the Moon City Killer stood at his side. For the first time, the man wasn’t wearing a hat.

  “Rewind until the front door closes,” Dean whispered.

  The kid and man reversed to the front door. The Killer turned, his hand linking with the door knob as he closed it behind him.

  “Show me a frame at a time.”

  The Killer pulled the door closed, and as he did, he face turned straight to the camera.

  “Pause!” Dean cried.

  The Moon City Killer stared straight at him with unsettling, hollow eyes.

  “What did you find?” Donaldo asked over the phone. It sounded like he was crunching on chips or something now, rather than dying of lung failure.

  “Computer send image in highest resolution to Donaldo.”

  “Sending,” the computer immediately replied.

  After a moment, Donaldo hummed over the line. “So that’s him, eh?”

  “Send the SL-SHRs to the location,” said Dean nodding. His heart began to race. “That’s our confirmed target. That’s the face of the Moon City Killer.”

  “Will do,” said Donaldo. His voice lowered as he turned away from the phone, but Dean could make out what he said. “Mr. Loveman, are you ready to have a good time?”

  Chapter 18

  Originally, I wanted to count my remaining jars at the reserve location, but somehow, I knew Carl would hang around if I did. So I gave him the task of counting them for me. It gave me time to sit with the ultrasound photo of my little unborn boy.

  This turned out, for me, to be an unhealthy stretch of time.

  I could see my life in other dimensions, but I could not feel it. I could not feel him. He was my best friend and ally. I didn’t have one of those here. Sure, people like Carl would come into my life, but I could never connect with them like I know my other millions of selves were so tightly connected to my son. In some dimension, he was named Easton. In others, Brian. I’d only seen one instance where he’d been named something else, and that was Miles. Out of all the dimensions, when I had the ability to see into them, I would watch the Miles version of my son the most. He had the least amount of flaws in that life, and also happened to be more dedicated to me than other manifestations, although they were all loving sons.

  I dragged my fingers across the photo. A tear fell against the slippery surface of the image and it rolled down, leaving a thin wet trail. “Miles,” I said, trying not to weep, “I wish you were here. I wish you could be my son here.”

  Hercules, I thought. Once I’m a God, I could find a woman and give her a child… but it would never be Miles. It might be a wondrous creation of mortal and immortal, but it would never be that boy I saw through the gauzy panes of dimensions and time and space.

  I longed to see him then.

  There was much I still needed to tend to, and another Limbus operative out there who tracked me at this very moment, yet it didn’t matter. I would kill him or her just as easily as I
killed Rick Agate. I wasn’t concerned with that.

  My boy. I just wanted to watch my boy, and imagine how a hug from him would feel, what would be behind it. The love he would know for me. The father. The son. The love between them.

  I couldn’t bear it. The tears fell freely now and I had to know. I had to see. I had to be closer to perfect than before. I had ten jars of the spinal-brain slurry here. I would ingest them all. And I would see him again. Miles. I’m here Miles. I love you more than that version of me loves you. He doesn’t appreciate you the same way because he has you. I lost my son. I lost my life. I’m becoming God to get over that loss. Don’t you see what it means? How important it really is?

  Staggering into the bedroom, I saw them all lined up around my sorry, unmade bed. They looked like something one might see in a moonshine operation or brain diamond house. I knelt in front of the first jar and unscrewed the lid. All those planets fought over crocoshark venom when the answer to immortality and godhood lived in the Deitii children’s minds. It was right here all along, and so few ever tried a taste for themselves. It was their loss and my gain. I would find all the Deitii, adult and child alike, once I reached the final phase. Then I would end them. I already knew now there would come a point where I would never need to drink from them again, but I couldn’t afford leaving their kind alive to give someone else the same idea. They would need to go, just like any other species that crossed me.

  Once I finished most of the jars in my reserve, I would reach that threshold. My body told me this. And these jars on my bedroom floor… would be my last push before the conclusion.

  I was excited to begin.

  The first jar almost gagged me, but I drank everything and licked the rim of any remaining particles. On the second and third jars, my stomach began to feel the initial bloat, and the walls of my house became transparent. Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth… I was in the stars. I clamored around my bedroom, but I also strode in the cosmos, pawing through supernovas and newborn suns and filling all the emptiness with my presence, like a luminescent stone covering the hole that remained in the heart of an old statue created long ago and left behind.

  I felt the lip of the tenth jar shatter under my teeth. I drank it down, glass shards and all. I dissolved them in my mouth before they had a chance to damage my flesh, which soon would be meaningless to my existence.

  It would take me a few hours to gain control of myself, but my mind could roam as freely as it wanted to. First, I would visit my son, Miles, and check on his life. I could only go a few years into the future last time, and I was eager to see how much farther into his life I could watch.

  Just as I began to peel back the veneer of the dimensions to a much different Moon City, something within this life, in this time, stopped me and dragged me back, like a fishhook in my ethereal eye.

  I saw a man hunkered over a desk, peering at some screens. The photo of my son was in someone’s hand—my mother’s. She was putting it on the table at the diner. The man watching her sped ahead to my arrival and watched us. He brought up a few other pieces of footage. One, actually, of Carl and I outside, that had to have only been an hour ago.

  This man was hunting me.

  Something about that fact made my desire to see Miles suddenly wane.

  Nobody hunted me. I hunted them.

  I sought this man out. Knew exactly where he was in the city. The Surefire casino, belonging to the Firecracker Lady. But he wasn’t employed by her. Reading his mind and his memories as they flooded into my subconscious, I realized who the man was and that he worked for that crooked intergalactic employment agency, Limbus, Inc., that wished to destroy me.

  As it turned out, he had already sent two assassin mechanicals to my house to do just that. Although I could not locate them through their heartbeat, and even if I could find them, I could not read their minds like I read this man’s, I wasn’t afraid.

  I was excited.

  I stared at him for a while, in my mind’s eyes.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Dean,” I said.

  * * *

  I had to reserve my strength for the assassin mechanicals. If I killed them with too much force, I wouldn’t be able to focus on the growth of my inner spirit, which would cause me to prolong this process further. When I drank from my reserves, I wanted this to be the last time I fed, but if I didn’t have the chance to keep my mind in a heightened state for very long, it would limit the access to the ladder of my ascension to godhood. I needed to give myself time to dwell in the mental space that the creator of this universe had once maintained. Despite being more powerful than any kind of machine Limbus could throw at me, I could exert all my energy. I had to be cautious and choose my moves carefully.

  When a machete went through my front door, I wondered if I’d have that chance.

  I called Carl. He started in on how he’d just sealed up the place and all the reserve bottles were locked up safe and sound. I cut him off mid-story. “I need you to stay where you are.”

  A second machete went through the door and twisted violently as it was pulled free.

  “Why?” Carl asked.

  “Do as I say. I’ll contact you soon.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “But—?”

  “Do as I say or no more money. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bye.”

  I hung up and watched as a large chunk of the door broke apart. A steel-plate face with holes in it centered in the opening for a moment. Then an arm came through, the machete affixed to the elbow joint rather than a forearm and hand. The brutal creation hugged at the door and pulled it outside, off the hinges, and threw it to the side.

  I backed up as the metal thing crossed the threshold, swiping its machete hands as it went. Beyond the robot, I could see nothing outside. Dean Fulsome had sent two mechanicals my way, but I could only see this one.

  It lunged for me and I sidestepped its attack, grasped its left arm just below the shoulder, and ripped the steel extremity from its socket. It wheeled around with its other weapon and grazed my jaw with the blade. I felt blood course out and wet my neck, but I had not stopped my counterassault—using the machine’s momentum, I hurled it over my shoulder. The assassin robot landed on my sofa, which folded around its colossal weight.

  The thing was trapped inside the sofa, attempting to free itself. I stepped up just as it took another swipe at me with its remaining arm. Planting my foot on its arm, just past the shoulder, I halted its attacks. I leaned over then and took the corners of its mask, which was not a mask, but part of the machine’s face, and pulled it free from all its metal housings amid a small cluster of red and blue sparks. The assassin robot made no sounds of protest, but did wag its head back and forth in panic. The exposed optical circuitry and artificial intelligence core flickered with silver and blue lights, only for a few more seconds before I brought the heel of my boot down on it and crushed it flat as an aluminum can.

  The assassin robot’s body ceased movement as its functions terminated.

  Heart rate hardly increased, I looked up and outside. I had a split second to register what was happening, but my mouth dropped, and I could feel the fresh blood on my skin. A conveyance truck from the lumber yard had pulled up in front of my house during my fight. The chains securing the bundle of imported lumber released and all at once the rumble of hundreds of fifty-foot-long tree trunks came crashing down and rolling toward my house. I got to see the person in the driver’s cockpit at the side momentarily. It wasn’t a person at all, but a pale-faced synthetic lifeform with black stars for eyes.

  The logs crashed into my house and immediately trapped me inside. I coughed through the dirt and dust and held my arm up to my mouth. I went to the window and tried to see out the opening between two logs. I wanted to reach out with my mind, but I had to contain myself. The power urged me to do so, but I didn’t want to waste it. Killing the other robot had been easy. I had
to ride this out. If this other robot thought I would be trapped here and die, it had made a great mistake. I wasn’t like any other mark. I could be in here a long time.

  In fact, I could use this to my advantage. I was safe here. I could meditate, I could reach those upper levels of awareness without any interruption. That thing out there had actually done me a great favor.

  Quickly, I sat cross-legged on the floor next to the demolished robot and opened my mind to all the universes, drinking in everything. When I did this, I could be paralyzed for a few hours, so it was critical I let my muscles relax and let my senses reach as far as they possibly could. My spirit eyes delved through Moon City to all other star systems and all other versions of their realities. I didn’t dwell on the manifestations of my son. I could do that later. Now that people and robots had come after me, there was no time for risking any wasted power. I had to reach that place I’d only scraped before and I had to let my mind reside there for as long as I could handle.

  I was making great progress and my body had locked in place as I stretched out farther than I’d ever imagined before. Soon, I’d be able to end a planet with just a moment’s thought or, for that matter, begin a new planet, a new star, a new element, a new species.

  Something sharp hit my nose. It was immediate, in the here and now, in my house.

  Smoke.

  Fire.

  I realized then what a fool I’d been to have engaged in my meditation without making sure the other robot had been destroyed. It was out there, setting my house on fire with hundreds of dry logs positioned around me like the greatest funeral pyre of all time. And I couldn’t break out of my trance yet. I would lose everything I’d tried to achieve.

  Sweat poured from my temples as I struggled within myself. The heat hadn’t gotten inside, but I could sense it. My eyes were closed but my ears were attuned and I heard the robot whisper something behind the roaring flames.

  “Come outside. Please, don’t die yet, Moon City Killer.”