Mercury Going Down

by Brambach, C. S.

  “How ya feelin’ hon?” This elicited a grimace on her face that was almost comical.

  “What happened last night, when I got home?” Blackout-ville.

  “Well, you came in, I helped you when you barfed, held your hair out of the way in the bathroom, then I put you to bed and you fucked me silly.” She put the brush down and looked at me and smiled a crooked smile.

  “At least one of us had some fun.” She looked away.

  “From the amount of noise you were making, I think we both had fun.” She squinted in obvious pain.

  “I’ll take some small, like minuscule comfort from that.” She put one hand on her stomach and one on the top of her head. As if connecting the areas of her discomfort would somehow reduce them.

  “Maybe you would take some comfort from breakfast? Coffee? Or a little bit of hair of the dog that bit you?” A light came on in her eyes. That was my girl all right.

  “Food? No way. Coffee, yes! Dog hair? What’s that?” She glanced at me confused.

  “Jazz!” She came around the corner from the kitchen, ready to serve.

  “Fresh coffee for the Misses, two bloody Mary’s, strong on the vodka, light on the Worchester, spicy for Karen, mild for mine, and I’d like a turkey sandwich, rye bread, Swiss cheese, lettuce, mustard, no Mayo. Drinks first. Chop chop!” She smiled, bowed and vanished around the corner to prepare the order with near blinding speed.

  When she returned with the drinks I told her to fetch one of my pain killers, which I promptly gave to Karen. She swallowed it with her coffee. Halfway through her bloody Mary her eyes started to clear and the lines around her eyes disappeared. As the pain left her she started to loosen up.

  “How’s Susan getting along?” I asked out of real concern.

  “About as well as can be expected. I’ll see her day after tomorrow for services.”

  “Dave was always trying to get me to go, would it be all right if I went with?” Her face lit up like the moon on a soft, clear summer’s night.

  “All right? It would be wonderful.” Her smile almost seemed blissed out.

  “Cool. Come get me at the end of your shift. Oh, before I forget, Magnolia wants to meet with you right after lunch. Work related stuff to discuss with you, the new mural project, the emotive wall displays being high up on the agenda.” She patted my leg with one hand and put her now empty glass down with the other.

  “If that’s right then I’d better get going. Thanks hon.” She rose to go.

  “Don’t sweat it. Most of the section has called in sick, so you’re cool. I’m gonna meet with her later, so I may see you down there.” I took a bite of my sandwich. She bent down to kiss me around my mouthful.

  “Ooh, something to look forward to.” She left with a happy wiggle in her walk, her head held high and her chest thrust out, almost straining the confines of her fresh painters white but covered in intentional multicolored paint spatters coveralls.

  Soon I was slipping into my second bloody Mary, Jazz was in the kitchen washing the dishes, and I was watching the Discovery Channel, “Space Travel to the Far Stars” when the door alarm went off. I shrugged into a T-shirt as Jazz answered the door. I had just finished readjusting my sarong when Min Suh entered. What the hell was she doing here?

  Min Suh was Joe Suh’s wife. Joe Suh, Head of Admin. Defacto ruler of Doheny city.

  She was one of the few, if only, spouses on base who didn’t work. For the company or anybody else. She did some charity work for off planet causes, but that was it. What was she doing here?

  “Hi, Min Suh, what are you doing here?” She laughed. For such a small petite woman, she had a rather low laugh. She was wearing a shear red silk dress that clung without being overly revealing. That fact that she wasn’t wearing a coverall had my eyes practically bugging out. She had a fine form. She had on high heels that caused her pert breasts to stick out even farther. Another rarity on base, high heels, everybody went for sneaker moccasins or work boots. Slip on or zipper up. She sat next to me.

  “Karen at work?” Answering a question with a question, that was clever, and annoying.

  “Yup.” Noncommittal from me. She looked at me like a fat chick on a starvation diet looks at piece of chocolate cake.

  “I just wanted to check in on our hero, see how he was getting along.” She noticed my second, half finished, bloody Mary. I rolled my eyes. Hero worship, again?

  “Fine, just fine, er, could I offer you a drink?” Maybe a drink would loosen her up, I was curious to find out what she was up to.

  “Dry vodka martini, dirty.” She lowered her face as she said this, as if looking up at me from some depth charged depths. That and the faint, sultry Chinese accent probably were the ruination of more than one sorry bastard.

  “Jazz? Could you bring Mrs. Suh a dry vodka martini, dirty please?” Jazz brought it in on a tray in less than a minute. Min whipped out some cannabinol and offered to share so I joined her and took a dose. As I started to get off I asked her point blank,

  “How are you and Joe getting along?” She leaned back and, frowning, waved a hand.

  “We barely even talk. As soon as his tour ends I’m divorcing his sorry ass and moving back to Earth. He’s been visiting the Robo Ho’s pretty regular the last six, eight months.”

  “You seem to be taking it pretty well.” She giggled, the cannabinol taking effect.

  “Oh, I take it any way I can get it.” She put her mostly done drink down on the coffee table and, leaning forward, placing her hand on my upper thigh, planted her lips on mine.

  After an acceptable amount of foreplay I stripped her out of her dress. Her eyes went wide when she undid my sarong. She left the high heels on.

  “Oh, Joe may be big man on base, but he tiny compared to you!” Shortly she was riding me cowgirl, leaning down and swapping spit with me while she rode my dick.

  When she leaned back on her hands as she slid up and down I stroked her silken straight pubic hairs. Then I grabbed her by her hips and started pumping her up and down on my cock like a jack hammer, her tit’s slamming up and down, up and down in a shock wave frenzy. Then we sixtynined for a while, with me on top, till she started making gagging noises as I fucked her mouth, and I felt like I was going swimming, (she tasted sweet), before riding her in the missionary till her face screwed up like a corkscrew on steroids and she said, ‘Oh’ and came as I flooded her tight little pussy with my cream of some young guy.

  She left as swiftly as she had come. She was back in her dress, and pecking me on the cheek before she blew out like a little mini typhoon. Combing out her hair with her hands to get rid of the freshly fucked look she was sporting. Min hadn’t even looked in a mirror, which said something about her intuition, or her experience, or both. I drank a half quart of water, took a hot shower and, after donning a fresh black jumpsuit, had Jazz accompany me to meet with Magnolia.

  On the way to Art/Ent/Rec I shook so many hands of people that wanted to touch me and wish me well that I thought I was running for office. Jazz seemed a little irked. I wondered about her possibilities as a body guard. On the automated moving walkway I asked her,

  “So what was that all about last night, breaking that guys finger? I thought you were programmed to do no harm.” Looking her in the eyes. She lowered hers.

  “I am. However, my primary responsibility is to my patient. You are my patient.

  I could not see or let you come to any harm. I must confess, I did not mean to actually break your assailants finger. I am programmed to incapacitate with out doing permanent injury. I guess I just became,” She looked puzzled. “carried away.” Guessing? Carried away? I might have to conduct a study of her emotional expanse capabilities. I looked ahead as we neared Art/Ent/Rec and said,

  “How do you feel about that?” Digging.

  “Confused. I’ve been running some analysis programs and some diagnostic programs to make sure my logic centers aren’t corrupted.” Not sure. Almost on the borderline of alarmed.

&nbs
p; “How do you feel about me?” Digging deeper. Could it be? She looked up.

  “I find that I am alarmed at my depth of caring for you. I think I am starting to care for you in more than just a professional, patient, caregiver relationship. I may ask for reassignment when you meet with Doctor Wali tomorrow.” She lowered her eyes to stare at her white slipper mocs. I shook my head.

  “That is your right, as a coworker, and not a piece of property. I will miss you, I was just getting comfortable with you around. You’re a damn fine nurse.” I smiled at her.

  She looked up and smiled a shy smile back. Damn programs, just when she started to feel, she ran scared, but then, knowing what feelings did to humans, I couldn’t blame her.

  Later, seated in a comfortable chair in Magnolia’s office, sipping a hot, sweet espresso, I stared at the holo image of a jungle filled with brightly colored parrots, who were doing what parrots do, on the wall behind Magnolia as she sat at her desk praising my wife’s work performance. A glowing report.

  “We’re so happy to have her back full time. I know it must have been hell putting in so many hours in supply. They needed the help sure, but we started coming up short here, what with Mary Muny not signing on for another tour, so the timing couldn’t have been better.” She sounded as pleased as punch. And not a punch in the nose either.

  “She’s an artist, in the truest sense of the word. And not just as a painter, though she’s no slouch there, but with code. She has a touch, a finesse, that is rare in a tech. It’s like the right and left sides, the male and female are both working at the same time. Almost in overdrive.” If only she knew. My wife’s dad had been Serbian and a bit of a womanizer. Her mom had been Guatemalan. She had been born and raised in L.A. Her dad had been a mechanic, who preferred to not work and stay at home and drink and smack his hard working, loving wife around when she came home and brought beer and cooked him dinner, which she did for a living. She had been a cook for the nominally wealthy. Karen’s first boyfriend had been a slacker and liked threesomes with stray’s he would bring home. It was during this period that she had discovered she liked pussy more than cock. Out with the boyfriend and in with a string of girlfriends. The occasional boyfriend. Till she met me.

  The DNA she inherited from her mom made her a hard worker. From her dad she had a predilection to drink and chase women. I looked nothing like her dad, so what she saw in me, often made me wonder.

  “If only you knew.” I muttered half under my breath.

  “What?” Magnolia asked, distracted.

  “Oh, nothing, nothing. I might as well tell you why I’m here. I wanted to check out your section, give you the low down and the high jack, explain that I’m looking for a good fit for my promotion. I’ve been offered an upgrade to any section I’d like. Not necessarily supervisory. I majored in Journalism in college, wrote for a couple newspapers when I was a kid, was a fair poet in my time, I was thinking, maybe I could put together a couple show’s, write a play that we could put on in the main audience hall. If there’s an opening of course.” She stared at me, mouth slightly open.

  “I was wondering why. We really don’t have any openings, but if you write a play and it passes muster, rest assured, we would love to produce it here.” She fluttered her eyes at me.

  “I thought maybe you were here to snoop around for Chief Fonagy, word is out that you’ve been in close communication with him. I know a couple people from my section, out of the Recreation Department were arrested last night. For assault. Gene Denner and his girl, Jen Reesen. Gene is a weight trainer, instructor, and basketball coach, and Jen is an aerobics instructor, yoga coach and swimming coach. Rumor is that they tried to attack, well, you.” We had room in the city for basketball and tennis courts. Two Olympic sized swimming pools, half a dozen weight rooms, (and counting), and an indoor football arena. Plenty of room for joggers and work outs for athletes of every stripe. You could even play golf in the holo suites. The only sport that was lacking availability on the planet was baseball. I heard they were working on a holo program for it, but I wondered how they were going to pull it off. I rolled my eyes.

  “Busted. Yeah, I am in touch with the Chief. Yes, they did try to kick my ass. Who were they connected with, do you know? See, I’m trying to find out who set up the program crashes that almost killed me and killed Dave, and there seems to be some weird connection back to Supply and from there back to Art/Ent/Rec.” I left out the connection to Religious Therapy as things were confusing enough already. Sincere tone, conspiring with out despair.

  “Let me see, I can check their files and make a couple calls.” Bingo. Truth with a dash of boyish charm works wonders. She started tapping away at her console. I had Jazz give me another pain killer. I studied the parrots fluttering in the jungle treetops under a setting sun. Slowly a blood red moon began to rise in the clear darkling sky. Magnolia was talking through her comm link, quietly. I could almost hear the distant drum beats of some lost tribe beating in the misty distance.

  “I think I have your connecting link. Marge Chu. Seems she was behind the attack. Jen just gave her up under threat of Rehabilitation.” She smiled a satisfied smile.

  “So who is Marge Chu, who does she work for?” Work your way up the chain of command to see who’s yanking whose chain.

  “Hugo Lakshmi. Number two in Entertainment, head of the gambling concession department. I’ve had my eye on him for a while and so has Sean, who actually alerted me to his suspicions that Hugo is laundering credits. He’s good buddies with Pete Simms. Those two are thick as thieves. Might be literally as well.” The plot kept getting thicker and thicker. “He also hangs out with Jim Simpson too.” More and more interesting. All roads and all that goes by those roads, seems to lead to Supply. Except religion. What the hell was that all about?

  “Hold on, I think Chief Fonagy would like to hear about that.” I called the Chief on my comm link and gave him the low down. Conference called in Magnolia and gave him the scoop. He told me to hang on. Asked me to meet him at the Religious Center as soon as I could get there.

  “Thanks for the help Magnolia. You should come hang out with us at the next Art Walk.” There were several art galleries in the Entertainment section, some run on a concession basis, that once a month had openings on the same night, and served free wine and munchies and had live music. It gave the community a chance to share it’s homegrown art and mix and mingle, blow off a little steam getting a little cultural.

  “That would be fun, I’d like that. Especially if your good friend Jake Chee is going to come. Especially if you ask him.” Not too subtle. Not that I haven’t played matchmaker before.

  “Yeah, sure.” Whatever, guess the hero deal doesn’t work on every woman the same way.

  Half the Security force seemed to have been outside the Religious Center. Jazz and I were shown right in. There was a makeshift forensics team over by the confessional booth, some taking pictures, some dusting for prints, some eyeballing surfaces under different lights, infrared, ultraviolet. As we approached, Chief Fonagy came up and ushered us over. As we neared the booth I noticed a small pool of blood issuing from the left hand door which was open and seemed to be the focus of one of the shutterbugs.

  Inside there was a man, slumped down, the front of his coveralls soaked in what I guessed was blood. Another death. Another gap in someone’s personnel roster. Another decrease in efficiency. The company would not be pleased.

  My nose wrinkled as the stench of decay and bodily wastes reached it.

  “Do you know him?” The Chief asked. I shook my head in the negative.

  “Nope. Who is he?”

  “Hugo Lakshmi. Stabbed to death. Some time late last night. The smell is what alerted the Reverend, who found him.” Great, just when I think I’m going to put it all together it gets more complicated! Damn it Jim, I’m just a technical engineer not a super sleuth!

  Why? How did it all fit? What did Dave’s death have to do with the number two of the Gambling Concessions
Department? Later, back at the Chief’s office I would ask just that.

  “Why? What’s Dave’s death got to do with this mess?”

  “Right, well, so far we have a death on the surface. A death in the staff of the Religious Therapy Department, two actually, and now a death on the staff of Art/Ent/Rec. As well as allegations of credit laundering, payroll manipulations and smuggling. Is that about it?” He raised his eyebrows and tapped a stylus on his desk top to accentuate each point.

  “So what do they all have in common. Supply. Under Admin and Support. Cause it sure seems that someone wanted to support a more lavish lifestyle once he, or she, left the colony. Any luck with the Religious Centers ghost files?” Jake had been having a heck of a time, maybe the official investigators were having better luck.

  “We should know by tomorrow. I’ve been trying to get ahold of Jim Simpson, see if he has any dirt on Pete Simms, who seems to have his hand in half the pies on base. If it is Simms, we want all the evidence so that we have an airtight case to ship him to Rehab.”

  I shuddered involuntarily. The most dreaded punishment devised by mankind. Kinder to the populace. Rehab stripped a man or woman’s mind from him or her, and genetic re-engineering took place as well as therapeutic cloning. Your basic personality, what ever it was that made you you, was squeezed out of you like toothpaste from a tube and replaced with a newer, more sanitized you. You were supposedly ‘upgraded’. Bad memories and experiences, bad habit were all purged, as well as any perversions or addictions. Violent tendencies could be simply erased. So that the ‘bad’ person could rejoin society as a useful member and make restitution to those he had wronged.

  It was based on the ancient Chinese practice of making a murderer take care of the family of the person he had killed. Imagine that hell. You have to work to feed, clothe and house a bunch of people who hate your guts. For the rest of your days. Lovely punishment. Fitting and economical for society.

  “I’ve left a couple messages for Jim. I’m just waiting for him to call. What are you going to do next?” He asked with some real concern.