Dax Abner’s eyebrows raised in silent question. William looked at the refracting dance of light and shadow emanating from Joan’s habitat across the cement floor.
He scratched his sideburns, “Anything adverse on Hotshine, Joan? Aside from being Tara’s patsy?”
“Negative. Spencer Robert Hotshine is unknowingly the subject of random CNED surveillance due to his involvement in the Greystone incident. Aside from this, he has no white associations. He and Virgil Benedict are frequent black market alcohol consumers.”
After a few seconds, William looked at Dax, “Could be good. Both these ninnies are chipped. If we can get to Hotshine through Virgil, we’ll have a plug inside the county’s biggest slaughterhouse. But do we need that?”
“I’ve told you some things about my mother,” Dax said morosely.
“You told me she’s how this all got started, that she died for the cause.”
“Yes,” said Dax, tenting his fingers. “Like each of us, she had a particular gift, an uncanny ability to accurately predict the future. It’s how she made her fortune.”
“Dope,” said William.
“Dope indeed.” Dax’s eyes drifted to the glass aquarium wall, “She told me to find the poet. What were her specific words, Joan?”
“Your mother’s exact words were: Find the broken baby. Find the white poet. If he survives a year, bring him closer. He is the catalyst, the final Firstcity component…” said Joan, pectoral fins undulating steadily as she floated.
Dax turned his gaze to William, “So, that is why. Mother has been right about everything else. Trust me, I’m not selecting morons at random.”
William’s eyes narrowed, “I still don’t like it. We let him know where The Lady is, all your patrons are at risk. Let alone us. What if he decides to report to CNED in person one day?”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I can be fairly persuasive when pressed,” said Dax. “Not to mention Joan’s sway over the boy.”
“Virgil Benedict is under strict orders to report only via encrypted holoconference. He believes his contact is a high level Lawrence CNED agent named Bubba Sparks,” said Joan. “Even as he espouses decriminalization in his private life, he lives in terror of CNED retribution. He will continue to do as he is told.”
William spun on a boot and leaned against the aquarium, “I don’t mean no offense, but if your mom could read the future so well, how come she took a bullet out in Washington?”
Dax stood, “She was betrayed. By my father. Specifically, she did not take a bullet as the media reported. In reality, white agents tied a chain to each of her limbs, William. Four battborg Doberman Pinschers were on the other ends of those chains. After they were done torturing her, unable to get her to divulge any useful information, the CNED agents handling the interrogation made the cyborgs rip her body into quarter segments.”
William did not look up, “I’m sorry, I meant no…”
“Not another worry, my friend,” said Dax lightly, patting William on the shoulder. “It’s ancient history. All the same, I am compelled to overlook your objection in this case. The details of Virgil Benedict’s life match my mother’s description perfectly. He is a poet. How many poets could there possibly be? He is our catalyst. If he becomes a legitimate liability, I’ll have you remove him.”
“Your the boss,” William nodded.
Dax mused, “Indeed, I am. Joan, have young Virgil meet us at The Green Lady Lounge in one hour. Tara is off begging for beer with the preacher, I believe, doing Dog knows what else. Dorothy is preparing for an evening of yoga, you say?”
“Yeah, the rain makes her sleepy. She wants to stay in and stream a holoflix. I told her it’s boys’ night.”
“Very well!” Dax spun to the dolphin, “Joan, we are going to the bar. We’ll need SIEGFRIED. And I can’t imagine anything exciting happening this evening, so if you’d care to nap yourself, please do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Joan. “I will, however, take this opportunity to disengage from the neural net and defrag the holodrive’s beta quadrant. Enjoy your time. I will see you again, Daxane Julius Abner.”
76 Minutes Later.
Virgil Benedict was being followed. The rain fell around him in sheets. The day’s light was nearly dead. He had circled the block three times, his backpack full of antique books getting heavy. The two figures in green had stayed with him, getting closer until this last pass. Virgil had tried putting his hood up and walking through the shadows.
I think I lost them.
He was disoriented. He shouldn’t have had those beers. But he was nervous! Virgil took a white Federal Pleasium dispenser from his blazer pocket and popped a tablet. Then a second for good measure.
Disoriented or not, every halfway conscious citizen of Lawrence, Kansas, knew where The Rowdy Pony was. He also knew well the alley that ran beside the coffeehouse, bisecting the ancient buildings that fronted Massachusetts and New Hampshire Streets. He had rounded the corner, just as the contact’s message said to. He had walked five meters south down the alley, and waited. Three times now. This was the spot!
He looked around again. One dingy brick wall behind Sunflower Hovbike Shop featured an old hand-painted CNED advertisement. The white, green and black paint of the CNED fist logo was peeling and faded. Below the logo were printed common CNED slogans:
Do the Right Thing – Get Paid
Keep Alcohol Out of Our Homes
Make Friends – Help Others
It’s Easy to Make the White Choice
The opposite side of the alley was just a plain cement wall covered in hand-scrawled graffiti that read, BAN THE ANDROID FORM FACTOR!!
Gutters on both sides dumped torrents of rain past his tennis shoes, soaking the bottoms of his ankle-biting jeans. He could hear lively banter echoing from The Pony, and more coming from another bar called The Vapor Room around the corner by the Early 21st Century Antiques Bazaar.
Why do I have to meet this William dude in an alley to talk about a job?
Virgil shivered profusely. He was not comfortable being outdoors. He decided to go back into The Pony and try to ping again directly. He turned up the alley. One of the figures in green, coming off the sidewalk, was headed straight towards him.
White arm band… humdroid. Oh man, do I tell them? No. Bubba said I can’t speak to anyone! Shit!
He whipped around and was met by a small, hard-faced woman with a mug like a ferret who stepped from behind a bulky, rusted bio-waste converter. The woman was ancient. Easily in her 40’s. Her green CNED jumpsuit shed the rain, but her hair was wet and her smile was slinky.
“Whatcha walkin’ around the block for, son?” she cackled. “Normal citizens don’t circle the block. They go where they need to be, stay there.”
Virgil felt like he might pee and babbled, “I’m just waiting on a friend.”
“In the rain?” the woman’s nappy brown hair was cropped short, her tongue licked her thin lips as she devoured him with her eyes and stepped cautiously closer.
“I was just going to The Pony, lady.”
“Well, why don’t you go there?”
“I will.”
Virgil turned and ran straight into the other agent, a towering man who looked like an angry, clean shaven viking. He had his arms folded across his chest, big fellow. Orange HUD goggles obscured his eyes.
“No you won’t, boy,” the viking said coldly. “We picked up your whiff trail twenty minutes ago. Thought you might lead us somewhere good. Got any boozebum friends around here?” he looked up and down the alley, goggles scanning, then retrained his focus on Virgil, “Tell us now, we’ll let you off with diversion.”
Bubba said a good mole is a quiet mole, oh man…
Virgil started to tremble, but managed to stammer, “I know my rights!”
The woman started cackling, “Rights, Joe! He knows his rights!”
The big viking agent grabbed Virgil’s sweatshirt with
a white gloved fist and shoved him hard against the alley wall, “Citizen, you been drinking. You got no rights! Where’s the party?”
Virgil began to tear up, “No, I’m sorry! I don’t know about any party…”
“Shut up, dixie,” hissed the woman. She nodded at her partner, “Hey Joe, COD’s coming. Protocol, protocol.”
Virgil and the CNED agents turned their heads. The black drone flew steadily towards them. It had come around the corner off 8th Street making a standard alley sweep. Virgil sank against the wall with dismay. The drone’s LED array was green, but it would turn red in moments, bypassing his combud’s firewall following the CNED agents’ auto-request.
I’ll have to tell them. So, so not a good time!
“Why ain’t it stopping?” asked the viking, tapping the interface on his HUD goggles.
Oddly, the drone did not change course. Its LED array remained green. It floated past, soon faded into the innocuous darkness.
“What the sam?” said the woman.
Virgil guffawed, wiping the rain and tears from his cheeks, “Hey guys, maybe it’s a sign? I just had a beer. Can’t it be my lucky day?”
The woman shoved him back against the wall, “Ain’t no lucky days for boozebums, drone or not. We’ll scan you manual.”
The viking unclipped his magcuffs, “Talk. Or give me your wrists, citizen. What you getting all wide eyed about now?”
Virgil nervously inclined his head towards the open alley. A large black dog had appeared, materializing like an ominous smear out of the darkness. Raindrops beaded off the animal’s coat as if it were a giant ebony swan. But it was no swan. It was a fearsome looking Rottweiler. It stood a meter behind the agents and began to growl as they turned to face it. The growl rumbled off the brick walls.
“What ill sky?” said the woman. She unbuckled her 9 mm sidearm and pointed it at the animal, “Run along, puppy. Or momma’s gonna put a round in your brain pan.”
The dog flashed its teeth and took a bold step closer. Virgil wiped his eyes. He could have sworn he saw its claws turn to metal and dig into the asphalt.
The woman chambered a round and was preparing to fire when the viking put his glove on her gun, “Naw, wait Sally. Don’t shoot. Who’s this guy?”
Virgil looked towards 8th Street. Silhouetted by the streetlamps, a tall man in a cowboy hat strode smoothly towards them, head down, hands in pockets. His boot heels clicked, clicked, clicked over the sound of the steadily falling rain. He stopped a few meters off and dropped his thumbs to his belt, keeping his face hidden under the brim of his hat. The dog didn’t acknowledge the newcomer.
The viking spoke aggressively to the man, “Mind your own business, citizen. Nothin’ to see here. Best pass on by.”
The man’s dialect was baleful, “Funny thing.”
“What’s funny, dixie,” hissed the woman, baring nicotine-yellowed teeth.
The cowboy did not look up, “Funny… how you humdroids tell a man to mind his own business. Meanwhile, you’re busy slinking about, chasing low hanging fruit in dark alleys. Like cowards, you is. People like Virgil here, just want to be left alone. But you hummies gotta cross that line every time, don’t you?”
This must be my contact! thought Virgil desperately.
The viking bowed up to an impressive stature and faced the cowboy, swinging his magcuffs, “Interfering with CNED is a crime, dixie. Unless you wanna try a pair of these on too?”
The rodent-faced woman interjected, wrinkling her nose, “What line’s he mean, Joe?”
“I mean this line,” said the cowboy, dragging the tip of his boot across the asphalt.
Virgil and the agents turned. There was a loud simultaneous scraping sound as the dog drove its claws into the pavement, scouring out a divot twenty centimeters wide in front of them.
“Sweet sin!” hissed the woman, “Borg!”
Blinded by fear, she pointed her pistol at the dog’s head and fired.
A thunderclap obscured the bolt of the gunshot. Virgil recoiled in fright. The dog lunged, crushing the 9 mm Beretta, and ripped the woman’s hand off in a single bite. Before anyone could speak or scream, the animal spit up the mangled hand. Then it smashed the weapon into the wet asphalt beneath a hammer-like paw. Lastly, the dog coughed violently and spit up a flattened bullet.
Shock fading, the woman now began wailing and fell back, blood jetting from the severed stump of her forearm. Virgil felt his knees go weak. The woman screamed and screamed, her cries muffled by the cacophony of the thunderstorm.
The viking agent delivered a huge, unexpected kick to the Rottweiler’s jaw with a steel toed boot that should have crushed the dog’s face. Instead, the big CNED bellowed in pain himself and collapsed to one knee. The dog growled but remained still.
The cowboy moved closer and took two shining silver capsules the size of multivitamins from his pocket.
He raised the brim of his hat at last, holding one of the capsules in front of the man, blue eyes sparkling, “Take this.”
“What?” the viking sneered. “Fuck you, blacky!”
Virgil shivered anew as the Rottweiler lunged forward, snarling savagely at the viking, the ferret-faced woman’s blood still dripping from its ebony muzzle.
“Take the pill,” repeated the cowboy calmly, stepping closer. “Or this dog starts removing body parts.” The cowboy cocked his head, adding, “Dixie.”
A stream of blood was washing away with the rain into the gutter as the woman swayed and cried.
The viking extended his hand and took the pill, swallowed and held both hands in the air, “Okay, okay. Don’t let it hurt me!”
The cowboy looked at the man with disdain but did not speak. He walked to the woman, wasting no time, and grabbed her hair in a fist, holding her head back. As she cried, he forced the second capsule into her mouth and pushed her jaw shut until it was swallowed.
“Is it poison?” asked the big agent, still cowering on his knees.
The cowboy ignored the question, nodded quickly to the dog, “Do it.”
Virgil screamed, pushing himself back against the wall. The Rottweiler moved in a blur of speed, pinning the female agent to the ground. Her forearm poured blood. The dog held the bloody stump to the asphalt. She screamed from the agony and fainted. Virgil wiped his eyes as he watched a cannon telescope out of the Rottweiler’s throat. The laser light was fast and efficient, cauterizing the bloody stump into a smoldering slag of charcoal flesh in less than five seconds. Then the cannon was gone back inside the dog. The animal backed away as if nothing had happened.
The viking agent’s lower lip was shaking uncontrollably, “Please, oh Great Dog, don’t kill us. I got a wife from The Eastern Nations. She’s pregnant, man!”
The cowboy remained silent, though his blue eyes flashed electric anger. He leaned over and broke a smelling salts capsule under the female agent’s nose. She came to and immediately began simpering with pain.
The cowboy turned to the viking, “Pick up the gun and the hand. Put them in your pockets.”
“Say what?” the man began.
The Rottweiler growled and pounded another paw.
“Okay! Done!” The viking jumped to his boots and put the gun in a side pocket of his jumpsuit. Then the hand. He pushed the broken fingers into his pocket with disgust.
The cowboy nodded at the woman, “Now get her the hell up. If you hurry, they can reattach it”
The viking jumped and helped the woman to her feet. She looked at the cowboy, wide awake but numbed with pain, gaunt cheeks looking bewildered as she dangled on her partner with her one good arm.
The cowboy tipped his hat at the woman, “That’s the thing about lines, lassie. Eventually you cross the wrong one.” He faced the man, “What you waiting on, hummie? Run on now!”
Virgil winced. The dog roared and again pounded its paws like sledgehammers, denting the pavement. The woman screamed anew. The big agent picked her up like a child and hobbled, pathetically limping down the alle
y away towards 9th Street. Virgil watched for a few moments longer as the black dog gave a belated chase, steering them like sheep with quick nips and snarls through the shadows.
Bubba won’t even believe me when I report this!
Virgil let out what felt like the same breath he had been holding for the last two minutes, “Holy sky! That was so fond, dude! You must be William?!”
The cowboy turned, icy eyes filled with scorn, “You’re off to a great start, kid. That’s right. I’m your contact.” William grabbed Virgil’s arm and dragged him in the opposite direction, “Come on, you damn idiot.”
They made it back to the empty part of the alley facing the wall with the hand painted CNED advertisement. Virgil jumped as the black dog suddenly rematerialized, skidding to a halt out of nowhere. The dog panted happily and smiled at William. Then it looked at Virgil and growled.
William tapped the comdot on his jaw, “Secure. And we’re gonna need the asphalt guys again.”
Virgil’s mouth dropped open. The wet bricks in front of them began to flicker. An old wooden door frame and staircase appeared in the side of the building. There were dry brick walls on either side of the stairs and a purple curtain at the bottom. The dog immediately trotted through and was gone.
William went down next and stopped after a couple of steps, looking over his shoulder as he shook the rain off his hat, “You coming? Or you wanna do some more window shopping?”
Virgil jerked forward, “I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez!”
He stepped across the threshold. The wooden stair treads creaked. As the last hempnylon fibers of his backpack passed the threshold, there was an immediate electrical snap! Goosebumps rose on his spine. Virgil turned. Behind him the rainy alley was gone, replaced by a projected brick wall. From this side it looked dusty and dry. William had already disappeared through the purple curtain after the dog.
Naturally curious, Virgil reached to touch the holographic wall and was rewarded with a sturdy shock, “Ouch!”
Virgil winced and clutched his fingers. Total silence enveloped him. The only sounds he could hear were the creaks of the stairs and the damp rustle of his own clothes. He took a deep breath and descended. Five steps down, directly in front of the purple curtains, he passed through a thin veil of electronic, blue light, pushed by a holoprojector on the wall. He touched the holographic curtain and felt his body pulled forward into the blue light as though it were a magnet. A blinding white flash made him close his eyes.
Voices in the Stream: Phase 02 (The Eighteenth Shadow) Page 13