by Lia Black
“Yes. When she’s fifteen or sixteen, that’s just what they’ll do.” Mercury said, more to himself. All mercenary groups were trash. But these were little more than street gangs; gone lazy by having a captive audience. They didn’t have to expend any energy to draw up zones, just a conversation between generals or whoever was in charge at that time. They were bullies. He hated bullies.
“I’ll be back,” Mercury said. He left Glenn’s home, moving through shadows to keep from being tracked. Mercenary groups had a thing for marking territory. He snatched down a scrap from a Blue Disciples flag hanging along the border and headed into the opposing gang’s territory.
A terminal would, no doubt, be behind their invisible wall, guarded by at least one, if not a whole crew, of low-level infantry.
He strolled towards a small group of mercs once he spotted one of these terminals. It sat like a rectangular idol on a small, round dais. There were three men guarding it; lower-level grunts with guns. All of them fairly young and uglied by scars and poorly rendered tattoos. Mercury usually regarded scars—especially on a younger fighter—as a sign of failure, but mercenaries displayed them like badges of honor. One of the men was wearing a leather harness instead of a shirt; the places where knives and extra weapons would go were empty, but he had a badge tacked to it. The name on it was Des.
Oh, this was too perfect.
Whatever conversation they’d been having abruptly ended when they saw him, and they flashed their teeth like feral hounds, their faces twisting into menacing snarls. No doubt, that was enough to stop most people.
Mercury wasn’t most people.
The guards’ expressions slackened, mouths drooping open and eyes wide as he came upon them and went through the group as though he hadn’t noticed them.
“Hey!” one finally yelled at Mercury’s back when they realized he wasn’t going to stop. “Hold it right there freak!”
The others were laughing, talking about what a fool he was, and all of the things they were going to do to make him see the error of his ways. Mercury felt one approach and reminded himself that he needed to remain focused. Although he could, he really shouldn’t kill them all—not yet, anyway. One of them grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and pressed a pistol to his chest.
“Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” It was Des. Probably the best looking of the three, Des had a strip of dark hair running like a short crest over his head and was the same height as Mercury. His breath smelled of onions, stale smoke, and rotting garbage.
Mercury turned his face away. “I need the terminal,” he said.
“You need to turn around and walk away,” Des tapped the gun against Mercury’s sternum to emphasize the threat.
Mercury could feel the cables powering the terminal running under the floor tiles beneath his feet. Without moving his body, he followed the sensation back to the device, and overloaded the machine, enough to send up sparks and make the screen go black.
“Holy fuck!” One of the other mercenaries yelped, jumping back from the device. “Shit! It’s dead! Des, what do we do?”
So Des was the one in charge of this little group—or at least the one the others deferred to.
“Yes, Des, “ Mercury said. “Won’t your boss be suspicious if the machine broke while you were supposed to be watching it?” He watched the haze of panic darken his eyes as Des, no doubt, witnessed his own death. “I can fix things,” Mercury kept his voice kept low so the others wouldn’t hear him. “You get rid of the other two, nobody has to know.”
As it turned out, Des didn’t have to do anything. His comrades were cowards, prepared to leave him holding the bag. They each took off, leaving Des alone, holding Mercury at gunpoint as the terminal continued to smoke.
Des’s throat worked as he stared at the machine; sweat began to form dew on his forehead and upper lip. “You can really fix this shit?” he asked, looking at Mercury once more. It was almost a plea, but still bound by the threat of violence.
“I can. I will if you let me. I just need to access some information, then I’ll be on my way.”
Des gestured with his gun, letting Mercury move closer to the terminal.
“You fuck this up, you’re dead,” Des warned him.
“So are you,” Mercury said with a shrug.”But you’ll suffer.”
Des’s jaw bowed as he gritted his teeth. “Fix it, but make it quick.”
He stood to Mercury’s left, his pistol aimed and ready to shoot him if he did anything to make things worse. Mercury stepped up to the terminal. Fixing it was no problem. The unit had all ready sat long enough to cool down and begin its rebooting cycle, which could have been seen if Mercury hadn’t kept the electricity from powering up the screen. He worked quickly, getting it back up and running and accessed his private accounts back on Earth—the ones his accountant hadn’t known about, so they hadn’t been frozen. It was a pity he wouldn’t be returning; he though the man deserved some retribution for his unprofessional behavior.
“All better,” Mercury said, pivoting with a smile to face Des. He took a step back as Des turned his attention to the screen.
Mercury might have felt badly for killing such an obvious fool, but Des had threatened a child, made her father worry for her safety with good reason. There was no reason to feel pity for the stupid when they were also cruel. The pistol was still pointed at Mercury’s chest, but Des was paying more attention to the characters running across the terminal screen, his face so close that his rancid breath fogged the glass. Mercury stepped to the right, just a little, and grabbed Des’s arm, pulling it around behind his back. He heard the wet pop as Des’s shoulder became dislocated from its socket and Des made a noise—the start of a yell. Mercury silenced him by grabbing a handful of his greasy brown hair and slamming his face into the terminal. Snatching up the gun dangling from Des’s limp fingers, Mercury shot him through the back of the skull. A web of glistening cracks formed across the terminal’s screen as the projectile passed through Des’s skull and smoke rose up from around his head. Mercury let the body go, wiping his hands on the scrap of the Blue Disciples flag he’d brought, then draped the material over Des’s cooling carcass. It was the easiest way to start a war between the mercenary's groups and draw the attention of the few soldiers stationed above. The military troops would come down to try and restore order. That would keep any form of law enforcement distracted, for a little while at least, so he could check up on Sean.
Glenn seemed surprised that he’d returned, verifying Mercury’s suspicion that Glenn had no idea who he was. He accepted the credit chip Mercury handed to him, running it through his scanner to confirm the amount.
“In twenty-five minutes,” Mercury said, “money will be wired to the Virgero Station Hotel. In twenty-one minutes, I need you to reserve a room under the name of Sean. Five minutes after that I need your daughter to go to the hotel, pick up the keycard and deliver it to the medical clinic above. Have her wrap it in…” Mercury looked around and found a crumpled piece of paper in a garbage can. He tore off one stained edge and scribbled something so Sean would know it was from him, then handed it to Glenn. “…This.”
“That’s it?”
“Des won’t be troubling your daughter anymore. And forget you ever met me, of course. I will be back for supplies later. Can you direct me to a chemist?” His words tumbled out quickly, barely a breath in between. Mercury was still coasting on his most recent hit of tetrahaze, but he was going to need more and different drugs soon to keep himself stable. He was not a fan of stress, and certainly not used to doing so much all alone. As long as he stayed dosed, he could keep the red away and keep his brain thinking in a straight line.
29
The hospital wasn’t really a hospital. It was a glorified medical clinic that happened to have a rotating group of military physicians and surgeons coming through as part of their tours of duty. The Federation was not callous enough to pretend that there weren’t people here in need of medica
l care, and those who came to get it provided the perfect opportunity for training new medics. It provided the added benefit of eliminating the need to pay for research or require signatures of consent for sometimes experimental procedures. The small staff didn’t ask for name or occupation, they didn’t ask for payment up front or installments. They simply treated whoever came in and sent them on their way.
Sean, however, would be a resident for a few days at least, and having someone come in with an apparent combat wound gave the medical staff something much more interesting to tackle.
They’d asked no questions and gotten right to work, then left Sean to recover in one of the few rooms kept for overnight patients. His CSD uniform had been left at the mercenary base, swapped for the clothes of a dead man, leaving him as anonymous as an infant on their doorstep.
Sean struggled out of a heavy sleep with a taste in his mouth like banana and tin. His head was full of fog, and the lingering sense of another presence hovered near his bed.
“Mercury—?” Sean croaked and fought through a wave of confusion when he opened his eyes and found himself alone. The last thing he remembered clearly was being shot. The rest were snippets, blurred by a dreamy haze. He thought he remembered Mercury coming to his rescue. He thought he remembered the feeling of Mercury’s body pressed against him from behind, his voice soothing and worried. Just now, as he’d drifted out of sleep, Sean thought he’d felt him here, but the room was empty and still. Sean stared up at the ceiling, following the feathered edges of an old moisture stain with his eyes. The pain medication made his body feel heavy and numb, but his mind was too active, wondering what had become of Mercury. Anger was riding along the raw edge of his emotional state. He hated Mercury for leaving him, for saving him, for Mercury being who and what he was. Hate was much easier to process than the other emotions threatening just below the surface.
Withdrawal from the drugs he’d been given was slowly fading as he’d been sedated through the worst of it. He missed the feeling of not having a care in the world, of being able to see Mercury through eyes that saw only beauty. But now he was conflicted, much worse than before. He shouldn’t be missing him, Mercury’s name shouldn’t have been the first sound he’d uttered the moment he woke up. These were not the logical thoughts of a cop who’d been transporting a notorious criminal to his final trial. But Mercury defied logic, and he’d saved Sean’s life—again. Sean reached up, cautiously seeking out his wounded shoulder. His fingertips brushed against the bandages there. Professionally applied, protecting the bio-regenerists that would weave together muscle, nerves, and flesh over the next several weeks. It ached and was stiff, but the pain was minimal, meaning that Mercury had gotten him here in time.
Sean was just struggling to sit up when the door to his room slid open and a young woman wearing a physician’s lab coat entered. She wasn’t completely human, exhibiting some of the physical markings of the Mashwani race—large, black eyes, tall, wide at the shoulder and hip but with long, thin arms and legs. Her brown skin was tinted slightly violet and she wore tattoos on her face that were consistent with Mashwani religious observance. On the lapel and left arm of her lab coat was the familiar shield insignia of the Federation military.
“Glad to see you awake,” she spoke in deep, accented tones.
“Glad to be awake,” Sean tried to offer her a smile but he could tell she had a lot of questions that she probably wouldn’t ask, and he was unsure of how to answer. He wanted to believe that because she was military and a doctor that he could trust her, but his story was a matter of life and law. His name entered into the system of medical records would bring up everything about him, including the fact that he’d been on escort duty for Mercury Fie. His best bet was to lie and pretend he didn’t remember anything. Ironic that he’d have reservations about lying to a criminal, but to a representative of law and order, he had no compunctions.
“It appears that you were shot, Mr.—”
“Craig,” Sean lied, knowing it could easily be a first or last name and entering either into the system would bring up billions of possibilities. He doubted she would bother with it anyway, but he had to assume by now that reports of his absence and Mercury’s escape were making the rounds. “How long have I been out?”
“Well you arrived here unconscious about two days ago. Mr. Craig,” she said. “Do you know what happened to you?”
“Can’t remember,” Sean lied, shaking his head.
The doctor raised her eyebrows but said nothing.
“When can I leave?” Sean asked her. This was not a long-term facility, so he doubted she’d insist on observation.
“Any time, I suppose. You were lucky, Mr. Craig. Whoever bandaged you up did a decent job of keeping the wound clean.” She stared at him for an extended period, then when she realized that Sean had no response, she continued. “We’ve managed to get your system balanced. You were pretty dehydrated and you’re about fifteen pounds below where you should be. I suggest you discontinue the use of narcotics, Mr. Craig.”
“Sure,” Sean said. No problem there.
“Oh, and this,” the doctor reached into her pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of yellowed paper that she handled as though it were diseased tissue, dropping it on the bed near Sean. “A girl came by. Said she was your daughter and left this.”
Daughter? Sean hesitated before he picked up the wad and carefully unwrapped it. A drawing of a quick, crude heart with a stylized symbol for the planet Mercury were scrawled on the sheet of paper, wrapped around a hotel room key-card. He was aware that the doctor was watching him closely.
“Right. My daughter.” Sean nodded and offered a smile. He was hoping that Mercury had bribed, rather than threatened, whatever child had delivered this message.
“Try not to move that shoulder. It’s safe to shower with that but I wouldn’t let it soak. Your clothes are in a bag under your bed, Come back if you have any trouble, though my tour ends tomorrow.” She got up and went to the door. “Good luck, Mr. Craig.” She said before leaving. It sounded automatic, like something everyone said out of habit but nobody truly meant.
Sean would leave no records behind—she would enter nothing into the system but a fake name and some information about why he’d come in. Once this doctor left, another one would take her place for a short time, and then another, and another. Maybe it helped to get people to seek treatment—people who wouldn’t normally because they’d been in trouble with the law, or on the run for one reason or another.
Sean struggled up and out of bed, heading towards the small bathroom. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he nearly didn’t recognize his face. His cheekbones jutted out over hollows; his eyes looked sunken. He had a beard to show for the time that he’d been away from civilization. He touched the cut that was healing across his lips—the one Mercury had given to him when Sean had refused his kiss. Was he all ready gone? He’d had plenty of time to get on a ship and start heading for Sol Lab’s floating space station. He might have even let himself get picked up by the Militia, though knowing Mercury it was more likely he stole a shuttle, and possibly its pilot, to fly him there.
Sean looked at the key card, turning it over in his hand. Because there was only a room number on it, Sean had to assume that meant there was only one hotel still operating in Virgero. It would be interesting to see if Mercury was going to meet him there, but foolish to hold out hope.
30
There were always transitional periods. The changing of the guards, third shift to first shift, military doctors finishing their tour and new doctors starting. It gave Mercury the opportunity to poke around the clinic, looking for something specific that he might not otherwise get to see.
While Sean was there, Mercury had checked up on him in between his other tasks, but Sean had been discharged all ready. Last night, after leaving Glenn’s shop, Mercury felt something in his head shift and for a moment, he was paralyzed and sick from the ache it brought on. There was something in
there. He was almost certain of it now; it made sense that the castle he saw going into the teddy bear’s head might actually be something in his own. He’d learned very early in life how to pretend that things happening to him had happened to somebody else. In fact, he’d become so good at it, there were times he wondered if he’d made up entire rooms of people…people who disappeared—turned into bloody smears— when his mind went red. Since he couldn’t very well crawl around in his own brain, he’d need to look at it from the outside, using something that could see through his skull. He figured the best place to find such a device was in the clinic where he’d left Sean. The medical tech here wasn’t state-of-the-art, but it was in working order.
The internal imaging device sat in a locked room, covered with sheets of plastic. Once upon a time, before humans understood that they were not the sole intelligence in the universe, there were loads of bulky machines that seemed to specialize in only one thing. One machine that could look for broken bones, one machine that could look at organs, one for the head, one for the torso, another for the extremities…
But making contact with other races and combining to create the Federation Council allowed the exchange of technologies and innovations to flow freely. Medicine was one of the areas that benefited the most, and so instead of rooms and rooms of equipment, there were a few pieces that could do it all. Mercury was unwrapping one of those pieces now. It was a device that could not only look inside a person, but create a three-dimensional model which was often used by surgeons to perform delicate procedures. Of course, the logo on the device was the familiar Sol Labs. His father had recognized the benefits of getting to the technology first and slapping on his patents.
Mercury’s mind got caught when the device was fully revealed, like a bit of his brain snagged on a nail.