******
I got up the next morning, feeling ragged and edgy. As I made my way out of my apartment, a quick link into HQ told me that Mallory had been let go a few hours ago. He was clean. I contacted Espinoza and found out he had already cleared two of his suspects and was out gathering up the third.
I reviewed the last three suspects on my list and decided to go after a farmhand assigned to the Normandy Agricultural Caverns. The other two suspects were located in nearer caverns, but I really didn’t feel like dealing with people right then and a nice, monotonous tram trip where citizens would leave me alone appealed to me.
Like most of the agricultural caverns on the moon, Normandy Caverns were located at the end of a tube line. Personnel traffic was minimal and produce was shipped on a separate line that supported only containerized cargo.
I accessed the tube schedule and saw that the next run to Normandy was in twenty minutes. There wouldn’t be any more after that for another two hours. I made my way to the tube station and waited for the tram to arrive. It was on time and I boarded it, found a seat and settled in for the two-hour trip.
As always, people kept their distance from me. I sat back, shut my eyes and told my ‘plant to beep me when Normandy Caverns was a five minutes away. Then I concentrated on the hum of the tram as it moved, punctuated by the squeal of braking and swoosh of acceleration after the various stops along the line. It felt good, it felt calm…I just wished I had a drink to go with it.
Eventually, my implant told me I was near Normandy, and I opened my eyes and looked around me. The tram coach was almost empty. A young couple in the rear and myself were the only occupants. I got off at the stop and made my way topside to the main Cavern.
There was no sky, only suspended lights. You could see the rough-hewn cavern ceiling between the lights. I made my way to the admin building to talk to the on-duty cavern security supervisor.
The supervisor was older than me and obviously nervous that a Cavern Security Sergeant had come to his quiet little empire to root out a possible murderer. I didn’t do anything to put him at ease…not my style. The farmhand I was searching for was named Kyle Schmidt, citizen number 932-198-Z1029. A quick status check told us that Schmidt was currently on duty at the pig caves. The supervisor asked me if I wanted him brought in, but I waved off the request. I figured I’d go to the pig cave and pick him up myself. It had been years since I had seen a live creature other than people or the occasional roach.
Animals are a rarity on the moon. Only the most elite had pets, and they never go out in public with them. There are a few public Zoos, but they’re always crowded, and I hate going to them. All animals are clones from genetic banks of animals kept by management. Most of the higher-order mammals died alongside humanity in the plague war, but luckily, the Americans managed to create a genetic bank of a large cross-section of animals and send it to the Moon prior to the collapse. Management says that when man returns to Earth, so will all the rest of the mammals but w one notable exception—the pig. Or at least what passes for a pig on the Moon.
Prior to the war, the colonies had managed to become self-sufficient in farming except for meat products, which were shipped in from earth. With the collapse of the planet, that source of protein went away. While soy products were sufficient to keep folks alive and healthy, it didn’t cut it with the general populace. In the only mass demonstration in Lunar history, (led, oddly enough, by the usually docile Chinese), the people rose up and demanded their god-given right to eat fleshy, fat-filled meat. Management responded and within ten months, the Lunar Pig was created.
The Pig is a masterpiece of genetic engineering. Neutered clones, the beast is a deaf, blind, legless, nearly brainless flesh producing monstrosity that weighs one kilo when decanted and then manages to pack on an additional 750 kilos by the time it is slaughtered six months later.
Once it’s taken from the decanting tank, the beast is placed in its own regolith-polymer cubicle. Equipped with a flexible snout and a genetically induced insatiable hunger, it immediately begins to shovel in its mouth the moist bio-garbage pellets from the trough before it. The only other orifice it has is an elongated, tube-like rectum that extends from its ass. The rectum is sutured (by hand!) to a plastic tube that sends the waste to the recycle vats, along with all the other bio-waste that the moon produces. It lives its life out in that cube, eating, crapping and growing. A lot like your average worker bee, except tastier.
Cold Pulp Trio Page 13