Xero stopped and bit a fingernail, peering at Argon’s expression. “And you’re really shaken. You still fucked up about last night? Look dude, you were a spectacular dumb fuck yesterday, but you’ve got to get over it. Move on. There’s time to die another day. We’ve got slots and sluts waiting for us in Yuma,” she said.
He turned towards the wall and bowed his head slightly. “That’s not it,” he said.
It wasn’t something she liked to keep active all the time, but Xero was actually uncannily good at reading people’s emotions. It had been her job for nearly a decade, and she had been damned good at it. In fact, it was what had allowed her to rise to the top and take control of the greater Tucson pits.
“I know what it is,” she clucked her tongue and pointed a finger at him. “It’s Trina.”
Argon turned a shade that got close to the bright orange of his hair. He tried to compose himself, and a trace of fear floated across his face. “Look, she’s my best friend is all,” he said. “I’m just worried about her—She’s had the zaps for almost a month now, and it’s not getting better.”
“You think I’m just going to stand by and let her waste away? Why the hell do you think I agreed to do this run even though we’re totally fucked for personnel? The whole reason I took this job is so that we can smuggle some goddamn Ketocillin out of the Phoenix storehouses while we’re moving cargo. Ever since that last rip of lung zaps went through the flats they’ve been super hardcore careful about how and where they store that drug. Neptune and you have done a great job of learning to synthesize of lot of the old world antibiotics, but none of that is working, and trying to flash Ketocillin without a real manufacturing plant is a tall order for anyone,” she said, her eyes gleaming with determination.
She put her hands on her hips. “We don’t let our own die anyone else’s hand, and that includes bugs and viruses. Even if you guys drive me crazy, that’s a pact I made when I brought you on board, and you can still count on that. Trina will be better by the end of the week,” she said.
Argon released a lungful of air, relieved, but a pensive look remained on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Xero interrupted him.
“Don’t worry. I know you and Trina have fucked, and I don’t give two shits. I’m sure Milo knows too, and he doesn’t give a shit either,” she said. “Rule one of the Grease Weasels—we could all die tomorrow, so you better be having some fun. Fuck who you want, when you want. Just try not to get your dick lopped off.”
He nodded, visibly relieved. “Well, in that case, let’s go have some fun and play with that dead body,” he said with faux enthusiasm.
She stuck out her tongue. “I’m putting you in charge of poking at the body. I could also give two shits about touching a corpse, but I swear to god I am not taking another fucking cold shower before leaving for the dome.
He laughed. “I’ll be sure to get you a big stick to poke it with. Good thing being respectful to the dead isn’t in our code of ethics,” he said.
“Fuck respect. Nothing is as serious as a cold shower.”
CHAPTER 4
One of the reasons they had chosen a slum that was directly next to the river had been to try and vie for some privacy. Under the abandoned underpass there were ruins of hundreds of old houses, all abandoned decades ago after the river had made it too polluted for anyone to live there for long without developing horrendous health consequences. Skin peeling off? Strange growths? Sudden death? Noxious odors? Their neighborhood had it all, and that morning the odors were especially pungent. Argon and Xero both had the apex of the resistance gene, giving them strongest resilience against the environmental toxins, but that morning even Xero was having trouble not letting her eyes blur and water against the acrid fumes belching up from the remains of the Verde River. Almost all the failed domes had been built directly over rivers, and that ended up being their downfall. Eventually, nature caught up with you if you didn’t run fast enough. It was one reasons why Xero liked to keep running.
“Jesus Christ, it’s fucking foul out here this month,” she said, silently hoping that the smell didn’t creep into her hair. There wasn’t much of it to deal with in the first place, but if the federalies thought she smelled contaminated, they’d make her go through a decon shower, and that was the last thing that she wanted. That shit burned like nothing else, and on occasion some idiot forgot to calibrate the formula so that it contained a safe amount of acid. Those were the types of accidents that went around the media and dove straight into the graves at the edges of the pits. It wasn’t something she was especially proud of, but corpse removal runs were especially lucrative, and the federalies tended to look the other way, leaving her far more leeway to get her own business done at the same time without having to worry as much about getting caught.
Despite the putrid smell, the river flats had a certain strange beauty to them. The abandoned underpass reminded her of where she used to hang out as a teenager, and the lack of residents in any of the crumbling tin and wood shacks let her hear the oddly soothing surge of the mottled, lumpy river. Trying to go for a dip in that might not be a great idea even for Xero or Argon, teeming as it was with chemicals and debris aggregating from the state’s intact domes. It had been so long since anyone had lived down there, and the river was so acidic that there was virtually no trash littered on the banks or anywhere else in the surrounding neighborhood—what was there had either eroded in the acidic soil over the past decades, or it was directly swept away and degraded by the river itself.
Their personal shack was like any of the other abandoned buildings in the area, but they had chosen one that leaned directly up against the pillar of the old underpass to give it some additional stability, and they were lucky enough to find one that had a half-assed solar tank and was still connected to an intact sewer line that wasn’t contaminated by the river water. Argon had dragged the body a few feet outside the building to an adjacent shack that had probably once been some kind of a tool shed. He hadn’t actually put the body totally back into the enclosure, and the skeleton’s black and white boots were still hanging out the back door.
Xero stopped when she saw the skeleton’s legs peeking out. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she said.
Argon threw up his hands. “Look, it was dark and late, and we were hoping Calavera’s henchmen would come take care of him really soon anyway. It’s not like there’s anyone around here. There’s no one that will even come within a half mile radius of this area—especially not with that stench rising off the river this month.”
He was right, but Xero didn’t like sloppy work. She gave Argon a look that let him know not to pull any more bullshit jobs like that again. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you can’t even finish a simple task. You never change,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’m just the chemist, and occasional muscle. You know I’m no good with logistics. That’s Milo’s job, and he’s stuck taking care of Trina,” he said.
“Don’t remind me—I’d kill to have Milo along with us on this job,” she said. She would have loved to have Neptune along too, just for fun, but with Trina out of commission and Milo distracted by his sick girlfriend, someone had to stay behind and watch the fort.
She tapped her foot against the squishy ground. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” she said.
They pulled the body back out of the shed, trying to avoid as much of the congealed blood as possible. Xero motioned with her head and Argon ripped the armored skeleton head mask off its face. It was a Hispanic male, his face tattooed with an intricate sugar skull design.
“Shit,” she said. “Well, if this isn’t one of Calavera’s guys, he went pretty far with the authenticity attempt. Unless I’m imagining things, those tattoos didn’t get there overnight.”
The tattoos were old, and looked like they had been applied at different stages in time over the years. Parts of it were faded, where others looked like they were relatively fresh.
“Looks like a pretty dec
orated enforcer too, since he’s got so many layers of tats,” Argon said. He turned and pointed at Xero. “See! He wasn’t just some loser flunky.”
She shook her head. “Whatever makes you feel better, buddy.”
Argon scoffed. “Whatever. Anyway, we may have a real problem on our hands here,” he said.
She sighed. “We’re going to have an even bigger issue if we don’t get out of here soon. We’re pushing things as it is. Where the fuck are Calavera’s goons? Does no one value punctuality anymore? Shouldn’t they have been here hours ago? I want one of us here in person to impress upon them the seriousness of this situation,” she said.
Argon nodded. “Let’s pack this asshole back into the shed and make ourselves look respectable.”
It was fairly ridiculous that they had to get themselves all gussied up when they would likely just have to strip naked and at least go through some minimal decon, but standards had gotten far laxer in recent years, and sometimes they got away without having to do anything to gain dome access if they looked nice enough.
Xero was wearing a light pink mini skirt with a white blouse and matching pink blazer. She wore a pearl necklace with little pearl stud earrings that flashed slightly in the light. Flat little black pumps and a blond wig completed the outfit.
Argon clucked his tongue. “It never ceases to amaze me when you dress up like this. You look so harmless,” he said.
She brushed a strand of the tightly affixed wig away from her face. A thick smearing of foundation covered up the remains of her black eye, and with some careful shading you could barely notice any of the lingering swelling. She smiled with sickly pink lips. “I kind of like it. People never even see it coming when I’m dressed like this,” she said. At least people in the domes. Out in the flats and pits, people knew better than to trust someone in fancy clothes. They’d probably see her poison lipstick from a mile away.
She looked him up and down. “You actually don’t look so bad yourself. You’d be the kind of boy that I would have had a crush on in high school—the kind you’d see on the fashion magazines and on the walls of clothing stores in the mall,” she said. None of them had tattoos or piercings because it would impair their ability to wear various disguises when necessary, so any style choices had to be limited to hair and clothing.
Since he was playing the hired muscle and would do little of the talking, he could get away with being more casual. He had on a pair of good fitting jeans and a tight white t-shirt. His unruly hazard cone orange hair was covered with a pretty-boy brown wig. He scratched at the industrial strength glue that was holding it to his head. “Fuck, I hate wearing these wigs. This gutter glue itches like hell,” he said.
“That thing is on there so tightly that even a decon shower won’t get it off. Don’t knock the gutter glue,” she said and leaned over to see behind him. “Your ass looks nice in those jeans.”
He put his hands up. “Don’t even think of trying to kiss me,” he said.
She made an exaggerated pout. “You’re no fun,” she said. “No time for that business anyway.”
Walking around the blood stain, she reached a long arm over to snag a small black clock off the dresser and thrust it in his face. “Look at the time. Get Calavera on the horn right now and figure out what is up,” she said.
Argon silently slunk off to grab a transmitter and get outside where the reception was better. The broken domes of the flats made for a natural radio barrier that made communications difficult. With a little luck and ingenuity you could get things to work, but trying to use something straight off the shelf was a losing bet.
He reappeared a few moments later. “I got ahold of the nearest enforcer crew again, and apparently they’re having some trouble at the border. I guess there are some local skirmishes going on at that compromised south entrance we passed on the way in last night. I wonder if that has anything to do with this mess,” he said.
She squinted her eyes. “I don’t like the sound of any of this—highly suspicious,” she said and exhaled loudly. “Look, I don’t like thinking about this, but I think we might have to split up temporarily. Which means you would need to be the one to stay behind because you don’t have the clearance to trigger the supply order on your own. Once I’m through dome security the papers should be in order for you to follow behind me. It will take most of the day getting the cargo and paperwork in order anyway, so you should have most of the day to get to the bottom of this. Do you think you can handle this on your own? I really need someone to stay here and get to the bottom of this. I’ll have a transmitter on me if anything goes down. If shit gets really hairy, call our emergency back up and get the fuck out of here.”
He nodded slowly. “You’ve still got some connections to the local gangs?” he said.
“Yeah, they’re not terribly reliable, but in an emergency they owe enough to us that they should come through. I’ve had to put them in their place often enough in the past that they’ll be really reluctant to let me down again,” she said.
“It’s really creepy to hear you say that with that wig on,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Looks like we don’t have much of a choice in this matter, though—you better get a move on.”
She smiled but her eyes were hard. “Don’t screw this up, or we’ll all be sorry. Another war with Mexico would seriously fuck up our groove.”
CHAPTER 5
Some serious doubt lingered in the pit of her stomach. Argon was actually a brilliant chemist, and not bad to have on your side in a fight, but he could be a total moron when it came to common. Usually the rest of the Grease Weasels helped keep him in line, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. She almost would have sent him on to the domes ahead of her if it had been possible, but there’s no way his Zone Pass alone would have gotten them through security without going through the backend. And this wasn’t a backend job.
Fortunately their flats were not very big—it had been a test dome before the big Phoenix dome went up, and had never been a fully fledged city before it was cut from the grid and left to rot along with its rejected citizens. Sometimes she felt sorry for the people trapped in the flats. Their lungs were too weak to withstand the harshly polluted and oxygen depleted wastelands of the pits, but since they were able to survive with reduced oxygen they weren’t allowed Zone Passes for the domes. Their lives were miserable, but they were perfect customers for Alphamine. And for that, they held a special place in her heart and in her wallet.
It didn’t really matter though. In the end, they were all slowly dying of cancer.
She zipped over mounds of trash and smoking debris behind the wheel of a souped-up armored all-terrain vehicle. It had a camo paint job that would have been totally inappropriate in this kind of an urban area, but it was now almost effective amongst the piles of rubbles that had overtaken the once productive city. She laughed at the image of her and her ridiculous pink business suit driving what basically amounted to a camouflaged tank. Dome squares were such idiots.
She had the windows rolled up in the vehicle, and the filtration system was on full blast. The machine was fairly new, and the filtration system was still doing a decent job of removing some of the more detectable noxious chemicals and odors from the incoming air. She had doused herself with an odor reducing spray before climbing inside, which would hopefully neutralize enough of the river stench to keep her out of a scalding decon bath. She shuddered thinking about it. It was one of the most unpleasant parts of dealing with official dome entry. The California domes were the worst—you could never escape a decon bath in those parts. They had so many laws that changed every two or three months that she could hardly keep track of them. At least the Arizona domes got lazy sometimes. As long as you weren’t covered in pig shit and brandishing an illegal laser, you had a good chance of getting through with limited hassle.
Even with the modified power-efficient engine, the vehicle still had decent speed capabilities, and it wasn’t long before
she’d skirted a quarter of the flat’s area and ended up at the north end of the ruined dome. The flats’ exit point was small, but heavily guarded. They didn’t really care if anyone escaped out into the pits—they would die within a few days anyway, but they didn’t want any riffraff sneaking through the corridor to the Phoenix dome. Heaven forbid they had to treat people like human beings. It was so ironic—those more equipped to survive were actually more likely to die an untimely death because of the dome exile policies. Technology was a strange beast that raped nature on a daily basis. It pissed her off, but Xero knew it was nothing but a waiting game. Eventually the domes would run out of resources, the sad parasitic flats would die along with them, and all that would be left would be the pits. It probably wouldn’t happen within her lifetime, but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that ultimately they would win, and all the dome drones would get what was coming to them.
The exit compound was surrounded by armed soldiers, tactical vehicles, a large brick wall, and lots of barbed wire. It looked more intimidating than it really was, considering half of the personnel would die if you ripped off their oxygen supplies, and the ones that wouldn’t die could probably be persuaded to turn against their superiors. If they could survive any amount of time in the flats without oxygen, it meant they were previously subjugated flats residents that had been hired to defend the complex in the event of an oxygen shortage. At least they were authorized to carry lasers—she was forbidden from carrying any weapons into the complex, and going anywhere unarmed made her extremely uncomfortable. Getting to play with lasers on cargo runs almost made up for having to deal with being unarmed in the flats for awhile.
After approaching the gates, a pair of armed guards looked her up in the roster, scanned her vehicle, and scanned her retinas for identity. They looked like new recruits—they were overly formal and gruff. It was hard to hear intonation over the static from their gas mask communicators, but she thought she could hear fear in their voice. From their body language and the slight shudder in their words, she guessed this could be their first day out of the domes, and they were terrified of their gas masks slipping and inhaling some of the toxic air in the domes. They used to make the dome soldiers practice taking off their masks and breathing for a few minutes out in the pits or flats, but the practice had been deemed barbaric and dangerous by most states. It was a bad move in Xero’s opinion, but it would give her an advantage if another civil war broke out between her people and the dome drones.
Under Dark Sky Law Page 3