Under Dark Sky Law

by Tamara Boyens

  She was fairly sure about Radar’s fidelity and thought Neptune was overreacting about his potential security risk, but she didn’t trust Xed for a second. Working with Xed was a necessary evil, and he was disturbing for a number of reasons, not least of which being that he reminded Xero of herself. He’d let a little bit of his real self peek through when they’d fucked. It was one of the reasons she preferred banging associates when appropriate—people tended to reveal themselves in the heat of passion. He was definitely not to be trusted, but she had to keep it as honest as safely possible. He would know if she was lying.

  “We just made it back to our base, and we’re working through a few…technical difficulties. Not least of which being that I nearly got torn to shreds out there. It’ll be at least until tomorrow before we can get out there and go hunting for her in earnest. She’s not the brightest—she’ll turn up in some form sooner or later, even if it’s just as a corpse” she said.

  “Fair enough,” she said.

  “Which leads me to the next part of the equation—I’m more than happy to help you track down that cow, but what I really need is a bead on how to get my hands on that Ketocillin,” she said, keeping her voice even, but images of an incapacitated Trina flashed in her mind. Before she’d left for the last run, Trina had still been conscious, even though she’d been struggling, and it killed her to see her friend so close to death.

  She could hear him lick his lips before replying. “Yes, I’ve done some investigating while you were away. I think I have a plan that would work out for us all, but it’s a little unorthodox,” he said.

  “Hell, I’ve never been one to do shit by the book anyway, lay it on me,” she said.

  “While I was looking into your organization I came across a few things. The first being that you do legitimate cargo runs, as well as illegal runs, which I already knew, obviously. The other being that you were originally a punk band,” he said.

  Xero laughed. “So you’re just learning that, eh? Yeah, it’s how we all met originally. After getting kicked out of the domes, I figured I’d make some shitty music screaming about how the government has fucked us all over. But you know, starving musician and all, figured I needed an actual way to make some cash,” she said.

  “So you started making drugs?” he said.

  She clicked her tongue. “That’s one way to put it. I’d spent so many years in the dome pumping drugs into people, figured I may as well keep doing that. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” she said.

  He chuckled. “No, not a thing,” he said.

  “Turns out money equals power, so it was natural that we took over this territory after Alphamine really spread,” she said.

  “But your band, it’s still popular,” he said.

  She waited before replying, trying to figure out what he was getting at. She knew it was the Alphamine he wanted to get his hands on, not their sweet anarchist guitar riffs. “Yeah, it is actually. It’s kind of our cover for certain types of activities. Mild mannered punk band—works like a charm every time,” she said. And it was true. They still played gigs regularly between all their other activities. The old strip club across the street was a favorite venue. They’d come together over music in the first place, and it was still the thing that kept them together. As backwards as it seemed, the Grease Weasels were a punk band first, drug dealers second, and territory leaders last.

  “Excellent. I’d like to offer my services as your manager,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said.

  “You heard me right. I’d like to help you orchestrate your first trans-dome tour. Starting with a grand debut in the magnificent city on the bayou, New Orleans,” he said.

  At first she stifled a laugh, wondering where the composed and calculating Xed had come up with such a crazy idea, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it could actually work. Not many had ever gotten approval, but on occasion very popular bands had been given dome access for shows.

  “You clever son of a bitch,” she said.

  CHAPTER 21

  It had gotten cold again. Technically it was December, and traditionally even the desert was getting cold at that point, but the climate had become so totally fucked up that seasons had stopped meaning much of anything. The fact that it was cold was almost comforting in a way. Either the environment was healing itself, or they were headed for annihilation in the next ice age.

  Radar lay beside her, panting in the dark.

  “Hey, you’re lucid enough to consent, right?” she said.

  He flopped a hand on her chest, inches above her breasts. “I don’t know if lucid is the right word for it, but if I was going to get raped, I wouldn’t mind being your victim,” he said and giggled.

  “Ah shit, you’re still fucked up on A+. Now I feel like an asshole,” she said.

  “No, no, you’ve got it wrong. I felt your asshole,” he said, still giggling.

  Xero rolled over onto her stomach. “Is this what you’re really like?” she asked. “They say when people are intoxicated on truth serums they reveal not just true information, but their true selves.”

  “You ever get shot up with this shit?” he asked. She nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see it.

  “Yeah, when we were in higher level test phases, we’ve all at least tried the stuff we produce at least once. In general I try to keep my people away from all the drugs, but A+ is not one we usually have to make any special rules for. No one wants a taste of that. We could actually probably turn a profit selling it, but even we won’t stoop that low,” she said.

  “I’m not really high on the A+ anymore anyway. I had a really bad reaction, and Milo had to shoot me up with a bunch of pain medications. Turns out robot circuitry doesn't always play nicely with synthetic drugs,” he said.

  “Sorry about that. At least your artificial lungs probably helped keep you out of respiratory arrest…that happens on occasion with A+. The name is a bit misleading—it’s not so much an A+ experience as it is an F-. We’ve made a lot of stuff though, and at least that stuff has its uses. Some of the shit we’ve made has been just plain nasty,” she said.

  “I’ve heard stories about you for years, way back when I was just a wee mercenary,” he said, slurring his words, clearly still intoxicated. “I heard you sold shit that rotted people’s skin clear off their bones.”

  Xero slapped herself across the forehead. “Ugh, that’s not entirely wrong, but it is still incorrect. We made shit that rotted people’s skin clear off their bones, but we didn’t sell it. Someone stole the compound and started selling it themselves. That was back in the early days when we didn’t have our security together. It’s one of the reasons Neptune is so hardcore about keeping our facility airtight,” she said.

  “Good to know you’re not a total piece of shit,” he said.

  She smacked him in the leg. “That truth serum works a little too well,” she said.

  “Ouch. Man, watch it, I’m still overly sensitive to pain from the A+,” he said and flopped halfway off the bed trying to escape her. “How the hell long is the half life on that on that shit?”

  Xero leaned over and hauled Radar’s leg back onto the bed and he yelled, “Jeez, you are brutal, didn’t I just say everything hurts,” he said.

  “You weren’t saying that when I was riding your dick,” she said and laid back down beside him.

  “That’s before the other stuff Milo gave me for the pain started wearing off too,” he said.

  She sighed. “You’re a big boy—you’ll live. For what it’s worth, you passed with flying colors. Maybe Neptune and Milo will start trusting my iron-clad character judgments,” she said.

  He chortled, a weird high-pitched crescendo that burbled into the dark room and made Xero sit up on her elbows. “You are still high as fuck,” she said.

  “Lady, I don’t know about your iron-clad character judgments if you’re shacking up with Xed. He’s one twisted fuck,” he said.r />
  Xero rolled over onto her side to face him directly. “You didn’t say anything about having worked with Xed before,” she said.

  “You didn’t ask. And I never said that I’d worked with Xed. I’ve crossed paths with him before, and ran into some of his…work. It’s not pretty. I wouldn’t say I have the cleanest reputation myself, but he’s someone I go out of my way to avoid. Real sick fuck,” he said.

  Xero shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t know—I always appreciated a little artful sadism,” she said.

  He groped for her and his uncoordinated hand flopped against her naked thigh. “You’re not really a sadist. You’re a pragmatist. Like me,” he said.

  She scoffed. “You just met me. Trust me, I’ve still got cans of whoop ass and sadism left to open,” she said.

  “Xero, you’re infamous. And I’m observant. As an independent operator I have to really know all the players out there. I don’t get involved with outfits that don’t meet my standards,” he said.

  “Then how come you’ve never tried to get involved with our organization before?” she said.

  “There was no need. You never hire work out to independents, and I never really need to go looking for extra work. My services are always needed,” he said.

  “So why follow me now? Why take this crazy job?” she said.

  He was silent, as though he were trying to fight the lingering honesty effects of the A+, and she listened to him breathing before he answered. “It seemed like an interesting job, and you’re not a bad organization to be affiliated with while all of this madness is going on. And…I like you,” he said.

  She wanted to laugh at the idea of him growing to like her, considering when they’d first met her skin had literally been peeling off and she had shot half his travel companions, but she valued loyalty in her crew, and it cemented her decision to try and keep him on as a permanent team member.

  “You’re part robot, right? Think you can learn to play the drums?” she said.

  CHAPTER 22

  The restored plantation house looked incredibly authentic, to the point where Xero actually found herself inspecting wood grain and accent trimming to see if it was in fact an original building. After seeing the polymer contours of the building materials, she knew it was just another restoration knock-off, but it was a good one, and the authentic wrought iron lattice work on the front of the two-storied dark pink building had probably been salvaged and repurposed from one of the washed up remains of an old world plantation house.

  They were sitting around the downstairs parlor, decked out in their show gear, waiting for a prearranged transport to come bring them to the venue. To match the dome’s typically somber internal weather patterns and Victorian history, and to keep something of a low profile, they had decided to go with more subdued stage costumes—they were all wearing matching black gothic clothes, with the two women decked out in dramatic lace dresses and the men in long-cut tailored suits.

  “Wow, I haven’t been to New Orleans since before I joined the Grease Weasels,” Milo said. “I wish I could go out and wander the French Quarter.”

  Xero didn’t want to discourage him too much, since he finally seemed to be thinking about something other than the fact that this was their one shot to get Ketocillin for Trina. The whole trip he had been unusually anxious and on edge. He had left another trusted medical colleague in charge of Trina in their absence—Xed had been insistent that they needed at least the last three recognizable Grease Weasels in order to make the band story believable, and with Trina and Argon out of the picture they were already short on their core band members. Xero also wanted all of them along for the ride because of how dangerous the trip was—considering her recent luck with travel, she didn’t want to separate the group anymore than necessary.

  Milo said he was fine leaving someone else with Trina, but that was clearly not the case. She had almost been tempted to grab something from his medical bag and jam a sedative in his thigh to make him settle down, but once they had actually made it inside the dome without any significant incident he seemed to be doing better. Voodoo, the black market connection for New Orleans was difficult to work with in general, and had a specific grudge against the Grease Weasels in particular, and New Orleans had been totally off limits for more than a decade. Milo hadn’t thought that Voodoo would even let them get past the front door, let alone allow them to get situated, play a show, or do business.

  “Xed’s kept up his end of the bargain so far, but I have a feeling Voodoo still isn’t thrilled about us being here. I wouldn’t go wandering out on the town just to tempt fate. We also still don’t know what’s going on with all the rogue skeletons and the terrorist attacks,” she said. They’d been lucky so far and had managed to travel without further incidents, but until they found Calavera or obtained more information, they were all in the dark about who or what might be a future target.

  “I could care less about that bitch, but I don’t want to fuck up our chances to save Trina,” Neptune said.

  “Everything okay back on base?” Xero said. Once they had gotten settled, Neptune’s first order of business had been using a communicator that they had uncharacteristically been allowed to smuggle into the dome. Neptune had been happy about the first unanticipated perk of working with Xed, but she had not been happy about leaving their territory without anyone there to hold down the fort. Typically at least one person stayed behind in case of emergencies.

  “So far so good. We’ve got a good team of people left back there,” she said with an even voice, but the corner of her mouth involuntarily turned up into a smirk.

  “But you’re still not happy about it,” Xero said for her.

  “Fuck no I’m not happy about it. I don’t think any of us are comfortable with anything about this situation—look at Milo, he’s going to freaking wet his pants or some shit, but we don’t have much of a choice,” she said.

  “Hey now, I’m doing just fine,” Milo said.

  Neptune leaned in towards Xero, “Can you like, slip him a Xanax or something?” she said.

  “So what’s the deal?” Radar said.

  “You know you look good like that,” she said. They had spray colored his hair a temporary bright red and smudged eyeliner across his eyes like a raccoon mask. “You clean up real nice.”

  He rolled his eyes, and the whites swiveled around in the big field of black makeup like googly eight balls. “Not the weirdest thing I’ve ever worn,” he said.

  Xero raised her eyebrows. “Sounds kinky. I approve. Anyway, we do the gig, we make some noise, then we hotfoot it over to the Café du Monde for some old world style beignets and a meeting with a fucking mystical bitch,” she said.

  “Mystical bitch?” Radar said.

  “Yeah, before she became a dirty govie sellout she was the Voodoo queen of New Orleans, back before they revitalized the dome after the tidal wave washout. I don’t really give a shit if she’s magical or not, but she’s definitely still a bitch,” Xero said.

  Neptune winked at her. “Takes one to know one,” she said and Xero gave her a half hearted whack with her thigh-high boots.

  Milo gave them a skeptical look. “And we have to try and convince her somehow that we’re good little citizens,” he said.

  Radar eyed at all of them in their Goth stage costumes. “That should go really well,” he said.

  CHAPTER 23

  The venue had been a respectable size, and Xero wondered how much of it was just Xed and how much of it might be that they were actually that popular in the dome. It was also strange to play a show in the middle of the day, but for whatever reason that had been part of the agreement. Perhaps they had wanted to have better visibility to keep track of their movements in the event that anyone had tried to escape and wreak havoc in the dome after the show. It didn’t really matter, considering the show itself was just one giant ruse to begin with, but Xero couldn’t help wanting to make sure that they had a packed venue and an enthusiastic crowd. In ano
ther life, they could have just been simple musicians living for their fans.

  They had all coped relatively well in their slightly reassigned instrument roles. Xero wasn’t used to playing guitar and singing at the time, as they usually had more than enough guitar players between Argon and Milo, but with Argon out of the picture, she had to step up and take over Milo’s usual role as rhythm guitarist. Milo had stepped up to take over Argon’s lead guitar slot, and Radar did his best pretending to be a punk rock drummer for the first time. Only Neptune enjoyed her typical role as the bassist, but the crowd hadn’t seemed to notice or mind any of their slight musical hiccups. Thankfully, punk was a fairly forgiving genre.

  As frivolous as it was, she found herself wishing that it had been more like their gigs in the pits back in the old days. Part of the fun was staying after and signing autographs with their fans and celebrating a successful performance. That was not booked into their zone pass schedule. Voodoo had asked for them to be directly delivered to her doorstop following the show, and that’s exactly what Xed had arranged.

  The reconstructed Café du Monde was almost every bit the same as she remembered it, complete with the lingering smell of urine that wafted in off the street into the outdoor tent portion of the coffee shop. New Orleans had some problems that other domes just didn’t. The weather was her first clue that shit wasn’t right. Since most domes spent a considerable amount of their resources controlling the air quality and environment inside, they also bothered to keep tight control over the weather and other things of that nature. Natural sunlight could penetrate the dome, but some cities like Seattle even tried to recreate the weather of the old world by providing simulated rain and fog. New Orleans on the other hand felt much more like a flat than a true dome. It was far too cold, but simultaneously humid and foggy. She knew that New Orleans was not one of the simulated rain domes, but if it had been, she would have fully expected for it be raining. Part of her wanted to believe it was because New Orleans was trying to mimic the approach of the Seattle dome by trying to provide some realistic old world weather patterns, but she knew that wasn’t the case. They didn’t have that kind of capital, resources, or support.