Extensis Vitae: City of Sarx

by Gregory Mattix

  ***

  The next morning when Mason returned to the bar, it was a trap, of course. He wasn’t surprised; he would have preferred if the woman had cooperated and everything had gone smoothly, but doing it the hard way would still probably get him in front of this Red Royce eventually. The bar was empty, save for Keeva and six hard-looking armed men that quickly surrounded him when he was only a couple steps inside the door.

  Keeva strolled out from behind the bar, and he saw she wore two of the S&W pistols on her slim hips now, and her travel satchel was across her back.

  “Sorry about this,” she said, not sounding at all apologetic. “Everyone and their mother has been showing up looking for people they shouldn’t lately, and like I told you before, you look like trouble.”

  “I’m sure I’ll fit right in with the wasteland rebels. Chances are their ranks are filled with troublemakers.”

  Keeva shrugged. “I’ll let someone else sort out whether you are the useful kind of trouble or not. Here’s what we’re going to do: we are going to go out through the back room so we don’t cause a big commotion. There’s a vehicle waiting out there. If you play nice and your intentions are good, then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Don’t forget to search him,” she told the men.

  Two of the men patted him down proficiently, removing his AA-12, .357 Magnum, and several knives. They took his backpack, and one of the men rifled through it. The man whistled at the bundles of cash and ammo he carried. “Keeva, this guy’s loaded!” He held up a bundle of currency: a mixture of Skin City chips and New USA notes.

  Keeva smirked. “Indeed. Let’s go, moneybags.” She nodded over her shoulder, and they began to file behind the bar and out through the small kitchen.

  They exited into the dusty alley out back where two trucks waited. Keeva slipped behind the wheel of the first vehicle while the men secured Mason’s hands and feet and shoved him into the back seat. Three of the men got into the first vehicle while the other three climbed into the second one. They took off with a roar of engines and cloud of dust.

  Chapter 6

  “Welcome to New Sin City!” the sign arching over the road proclaimed. Most of the neon lights had long since burned out or been smashed, but a few gamely clung to life. A large letter “K” had been spray-painted between the “S” and “I”, giving the place its common name.

  According to the archived information on Reznik’s tablet computer, Skin City was about a hundred miles south of where Las Vegas had once been, before a religious fundamentalist had detonated a suitcase nuke on the Strip back in 2044. The area had become an exclusion zone, so the city had been relocated near what had once been Lake Havasu City. From their current vantage point, Reznik saw that Lake Havasu had dried up to a fetid puddle and the Colorado River was just a polluted trickle of water.

  At Reznik’s bidding, Mack and Junior had dropped them off about a half mile outside the city before continuing on their own way. During the previous hour, the group had driven past miles of stockyards and enormous climate-controlled greenhouses that supplied the food for the city.

  Skin City itself was both impressive and unsightly to behold. A vast polymer dome covered the inner city, where graceful spires of ultramodern buildings soared high above the valley. A sleek maglev train sped around the perimeter of the domed city. Visible even from that distance were carefully arranged parks and green spaces and the shimmering blue of a lake or pond. Almost like some type of bizarre snow globe. The dome was pretty vast—Reznik guessed the diameter to be over five miles.

  In stark contrast to the central domed area, the surrounding city looked like an encroaching swarm of insects threatening to swallow it up. A mixture of businesses, towering tenement buildings, and abandoned ruins were all crammed together, blighting the landscape for miles around. A thick smog hung over the slums and appeared to be trying to choke off the bubble of clean air. Crowds of people jockeyed their way through the main entrance to the outer city, which was circumvented by a wall in places.

  Reznik realized he must have made a sound of awe, for Rin was watching him curiously. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she asked. “The last great city in the interior of the former USA. Anything goes in Skin City, since the laws of Pac-Rim and New USA don’t apply here. Skin City has traditionally been a neutral state, benefiting from the cold relations between its neighbors on either side of the continent. Until recently, of course, since the Overseer threw in his lot and sided with Thorne.” Rin’s face twisted in disgust. “I know some of the powerful families aren’t thrilled with that arrangement, so maybe that’s something that can be exploited.” She seemed to be mulling over her last thought.

  “What’s the deal with the huge ghetto around the domed area?”

  “That’s the Sprawl. Basically where everyone lives that aren’t ‘citizens’ and don’t have sufficient wealth or aren’t deemed special enough to have access to the inner city. That’s where your indentured workers that serve the citizens, along with the common people trying to scrape by, all live. And the lowlifes of society, of course. You’ll find plenty of those in the Sprawl.”

  “Wow,” Reznik breathed. “There could be a million or more people living there. This might prove to be pretty difficult trying to find the colonists.”

  Rin shrugged. “Nobody wants or needs slaves in the city except the wealthy citizens, so I’d start at the inner city. You just need to find a way to get some false documents to get inside. The slave market is just outside the wall of the inner city, so the citizens don’t have to travel far into the Sprawl.”

  A sleek aircraft dropped out of the atmosphere toward the northern end of the city, its thrusters flaring as it slowed and descended vertically. Reznik noticed an area cleared out where the Sprawl didn’t encroach against the northern edge of the domed inner city. There, a futuristic airport had been built. The ship dropped and touched down gently on a landing pad.

  Reznik sighed. “I suppose I’d better get to it then. Sure you don’t want to stop in and grab a bite to eat at least?”

  Rin shook her head. “This place brings back bad memories. I have no desire to enter unless it’s absolutely necessary. As far as a place to stay, I’d recommend the Looking Glass Cantina. Ask for Declan and tell him you’re a friend of mine, and he’ll see that you’re taken care of. If you get in trouble, just keep in mind that he’ll do what he can but can’t jeopardize the greater cause. If I remember right, there’s also a halfway decent cafe right inside the entrance off the highway. It’s a large patio built into the main wall—can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks for everything, Rin. It’s been a pleasure having you as a companion and back-watcher,” he said with a smile. “Best of luck to you with your own matters, and hopefully we meet up again when we are both in better circumstances.” He extended his hand.

  Rin clasped his hand warmly. “You too; stay safe.” She smiled in return, a bit sadly, it seemed to Reznik. She probably doesn’t expect me to make it out of there in one piece.

  And with that, they went their separate ways. Rin took off on the remaining hoverbike and headed off to the northwest toward Pac-Rim. Reznik walked under the archway and started down the road into the bustling madness of Skin City.

  ***

  Reznik sat at the rail of a cafe’s balcony and watched the swarming masses surge through the street below like debris caught up in a swift current. This must be the greatest collection of junkies, thugs, hookers, pimps, and general burnouts that the world has ever seen. What a shithole. The noise and stink and sweltering heat of the Skin City Sprawl was overwhelming to the senses.

  He watched an aggressive panhandler, too slow to get out of the way, get shoved to the ground and kicked in the head by a gang of thugs swaggering along the sidewalk. The thugs were a motley collection of shaved heads, wild hairstyles, and colorful tattoos, heavily pierced and decked out with gaudy jewelry. Most people made sure to give them a wide berth.

  Reznik took the last bite of his ke
bab. Although he preferred to not know what kind of meat was used, the food was surprisingly tasty. The beer, on the other hand, resembled dirty dishwater and didn’t taste much better. It had a thin brown tint and half-hearted layer of suds. Deciding not to finish the bitter swill, he pushed his chair back and stood up; his fellow diners watched him warily while avoiding eye contact.

  Down on the street, he stepped out into the rush of bodies. People jostled and cursed at one another as they bustled about their business. More than a few eyed Reznik and his weapons and decided to give him a wide berth, which he appreciated.

  He had decided to find the Looking Glass Cantina and see about renting a room. He wanted a somewhat safe place to stow his gear since he didn’t want to attract too much attention with his weapons. From what he gathered, weapons were banned in the inner city by all but the security forces. He wanted to reconnoiter the Sprawl a bit before trying to get inside the dome. The general unsavoriness of the place made him want to keep a sidearm on him.

  “Hey luv, you want some of this?” A blast of halitosis in his face rudely drew his attention to a skanky hooker with her goods sagging out of her top. She might have once been merely ugly, but years of hard living—and drugs, most likely—had made her hideous. A pair of crooked teeth were all that remained in the front of her mouth. “Come up to my room—I’ll give you the best blow you’ve ever had for just ten chips!”

  Reznik pushed past her and received a curse in his wake. A large, sagging establishment with peeling paint and glaring holoscreens flashing XXX scenes seemed to be a magnet for some of the sleaziest-looking people he’d ever seen. That’s really saying something since I’ve been in some of the worst shitholes in the world. A balcony up above the yawning entry allowed hookers to show their wares and shout at the passersby down below. “Fuck House—cheapest prices in Skin City!” a garish neon sign proclaimed over the entrance. Charming. This place really is something.

  No street sign was posted, but Reznik took a right just past the brothel. The worker at the cafe had grudgingly given him directions to the Looking Glass. The crowds thinned out a bit once he got off the main drag, but the businesses didn’t seem to get any less shady. They might have gotten even more so, if that was possible. He saw a couple private clubs, one of which looked like a fetish S&M-type joint; the other he didn’t care to speculate about, other than noticing it seemed to cater to the pedophile crowd. An organ bank was further along on the left side of the street. The windows were barred, and a tough-looking guard sat stony faced just inside the entranceway, which looked to have an armor-plated door. This isn’t exactly the burbs. Wonder why Rin recommended a place in this neighborhood?

  Once Reznik reached the end of the street, which dead-ended behind a large warehouse building, he realized why. The area was quiet and off the beaten path. The sign announcing the Looking Glass Cantina had an old-fashioned spyglass with a white cartoon rabbit peering through it.

  Inside, the cantina was very cozy and smelled of wood oil. The bar was fashioned out of what must have been a small fortune’s worth of burled walnut. The place was proudly old fashioned, and it was refreshing to not see any garish neon signs or holographic projections anywhere in the barroom. It reminded him of a neighborhood pub straight out of a small village in England. A couple patrons looked up in curiosity as he scoped out the place, before returning to their drinks and conversation.

  A tall, lean man with a close-cropped iron-gray beard, long hair hanging loose across his shoulders, and sharp blue eyes stepped out of the backroom. “Can I help ya, friend?” He hung a glass tankard he had been drying on a hook over the bar. Reznik noticed that the man’s sharp eyes took in his sidearm and the duffel with his long barrels sticking out.

  “Yes, are you Declan?” Reznik sat at a stool at the bar, placing the duffel on the floor next to him. “A friend said you’d be a good guy to talk to about getting a nice, quiet place to stay for a bit.”

  “Aye, I’m Declan.” The bartender placed his scarred hands on the bar and regarded Reznik. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  Reznik realized that after an hour or more fighting through the seedy crowds, a drink sounded great. “Sure, give me a stout if you have any.”

  “Will Sawbone work for ya?” Reznik had never heard of it, but he agreed.

  Declan slowly poured a rich, black beer that looked as dense as motor oil into a tankard, careful to not let the suds flow over the top. “So, who’s this friend we’re talkin’ about?” he asked conversationally yet quietly so the other patrons wouldn’t hear. He slid the beer across the counter.

  “Young Asian lady, goes by the name of Rin,” he replied. He took a long swallow of the beer, and it tasted heavenly—much like the best brews he remembered from decades past. “Damn, now that’s a good beer. Best I’ve had in years.”

  Declan smiled. “Nothing but the best in my establishment. How is our mutual friend? I heard some troubling news of her a while back. It’s been a couple years since she stepped through my door.”

  “Doing much better now, I think,” Reznik replied. “Times were tough for a while, but now she’s getting back on the right track. She has some things to take care of right now.”

  Declan nodded and took a sip from a glass of whiskey he had behind the counter. “That’s good to hear. So what can I do for you, Mister…?”

  “Reznik. I’ve got some business here in town, so I’d like a room for a few days. If I can store my gear somewhere safe, that would be much appreciated as well.”

  “Certainly—anything for a friend of Rin’s.” They made small talk for a while and Reznik finished his drink. Declan handed him a keycard and directed him to a room on the second floor. The bartender refused payment when Reznik handed him a stack of chips, saying the “family” kept him well-reimbursed. Reznik didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t argue.

  The room had a sturdy, steel-reinforced door and frame and a solid lock. The furnishings were spartan but clean, and the firm bed appeared temptingly comfortable. He realized this would be the first real bed he’d had in quite some time.

  He took the opportunity to get cleaned up, hopping into the tiny shower for a quick scrub. As he toweled off, he looked at himself in the mirror, noting the ugly ridge of scar across his forehead, courtesy of the leader of the mutants he and Rin had battled in the wasteland. High mileage for such a new model. He took out the most respectable-looking outfit in his pack and reminded himself to look for some new clothes so he could blend in with the locals better.

  Reznik decided to keep the .45 holstered at his waist and left the rest of his weapons in the room. He pocketed all the chips he had, making a mental note to see if he could find any specialty ammo as well. He locked up and went down to ask Declan for directions before heading back out to the Sprawl.

  Chapter 7

  The shifty-eyed man tried to be inconspicuous as he observed her from the corner booth, but Rin spotted him easily enough in the half-filled tavern. She took another swig of her Shockwave Cola and pushed away her plate.

  The Boisterous Keg Inn was anything but boisterous. The small bar was stuffy inside, smelling strongly of stale sweat and burnt food. Several ceiling fans spun at full blast in a futile attempt to cool the room. The sweltering heat seemed to dampen the volume of conversation as well. Townspeople and travelers sat in exclusive, muttered conversations, studiously avoiding interactions with each other.

  Rin wondered which the shifty-eyed man was: local or traveler. The man had been nursing an ale for an hour now but waved off the tired barmaid when she asked if he wanted anything else. Traveler, she decided. Or at least not a local—probably a spy for one of the factions operating in the wasteland. The man looked dirty: he wore a threadbare shirt and trousers and a worn coat even though the tavern was stifling.

  Her meal had been surprisingly tasty for a hole-in-the-wall stop like Mountain Crags. The pot roast was tough but flavorful, and the potatoes and carrots were coated in a salty gravy.
The cola was ice cold and refreshing. She supposed the relative proximity to Skin City afforded a ready supply of food for trade, hence the decent menu offered.

  The small town was a few hours northwest of Skin City, about halfway to the garrison she was heading for. Its proximity to Death Valley lent it the blistering heat, in contrast to its spectacular mountain views.

  She wondered if Reznik had gotten himself into trouble yet. In her opinion, his quest to find the missing Extensis Vitae colonists was an exercise in futility; the only guaranteed outcome would be pissing off a number of dangerous people. A twinge of guilt struck her for leaving him to his own devices, but she pushed it away. Reznik had proven he could take care of himself—it was just his naïveté that she was concerned about. He just didn’t know enough about how the world worked anymore. If she hadn’t had her own pressing matters to attend to, she might have tagged along with him a while longer, for the company if nothing else. He was an honorable, reliable man, and she had come to enjoy his company. We make a good team. I suspect we’ll meet again, though.

  A final swig of cola drained the bottle, and Rin scooted her chair back. She noticed the eyes of more than a few focus on her as she casually stood up and stretched. When the shifty-eyed man thought she wasn’t looking, his hand went to his ear in a habitual movement as he accessed his Datalink. So, someone will be waiting outside, I imagine.

  Unhurriedly, Rin made her way to the door, ignoring the eyes that followed her. She made sure her katana was easily accessible as she pushed open the door and walked outside into the blast of afternoon heat.

  “That will be far enough, Rin Takahashi,” a voice called out. “It’s been a while. Didn’t expect to cross arms with you again, but that price on your head is just too damn tempting.” A compact, wiry Chinese man stepped out from the alleyway next to the tavern.