Karma City

by Gardener Browning

  “Mustard and relish are the real companions. Some would say ketchup is key, but they’d be wrong.”

  “Dr. Walker would know.”

  “Indeed.”

  Jameson led the group to the high bleachers that stretched under the tall scoreboard. There, Kurt waited in his long red trench coat. He sat with a copy of The Karma Daily newspaper opened on his lap and a pair of binoculars around his neck. Luna noticed the bulges of his firearms tucked at his waistline. He regarded the group and motioned for them to sit. He said to Jameson. “I was hoping you’d join us.”

  The crowd hailed as the soccer game carried on. Luna was captivated by the deep green of the grass, the painted white lines and all the people surrounding the event, no one seeking to harm anyone else. Her thoughts tangled. There is peace here. In the middle of Karma City, where so many are sick, the people still come together in peace. How is that possible?

  Luna looked back to Jameson, hoping to find the answer but found only the man who hated Malady more than anything else. Though always calculating, always staying ahead of the dangers of the world, the parasite had stolen everything he loved, everything that mattered to him. Everything except her.

  Like stone to clay, her shoulders softened in the sunlight. There on the bleachers, she relaxed and sighed. Peace. What a foreign feeling. Unsettling at first, but wonderful. She wanted to share this serenity with him.

  She read Jameson’s tension. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the way he cracked his knuckles with his thumb, how his brown hair fell into his eyes and he didn’t care. She wanted to take his hand and pull him down to the bleachers to sit beside her for a while. Just relax. Just be here with me for a minute or two and let’s be happy. Let’s pretend that things are different, that we are different. Doesn’t he see that Malady can’t take away the sunny afternoon or the pretty park? Just see it like I do, Jameson. Just once, please see it and understand that Malady cannot take your heart.

  That was the answer.

  Kurt’s serious tone sounded out of place. “You met with Crimm?” He peered into his binoculars. Luna reasoned he was searching the crowd for Gemni.

  “He gave us the full story,” answered Jameson, “and hired us to help you. Something about how you aren’t as tough as he thought.”

  Kurt looked up. “Very funny, Shoals. Tell me, what are your qualifications in terms of urban hunting?”

  Jameson scratched his stubble. “For starters, I’ve traveled the Void Lands for most of my life, lived with scavengers, raiders, and villagers. I’ve trekked Rte. 88 to Brody and beyond. I’ve spent years in the lawless town of Lobos and I’ve killed more Malady-heads than you’ve killed mosquitos. If that isn’t enough for you, I’ve got her.” He pointed to Luna. “Luna Briggs is ex-Iron Tribe and still in good with the masters of the rails. She and I have made a habit of moving through this shit-hole of a world and coming out on top. Question is: do you have the Iron Tribe on your side, Kurt?”

  Kurt bowed his bald head. “Impressive. You have my respect. But what about Malady? You infected? On meds?”

  “Not infected. I don’t worry about the worm,” remarked Jameson.

  “Oh, I see,” scoffed Kurt. “Another one of those ‘too good to get sick’ types.”

  “It’s a lot less complicated than that. And it’s none of your damn business. Now please tell me you’re not here to see Karma Thunder take on The Lobos Express.”

  “No. The Crimsons are scattered throughout Karma City,” Kurt explained. “We’re watching for Gemni and protecting the public while Crimm secures additional resources for the next mission. I assume you and your team are the resources.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re trying to learn where Marcus Graves is conducting human testing of Malad-X. Crimm has learned that the Malad-X lab has been moved from Sable Tower to his vessel.”

  Albert interrupted. “You mean the Graves Enterprises Shipping Vessel? That’s not a research ship. It exports Quell to places beyond Karma.”

  “We’ve now learned,” said Kurt. “that Graves has built a laboratory aboard and we believe it’s where he’s keeping his containment of Malad-X and his advanced test subjects. Furthermore, recent intelligence from Crimm has revealed that Graves is renting a warehouse on the docks. We need to find out which warehouse and determine if in fact human testing of Malad-X is occurring. If so, we strike and shut it down.”

  “Do you realize,” Albert questioned, “that Karma’s docks are owned by a powerful man named Mr. Eduard Gabriel?”

  “Yes. We don’t care.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “What am I missing, here?” Jameson asked. “Who is Mr. Gabriel?”

  “He’s best known for his pleasure palace in Karma’s Red-Light district,” Albert explained. “It’s an extravagant brothel called Eden. He is also a major drug runner. He manufactures street drugs from resources gathered in the Void Lands.”

  Kurt stood up and tossed his newspaper onto the bleachers. He tied his trench coat closed. “Your mission is twofold. First, infiltrate Eden’s security offices and access Gabriel’s computer system to obtain a copy of his database of clientele. This database will tell us which warehouse Graves is renting out. Once you’ve done this, report to the docks. I will meet you at an abandoned boat house near pier forty.”

  Jameson nodded. “And the second part?”

  “Destroy the Graves Enterprises vessel.”

  ***

  Marcus Graves’ fountain pen slowed to a halt on the page of his notebook. The black ink blotted as he looked over the rim of his reading glasses to the open balcony. The moon bathed his private study at the one hundred and eighth floor of Sable Tower in ghostly white light. A figure waited on the balcony. The moonlight stretched the visitor’s shadow across the room and over Graves’ desk. “How did you get up here?” Graves asked.

  Gemni stepped off the balcony and entered. He gave a half grin. “Would you believe that I climbed?” Gemni pointed to the notebook. “I do hope I’m not disturbing any late-night work.”

  Graves stood up behind his desk. “It can wait.” He walked to the fireplace on the other side of the study. The fire’s light turned to oil on his ink-black hair. He stared at the flames as he spoke. “I’m surprised you’ve survived out there so long, Mr. Burroughs.”

  “I am Gemni.”

  “Call yourself what you wish. What do you want?”

  “I command you to stop your work on Malad-X.”

  “Command?” Graves snickered. He took up a fire iron and twisted to face Gemni. “You can do things that even I could not have foreseen. You are faster than man. Stronger. Your senses are immeasurably acute. And most remarkably, you turn Malady infected into your submissive, raging puppets. But that won’t work on me.”

  “I can smell the Malady parasite. And I smell it in you.” Gemni pointed his gnarled, claw-like hand at Graves. “Your sickness is mine now. Be awakened and do as I say!”

  Graves approached Gemni, leaning on the fire iron like a cane. “You can’t turn me.” His cold laughter sounded like the mournful caws of a crow.

  Gemni took a step back, hunched in apprehension like a cornered cat. “You’re infected. I command you to stand down!”

  “You cannot control me.” Grave’s face darkened with fury. “I made you from the offspring of my Malady. You may very well be Malady supreme, but in truth you remain nothing more than a ruinous experiment. I am going to dash your brain about the carpet and put the failure behind me.” He lifted the fire iron and pounced.

  Gemni hurdled over him, flipping in the air to land in front of the fire place. He reached into the flames and pulled a length of burning wood. Wielding the crackling shard like a torch, he shouted, “I won’t allow Malad-X to spread and empower the Lessers. From the ashes of your ‘ruinous experiment’ has risen the evolution of humanity!” He blew into the fire, coaxing it hotter. “Let’s create more ashes.”

  “Put the fire down!” Gr
aves shouted.

  Gemni’s eyes glowed brighter than the flames. He threw the fiery board across the room. It knotted among the silken curtains lining the balcony. The flames engulfed the fabric, blooming up to the ceiling. Gemni streaked toward Graves and snatched him by the throat. “You can die now or do as I say.”

  Graves pulled a syringe from his coat pocket and stuck Gemni in the neck. Gemni whirled in sudden delirium and staggered across the room.

  “What have you done to me?” screeched Gemni, reeling under the Quell’s potency.

  Graves followed, stalking him with murder in his eyes. “Quell. Knocks unruly parasites to the ground.” Graves chuckled. “You can’t win, Gemni. Malady can’t win. I will cross-infect the population and the Malad-X carriers will slay those with Malady. And guess what they’ll all turn to for clarity? Quell. And who controls that? Me. The scope of my power is quite clear.”

  A sprinkler system activated overhead. Water sprayed over the room, extinguishing the flames.

  Graves laughed as the water rained down. Gemni charged, but the drug swung the balance of the fight in Graves’ favor. The enraged scientist grappled his attacker, hurling him into his desk, smashing the lamp and knocking stacked books to the floor. Gemni crawled behind the furniture. Graves picked up the fire iron and pursued but found no one behind the desk.

  Gemni, poised for escape, called from the moonlit balcony, “Get ready for war!” He held up Graves’ notebook and fanned the pages, absorbing the text with incalculable speed. “Ah, I see Professor Crimm is involved in Malad-X. Not for long.” He bowed in a mockery of triumph, fanned his arms and leapt from the one hundred and eighth floor.

  ***

  The subway shuddered to a halt. Jack closed his notebook and tucked his pen in his shirt pocket. He looked through the dirty window to be sure this was his stop. A large sign over a wide stairwell to the streets above read: Oasis District-Hospital Station. The subway doors parted and the passengers crammed the aisle as they filed out and onto the station platform. Jack exited and took in the early morning smells of breakfast stands steaming with pots of nutty coffee beside racks of powder and chocolate donuts, still warm and sticky. The cold wind of the subway tunnel wafted around him as the small train pulled away. A voice shouted to him from one of the food stands. “Morning, son! How about a donut? They have jelly! You love jellies!”

  Jack’s heart sank. Corpse-Dad waited with a juvenile grin. The zombie-like figure waved for Jack to join him. This isn’t going to stop, is it? Where the hell is my Quell? Jack’s fingers found the small amber bottle in his coat pocket. He popped the cap, poured out a pill and swallowed it down. First time. I guess I’m in the club now. Just have wait for this stuff to kick in. Jack looked around, nervous that others might see the grotesque man calling out for him but he shook away the worry, reminding himself that this nightmarish visitor was only for him. He took a deep breath to cool his nerves and met the coffee vendor, trying his best to ignore his dead father.

  “Large cup, please. Cream only.”

  The vendor held out an open palm. “Two bucks.”

  Jack handed him the money and sipped the coffee.

  “What about breakfast?” Corpse-Dad asked.

  With his notebook tucked under his arm, Jack walked up the stairs to the street, clutching the hot cup in both hands. Corpse-Dad followed.

  “Hey son, I was thinking, if you’re not busy today, maybe we could go to the airfield and watch the planes. You used to love that! What do you say?”

  “Airfield? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack muttered, “The Quell better work its magic soon.”

  “Until it does, I’ll keep you company.”

  “Thanks.”

  The Wednesday morning sun bobbed in and out of passing clouds. Tall willow trees swayed in the subtle breeze, their sweeping, curtain boughs twinkled with dew. The thick grass carpeted the Oasis Hospital campus in a deep green hue. Jack’s shoes clopped on the stone walkway leading to the hospital’s main entrance. Corpse-Dad’s steps scraped along with Jack’s.

  “My goodness,” Corpse-Dad said, “Oasis. I haven’t been here since they partnered with my aviation business. Wait, that’s not true. They brought my body here after our little ‘accident,’ didn’t they?”

  Jack turned on his heels to face him. “It’s clear to me that you’re going to keep turning up. So, here’s how this is going to go. Don’t talk to me. Don’t expect me to talk to you. In fact, just be a good hallucination and stay imaginary. Thanks to you, I’m on the fast track to becoming a Quell addict. Do me a favor and try to be as little of an interruption to my life as possible!”

  “I think I understand what’s going on. You’re embarrassed by your old man. I get it.”

  “No, you don’t!” Jack yelled.

  A patrolling Oasis guard approached. Jack regained his composure. He straightened his tie and blew the steam away from his hot coffee. The guard frowned. “Sir, I need to ask you to control your outbursts on the premises.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s just that...”

  “It’s apparent you’re suffering with Malady. Do you need help checking in to the hospital?”

  “No. I’m not here to check in. I’m here on business.”

  The guard looked him over. “What might that be, exactly?”

  Jack cleared his throat. “My name is Jack Halligan and I’m—”

  Corpse-Dad interrupted, “You know, the famous writer!”

  “What the hell did I just tell you?” Jack barked. “Shut your damn mouth!” Corpse-Dad pouted and faded away. Jack felt his knees tremble as the Quell took effect. The drug dissolved the Malady-induced confusion in his mind but knocked him off balance. He fell to his hands and knees. His coffee spilled, but he managed to catch his notebook. The ground tilted and dipped beneath him; he dug his fingernails into the walkway as if struggling to keep atop a bouncing raft. The guard knelt to help him up. Jack leaned on him for stability while the Quell settled in him. That’s some powerful stuff.

  The guard lifted Jack back to his feet and asked, “Halligan you say?”

  “Yes.” Jack took a few deep breaths. “From the Karma Daily. Listen, I just popped my first Quell pill a few minutes ago and it really packed a punch.”

  “I understand. What can I help you with today, Mr. Halligan?”

  “I’m here to inquire about the survivors of the train explosion, the two allegedly seen jumping from the train. I want to meet them; get their story.”

  “I’d love to help you. But the recent incident is being carefully—” A radio hanging from the guard’s belt crackled. “Hold on a sec, Mr. Halligan.” The guard turned up the radio and answered, “This is Officer Brooks, go ahead.”

  “This is detective Carl Wright,” replied the distorted voice. “We’ve got a serious situation down in Karma’s lower east side.”

  “I’m listening, detective. Go ahead.”

  “I’m standing in an apartment full of dead bodies. I need any available officers to report to three-seventy-six East High Street immediately. I’m sending a report to Dr. Carmen Victoria now.”

  Brooks rolled his eyes. “Sounds normal for the lower east side, sir. There were five other corpses found there this month alone. Why trouble Dr. Victoria with it?”

  “Because Professor Anthony Crimm is among the dead.”

  Jack recognized the name. His heart quickened as the story knotted in his head. Train explosion. Jumpers. Hospital riot. Dr. Walker fleeing with mysterious armed people. Now Professor Crimm is murdered. He opened his notebook and scribbled the address.

  Brooks regarded Jack before running off. “Go easy on the Quell, Mr. Halligan, and stay safe out there. Sorry I couldn’t help you with your story.” Brooks hurried for a parked cruiser.

  “East High Street, here I come,” whispered Jack.

  The detective and his team had taped off the building. Jack showed his press identification and was permitted inside. He ventured up the stair well an
d into the apartment. The putrid stench of death filled Jack’s nose. He pulled up his shirt collar to keep from vomiting when he saw the remains of the old professor scattered about the room. Blood painted the walls and stained the furniture. Crimm’s insides trailed the apartment. His mangled corpse lay strewn atop a blood-blackened couch near his desk. Jack counted eight other bodies in the room. They were men and women, all strangely wearing red trench coats.

  Jack noticed Officer Brooks reviewing some photographs with other detectives. Brooks eyed Jack, and with a look of disapproval, crossed the room. “You’re a slippery one, aren’t you, Mr. Halligan?”

  “Chasing a story, is all. Don’t mind me.”

  “Listen, this is a very tragic and very serious situation. Take notes but don’t disturb the scene. Got it?”

  “No problem.”

  Brooks rejoined the other officials, leaving Jack alone with his notebook.

  Maybe it was the calming effect of the Quell in his veins, maybe it was the unexpected thrill of the moment or just his morbid, journalistic curiosity; Jack wasn’t sure what drove him to want to poke around. He stepped over the chunks of entrails and puddles of blood, making his way to the professor’s desk. He opened drawers, sifted through papers and combed through stacks of files. Nothing interesting. A shattered glass cabinet caught his attention. Its doors were closed and shards of glass littered the floor beneath it. A closer examination revealed that the cabinet was still locked. Whoever murdered Crimm broke the glass to obtain the contents. Now that’s something. Next, Jack went to look at the slumped corpse on the couch. Crimm’s ribcage looked like a wooden barrel with a hole kicked into the side. Terror had frozen the dead man’s face. Jack noticed Crimm’s hand crumpled in a tight fist. He used his pen to pry apart the cold fingers and found a stained slip of paper. What do we have here? He unfurled the slip and read a strange word.

  MALAD-X.

  Jack heard Brooks approaching again. He tucked the paper into his pocket and feigned ill. “I don’t think I can stomach much more of this. I need to go home and clear my head.”