The robots moved with merciless grace and righted the table.
The Sticker pushed up on his only arm. A robot came around the table, red arms extended to capture him, diode eyes oscillating wildly.
His fingers brushed something. The boom! It’d disconnected from his collar. He wrapped his fingers gladly around it, picked it up and slammed it into the robot’s red skull. Hard vibrations shook his arm but he did it twice more, bending the metal end of the boom’s length. The robot, unhindered, continued toward him.
“All hands report to enzyme catalyst station,” the overhead blurted. “Repeat, all hands.”
The robot stopped, lowered its arms. It turned quickly on one heel and headed off with the others.
The Princess gurgled something in her own language from beyond the door.
The Sticker remembered the translation. More.
He grabbed the edge of the exam table and using the boom like a ski pole, got to a standing position. He headed for the membrane station. Several robots charged past him, no longer concerned with him.
Razz must have fouled the enzymes, he thought. His contingency plan.
The Sticker prayed the membrane station wasn’t locked again. If the Princess wasn’t dead, this happy little escape would be all for nothing.
His pace was dreadfully slow and unbalanced. He fell more times than he wished to count, but thankfully, not only was the door to the membrane station not locked, it wasn’t even attached anymore. The robots must have knocked it off its hinges attempting to stop Razz.
The Sticker activated the membranes like he’d remembered seeing. He painstakingly removed his collar as he waited for them to heat up. Returning to Limbus Los Angeles was still a hope-filled concept. Just because Razz went through this thing, didn’t mean he got sent back to the offices there.
Whatever happened was better than this, the Sticker decided.
When the time came for him to enter the membranes, he had to kneel, making him wonder about unintended consequences.
After enduring the insanity that was membrane transport, the Sticker realized he hadn’t returned exactly to the same place he’d left.
He was back at Limbus, but he wasn’t in the same station. Instead he was in the lobby, near the rotating globe, wailing gibberish at the top of his lungs. He fell sideways, having reformed in a standing position on one leg. As he collapsed on his face, several people in business attire rushed over to help him.
*
The Sticker glided his tongue over his teeth to re-taste the Frosted Flakes from the Limbus cafeteria earlier that morning. He’d forgotten how wonderful food could taste, having relied on his bio-suit for almost a year now.
Tasha was still depressed. Him showing up missing body parts and smelling of alien meat tenderizer, she took all responsibility for. At breakfast despite all his memories of her intelligent, snarky demeanor, she broke down crying. Though secretly anxious to get back to his third bowl of sugary corn flakes, he put down his spoon and touched her hand.
“At least I made it back. My friend Razz can’t say the same, right? I don’t blame you, so it doesn’t make sense to blame yourself. Got it?”
Tasha shook her head and wiped away jeweled tears from her intense green eyes. “I could have insisted on my visiting. I shouldn’t have bowed so easily. You didn’t deserve a job like that. I should have fought harder for your reassignment.”
Anything else he’d said hadn’t made a dent. She sat next to him in Trevor’s office, her small arms folded tight over her chest, her face pensive.
Trevor strolled in, after keeping them waiting for nearly an hour.
The Sticker’s heart jumped in his chest.
Annette was with him. She gave him a leery, but sympathetic smile, then patted his shoulder, just above his missing arm. Trevor sat and she rounded his desk to stand at his side.
“Annette? You… know about this place?” he stammered.
“As of last week,” Trevor answered, moving a stack of papers off his keyboard. “When you left for your job. Annette was getting an ulcer from all those calls from the water board and the authorities. I had to protect her, and I wanted to be honest with her, since we’re in love.”
The Sticker flinched. “Last week? I’ve been gone almost a year.”
“Actually,” Tasha said, leaning over, “your unorthodox way of returning was the only reason why you didn’t return at exactly the same moment you left.”
“Technically, Trevor tells me that you went back in time,” said Annette, her tone filled with romantic mystery. “Fifty years ago!”
“In respect to the multiverses, things happen simultaneously throughout history,” Tasha said. “Time really doesn’t matter. Every moment is happening all at once… think about it that way.”
“No thanks,” the Sticker commented. He shook away the disturbing idea. “So wait, that’s why I kept getting old Facebook posts and news articles?”
“I tried to send you current database information for those websites, but it took about five Earth years to send it, which complicated the gesture.”
“Are you girls done chatting about space and time?” Trevor asked, blond eyebrows lifted impatiently. “There’s some serious shit that needs attending.”
“Go then already,” said the Sticker. He’d have loved to stand and clock the guy, but with this broken body, from now on, fantasizing would be the only way he could ever seek vengeance.
“We need to negotiate a deal with the Princess of Ganymede. Since she’s refused other slaughterers, we can no longer keep her armada out of striking reach of this circle of clientele. We will sustain a serious loss of partnerships if we allow her to attack this planet. She’s hungry, and she doesn’t bluff. There is one bargaining chip we still have, though.”
“Me.”
“You. Let me read something our people translated. This is from the Princess herself.”
With his good arm, the Sticker propped himself up straighter. It wasn’t every day you got to hear a missive from a thing that would rather see you on a platter than alive.
“I have found the One,” Trevor read. “This man you sent to me, I’ve tasted. I savor his taste like nectar from the Five spirits of Blyne. I know he does not want to cooperate with any terms I shall set, especially after how he was treated last we met, but Mr. Milstead, you must find it in your bland human heart to understand how I can no longer live without his taste. I’ve found perfection in his texture, richness, and I lust after his strong, fragrant blood. If I cannot have him forever, then I see no more sense in rotting away in one of my ships. I will no longer seek employees from your agency and I will encroach upon your territory. You will not stop me. I will eat. I will be full. I will, however, admittedly not be content. You could give contentedness to me and prevent all of this.
You see, I’m in love with this man. If he worries about death, tell him not to fear, because I will accept any food he grows through mechanical synthesis. I will NOT accept cloned tissues or organs. All meat must be grown from his hallowed body. If you give me this… my fleet stays in this system. This is my promise. –PoG”
Trevor folded up the printout. “Fairly steamy stuff there.”
Tasha and Annette both frowned, likely for completely different reasons. After a moment, they all looked at the Sticker, who bent forward as their eyes probed, a little self-conscious of being made to sound important.
“So… I don’t really understand.”
“We have a cellular regeneration corridor at this location,” said Trevor. His handsome face seemed to be the only thing in the room covered in shadow, until he moved his chair forward. “I’ve got to say though, it’s a painful process, especially when you rush it. The Princess will need us sending shipments of your… parts, almost on a daily basis.”
“How bad is it?”
“Worse than giving birth is the most common reaction I get from females. Men are normally at a loss for words to describe it. But come on, you’re being maimed
of all your limbs, maybe some of your organs eventually and then you’re forcing your body to regrow itself in a day’s time. It’s hardcore, buddy.”
“Sounds like it,” said the Sticker.
“No!” Trevor smacked his desk and nearly came out of his seat. “This isn’t an occasion to be flip, you bucktoothed fool! This is NOT the occasion. Believe me. Look man, you might not like how things have gone between us, but I respect you enough to at least get the same in return. This is our fucking world we’re talking about here. As I see it, you’re responsible.”
“How?”
“You’re the one she wants so friggin’ bad. Shit. Regenerating your tissues will cost a fortune. Until you went out there, we only needed to send a handful of able bodies willing to bring home a decent paycheck. Now, we’ll probably have to devote one of our molecular chambers just to you.”
“No you won’t,” said the Sticker. “Because I’m not doing it. Jail is better than this deal.” He glanced at Tasha. “Can you get me out of here?”
Tasha looked down and shut her eyes.
“Hey, Tasha…”
“She knows,” said Trevor with a smile.
“Knows what?”
“Knows you’re fucked. If you leave, law enforcement is waiting for your crippled ass outside, waiting for my signal. They’ll have you before you can even hop once to your truck. Not that you could even drive, lefty.”
The Sticker, though unnerved that Trevor knew he drove a truck, just stared blankly at him.
“What’s more, I’m going to take down your entire crew at Sunshine State.”
“What?”
“Pablo, Jackson, Carl and any other folks around you that day. They’ll all be implicated. Because of you.”
The Sticker looked at Annette, who couldn’t meet his eyes. “What happens if I say yes?”
“Superb.” Trevor breathed out a sigh of relief. “I like where you’re going with this… so if you say yes, a few things will happen. For one, you will have total freedom. We will get rid of your outstanding issues with Gerald Bailey and Sunshine State Meat Products and you’ll be free. You’ll be able to leave the offices here, whenever you want, find a place to live, preferably near Los Angeles, so you can come back every day to donate and heal.”
“How much will I get from this?”
“After you help pay for the cost of the cellular synthesis—”
“What?”
“Remember, this is your fault.”
The Sticker wanted to find something heavy and hurl it at the man, but pieces of paper were the only things he saw on the desk.
“What will my pay be then?”
“You’ll make a little more than you did at the stock yards. If there’s any new technology that comes about that makes this more affordable, of course, your salary will be adjusted less that cost.”
“Cocksucker,” Tasha muttered.
“What?” Trevor snapped.
Tasha folded her arms tighter and glared at him.
“I guess you have me where you want me,” said the Sticker.
Trevor eyed him closely, uncertain. “So we have a deal? I’ll get a contract.”
“Can I have the afternoon to think about this?”
“There’s nothing to consider, but sure, you can have a couple hours,” said Trevor. “The Princess hasn’t responded to us in a few days. I think she’s trying to scare us a bit with her silence, but, I’ll send a correspondence you’ve been handed the terms.”
The Sticker looked at Tasha. “Can you help me into the hall?”
“Of course I can.” She put her arm around his midsection.
As they left, the Sticker glanced back to Annette. He was both startled and overjoyed to see her following them outside. For an instant he thought she may have come to be with him—it’d been so long, but for her, only a few days had passed since they’d last seen each other.
Tasha helped him over to a chair and Annette sat in the other seat next to him. He wanted her to look more worried than she did, but the woman he’d married seemed to have turned a corner and he’d been left on some side street, alone, with no sense of direction to find her again.
Tasha left, probably sensing he wanted to be alone with Annette. Despite what he faced, he was glad to know that somebody here at Limbus was on his side.
“I think you’re being very brave by taking this deal,” said Annette.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Not sure I have much of a choice… unless you want to take a chance and get me out of here?”
“What would that help?”
“Come on. Trevor isn’t what you thought.”
“Yeah, he’s more. Supervisor in a company like this! Not to mention his businesses on the outside.”
The Sticker looked down at his hand. It was shaking.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“What’s wrong?” he snapped. “Do you really have to ask that? Are you stupid or something?”
“Don’t call me names.”
“Are you kidding me? You don’t give a shit about me.”
“You know why you’d say that? Because you’re selfish.”
“I’m selfish.”
“Yes. You got yourself in trouble, screwed up in so many different ways imaginable, and now you want sympathy? Shit! You’re going to get your arm and leg back.”
“And then they’ll be taken again and again and again and a-fucking-gain! Did you miss that part, Annette?”
“Stop saying I’m stupid. I said you were brave, remember?”
“Oh lord…”
She narrowed her eyes. “Just stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself. It’s sad.”
“Get out.” He shook his head. “I… don’t have anything else to say.”
Annette left him there without another word. It was surprising she even had decided to talk with him, but then, she wasn’t free of guilt completely.
He watched people walk by and wondered about their various stories, what had brought them to this company. Tasha never came back and he continued to sit there.
Trevor never got an official “yes,” or a signed contract from him, but soon enough he spotted some orderlies pushing a gurney down the hall.
Pushing it, toward him.
*
The Sticker tested his new limbs, squeezing his fist and his toes together. Though he still had a sore throat from screaming and an intense migraine from the synthesis chamber, he found the simple exercise distracting in the best way possible. He didn’t want to think about losing all four of his limbs tonight, waking up tomorrow to go into that chamber again. It didn’t seem like his heart would be able to take something like that—but then again, perhaps they’d let him grow a new heart.
Absently he rubbed his tongue along his crooked teeth again, hoping for some residual sugar of this morning’s breakfast—something was different though. His front teeth were straighter, in-line. He leaned closer to his hospital bed railing and opened his mouth. The reflection did not lie. His teeth were straight and bright white, completely unstained. It had to have happened while he was under. But why?
“Hi there, Slaughter Man,” said a voice in the doorway.
“Do I know you?”
An older black man with snow white hair walked into the room. The Sticker studied his face for a moment, looked past the age lines and locked eyes. “Razz? Is that you? Holy shit, you’re so old.”
“Ha! Thanks.” Razz pulled out a stool and sat before the bed, a big grin painted on his face.
“But they told me that nobody else came through the transport.”
“Well, can’t blame them for being wrong about that… I returned fifty years before you.” Razz chuckled.
The Sticker opened his mouth but another voice said, “Time doesn’t matter.”
Tasha entered the room. “You could have told me, Dad.”
“It had to happen the same way I knew it would. I’m not playing with what would occur if y
ou’d altered the course of things. You knew that I started working contracts for this company as a young man. I told you that.”
“You never told me it was on the Princess’ slaughter ship. That might have been good information for the Slaughter Man here to take with him.”
“I disagree.”
“You…” said the Sticker. “You’re Razz Willing then? How did I not know that?”
“Actually it’s Arnold Willing. Harper and Timothy made up the name because I always razzed them.”
The Sticker’s gut twisted. “Do you know about what happened to Tim?”
“Yeah,” said Razz sadly. “I’ve known for some time now. I think the tension of that last week really took him to a place he couldn’t return from.”
“I wish I could have…”
“Leave it alone for now. You’ve been through enough. I’m just glad to finally see you again. So yes, nobody except you three ever called me Razz. But what the hell, I never actually asked your real name either, Slaughter Man.”
“So you became some Limbus big shot?”
“ Well, maybe, but I still feel like I’m working on a slaughter ship some days,” Razz explained with a wink.
“Your contingency plan worked, by the way. Whatever you did with the enzymes bought me enough time to get out of there.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Razz. “Why don’t you tell him, Milstead?”
The Sticker looked around Razz. In the doorway, Trevor stood with a file folder under his arm. He looked tired and frazzled. The Sticker couldn’t help it but a pre-victory smile crept over his face. He sensed good news—the antithesis of Trevor’s expression.
“Interesting report in about the Princess…” Trevor glanced around, uncomfortable with all the eyes on him. “She suffered massive steel-shock and slipped into a coma, shortly after sending her missive about you.”
Razz turned to the Sticker. “All that scrap metal I found in the compactor—I tossed it in her enzymes. They broke down right away. If she ever recovers, she’ll not be the monstrous eater of the past. Which is well for me. I’m tired of her getting everything she wants while other clients pay the price… not to mention, I haven’t had a good game of backgammon in a long time.”
Limbus, Inc. Page 7