by Nathan Pedde
He reflected on Diplin’s woeful attempt to get him to quit. The method was as old as work itself. Make the hated co-worker's life a living hell and he would resign on his own. However, Des wouldn’t be allowed to get a new job. The answer would be there was a war on, and the Captain would force him to stay, no matter what Diplin did to him.
He studied the map on his tablet. He surveyed the landmarks along the street, and nothing matched up. The route was loaded up on the tablet must be wrong.
Diplin, Des thought. Who else would love to make my life a basket case?
In the middle of the industrial Grey Sector, was some small shopping stores, allowing the workers of this sector to buy a hot lunch once in a while. In the corner of an intersection, was a coffee shop. The coffee shop had a large glass window with a row of tall bar seating. Des saw a line of patrons sitting at the window bar.
Sitting together next in the middle of the window was Veer and Diplin. They grinned at Des, holding their coffee cups up in a mock salute.
“Cryslis,” Des whispered over the Neuronet. “I’ve sighted Veer and Diplin in the Grey Sector.”
“Roger that,” Cryslis said. “Are you still working?”
“I’ve been set up with an over-stuffed bag and a mock package."
"Are you sure?"
"It has a non-existent address.”
“Then they’re setting you up,” Cryslis said. "You need to deliver the package somewhere and get out."
"If I deliver it to the wrong address Diplin will use it against me," Des said through his teeth.
"I can’t do anything about that.”
"Nothing good can come from this,” Des said.
Des walked down the street, leaving the coffee shop behind. He walked across the street and dodged a cube van.
He had to get himself to his hover-scooter to get out of the situation. He would drive the scooter back to the closest place he saw and deliver the package there. He would figure out the consequences of delivering it wrong later, somehow.
Des looked over his shoulder and saw Veer and Diplin walking along the sidewalk the same way he was. They grinned, waving at Des.
“They’re now following me,” Des said to Cryslis over the Neuronet.
“Are you sure?” Cryslis asked.
“Yes. They’re being obvious about it. The jerks are waving at me.”
“Get out,” Cryslis said. “Abandon the delivery and go.”
Des looked down the street where he left his bright red hover-scooter, very easy to spot at a distance.
He looked down a small dead-ended alleyway. A small doorway with some brass numbers screwed to the top of the door. There was the address he was hunting for.
Maybe, it isn’t a mock address, Des thought.
“I see the package location.” Des said to Cryslis. “I’ll deliver it and get out.”
“Roger,” Cryslis replied.
Des walked to the door and knocked on it. A few moments later, the door opened to reveal a small, slender man.
“Are you Roy G. Butters?” Des asked.
“Yes, I am,” Roy answered.
Des slapped the letter onto his chest. The man instinctively grabbed the package.
“You’ve been served,” Des said.
Des walked away from the doorway, leaving the man bewildered and confused. He didn’t look back but heard the door close after a moment.
He reached the mouth of the alley, Diplin and Veer stood in Des’s path.
“Why have you been avoiding us?” Diplin asked.
“Why would I do that?” Des asked. “I simply have learned to ignore stupid.”
“Are you calling me—” Diplin replied.
“Yes,” Des said.
Des pulled out pin shooter from the sleeve to his jacket. He aimed the pin shooter at Diplin.
“I’ve had enough of this,” Des said. “Let me do my job.”
Diplin took a step forward. Des shot the pin shooter. The pin hit Diplin square in the chest. Des watched Diplin stiffen and fall over into Veer. The electric shocks rocked through them both for a moment.
Des jumped over Diplin and raced towards his hover-scooter.
“A little something I got to deal with criminals, dogs, and nasty people,” Des said over his shoulder.
He jumped on his hover-scooter and glanced behind him. Veer untangled himself from the collapsed Diplin and raced down the sidewalk toward Des.
“No offense, whoever you are,” Des said to Veer. “But you need new friends. Stop hanging out with nasty people like him, and we can be friends.”
Des gunned his scooter and shot away from Veer. He looked back. Diplin pulled himself off the ground and stumbled after Veer. Des cursed himself for shooting a weak pin. The electric shock wore off on Diplin and they climbed into small black hover-car with four separate hover-lifters. The lifters looked like black glowing balls lifting the vehicle from the ground.
Des left the middle of the Grey Sector, following the main road towards the Motorway.
After a few blocks, Des took a quick glance behind. Veer and Diplin were in their car and following him. He mesmerized the license plate before he raced around the corner of the road.
Des drove his hover-scooter down the motorway. The wind blew through his hair and he enjoyed flying down the road.
“You there, Des?” Cooley said over the Neuronet.
“I am, Cooley,” Des replied.
“Are you being followed?”
“I currently have two tails. Veer and Diplin are still following me.”
“Are you as Des or Ryder?”
“Des.”
“Then why are they following you around the station?” Cooley asked.
“Ask them,” Des replied.
“Why are you running?”
“Cause Diplin wants to hurt me and Veer thinks Des knows Ryder or knows where Ryder is.”
“Ok,” Cooley said. “I’ve hacked into your work tablet. The copy of the delivery app they gave you is corrupted. I put a couple of new apps in it. It fixes the delivery system and will also help you lose them.”
“Work will inspect the device at some point.”
“They’re hidden in the device,” Cooley said. “Type in ‘cat’s with thumbs,' the program will pop up.”
“Cat’s with thumbs?”
“The scariest thing I could think of,” Cooley replied.
“You’re weird,” Des said. “And thank you.”
“Good luck.”
While balancing the tablet on the scooter, Des typed the phrase into the work tablet. The program opened, and a more accurate map launched.
You’re being followed, the words appeared on the tablet. Recommend getting off the motorway and into the teal sector.
Des looked up from the tablet to see a car swerve in front of him. Des managed to dodge the vehicle. It was going to be a long day and he’d little time to spend playing follow the leader.
“Des,” Cooley called once more. “Just talked to Cryslis. I need you to lose those two and get to a meeting.”
“What’s going on?” Des said.
“I’ve set up a meeting with Sheemo in forty-five minutes and I need you there.”
Des grunted, pressing the brakes and slowed down.
Four cars behind him, Des saw Diplin and Veer behind him in the car. They had some type of weapons in their hands and they didn’t look happy.
Des pulled his pin shooter out of his sleeve and turned the power up to its limit. Des knew if he hit one of them, he could kill him, but he had no intention of killing either one of them.
He slammed on the breaks, and dodged the other cars zooming past. He gunned his engine as Veer’s car reached him. Des drove down the motorway beside Veers car. A window rolled down. Diplin aimed his weapon out of the vehicle.
Diplin didn’t have a standard pin shooter. It was built to look like a rifle, and probably had three times as much power.
A pin zipped by his head. The air crackled as it p
assed.
The shot would have killed him if it hit him.
“Are you crazy,” Des yelled at Veer.
Veer smacked Diplin in the face. The car swerved. Veer struggled to control the vehicle.
“We want him alive you idiot,” Veer screamed at Diplin.
Des aimed his pin shooter at the left front hover-lifter and squeezed the trigger.
The pin slammed into the ball and buried into the lifter. Sparks and smoke flew from lifter as it shorted out. Veer’s car hovered for a moment before the left front corner slamming into the pavement. Des shot past the crashing car, scrapping along the pavement thumping into the highway barrier.
“I’ve lost Veer and Diplin,” Des said to Cooley.
“Please tell me you didn’t make the evening news,” Cooley replied.
Des smirked. “No promises.”
Chapter Nineteen
Des stood in the corner of the warehouse space, the size of a large storage unit. In a corner were five large blackboards, a non-networked personal computer, and his device.
He was in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a windbreaker, wearing his Ryder disguise. Cooley stormed up next to him, wearing similar clothes and a different face.
“What in the bloody world was that?” Cooley said.
“What was what?” Des asked.
“The motorway. You shot his hover-lifter and nearly killed them.”
“They had it coming.”
“That’s not an excuse,” Cooley said, seething.
“And I’m not making one. I was hoping it’ll give me some breathing room before they come after me again.”
“There are less public ways to do it,” Cooley said.
“Are the station guards coming after me?”
“No.”
“Are they coming after Courier One?” Des asked.
“Look,” Cooley said, “that’s not the point.”
Des shrugged. “I give, I’ll stop being so reckless.”
“I’ll tell Cryslis that I tore a strip off you,” Cooley said. “She’s pissed by the way.”
“I figured she would be, but they did shoot at me with a rifle.”
“What?”
Des told him about the rifle Diplin had and how the shot whizzed by his head. He pulled out his phone and pulled open a picture of the rifle he saw.
“I’m pretty sure it’s this one,” Des said.
Cooley scratched the stubble on his chin. “That’s a military grade flechette rifle. This is concerning.”
“Now do you understand why I did what I did,” Des said.
“Yes. It was pretty awesome. I almost wish we had it on video.”
“You’re jealous you didn’t do it,” Des said, grinning.
“Not really. I’ve done similar in the past.”
“When Sheemo gets here, call me Paul, okay?” Cooley said.
“Paul what?” Des asked.
“I don’t need a last name.”
Des shrugged. They waited a few minutes before the door to the warehouse unit opened. Sheemo walked into the warehouse dressed in shorts and sneakers. In Sheemo’s hands was a black plastic briefcase. He looked very relaxed, yet Des knew his brother. This was a show, Sheemo was nervous and tense.
“What’s in the case?” Cooley leaned over and whispered to Des.
“Not sure. I’ll ask him.”
As Sheemo got closer, Des held up a hand.
“That’s close enough.”
Sheemo stopped.
“What’s in the case? You never mentioned anything about you bringing a case. I believe I told you not to bring anything and we’ll provide whatever you need.”
“This?” Sheemo said, motioning to the case. “This is nothing.”
“Nothing?” Des crossed his arms. “Nothing is anything but nothing. It’s always something to someone.”
Cooley’s hand drifted to inside his jacket.
Sheemo visibly tensed up and took a step back. “It’s my lunch.”
“Open it.”
Sheemo placed it on the ground and opened it up. It was his lunch. Three vitro-tuna and pickle sandwiches and a large orange juice. Cooley pulled out a small black device with tiny lights on it. Cooley scanned the case for a few seconds. No lights turned on. Cooley proceeded to scan Sheemo.
“Arms out,” Cooley ordered.
Sheemo complied, and within seconds he was done.
Des pointed to his comrade. “That’s Paul. He’s in charge.”
“Paul what?”
“Just Paul,” Cooley said.
“Okay. And what’s he in charge of?” Sheemo asked.
“He’s in charge of you.”
Sheemo looked at Cooley and then back at Des.
“Two things,” Des said. “One, anything you do with this project is highly classified and stays here.”
“I signed the form provided,” Sheemo said. “What’s the second?”
“Anything Paul says, goes,” Des said, turning to Cooley. “The floor is yours.”
The next day, Des sat at his desk in math class. The tablet lay in front of him. The results of the latest test flashed in front of the screen.
“Seventy-two percent…” Des muttered.
“Still better than me,” Alix said from beside Des.
Alix stood a full head taller than Des and skinny as a rail. He also had long hair always tied up in what Alix called his warrior topknot.
Des glanced over at Alix’s tablet. It said, sixty-nine percent.
“Not by much,” Des replied.
“I know right?” Alix said. “At this rate, we’ll be even in the rankings before you know it.”
Des glared at Alix.
“Truth hurts right?” Alix said.
“Are you studying?” Elsie asked Des from behind him.
“Yes, I’m studying,” Des said. “I’m studying as much as I can.”
Elsie touched the screen of the tablet and looked at the answers. “You should have had these questions. They’re all easy answers.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Des grumbled to himself, gathering his school things together.
“All right class,” Mr. Mixon said. “Go over the math pages on the board. Test next Tuesday. You’re dismissed.”
Des stuffed his tablet into his bag.
“O’Neal. Please wait a moment. I’d like a word with you,” Mr. Mixon said.
Des waited by his desk as the classroom emptied of students.
“Sucks to be you,” Alix said, walking down the line of desks.
“Meet at the diner at the regular time,” Elsie whispered. “We can get some studying done before we have to go to work.”
She walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. As Elsie left the classroom, Des became the last person.
“Des, Des, Des,” Mr. Mixon said in his nasally voice.
“Yes, Mr. Mixon,” Des replied. “I can’t stay here long. I’ve lots to do today.”
“Yes. I won’t keep you long. I have good news. I’ve talked to your uncle. He has authorized us to find you a tutor to help you with your studies.”
“A what?” Des said.
“A tutor. A college student who’s going into teaching. She’ll help you.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Des muttered, putting a hand to his head.
“If you don’t make time for it, your grades will disqualify you from the academy you want to get into.”
“The reason I’m struggling is I’m involved in too many things.”
“What things?” Mr. Mixon asked.
Des panicked a bit. He had said too much. Des immediately thought of Cryslis, calling her up on the Neuronet.
“Many things.”
“Criminal things?” Mr. Mixon replied, shaking his head, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve seen it before. The star student gets involved with bad elements and his grades nosedive.”
“Fine. Give me the name of her.” Des seethed. “I’m not involved in criminal act
ivities. I’m enjoying some extra-curricular sports.”
“Unlicensed probably?”
“Am I done here?” Des asked Mr. Mixon, he then asked Cryslis quietly. “Call my phone. Call my phone.”
“Find more time in your busy schedule to study more. You know this material. I see it in class. But then the test comes, and you freeze up. It’s a lack of studying the material for the test.”
“I’ll study. Somehow. May I go?” Des asked.
Des’s phone rang and he looked down at the phone. The display said, ‘Unknown 1’.
“It’s Susan. My pseudo-guardian. Can I answer? She’s probably worried about me.”
“Go ahead,” Mr. Mixon said.
Des answered his phone.
“Hi, Susan,” Des said.
“Hi Des,” Cryslis said. “I see you need a rescue.”
“Yes, I know I’m late…”
“Tell him something convincing after you hang up. And please don’t bring a tutor to the diner. You’ll blow your cover.”
“I’ll try, but I may not have a choice.”
“Do your best, but if you must, you must,” Cryslis said, then hung up.
Des put the phone back in his pocket.
“And how’s Susan?” Mr. Mixon said.
“Angry. I’m supposed to help her with something.” Des lied.
Mr. Mixon said, opening his tablet and clicking a couple buttons. “I sent you a phone number. Call it. Someone will meet up with you tonight.”
Des looked at the number. It was a company called, Ole English Tutors.
Later that afternoon Des sat at his regular booth at the diner. His tablets were spread across the table with a burger and a soft drink interspersed between his work. Elsie sat across from him, staring at a tablet.
The diner was half full of people. There was no sign of the construction workers, but they were still early. The workers weren’t supposed to be there for lunch for another hour.