*
The steel tracks were beginning to tremble. The Meltman Express was not far away. How many carriages would there be? Each one carried about twenty debtors and in tough times like these, there were a lot of debtors to deal with. Fifteen carriages? More? The train did endless loops of Asylum City and for the passengers, it was a one way trip unless somehow their accounts could be settled. If death eventuated, which was a regular occurrence, the body would be tossed into the front carriage, food for the black bear that lived there - simply another meal to be had. The Meltman would usually consider that as a sufficient balancing off the books. But if he was still not satisfied, he would have a family member or friend replace the debtor. He had been known to wipe out entire families that way. Not that customers didn’t keep coming. People needed money to live, and the Meltman would lend large sums readily when banks had turned their backs. He was not concerned by risky loans. He enjoyed his train.
Kaptu Z was waiting for it on Banaba Bridge in the heart of the Kiribali zone. He was hanging off one of the steel girdles beneath the roadway. He wanted the waiting to end. He didn’t like waiting for any kind of action unless there was a plan to occupy his mind. Still, he could focus on those vibrations; the Meltman Express ran on an old vintage combustion engine and was giving the ground a fair shake. Kaptu had misjudged how far away the train actually was and been left dangling off the bridge longer than was comfortable. His hands were starting to tire and with all those weapons weighing down his body he was not about to climb back up for a spell.
Kaptu was twenty eight years old: he did not have an official birth date but instead a found date. His parents had at least made the effort of abandoning him in the Kashmir zone, where the local Army Base took in such babies as future recruits. Kaptu had received a well-rounded though quite deadly education. He had served ten years in the Asylum City police force, reaching the rank of lieutenant in the homicide squad before being released into the United Nations’ Hurt World Agency. It had required a significant exit fee, enough to train and equip four new police officers, and Kaptu paid it himself. He used the reward money for the safe return of a kidnapped aid worker in the Mali Square ghetto. Kaptu finished that episode dangling from the balcony of a burning skyscraper seventy floors up. It proved a hot and sweaty ten minutes before a rescue crew arrived. Sweating hands had almost proven his undoing then, though at least all his ammunition had already been spent, making for a much lighter load.
Three years had passed since then. Hurt World One had kept Kaptu Z busy. Of all the wild life in captivity in Asylum City, it was the residents who were wildest. Breeders, gamblers, traders, killers, and when they grew too ugly in their ways, people like Noice would come to Kaptu asking him to do something about it. And it had to be Kaptu. Anyone else faced the risk of provoking the wrath of Mayor Glutter, for he had his fingers in many pies and was vicious in seeing his interests protected. But what gave Kaptu protection was the amount of aid money Glutter received from the United Nations, so much more than he ever made in his side-businesses and it often came in the form of New Dollars or gold bullion rather than the Asylum City Yen. Glutter wouldn’t risk biting that hand. It did not mean Kaptu was untouchable, however, simply that the mayor did not see any profit in touching him up himself. Getting himself killed in the line of duty was another thing altogether though and Glutter was sure it was only a matter of time. He would have his fingers crossed now.
The Meltman was the most dangerous of the Asylum City gangsters. He was entirely ruthless and his reach extended across the whole city: he made a point of gaining access to anyone who slighted him, and of being in return nothing but a shadow, of being nowhere, lost within the tunnels and hideouts that centred in the Gibraltar and Basque zones and that webbed out into an endless maze. Kaptu had not gone after him before because it would have in turn driven him into the shadows as he braced himself for lethal retaliation - and the only tunnels at his disposal would have been those he dug in his head. He had seen the result of such things often enough in the Asylum City police. Cops getting buried so deep they became lost even to themselves - like disorientated cavers who no longer knew which passageway would return them to the surface. Asylum City had developed so many ways to shake the shackles of reality, both lethal and non-lethal, that there had not been a confirmed case of suicide in over twenty years. People would slip away from themselves and just keep going. But Kaptu would hold onto the surface just as tightly as he was the bridge.
He glanced down at the tracks he was centred above. Sixty miles of it winding through the city, linking up the Meltman’s many loan houses, massage parlors and gambling dens. A train line without stations and that didn’t sell tickets. A gangster without building permits and a track that even the Mayor himself did not dare touch.
The train had arrived. Kaptu watched the carriages speed under him in a blur and let go. Detecting the sudden descent, his belt thrusters instantly activated. Originally designed to protect the elderly from falls about the home, Kaptu had modified his to provide an extra spurt of speed. It gave him twenty seconds, but that was all he needed. He latched onto a roof and quickly turned the thrusters off. If he was thrown from the train, there just might have been enough power left in the batteries to save a bone or two.
The Meltman Express was reaching speeds of 150 kilometres per hour, entering into the Ukrainian Sector with its densely packed buildings and its grimy coal-burning factories. The Meltman’s track was the newest piece of infrastructure in the district, its shiny high-grade steel a stark contrast to the crumbling roads and crumbling sidewalks that provided for general use.
Someone was wailing in the carriage beneath Kaptu. It sounded like Ukrainian. A forlorn male voice. It might even have been singing.
And then the first of the snake monkeys came. The creatures were genetically modified African chimpanzees bred for extra strength agility and aggression. But it was the immensely razor sharp teeth and toxic saliva that had earned the creatures their name, that struck such fear in the heart of Asylum City. The Meltman Express had two rear carriages set aside for them. Those carriages were kept clean and well-stocked with fresh meats and fruits - a standard of comfort the creditors crammed into their filthy carriages with only stale refuse to eat could only dream of. Kaptu pulled a long-blade from his military pants, seeing in this particular snake monkey’s hateful glare every intention to attack, its territorial instincts a burning fury.
Kaptu lunged across the roof to get in first. His thrust was quick, though the snake monkey almost beat it with its own lightning fast movement. Kaptu kicked the dead body off his blade with the rancid smelling jaws just a few inches away from his neck; he did it quickly, wanting to free up his blade for the next one. But most importantly, he had to get to the black bear before the snake monkeys had time to gather in numbers. That carriage was also at the front, right behind the snake monkeys’.
Six carriages to cross. Kaptu moved in a crouch. Another snake monkey charge resulted in another head being decapitated. Kaptu, however, was not being fooled by these easy victories: the snake monkeys’ more assured movement on the carriage rooftops and their fearless approaches could easily have him caught. In fact, it was inevitable if he did not hurry. War cries were starting up in the snake monkey carriages at a volume to drown out the poor wretched Ukrainian’s voice, underscoring how limited was the time available to get the black bear.
The train rose high into a long loping bend into the Norwegian Sector. The smells immediately became more pungent and it was not simply to do with being downward of the debtor carriages. The heyday of the Norwegian Sector had long since passed as Norway recovered from the nuclear catastrophe of 2085 had and asylum seekers were granted special permission to return home. The once thriving community that was left behind consisted largely of thieves, drug dealers, junkies and the mentally ill. The Governor of Norway Town was herself all of these at once. Few people wanted to live under her control and so the streets and houses we
re largely abandoned: it made for the ideal spot on the Meltman Express’s endless journey to eject a bear.
Kaptu felt he had gotten sufficiently used to the rooftop conditions to make his advance upright and at full speed. He leaned hard into the wind as he sprinted, leaping over the gaps between carriages with a reckless intent.
More snake monkeys came at him. He slashed through them until their numbers became too dense, prompting him to stab his sword onto the roof beneath him as an anchor and going to the laser-acid gun holstered to his chest. Practising one-handed fire with the large weapon at the shooting range had always felt like showing off but he appreciated the familiarity of the action now. He spun one hundred and eighty degrees, mowing down a swath of the deadly snake monkeys and sending the rest scurrying over the edges. There was no doubt, however, that the snake monkeys would regather and attack again.
Kaptu ran, leaping from carriage to carriage, making quick progress along the train. But in a flash, a snake monkey leapt up at his legs, tripping him up and setting itself to plunge its grotesque yellow teeth into his side. Kaptu had braced his fall with one hand, keeping his sword free for a defensive swipe that had his entire body contorting with the effort. The monkey caught the blade in the chest and was sliced clean in two.
Kaptu recovered his balance in a kneeling position and again drove his sword hard into the roof; this time he activated the “can opener” function built into the sword and dived for cover. The blade actioned into a drill, sinking down to the hilt, and the explosion charge within punched a gaping hole into the roof. Kaptu was caught closer than the stipulated distance for detonation, leaving his body hot and bruised and his ears ringing loudly. There was no time to try to shake it off, however, for even with the ringing inside his ears, he could hear the snake monkeys advancing along the sides of the carriage below. They came rushing over the edges in a wave of savagely bared fangs. Kaptu dived head first into the blast hole, plunging into a carriage that was dark and smelled of animal - it wasn’t lost on Kaptu that the animal in question was a large bear with a well-honed taste for human flesh. He braced himself for the impact with the floor, and was pleasantly surprised that a soft layer of straw was there to cushion the fall. He tumbled awkwardly through it, catching as he went his first glimpse of the massive bear. The creature was lying in a corner and rose onto its hind legs, releasing a deep roar of displeasure at Kaptu’s sudden intrusion. Kaptu fumbled to hand his tranquilizer gun and turned it on the bear. His aim, however, was blocked by pursuing snake monkeys as they descended through the roof’s blast hole in a giant tangle. Kaptu had to refrain from unloading laser-acid upon them for fear of hitting the bear. The bear, on the other hand, set upon them without restraint, its long, razor sharp claws cutting them to shreds. One of them was tossed Kaptu’s way, flying backwards through the air. Kaptu picked it off with a single shot, though suspected it was already dead. He took a step back and flung a jelly flare onto the wall. The extra light revealed a hideously blood soaked scene, the bear’s claws slicing through whole bunches of snake monkeys in each swing. The last of the snake monkeys were starting to cowering back, providing Kaptu with the space to unleash the Death Queen’s quick-fire mode upon them.
The black bear dropped back onto all fours, its attention returning to Kaptu. It charged at him, snake monkey blood dripping off its claws. It was such a massive target, there was no chance of missing. Kaptu felt enough sympathy for the wretched creature, however, that he chanced the time it took to draw his tranquilizer gun and fire a dart into its gaping mouth. He dived away across the, firing a second shot into its chest. The drug he had administered contained a synthetic paralyzing agent that travelled to the brain along the central nervous system just as quickly as the pain that accompanied it. It sent the bear tumbling into unconsciousness with a loud thump against the carriage wall. Kaptu meanwhile slid headfirst along a section of floor with a severed human hand pressed against his cheek. He realized he was sliding on the slime of human remains. There were more body parts at the wall, including an open hand, which seemed to be reaching out to cushion his impact. Kaptu’s face contorted with disgust as the blood and guts covered him. He began pulling himself out of it, only for a giant snake monkey to come crashing down on his chest. Kaptu rued having lost track of where his guns, watching the snake monkey release a ferocious cry as it scouted where to sink its teeth upon him.
The brakes of the train came screeching on, flinging the snake monkey into the wall. Kaptu lunged to the Death Queen and ripped the snake monkey to pieces.
Kaptu settled into a kneeling firing position, his ears attuned to the footsteps outside the train.
‘Kaptu Z, are you there?’ bellowed out a male voice. Kaptu was surprised it was not Al Jaqaintas, for he had supposed the CIA agent had taken the wrong turn on their prearranged meeting spot. At least, the voice sounded friendlier than any of the Meltman’s thugs.
‘I don’t really need to ask,’ the voice continued. ‘The hole in the roof gives it away. Whether or not you’re still alive with all those furry friends of yours is another question. But let’s do this quick. Asylum City is one of my least favourite places to execute an extraction and doing it out of the Meltman Express only makes it more so.’
There were no holes in the wall large enough for Kaptu to see who was doing the talking, but he could tell it was someone holding a gun, someone having a good time. He got up slid open the carriage door. The man standing before him was tall and strong and had jet black hair. He was wearing a brown military uniform without any identifying insignias. His gun was large and heavy. ‘Kaptu Z, I am McRaven. He pointed at the magno-chopper landing on the track further ahead. ‘That’s for you.’
Kaptu felt a pang of anger. ‘You’ve got me in the middle of something.’
‘I can see. But I’m not a bounty hunter, I only get paid if you’re alive, not if you’re dead. As entertaining as it was looking at you running amok on this train, I didn’t get the impression you had long to live. So, here I am.’
Kaptu leaned out of the doorway to see the wisps of smoke emanating from the bullet holes in the train engine. The Meltman wouldn’t be happy. And he would certainly be on his way there. He turned to McRaven. ‘Alright, I’ll come along. But one of my furry friends is coming too. And he’s big.’
‘You’re not bringing one of those dirty, diseased monkeys on my chopper.’
‘It’s a bear. It’s been tranquilized nice and quiet.’
McRaven frowned. ‘So, that’s what this is about? I had guessed you were here to liberate one of those debtors.’
‘We’ll do that too. It’s only fair considering they’ve formed a large part of the bear’s diet.’
‘That’s Asylum City for you. Nothing is right about this place. Fortunately for you, it’s the reason I brought the whole team.’ He raised a clenched fist and six soldiers came running out of the chopper. ‘I must be crazy for agreeing to this. I suppose it is the novelty of seeing the United Nations jumping all over a train. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.’ The soldiers arrived before him and he ordered three to get the bear and the other three to get the debtors’ cages open. The soldiers on bear detail rushed into the carriage. ‘It’s not going to wake up, is it?’ McRaven murmured.
‘Not just yet,’ murmured Kaptu.
‘And what do you intend to do with it before it does?’
‘The President of the World Society for Animals is waiting down the road.’
‘Waiting in the CIA’s so called stealth machine? Well, forget that. Life gets longer when you’re not in bed with the CIA.’
‘I hope you’ve got a big back yard then.’
‘That gets taken up with my magno-chopper, but I’ve got a better idea, anyway. Our next stop is a world renowned veterinarian clinic in Switzerland. If the likes of me is getting paid to take the likes of you there, I am sure a man-eating bear would be within the clinic’s range of experience.’
The cage doors
began to hum open and the decrepit prisoners climbed shakily down onto the tracks, their eyes flicking madly around them, riven with fear of the Spider Monkeys. McRaven looked them over, wanting to shout out some reassurance and perhaps even receive some gratitude for their freedom. Their pitiful condition, however, compelled his eyes away. The soldiers on bear detail emerged from the train. With the giant creature on their shoulders, their legs were every bit as shaky the prisoners on the tracks. McRaven and Kaptu moved in to help.
‘We came into Asylum City airspace on the pretext of a humanitarian flight,’ said McRaven. ‘And I’d say getting this bear away from its residents has actually lived up to that. Taking you away will probably qualify too.’
7 The rats
Las Gabos, Mexico was one of the sunniest places in the world and the crew of the Zopez were beginning to cheer up after the disappointment of having to pass by Acapulco without being granted shore leave. The late Captain Tay would absolutely have dropped in for a visit, and it would not have ended until all his money had been exhausted on wine, gambling and women. In Acapulco, the whole process would not have taken no more than a day or two. Mas, on the other hand, had not betrayed a whiff of temptation as Acapulco drew excruciatingly near. Titov wondered if that was the difference between them: Captain Tay had always been serious until he fell apart, whereas Mas was just plain serious. The morale of the crew, nonetheless, was upbeat. It might have been more than the sunny weather or the proximity of their destination: perhaps it was the promise in Mas’s hard exterior of something they had never really experienced under Captain Tay: to come out of a job ahead.
‘The wharf dead ahead,’ ordered Mas to Captain Titov, peering with binoculars out from the bridge. The binoculars told her it was three miles away; she took some time to study the seemingly deserted factory complex beyond the wharf. She noted, however, that the razor wire surrounding it still seemed well maintained and in perfect condition.
Captain Titov had a pair of binoculars of her own and was joining Mas in the inspection. ‘Who are we meeting?’ she murmured. ‘It looks abandoned to me.’
Mas left the bridge without replying. She moved across the deck to the aft and looked out with her naked eye. The factory complex consisted of two large corrugated iron buildings and three towering silos numbered in weathered red paint. Rust was streaked across almost every surface. Nonetheless, to Mas there was a more telling indication even than the quality of the razor wire that the site was in active service: the crane upon the wharf was shiny new - no rust at all. If it was a super crane, as Mas suspected, it would have the capacity to lift the entire Zopez out of the water, cargo and all. Mas decided against trying to make radio contact with the complex. The puttering engines would be announcement enough of their arrival. Mas admitted to herself that she wasn’t sure who in fact would come to receive them. She was confident the organisation Jalanti Jones represented was rich and powerful, for it had met every payment she had requested without fuss or noise, and it had provided every piece of equipment she had asked for, including technology whose very existence she had only heard rumours of.
The solitary figure of a woman emerged, striding along the wharf. The woman was short, and she was shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered out at the Zopez. It took a moment for Mas to recognise Jalanti. She studied her countenance intently through the binoculars, not that there was much to see beyond blue lipstick and a stern gaze.
‘She looks like a pissed off school teacher,’ said Titov, joining Mas at the railing.
‘All I see is money.’
‘We’re working for her?’
‘She’s the face of who we’re working for.’
‘So, you don’t much know who we’re working for then?’
‘If things go bad, I might take the time to find out. But don’t let that look on her face fool you. Things are going good.’
Jalanti reached the end of the wharf and folded her arms as she continued to glare their way.
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Titov.
‘Stay on the boat while I have a word with her.’
‘Alright. I just hope your eagle has your back.’ Titov started back for the bridge.
Mas leapt up onto the wharf and left the crew preoccupied with securing the mooring ropes.
‘What do you think of her?’ queried Mas, walking over to Jalanti as she gave the vessel a hard looking over. ‘Rarely in maritime history has so much been paid for so little.’
‘But is it really the Kudos underneath?’ murmured Jalanti.
‘That’s right.’
‘Then it is worth what we are paying. And don’t forget that money will include reverting it back to its former self. No matter how bad that might be.’
‘The crew will go straight to work with Captain Titov to supervise. By the time they are done, the Kudos will live again. It will be a piece of junk, but it will be back.’
Jalanti’s razor sharp eyes turned on Mas. ‘Clearly not everything in the operation is running so smoothly, so let’s talk.’ She led the way off the wharf and into Silo 2. Within the vast expanse of darkness there was an office space complete with desk, cabinets, a hospitality corner and reading lamps. ‘Would you like a drink?’ Jalanti asked, visibly relaxing once she had closed the door on the outside world.
‘No, thanks,’ said Mas. ‘My poor sea legs have me queasy enough as it is.’
Jalanti took from the bar fridge in the hospitality-corner a premade iced strawberry gin. She sipped it zestfully and shook out her hair. She smirked ruefully at Mas. ‘You’re quite comfortable in the sky though, aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’
‘Comfortable enough to be blowing up magno-choppers. Why did you do that exactly?’
‘Stamford Transaction Facilitators had sampled me. As a guarantee that no moves would be made on Gustav Fall after I had gotten the Stockholm Compound.’
‘You couldn’t make that guarantee?’
‘I certainly can’t make it on your behalf.’ Mas peered around the silo. ‘I get the impression this is a large operation, probably involving the kind of people that do not like leaving behind loose ends. Gustav Fall obviously sensed it too or else he wouldn’t have enlisted the services of transaction facilitators.’
Jalanti leaned against the cabinets, enjoying the cool of the glass in her hands. ‘Are you worried too?’
‘I have my own guarantee. My drone is hovering above with a nuclear-armed missile that will be launched if there are any anomalies in my vital signs. My grave will be ten miles across and shared by many. You, of course, will be welcome.’
Jalanti squirmed with the thought. ‘Let’s hope you don’t have any pre-existing health conditions.’
‘I appreciate the concern.’
‘I have some developments to inform you of. The signature dog that has marked you survived the magno-chopper crash.’
Mas stiffened. ‘Is that so?’
‘Too bad you did not use your nuclear warhead at that moment.’
‘Where is the dog now?’
‘I’m not sure I’d care to tell you. Now that our operation is so far progressed, there can be no distraction. There is no way the authorities can track you down to here. After our objectives are met, I will point you in the dog’s direction.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The dog’s name is Blast.’
‘I know that. We were introduced. Does Stamford TF still retain possession of it or has it been acquisitioned?’
Jalanti sighed. ‘Don’t worry, it’s no one serious like the FBI.’
‘Which means I can go take care of them nice and quick. Unless you are underestimating them, in which case it is much better I take them out right now before any real damage is done. There’s time for it. The crew will be busy restoring the Zopez back into the Kudos and the scientists have their rodents to prepare. That will give me at least a week to take care of this situation.’
Jalan
ti shrugged non-committedly.
‘So, who are they?’ Mas queried.
‘Have you heard of the Hurt World Agency?’
‘Aren’t they United Nations peace keepers?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, I suppose everyone wants peace just so long as it’s on their own terms.’
Jalanti finished off her strawberry gin and left the glass on the cabinets. ‘Allow me to show you what peace looks like on my terms.’
She took Mas out of the Silo 2 and across a sandy compound to Silo 1. She explained on the way that the complex had been built at the height of the Great Food Crisis fifty years earlier. A hub for the shipment of grain across Central and South America. A dark time when the world was at its closest to fighting a nuclear war over bread. Mas listened with only scant interest, preoccupied with the thought of that signature dog in the hands of the authorities. It didn’t matter if it was FBI or any other acronym. Anyone with a propensity for travel could use the signature dog to track her down - and most likely through the most troublesome route: the past all the way to the present. Try as she might, she had not managed to separate them enough for her satisfaction, at least not yet.
Stepping into the silo immediately succeeded in taking her mind off her predicament. There was an overpowering odour of rodents and in a dark corridor a man in a white lab coat stepping forward to greet them.
‘Is this the one?’ the man queried. The man had greying hair and bloodshot eyes sunk into deep sockets. Peeking through the lab coat was a pink silt tie and green shirt. ‘I saw the boat docking and was sure the wait is finally over.’
‘This is Dr Franco,’ said Jalanti. ‘He is proud of the rats he has been breeding for us and is keen to see them reach their full potential.’
‘You did bring the Toxoplasma G formula?’ the scientist asked expectantly.
‘They called it the Stockholm Compound.’
‘Named after the city where it was first made illegal.’
‘It wasn’t easy but I managed to track some down.’
‘No, it wouldn’t be easy. Otherwise, humankind would certainly be doomed. Let me show my gratitude with a guided tour of my lovely little creatures’ temporary residence.’
‘Alright.’
They walked through an iron door into an elevator and rode it to the top. The doors opened onto a steel gantry overlooking one of the most grotesque sights Mas had ever come across. Thousands of enormous rats were tearing into each other in a seething dark pit that reeked of death.
Dr Franco leaned over the railing in awe. ‘Magnificent, aren’t they? Another couple of generations of them feeding on each other and I will start introducing them to human meat.’ He looked at Mas with a twitching eye. ‘I am concerned that when the time comes there will not be enough meat to go around. We are dealing with some serious numbers. Some serious appetites. Anyway, that is Jalanti’s department and she assures me I have nothing to worry about.’ He was breathing heavily as he spoke, exposing Mas to a breath of uncleaned teeth. ‘The Toxoplasma G parasite infects a rat’s brain, turns it into little more than a zombie. Instead of running away from cats, the rat will become attracted to them, get themselves eaten. That is how the parasites are able to enter their new host. I find the inherent cruelty of nature quite extraordinary. Putting to use the Stockholm Compound you have brought me, the rats will become attracted to humans in a manner you cannot begin to imagine. A hunger beyond the most extreme versions provided by nature.’
He dropped some spit down onto the rats just to see if he got a reaction. But there was nothing. ‘Do you feel safe from them up here?’ he asked Mas. ‘At the moment, you are entitled to, although you wouldn’t want to slip off the edge.’ He tried to give her a playful nudge, but she was strong and did not move. ‘When my breeding program is finished, to stand where we are now would spell certain death. Stripped to the bone in a matter of minutes. A very unpleasant death. Come back then and I will show you.’
‘The breeding program will continue on the Kudos as we move towards destination,’ interjected Jalanti.
‘Which is very exciting,’ said Dr Franco. ‘I wish I could go. I haven’t been on a boat since I was a young boy.’
‘The boat we’ve got for you is so old it might be the same one,’ said Mas.
Dr Franco’s smile turned to the consistency of oil. He looked Mas up and down with leering eyes. ‘The Stockholm Compound is apparently not on your persons. I would very much like to confirm its authenticity before I get too excited.’
‘You’re already too excited if you ask me.’
‘The canister is close,’ said Jalanti hastily. ‘Unfortunately, further negotiations are required before it can be released. I’m sure you can appreciate that in addition to the scientific value there are also significant business considerations attached.’
‘I’ve shown you the only kind of rats I’m interested in,’ replied Dr Franco stone faced. ‘I will leave the rest to you.’ He marched off the gantry in a mood.
Jalanti glared at Mas. ‘So, here’s the negotiation. Handover the canister and I’ll give you the location of the signature dog. And I’ll agree to your temporary release. I’d rather have you creating havoc with our enemies than our allies.’
Mas gave the cauldron of cannibal rats a parting glance and headed back into the elevator where Dr Franco was waiting. ‘I just need you to keep reminding me which is which,’ she murmured under her breath.
8 Animal rescue
The Atlantic crossing was being made in a Lava Proton Jet. They were travelling high within the stratosphere, which was only for missiles and people travelling like missiles. The journey would be over too soon for Kaptu Z’s liking. He had never had a vacation from Asylum City and the only experience he felt he had been missing out on was cutting through the sky at speeds no simulator could ever recreate.
Marco McRaven did not seem to appreciate the look of excitement on Kaptu’s face. He was strapped in at the mostly automated controls with tensely puckered lips that smacked of unease. ‘We’ll be over Switzerland in fifteen minutes,’ he said. He idly gazed at the dull grey cloud whipping by around the rocket jet. ‘I’m surprised Renaissance personally got in touch with you to brief you on this job. She usually just picks her technicians and has a cats-land-on-their-feet faith in them.’
‘A bodyguard for a dog,’ Kaptu murmured. ‘There wasn’t much to talk about.’
‘There are always choices to be made in these matters. Enough choices for you to checkmate yourself to death. I must say, you’re already moving in that direction. Taking out the Meltman’s train was a noble example of that very thing. Cutting off your path of retreat is what your enemies would want you to do. There’s no way you can go back to Asylum City now. So, using a busted up dog to try and track down the world’s best poacher is your only chance of being promoted to somewhere new. But if the mission falls through there will be nowhere left for you in the Hurt World. There will be nowhere left for you anywhere.’
‘I’ll be going back to Asylum City,’ replied Kaptu casually. ‘Rescuing a bear was nothing. There is an entire city to rescue.’ He smirked at McRaven. ‘You may even have the pleasure of escorting me there. You did such a good job on this occasion.’
‘No one who gets out of Asylum City wants to sneak back in. And to what end? Do you think you can clear death out of the city of death?’
‘No, perhaps just freshen it up a little.’
McRaven rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s just see what state you’re in when the time comes. The pieces might be small enough that delivery can be done by carrier pigeon.’ He picked up a black duffel bag from his feet and handed it to Kaptu. ‘You might need this. It’s my own personal survival kit. It’s a lot better than what you’ll get from the United Nations. Take out what you want and leave the rest.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Keep most of it. Whoever put Mas in the same space as the world’s maddest scie
ntist deserves a moment’s pause. We’ll try to find them. But, honestly, you’d better expect them to find you first.’
Kaptu glanced in the bag and didn’t recognise much of what he saw. Amongst the stash there were grenades of black plastic, silver mercury vials that looked dangerous enough without being readily apparent why, and red balls of splatter gum.
‘It’s a step up from what you would find in Asylum City,’ said McRaven, ‘but the principles are the same. There are things to communicate with, things to kill with and things to stop yourself getting killed. In a quiet moment you’ll figure out which is which.’
Kaptu zipped up the bag. ‘I’ll take the whole thing.’
McRaven flicked a switch on the control console and Kaptu’s harness began to lift off him. ‘The Swiss Alps isn’t flat enough for a plane like this to land. So we’re going to tip upside down. Get the idea what happens next?’
Kaptu looked out at the great swaths of snowcapped mountains ahead and started to put on his gloves. ‘I should’ve brought a bone for the dog. What if it doesn’t like me?’
McRaven frowned. ‘Is that some kind of joke? Just for that, I’m not even going to slow down.’
Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats Page 9