SCHRÖDINGER’S DAD⁶

6:1

Mort, Joules, and Eugene stepped into the grand lobby of the Hyperion. The automatic doors whooshed shut behind them. Their sensors stood guard, armed and ready to provide accessibility and deny flimsy attempts at chivalry at a moment’s notice.

Mort marched to the front desk, losing the kids along the way. Joules plopped down on a bench with bolted on upholstery beneath a display that belched board-approved infotainment for anyone bored enough to pay attention. The final montage spun like a revolving door: stock footage of pedestrians at a crosswalk, time-lapse shots of the skyline, and hard cuts to close-ups of Atlas Rock citizens smiling over the miniscule disclaimer that they were all, in fact, paid actors.

The screen faded to black, the credits rolled, and the loop started over. Nigel Wells, Constant States Historian, sat in an armchair surrounded by walls made to look like impressive bookcases, while a computer-generated fire danced in the background. Joules amused herself by reading the faulty closed captions. 

THE HYPER EON WAS CHRISTENED THIRTY-FIVE TWELVE BY ADMIRAL ARE BALK OF URSA DIXIE FAME . BEAUTIFUL SHIP ELEGANT IN ITS SIMPLE CITY IT MADE PLANETFALL WITH THE FIVE OTHER TITANS ON LIBERTY DAY THIRTY-SEVEN SEVENTY-SIX , WHEN CS DIGNITIES OFFICIAL MET SETTLERS TO SIGN THE RECLAMATION INITIATIVE STARTING CENTURY IS OF TERRAN COLONIZATION , HERE IN ATLAS ROCK AND ADJACENT TRACTS OF KRONOS COUNTY .

Eugene checked out the far wall where an elaborate frame showcased the original hull of the ship. Polished and bronze, it shined brighter than it ever did when it was deployed. The plaque explained that the plate of iron was part of the old fuselage of the Titan-class Ark, which had to be painstakingly reworked and retrofitted to maximize amenity without corrupting the original structure. The description then went on to cover the excruciating details of the hermetic sealant and perma-composite.

He yawned and drifted across the room and sat down next to Joules. She rolled her eyes, stood up, and walked over to her dad, leaving him as the sole viewer of the video as if it were a requirement of the screen.

Slow shots of the building exterior were intercut with still images of officers shaking hands and construction crews taking lunch breaks on the scaffolding. The main title cards faded and a rosy-cheeked man appeared in the blank void of a well-lit studio. Mayor Rex Oberon turned to camera and gave his signature look of careful consideration with just a hint of wry humor that had won him re-election four times.

MY ANCESTORS BOUGHT THE HYPER EON DURING OPEN AUCTION AFTER ITS DECOMMISSION . SENSE THIRTY-NINE OH SIX WE ENTERTAINED DISTINGUISH GUESTS FROM EVERY SYSTEM IN THE CONSTANT . AMBASSADORS TRADERS CONCLAVE REPRESENTATIVES MINISTRY JUSTICE EVEN IMMUTABLES HAVE ENJOYED A RESTFUL STAY WITH US AND I TRUST YOU ENJOY YOURS AS WELL COME FRIENDS AND COUNTRYMEN TO THE HYPER EON THE TITAN OF LUXURY .

The receptionist tilted his screen away without looking at Mort. His plastic name tag glittered gold under the warm lights, but it seemed like such a waste for a name like Chet.

“Yes, that’s his room number,” Mort said. He removed his glasses and leaned against the counter. “14-8110. Can you check again?”

“As I said,” Chet said. “That room is currently out for maintenance.”

“That can’t be right,” Mort said. “That’s his room, I’m sure of it. Can you look his name up in your system?”

“Sir, the Hyperion is not that kind of establishment,” Chet said. “We cannot divulge personal information about our private residents.”

“But I know this man,” Mort said. “Walter Bohr is a good friend and colleague of mine. He moved in seven months ago, works on-base, he’s bald, and—”

“Sir—sir, you can describe the man as much as you like, but I’m not authorized to provide that kind of information. The only way around the policy is if you’ve been given proper clearance from the man himself.”

“Can you check that for me?”

“And what was your name again, sir?”

“Mortimer Nova.”

Chet typed without looking at the keys. He kindly raised his eyebrows until the search completed. He frowned for a second before snapping back into character.

“Apologies, sir.”

“Try Mort,” he said. “Or maybe Morty?”

“How’s it going?” Joules said.

“Chet here’s been kind enough to provide some information on how he can’t provide me any information.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said. “I’m going to go see a man about a snack machine.”

“Sure, sure,” Mort said. “Don’t go too far…”

Eugene stared at the TV and announced his boredom to the whole room with an exasperated sigh. He looked around the lobby to see Mort completing another self-contained customer service loop. He watched Joules walk toward the vending machines and then disappear quickly down the corridor where the elevators lived.

He got up and followed her, arriving just as the doors shut. He waited and watched the floor numbers ascend and stop at fourteen. He summoned a lift.

Ding.

The furthest elevator opened and vomited muzak. Eugene stepped inside and hit the button for the 14th floor. The numbered orb glowed, the doors shut, and lifted him up on soft, pneumatic wings. He gazed at the columns of buttons, overwhelmed with the urge to press them all at once. He displayed a great deal of self-control and restrained himself. He was practically an adult, after all. Time to start acting like it. Plus, it would slow him down.

The elevator stopped and Eugene’s insides lurched to match the change in momentum. With all the scientific advances in the span of human existence up until that point, from intergalactic travel to quantum-targeted medical treatment, it’s surprising that no one had yet cracked how to eliminate that sensation. And, in actuality, Doctor Gretchen Kitsch did just that several hundred years ago with her patented vertical lift for safely equalizing the movement of both dull matter and carbon-based lifeforms (interior organs included). However, that system required at least two trained staff on-hand at all times to ensure safe operation, so, it’s not surprising that no one justified the expense outside of specialty treatment facilities and a handful of rich weirdos.

Ding.

The doors opened and Eugene stepped out, but not before sliding his fingers over all the buttons. So much for acting like an adult.

The hallway ceiling appeared low, the far end blending into the plaster above Eugene’s head. The identical doors and soft lighting rippled in waves with each step. The carpet pulled him forward over the repeating peacock-feathered amoebas that resembled nothing so much as other carpet designs. He was a ghost caught between mirrors, offering no reflection of himself or anyone else, the polished rooms granting complimentary anonymity and the guests inside invisible to one another, so long as they stayed in their rooms.

Compared to the pristine lobby, the permanent resident floor left much to be desired. There were occasional stains in the carpet and fraying edges near the scuffed baseboards. More than a few rooms had faded curved arcs where poorly hung doors had worn down the carpet fibers over time. Perhaps it was because there were so few opportunities for first impressions in a city where the typical hotel stay lingered somewhere between overnight and a long weekend. Or, perhaps, it didn’t matter much at all on a floor that required a security deposit and the first month upfront.

Eugene turned the corner.

“Boo!”

“Christ!”

Joules slapped her leg and laughed at him.

“Very mature,” he said. “What are you doing up here?”

“Trying to speed this whole thing along,” she said. “The sooner we get rid of you the better.”

“You didn’t have to come, did you?”

“I thought it would be more fun than helping mom with chores,” she said. “I was wrong.”

She led him to room 14-8110. She checked the handle. Do Not Disturb. The door hanger showed a peaceful woman in white pajamas tucked under gray sheets, her eyes hidden behind a sleeping mask, her smile the definition of relaxation and contentment. It was effective marketing, but no one ever really looks that presentable when they’re asleep.

She tore it off and knocked.

Nothing.

They listened carefully for signs of life on the other side. The only thing they could make out was the buzz of a refrigerator and their own breathing.

Eugene tried knocking. He paused and jiggled the handle. Locked. He sighed and let his head fall against the door.

“That’s it?” she said. “Two knocks and you give up?”

“I’d try to kick it down,” he said. “But I’m not wearing the right shoes or physically capable in any way.”

“Typical boy,” she said. “When all you’ve got is a hammer, every problem’s a nail…” She pulled out her phone and swiped across the screen. She wedged her fingernails into the crease in the casing, popped open the back cover, and stuck it against the lock. The hard drive whirred and clicked. The lock thumped and sprung open.

“How’d you do that?”

“This has a mag-drive,” she said. She snapped her phone back together and slipped it in her pocket. “Not good for much, but it comes in handy when you need to show polarized locks who’s in charge”

Eugene pushed the door open.

“Get it?” she said. “Charge, like positive, negative…”

He flipped the light on and looked around the room.

“Because the lock functions through shifting polarity…”

The room was covered in tarps, held down by cans of paint and half-empty buckets. The tarp floated above the air vents, flapping up and down. Underneath, the carpet was freshly swept, the linoleum floor in the kitchenette gleamed like new.

“Is this thing on?” she said, tapping his shoulder like a mic.

“Guess we can cross this off the list,” he said.

“You’re not even going to look around?” she said.

“Good thinking,” he said. “I’ll see if my dad’s hiding in the closet and you can check under the bed.”

“Okay, when you put it that way…”

6:2

Wolfe gripped the wheel as the suspension jerked over uneven terrain. Underneath the combat gloves, her skin strangled her knuckles. She winced and leaned forward as the knobby-treaded tires ate sand and spat it back out.

Kale stood in the roof hatch, the mounted gun resting in front of her like a napping guard dog. She leaned over it and gripped her binoculars, doing her best to keep focused on spotting something, anything of substance in the endless desert same.

Austen sat in the back with her bolt-action Asp propped out the window. She scanned the horizon through the powered scope, often letting her eyes drift back inside toward Kale. The way Austen looked at her, you’d think Kale was wearing a bikini, not dusty boots and crumpled fatigues.

Jas yawned and kicked her feet up on the dash. She patted herself down and found a crunched-up box of smokes. She pulled one out and lit it. The smoke rushed from the cherry and flew right into Wolfe’s eyes, flaring in her tear ducts, but she didn’t give the waterworks a chance. She cut it off at the valve.

“Could you just…” Wolfe gritted her teeth. “For once in your life act like you give an ounce of shit?”

“Sorry, sis,” Jas said. She took another drag and turned out the window. “But even pretending to care would be a waste.”

“You’re on my time,” Wolfe said. “Means you follow orders.”

“I’m looking, ain’t I?” Jas said. “What’s he got us way the hell out here for anyway? Hazmat ain’t middle of nowhere enough for him?”

“That’s the General’s call,” Wolfe said. “Wasn’t much in the mood of getting the details and, by the way, staring off into space ain’t the same as looking.”

“Relax,” Jas said. “I’m keeping an eye out. And in the extremely unlikely case any trouble comes our way, I’m ready to put holes in it.” She nodded to her chain gun and blew more smoke.

Wolfe grimaced and paused a moment. She cracked her neck to the side, then the other, her hands still tight on the wheel. She clicked her tongue and slammed the brakes.

Jas flew forward, her legs jamming up against the windshield. She grunted and dropped her smoke. Kale lurched against the gun mount, knocking the wind out of her. Austen nearly lost her rifle out the window. Jas scurried to pick up her cigarette before it burned a hole in the crotch of her pants. She plucked it up quickly and blew ash off the cherry.

“Jesus!” Jas said. “What gives, man?”

“A word,” Wolfe said. She threw the duster in park and turned to Jas. “Now.”

The engine cut out. It steamed and clicked as it cooled down. Austen sat in the backseat, chewing her gum slowly.

“Why we stopping?” Kale asked after catching her breath.

Wolfe sat staring at Jas, her hands throttling the steering wheel.

“Guys?” Kale said. “I miss something?” She popped her head down the hatch. Austen’s eyes went wide. She shook her head and pointed up front.

“So,” Jas said. “What’s the word?”

“I know you don’t give a toss,” Wolfe said. “But I need you to step in line.”

“First off,” Jas said. “That’s more than one word. Second: it don’t matter what I do. These bitches would follow straight to hell you give the say-so.”

Austen shrugged in agreement. Kale pulled out her field notes and scribbled down some ideas about how to stop the engine’s clicking sound.

“Third,” Jas said. “Well, I don’t have a third point ‘cause I thought I’d have another by now.”

“Do you even hear yourself when you talk?” Wolfe said.

“You ain’t told us nothing,” Jas said. “General shows up, sends us packing, and you been mute ever since.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” Wolfe said. “Jesus, you’ve always been a pain, Jas, but ever since we got reassigned, you been playing things real loose.”

“This about my job performance?” Jas said. “I’d be more comfortable if HR was here to mediate.”

“I’m not joking, Jas,” Wolfe said. “This is about respect.”

“You know what momma used to say,” Jas said, dragging the last bit of tobacco to the filter. “Folks demand respect ain’t worth respecting.” She flicked the butt out the driver’s side window. It whizzed over Wolfe’s shoulder. “And ones who earn it…”

“Don’t demand it,” Wolfe said. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Do you?”

“I’m trying to keep my post,” Wolfe said. “All I’m asking is you do the same.”

“I don’t see much post left for the keeping,” Jas said. “Look at us.” She spread her arms inside the Hellbender. She turned from side to side and gestured around; a cramped version of The Sound of Music, except the hills weren’t alive with anything. “This our post? Outgunned in the event of an ambush, probably have to shit in the tank to get this bucket of junk back to base, and here we are playing I-fucking-spy out in the goddamn wastes.”

“Corps life isn’t like the commercials,” Wolfe said. “You should’ve figured that out by now.”

“Yeah, and I thought you would’ve figured by now,” Jas said. “This unit lost its salt a long ways back and ain’t on account of me.”

“No reason to disrespect me,” Wolfe said. “Or roll your eyes at what we’re bound to do.”

“Keep making demands,” Jas said. “Won’t matter to me none till you’ve earned that shit.”

“I haven’t…” Wolfe took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Earned your respect?”

“Looks like.” Jas turned away and pulled out another cigarette.

Wolfe grunted and smacked the wheel. She threw open her door and kicked it shut.

“Oh, good,” Jas said. “Guess we’re done here…”

She chuckled and rolled the flint on her lighter. It sparked, scratched, and the flame came out. Jas leaned in, cigarette dangling from her lips, but Wolfe grabbed her collar and pulled her out the window, dropping Jas down hard in the sand. The cigarette rolled off the seat and onto the plastic flap on the floor.

“I haven’t…” Wolfe took another deep breath. As soon as Jas was on her feet, she let it out and raised her voice, shoving her sister with each word. “Earned. Your. Respect?”

The veins in Wolfe’s neck bulged, her face boiling. Jas dusted herself off and started laughing. She didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation until Wolfe knocked her jaw with a clean right hook and sent them both down the hill, grappling in the sand.

6:3

The line at Reception was a tangled vine. It started out single file, but the form lost all meaning as the customers snaked through the lobby. Backpacks and luggage were plopped down. Families spilled out and formed makeshift camps.

Bored kids idled on tablets or complained about being hungry while the teens sulked. Parents grumbled to each other and talked about how someone should really do something and then proceeded to do nothing. Everyone unconsciously checked their phones, a common tick developed by human bodies trained over generations with the routine solution to frustration and boredom. A trade broker sighed with insistent regularity to project his frustration, which was just as effective as honking your horn in the middle of stopped traffic.

New arrivals stepped off to the side as soon as they got in the door. They peered over the crowd to see what was happening, to find the bottleneck, and to apply the appropriate amount of anonymous frustration to the responsible parties.

It was Mort and Chet.

Poor, poor Chet.

His facial expressions resembled those of an android equipped with a faulty emotional regulator. Per the requirements of his position, Chet was expected to assist his current customer while non-verbally acknowledging future customers to apologize for the inconvenience they would soon be telling him all about. When he wasn’t forced to perform these interpersonal jumping jacks, Chet still had an insurmountable pile of tedious side work to complete before he could start his final cleaning duties. Only then could he ask permission to clock out and finally go home.

Chet often spent these moments thinking about his life. As customers repeated themselves through obvious no-win scenarios, he considered all those years spent at the university. All that time spent to become qualified enough to earn minimum wage for a corporation that would rather cut his hours enough to avoid offering benefits (medical, dental, overtime pay that actually resembled a living wage, and all those other things a company offers when they actually care about their employees) instead of taking care of their employees.

The Hyperion: Titan of Cheap Industry.

It was in these situations he forced himself to smile and repeat the same thing HR said when he asked if his recent raise would be swallowed up in the yearly wage adjustment for inflation scheduled to take effect on his next paycheck.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Okay, okay,” Mort said. He threw up his hands and sighed. Chet flashed his eyes over Mort’s shoulder. When Mort looked back at the growing pile-up of disgruntled customers, he felt a sharp pain in his heart that he hadn’t felt since he was the solitary line cook at a 24-hour diner in a college town. “Look, Chet,” Mort said. “I don’t want to take any more of your time. I just…I really need to know where Walter is. His kid’s looking for him and we’re getting really worried.” He fished his wallet out of his back pocket and rifled through it for any cash or equivalent. “Look, I know they don’t pay you enough to deal with folks like me, but all I’ve got is…twelve, thirteen…thirteen-forty. I know it’s not much, but—”

“Sir, I cannot accept your money,” Chet said, loudly enough to make sure it was picked up by the cameras. He placed a short stack of Hyperion business cards in Mort’s hand and discreetly swiped the cash from underneath.

Eugene and Joules left the elevator and worked their way through the crowded lobby. They strolled past throngs of impatient customers toward Mort. The folks in line watched their approach incredulously, crossing the threshold that somehow made them experts in the hospitality industry.

Are they cutting?

So, I guess we’re invisible…

Someone should say something.

Yes, honey, someone really should…

“The logs say that room’s out for maintenance,” Chet whispered. “But some guys from base came in this morning. They collected the tapes and made some changes to our system. Said it’s all part of an ongoing investigation. Now, the computer is telling me that the room’s been out for repairs for the better part of a year, but I remember it being booked solid. Never saw the tenant, never had to because it was long-term res, but I think it was your friend’s room.”

“Thank you, Chet,” Mort said. “That’s…”

“Having fun yet?” Eugene said to Mort.

“That’s strange,” Mort said. He didn’t register that Eugene and Joules had joined him.

“Very strange,” Chet said. “They never do stuff like this. Between you and me, we’ve had our fair share of deaths, overdoses and robberies gone bad and stuff like that over the years, but they never mess with our system. They have us send what we have and that’s that.”

“Are you talking about Eugene’s dad?” Joules said. “He’s not here. We checked.”

“And how would you know?” Chet eyed the kids.

“Magic,” Joules said, twiddling her fingers like she was sprinkling fairy dust.

“And why don’t I believe you?” Chet said.

“I don’t want to presume,” Joules said. “But some say that primitive beings see science and magic as one in the same.”

“Hold up, kid,” Chet said. “Are you implying that I’m—”

“We were just going,” Mort said, taking Joules by the shoulders and pointing her away. “Thanks for your help, Chet.”

“Help?” Eugene said. “Seems like a pretty strong word for what you’re doing here.”

“If you have a complaint, young man,” Chet said. “Feel free to visit our website and fill out the contact form. All you’ll need is a confirmation number and a credit card for verification.”

“And what if I don’t have either?”

“Then I suggest you step out of line,” Chet said. “And let me help someone else.”

“Bold move, Chet,” Eugene said. “Are you supposed to talk to customers that way?”

“No, sir,” Chet said, waving for the next in line to step up. “But I don’t see a customer here, so…”

“Ouch, Chet,” Eugene said. “See if I ever flirt with you again…”

6:4

Wolfe and Jas tumbled end over end, their arms slick with sweat as water on tinted glass. Bits of sand clung to their skin like bugs trapped in sap. They huffed and puffed and wrangled like school kids. If there had been money on the table, Jas would have her sister 5-to-1. She had a solid build and was a good head taller, but Wolfe was quick and wiry and a good deal stronger than she looked. And she was mad as hell.

She pinned Jas at the bottom of the hill, throwing her leg over her sister’s chest. Wolfe slung sweat from her brow and wiped her palms on Jas who writhed under her. Jas didn’t open her mouth. She worked her eyes around in her skull, trying to escape her sister’s stare like it was a laser beam. They held that pose, Jas wriggling on the ground, Wolfe holding her down. They took deep, fiery breaths and looked all kinds of pissed.

Then there was whistling.

And singing.

Where does the time come from? And where does it all go?

Xavier Jenkins hadn’t seen another living soul in weeks, but he paid no attention to the soldiers. He whistled to himself and absentmindedly trailed off into song at the end of each rasping musical phrase.

Sand falling out the hourglass…blowing ‘round the globe…

He tromped along, holding a mess of roots and cactus bits and tatters of desert flowers. Instead of stopping to stare gawk-eyed at two fit ladies sand-wrestle, a fantasy of a good many Terran men, Jenkins maintained his slow gait, honorable in its painful deliberateness, his half-buried trailer still fathoms away.

Wolfe and Jas stopped and watched the old man pass. Wolfe looked back at the Hellbender where Kale and Austen had dropped everything to watch the show. Now under the Captain’s gaze, they unsubtly busied themselves with other things. Kale threw her head under the hood. Austen went about adjusting her sights.

Wolfe climbed off her sister and went after Jenkins.

“Hold up there, old timer.”

“Huh?” Jenkins said to the sun, not toward Wolfe’s voice. “What’s that ye say?”

“Afternoon,” she said, gently stopping him by the shoulder. He turned around in slowly unfolding surprise. After a moment, the confusion on his sun-dried face wrinkled into sheer delight.

“My stars and scars,” he said. “Why, hello there, young lady. What can I do you for? Ain’t got no money, no sir. Not a cent to my name. Lost it all years back to that fool of a snake Jack Granite. No, sir, ain’t got no…”

“I ain’t looking for change,” Wolfe said. “I’m with the Corps and wondering if you’ve seen anything unusual around here lately.”

The man pursed his lips to speak but stopped himself. He squinted past Wolfe and to where Jas stumbled to her feet. She cleared her throat and shook sand from her Mohawk. Jenkins gazed up the hill to Kale fiddling with the engine. Austen stood behind her, inspecting her rifle as well as Kale’s ass.

“You mean aside from you fine ladies?” Jenkins stared off at the sun. The air wavered with golden heat. “Stay in the wastes long enough, they say you’ll see it all. That’s why I left that no-account Jack Granite and said I’ll seek mine where there ain’t nothing but gold. Sand, you see, when the light hits it just right…” He trailed off as he bent down and scooped up a handful of sand. He watched it run through his bony fingers.

“Thanks anyway,” Wolfe said. “Fancy a ride or something?”

“No, sir-ee,” Jenkins smiled. “Nothing I need but the sun and the breeze. As long as that wicked ghost don’t show. You ladies best get back home before he gets to slinking about. The Man in Hazmat ain’t got the sun or the breeze, ain’t got a soul at peace…”

“Oh…” Wolfe examined his eyes and considered the long-term damage of sunstroke. “Okay. Stay frosty, old timer.”

Xavier grinned and whistled through the gaps in his teeth.

We all want our freedom, to each of us our own…

He knelt and picked up a smooth pebble, smiled at the sun, and ambled away.

Th’only guarantee in life is a lonely old soul…

“So,” Jas said. “What was that fuss about?”

“You’re rusty,” Wolfe said. She cracked her knuckles and brushed off her pants. “There were about a dozen ways you could’ve ended that.”

“You sucker-punched me.”

“And you saw it coming a mile away,” Wolfe said. “Means you’re slow.”

“That so, professor?” Jas said. “Hell, I thought I was going easy on you.”

“You going easy on me?” Wolfe said. She patted herself down and counted ammo. “That’ll be the day. Hope your shooting’s better than your hand-to-hand.”

“It’s sharp enough,” Jas said. “What are you playing at, sis?”

“Don’t rightly know yet,” Wolfe said. “Wanna follow me and find out?”

Wolfe marched back up the hill and whistled to Kale and Austen. Jas jogged behind her, the first time she’d been eager to join the huddle in years.

“Alright,” Wolfe said. “Our commanding officer has pushed us into the wastes. Despite protocol, I’m keen on hearing what you’ve got to say on the matter.”

“I don’t know…” Kale said. “Makes just as much sense as any other order he’s given.”

“Yeah,” Austen said. “But you’d think he’d send us back to base if he wanted to keep an eye on us.”

“All considered?” Jas said. She weighed her hands like scales. “He’s a jackass.”

“Eloquently put, Jas,” Wolfe said. “You’ve stuck with this unit through all kinds of shit. Losing good soldiers, losing Blaine, and you’ve followed me all the way the hell out here, but what I’m fixing to do now ain’t even a stretch toward being a good idea. That’s why I’m not ordering anything. I’m giving you a choice here. I’m heading back to Hazmat with the safety off and you likely won’t need three guesses at what that means.”

“It’s likely I will,” Kale said. “This about what happened with the General? ‘Cause you haven’t told us nothing about that.”

“We had a little disagreement again about not being able to read each other’s minds,” Wolfe said. “And he choked me out.”

“Damn, Cap,” Kale said. “I’m sorry.”

“No bother,” Wolfe said.

“You alright?” Austen said.

“Just peachy,” Wolfe said. “Look, I know as much as you. The old bastard came to visit and kicked us out of town, end of story. This time, though, I want to find out why. Now, I’ll blush if y’all want to help, but you want out, I won’t stop you.”

Kale and Austen looked at each other, then down at the ground. Neither knew what to do. Jas slapped their shoulders and stepped up.

“Our SO has a nickname,” Jas said. “Either of you recall what that is?”

“Sure,” Kale said. “The Unfraggable—”

“The Unfraggable Mendax,” Jas interrupted. “You ever get curious about that?”

“Just a name,” Austen said. “Don’t mean nothing.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jas said. “That name’s his reputation. Think of how many grunts he’s thrown to the meat grinder while he got medals and promotions. Think of how many times his troops pulled mutiny for him to get that kind of name and how many times he got good people killed for them to pull that shit in the first place. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m not waiting around to wind up another footnote on that bastard’s resume. How about you, A? You wanna be another corpse propping that fucker up?”

“Well,” Austen said. “I guess not…”

“You guess?” Jas said.

“Go easy on her, J,” Kale said. “This ain’t—”

“This ain’t what?” Jas said. “A game? Fucking right it ain’t.”

“What’s the plan then, Sherlock?” Kale said. “When he’s not holed up in Masada, he’s got double security detail.”

“And when he ain’t got that,” Austen said. “He’s got eyes in the sky tracking his every move.”

“Those birds are flying blind right now, though,” Wolfe said. “Been down since morning. If there ever was a time to have a heart-to-heart, I reckon it would be now. But whatever he’s been working on, I’d bet folding money he’s been careful enough to hide it from high command. Means when we corner him, won’t be no cover to run to.”

“But we don’t even know what’s going on,” Austen said.

“If there’s something going on,” Kale said. “Could just be the usual asshole behavior.”

“General’s always had bats in the belfry,” Wolfe said. “He ain’t never laid hands on me before today, though. Something’s screwing loose. And I haven’t got a clue what the coot’s up to. All I know is I’m through waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Then what did we come out here for?” Kale said. “In earnest, Captain, why’d we leave in the first place?”

“Didn’t know how many men he had on him,” Wolfe said. “Didn’t have eyes on you or Cleric, just Jas about to have her head made into a canoe and me with his hands around my neck. I give that kind of order within spitting distance like that and we’re all ground chuck. If this is gonna work, it’ll work a whole lot better if he’s under the impression we’re way the hell out of the way.”

“Adrian Wolfe going AWOL,” Jas laughed. “I love it.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Kale said. “But that don’t sound like a lawful order.”

“I’ll understand if you’re not up to it,” Wolfe said. “What I’m asking here is a hell of a risk.”

“No risk,” Jas shrugged. “No reward.”

“Rest?” Austen smiled and turned to Kale. “That shit’s for the wicked…”

“You’re all out of your goddamned minds,” Kale said. The others crossed their arms and waited for her to finish it. Kale rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fuck it,” she said. “This bitch is ready for war.”

“Ladies!” Jas said, snapping to attention. “What’s got four legs and a little baby dick?”

“Just me…”

“My gun…”

“And a dead piece of shit!”

“Awaiting orders, sir,” Jas said. She did a quick two-step and saluted in formation with Kale and Austen.

“We’re going home, ladies,” Wolfe said. “We’re getting answers. And if we don’t like what we hear, we’re going to test just how unfraggable that bastard really is.” She hopped up onto the Hellbender and addressed her troops. “Now, who remembers what we do if we get cut off when the shit hits the fan?”

“Make sure it’s blowing the other way!”

“And who’s going to stop us?”

“Not a damn thing!”

“A-fuckin-men,” Wolfe said. “Amp up, ladies. We leave in ten…nine…”

6:5

Mort idled up to the final security checkpoint. The gate rose, caught itself at the top, and wobbled in place. The massive parking lot was empty save for clumps of dusters parked near the entryways. The hangars and storage bays housed broken-down, outdated vehicles and tech. At the far end stood a squat cube-shaped building: Applied Research and Scientific Experimentation. The regulars called it ARSE for short. The other buildings dwarfed it.

“They were painting it?” Mort said. “Even if Walt left after I last saw him, that seems awful quick.”

“Yeah,” Eugene said. “The walls were still wet.”

“We got a nice buzz from the fumes, though,” Joules said.

“That’s odd,” Mort said.

“Must be the state motto,” Eugene said.

Mort pulled through an empty spot and into the next. Routine dictated that he save himself the trouble of backing out later, but it was fairly useless considering how vacant the place was. He got out and knocked on Joules’ window. Her face was pressed against the glass like a kid in study hall. She looked up and groaned.

“Fine,” he said. “Stay here and stay out of trouble.”

He locked the doors and the van confirmed with a weak chirp. Once they got to the front entrance, Mort swiped his card, provided fingerprints (both hands), entered a passcode, and tolerated a retinal scan that left his eyes watery. Eugene had to enter his name and got a full-body scan. Standard procedure for guests. The input panel beeped, the doors hissed, and opened slowly as Mort ushered Eugene inside.

The halls were awash in hollow, energy-saving lights, the floors covered in black and white tiles that followed no pattern at all. The employees likened it to taking a Rorschach test every time they had to go to the bathroom. Mort led Eugene confidently up to the main hub where a lone security guard kept his drowsy post.

“How’s it hanging, Dick?” Mort said.

“Wrinkled and a little sweaty.”

“Gross,” Eugene said.

“Truth always is, kid,” Dick said. “What can I do you for, Mort?”

“Well, I tried calling earlier, but nothing’s going through.”

“No surprise there,” Dick said. “Not much action on Sundays, you know. Even without a lockdown exercise.”

“Lockdown training?” Mort said. “On a Sunday when there’s barely anyone here? Geez, Dick. Who the hell made that call?”

“Hell if I know,” Dick said. “Probably the same guy who signs my checks, but I wouldn’t know. Never met the wealthy bastard.”

“Have you seen Walter lately?” Mort signed his name on the clipboard. The sign-in sheet was fresh. No dates from the past two days.

“He lit out last night,” Dick said. “Headed back to the land of milk and honey.”

“Really?” Mort said. “That’s strange. Figured he would’ve given us a heads-up.”

“According to the grapevine something big came up,” Dick said. “Figure it’s big-wig, board room nonsense. I take it you’re Eugene?”

Eugene nodded.

“This is for you then.” He slid a ticket to Carbon City across the desk.

“You moonlighting as a travel agent now, Dick?” Mort said.

“No,” Dick said. “Just passing it along. Better hurry, though. Looks like it’s leaving soon.”

“Yeah…” Mort considered asking Dick if he’d let him slip into his office for a quick minute but thought better of it. “Mind if I hit the can before we get going? I swear this bladder’s getting smaller every day.”

“You and me both, brother,” Dick said. “Knock yourself out. Use the left hall. South side’s already sealed tighter than a statue’s bum.”

“Thanks,” Mort said. “I’ll be right back, Eugene.”

“Okay,” Eugene said. “So, Dick…is that short for Richard?”

“Ain’t short for nothing,” Dick said. “It’s just Dick.”

“Of course,” Eugene said. He stood and shuffled in place as the guard maintained steady eye contact. “Well, this has been fun, Dick. Would you let Mort know I went back to the car?”

Dick nodded and kept staring as Eugene walked back outside.

Mort went down the hallway toward the bathroom, but when he got to the door, he checked back at the desk. Dick was already nodding off, paper unfolded in his lap, just as unread as it was at the start of his shift.

Mort took a hard right and ducked into one of the small first-floor offices. He stalked down the row of cubicles and found an unlocked console. He logged on to his division’s server and searched for his files. The helpful icon spun half a second and returned the results. Zero kilobytes. He checked again. And again. Someone had either locked him out of the Ex Anima project or dumped all his files. They even deep-sixed all other related materials. He cursed and pounded the keyboard.

That’s why you always have a back-up, Mort…

He got up to leave the terminal but stopped himself. He leaned over and pulled up the base directory. He searched for Walter, found his extremely limited profile, and copied down the emergency contacts on a post-it note that he shoved in his back pocket.

“Whatcha doing, Mort?”

Mort spun around, shoving the note in his back pocket.

“Sorry, Dick,” Mort said. “Figured I’d check my inbox while I’m here.”

“Uh huh,” Dick said. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

Joules was smoking a cigarette and sitting on the hood. She stared out at the setting sun. When Eugene approached, she unwrapped her headphones and hopped off the bumper.

“No luck?”

“Looks like he left before I got here,” Eugene said. “Guess that means I’m catching the next flight off this rock.”

“Aw, leaving us so soon?” Joules said. She laid the sarcasm on thick, but some genuine concern still slipped out. She corrected course quick: “Not that I care.”

Mort stepped outside and took a deep breath. He paused a moment and watched the kids talking to each other. His mind reeled. On the surface it all seemed very reasonable. Something came up, Walt had to leave, no time to say goodbye, left a ticket with Dick. But why Dick? And he said he left last night, but he’d just seen Walter after dinner. Why didn’t he mention it? The questions piled up faster than answers. He searched his brain for a logical way to make it all line up, but like the terminal: no results found.

6:6

Sun flooded the windshield.

Wolfe yawned and strapped her goggles on. Kale oiled her Copperhead machine pistols. Austen counted ammo and adjusted her sights. Jas chain-smoked Rebel Reds, spinning her field knife in her hands. She sheathed it and drew her sidepiece to test her speed.

Wolfe turned the wheel as she turned things over in her head. And it all turned into sinking feeling that washed over her. It wasn’t nerves, more an odd wave of nostalgia; sense memory or déjà vu. She did her best to shrug it off and blame it on sleep deprivation, but that wouldn’t take.

A few years back on a summer day, hot as hell and empty inside, back when the Inglorious Bitches swept the narrow streets of Atlas Rock, a call came down the line. Some locals found a rusty box rigged to wires in some dark corner of town. And Adrian’s squad answered the call to clear the area.

Blaine Kratten, demolitions expert, took point. She’d been with them since Wolfe got handed her first batch of fresh greens from the Academy. Blaine made the relo from Novak with the others. She was a good soldier, loyal and brave. But she was more than that. She was a friend. A sister.

The call came in and Wolfe clocked it from out the gate. This wasn’t a concerned civilian. The cadence was all off. Stresses placed on the wrong syllables, inconsistent emphasis as if read from a script. Unnecessary information cluttering the heart of the matter. It was almost cliché; the murderer leading the detectives to their latest masterpiece.

You’re getting warmer. Colder now. Warmer, warmer…hot, hot, hot, you’re burning up…

It was exactly what they wanted, what they needed: an audience.

Wolfe sent it back up the ladder and the General came down hard. Follow protocol, Captain. Sweep it up. Stop distracting high command with trivial matters. Wolfe pressed him for back-up, to pull one of the bots out of storage. What’s the point of having a bomb squad, Captain, if they can’t handle a bomb? Bots cost a hell of a lot more than boots.

Wolfe’s stomach turned. She should’ve pushed harder. She should’ve trusted her instincts and doubled down.

Woulda, shoulda, coulda…

They traced the call to its source just inside city limits. A barren warehouse tucked away in the ass-end of the old industrial district. In other words, ghost town. Not a place normal folks would find themselves if they had any say in the matter. And not a good location if the goal was to blow up lots of people. But that was the point. That was the punchline.

Wolfe and the others held back while Blaine took her team inside. They started the clock and watched the numbers tick up. Every second that passed increased the chance of disaster. Another second to trip the wrong wire, another second and a trigger finger might get itchy and…

Blaine chattered with her team over the horn. Wolfe listened intently, as if she’d be able to help, as if she had any real power outside of pulling them out before the job was done. The radio kept her in the loop, but not involved. She was an outsider, an observer.

They found the package 47 seconds in. Easy pickings, Blaine said. Damn near giftwrapped it, she said.

A moment of radio silence.

Wolfe remembered that moment more than anything else. How the sun baked her bones, sweat slicking down her sides underneath the heavy armor. The subtle crack of static coming through the horn.

The radio squealed to life, cutting through the feedback Blaine spoke:

There’s nothing—

Boom.

Game over.

Wolfe never let up. She forced herself to feel it, to feel every soul that ever expired on her watch. Some days didn’t hurt so bad, but whenever Blaine showed up, she felt every single drop of blood. On those days, days like this, she ripped out her cursed heart, held it throbbing in her hands, and made herself feel every undeserved beat.

The Saints had been waiting across the street. They must have been holding their breath until they were sure the building was filled with as many grunts as possible and they could blow the charges. Shrapnel rained on Wolfe and her squad. A wave of dust rolled down the street corridor.

Jas caught the bastards on their way in to take out the survivors. Filled them with holes till there was nothing recognizably human left. Not that there was much there to begin with. The Saints were a special breed of ignorant. They’d lecture at length about the importance of duty and sacrifice and how vital the armed forces are, how we owe everything to them, then turn around, without missing a beat, and curse them for being puppets to a shadowy cabal of cannibalistic pedophiles. There’s only a handful of cures for a stupid that vicious and self-serving, but the most affordable one is also the least honorable.

Everyone else moved on. That’s life in the Corps, they said. Business as usual. There will always be losses. Always.

Still, Wolfe dwelled. She kept Blaine in mind in much the same way some people meditate on the crucifixion. The moment when Christ let it happen. The inconceivable grace of it. The weight of it. The burden. At her lowest, she’d go through all of their names, like rosary beads, and pray on the multitude of ways she could’ve saved them or given herself in their place.

A breeze slipped through the Hellbender’s window and chilled the sweat under Wolfe’s armor.

After they buried the dead, Wolfe made her calls to the next-of-kin. None of them reacted in pain, just numb shock. They knew this day might come; the day when an unknown number left a voicemail about news that couldn’t be left in a voicemail.

That hurt the most. None of them called her out, none of them screamed and pleaded to her to send their baby home. She wished they would. She deserved it. And she could take it. That was the least she could do.

Later that night the General flew her out to Masada. He welcomed her inside his chamber and poured two scotches.

“I don’t drink, sir,” she said.

“Really?” the General said. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“Suppose it’s ‘cause you never offered before.”

“My apologies,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll treat you to a nice dinner instead.”

“Why, sir?” she said. “I lost five good ones today.”

“For a baker’s dozen of theirs,” he said. “Cleaned up the last of the Branded Brotherhood by my estimation. If it’s a war of attrition, Adrian, the numbers are on our side.”

“You’re talking numbers?” she said. “If you would’ve listened to me, they’d all still be alive. I should’ve had tech in that building. We could’ve clocked the hardware and still took out the Brotherhood.”

“Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” the General said. “That’s good for future strategy, Adrian, but it’s best not to dwell on the bloody math for too long. Can every life be that precious? Is that what they taught you in the Academy?”

“No, sir,” Wolfe said. “But it’s what I believe, sir.”

“You never say it out loud, but you cut me down every time we meet.”

“Don’t mean it that way, sir,” she said. “Honest.”

“The grunts don’t consider your intentions, Adrian,” he said. “They just see you undermining me.”

“Again, not my intention.”

“Every life counts, does it? Then let’s put that to the test. There’s a little hamlet on the edge of the Kronon Plateau. Not many folks. Saints took out their law enforcement and they’ve been tithing ever since. Perhaps you and your unit should take up residence there.”

“Is that the best use of my skills, sir?”

“Well, that’s the test, isn’t it?” he said. “You could make a real difference there, truly, but will that save them when the storm we’re fighting here blows across the dunes?”

“Don’t know, sir,” she said. “But seeing as how we don’t see eye-to-eye, perhaps it’s the best that we get out of each other’s way.”

“I’ll drink to that…”

Back in the Hellbender, Wolfe considered Blaine’s last words. The beginning of a sentence never finished. She tried to find the other half, but it never stopped changing.

There’s nothing in the casing.

There’s nothing we can do.

There’s nothing to it, boss!

The sun sunk a little more. The engine snarled down another hill. Wolfe’s hand slipped on the wheel.

She should’ve trusted her gut. She had promised to never make that mistake again. She shook her head and gripped the wheel tighter, reminding herself of that promise and where it was leading them now. She gripped the wheel and invoked her mantra.

There’s nothing, there’s nothing, there’s nothing…

6:7

Kronos International was one of the only financially secure industries left in the entire quadrant outside of moisture factories and the hospitality sector. The Pylon Transit Union had secured their contracts centuries ago and worded them very carefully to ensure continued profit as long as Terra remained occupied. If the guaranteed funding wasn’t obvious from the pristine, modern, and recently renovated food court and shopping hall, the 30-foot statue towering in the center of the drop-off area made it abundantly clear.

The Old Ones referred to her as Madame Liberty or the Mother of Exiles, but Terrans had dubbed her The Final Colossus. She stood wearing granite clothes and a Mona Lisa smirk. She held the great Book of Scrolls under one arm and in the other a torch containing a static generator. It sparked and crackled to simulate imprisoned lightning.

Mort led the way through the security line. He put his keys and phone in the bin and slid it through. Eugene turned out his pockets and went through without incident. Joules filled her bin with her phone, keys, spare bobby pins, headphones, earrings, but the scanner still went off.

“Nose ring,” she said to the security agent. He frowned and made a few passes up and down with the handheld detector.

Mort pressed on past baggage claim and spun around looking at all the postings and departures.

“Alright, I think I can take it from here,” Eugene said.

“Just a second,” Mort said. He fished out his wallet and handed Eugene his business card. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I don’t like leaving you all alone here, especially if your flight gets delayed or cancelled. Give me a ring if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Mort,” Eugene said.

“Don’t mention it,” Mort said. “Tell your dad to call as soon as he can.”

“Will do.”

Eugene waved at Joules, but she didn’t look over from security. He shrugged and drifted through the crowd toward his gate. It wasn’t hard to find; there was only one terminal and five gates to choose from. He stopped in the bookstore and busied himself by doing some rearranging. He took the sleeves from the latest thriller and switched them with the latest romance.

He checked the time. He had successfully killed 3 minutes. Only forty-five left to go. He groaned and left the store.

Across the way a disheveled young man played violin. Eugene watched the crowd wash over him like a clear river over perfect, smooth pebbles. Few marked his presence. A coin or wrinkled credit would drop into the case, but the relentless current of foot traffic pressed on.

His dad always played classical while working. It was annoying, especially when Eugene wanted to listen to literally anything else, but it struck a chord somewhere in him. He pictured his dad in his office, staring at the white board, scribbling calculations. Eugene chuckled at how he’d start conducting along with the music when he didn’t realize anyone was watching.

Eugene went over to the player and dropped in what he had.

“Thanks, man,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

“Sorry it’s not much,” Eugene said. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“Every little bit helps,” he said. “Give me some time and I’ll be headed back to Carbon City.”

“Where’d you learn to play?”

“Dad taught me,” the player said. “Well, when he wasn’t missing or stoned.” He turned down to tighten his strings. When he looked up, Eugene was gone.

And a fresh ticket to Earth in his violin case on top of loose change.

Mort sat at a console, scratching his head and frowning, while Joules was subjected to a third level security scan. Mort scanned through all available flights to and from Carbon City, Earth. Not a single one lined up with what Dick told him.

“Long time no see.”

Mort looked over his shoulder to see a familiar face.

“Eugene?” Mort said. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Eugene said. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He looked away and rubbed his neck. “But they won’t let me fly.”

“Why not?” Mort said.

“I guess you need a certified I.D.,” Eugene said. “Whatever that means. They asked for my birth certificate, like who has that on them?”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Mort said, still thinking about the flight history. “Would you like to stay with us? At least until we get this all sorted out.”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

Joules finally cleared security and walked up to them.

“What’s up, losers?” she said.

“We’re heading back,” Mort said. “They won’t let Eugene fly because his doesn’t have the right form of I.D.”

“But they cleared his credentials when he went through security,” Joules said. “Why would they do that, but not at the gate?”

“New policy, they said,” Eugene shrugged.

“So we just spent the whole day running all over creation trying to get rid of you,” she said. “And now you’re not even leaving?”

“Joules,” Mort said. “Be nice.”

“No, it’s cool,” she said. “I’m sure he feels real bad about wasting our time.” She turned around and headed back through security.

“Don’t mind her,” Mort said. “She gets awful hangry.”

“What’s that, dad?”

“Nothing, dear!”

6:8

The Hellbender lurched up the hill toward Kronos Road 25-A. Jas banged her head to the blaring radio. Wolfe did her best to ignore it and focus on the job. She rubbed her eyes and wished dunedusters came standard with coffee makers. The sun fell and the shadows spilled over the lower dunes, filling in the cracks, accentuating layers of dust and decay. Wolfe yawned and her eyes were closed for a split-second. When she opened them, she saw a figure standing in the middle of the road.

The form grew clear upon rapid approach: an old radiation suit, almost like the cartoon mascot painted on the old water tower in Hazmat. Fluorescent yellow, glowing. The suit took awkward steps in the sand; a deep sea diver wading through the bottom of an evaporated ocean.

Wolfe’s body went on instinct. Not a moment to spare for doubt. Every inch of her came to the same conclusion: avoid catastrophe.

She strangled the wheel and hit the brakes. The Hellbender growled as the wheels skidded and the rear popped into the air. The frame groaned; the front tires tore into sand. The whole thing flew end over end into the roadside ditch.

Wolfe opened her eyes. Dust fogged over all. The dashboard blinked in the haze and beep, beep, beeped over the incessant music. Wolfe flipped off the radio and groaned. Kale rushed over to Austen who had been thrown from the window.

A caravan of dirt bikes ramped over the road and whined down the hill.

“Saints!” Jas called out.

Machine gun fire peppered the broadside of the duster. Wolfe scrambled out of the window and whipped out her Viper. Kale held Austen, frozen in place on the other side of the upturned engine. Jas dove back inside to get her Sidewinder, her legs exposed, kicking from the Hellbender.

“Get to cover!” Wolfe said. She vaulted into position and dropped fire. “Now, bitches!”

Bullets spat up sand around Austen’s feet as Kale dragged her behind the wreck. A grenade fell at Wolfe’s feet and she kicked it away like a reflex, like it happened all the time. It went off and tore into a passing bike, sending it flipping into flames and dust. Jas pushed herself up and brandished her heavy gun. She cocked back the hammer and let hell fly.

CIVILIZED PEOPLE