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Waking up in the morning was a disconcerting combination of mental fog that comes with sleep deprivation and internal alertness that comes with knowing something was wrong.
My eyes shot open and I knew right then what was wrong.
I was late for work.
Grumbling loudly I stood up, and noticed how sore my muscles were from last nights encounter. But its not like I even had time to heal from the encounter before that one.
The first attack happened one week ago as I left from work. At first I thought it was a robbery attempt that was going to result in a very disappointed robber when he found out how poor I was. But then he used my name. I knew it was more than a simple pick-pocketing. After a struggle and a lucky shot to the jaw, I was able to disarm him. That's when I found the first brown folder in his jacket. 246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSK1OsZ70Mw
The Patrol Officers I reported the whole thing to said the hit was probably taken out by a jilted lover or an old acquaintance I had wronged in the past. They failed to take into account how solitary my existence was. I was never someone who made friends easily, nor did I want to. Trusting another person was not something I did very often.
The next attack occurred two days later. A cybernetically enhanced Rioligan attacked as I went for my morning run. His synthetic adrenal glands made him strong and fast. A bad combination when you are on the wrong end of the fight. I tried to fight him off the best I could, but I knew I was losing. Just as I was accepting my fate, an old man immobilized him with an expertly taken shot from a stun pistol. Before I could even thank him for saving my life, he said my name.
As a rule I don't fight women or old men; it isn't honorable. However that day I broke the rule. And that's when I found the next two folders. Same simple message, same picture of myself. I knew something big was going on, so I finally decided to keep these attacks to myself and not file a crime report. I needed to find out what was going on and I couldn't do that if Patrol Officers were sniffing around.
The fourth attack happened three days later. An avian Turtep managed to hack into the security system of my apartment building and break in. He was waiting for me when I got home. Despite working for a personal weapons manufacturer, I don't believe in carrying a weapon. Granted if I did it would have made this past week a little easier to handle.
The Turtep didn't feel the same about weapons. His weapon was powerful and highly illegal. Its only disadvantage was a slow recharge rate between bolts. That allowed me to grab a nearby heavy object and introduce it to his feathery head. His folder contained the same message but a different picture. The forth and fifth folders had the same picture.
I resisted the urge to take another look at the folders. They haven't changed since the hours I spent examining them. None of them held any clues as to why people keeping trying to end my life. 246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO6nkeZmXII
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The intercom announcement jolted me from my thoughts.
“Kurron Raja report to the Leads Office immediately.”
I set the casing for the new L200 Plasmic back on the conveyor belt and headed off the Leads Office. The only two possibilities for being summoned that I could think of; I was getting fired or getting promoted. I was not a fan of either one of those options.
Lead Tonosho was setting behind his massive wooden desk talking to someone I'd never seen before.
“Ah Raja, come in.” Lead Tonosho said as I stepped in. He was an older, balding man. He had been with the company so long he had become a fixture. He was about as boring as one too.
He laced his fingers together as though he was going to dispense profound wisdom. He gestured with his head to the Ce'Ok standing next to the desk. “I want you meet Veox. This is his first day with Felix Inc.”
I refrained from asking what the point of this was and simply nodded at Veox. He returned the gesture, but it seemed oddly out of place when he did it.
Leads Tonosho stood and walked around his desk. Seriously though, why did he even need a desk that big? Didn't he realize he was just the Lead of a small weapons manufacturer; not some multi-Quadrant conglomerate?
“I want you to train Veox on the casing conveyor.”
I barely suppressed a sigh. “What about Ja'a'zer, he always does the training?”
“He is in the Pelizar Quadrant. Apparently there is something wrong with his work visa and he has to get it sorted out.”
I frowned. How could there be a problem with his visa now, he has been here for years?
“So I need you Raja.” The way he said it made it sound like it was an honor he had just distributed upon me.
It was not.
“Fine. Ready to start?” Veox nodded and followed me out.
I had never met a Ce’to’k before. They were from Sector 14. They joined the Alliance of Inhabited Sectors just a few years before we did. Their race was known for being withdrawn and unsocial, which is probably why they were one of the last ones to join. I studied him slightly as he walked along. His scaly skin was light, which meant he was young. But when your lifespan is hundreds of years, young could mean a lot of things. He was shorter than me but much broader and I estimated much stronger. His face was square, his eyes were on the large side. His nose slits and narrow mouth finished his alien face.
I showed him the basics of the casing conveyor and within ten minutes he was grabbing pieces and expertly putting the small weapon together.
“So you have done this before, worked a casing conveyor?” I asked
“No. I am just very familiar with handheld weapons.”
“I see. Military or Patrol?”
“Neither. I am just very familiar with handheld weapons.” He repeated.
“Ah ok.” I said as if his answer cleared anything up.
Veox tried his hand at small talk for the rest of the day but it was almost painful. Clearly he learned it from watching other, more sociable creatures, but it seemed rehearsed when he tried it. Perhaps the rumors of his race being unsocial weren't exaggerated. When the end of day bell interrupted his prattle about the weather, I felt relieved for him.
As we stood in line near the back doorway to clock out, Veox pointed to the scrolling bulletin board next to the ID card scanner. “Are you still looking for a roommate?”
I looked at the display. My short request asking for a roommate to split the rent in half with scrolled past the screen and was replaced by a request looking for a used car. I had forgotten I even put that up. I nodded “Yeah. Why, are you looking to room with someone?”
“Yes; I just moved to the Quadrant and am living in a less than desirable motel.”
“Well its nothing special, its in the Historic District so its run down. But it is one step above less than desirable. When would you like to look at it?”
“Now.”
I nodded. Of course.
As we headed off towards the parking lot, I wondered why the knot in my stomach tightened.
The following two weeks went very smoothly. Veox moved his very meager amount of personal items into the apartments second bedroom and we soon had a routine. He kept a very strict schedule, he woke up at the same time every day and went to bed at the same time. He stayed mostly to himself except when at work. But then again, so did I.
The most surprising part of the two weeks was that there were no more attacks. After five attacks in as many days, for two weeks there was nothing. No one jumping out from the dark, no one lurking or following, or otherwise acting dubious. I should have felt relief over this fact but it only caused my stomach to knot up more. The attacks were unpleasant to say the least, but they had become consistent. Now suddenly that consistency was gone. Something had changed, I just had no idea what.
I didn't like not knowing.
I kept these attacks and the little folders to myself, choosing to not sound like a lunatic to my new roommate. I doubted he or anyone could have been much help anyway. I racked my brain for those two uneventful weeks trying to figure out why five people who were seemingly complete strangers to me would have a photo and instructions to kill me. 246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwgHkkPVekL
Up until this point my life has been uneventful. I grew up on Mars, never traveled out of system, and except for my short career as a Patrol Officer I haven't even held down a prominent job. I have gone from odd job to odd job, never finding anything that interested me. In the 30 some years I have been alive, I was fairly certain I hadn't angered anyone enough to warrant five assassination attempts.
And yet the proof was setting in a drawer next to my bed. Five orders given to end my life. Who sent the orders? Were the people who attacked me random or were they chosen for a specific reason I didn't understand?
I contemplated all of this standing outside of work, leaning against a hybrid oak tree during my lunch break. I enjoyed the back lot here; it faced an empty, overgrown lot and was the only green that could be seen for miles. 246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrAGfmxYYtM
The hybrid tree was nice, but not as nice as the real thing. Supposedly to get them to grow in the Martian soil they had to be spliced and modified so much they were more artificial then anything else. It was obvious too. Their leaves were a little too green and their bark was a little symmetrical to be natural. And then there was the smell. I was pretty sure trees weren't supposed to have such a strong smell.
My break was almost over and I was trying to calm my raging thoughts before I had to head back in. I had succeeded in convincing myself that there was no one lurking in the shadows waiting to end my life when the tree exploded.
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