#06 HONOR AMONG THIEVES
357Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDKQIxvamHB
The majority of animal species that once inhabited Earth had disappeared before humanity even reached Jupiter. In fact, the few that could have been saved after WW3 had a hard time living in the cosmos. Have you ever attempted to administer a tapeworm pill to a dog? Well, you should try giving it high-gs sugar.
The sapiens, besides hating solitude, appeared to be particularly melancholic about their existence in our good ol’ Blue Planet. It didn’t take much more for megacorporations to see this as an extremely lucrative market. Clear-sighted marketing suit-teams immediately pushed the development of the genetic manufacturing of animals. But there were miracles in the universe. Some species had been able to survive unaltered. I, for example, was a real Maine Coon—not a vat critter.
I have a pedigree!
The first time I met a natural fish was at the Ceres City Water Market. It was a few months ago, during our previous visit. And I remember perfectly this sublime small white koi dappled with red. When we returned to Ceres, this delicate creature still danced there in its fresh filtered water basin; its silky scales shining under the soft lanterns.
I couldn’t believe it, even an hour later. “What magnificence! The best meal of my life!” I cried out.
Behind the white plastic counter in front of me, Germaine laughed. “I kept dat lil’ one ‘specially for ya, Frenchy!”
Germaine O’Maley, a perfect Bewitch’s Endora’s doppelganger with her shaggy rust-colored perm and blue mascara, was the chef of the most popular restaurant in the water market. I befriended this lovely lady on my last visit. At the time, Ali and I had secured her annual profit in one single week. In hindsight, that explained some of our recent financial problems.
“Isn’t little Blondie with ya?” asked the cook with the thickest Irish accent I have ever heard as she served me a pint of soda from the chrome implant sticking out of her right hand. Her skinny shoulders supported a fiberglass collar holding more than ten bricks of alcohol and various Campa Cola flavors from vanilla to Buffalo wings. Unfortunately, they tasted from gasoline to stomach cancer.
I couldn’t answer her question fluently as my mouth was full of carp curry: “Dunno. Widout any interesting contracts since dis VR programs smugglers, Ali had disappeared in de Red Lights District despite the AIDS pandemic. ‘been there for seven Martian rotations now.”
“Again?”
“She habing fun. Let her be.”
Germaine rolled her eyes and turned on the color TV set. A bikini-bimbo with a whale spout and her unbearable McKee were hosting the evening info-ads on SpaceFox, the crappiest network of the system. Between two insufferable giggles, they were reporting the latest news on the ninth planet’s potential discovery beyond the Dwarves. The entire system has been talking about it for a few days. Settlers and corporations were in turmoil. Pirates too.
These headlines left Germaine pensive. “I remember the rush towards Kuiper, like—tales of gold clouds over the Cliff. Blood snow on Sedna…”
“Mermaids on Makemake,” I added ironically.
The tenant frowned while switching to another channel for her daily Dinner at Julia’s. “There were.”
I snorted before finishing my carp. Retired sailors always came up with crazy stories.
“Darn cat! ‘was there!” she insisted, hitting the bar with the remote’s tip. “I’ve seen what I’ve se—”
“Excuse me, dear Madam.” We were interrupted by one of the restaurant’s customers, a big bald guy with wired glasses. In his hands trembled F.A.B., for once completely mute. The poor fellow had his antenna all twisted and seemed terrified.
“Goddamn! Can’t watch the telly in peace!” Germaine complained after thanking the client with a free plate of greasy cumin chapatis she picked up in the small fridge beneath the TV set. “What happened to yar flying tin can?”
“Let me ask it.”
Fortunately, F.A.B. pulled itself together and quickly returned to being as annoying as ever. “Greetings! Nigel Hemingwest, Auxiliary #MA-1-20XX-11—” creaked the robot.
“Hemingwest!” I immediately shouted as I turned around to glance at the still quiet room despite the roaring AC.
“Friend of yars?” asked Germaine as she wiped her hands on her greasy apron.
“A scum of the worst kind,” I replied, always on the lookout.
“I’d take dat as a yes.”
I left F.A.B. to Germaine as a pledge in advance of payment before heading straight to the terrace overlooking the water market, this swarming anarchic labyrinth. Released from a Techno-Police van hovering at my height, a howling cubic drone skimmed over the stalls and cloudy aquariums. It was a bad omen. When the winged spy rang over a mobile canteen, I witnessed a dozen federal agents in black armor suddenly coming out of the truck. They proceeded to violently arrest the defendant and despite the fine-particle mask covering his long nose, I could recognize the bounty hunter we had expelled from Yggdrasil.
“Here you are, Hemingwest. Let’s picture why those Techno-fascists are capturing you!” Crawling on the red neon sign of Germaine’s restaurant, I managed to discreetly leap on the thrusters of the flying van. Then, I was able to climb the side beacons to reach the rooftop as the vehicle subsequently began its descent into the market. Finally, I glanced inside through the roof grate before the police escorted Hemingwest to the backdoors. And guess who I found. “Ali! What on Mars are you doing here? Wait… are those handcuffs?”
My turbulent partner—in leather boxer shorts and shackled from head to toe, was sitting alone on one of the van’s side benches. Her face and breasts were covered with shiny glitter. “Sup, Lee?” she said, high as a meteodrone. “The cuffs? No, I had them before the pigs came at me… I guess.”
“What would your father—No. Wait! There are more important things!” I shouted from beyond the bars. “Hemingwest has also been apprehended!”
She burped. “Lemming-wha—Oh! The asshole with the dick nose? Shit!” worried my human. “Do you think the feds know about Yggdrasil and Marcellàn?”
I shook my head. It was unlikely that anyone on the green station could have leaked the incident. Moreover, it was in Hemingwest’s interest to keep his lips sealed.
A couple of seconds later, the bounty hunter was thrown on the bench in front of Ali. He didn’t stop shouting at the police: “Bastards! You should be locking up this unqualified street vendor! I almost scalded myself with his lassi at room temperature!” Discovering he wasn’t alone inside the vehicle, he remained silent for a moment. But, as soon as he recognized my partner, it was a flurry of insults until an officer quelled them both with a ranged taser.
The van raced up the water market that had lit its blue lanterns announcing the night cycle. We then flew over the colorful Mandir Park before reaching the heart of the Central East District via the busy inner boulevard. Overhanging ornamental pools, the huge Techno-Police bureau looked like an intimidating gopuram as it once existed on Earth.
I could hold on tightly with my claws despite the speed of the vehicle. This wasn’t the time to be raving about Ceres’s architecture. I had to get my sapiens out of this mess. And what a mess!
On the ground black tarmac awaited the overweight Ceres’s Techno-Governor and a group of assault robots looking like strong-armed sloths with buzzing electric shields. But most important, at their side, straight as an arrow stood our beloved captain: Yossef Braun Kamirov.
My human, the first to emerge from the patrol wagon with a taser dart stuck in the middle of her forehead, was as surprised as I was; so stunned she loudly threw up on the Governor’s feet. “Sorry ‘bout that!” she mumbled, on all fours. Classic Ali.
“Now that the two most unpredictable free electrons in the area are out of the way, we can continue our operations,” Braun told the politician while already inspecting Hemingwest from head to toe.
Leaving my hiding place on the roof, I noiselessly slipped under the van.
“Operations? What right do you have to shackle a decorated auxiliary like me?” Hemingwest complained. “This is a blatant violation of the agreement made with the Alliance! You shall pay for this felony!”
The MP stared at him before silently turning back to Ali as an officer was adjusting a fluorescent green isothermal blanket on her shoulders. “I spoke too fast,” he pursued. “We’re missing a troublemaker…” I purred. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s not the most essential element.” Strange. So, Rasputin must have been talking about someone else.
“You’re both here for the Data Maiden, am I right?” the Techno-Governor asked, as far from my partner as she could.
My brain froze. Zéphyr in town? I could feel Ali’s blood boiling from here. Small puffs of steam would promptly escape from the green blanket. With all the synthetic drugs running in her veins, my sapiens could become a fire hazard.
We had no idea that the androgynous thief was on Ceres. Even so, Braun didn’t want to hear anything and decided to throw the two bounty hunters into solitary confinement until the threat was averted. “And if they try something, just buzz them again!” the Soviet concluded. The rule of law, ‘technocratic’ style.
The van took off shortly after the officers calmly escorted Ali into the federal building. Hemingwest wasn’t so fortunate and was jostled with lathi after spitting on the governor’s floral Carona shoes still covered with vomit.
As soon as I could, I slipped discreetly into the nearest gutter, crawling towards the coolant vats. I didn’t want to let them out of my sight, but following my sapiens was inconceivable. Luckily, a poorly closed air vent was visible through the dust raised by the vehicle. “Agent Whiskers on duty!” I whispered while starting humming Mission Impossible’s main theme.
Alas! By being too cocky, I was quickly grabbed by a metal clip on my neck. A MK-S assault robot looked at me with its four rotating eyes. It emitted a shrill whistle as it brought me closer to the identification module on its chest.
“Namaste?” I meowed, my ears pressed back.
The next minute I was in a cage with two raccoons. And our destination was unequivocal: the wet market stalls of the neighboring district.
357Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ75mgvEIRZR
I didn’t see the artificial light until the third day, when a merchant with rooster sauce-stained hands tried to catch one of my unfortunate companions. I bit him hard enough to draw blood before I was half knocked unconscious with a stick. Vengeful, he grabbed me instead. I had saved this charming couple of trash pandas, but that was the end for me.
“Lee?”
My vision blurred, I couldn’t make out the features of the face in front of me. Argument in a language I didn’t understand happened, and I was sprayed with frozen water. The thermal shock brought me back to life. I straightened up on my four legs, arched back with a puffed-up tail; ready to fight again. “Remember the Alamo!” May the Ragnarök or the Kali Yuga come running!
I was stopped by a scratch behind the left ear. “I thought you looked familiar…” someone said. It was the sweet voice of what appeared to be a young human with short white hair and an onyx complexion.
I didn’t know that fellow but I recognized the voice! “Miss Meera!” I shouted. “Or should I say Zéphyr!”
The androgynous thief put two cold fingers on my snout. I was tempted to bite them had they not been made of metal. “Be quiet, will you!” the Data Maiden uttered discreetly. “It’s a good thing I was in the neighborhood. What are you doing here?”
I first pleaded for the release of my two companions and the two raccoons followed us to the exit of the alley. Afterwards, on the way to her hideout, I advised Zéphyr about the events that had almost seen me turn into a spring roll. I told her everything from Hemingwest to the manhunt set up by Braun and the Techno-Police.
“I understand,” she said, slamming the door of the yellow taxicab that had just dropped us off. “The Corps didn’t appreciate my break-in into Camp MacArthur’s archives.”
“What archives? What did you steal from them so they had to send Van Damme after you?”
“Information!” sang Zéphyr. “Lots of intelligence worth a lot of dollar-credits! But it’s already sold to a data broker near Io and, therefore, ancient history.”
“Data Maiden.”
“Yes?”
“I need you.”
ns 15.158.61.6da2
