IGMS Issue 38 Page 3

  Ek-Lo-Don pulled her out of the storage area and into the main room. Her escape would not be that easy.

  Noon the following day Ek-Lo-Don was back at the market near Lak-Do-Sil's apartment block. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered around the small platform that surrounded the justice bell. Ek-Lo-Don could already feel the hollowness inside him taking shape; a case was almost closed and he needed something else. Alongside him, two Peace Officers held Lo-Lo-Ran-Lan firmly, though the fight appeared to have left her.

  At the front of the crowd was the argumentative neighbour from her block, along with seven members of Lak-Do-Sil's family. They had chosen her fate and come to see justice meted out.

  Lo-Lo-Ran-Lan struggled feebly as Ek-Lo-Don produced a large syringe and inserted the needle into the soft, fleshy band beneath her chest plate. He pushed the plunger home smoothly and the female slumped against her restrainers. Within seconds she began to shudder and pulled her claws in tight to her body.

  There was a murmur of discomfort from the watchers as great patches of skin began to slough off, much larger and thicker than would naturally occur. It was something that would never happen in public, certainly not among the civilised. Even the routine sloughing of worn skin was generally carried out in private. This chemically-induced process was much more far-reaching. Lo-Lo-Ran-Lan seemed to shrink in on herself as the process of transformation into a drone took hold in earnest. It did not last long. Lo-Lo-Ran-Lan diminished in size and in status, lost her gender and many of her rights.

  Ek-Lo-Don forced himself to watch the distasteful sight. Lak-Do-Sil's family, too, kept their vision on their relative's killer.

  The process complete, the Peace Officers released their hold. Lo-Lo-Ran-Lan stood meekly, awaiting its new life. The eldest male of Lak-Do-Sil's relatives stepped forward and raised his upper claws to show the branding iron bearing his family's icon. He pressed it into the newly-smooth flesh of Lo-Lo-Ran-Lan chest plate, marking it as their drone, to work for their family and provide what penance it could.

  The deed done, Ek-Lo-Don turned and struck the justice bell. The mournful toll sounded across the plaza, a signal to all that a killing had been avenged. A signal to himself that life went on, even after tragedy and addiction. The bell sounded seven times as Ek-Lo-Don struck it over and over. The sound of death.

  Underwater Restorations - Part 2

  by Jeffrey A. Ballard

  Artwork by M. Wayne Miller

  * * *

  This is not my favorite part. I love the free-fall descent, and tolerate the unnatural ascent. But bouncing between the two for the purposes of hovering -- not so much. It's not even hovering, it's jerking me up and down, mixing the contents of my stomach up like some Rube Goldberg blender.

  We designed the suits to work in the ocean. The extra force from buoyancy helps smooth out the motion. Buoyancy is negligible in air -- it makes for a bumpy ride. There wasn't time to see if we could modify the subroutine. Even worse, the reverse-gravity modules work on a closed system, which means I'm in the full gravity suit, helmet included, jammed over my night vision goggles. My peripheral vision's cut off and what I can see is distorted through a curved glass plate. Plus, everything I hear sounds distant. I'm going in almost deaf with tunnel vision. Maybe I should've shoved nose plugs up my nose to match the motif.

  I oscillate outside a window that's been filled in with brick to match the rest of the side of the three-story building. Pete's office is on the other side. I have no idea if he's in there. For this to work, Pete can't have any clue something is amiss and that means setting the laser cutter on the narrowest setting. So narrow, that I can't even fit a scope-wire through to see if the office is occupied.

  I have to time the laser cutter with my mini-ascents, as I cut through the mortar. Thankfully, the brick in the window was added later so all the edges around the window are straight. There's a slight dip in the cut along the left edge, where I realized this would've been a perfect task for Winn's steady surgeon hands.

  I put the laser cutter in my pack and take out handles, which I attach to the center of the brick window. I push the brick forward into the office. It slides smoothly but not easily. Two hundred pounds of brick isn't trivial to move. The moment of truth is when the brick is halfway into the office. I need to push the brick in, get into the office and reverse the gravity enough not to slam the brick on the floor. If Pete's in there, I'm a sitting duck. If I drop it, without the additional weight I'll hit the ceiling.

  The gravity subroutine will help with lowering the two-hundred pound block, but I still have to hold it, it's still two hundred pounds. Holding a cannon ball descending or ascending is still holding a cannon ball. I check my gravity subroutine and get ready to push.

  I pause to see if I can detect any clue about what's on the other side. I can't.

  I push the block the rest of the way.

  Several things happen. My arms are seriously considering life without my body. It's dark and I feel more than see that I'm descending too fast. I try to get my legs down toward the floor, but it's all I can do to keep ahold of the damn block of bricks. My legs end up parallel to the floor behind me, with the block of bricks leading the charge.

  Thunk.

  Even through my helmet I can tell that was a hell of a lot louder than I intended. Books, it landed on books. They softened the blow, but there's no time to waste.

  I quickly search the room. No one's in the office. The night vision goggles paint the room green. The brick cutout rests squarely on several piles of books, it didn't even knock any over. The brick walls are bare, but several bookcases are set along the walls and full with either books or knick-knacks -- probably trophies of some kind. Directly across from the door is an oversized desk illuminated by the light from under the door. It's a monstrous wooden thing. I wouldn't be surprised if Pete had it raised just so he could look down at people when doing business.

  I turn off the gravity subroutine and take off my helmet so I can hear properly. Hopefully, if I have to bolt, I'll have enough warning to get it back on and escape.

  The safe is waist high and almost as wide and deep, and at least five hundred pounds of the latest and greatest steel alloy. There's no way I'm moving this thing by hand. Which is where Puo's idea comes in.

  I take Puo's modified extra gravity suit, which is the largest we have, out of my pack and start sliding it over the safe. Once most of it's stretched into position I turn it on. Even though the suit isn't a closed system yet, it's enough to generate a weak gravity field, reducing the weight enough for me to get the rest of the suit around the bottom. I seal the gravity suit and activate the hover subroutine. It rises and bounces between my chin and chest.

  I'm silent for this job so I signal Puo it's ready.

  Puo speaks through my earpiece, "I'm one minute and forty seconds away."

  I signal back "acknowledged." Puo is up in the Pelican driving a loop in the airways around the area. Each loop takes about four minutes. Which means there's only a twenty second window every four minutes when the safe can be delivered, or I can be picked up.

  I guide the safe toward the window. When Puo gives the signal --

  Voices. Someone's approaching the door.

  One, maybe two. I can't tell. I scoop up my helmet. The safe is blocking the only way out. I position myself to chuck the safe at the door and start to squeeze my helmet on.

  The handle twists and the door shunts inward. It's locked!

  I freeze with my helmet halfway on and listen over my beating heart.

  "Do you have a key?" a man with a deep voice asks.

  "No," another man answers, "it's Pete's office. He don't give no one keys to his office."

  Oh, thank God for Pete's paranoia. That stupid bastard just bought me time.

  The first man says, "Then we have to call Pete."

  "I ain't callin' Pete."

  "You said you heard something."

  "I did."

  Puo thunders in my earpiece
. "Forty seconds away." I know the men can't hear Puo, but his voice is jarring. "Launch the package in thirty. Sync in three-two-one, sync."

  I activate a hack of the pickup routine on the safe and push it outside the window. When Puo's in position the safe will fall into the sky.

  "Fine, I'll call him," the first man says. "But you're going to tell him what you heard."

  "If you're calling him, why don't you tell him? I don't want to wake Pete up."

  The voices fade down the hallway the way they came. I look out the window, the safe's gone.

  Fifteen seconds later Puo comes on the line again. "Package delivered, unwrapping it now."

  I type the situation out on the communicator. We have probably less than ten minutes, including getting that brick back in place.

  Puo responds. "Understood."

  It's all business for him now. He's in his element with the safe. Safe cracking is about as intimate as I've ever seen Puo get. I've even heard him refer to it as caressing the tumbler.

  I'm tempted to go through Pete's stuff while I wait, wipe boogers on the coffee mug, run his pencils through my ass crack, that sort of junior high stuff that's stupid but so oddly satisfying. But he can't know we were here. Even though he's probably on his way right now.

  If Pete catches on, this whole thing is blown. Pete needs to find something. Something that could explain the noise, justify him getting called, but stop him from looking further.

  There's a bookcase with adjustable shelves by the window and the top shelf is even overloaded. I remove all the items and scatter them about like they fell. The bookcase is close enough to where I set the brick cutout down that it could justify kicking over the books when I leave to cover any debris. The laser cutter takes care of the front left-side adjustable piece that holds the shelf. A slight cut is enough for me to break the rest of it with my hands, giving it a sheared, tried-to-hold-too-much-weight look. Perfect.

  It's been three and half minutes since the safe left. Pete could be here any second. I query Puo on his status and wait for a response.

  And wait. And wait.

  Four minutes and forty-five seconds. I have to get the safe back in and restore the brick wall. I resist the urge to keep pinging Puo, he's probably in the middle of climaxing.

  Five minutes, fifty-one seconds. Puo speaks through my earpiece. "Got it. Repackaging and ready to drop in two minutes ten seconds."

  My impatience flares. Two minutes of dead time. Two minutes for simple repositioning. Two minutes of Pete drawing closer.

  Time hasn't been kind to me lately. The past eighteen or so hours have passed like minutes, now the minutes pass like hours. Every creak of the building, every noise coming from the street through the window sounds like a gunshot. It's wearing on my nerves.

  And the damn musky smell of Pete's office isn't helping. I should've worn nose plugs. The smell is overpowering, almost like Pete's in the room. I can't decide if Pete uses a cologne that makes this room stink, or if this room makes Pete stink.

  Finally, Puo says, "Twenty seconds out."

  I force my helmet back on.

  Puo continues, "Sync in three-two-one, sync."

  I sync my gravity subroutine and go outside the window to direct the safe back in. The safe is falling toward me. This is a precision drop like nothing we've done before. At least when I drop, on the way down I can adjust to some degree where I'll land. The safe doesn't have arms and legs to steer. But objects don't just fall straight down when pushed off a moving vehicle. They capture some of the momentum. It's all part of the calculation and fervent prayer.

  Fortunately, in a night sky that is clouded with moving objects, the safe is hard to distinguish against the background. Unfortunately, it looks like it's going to hit the edge of the roof.

  Clang!

  The safe clips it and spins on the way down. I'm able to corral it, but the noise is on the level of throwing a metal trash can to the ground.

  Well, if they didn't hear the first noise, they certainly heard that. I get the safe back into the room, set it in place, and remove the gravity suit. I look the safe over. No scuff marks that I can see; must have hit on the bottom or back, which is fine with me.

  Puo says, "Isa, a vehicle just descended and pulled in front."

  Thirty, forty-five seconds at best before Pete gets here. I'm already moving.

  All I need to do is move that two-hundred pound block of bricks that nearly ripped my arms off once before. I dart into my pack to get the handles and stop when I brush up against the extra gravity suit. It worked with the safe.

  I put the modified gravity suit on the back the bricks first, then attach the handles.

  Shadows start jumping underneath the crack of the door. They're coming.

  I activate the gravity subroutine. Two-hundred plus pounds of brick magically turns manageable. I kick over the books.

  I'm in the air with my ass outside the window, about to fit the bricks back in place, when the shadows stop moving again.

  They're outside the door.

  I might make it, they might not notice the wall right away. I line up the edges.

  The left edge won't fit. The brick wall is upside down.

  I freeze. It's over.

  I get ready to use the blocks as a weapon. I strain and can barely hear someone's soft garbled voice. They keep talking. They're just standing there.

  I seize the opportunity and flip the block around. Sweat drips down the back of my neck from the effort. They still haven't opened the door. I fit the block into place and pull it flush. I made it.

  I take the handles off and remove the modified gravity suit. My adrenaline's so high I think I can hear them through the brick. I'm left with an uneasy feeling. What did I forget?

  The distant voices are getting louder. They're not in the office. They're on the roof, heading straight toward me.

  I use the building to leapfrog myself toward the back of the building. Silence is secondary to speed. I just turn the corner when my heart stops.

  A muffled yell, followed by a back-and-forth I can't distinguish.

  My eyes are glued to the roofline.

  One one-thousand -- two one-thousand -- three one-thousand. No movement.

  The muffled talking continues. They must've found where the safe hit the roof. With any luck, they'll assume it was some type of throwaway from the sky.

  My body can't take much more adrenaline. I use the gravity suit to drop to the ground and make a run for it. I need to find someplace to hole up in and have Puo come pick me up. I think I might finally be able to sleep after this.

  Three hours later I'm back on the Pelican getting cleaned up. What I really need is a decent shower, but I'm making do with a wash cloth and a fresh change of clothes.

  After escaping from Pete's place, Puo and I decided he couldn't just drop down and get me after all. Personal air vehicles aren't very common descending down into Pete's slum. The Pelican would be noticed -- and reported.

  I ended up having to wait for public transportation to start back up and take me to a better part of town for the pickup. I passed three of the dullest hours known to man, sitting in an all-night diner in my own filth, keeping an eye on the door. I hadn't planned on taking off my gravity suit, so I sat in the diner in a tank top and black yoga pants, plastered in sweat. Fortunately, with my odor, I fit right in at the place.

  Those three hours weren't completely wasted, though. Puo's been deciphering the ledger. I finish cleaning up and walk into the cabin.

  Puo looks solemn, resigned.

  "Well?" I ask.

  "Pete stacks."

  I slump into the chair next to him. Stacking is when a mark splits his stash among multiple locations. "How many?"

  "Definitely four, possibly five. There's something else, Isa. Pete keeps his wealth in the physical. Jewels, precious metals and the like. Even if we could hit all the stacks, we can't physically move everything by ourselves. The Pelican's too small. We can't expose ourselves t
o get help."

  "We don't have to steal it, just destroy it or stop him from getting access."

  "Isa, Pete's loaded. We could hit all but one and he'd survive."

  Where's Puo's optimism now? His we-can-do-anything attitude? Suddenly, it gets hard and he wants to roll over?

  "Isa, you gotta call him."

  "Stop using my name, Puo. It's annoying, Puo. I'm not a child, Puo."

  Puo taps the tan ledger. "Pete's embezzling."

  Interesting. The Boss gets a cut of all the crime that goes down in the city. If Pete's embezzling and we have proof, then we're not coming to him in a position of weakness. We're whistle blowers doing the Boss a favor, still looked down on like scum, but maybe after everything is cleared up we could leak the true story.

  But God, I hate calling the Boss. I'll be perceived as a scared little girl, "Daddy, there's a big bad man after me. Daddy, I need you to protect me. Daddy, I'm too weak to help myself." It's enough to make me sick. Pete deserves it though.

  "You gotta call him," Puo repeats.

  "Fine." My brain's shot. I can't think of anything else that might work. I'll make the call later at a more civilized hour.

  I lean into the reclined seat. I haven't slept in almost twenty-six hours. My nerves are fried, my brain's dead, my body's exhausted. Falling asleep isn't the problem -- staying asleep is.

  The twenty-minute chunks are the high performers. The rest average between ten and fifteen minutes. Every time I slide into sleep, Winn is there to meet me.

  His clean-shaven face gains a gray, scraggly beard. His well-fitting clothes morph into a disheveled prison uniform. The worst are the images of his hands. His soft, surgeon's hands. Steady and strong, turning into cracked, nicotine-stained skeletons bound by handcuffs.

  After about an hour and half of this, I give up. Winn will haunt me waking or sleeping. At least while awake, I can block some of it out.

  It's 8:00 a.m. Winn is due to be released in an hour and a half. If the Feds do release him. They're probably working overtime to pin the theft on him. Even if he is released, Pete will pick him up at the first opportunity to work off his debt.