For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 5

               “You aren’t going.”

               Nyx came to a sudden stop, not sure if she had heard him correctly.

               “I’m sorry,” she looked up at her partner, “Wait, what?” Her fist clenched.

               “You aren’t going with the group. This is too dangerous.”

               “Are you shitting me, Bronson?!”

               Her voice was louder than she had meant for it to be. They were still on the outskirts of the Government district and were both getting quite a few looks now. There were more guards posted in that area, thusly people were better behaved. It was considered the professional area of the city, or so that was the idea. It was still just as poor though, even if the buildings were bigger and the rich lived there, you were all still stuck in the same floating mass of metal.

               Bronson looked up and noticed one of the security guards watching them, someone he had never met before since he had never worked this area. Guards like Bronson were the really good ones, upstanding, reliable; almost caring in some cases. The truth was though that depending on where you were you were just as likely to be beat down by a guard if they didn’t like what you were doing. People feared them not only because of their ability to carry firearms but that they had an unwritten code, guards sided with guards.

               “Keep walking,” Bronson said in a hushed voice to her as he motioned with a hand. They moved quietly for two more blocks until they were near the rail lines, giving Nyx time to fume. Once they were away from other people a bit more Bronson turned and faced her.

               “It’s too dangerous, Nyx. There are too many variables. We aren’t in control on this one, no matter how much he wants us to think that we are.” Bronson kept glancing around as he spoke, as if he thought the walls were listening. “I’m not going to put you in that kind of danger.”

               “Oh fuck you!” Her face was flushed red and her hand was shaking. “Who has been going to Earth with you ever since your brother got put away? Tell me Bron, who?” She pointed a finger at him accusingly. “How many times have I gone down there with you, knowing the risks, knowing what could happen and how no one would give a fuck if it did?”

               “This is different. You don’t know what you’re agreeing to here, no matter what they offered you back there.” Bronson folded his arms over his chest, standing his ground.

               “Hey, I got summoned there too, just like you did.”

               Bronson sighed audibly.

               “What did you say to me after we first met?”

               “What,” he asked with a mild irritation in his voice, realizing he had lost.

               “What,” she paused between words for emphasis, “did you say to me after we first met? You came in and broke up that big fight in the White Tiger. You saw that I could handle myself and after it was all said and done we started talking about the trips down to Earth.” She let the words sink in. “You said I had proven something to you and you said what?”

               He looked over her shoulder almost when he answered, he didn’t want to look into her eyes.

               “I told you that you had the right to die for your own survival like everyone else, that you earned a chance to make the most of it.”

               “Right,” she said with her hands on her hips, still in her defensive mode. “No one else in this city wanted to go planet side with a girl. You saw I was capable and listened to your brain instead of just seeing my gender. So why go all chivalry and soft as shit on me now? Did I lose that right you once told me I had?”

               “Of course not, you’ve proven yourself more than capable.”

               “Am I am liability?”

               “Furthest thing from it, actually.”

               “Then Bron, don’t bullshit me over this.” She softened her assault. “You heard him; you know what this could mean for me.”

               He nodded. He knew how important it was for her. Looking further away he made his last decree.

               “I know we don’t have much or any family really, but we should get our affairs in order before we go.”

               Nyx just nodded quietly with her new found perspective. Bronson’s words ringing in her ear.

               Running across the street, Nyx was lit up by the lights of the ATV that pulled the trailer behind it, honking for her to get out of the way. It was humid down this low, next to the plants, turbines, and engines. This part of the city hadn’t been redone in the past several years and it showed. It was easiest to see where they converted the large boat like ships that brought people up not that long ago into these lower parts of the cities. She felt sweat bead up on her forehead as she reached the building that acted as the headquarters of Yin Contractors.

               She paused at the old metal door and zipped her grey hooded sweatshirt up as far as it would go, pulling the hood up over her head. She wished she had time to go home and change out of the short denim shorts. It had just been one of those nights though. She didn’t regret how nice that the shorts made her ass look, just that she might get groped.

               Knocking three times she grew louder with each strike. There was a chance they wouldn’t hear her if she didn’t. The door opened with a thick cloud of smoke that escaped from the small basement room. She could see inside to the multiple tables with drinking and gambling going on at them. An aged Asian man in a wife beater that was soaked in sweat and smelled like cheap liquor stared her down. Parts of his tattoos were obscured in the folds and wrinkles on his face. His large flat lips held a hand rolled cigarette that hung off of them with a mound of ash that needed to be knocked away.

               He made a sound that sounded like a question of what she wanted; it was hard to tell though.

               “Big Boy sent me,” Nyx said in a flat practiced tone.

               The man nodded with another grunt and let her slide in. The door shut immediately behind her. There was an atmosphere of claustrophobia that was off-set by the smell of the dope and incense, it was oddly calming. She made her way through the dense twin rows of different sized tables and couldn’t help but realize most of the men had stopped to eye-hump her. She sped up just in time to feel a hand slap her denim clad rear firmly. Brushing away the hand out of instinct, her face tensed with anger with clenched teeth. She couldn’t tell which one had done it; wouldn’t have exactly been smart to deal with that at this very moment either.

               She turned upstairs and hurried up the first few steps, pausing to shoot the room a dirty look as a whole, as if they cared. The second floor had several other men on it that weren’t playing games but looked out of place in the offices of the contracting building. They were watching black and white monitors and doing the books, some counted credits and the rest stood watch to keep everyone honest. At the right of the back wall was an old soda machine with the lights on that flickered off and on. She pressed in the metal knob to get her change back and took a step away. A small hiss later the machine moved to reveal a passageway that lead to some descending stairs.

               The room she entered at the bottom was decorated with reds and golds, accented by dim lightning. There was a sweet smell of cherry blossoms that lingered, she loved the smell and paused to take it in. A grunt acknowledged her presence and his lack of patience.

               In the hidden office an overweight Samoan man of nearly five-hundred pounds sat on a bean bag chair reading an electronic pad with his tiny thin rimmed glasses on. Nyx had always thought that if she could see the pad it’d be on the funny pages, as she couldn’t see him reading much else. His name was Eamon, most people assumed he was in charge. He was the muscle, the bodyguard, not the brains.

               “You know who I’m here to see.”

               “Make it quick,” Eamon commanded. “We have actual paying customers.”

               Nyx looked at the large oak desk that rested at the end of the room. No one was there. She slowly approached the red curtains with the black flames embroidered onto them. Pushing the fabric aside she slipped in cautiously.

               “Mai?”

               The small room was brighter with the fake sun lamps up above. It was green too, which was different up here if you didn’t specifically go to one of the farms or botanical districts. There were several different types of plants, bushes, and flowers around the room but in the center were designs in the multitude of small rocks on the floor. The centerpiece for the rock garden was a nice sized bonsai tree.  Nyx could hear sounds coming from the center, like someone cutting or pruning.

               A small Korean woman in a green and gold robe was kneeling by the thin waving tree with a black hood and veil over her face. She said something in Korean, a greeting which Nyx wasn’t sure what it meant.

               “Mai?”

               “You ask if you were expecting anyone else to be here.” The aged voice which answered her was slow and precise with each word.

               “No, well,” Nyx second guessed each word with this woman. “I was just trying to show some respect I suppose.”

               “I might suggest finding a proper title to address me as then.”

               There was a pause as Nyx fist balled up and she had to catch herself. She wanted to ask what the proper Korean word for crime boss was, but decided against it. The old woman smirked, hidden by the veil, her hands still working to massage the plant with the sheers.

               “I need a small favor, well two actually.”

               “Already the requests have doubled,” she said with a final snip. A small branch fell into her free hand and she placed it down carefully before standing. “Why have you gotten this idea in your head that we are friends? Especially after you twice have refused to come work for me.”

               “Come on Mai, your girls have a tendency to get blood on their hands on purpose. Your business is almost as dangerous as working planet side.” Nyx took a step to approach her. “Look, you’ve always been straight forward with me and you helped me after my mother died.”

               “Let us not invoke the past,” Mai said with a slightly raised hand at the mention of the other woman’s mother.

               “I’ll give you ten percent if I die.”

               Mai’s eyebrow raised, interest piqued.

               “I took a very dangerous job,” Nyx told her. “I could stand to gain a lot from it though, so it’s worth it.”

               “Time shall be thy judge.”

               “Right, if I,” she paused, “if I didn’t make it back though I want my credits to go to Gerald White, to pay off his debts.”

               “Your John,” she said in a tone of surprise that was barely expressed from the old woman. The question lingered in the air for a moment.

               “He’s probably the nicest guy I’ve met here, even more so than Bron, and Bron doesn’t give a shit about money.”

               “Ah yes, officer Bronson,” She mused in remembrance. “Your partner, he’s going with you on this dangerous assignment?”

               “Yes.”

               “I’ve warned you about him.” Mai moved to wash her hands in the water basin as she spoke.

               “You don’t like him because he’s one of the guards you can’t buy.”

               “No,” she reached for the towel, “that makes him a professional hazard.” She smiled under the veil and turned to Nyx. “He has a dark future in front of him, he’s bad for you.”

               She touched Nyx’ wrist and there a brief moment of tension. Nyx didn’t know how to respond so she ignored it and cleared her throat.

               “Just, if something happens to me I’m giving you the ability to access my accounts upon my death. Take ten percent for yourself and take the rest for Gerald White, I know you’ll do it. You won’t keep the money for yourself if you didn’t earn it.”

               “Duping young impressionable girls can be such tiresome work.”

               Nyx sighed and continued again. “The second favor,” she said reaching down and pulling the silver chain from the zipped hoodie. The gold cross now hung between them. “If my body makes it back to here, make sure this is buried with me please. It was hers.”

               Mai nodded silently, agreeing to her terms.

               “Tea before you face death?”

              

               Cargo hold twelve was quiet at 04:30. The large space with multiple levels was strangely empty and quiet, even for this time of night. Several small spacecrafts sat in open area with multiple wires, hoses, and other tubes in them, preparations for the work ahead. It was cold, as it was in most of the station, the steam that rose from the vents underneath did little to adjust it.

               Bronson entered as the double doors slid open. Spinning yellow and blue lights signified all of the containment protocols along with the singular buzz of the alarm. His repacked army sack thrown over his shoulder, Bronson glanced around the cargo hold before adjusting his hat.

               “You must be the infamous Mr. Bronson.”

               A voice called out from behind the ship nearest end of the room on the docking clamps. It was the Mithras, the same boat as from last time.

               “No mister required,” Bronson said, “and I can’t say I’m sure where my infamy stems from.”

               A muscular blonde man in army fatigues stepped out from behind the Mithras with a data pad in his hand, smiling.

               “Oh, I’ve just been reading your file. Looked up your service record and your time back on Earth. You should be rather proud actually.” He nodded and shut off the data pad with a smirk. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that though, I’m Dine, Captain Price Dine.”

               The captain extended a hand towards Bronson. Taking it, Bronson watched him closely, usually good at reading people but Dine seemed different. They each released their grip and Bronson studied the man whom he and Nyx would be leading through the dangerous territories to this miracle cure. That nagging feeling was growing in his stomach.

               “We’re almost done loading the gear. We should be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Where is your partner?”

               “She’ll be here,” Bronson promised as he sat his bag down. “She wouldn’t miss it.”

               “Good, we’re a small team and I want everything to go smoothly. I understand why General De Soto couldn’t spare a larger group, and we don’t have a lot of experience with the walkers. I probably have the most hands on, I did a few planet side missions in the first year post exodus.”

               “I’ll get you there safely, if you and your man listen to me.”

               Dine nodded with his lips slightly pursed as he signed off on something. He placed the data pad down.

               “That’s fine, as long as you understand that I’m the one who is in charge here and the cure is my priority. If you or your partner become a liability,” Dine made sure Bronson was eye to eye with him, “it’s my responsibility to deal with it.”

               “Understood.” Bronson responded flatly.

               Absently twitching, his trigger finger brushed the stock of his rifle that was slung over his shoulder. He gave a moment of pause before sliding it off, not wanting Dine to think that a response to his earlier proclamation. Or should he have? He was checking his weapons: rifle, fifty caliber pistol on his hip, machete on the other. He looked up when he heard the extra sets of boots other than Dine’s coming down the ramp of the ship.

               “Bronson,” Dine called, taking a moment from checking one of the small metal containers that were being loaded on the ship. “Want you to meet someone. This is Jason Tower, our pilot.”

               Tower smiled coming down the ramp, his shaggy blonde hair held back by an old baseball cap that advertised a long forgotten baseball team.

               “Well hey now,” Tower gave a smile.

               “He’s one of the best small ship non-military pilots in Elysium city.”

               “Yeah, we’ve met,” Bronson extended his hand to Jason. “He’s good.”

               As the two shook hands though the other figure that had come down the ramp behind him was now visible, Pierce.

               “And Jonah Pierce, my second.”

               Bronson heard Captain Dine’s words but if he had said anything after that his own irritation blocked it out.

               “I thought your second was military. Pierce is reckless.”

               Dine crossed his arms over his chest. “When General De Soto said we were short handed, he wasn’t kidding.” He observed the look Bronson was giving his subordinate. “Mr. Pierce told me about your last run-in. I’m afraid that he was retrieving information about the Vita Nova.”

               Bronson’s eyes were glued on Pierce the entire time Dine was talking.

               “De Soto trusts him,” Dine added, “and he’ll listen to my orders. He’s skilled and probably has almost as much experience killing ghouls as you do.”

               “We’ll see.”

               Tower followed up Bronson’s statement by clearing his throat.

               “We’re gassed up and everything is set for your HALO drop. One of your guys triple checked the resurfacing systems so as soon as these last few gear crates are loaded we should be good to go.”

               Tower nodded with a smile and re-adjusted his baseball cap as he headed back up the ramp. Pierce went to get the finale medium sized crates that were going on board.

               “We’re using a HALO to get down? Won’t that attract attention?”  

               “Kind of,” Dine said with an almost excited grin. “HALO jumps are usually high altitude low opening, this one will be more like no opening. We want to be going so fast that the radars from the other cities won’t pick us up and no one on the ground will have much of a chance to spot us.”

               “You’re not thinking of dropping into the water are you?”

               “Yep, and yes I know the dangers of hitting the water that fast. That’s why we have thrusters on the bottom of the pods to slow decent just at the right moment.” Dine was explaining and his hands to almost demonstrate in a way but Bronson wasn’t buying it. “Then we splash down and go a bit deeper for a full stop. When that happens the gel packs come out and push us back up to resurface. Easy as pie.”

               “When was the last time you had real pie,” Bronson asked but the pre flight test of the engines began and made his comment very hard to hear.

               The throbbing bellow of the engines also prohibited them from hearing the door slide open and part again for the last member of their party. Nyx ran in, late from changing clothes. She stopped near Bronson out of breath. Her partner did not welcome her, but instead motioned with a nod of his head towards Pierce who was loading the last crate.

               “Oh,” she said realizing he was their fourth.

               “At least we got that pilot you’re sweet on.”

               “Wait, what?”

               Bronson shook his head as he re-checked his weapons yet another time. He tightened the straps on his black gloves and boots.

               “There she is,” Dine called out with a pleasant demeanor. “You must be Nyx, I’m Captain Price Dine.” He extended a hand to her and when she accepted he shook it the same as he had Bronson’s. ”Let’s get you two suited up.”

               Bronson put the flak jacket over his shirt. He was used to wearing one, but it had been a while. Pulling the brown cloth over it he made sure everything was in place. His black boots were tied tightly, gloves secured on his hands.

               “You know with that hat and revolver on your side you look like a cowboy.”

               Bronson looked up at Dine, regarding his comment. “Protection, that’s it.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder.

               “Nah, it fits you.” Dine said with a smirk as he headed up the ramp of the vessel.

               Glancing over, Bronson watched Nyx squirm with the flak vest. They weren’t designed for female soldiers at all. She was trying to adjust it over her tank top with her lips curled in irritation. He walked up behind her. Placing one hand on her shoulder, the other pulled hard on the back strap.

               “Jesus!” Nyx winced, “how do you breath in this?” She grabbed her chest wrinkled her nose uncomfortably.

               “Suck it up,” he remarked as he looked her over. Her usual faded grey pants and sleeves underneath the dark green hood and wrap that rested on her shoulders. There were two black belts with her gear on it that rested on her hips. He eyed the 9mm pistol that rested in the holster with the tie string. “You’re going to want something bigger than that.”

               “You know I’m better with the machete,” she said tapping the metal blade with her fingernail.

               “No,” he shook his head, “trust me.”

               Bronson spoke to Dine. They agreed that the light-weight MP5 was probably best. Nyx didn’t have much time to get too familiar with it before the Captain clapped his hands together twice rapidly.

               “Time to go people.”

               Bronson reached over and flipped the safety up on the machine gun, smirking at Nyx in one of those rare playful moments. She sneered at him and followed him up the metal ramp of the ship, smiling at Tower, who was doing the final check. She stopped abruptly as her boot hit the metal pod.

               “What are these,” She asked, glancing down at the barely person sized metal orbs. She looked them over for a moment before raising an eyebrow at Captain Dine and Bronson.

               “Wait, how did you say we were getting down?”

For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 4

               “The destructive force of the human race is unlike any other; the disease which followed was simply the embodiment of that destruction.” –Dr. Jean Matthews, lead scientist

               In 2055 the world was as it had been, it carried on without concern. On the first day of September things began to change. Many men made mistakes, first in a lab, then in a compound. Two men were scared. They let the virus spread back into the world, when they made one of many mistakes. Over seven billion people living on the planet when it started; not counting those that stayed, only a little over one billion made it into space.

               The virus spread, not necessarily quickly, but surely. There were very few places that were smart or lucky enough to block off their borders and keep their homes free of reanimated corpses and mutated beasts, mostly islands or areas with extreme cold. Some, in more remote locations, took to trying to wipe the plague out by destroying entire groups or even villages that had been touched by it. Many parts of Africa and Eastern Europe had been cleansed by fire and atomic force, but to no end. The governments and great minds of the world did their best to find answers to stop the spread with science. All elaborate plans had failed, in some ways causing more harm. After eight years of trying, the majority of what was left of the people of Earth gave up on their home.

               One of the many plans, a project known as Cibola, had been in effect over those eight years. Engineers and construction workers worked diligently building a new home, and the ways to get there. The giant mass web of metal was erected around what was then known as the International Space station, eventually swallowed and forgotten. The ships were built first, large boat like vessels that weren’t meant to go very far or fast. Materials were shipped up first while the initial city was built, then the mass exodus of the human race began. These ships eventually became parts of the giant network. Smaller craft were constructed to move faster with more important personnel.

               The first city, now known as Elysium, was originally just a large hollow holding area for the masses before proper construction began. Many of the workers called it New Ellis Island up until the day the construction was done, some of the older ones still do. Over the next year materials, equipment, and people were carried up by the hundreds in the bloated space boats that shook the skies.  When the majority of the people were safe expansions began and what was left of the former governments began to argue and couldn’t agree on what was best for the survivors. The survival of the human race was all that could be mutually seen by all parties. Those that chose to stay on Earth created their own ruling systems and prepared for a dangerous fight to hold onto their homes.

               Disagreements lead to the creation of new cities and new leaders. Expansion needed to happen but it did so under stressed conditions. There was a period of lawlessness and then marshal law. A large prison facility had to be constructed on the moon. Each city was different, changed by those who built it and the many more who came to inhabit it. Lost, there were many that tried to make these new cities home, reconnect with their culture.

               Elysium City was the center which each other was built out from. It was the biggest but in many ways it had become the most dependant on the others. Valhalla Prime set the highest in the web and stretched towards the North Pole. Doing all that they can to be self-sufficient, this city has become untrusting of the others. Mandarin City was to the East and was shaped like a diamond; highly populated—a domain that repopulated in preparation for their eventual return to Earth. Cairo City lay towards the South, still growing. It’s citizens having founded a new center that spawned new religions and cults. Finally there was Neo-Tokyo, the smallest and quietest of the new cities that had put their efforts towards retaking Earth through technology. Together these five different entities held to a common set of rules and loose alliances to maintain peace. Many were amazed that that peace has lasted twelve years.  

               The year is now 2075. Many humans have been born in the chilled embrace of space, not yet knowing the warmth of the sun or next to anything of the home of their ancestors. Due to strings of illness and rising numbers in miscarriages the population isn’t replenishing itself as it should.

Here, now, they are born and raised in what is loosely called a childhood until the age of twelve when they are given a job based off of their skill set and aptitude tests. The legal age for drinking, smoking, and prostitution differ from city to city but average out at fourteen. Punishment for crimes is met with a much more harsh and swift hand. All of these factors come together to create an unstable borderline near military society of people who were close enough to touch the brink of death. Now, recovery.

              

               Nyx sat in the room that she had been taken to, fingers tapping a nervous pattern out on the wooden table. She was staring down at the polished piece of furniture at her reflection, one of the few wooden handcrafted tables she had seen up here. The long rectangular room she sat in was in the Presidential district and it looked like it was used for board meetings or important dinners. The walls were lined with painted portraits of former American presidents, most she only knew the names of because they were engraved on the small plates at the bottom. She was sitting across from the partially singed portrait of Abraham Lincoln, his face not easing her concern. She stared back into her own with her bright green painted lips from work; at least they had let her change into the small denim shorts and grey hooded sweatshirt.

               The doors at the end of the room were large and wooden. They opened on hinges instead of sliding like the others on the station. The lights were different also; a comfortable gold tinge from lamps and ceiling fixtures instead of bright white flood lights built into the walls and pulsing greens and blues along the outer hull walls and city streets. It was so different and comfortable that it was uncomfortable. She wasn’t cold, and that bothered her in a way. Almost every part of the city was cold up here, but this room seemed to be at an almost perfect temperature. She remembered being younger and going to the far sides of the cities when her mother would let her. There, they would burn the thrusters extra hard to destroy and break up asteroids and debris that were getting too close. The result was a fun little light show and the excess warmth felt great, like a seasonal treat.

               She was pulled from the fond memory by the sound of the door handle being moved. The large wooden door was pulled open and she saw her partner step in. He was eyeing the room suspiciously, just as she had when they brought her in. She wanted to stand up out of her chair and run over to him right then, but she knew better. She knew Bronson could tell that she was happy to see him.

The guard that had escorted him in closed the door afterwards. Bronson took one last nervous look around before pulling out the chair next to Nyx.

“What the hell is going on,” she whispered in an agitated voice.

“I don’t know.” Bronson said as he stared forward at the painting. He matched her whisper even though he was sure the room was bugged.

“We’re paid up right? We haven’t broken any of the on-world laws? Right Bron?”

               “We’re clear.”

               “Then what the hell is this about? They pulled me straight out of work,” her voice had accidently risen above its planned tone, but she was scared and missing out on easy credits.

               “Calm down. It was the President’s seal. It’s probably a forced job transfer or a private contract,” he lied to her, knowing this was no type of job transfer.

               She paused. Her fingers had stopped tapping against the table and were now knotting up nervously.

               “You’re a guard, have you ever met him?”

               “The President, No.”

               “Do,” she bit her lip, “you still have your gun on you?”

               “No,” he shifted uncomfortably at the mention and brought one leg up to rest on his other knee, his hand checking the bottom of his polished shoe. “They said it wasn’t allowed in here, assured me no one else would have one.”

               Nyx looked like she wanted to ask something else, her painted dark green lips parted but quickly closed afterwards. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence that followed. They would face whatever was coming together, but everything was still uncertain.

               Finally the double doors opened and the two hunters turned to get their first glance at the president in the flesh. Bronson was hard to read. Usually, only Nyx could tell when he was really upset, but when Jonah Pierce walked through the door it was pretty obvious he wasn’t happy. Bronson noticed that the pouch from Pierce’s belt was absent now as well. Whatever he had treasured so much that he got from the planet had either already been delivered to the buyer or was stashed away some place safe. Bronson knew it was important, and it wasn’t just a hunch, he didn’t believe in those.

               Pierce had opened the double doors for three men that followed behind him. It wasn’t hard to see the established pecking order. The man who entered first, after the doors were opened for him, was young and in a formal military uniform. Bronson’s eyebrow rose when he saw the three stars that rested on each of the man’s shoulders. His hands were folded behind him as he walked to the head of the table. He paid no mind to his two guests until after he was seated. His hair was parted perfectly down the middle. It was dark and spiked up slightly in the back. His features were smooth from youth and were untouched by exposure to the harshness of the sun. There was a stern tenseness in his eyes though.

After him was the older man with the goatee that was beginning to go from brown to grey. He was wearing thin rimmed glasses that had scratches on the side of the left lens. In his hands were several notebooks and files. Clipped to his jacket was a black and yellow badge with his picture and a barcode that underneath it read, “Dr. Henry Ramos”. He took a glance at Bronson and Nyx before sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table.

The final man was a suit; almost no one wore suits anymore. There was no middle class anymore, suits were worn by government employees and a few heads of companies. He had dirty blonde hair and a metallic implant over his right eye that looked like it was attached to a fake eye, it didn’t move like his other one did. He sat down next to Nyx but didn’t make eye contact with her. She couldn’t help but notice his hands shake slightly as he pulled up something on his electronic tablet. His fingernails and hair were better kept than hers, and probably more than most of the people in Elysium City.

“Thank you for joining us,” The General said, as if they had a choice. “My name is General Stefan De Soto.” Once the military was reformed on Elysium city with what was left, the extreme number of deaths left a lot of higher positions open. De Soto was the youngest three star general in history. “After some deliberation on a particular issue, both of your names came up quite a bit.”

“As far as head hunters,” The suit clarified. He had opened one of the files and was reading something. Nyx realized that she could hear his mechanical eye operating next to her, a small piston sounding off, or metal moving against metal, either way it unnerved her.

               “The man to my left is the President’s advisor, Alton Goldsmith.” De Soto motioned slightly with a hand before refolding them on the table. “He’s seen your records. You’re; quiet, careful, safe especially for such a small team. In fact there have been almost no problems with your work. You don’t take too much, you don’t get greedy.”

               Goldsmith spoke up as he glanced at one of his many papers.

               “Even if we don’t overlook your citations you’ve accumulated, Mr. Bronson’s military service back on Earth and here as a guard is exceptional.”

               Nyx wanted to blurt out that they needed to get to the point. She had a sneaking suspicion they didn’t really need her though, so that idea passed. She was trying to read her partner but Bronson was watching the General, watching his eyes closely.

               De Soto opened his mouth to speak again but paused, reconsidering his words.

               “I won’t treat you like amateurs, and time is an issue.” The General leaned closer towards Bronson. “You’re a soldier,” he said, knowing Bronson, knowing the type. He knew the right strings to pull. “Right now, your city needs you. No, the planet needs you.”

               “Little overdramatic don’t you think,” Nyx said.

               The General paused. He knew that he only had to convince Bronson to go and Nyx would follow, but her statement was still irksome.

               “No, it isn’t.” The aged voice of the doctor answered her. “If the information I received last night was correct, we could save Earth, save our home.”

               “This is Doctor Henry Ramos,” the General broke back in. “He is the most studied man in the plague and its effects on the planet that is alive today.” He chose his next words carefully. “During the years that the world’s militaries were still trying to deal with epidemic planet side, Dr. Ramos was helping the North American government with several projects.”  

               “I worked on a lot of things. After the bombings in Europe though, many of them were abandoned. There was one though,” Ramos paused. “There was one in particular, a project they named Vita Nova,” his hand shook ever so slightly at the mention of it. “It was abandoned, moved, thought unusable.” He steadied his left hand with his right. “On one of the trips down recently though I was able to reestablish a connection with several of the computer mainframes on the West Coast, something I knew would be valuable but there was so much more.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’ll spare you the details. What I’m saying is that there was data recorded for Vita Nova, data that has been recording for the last twelve years. The project isn’t just still running, it worked,” he said with a wonder in his eyes.

               “At some point the project was moved to a secure location, no one who was left alive that had high enough clearance knew where though. That’s why operatives were sent to known military sites that had most likely survived the past few years, and we were successful.” He motioned to Pierce who had been standing in the back corner of the room silently, assuming his role as lap dog. “This is Jonah Pierce. He retrieved a data stick that had the information about project Vita Nova, and where it was moved to.”

               “We’ve met,” Bronson said in a dry huff.

               “Mr. Pierce produced the needed results, we now know where project Vita Nova is, and we are ready to retrieve it.”

               Bronson shook his head slightly and finally spoke up, leaning forward in his chair. “Why are you using non-military personnel,” he asked, motioning to Pierce then back to himself and Nyx. “Since I’m guessing you didn’t tell us all of this unless you wanted us to go and get it.”

               “Well,” Goldsmith began. General De Soto raised a hand and stopped him.

               “No, you aren’t wrong. My forces are stretched a bit thin as of late.” A small smile broke across his face, a weary smile. “I have been dealing with many things. There are the riots, as I’m sure you know. The issues with the Australian settlers have become a problem. Then there is matter of the recent breeches on the lunar prison’s security. Throw these things on top of the operatives I have working Cairo City and Neo Tokyo, and you’ll understand how hard it is to keep things together with a military force that isn’t replenishing itself like it should.”

               Bronson rubbed his chin as he listened to the men.

               “If I may,” Ramos broke in. He looked at Bronson and Nyx. “I asked for them to make sure not to send brutes on this mission, someone who will think before pulling a trigger. I implore you, I’m well aware that pessimism and disbelief are the common trend in the recent past, but,” he stood, becoming passionate in his plea. “This will work, I assure you. I’ve run the scenarios a hundred times.”

               “It’s my belief that a small team, one with skilled hunters can sneak in without any of the other cities or the Earth settlers getting wind of what’s going on. You’re familiar with the nomadic groups, the cannibals, the militias, and of course the corpses that could all get in the way. We also believe that the Aussies have agents in North America still.”

               The General tried to read his guests as the words sat in.

               “My men are mostly new, young. They don’t have the same experiences dealing with what has infested that planet.”

               “We get new reports every day,” Goldsmith chimed in. “Stories about the cannibals, booby traps going off accidently, giant scorpions. Why, just the other day I had two reports of intelligent zom-“

               “That’s quite enough,” The General interrupted. “I think they’re more aware of what dangers that rock potentially holds than we are. What is important is that project Vita Nova can fix all of that. Right, Dr. Ramos?”

               “Yes, yes.” Ramos nodded emphatically as he adjusted his scratched glasses.

               There was another long moment of silence and Bronson looked away from the other people in the room. He thought for a long moment. Nyx looked at him as thoughts raced through her mind. There was a lingering question though.

               “What do we get out of this?”

               “We get the Earth back,” The doctor replied.

               Goldsmith glanced at the General and then back to Nyx.

               “The President is willing to offer you an amount of credits equal to one year’s salary under your current job title. However, my research shows that you have been trying to get out of that job for three years now. We can make that happen, any job you want to be trained for. We can cut out the paperwork.”

               Nyx was prepared to laugh at Goldsmith when he had begun, credits were nice but this wasn’t a typical head hunt. It was the second part that caught her off guard. She could get out of the club; make a lot more credits than she needed if she chose wisely. She thought about it, the truth that she would have gone with Bronson if he went anyway was much further away from her mind than she liked. There was a greedy side to her that poverty had fed her.

               “As for Mr. Bronson,” Goldsmith continued. “The President is prepared to grant your brother, Elijah Bronson, a full pardon from prison.”

               Bronson sighed and stood.

               “No,” He looked back at Goldsmith. “He knew what he was doing. He’ll finish out his time.” Glancing at the General, Bronson eyed him carefully. “Small team, right?”

               “You, your partner, Captain Dine, and one of his men; four should be sufficient with your expertise.”

               “You know exactly where we are going? What we’re looking for? You have a way to get us down and back up without alerting any of the other cities or settlers? You aren’t putting us in unnecessary danger?”

               “Mr. Bronson,” the General said, shaking his head. “I may look young but I’m not new to any of this. I’ll treat you better than I treat my own men. You’re doing the human race its biggest favor to date.”

               Bronson swallowed hard and pushed the chair out from the table. “I’ll do it then, if it needs to be done, I have just as much responsibility as anyone else.”

               “Me too,” Nyx said standing. She looked at Goldsmith though as if to reaffirm the conditions he stated earlier.

               The General stood. “Good, it’s settled then. I’ll let Captain Dine know.” He folded his hands behind him once more and headed for the door with Goldsmith and Pierce following behind him. “I’ll inform him that you’ll be in cargo hold twelve in one hour.”

               None of the three looked back at their soldiers of fortune as they exited. There was a pause of silence as the doctor lingered behind. Dr. Ramos approached the two hunters. His shaking hand grasped Bronson’s forearm and squeezed against the muscle tissue.

“Please, I beg of you,” his tongue wet his lips, he was having trouble speaking. “I don’t mean to sound old and over dramatic but this may be the last chance for any of our kind to actually save our species. You two could do that if you can get Vita Nova to me.”

Bronson and Nyx both stopped staring at the bulging shaky eyes of the doctor long enough to share a glance of their own, each wondering what they had just gotten into.