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. 

For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 3

               The French Quarter of Elysium city was one of the first parts of the space colonies built. It was originally an arrival and processing area that after the initial egress of the planet was no longer required. For the first few years it was the home of many surviving residents of the Southern United States and Mexico until the housing divisions were finished for each city. It was then refitted and divided into four large sections. One of the four sections remained as homes for those that owned or operated businesses around this district. It was pretty plain for the most part with a lot of ivy growing over lattice work; iron gates outside of the townhouse homes.

               Two of the other sections were divided up for holding shops that specialized in fashion and art, specialty food items and jewelry, everything other than the necessities. The final quarter, the one with its street lights and buildings done up in reds and purples to contrast against the dark painted walls and festive greens and golds that hung from the balconies and banners around it, held the majority of the entertainment businesses for the night life crowd. Bars, clubs, adult film theatres and prostitution houses lined the streets in this area and men and women stood outside of each giving their best efforts to convince the passer-bys to come in.

               The White Tiger club was probably the biggest of its type in Elysium city. It had a bright flashing white sign and a hand painted image of the creature it took its name from behind it. There were other small random green and red lights that littered the outside wall of the club that made it stand out. From the ground level up close though, you could see the bouncers, standing by the doorway and scrutinizing everyone who came up. They gave the men who wanted in a friendly pat down before they entered and the few women got an even friendlier one. Closer to the street though there were two girls who danced around the long poles of the streetlamps topless, beckoning patrons to enter.

               The inside of the club was two stories with an oriental theme. White and pink lights in long sheets lit up the bottom floor with greens and yellow bulbs lining the second. The lights were blinding on the first floor with four stages that the people were gathered around. The music that thumped through the speakers had no lyrics, something made hastily on a computer for very cheap. The music business had taken a hit since they had moved off of the planet. Turn the bass on anything up loud enough though and drown it out, it’ll work for background noise. The drinks were usually watered down and the food was almost non-existent, but no one came for those things.

               On each of the four stages a new dancer appeared every hour. Their styles varied and their costumes were personalized, a mixture of girls from different parts of the world formerly, or other cities if they were really young. Working the poles with precision the dancers moved to the rhythm that vibrated the walls. Underneath the lights they entertained the men and women that came in after work. Good entertainment was hard to find in these cities.

               Nyx was on stage one tonight and she was quite the draw. There were a few things that made her stand out from the other girls and people took notice. She was an exceptional dancer with a body that was not too thin or overly toned. Food was harder to come by depending on your situation and most of it was processed meal paste or military rations. Nyx’ extracurricular activities kept her in a bit more money and better fed, as well as worked her body out. Her time down on Earth also gave her something the majority of the other girls couldn’t easily get, a tan. Nyx hadn’t been just kissed by the sun; they were quite intimate as it were. Dangerous, sure, but she liked the feel of it compared to the coldness she felt up here.

               Flexible, a compliment she had received often. She knew how to manipulate the pole and as she put it to the other girls, move in waves as if you were water. She chalked some of her expertise up to her practice in Tai Chi and gymnastics training. She wished she had stuck with gymnastics more but when one teacher dies and the next one keeps trying to touch you inappropriately, interest can be lost quickly.

               The tattoo on her back was a large mural of an ornate catholic cross with the background of the full circular moon. It was detailed and had taken a few years to get finished but it was her, her name meant night. She embraced it and the symbol of the cross meant a lot to her and her faith. She wore a similar one around her neck at all times, a gold cross on a silver chain, even when she danced. The mural on her body looked good under the flashing lights, customers always asked about it.

               These types of clubs had changed a lot since relocating to space. It was hard to slide electronic credit singles into the garter belt or g-string of an entertaining dancer. Instead, now there were a series of small ports patrons could tip their favorites with. People were generally a little stingier now though and more concerned about themselves, that’s where the second floor came in.

               Like in the old days, the girls would walk around the floor of the club when they weren’t dancing on stage. There was always the offer of the lap dance or private table performance but with the military in control prostitution was a hundred percent legal. They just taxed the hell out of it with the clubs. So the clubs set up a second floor where men danced on one side and women on the other, private performances that lead to negotiations. Once the arrangement was made there were private rooms towards the back of the top floor that the girls paid to use to make their money. You had to pay to get up to the top floor in the first place though and going up there almost guaranteed you’d be spending more money for something, even if you didn’t want to touch.

               It was a night like tonight that Nyx had decided she was in the mood to take Gerald upstairs. He was a repeat customer, hell she knew all of them, but he was a good customer. He had even worn a tie tonight with the old pale blue jacket and the bushy mustache that accented his boy like smile. Her bosses harassed her when she didn’t do this part enough but she had built up enough of a reputation as a ‘draw’ in the club that she could tell them to fuck off from time to time. She wasn’t proud of it but it was work and next to hunting or a nice government job it was some of the best credits you could make. She knew exactly what Gerald wanted and their exchange was little more than two sentences.

               “Usual price okay, honey,” she asked as she plopped into his lap in the dark red chair in the private room.

               He had been undressing her with his eyes, a task that wasn’t hard since all she was wearing was a dark green bikini and grey boots with fur on them.

               “Sounds good,” Gerald said with a big smile as he placed a large calloused hand on her bare thigh. “You’re too good to me, Nyx, you know that?”

               “Or,” she proposed as she ran a thumb gently over his cheek, “you just may be too hard on yourself there, big guy.”

               She kissed him softly for a long moment, suckling on his bottom lip before sliding off of his lap. She smiled and extended her hand, palm face up. She coyly bit the fingernail on her other hand as she waited. The man pulled out the small device that looked like an electronic drive with a small disk at the end, a virtual wallet, everyone had one here. Nyx took it from him and went to a small black table that held an electronic device that she swiped it under. It was out of the way in the small dark room with the dim red lights and padded walls, so the customer wouldn’t be thinking about how much they were spending. When the dim blue light flashed she punched in a series of numbers on the keypad and smiled at Gerald, handing it back to him.

               She resumed her position back on his lap. Instead of simply plopping down though, she wrapped an arm around his neck and slid in a bit more seductively. She kissed his neck as her left hand tugged at the string to her bikini top. She threw the dark green fabric to the couch across from them, revealing her breasts to him. Part of why Gerald liked Nyx was because her breasts were nice and round as well as the cute dark nipples on them being erect from the cold of the space station and as tanned as the rest of her body.  He gently placed a hand on one of them and then slid it down her flat stomach over the belly button piercing she had. She kissed the side of his face then nibbled on his ear as she felt the fingers push between flesh and fabric, lifting up the last piece of clothing she had on and slowly sliding underneath them between her legs.

               Nyx sighed contently, head moving to lean back on his shoulder. Her hand ran down his chest. She relaxed a bit, knowing he’d be content for a few minutes as he had his fun. She was exhausted as she lay there on Gerald, conserving her energy for what was to come. Coming back from the hunting trips always meant that she’d be tired for the next couple of days but she couldn’t lie to herself. She already wanted to get out of here, to get back to the dangerous warzone for some reason. She wondered why she liked it better than the safety of space.

               In the midst of these thoughts and the act of moving her hips slightly against Gerald’s hand she almost didn’t hear the sound of the doorknob moving. It was locked. Whoever it was would get the idea that the room was occupied and go onto another one. The noise came again though with the metal scraping against metal sound a little bit tougher this time. Nyx shot up awkwardly, away from Gerald and his playful hand. He looked stunned and was still sitting as the door was forcefully pushed open. Nyx threw an arm up over her breasts to cover them, barely having time to do that.

               Two men in gray and black military fatigues stood at the door with guns attached to their belts and the first with a flashlight he was shining at her, then Gerald. The marine motioned out the door behind his partner with the light as he looked at Gerald.

               “You, out,” the officer’s voice was serious.

               Gerald obliged him after shooting a glance at Nyx. She figured if he could have spoken to her he’d have said he was sorry, but he hoped she would be okay. The marines weren’t like the guards though. You didn’t want to test them. Gerald was out of the room by the time Nyx turned around and picked up her top. With her back to the men, she replaced it quickly.

               By the time she had turned back to them the marine with the flash light had closed the distance and had an outstretched hand towards her that held a small digital pad on it. She paused for a moment, realizing she could cross out a few of the reasons to why she thought they were here. She took the pad in her hand and looked it over. With an eyebrow raised in confusion she briefly scanned the electronic document that came up at her touch. The words all made since but the usual jargon was there which caused her to have to re-read a couple of parts. It didn’t really sink in though until she scrolled down. On the last page at the bottom of the document was the emblem of the large bird in gold and black, the seal of the president.

               The security office for the French Quarter was like any of the other government built buildings, grey and dull with large walls around it. This particular one was nestled in between two rail bridges which caused an almost constant humming sound. The machinery for the defense systems added their own buzzing sound to the noise surrounding the building, much like the bright lights that lit up the area around the walls of the security office though, the noise was only heard when they were actually working.

               Bronson stepped from the darkness of the French Quarter streets into the bright blue of the flood lights. Bronson nodded to the guard in the small box-like station and was preparing to go in until he heard a voice call after him.

               “Bronson, hey man!”

               Pausing, Bronson looked up at the scraggly-haired individual who was coming from the darkened street and into the light with a panicked look on his face.

               “Cletus.”

               “Bronson, Bro, come on man. I need some help.” Cletus spoke quickly and with furious hand gestures. “I need some credits man or Tiger Mike’s going to fucking kill me dude. You’ve got to help me man.” His eyes were bloodshot and pleading. His hand was already shaking as he held out his credit drive for his money.

               “Cletus, you’re using again.”

               “No man, no. The hell man, you-you know I wouldn’t start that shit again after what it did to me.” He almost sounded convincing. “After I got the job at the plant and you helped me out, I wouldn’t do that to you man.”

               “Cletus,” Bronson said his name louder to quiet him. “I told you six weeks ago that Tiger Mike was killed in the raid. You’re just back into your bad habit.”

               There was a sobering moment of silence as Cletus’ head dropped and synapses slowly fired that he had been ignoring. He only looked back up when he felt Bronson’s grip around his forearm. Cletus looked up with tears in his eyes as his body shook.

               “Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

               Bronson nodded to the guard and the red laser fence at the entrance to the walls dropped. The two men entered the complex as it came back up and the building shook while the two rail cars passed by overhead.       

               After Cletus was put into the detox cell and Bronson finished the paperwork he was finally able to stow his gear in the locker room, a sure sign of what kind of night it would be at work. He was on desk for the first two hours. He still checked his weapon once again and looked over the board to see what he had missed while he had been gone back on Earth.

               “You hear what those koala-fuckers did this time?”

               Opie Pascal had come in behind him with a grin on his face as he finished off a nutrient bar and missed the trashcan with the balled up wrapper.

               “No, I didn’t.”

               “Those Aussie pricks aren’t going to let us send any more people their way, they’re closing off their borders. Hell, the brass says they may stop sending us supplies next. They’re pissing off all of the cities. Valhalla and Mandarin city are both pushing to go to war over this shit.”

               Bronson paused and mulled over the information for a minute as Opie grabbed a watered down soda from the fridge.

               “I just don’t get it man. They’ve gone native.”

               “They were the only ones that weren’t infected. They were smart and shut the borders off before it could get over there.” Bronson answered him in an informative manner as if Opie didn’t already know the reason. The other officer scoffed as his soda opened with a pop.

               “They were too chicken shit scared to come up here and now they think we’re going to infect them by coming back down or something? I don’t get it.” He kicked the chair out from under the table to sit on it. “I think we should go down there. Take that place over, grow our own shit. It’s our damn right; most of us are from Earth originally.”

               “Riots still going on in Cairo City,” Bronson asked, changing the subject.

               “Nah,” Opie said pulling up an electronic pad to read the news. “They got that shit handled, I knew they would.”

               Bronson simply nodded to his fellow guard and excused himself, heading out of the room. Opie was just one of the many men that he felt didn’t deserve to be a guard. In truth they were bullies or hate-filled individuals who wanted the power and authority that came with the shield. The ability to carry a weapon when others couldn’t and to make people respect you because of how hard you could make their lives here appealed to people like Opie Pascal. They had to have a talk with him about using his position to stalk his ex-girlfriend a couple of times.

               Bronson took his job seriously, and the oath he swore was to protect not harass. He headed to the front of the building to the desk. There he’d spend a couple of hours watching the monitoring boards and answering calls. Other officers came in and out of the building and spoke to him or discussed reports they were handing in. He fielded several information calls and put out a few dispatches of reports to different locations outside of the French Quarter. It wasn’t until his time at the desk was almost up that he got the domestic abuse call.

               The buzzer went off and the address scrolled across the small screen in a sickly green text. Bronson stood and straightened his uniform before he checked his pistol for the fourth time that night. Opie was heading towards the desk as Bronson headed out.

               “I’m answering the 414 before I start my patrol. Everyone else is handling something else.”

               “Okay,” he said as he set his ass down in the chair where it would spend the rest of the night. “Yeah I’m good.”

               “You’ve got the desk for the rest of the night,” He stated the obvious to Opie to make sure he did his job. Something that he hated he had to do to feel better about leaving him alone there.

               He nodded to the man in the guard hut as the laser fence came back on behind him. Double checking the address on his electronic palm he turned to the left and headed towards the apartment buildings the business owners and their families stayed in. The street was quiet tonight for the most part as he passed by the different colored buildings. He took a glance towards the White Tiger and the other clubs. He knew Nyx was at work tonight and still needed to pass off her part of the credits to her. Bronson wasn’t a fan of going into those establishments though unless there was a reason for him to be there, especially while he was in uniform.

               He was two streets away from the address and the possibilities of the scenario began running through his mind. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with before but the spats of jealous lovers can sometimes turn unintentionally violent. When two people are in a heated argument, you arrive suddenly to break it up. You are the new aggressor and the focus of their anger. It didn’t matter. He was always cautious and would judge the situation once he got there. He was already planning out the route he would take for his patrols tonight. He liked to change things up so that he didn’t become predictable.

               Turning on to Kings Rd. he realized that he was being followed. It wasn’t uncommon to see two soldiers walking the normal beat down here with the guards, but there were usually circumstances behind it. The late hour made it odd as well. Bronson eyed them for a moment as his hand moved slowly to his side. They were both carrying weapons; one of them had a scoped assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

               “Officer Bronson,” one of the men called out when it was obvious that they had been spotted.

               The three men stood almost alone on the windy street eyeing each other. Bronson nodded and glanced down at his badge, letting them know they could check it. He felt uncomfortable though and his hand didn’t move from where it was as the other came to rest on his hip.

               “This is for you,” the soldier in the hat said, outstretching a hand with the small electronic pad in it. There was a smug expression that stood out to Bronson.

               “You mind,” he asked, pointing down to his own badge around his neck.

               The two marines glanced at each other as if this was unusual. They both reached for the chains around their necks and pulled out the metal badges that hung around them. Bronson took out the PDA device from his belt and after running a thumb across the screen a green light emerged that he ran over the barcodes on their badges. Each one gave him a polite tone of acceptance. When he was done he simply nodded and took the data pad that the man had offered him.

               His eyes scanned over the same document and symbol at the bottom that Nyx’ had not long before. He read parts of it again. Handing it back to the soldier he folded his arms in front of him.

               “I understand,” Bronson acknowledged to them. “Currently I am on a distress call but I’ll go to his office as soon as I’m off shift.”

               “That won’t be necessary officer. Someone else has already been dispatched for that call. Your presence in the President’s office is required sooner rather than later. We can take you straight there.”

               Nodding to the two soldiers he felt that familiar sinking sensation he didn’t like starting up again in his stomach. 

For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 2

                Above the Earth existed a new colony, a shining example of man’s progression and ability to overcome the harshness of any environment. It took time, but they gathered in the home of the gods and built their array of metal and continued out from it in different structures and massive tunnels until it stretched over a third of the sky around their former home. It was now their new home. Still they ravaged mother Earth for their supplies with great metal arms that reached down into the depths of the planet to steal what the dead could not. With the iron fist of the former world’s militaries governing over them, man and woman from many different regions and cultures would have to learn to live together in a new floating city of Babel.

               The Mithras docked in Elysium city after meeting the proper protocols. Four men wearing all black thick suits and dome like helmets came out with long tubes in their hands. Each man positioned himself at a different point of the ship. A hiss broke from each tube. The switch on the bottom was flipped and pure blue flames with yellow tips kissed the metal hull of the Mithras on each side to cleanse it from its journey.

Once the fire had stopped and the four cleaners had pulled back their hoses the rest of the crew descended upon the ship like a swarm of worker ants. The pilot released the pistons and with a groan the back cargo bay door and side entrance that lead into the cockpit chamber lowered. Two metal clanks sounded off simultaneously as the passengers all gathered their gear.

Pierce didn’t make eye contact with anyone from the ship as he turned the engine of the ATV over and rode it down the metal ramp out into the hold. He was eager to reach decontamination first.

“Got a bad feeling,” Bronson said out loud as he carried his pack in one hand and their bounty in the other.

“When do you not,” Nyx asked with a smirk as she pushed strands of her hair away from her eyes, the area still hot from the flames, and now the smell of gasses and oil filled their noses. They began to walk around the ship. A twin sized duffle bag was thrown from inside the cockpit door and landed beside them.

“Damn these thirty-six hour shifts,” Tower exclaimed as he threw more bags down. They made a thud on the metal floor that caused a few heads to turn their way. “I’m so tired I feel like one of the corpses we just left.”

The two hunters regarded Tower as he came down the ramp and smiled at both of them. Nyx was the only one to return the smile.

“Sorry about asshole over there,” he waved a hand in the direction Pierce had sped off. “Too many like him these days, trying to make money at any cost. I don’t mind hauling people like you two around. You haven’t stopped giving a shit about other people yet,” he shook his head, “even if you might have to shoot em’ someday.”

“Thanks,” Nyx wasn’t above taking a compliment from a smiling face.

“We better go,” Bronson said. Turning, he looked back over his shoulder at Tower. “Thanks, I’ll keep you in mind next time we go down.”

The pair walked across the large expanse that was the main cargo hold for Elysium city. They went through the sliding metal doors into a long corridor that had instructions in multiple languages written on the walls in different colors, all about protocols and containment procedures.

“You’re one for one today.”

“I’m not here to make friends, Nyx.”

“Oh,” she scoffed. “A fact of which I am painfully aware. The first time we met you put me in handcuffs.”

“Procedure.”

She laughed at his response. “They still have you guarding the French Quarter, or did your transfer finally come in so you can leave me?”

“I’m still there. I’m sure I’ll see you at some point tonight.”

“Right,” she nodded. “Hey, I want to go grab a shower and a quick nap before work if possible. You okay with running the heads by yourself, just give me the credits later?”

“You trusting me with your half of the money, that isn’t like you.”

She laughed hard at that and threw her head back slightly as they reached the end of the hallway which broke off into ten different smaller pathways.

“If I can’t trust you, Bronson, I can’t trust anyone on this floating shit pile.”

He didn’t respond to her. They broke up and took two adjacent paths out of the ten. At the end of the smaller tunnels were large metal doors with a small octagon of glass and several warning labels, one of which was against radiation. A loud hiss as the door opened and the room decompressed for each of them.

The doors shut behind them in their separate rooms. Several vents lined the ceiling and metal grates ran across the floors. Four small circular white lights framed the two doors. There was a table and several pull out drawers on the left wall. The lights turned from white to yellow and the two began.

Before Bronson could do anything else he opened up the drawer marked “bio-organic specimens”. Careful in his task, he removed each of the six heads and placed them in there with space in between each. Once satisfied with their positioning he slid the drawer shut tightly and locked the handle back into place.

Nyx had no need for the first drawer, she opened the second first. Inside her machete and pistol were placed. The radio, that she had worked hard to earn, had been placed down separately and gently. Lastly, she reached down and fathered up the ends of each shirt in her fingers before pulling them all up over her head. The clothes were discarded onto the small table that was built into the wall. In between her breasts, above the faded brown sports bra was the golden cross on the long silver chain she wore. It was placed in the box on top of everything before shutting and securing it.

Bronson’s guns and dog tags were put in the second drawer on his side. They were also carefully placed, safeties on. They would be cleaned later, as he did after every trip out. Bandana and mask inside his hat he placed it down on the table. He unclasped his belt and then his holsters and leg straps. His boots and pants were on the table next followed by his shirt and brown boxers. He was stripped clean of clothing and anything else on his person. Bronson was tall and muscular with long dark hair that was getting to the length he had begun to put it in a ponytail. His body wore the scars of war, next to his tattoos of service on his arms. His left calf was missing a large chunk that had grown back at a right angle, a pound of flesh he had lost.

Nyx’ clothes were also discarded onto the table as well. She had shorter auburn hair that barely made it down to her shoulders. She was tanned, but not as evenly as she would have liked. She was thin and her muscles were toned from the work that she put in with Bronson and the others. The tattoo that took up the majority of her back was a large cross with the full moon behind it. It was something she valued, something no one could take away.

Both placed their feet where the outlined diagram showed on the floor. Nyx always tensed up at this part. The yellow lights near each door darkened into a sickly orange and began to rotate in large circles around the room, shining their lights in circular patterns. The two hunters closed their eyes tightly. A chilling gas that smelled like mint shot down from the vents above engulfing the room. Before the gas was fully settled six small silver spigots popped up from the metal grating at their feet. Liquid shot out in a continuous wave from the rotating nozzles. Burning against their flesh, the liquid mixed with the gas and hardened into an almost cream-like shell over their skin.

No matter how many times she went through it, Nyx still flinched and shivered while the bio-bath was going on. Bronson simply put his mind somewhere else. To him it was still better than a trip to the dentist.

The vents calmed and the spigots sank back down underneath the grates. A tone sounded. The spinning lights stopped their motion and turned a bright green of approval. After a pause Bronson clenched his fists, his muscles flexed. Several large pieces of the new off-yellow shell broke apart and fell away. Popping his neck roughly, many of the other pieces followed and fell to the floor falling down into the metal grates to be disposed of. Nyx preferred to use her fingernails to get the material off of her as fast as possible, not liking the itchy feeling it gave.

The next step would be to clean the shell off of your clothes. They had learned to simply shake the item furiously until the substance broke apart. It didn’t take long for the material to begin to evaporate as the room’s temperature increased, after temporarily becoming a goo-like substance.               

Nyx was usually out first. Bronson saw her give a wave of her hand as she crossed the rest of the bio-tech area and headed under the large electronic archway that would take her home. Bronson went to the table just outside of the door that had let him out. The two drawers awaited him. He first retrieved his weapons and secured them and his dog tags back in place. The second drawer contained the heads, now sealed in plastic with a yellow dye lining the inside that showed that they were not contaminated. He opened up the black canvas bag and replaced them each in the pattern he liked. Cargo returned to his shoulder he headed across the room to a different archway, one that spelled out “Titan Gardens” in electronic blue letters. The same name and directions to other places that were this way were broadcasting across the archway in other colors and different languages.

“Weapons, ID’s, and anything you’re bringing back from outside, I need to see it!”

Bronson followed the voice of the bellowing security guard up to the checkpoint. Reaching into a pocket he produced a small black piece of thick folded leather. From between the folds he produced the metallic card with his picture and information on them. The guard scanned them and then looked to the rifle on Bronson’s back and the pistols on his side.

“Gonna need those.”

Without answering Bronson flipped open the top of the black leather to reveal a golden plate. The image of a black and gold bird with a barcode under it caused the guard to raise an eyebrow and then nod.

“Right, well you can keep the pistols but the rifle still has to go in your storage unit.”

“I’m aware,” Bronson said as he pulled the black canvas bag from his shoulder and pulled open the draw strings so the man could see inside.

“Ah,” he remarked with a smile, “productive day for you.” A small device the shape of a pen spread a green laser out over the heads. The guard counted them and then marked something down on an electronic pad. Motioning Bronson to step through the scanner, he buzzed him through. Nyx always had to leave her weapons in her storage compartment outside of the main city. Bronson’s job made it where he could carry most weapons on him at all times, just in case, it was the main reason he wanted the position. He stopped at the personal holds section of strong metal framed lockers. At locker G-18 he paused and entered an eight digit code that he knew by heart. He checked his rifle and wiped it down with a cloth after removing the ammunition and separating the scope from the weapon.

Past the check point were the platforms. The rail systems were all running through this point, as they did with the other five major points. He walked to his marker up by the purple line and waited. Standing there, bags in hand, he thought back to before all of this. When he was much younger he would wait for the subway in New York to go see his father or a baseball game. There were so many differences to this, but the reminder was always there.

The outskirts of the city, places like this, were pretty bare at this hour. First shift had ended and second shift would be preparing to leave soon. Unless your third shift job was on the outer rim of the space colony, at this time, you were either heading to bed or to the French Quarter. Everyone had to have a job after age sixteen, based off of your test scores and what you could do. There were no exceptions. Bronson was a security guard. He didn’t mind his job because it felt like a service. He felt like he was doing something good for what was left.

An electronic hum began softly along the singular metal rail and grew louder as four speeding platforms rode it into the station. The platforms had no operator on them, just markers to show you where to board them. The purple circle indicated where you could stand. There were several people riding the rail to other stops. Bronson chose the rectangular block with the fewest number of people on it. There was a buzz that let them know that the magnetic field which held them all in place and kept them from being thrown off was activating. It took some getting used to, suddenly feeling ten pounds heavier and restricting your movement until the next stop. He wasn’t going far though.

One of the perks for being a guard was opting to live in Titan square, in the Titan Gardens district. It was the safest place in Elysium city. They were mostly single room one person living areas. No smoking, no pets, just the way Bronson liked it. The gardens were a mixture of metal and stone along the floors and walls with a sprinkling of real trees and flowers amongst all of the fake ones. There were a series of solar windows that opened up in the roof and walls to help light the gardens, one of the few places where natural light could get through. The sun’s rays were so harmful though that the shutters had to rotate depending on the time of day. Bronson lowered the brim of his hat to block out the sun as he crossed the marble-lined courtyard to his quarters.

In the back of the quarter, in building H, Bronson entered his single-room apartment. The walls were off-white with nothing on them and the ceiling was bare other than the lights and two vents. There was a desk with a small computer console on it and a bed with black sheets but no frame, it rested close to the floor.  Next to the bathroom with the stand-up shower was a small closet. He slid the door to the closet open and pulled a silver case from behind some old boxes. In the case he replaced his two .45 pistols and retrieved his guard-issue service piece. A 9mm. weapon that was also equipped with a flashlight on the bottom of the barrel and a sun setting. The handle came to life when he touched it, requiring a thumb print for the safety to be removed.

Bronson then re-secured the silver case in its hiding place and pulled out a coat hanger with a grey suit on it. The wide shouldered padded guard’s suit was thick and heavy. In the grey of the fabric were several strips of armor woven into the cloth down the legs and arms with a sheer plate over the chest and back. The black belt that went with it held two pockets of ammunition, hard-light cuffs, and a collapsible baton in a holder on the side. He slid his guard-issue pistol in on the right hand side and finished the suit off by placing the grey cap on his head which showed his extra rank for military service in gold bars. Removing the black folded leather piece from earlier he turned it inside out and hung it around a silver chain that hung from his neck, the gold and black bird showing above the barcode for all to see.

               Black canvas bag in hand, there was one more place to stop before work. A quick ride out of the Titan Gardens and into the Trade District changed the scenery from a bright and new feeling to that of dark browns and hastily built structures with a lower ceiling under the area. The street lamps here were dull and the sidewalks were filthy, that was nothing compared to the smell though. The rails ran above the district, which caused the rattling and humming sounds that echoed through the alleyways. To Bronson, this place was the closest he had ever felt to home out here.

               Towards the back of the Trade District was a grouping of buildings in a semi-circle that all had flashing neon and advertisements for making credits. The furthest building down the row had a red and white cross on it with a young girl standing outside of it. She was dressed as a nurse in an excessively short white skirt and a push-up bra to show off her breasts in the outfit. She was passing out fliers about donating plasma for credits. Next to it was a slightly cleaner building that advertised that they wanted to purchase semen samples. There were a few other buildings, nothing illegal out in the open like this though. The three largest buildings in the large semi-circle though were the ones that didn’t out themselves on their signs. “The Sandstorm Company”, “Wolsten”, “Dead Man Inc”, they were all laid out in different types and fonts on their signs. They all wanted the same thing.

Bronson’s choice though was “Cada-dine”. Bronson preferred his evils to be of the lesser variety. Cada-dine hadn’t given up on everyone, on Earth; they were still actively trying to find a cure. At least they were convincing about it. Walking in, there was another cold mist that sprayed him down before the other set of doors opened and the lounge music of the white sterile lobby hit his ears. He went and stood in line behind the other two customers. His right hand gripped the canvas bag tightly as his left rested on his hip with the back of his hand touching the handle of the pistol, anxiously.

When his time came the young Indian girl behind the counter in her black business suit smiled at him. Her name tag read Sandeep.

“Back again,” she asked, handing him a tablet to begin filling out the electronic paperwork.

Bronson nodded, “six today, split two ways if you would.”

“Not bad for just two of you. How’s your partner anyway?”

“She’s fine, thanks.”

Her finger twirled in the strands of her straight long dark hair as she waited for him to finish. When the paperwork was done he double checked the tablet, scrolling back through and then handing it to her.

“How is it down there these days? I haven’t been in over a decade.”

The door to the side opened and a man in a white containment suit came out. Bronson opened the black canvas bag and the man removed the six plastic bagged heads of the former living dead and placed them on a small cart.

“Probably better you don’t, to be honest.”

“Oh,” she mused, sliding the two small disks through the machine. “I’m sure if I went down with you I’d be fine.”   

Bronson forced a smile and held his hand out palm up for the two small circular discs. Sandeep deposited them into his hand.

“Thanks for your business. We’ll put them to good use.”

Bronson nodded and turned from the counter. He headed out the door, folding up the now empty canvas bag in his hand. Checking the time, he turned to head towards the French Quarter. It was connected to the Trade District by two large multi-level tubes. Bronson walked up on the top level as transports and people on personal use vehicles sped down below him heading to and from. As he walked he could see the Earth through the glass out one side and the distant reaches of space out the other. Seeing both of these views was one of the things that made him appreciate walking this way. Lying in between two of the most unattractive parts of the city was this serene view. No work, nothing dead; from up here, everything still looked normal.