Spasms

The guards were drawn up. Bickering parties ideologically opposed they could afford to ignore; a murder they could not. The hunt was immediately on, but as dawn encroached upon the concealing darkness of night, the Alpine soldiery remained empty handed. The murderer, it seemed, had taken advantage of blind spots in the security feed, and more curiously still, at the moment of murder, up until Buddy Limbo examined the Atlantean corpse, the security vid-feed was distorted. Worst of all, the culprit had vanished.

Hound and Buddy had been detained for the night until a thorough examination of the available feed, witness testimonies at the tavern, and their own accounts exonerated them. Come the morning they were let out, and the person who greeted the two upon their exit from the stockades was precisely the person they had expected.

“You have failed in your task,” Laocoön rumbled. He stood tall under the white sunlight, metallic nemes glinting and ruby eyes piercing. His remaining coterie of four stood by him. Two on the left, two on the right, motionless as statues.

Buddy adjusted his hat to shield his eyes. He mocked stretching, as though his limbs were sore, then said, “we’d’ve caught the bastard if the guards hadn’t stopped me.”

Laocoön slammed a paw down as a judge his gavel. “Silence! One of my dearest retainers has been murdered under your watch. I have petitioned the guards to arrest the Purists, but they deny me. So you, under our agreement, shall find the instigator of this travesty and bring him to me.”

“And you have my condolences,” said Buddy with all due respect. Then he jabbed a finger toward the sphinx’s looming face. “But I ain’t to blame for this, so don’t you go telling me what to do. Now, as a man of honor, I’ll extend our contract to include an investigation if you so wish.”

Laocoön scowled. “Honor,” he spat. “What does a wrangler like you know of honor.”

“I honor contracts, thank you very much. And our contract was security detail, not investigation. I’m still under that contract, I admit, and your choices are to extend, or let the Alpine soldiery handle the affair. Which one is it?”

 “The insolence…” Laocoön growled and took a heavy step forward.

Buddy grabbed Gamma-XIII. At this three of the Atlanteans snapped into combat stances. Hound lowered his head and ears.

One of the four humanoids, a hair taller than the rest, stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. “My lord,” he said, “please, may I?”

Laocoön turned his heavy gaze to his retainer. “Speak, Antares.”

Antares stepped between both parties, palms toward both. “Further strife will not lead to justice, my lord.” He turned to Buddy, carven porcelain mask, though emotionless, stern. “And further negotiations will not lead to further profit.”

“Then what do you suggest, Antares,” said Laocoön.

“No doubt the fortress will lock down. The murderer cannot escape unnoticed. The only way they could would be with one of the parties scheduled to leave. Us, the Hunters’, or the Purists. Seeing as you,” he looked at Buddy, “were the most recent of visitors, I suggest your party be interrogated first, with the exception of the two of you, of course.”

“The hells! You saying one of us is the murderer?”

Antares turned to the two in full. “I am not. I am merely stating that all parties and all citizens within this outpost should be interviewed and accounted for. You must admit, Mr. Limbo, that the murder coinciding on the with the night of your arrival does not look good. Besides that, you were the only ones found at the scene.”

Buddy ground his teeth and looked to Hound, who shifted his weight and glanced toward someplace almost nervously.

Buddy let go of Gamma-XIII who buzzed in annoyance. “You’ve a point,” he said. “but that includes you.”

Laocoön scowled, but before he could speak Antares cut in. “Of course it does. In the spirit of fairness, each individual will be subject to equal scrutiny. We wish for justice, do we not, my lord?”

Laocoön looked down at his retainer, contemplating, then nodded.

“I also suggest that we petition guards from the garrison to stand by each party in turn. One for us, one for you, and one for the Purists to ensure an objective inquiry. I believe they will acquiesce. The responsibility of the outpost’s internal safety is theirs, after all.”

Buddy mulled over the plan. He nudged Hound with one leg and raised an eyebrow in question. His wide-brimmed hat worked as a shield to hide his unspoken communication. Hound nodded.

“We agree and—”

“Agree to what?”

Buddy turned toward the new voice and sighed heavily when he saw the gaggle of Purists advance toward the stockades.

“You!” Laocoön barked. The accusation in the single syllable caused even his own retainers to flinch, but the soulless Purists were unfazed.

“We heard of the murder,” Brother Misha said, “we come to offer condolences. Though you have strayed from the divine beauty of humanity, we still recognize you as salvageable.”

Buddy cringed.

“How dare you!” Laocoön roared. Guards stationed atop the walls locked their eyes on the sphinx, and those at the stockade came out warily, at ease but ready to spring to action if need be. “You dare come here, after what you’ve done, then preach about divinity!” the leader of the Antlanteans spat.

“Do you accuse us of the murder?” Misha asked simply.

“I do.” Laocoön spoke the words with heady venom.

“Now, hold on now,” Buddy cut in. “Before we go roasting someone on a spit, let’s do what good Antares here suggested. Me ‘n Hound will do the questioning, alright?”

Laocoön glared at the Purist leader for a long moment, then turned back toward the governor’s building. “We shall suspend repairs until the culprit is found. Me and mine shall be at the square. See to it that those fools stay away from us,” the sphinx said, departing with three of his retainers, leaving Antares with the Hunter and his companion.

- - -

“What, why?” Lucia whined. “Why do I get the Purists?”

This was certainly the worst morning in Lucia’s recent memory. First the three, Buddy, Hound and a towering Atlantean, had burst into her room while she was still naked under the covers. They grilled her on what she had been doing the night prior, refused to elaborate why until the same had been done to Rousseau, and only after all of that had they explained that one of the Atlanteans had been murdered.

Then, curse him, the Atlantean calling himself Antares had suggested that the two women accompany the opposing factions and work as delegates. Rousseau was to be with the Atlanteans, while Lucia got stuck with the creepy Purists.

“Well, Lucia, it’s because you ain’t a machine. No offense,” Buddy said, nodding at Rousseau.

“Oh, none taken,” Rousseau nodded back. “Besides, dearie, they might tell ye something they wouldn’t otherwise.”

Antares the Atlantean nodded. “This one is as wise as she is beautiful,” he said, earning a wince from Buddy, and, against expectations, a bashful hush from the bot.

Lucia deflated under the stern and expectant gazes of the four adults. “Fine,” she said, “it’s not as if I have anything better to do.”

“Alright.” Buddy clapped his seven-fingered hands together. “Now that we’ve everything sorted, lets go find out who-dun-it.”

Once the four were out, Lucia got up from under the covers and began dressing. Her skin was itchy from the lack of a proper bath in a while. Not even a dust-shower. The last had been on the Melchizedek, and she smelled like it too. She wondered if anyone had noticed. Hound must have.

As she was pulling her enviro-suit on, the itching became a sharp tingling, which quickly started to pulse around her body in waves. Waves that emanated from the nape of her neck. “Oh no,” was all she got out before every tendon in her body seized with the force of a hydraulic press.

She buckled, curling into a fetal position and convulsed as though she were attached to a live wire. She tried screaming, but her lungs felt like they had collapsed. Veins bulged in her neck and forehead as the scream that wanted to come out was suffocated by rapidly tensing muscles. Her eyes felt like they were going to explode, and her ears thrummed with a hysterical heartbeat. The muscles in her lower abdomen and groin didn’t know what to do, and she felt a wet stream trickle down her leg to form a widening pool on the floor. The only thing she could do was place a palm to her chest and think of her mother humming.

“He-e-he-l-elp… she managed with a tinny voice through her seizing, but nobody heard her.

Then it ceased. As quick as it had come, the killing signals of her emotive-enhancer’s ever-growing misfires stopped. They stopped only in the physical sense. When it came to emotion, it kept doing what it did. Which was to misinterpret and misregulate.

Lucia began laughing uncontrollably, even though she wanted to cry.

It was then that Jean opened the door. “Lucia, are you o—” the words died on his lips. What a sight she must be, half-dressed, soiled, and laughing like a witch. “Oh my God.” Jean got out, then hurriedly shut the door behind him as he rushed to Lucia.

She tried pushing him away, mortified that he should see her in this state, and moreover that this last secret of hers, something she had kept from Rousseau lest she send her back to Roma, was now out in the open.

“Go… go away,” she said, laughing so hard her abs hurt.

“The hells I will. Look at you. Something happened and you’re going to tell me what, young miss!” Jean helped her up and winced at the puddle of urine on the floor. “You’ve been lying,” he said.

“For a reason!” Lucia screeched, now in the violent throes of rage. Again, without her consent. “Fuck! Just… Leave me alone!”

Jean flinched but continued guiding her to sit on the bed. He was immensely strong for someone just a head taller than her. Though he was gripping her by her bicep now, the strength in it unquestionable, she sensed somehow that he wouldn’t hurt her. Rather it was like the firm hand of a worried father.

“Sit down and tell me exactly how many times and when whatever this is has happened.”

Lucia shook her head, the tears finally finding their place at the corners of her eyes. “She’ll send me back!”

Jean looked at her for a long moment. It was that same look so many doctors and mechanics had given when they had cut her open time and time again. That look that oozed the pity she didn’t want. “Maybe that’s for the best, Lucia,” Jean said, getting a fresh sheet from the wardrobe to wipe up the mess. “Do you have any clean clothes with you?”

“Jean—”

“Just get dressed. Then tell me everything.”

She shook her head. “I have to go be a delegate for the Purists. You heard of the murder, didn’t you?”

Jean sighed. “Then do that. I’ll clean up here. But,” he raised a finger, then pointed it at her. “You tell me everything. Or I’ll tell Rousseau about this.”

The tears stopped flowing. The last thing she wanted was Rousseau to know. She would at some point, but not now. “It’s the enhancer. It’s getting worse. I only had one seizure back on the Melchizedek,” she explained. She dressed herself as Jean sat by listening. “But when I was a child, there were more. The See managed to turn the clock back, but I always knew the seizures would return. I think Rousseau guessed so too, based on my records. Hence all the fussing. I thought the one back before Roma was a one-off, so I didn’t say anything, but I guess I was wrong. I… I’m scared, Jean. One day I’ll die from one.”

She was dressed now, a cream overall with her tabard over it. She turned. Jean was staring at her, deep in thought, his face an impenetrable mask.

“Say something.”

Jean lowered his eyes. “Can you manage on your own with the Purists?”

Lucia nodded.

“Okay. Then go. I need to think.”

 “What are you planning?”

“I’m trying to figure out how I might be able to help you.”

Lucia smiled, but there was no joy in it. “You can’t. The Verdancy Pathogen is my only hope.”

“Not alone, I can’t, but maybe with the help of the Atlanteans, I might. But I need to think it through first.”

- - -

Wolf watched from the darkness of an alley as the sphinx quarreled with the hunter and Hound. The one who named himself Antares was… familiar.

Wolf felt a wave of cold pass through him. Though the shadows bent to his will, concealing him from the perception of all but those he wished, it rapidly drained his strength. It was a useful skill, granted by the repeated exposure to the realm of the Two, but it had its limits. Soon he would have to seek shelter to recuperate.

But first…

With a thought, he removed the occlusion from Hound. In the very same instant, the machine dog snapped its gaze toward the dark alley. Wolf chuffed. Seems this one was antsy from last night. To think the Two thought this one had as much potential as he.

But then again, they were the ones pulling the strings. They knew better, unlike his counterpart. They were in control, and that Wolf could respect. Something he didn’t offer that bumbling fool.

Satisfied with the results of his little test, he disappeared into the darkness. He could help with finding the murderer, for his experience had been very similar. But where here was a sphinx, there had been a manticore. Also, their girl had died shortly after. Wolf wondered if the same was happening here.

<Prev                                                                                                                Next>